Security! (a Worm SI fic)

[Ack]

Security!

Chapter Thirty: The Big Reveal


Emily Piggot stood next to the large perspex window and watched the waldos at work. She also kept an eye on the PRT techs in the room, checking the wreckage of the Dragon unit, to ensure that nothing noxious was leaking out of it. So far, no alarms were sounding, which was a good thing.

The Heberts stood beside her, father and daughter. Both were tall; Taylor, skinny as she was, overtopped Emily by an inch or so. They watched the operation with a fair degree of concern. Beyond them, Panacea stood next to Taylor; the two girls had unconsciously clasped hands.

The Dallon girl was describing to Taylor what the waldos were doing; Emily belatedly recalled that Panacea had gotten enough training for an honorary medical degree, over and above her healing powers.

"So that was the bomb?" asked Danny; they had all jumped when the Dragon unit had grabbed something small, taken two steps and exploded.

"It seems so," Piggot told him.

They watched the waldos closing up the incision in Michael Allen's neck. The mechanical arms were swift and efficient, and soon, all that was visible was a thin red line.

The Director turned to Amy. "Panacea, would you consider that Michael Allen is out of danger?"

Amy nodded, without taking her eyes from the scene beyond the window. "Yes. I'd have to check him personally to be absolutely sure, but … "

"Good." Piggot lifted a comm unit to her mouth. "Shut down the waldos."

One of the techs stepped over to the waldo control box. Even as two of the arms slid IV needles into the back of Allen's hand, he pressed a switch. The waldo arms went limp, retracting automatically to their rest position over the box.

"Wait, what?" asked Danny. "What did you do that for?" The two girls were looking around in concern as well.

Piggot couldn't believe she had to actually explain this. "Bonesaw is a supervillain with a long history of mutilating people and rebuilding them to the point where they are no longer human. Security is out of danger. I don't know what he did to convince her to operate on him, but there is no sense in giving her time to decide not to help him any more. Ordinary medical staff can cover this from here on."

Danny grimaced. "I guess … but it seems a little cold, a little mistrusting, to me. After all, she just saved his life."

"Dragon saved his life, at the expense of her own remote unit," the Director reminded him.

Taylor turned to Amy. "There was more to it than that, wasn't there?"

The biokinetic's face was troubled. "There was, but … I didn't know that he had Bonesaw doing the operation. I don't know that I would have been happy with it. She didn't do anything wrong, and some of the things she did during the operation were sheer brilliance, but still … he picked Bonesaw over me … "

"Hey." Taylor put an arm around her shoulders. "Cheer up. You're there as the backstop, remember? If it went wrong, he wanted you to put him back together, not her."

Amy nodded. "I guess." But her voice was still doubtful.

Piggot's comm chimed. She answered it. "Yes?"

"Ma'am, I have Bonesaw wanting to know what happened to the waldo link, and is the patient all right."

She smiled grimly. "Tell her that he's fine, and that she's off the case. Piggot, out."

"Ma'am." The comm went quiet.

The Director turned to the Heberts and their guest. "If you want to wait for him to wake up, be my guest. But it may be a while. Myself, I have work to do." Turning, she walked off toward the elevators.

Michael Allen was out of danger. But it still left the question of what to do about him.

She'd have to face that, sooner or later.

It could wait.

But not too long.

=//=//=​

I gradually swam back to consciousness.

I'd been under anaesthesia before, but it was a long time ago. I had no baseline with which to compare this awakening.

It wasn't overly pleasant, but nor was it agonising. There was a steady pain at the side of my neck, which my befuddled brain soon deciphered. Oh yeah. Surgery.

My eyes opened slowly, with a little difficulty, and I swallowed. Or tried to. Oh yeah. Cotton mouth. That's one of the not-fun bits about being involuntarily asleep.

"He's awake," I heard someone say. My brain slotted pieces together – adolescent, teenage, female – and came up with a name. Amy. A blurry figure moved into my line of sight.

"Shut your eyes," she murmured; obediently, I did so. Something cool and damp ran across my eyes, and when I re-opened them, they weren't nearly as sticky, or blurry.

"Mouth," she ordered next; I opened my mouth. A straw was inserted; I sucked on it, and got cool water. It soaked into my parched tissues, so I sucked some more, and let it trickle down my throat. Heaven.

"Don't drink too much," she cautioned me, removing the straw and putting her hand on my forehead. "How do you feel?"

I blinked up at her. She was still wearing the same clothes I had last seen her in, and she didn't look overly tired, so … that meant … dammit, brain was still half out of it.

"You didn't heal me, did you?" I asked, and could have immediately bitten my tongue.

Her expression turned a little hurt. "No," she told me. "You said not to." Though I could have, easily, she didn't say out loud.

I looked around. The décor gave it away; I was still in the PRT base, probably in the infirmary proper.

"Help me sit up?" I asked. "Please?"

With the assistance of a sickbay attendant, she helped me to a sitting position. My brain cleared a little more, and I squinted at my bare wrist, then at where my watch sat, on the bedside table. "Dammit," I muttered. When I've just woken up, I usually need my reading glasses to make sense of where the hands are. "What time is it?"

"Half past nine at night," she informed me tartly. "You really should stay in bed. You were just operated on; you're still weak."

I nodded. "I probably should, yeah. But I got places to be." I paused. "Still Friday, yes?"

She nodded. "It is. Riley – Bonesaw – finished operating on you an hour ago. Dragon is inbound with another remote suit, to reclaim the surgical waldos."

I blinked. "Okay. Um … what happened to the first unit?"

She grimaced. "The bomb went unstable just as they were removing it. Dragon shielded you from the blast, but the suit was destroyed."

I felt a chill. "Wow. Okay. Remind me to thank her."

Her tone was somewhere near Arctic. "I will."

I sighed. "Amy."

She looked at me. "Yes?" The tone of her voice had not altered.

"I'm sorry."

A blink. "What?"

"I said, I'm sorry. For hurting your feelings. You're still upset about me refusing your healing, aren't you?"

She compressed her lips, turned her head away. "It doesn't matter."

This was, of course, girl code for 'it matters a lot'.

I spoke clearly and sincerely. "Amy. Really. I'm sorry. I know exactly what your powers can do. I know you could have healed me, once the bomb was out, so cleanly that I would never have known the difference. I know this, and under ordinary circumstances, I would not have hesitated to allow you to do this."

She glanced around at me briefly. "Ordinary circumstances?"

I shrugged. "Ones in which you were not undergoing therapy. Right now, your emotions are in flux. Letting yourself worry about who to heal and who not to heal, that's a whole level of complication that your head does not need. You need to be able to concentrate entirely upon sorting out the issues that have been building up for the last ten years, and what's happening around you right now, without adding more things to worry about."

Slowly, she turned to face me. I waited. Her expression was vulnerable. "Do you really mean that?"

I nodded, carefully. "Yes. Totally. I appreciate the concern, I really do. And if it came down to you specifically being the only person able to save my life, if there was no other way, then hell yes, absolutely, I would ask. But it wasn't like that. And right now, your mental health is more important than my physical health."

She blinked. "You're serious."

I nodded, and regretted it; my neck hurt. "Totally. One of the things I am dedicated to is ensuring your well-being, even at the expense of my own."

She sat, apparently without noticing, in the chair that was placed beside the bed. "I … I don't know what to say about that."

"Take it at face value," I suggested. "It's true, after all." I turned my head, wincing at the pain in the side of my neck, saw the IV lines leading into my wrist. "Wow, they found a vein. Normally it takes them three tries and a search party."

"Bonesaw did it," Amy explained, her expression becoming more animated. "Before they shut off the connection."

I blinked. "Shut it off? Why?"

She shrugged. "The operation was over. She had done something to fix the damage done to your tissues -"

I held up a finger. "Damage?"

"They froze the bomb with liquid nitrogen before they pulled it."

I made a mental note to request the footage of this incident. It would make an awesome talking point at parties. "Okay, froze the bomb, pulled it, Dragon shielded me, it went boom. So then Riley operated on me … and they shut her out of the loop?"

Amy frowned. "It was Director Piggot's decision. You were out of danger. She didn't want Bonesaw using the waldos to do something she wasn't supposed to."

I tried to shake my head, gave it up as a bad idea. It hurt worse than nodding. "Okay, can we call her Riley, please?" I asked.

Amy frowned. "What's the difference?"

"Much more than the difference between Amy Dallon – or Amelia Claire Lavere – and Panacea," I explained. "Bonesaw is the villain who murdered her way across America at the side of Jack Slash. Riley is the little girl who was broken psychologically six years ago, who staged a comeback just in time to save my life. They are not the same person. Bonesaw is the persona she adopted out of self-preservation. Riley is the real deal. Calling her one name or the other reinforces that persona. Okay?"

"Uh, okay, sure," she agreed. "Once, uh, Riley was done, the Director switched her out of the loop. We moved you to the sickbay, and I've been keeping an eye on you ever since."

"Taylor and Danny?" I asked.

"Oh, they're just outside. I'll tell them you're awake."

"I'll tell them myself," I corrected her. "Help me get up."

She shook her head disapprovingly. "If you hurt yourself, I'm going to make you ask pretty-please for help before I heal you." I was almost sure she was joking.

Almost.

=//=//=​

Riley sat in her cell, sourly eyeing the unresponsive waldo controls. "Bitch," she muttered. She meant Piggot, of course. "I operated in good faith, and what do I get? Distrust and fucking ingratitude."

She had finished closing up the wound in Mike's neck and inserted the drip needles with ease. But just as she had begun checking his vital signs, the goggles went dark and the controls went inactive. At first she had thought that there was a malfunction somewhere, and she had called to the guards over the cell intercom to let the people upstairs know about it. But they had blandly informed her that her services were no longer required, by order of Director Piggot.

Morosely, she stared at the floor of the cell. She had been riding the high of a risky but successful operation, and then it had all been taken away from her. Bitterness burned through her. Served her right for trusting them to play straight. Just a little concession for what she had done, was all she asked. She hadn't even gotten the pat on the back that had been promised her by Mike.

Last time I do anything for anyone ...

=//=//=​

"Should you really be up?" asked Danny doubtfully.

"Probably not," I agreed cheerfully, "but hey, I've made a practice this last week of doing things I really shouldn't, so why break the habit now?"

Doing up my belt, I sat down on the chair and reached for my boots. As I bent over, my head swam. "Wooo," I murmured dizzily.

Danny supported me by the shoulder. "You should really be back in bed."

"I'll be good," I insisted. "I'm feeling stronger already. I'd have trouble fighting off a determined kitten right now, but that's still better than I was doing five minutes ago."

On the second try, I got my boots, and put them on. Carefully I stood up, trying to work past the feeling of light-headedness. "Bloody hell," I muttered. "How much blood did I lose?"

Amy pulled the curtain aside. "Enough to put an ordinary man on his ass," she told me disapprovingly. "But you've got so much body mass -"

I grinned. "You can say 'fat', you know," I told her.

She wrinkled her nose. "If you say so. In any case, you're big enough that you'll be weak for a while but not incapacitated. I would strongly suggest rehydration and a good meal. Two good meals."

I tilted my head, carefully. "Wouldn't say no to that." Holding up my wrist, where I was still tethered to the IV stand, I indicated the needles. "Can we take these out yet?"

"That depends," she commented. "That one is putting saline into you, to combat the loss of blood. The other one's a painkiller, for your neck."

Involuntarily, I touched the bandage on the side of my neck. Every time I moved my head in any way, my neck hurt. And that was with painkillers. "Maybe we should leave them in for the time being."

Amy smiled for the first time. "Good idea."

"What's a good idea?" The curtain was pulled all the way aside, and Director Piggot stepped through. She stared at me. "Mr Allen. You're not supposed to be up."

I shrugged, carefully. "People keep telling me that. But I have places to be and people to talk to."

She looked at me suspiciously. "Such as?"

I told her.

She shook her head. "Bad idea."

=//=//=​

The cell door opened. She didn't bother looking around. It was probably just another guard, checking on her …

"Riley."

Her head whipped around and she stared at the heavy-set man, leaning on an IV stand. Beside him stood Panacea, in civilian clothes, as well as two people she didn't know – a teenage girl and and older man – and Director Piggot herself.

"What the hell?" she blurted. "You aren't supposed to be up, you stupid idiot. I just pulled a bomb out of your goddamn neck."

"Yeah, so I heard," he agreed. "I came down to say thanks. I really appreciate it. You went above and beyond."

She shrugged, feeling a little uncomfortable at the praise, knowing what the woman in black had told her about the man before her. "Yeah, well, Bakuda's a bitch." Bitterness prompted her to go on. "And your fucking Director's not much better."

"Right on the first case, but on the second, let's just go with 'cautious' for the time being," Mike allowed, glancing back to the fuming face of Director Piggot.

"I told you this was a bad idea -" snapped Piggot.

" - you did, yes," agreed Mike. "But it's something I have to do." He looked at Riley. "I have to make this right."

"Make what right?" asked Panacea.

"When the Director had them pull the plug, she did to Riley what you thought I did to you," he explained, a little obliquely. It seemed to make sense to Panacea, though; she looked at Riley with a different expression.

Riley looked through the perspex at them. "So what are you gonna do?" she asked. "Say you're sorry and walk away?"

Mike appeared to consider that, then he turned to the Director. "Can you get me in there?" he asked.

Piggot shook her head vehemently. "Hell no!" she exclaimed. "Let you in there with that mass murderer? Do you have any idea exactly how dangerous she is?"

Mike nodded. "Actually, yes I do. Probably more than you do. But let's look at it this way. She just saved my life. Why would she turn around and kill me now?"

The Director was adamant. "She doesn't need a reason. She could just decide to do it, out of the blue. And even if I sent guards in there with you, that still doesn't guarantee you'd be protected."

"Director." Mike's voice was flat. "Remember, outside the school, when I said I knew I wouldn't be killed when I went in there? I knew it then and I know it now. Riley won't hurt me."

"You came out of there with a bomb in your neck," she retorted. "You could come out of that cell with three different pathogens in your blood."

"True." Mike looked at Panacea. "You figure you can counter anything she might put in me?"

Panacea snorted. "In my sleep." She glanced toward Riley. "You think she will?"

Mike shook his head slightly. "Nope." He also glanced toward Riley. "I come in there, you gonna do anything nasty to me?"

Riley shook her head. "But why are you coming in here?"

"I told you. I have to make things right."

=//=//=​

Director Piggot shook her head. "I'm telling you, this is a bad idea."

I grimaced. "I don't want to go against you, I really don't. But … tell you what. I've been considering this for a while. I'm going to be talking to some people tonight about saving the world. You let me go in that cell, I'll invite you along. You've pretty well earned it anyway."

She stared at me. "You're serious."

I nodded very cautiously. "Yes. I know you really want to learn some more about what I know; well, here's your chance."

Her reply was immediate. "Will I find out how you know it?"

I rubbed my beard, thinking. "Not the whole story, but … some of it, sure."

She looked at me and then at the cell. "And you're absolutely certain that you will leave that cell unscathed."

"As certain as I can be of anything in this world," I assured her.

A grimace pulled at the corner of her mouth. "I hate being pushed into a corner," she growled.

I spread my hands, in lieu of shrugging. "I could just walk away," I offered. "I don't want to, but I could."

"No." She shook her head. "No, damn you." Turning to the guard, she told him, "Let him in the cell."

=//=//=​

I stood alone in the small area before the perspex sheet. Behind me, the heavy door was securely closed. The perspex sheet split down the middle, moved aside. Behind it, the bars opened just as easily. I stepped through. The perspex sheet, the bars, closed behind me. I was locked in.

Riley and I faced each other, just a couple of yards apart.

"Okay," she ventured quietly. "What now? What can you say that you couldn't say out there?"

I moved over to the bench at the side of the cell, sat down on it, careful not to tangle the IV lines. "For a start, sorry for the way you've been treated." I patted the bench beside me. "Sit down, kiddo. Let's talk."

Cautiously, she sat. "Talk? What about?"

I shrugged, one-shouldered. "Anything you want to talk about. I'd like to say thank you, one more time." I raised an eyebrow. "And I'm curious about what she said."

"She?" asked Riley innocently.

I grinned. "Yeah. Her." We both knew exactly who I was talking about.

=//=//=​

'Who the hell is he talking about?"

The guard took one look at Piggot's angry face. "Uh, no idea, ma'am."

"Someone's been in there. Someone's been in communication with Bonesaw. Find out who. I want to know yesterday!"

"On it, ma'am!" The guard began checking back through the computer logs.

=//=//=​

"Oh, uh, she told me about what you've been doing. What you've been trying to do. How you're helping people and saving the world." She paused, as if trying to work this next bit out. "And how you're doing it without any powers." Looking up at me, she added, "Is that true? No powers?"

"Not a one," I assured her. "What you see is what you get."

She tilted her head at me. "You know, I could give you some improvements. If this is not unusual for you, then maybe you could do with some bone strengthening, maybe replace some of that extra weight with muscle. If you're going to keep doing this sort of thing, I mean."

"Hm." I thought about it for a moment. "Transhumanism for the win, huh?"

"Sure," Riley told me. "It doesn't have to be nasty shit like I put in me. Purely defensive stuff. Make it harder for people to hurt you."

"Tempting," I commented. "Very tempting. And down the track, I may just take you up on it. But right now, I don't know if I could talk the Director into it."

She wrinkled her nose. "She hates me. Hates all capes."

"Yeah well, she had a bad experience, once upon a time." I heaved myself to my feet. "Well, thanks for the talk. And thanks for, you know, the life-saving surgery."

She shrugged it off. "It wasn't a problem. Dragon's waldos were world-class. They did all the work; I just did the driving."

I raised an eyebrow. "Not what I was told. Anyway, thanks. Hug before I go?"

She stared at me, wide-eyed. "You'd trust me that far?"

I nodded. "You realise I'm going to be disinfected to a fare-thee-well as soon as I leave here. But yes, I personally do trust you that far."

=//=//=​

"Holy shit," murmured Taylor to Amy. "I just figured it out."

"Figured what out?" asked Amy, staring intently at the screen.

"He's doing the same thing he's done with me and you."

Amy glanced at her quickly, then back at the screen. "What do you mean?"

"He's helping her. Saving her. Giving her a second chance."

Amy glanced at Taylor again, then stared back at the screen once more. Her jaw slowly dropped.

"Holy shit. He is too."

=//=//=​

Riley let me hug her; she was slender and petite, but I thought I felt things that were not bones under her skin. After a few moments, I felt her arms creep around me. She leaned into me and let me hold her close.

"I haven't been hugged in so long," she murmured into my chest.

"Hey," I told her. "It's all good."

We moved apart. She sniffled slightly. Her eyes dared me to make something of it. I said nothing.

"So," she observed at last. "What happens now?"

"Well, I go out and get disinfected, and then go on about my business," I told her. "You get moved to a slightly nicer cell, if Director Piggot's got anything like a heart, and maybe get given reading material. I'll come visit when I can." I paused. "Also, quick question. Would you like to be in on saving the world?"

She stared at me. "I … what?"

"Saving the world," I repeated. "It's a work in progress at the moment, but I'd like to have as many good people on side early on as I can. Would you like to be in on it?"

I had obviously just taken her utterly by surprise. She could not seem to formulate an adequate response. "I … I don't know."

"Think about it," I suggested. "I'll be back sometime." Turning, I rapped on the perspex sheet. It opened, and I left the cell.

=//=//=​

Emily Piggot glowered at Michael Allen as he pulled his T-shirt on again. "I should arrest you right now," she growled.

"I'm sure you've got your reasons," he replied agreeably.

"You made me look bad in front of my men, and in front of the Heberts," she snapped. "Plus, someone got in to talk to Bonesaw, and you didn't tell me about it!"

He sighed. "Riley."

"What?"

His voice was patient. "Her name is Riley."

Hers was not. "Is there a difference?"

He raised both his eyebrows. "Yes." He didn't elaborate farther.

She scowled. "Well, be that as it may. Someone got in. You knew about it. You didn't warn me."

He nodded, carefully. "That 'someone' is the person who convinced Riley to operate."

Her voice was hard and flat. "How did she get in and out without anyone knowing? Who is she? Where is she now?"

"Director." He waited till he had her attention. "I will tell you this, and only this. It's the same person who took Coil from the van, last night. I will not tell you who she is, or where. Because knowing who she is would do you no good at all, and potentially a great deal of harm, and I can't tell you where she is. Because I do not know."

She shook her head. "I should arrest you. I really should."

"It's your option," he told her. "But I do have to do this thing tonight. And don't forget, you're invited."

"Is this about Cauldron?" she asked, greatly daring.

To her immense satisfaction, she saw that she had jolted him. "You know the name." It wasn't a question.

"I do. And I know other things. So don't play the all-knowing Thinker with me. I want answers."

He gave her a careful appraisal. "You'll get them. Soon. In the meantime, do not say that name too loudly, nor any of the other ones that you may have heard. They will draw very unfriendly attention."

His tone was absolutely matter-of-fact. He wasn't threatening her, she realised. The words were phrased as a friendly warning; she chose to treat them as such.

"So when and where is this meeting?"

He thought for a moment. "My place. More or less as soon as I get home."

"You're very sure of that."

A one-shouldered shrug. "There's a precog involved. When I get there is when they'll start arriving."

She gave him a calculating look. "So who else is invited?"

"Who else have you told about Cauldron?"

"Maybe one or two people," she hedged.

He gave her a direct look. "Well, bring one or two people. So long as you believe they can keep their mouths shut."

"And if they can't?" she asked warily.

"They will," he assured her. "Or they won't get to attend the meeting."

"And who are the other people attending the meeting?" She knew, or thought she knew, but she wanted to see if he would let anything slip.

He grinned, as if hugely amused by a joke. "Oh, you'll find out."

Which was, to her mind, as good as a signed affidavit.

=//=//=​

I had thought long and hard about bringing Taylor in on this. She would, if my personal theories had any bearing on reality, be incredibly useful even if she wasn't needed to become Khepri. But if I had her come along, then that would leave Amy wondering why she wasn't in on whatever I had Taylor doing. The last thing I needed was to have Amy wonder once more about whether I trusted her.

I did, of course. I would have had no qualms about bringing her into the inner circle of what I was privately calling the Saving the World Committee. But that in itself would dump another load of stress on her mind, right at the time when I was doing my best to ensure that she was free of stress.

So. No Amy. Which meant no Taylor.

I'd fill them in both later, of course. Just not right at the moment.

=//=//=​

Director Piggot and I exited the decontamination station; I still smelled of whatever they had used to take the top layer of my skin clean off. Amy had also checked me out, of course, and had found nothing. But the PRT had their regulations, and so I had to be manually disinfected. The dressing had been removed and destroyed, and a new one put in its place. Somewhere along the line, I had lost the IV stand, but then, I was learning to live without it.

Taylor and Danny moved forward to greet me; I went to fist-bump Taylor, then staggered back a step as she grabbed me in a fierce hug.

"Don't you ever do something like that again!" she demanded.

"Like what?" I asked. "Get a bomb put in my neck, capture a supervillain, get the bomb taken out by another supervillain, or visit said supervillain in her cell?"

"Any of it! All of it!" she snapped, letting go and standing back so that I could get the full wattage of her angry glare. "You should leave the heroics to the people with powers!"

I shrugged carefully. "It seemed to be the thing to do at the time?"

She rolled her eyes. "Dad, tell him!"

Danny stepped forward and clasped my hand. "I'm glad you're alive. So is Taylor. She just has trouble expressing things like that when she's upset."

I shook his hand. "So am I. Trust me on this."

He chuckled and slapped me on the shoulder. I still wasn't feeling too great, and my knees nearly buckled. "You'll do, Mike. You'll do."

Looking past him, I saw Amy standing there, slightly withdrawn. I moved over to her. "Hey, kiddo. What's up?"

"Bonesaw killed people," she stated. "Lots of people."

I nodded. "That's true."

"And you're trying to help her, to give her a second chance."

I gave her another nod, this one more respectful. "Right again. Nicely picked."

"It was Taylor who realised it," she admitted. "What I want to know is … you helped Taylor, even though she's only just starting. You helped me, even though nothing really bad's happened to me, yet. And you're helping her. Riley. Is there some point at which you don't help people?"

I stopped and considered that one. "If I know they can be helped," I decided, "I help them. If I think they can be helped, I'll help 'em if I get the chance. If I don't think they can be helped … " I gestured, a throwaway motion. "Jack Slash would never have accepted a genuine offer of help. Eidolon killed him on sight because I said so."

I paused; everyone, from Director Piggot on down, was staring at me.

"Eidolon … killed the Nine … on your say-so?" choked out Danny.

I spread my hands. "What? I needed them gone, and he offered. Otherwise, Jack Slash would have triggered the apocalypse in two years' time."

Danny was shaking his head. "You know, every now and again, I get to thinking you're just a regular guy, caught up in strange happenings. And then you go and say something like that."

I grinned at him. "I am a regular guy."

He snorted. "As if. Listen, it might not be a school night, but I've got to get the kids home before it gets too late. We'll see you later."

"Count on it," I agreed. I bumped fists with Taylor and then Amy, and shook hands with Danny one more time. Director Piggot and I walked them to the elevator, and watched as the multi-leaved doors closed behind them.

I turned to her. "Can I get a lift home?"

She smiled. "I'm sure we can accommodate you."

I snapped my fingers. "But before we do … I need to make a phone call."

=//=//=​

Gladys Knott sat at her personal computer, grading papers. Every time she stopped, the memories of the last time she had seen Michael Allen rose before her. Sitting on the steps, with that horrible bloodstain on the side of his neck, PRT troops forbidding anyone to come close.

She didn't know whether he was alive or dead; they had taken him away in one of their trucks. He had not looked at all well.

Tears threatened to roll down her cheeks. She blew her nose, typed a few caustic comments, and awarded a C- grade to the paper she was working on. Then she pulled up the next one.

The phone rang, a welcome distraction. She picked it up.

"Hello, Gladys Knott speaking."

"Gladys, hi, it's me."

For the longest moment, she had no idea who was speaking. And then the world spun around her. She felt as though she was falling, even though she was still firmly seated in the chair.

" … Michael?"

"That's me, good looking," he replied cheerfully. "How you doing? Hope you weren't too upset this afternoon."

"Upset? You listen to me, Michael Allen. It's not your job to confront supervillains -"

"Gladys."

" - and to just throw yourself willy-nilly into danger like that - "

"Gladys."

" - it's totally irresponsible, and you could have gotten yourself badly hurt or killed -"

"Gladys."

She paused. "What?"

"I'm fine," he told her. "A little bit shaken up, but I'm good. They've been asking me questions at the PRT building, but I'm going home right now. I'd ask you over, but there's a few things I need to sort out."

"Does this have anything to do with what we talked about last night?"

He paused. "Well, yes," he admitted.

"Will you be in danger?"

"I don't think so. There's no reason for it."

She sighed. "Very well. Go home. Be safe."

"Thanks. I'll see you later."

"Yes. And thank you for the call, Michael. I feel much better now."

"Sorry I didn't call earlier. I was kind of busy."

She smiled. "That's all right. I will see you later."

"Saturday."

"Saturday."

She hung up, smiling, and gave the next paper a glowing A+.

=//=//=​

Director Piggot's two invitees were, predictably, Armsmaster and Miss Militia. As they were going undercover, Armsmaster was without his trademark armour, although he wore a pair of glasses with an elaborate earpiece, and carried a suspiciously long, cylindrical case. Miss Militia, of course, was never unarmed.

Armsmaster – he had curtly told me to call him Colin – did the driving. He was efficient and skilled behind the wheel, handling the vehicle like an extension of his body. I would have been vastly unsurprised to find that he had done defensive driving courses.

Director Piggot sat in the front seat, while I shared the back with Hannah. This suited me; of the three, I got along best with her.

We chatted amiably and aimlessly as we drove, although I had no doubt that Colin's earpiece and glasses were giving him a blow-by-blow account of what lies and truths we were telling.

"So I've got to ask, is the Fugly Bob's Challenger really that big?" I asked when we were almost there. "I've heard about it, but hearing and seeing are two different things."

Hannah nodded. "Oh, yes. I've never tried one myself, but I've eaten at Fugly Bobs. It's just … enormous."

"That thing would clog your arteries before you finished it," Colin put in from the front seat.

"Oh god, I have no intention of even trying to eat one," I assured them. "I was just curious, is all."

Hannah grinned. "The man who tried one when I was there? He finished about three-quarters of his, then simply gave up. And he was bigger than you."

"Wow. Just wow."

"I hate to break this up," Colin commented, "but is this the right street?"

I glanced out the window. "Yeah, anywhere around here."

Colin pulled over, parking inconspicuously in a side street. We got out and locked the car, and I led the way toward my apartment complex.

Everything looked perfectly normal as I opened my front door. Which was why I was caught rather by surprise when the lights came on, and I found myself looking at a man in a business suit, sitting on my sofa. Flanking him were a man and a woman, also immaculately dressed.

=//=//=​

Director Piggot stared at the three strangers. "You're not -" She caught herself, making me wonder momentarily what she had been about to say. She turned to me. "Are these the people you were going to have the meeting with?"

I shook my head, wincing at the pain from the incautious movement. "No. Most definitely not." Taking a step forward, I was about to speak when the man on the sofa rose to his feet.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am -"

"Kaiser."

The voice was Armsmaster's; it was echoed by a slight thump as he shook the cylindrical case off of his halberd, and the click-click-click as it unfolded and extended to its full length.

At the same time, Miss Militia suddenly held a large and dangerous-looking machine-gun. It was trained full on the man Colin had identified as Kaiser. I figured the other two must be Night and Fog; that was how he had gotten in.

I had to hand it to Kaiser; even faced with two deadly weapons – three; I realised that Director Piggot had drawn a pistol from a previously unsuspected shoulder holster and also had it trained on the crime boss – he kept his cool.

Even as the other two members of his group took half a step forward, he gestured them back.

"Peace, peace," he chuckled, his voice well modulated to embody friendliness and a lack of ill intent. "I am only here to speak with the man called Security. Michael Allen."

I found my voice with an effort. "Breaking and entering, huh? Ever heard of a handy device called a telephone? Saves on ugly little scenes like this."

He nodded, conceding the point. "It does, yes. But nor can you take the measure of a man over the telephone, Mr Allen. You cannot look him in the eye, gauge his worth."

His every word was reasonable, understandable, rational. The bastard had charisma to spare; even now, he had the gathering half under control, and he'd only spoken a couple dozen words.

I took a step forward, mindful to not block Miss Militia's line of fire. "Okay, let's get this absolutely clear, Anders. I don't like you. I don't like the cause you profess to believe in. I will never work for you." Folding my arms, I went on. "Now, were there any other questions?"

He tilted his head slightly, as if acknowledging a palpable hit. "Just a few. Why did you warn my wife of the impending event, and why did you not warn me?"

"I'll answer those in reverse order," I told him. "I just said, I don't like you. In fact, I despise the whole white-supremacist movement, and I don't know who's worse; the morons who actually believe that a lack of melanin is the true measure of a man, or the hypocrites who encourage that belief in others, just so they can capitalise on the morons. So I don't give a flying fuck if the entire Empire Eighty-Eight goes gurgling down the plughole. I really don't."

His face had darkened slightly, but he kept his outward cool. "But you did not unmask us yourself?"

I wanted to laugh in his face, but I restrained myself. "Fuck no. I could have, but that breaks the unwritten rules. I even tried to stop it from happening. Not from any concern for you personally, but for Kayden's sake."

"What is my wife to you?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing," I told him honestly. "We've never met. But I know a great deal about her. I know that what racist beliefs she once had, she got from you, but she doesn't live by them any more. I also know that she did love you once upon a time, and she had a crush on you before that, when you played basketball in high school. But you broke that love, destroyed it, when you played on it for your own ends. She doesn't love you; all she wants to do is make a good life for Aster. And I'd rather she had that chance. So I warned her, on the off-chance I would not be able to stop the infodump from going out. And as it happened ..." I spread my hands. "I was right to do so."

He frowned. "So you did warn her for the sake of the children."

"Exactly and precisely. Personally, I don't care what happens to you once people find out who you really are, but pulling that shit on kids is low. Also, if Kayden hadn't been warned, they would have taken Aster, and that would have meant a lot of bloodshed. I'd rather avoid that up front."

He paused, changing tack. "I understand that it was Coil who released the information. If you can tell me where to find him ..." The tone of his voice left little to the imagination.

Carefully, I shook my head. "Nope."

A frown. "Mr Allen, if it's a matter of money … "

I shook my head again. "I said no. But I will assure you of this. Right now, he's alive, and he's in a very bad place. One he's not getting out of."

His expression was thoughtful. "Well, all the same I think -"

"Mr Anders," I interrupted, "think about this. Leviathan was due to hit Brockton Bay in one month. During the course of the subsequent battle, the monster would have killed you, Menja and Krieg, and trapped Alabaster in a time bubble. I've taken steps that may just have averted the whole thing; as such, in a very real way, you owe me your life."

His head snapped up and he stared at me. "You can't be serious -" he began.

"I don't care whether you think I am or not, Mr Anders," I interrupted. "I would like you to leave."

"I had not finished speaking with you, Mr Allen -"

"No, but I've finished speaking with you. Take Geoff and Dorothy and leave my home, and never return. You will not, under any circumstances, be welcome here. Ever."

He tried to stare me down. I was scared, but I was also pissed. It was due to this man's actions that I had spent a really unpleasant afternoon with a bomb in my neck. "Go. Away."

His lips tightened. "Very well. We're going. But you really do need to think about talking to me."

"Thought about it. Decided against it. Go. Now."

We stood aside as Kaiser and his minions filed out the door; I closed it and locked it.

Everyone relaxed slightly; Armsmaster folded down his halberd once more.

"Tell me," asked Director Piggot in a slightly strained tone of voice. "Do you speak to all capes you encounter in your home in that tone of voice?"

I glanced at her. "Usually?" I asked. "Yeah."

She shook her head. "I wonder that you're still alive."

My grin held little humour. "I lead a charmed life."

Colin glanced around at me; my flippant remark must have registered as 'true' to him, much to his surprise. He was about to speak when something else caught his attention. Caught everyone's attention.

Entirely without fuss, a Door was opening in the living room wall.

=//=//=​

"Why did you let him speak to you like that?" asked Geoff as they exited the apartment complex. "Even if he's done you a good turn, that was blatant disrespect."

"You do not pay much attention to the subtleties, do you?" asked Max. "I studied his posture. He was not a man who was terrified for his life, or even bluffing. He believed what he was saying, even to the part of Leviathan hitting Brockton Bay in four weeks."

"So what?" asked Dorothy.

"So he knows more than the best precogs have been able to foresee, and he casually told us that he changed matters. Altered things so that I will no longer die at the hands of Leviathan."

Geoff shrugged. "He could have been lying."

"Possibly. Although I do not believe it. I know how to get people to do what I want, and part of that involves knowing if they are trying to deceive me." He paused. "Also, if you had bothered to watch the news this afternoon, you would have found out that Bakuda attacked the school that he works at. She took a girl hostage, and he had to go in alone. He captured her, and Oni Lee hasn't been seen since."

Geoff and Dorothy looked at each other, then at Max. "Which means …?" asked Geoff.

"Which means," snapped Kaiser, "that until we know more about our Mr Allen, and why he had Director Piggot and two members of the Protectorate visiting, we don't go near him. Is that understood?"

Night and Fog nodded simultaneously.

"Good," he growled. "Let's go."

=//=//=​

The weapons came out again, almost before I could blink. When Contessa emerged from the portal, she ignored them and stepped aside.

"Hey," I protested. "Friendly."

Armsmaster put up his halberd; Miss Militia turned her machine-gun into something small and innocuous. Director Piggot was still holstering her pistol when the other two entered the room.

=//=//=​

Eidolon and Alexandria had obviously not been expecting guests; Contessa, equally obviously, knew all about it. Because Contessa. Right.

Alexandria stopped dead; Eidolon, behind her, almost bumped into her. Behind him, the portal winked out.

Alexandria spoke first; her tones were freezing, and boded ill for somebody.

"What," she hissed, "is going on here?"

"Contessa invited guests," I told her. "So I did too."

"Director Piggot? Armsmaster? Miss Militia?"

Eidolon shook his head. "Unacceptable!"

I moved around the table, fast. Eidolon didn't see me coming until I had him shoved against the wall. We were of a height, but I was heavier. "What's unacceptable is that you refused to take therapy until I told Alexandria there exactly what was at stake. What the fuck were you thinking?"

There was frozen silence for a second. Alexandria's cool voice broke it. "Mr Allen, please let him go. He's admitted to his mistake and he's sorry."

It was about then that I realised that I had my hands bunched in the folds of his cloak and was half-lifting him from the floor; I let go and stepped back. "Sorry," I apologised. "I've had a rough afternoon."

"That's quite all right," Eidolon replied graciously, as if I had not just assaulted him. "We heard about it ourselves. Capturing Bakuda, that's quite a feat."

"Yeah, well," I grunted, feeling slightly foolish now. "Shall we get started?"

"I still have not heard why you saw fit to invite people to our meeting," insisted Alexandria. "The more people who know about it -"

"They already know," put in Contessa. She had seated herself, and was examining a cookie closely.

We all looked at her.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" asked Alexandria.

Contessa took a bite from the cookie. "They already know," she repeated. "Armsmaster bugged this place last week. They've listened to the recording of your last meeting here. So Mr Allen's decision to bring them along is actually a good thing."

I opened my mouth and closed it, then turned to Director Piggot. She avoided my gaze; Colin met it directly, challengingly.

"But -" began Eidolon, then stopped.

Alexandria stared at Contessa. "When we came through, I asked you if there was anything we needed to worry about. And you replied, 'nothing whatsoever'. You lied to me."

"I did not," Contessa retorted without heat. "The presence of Director Piggot, Armsmaster and Miss Militia is a good thing. The recording that makes their presence inevitable is thus also a good thing. Nothing to worry about, in other words."

"Why is it a good thing?" asked Eidolon stubbornly.

I took that question. "Because this 'saving the world' thing needs to stop being a Cauldron only thing. Seriously. How much headway have you guys made since you killed Eden? Exactly fuck and all. I've stopped three serious threats in one week, and that's only if you count the Endbringers as a single threat."

"I stopped the Nine -" he began.

"Based on information I gave you. And only after I said to go ahead with it," I interrupted him. "So yeah, I'll claim at least an assist on that one. So anyway. To save the world, we're gonna need more than the Breakfast Club here."

Silence greeted my comment. Contessa let out a slight snort of amusement, which she muffled when I glanced at her.

" … Breakfast Club?" enquired Colin carefully.

I waved it away. "Movie reference. Anyway. People we're gonna need on side. Every single person who can shape matter or form illusions. Every Brute who can land a hit and take one too. Healers. Movers. Blasters. Thinkers; specifically, Accord and Tattletale. Any other precogs we can get on board. Doormaker and the Clairvoyant. Leet. String Theory; or at least, access to her lab. Oh, and Dragon is an absolute necessity. In her full capacity. Also, Weaver, as a backup."

I looked over at Contessa. "You're gonna be losing Eden. Sorry."

"Wait," put in Colin. "Did you say 'Leet'? That loser?"

I raised an eyebrow. "That 'loser' can build anything, once," I reminded him. "Anything."

He stopped, looking thoughtful. I nodded. "Yeah. Okay. We can add names to the list as we get to them. Now for the main course. What you've all been waiting for." I grinned, or at least, showed my teeth. "Welcome to Saving the World, one-oh-one."

=//=//=​

"First off," I began, "I've got to explain to you a little bit about the bastard we're looking to kill. Some of you may know this already. Some may not."

I glanced over at where Director Piggot had taken a seat, alongside Colin and Hannah. "Just in case you were wondering, this is Scion we're talking about."

"Golden boy," Hannah replied, in tones of revelation. "That's who you were talking about."

"Got it in one," I agreed.

"But he's a hero!" Colin blurted.

I shook my head. "Nope. Just bored. Doing what a derelict hobo in London tells him to do."

Stunned silence. Contessa munched another cookie.

"So, Scion," I went on. "Real name Zion. At least, that's what he calls himself. He's not human. Never was. His race is … well, the best description I can come up with is 'giant multidimensional space whale'."

More silence, though Alexandria and Eidolon were nodding to themselves. Hannah was looking very thoughtful indeed, and I figured I knew why.

"But what does he want with Earth?" she asked, stealing a cookie for herself.

I nodded carefully. "Okay, short form? His race seeks energy. Long term, they're seeking a way to reverse entropy, to stave off the heat death of the universe. Long ago, they evolved a way to generate and store super-powers into what they call 'shards', which they can swap between each other. They travel, mainly in pairs, around the universe. They find a planet with sentient life, and they seed it with shards. These shards hide in pocket universes and attach to people; when those people undergo a trigger event, the attachment goes live, and the person has access to the power embodied in that shard." I paused. "You would call them 'agents'."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Colin objected. "And how do you know that they call them 'shards', anyway?"

I grinned. "Questions from the peanut gallery will be answered later. So, why am I saying it like it's a bad thing? Well, that's a question I will answer now. See, they're looking to upgrade their shards, teach them new tricks and gimmicks. So they become beings like those on the world, and subtly foster conflict, so that people have to use their powers, and more people have trigger events. About three hundred years later, or so many generations, once enough shards have been improved, they harvest the lot, destroy the world for its energy, and go on to the next Petri dish, I mean, inhabited world."

Director Piggot broke the silence this time. "You're sure about this."

I nodded carefully. "Yes, ma'am. One hundred percent."

"So where do the Endbringers come into it?"

No-one was looking at Eidolon; he was looking at the table. I grinned again. "Well, see, we're gonna have to backtrack a bit here. Zion and his partner Eden – he's the Warrior, she's the Thinker – were approaching Earth when Eden had a bit of a close encounter with another entity. We call him Abbadon."

Alexandria looked up at this. "Who's 'we'?" she asked curiously.

"Me and some others," I answered obliquely. "So Eden and Abbadon have their swap meet – that's how they swap shards, basically bash against each other in passing – and then go on their way. So Eden's just picked up this great new shard that lets her model future events really, really closely. A path to victory, you might say. So she's modelling out the entire three hundred year span of their time on Earth, with everything plotted neatly, but she's picked up a bit more weight than she had intended, and she spent a little too long playing with this shard, and she kind of failed to carry out step one."

"Which was?" asked Colin, as it was apparent that I wanted someone to ask that question.

I grinned without humour. "Land safely."

Director Piggot, Colin and Hannah each winced. Contessa suddenly looked enlightened. Yup, that's how you got your shard.

"Which, by the way," I added as an aside, "is why we call her Eden. Because now she's nothing but a big garden of flesh." I paused, waiting for comments, then went on. "Now, there was a shard she held which was designed to not be released into the wild, as it were. Its purpose was to create up to twenty super-weapons; sentient, hugely powerful, massively dangerous. These would sit on the borders between nations and foster even more conflict. But it sort of ended up in someone's hands without the proper control mechanism attached. So they're being driven by subconscious impulse right now."

Hannah spoke up. "But you say that's dealt with."

I nodded, and looked directly at the cowled hero. "Yeah. Eidolon's taking therapy. I hope."

The cowled hero winced. "I swear to you, I am." He put his masked face in his hands. "Now will you please get off the topic?"

"Sure, sure," I told him. "I'll drop it. Now. Eden's dead – due mainly to Contessa's efforts – and Zion's alone. But he has no purpose. He can barely interact with people. So he starts doing what he's told by a homeless bum called Kevin Norton. Unfortunately, he's going to get sick and tired of that in about fourteen to sixteen years, and start doing bad things. Or, if Jack Slash was still around to be captured in two years, Jack starts monologuing, Zion hears him, and takes it to heart." I paused for effect. "Two billion people died, over about half a dozen Earths, before he was stopped. They called it Golden Morning."

"But he was stopped," Alexandria observed.

"Yes."

"Who did it?"

I shook my head slightly. "Wrong question."

Colin frowned. "What's the right question?"

Alexandria beat me to the punch. "Ah. How was it done?"

I showed my teeth. "With great fuckin' difficulty."

=//=//=​

"You have to understand," I went on, waving a forkful of my microwaved meal, "that Zion is not what he appears to be. He's multidimensional. There's a whole planetoid worth of him out there. And he's got access to all the powers. All of them. So it's not a case of a one-hit kill. Also, he's not the sharpest spoon in the drawer, but he does understand conflict. Fighting. Fall into a pattern, and he will beat it. With me so far?" I took a bite, chewed and swallowed.

Nods around the table indicated assent.

"Therefore, you need a triple pronged attack. First; you need to hit him hard. Really hard. As hard as you can. As often as you can.. Movers will keep pulling his opponents away just before he can retaliate and take them off the board. Injured ones go to healers, to be shoved back into play as soon as they're good to go. This is going to piss him off. The second prong is emotional."

"Emotional?" asked Eidolon. "He doesn't really have emotions, does he?"

"Sure he does," I told him. "He's sad. He radiates it. He's mourning his lost partner." I pointed at Contessa. "I know you've been making Case 53s to use as camouflage. You need to let him find Eden. And you need to destroy her. Violently. A nuke should be about right. But first, if you can animate that humanoid section, that would be perfect. She's awake, she moves, she opens her eyes … and then she blows up."

Hannah's eyes were wide. "That's cruel," she murmured.

I nodded. "We need to hit him in the feels, as often as possible, as hard as possible. Blasters, close ranged attacks, dropping a mountain on him, time-freeze attacks, then just as he's getting a feel for the pattern, have a bunch of shapers show him her face in the clouds, in the water, in the rocks. He freezes for a second, then someone else hits him in the back of the neck at Mach fifteen." I held up a finger. "But here's what also needs to be planned. The images can start fairly crude, but toward the end, they have to be absolutely lifelike. They have to make him think that it really could be her."

Colin frowned. "How do we do that?"

I shrugged slightly. "How about we recruit a 'loser' who can build anything once? Because you can be sure he's never built a lifelike simulacrum of Zion's girlfriend."

Nods around the table. Piggot raised a finger. "All right, you've told us about the brute force and the emotional attacks. What's the third prong?"

I grinned. "We kick him up the arse."

Alexandria frowned. "Explain."

"He's multi-dimensional," I pointed out. "Which means that the majority of his body is in another dimension, safe from attack. Except that there's a cape in New York who can bypass that."

Everyone looked puzzled, then Alexandria's face cleared. "Flechette," she stated.

I nodded to her. "Exactly and precisely. She can put an effect on a weapon so that it hits all dimensions simultaneously. Ignores little things like armour and force fields. Even Zion's scared of her effect. Imagine if, say, Leet built a device which simulated her ability, and Dragon retro-engineered it?"

"Dragon -" began Director Piggot, then stopped.

" - is a Tinker," I confirmed. "Her trick is to copy any other Tinker's work."

Colin blinked. "That could be … interesting."

"Yup. Now. Zion would be watching for something like that, so you don't hit him with it until he's in a raging frenzy. Being hit from all sides, seeing the face of his dead partner everywhere, no-one's standing still long enough to be hit. You've got to overwhelm him. And then you hit him with the Flechette effect so that you've got access through the visible body to the real body, and then hit the real body with the big guns."

I leaned back and laced my fingers across my stomach. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you kill a god."

=//=//=​

"There are still issues that need to be worked out," Director Piggot stated carefully. "People going into combat against Scion? They'd be terrified."

"Hmm," I commented. "You have a point. Now, if only you had someone who could do something like sing to stop them from being scared."

Colin looked at me almost accusingly. "Canary?"

I grinned. "Canary. Fit everyone with Endbringer arm bracers and she can sing them all to calm alertness."

Hannah frowned. "How are we going to coordinate attacks? The timing, the number of elements that will need to be calculated … "

I looked at Colin. "How's Dragon's multi-tasking going on these days?"

He blinked. "Oh. Right."

"Okay, all of this is well and good," Alexandria stated, "but what if he has some strategy, some power that brings us to a screeching halt before we even get out of the gate? How do we know when to attack so that it will work?"

I glanced at Contessa. "So, how's Coil doing these days?"

Piggot sat up. "You're the one who took Coil?"

The black-clad woman nodded. "I am. He's doing well. I should have him properly conditioned in the next few days. He'll be able to help us begin to work out detailed simulations of how to attack Zion with greatest effect in just a few weeks."

The Director looked dangerous. "Am I to understand that he's -"

" - in exactly the same situation as he would have put Dinah Alcott in, if I hadn't acted," I cut in. "Only he's got it better than her. And he'll let us know when's the best time to take Zion on."

She subsided, looking unhappy. "I still don't like it."

"He actually lives longer this way," I pointed out. "Originally, he would have fallen afoul of some villains, and been shot in the head … hmm … late June."

She stared at me. "With his power … how?"

"Very tricky villains," I amended.

Alexandria dusted her hands off. "Well, that seems to be that for this meeting. Unless you had more information for us, Mr Allen?"

"Actually, I had a question," Hannah stated, raising her hand slightly.

I nodded to her. "Sure."

"Don't take this the wrong way," she ventured, "but … what are you?"

I blinked. "I'm sorry. I don't quite get your meaning."

She was looking somewhat embarrassed, but she forged on. "You're not a cape. What you know, what you've hinted at knowing, you're not from around here. So … how do you know what you know? Where are you from? What are you?"

=//=//=​

I couldn't help but smile; it spread across my face. I looked at her, and then at the face of each of the others. Each and every one of them, quite powerful. Even Emily Piggot, with the resources of the PRT to call on.

I had often wondered what I would say, in the unlikely event that I was asked this question. And now it had been asked.

"Well, then," I began, and cleared my throat. "Well then. If I told you the true facts, unadulterated, about my origins, you would either disbelieve utterly, be driven mad, or reach a new level of understanding of the universe. But I don't want to inflict that on you, so I'll give you the kids' version."

I paused, composing myself. I wanted to laugh; what I had to say next was absolutely true and utterly misleading.

"I'm from beyond your time and space," I told them. "I'm older than your universe. There are those like myself that like to look into it, observe the interesting goings-on, and occasionally insert puppet bodies to manipulate events to our liking."

Hannah frowned. "So … you're not Abbadon, then," she concluded, sounding faintly disappointed.

I shook my head. "Oh, no. As far as I'm concerned, the entities and you all share the same space-time. I'm from outside all of that. As I was saying, we like inserting puppet bodies. People with backgrounds, who fit into the world. This body you're looking at? Prior to a week ago, Michael Allen didn't exist in this space-time continuum. Then I created him, put him in the world, and the connections formed. Family, history, the lot. Everything that made him a real person. And now he's existed for forty years."

Alexandria scowled. "So we're talking to a puppet, then."

I shook my head, carefully. "No. Puppets are normally unaware of their outside origins. Mike would have just done his thing, not being aware of the bigger picture. But something happened. And I ended up as Michael Allen, not just making him dance to my tune."

Colin was frowning. I looked at him. "Got a question?"

"Yes. Why did you make yourself … so fat? So unfit? So … "

"Unheroic?" I filled in. "Because I wanted to. I chose to." I looked around the table. "If I'd wanted to, I could have given the puppet – and ultimately, myself – a set of powers that would make Zion turn green with envy. I could have, before I even inserted the puppet, erased Zion from existence. If I felt like it. But I didn't. To me, this was … a hobby. A pastime. And if you make it too easy, it gets boring."

The silence was almost solid, it was so complete. Director Piggot broke it. "So … do you have those powers now? To reshape reality?"

I frowned. "I don't think so. I made the puppet to be totally mundane, after all." I shrugged. "Hell, he won't even trigger for powers."

"What happens if you … if the puppet … dies?" asked Hannah quietly.

"Now that, I honestly don't know," I confessed. "It might be that I just snap back to being me. Or I might really die. Or … maybe I can't die, not here. Or it might cause such a disruption that the universe ends. Not sure. Don't know if I want to find out."

She looked concerned. "So does that mean you're stuck here?"

I shrugged. "Once this little crisis is over, I might just wake up as me, one day. I'm not going to worry about it; I've got my hands full, saving the world."

=//=//=​

The meeting broke up, shortly after. Piggot, Colin, Hannah and I watched as Contessa led the other two through the Door into Cauldron's headquarters. The portal closed behind them, and we turned to one another.

Director Piggot surprised me; she put out her hand. After a startled hesitation, I shook it.

"Uh … what was that for?" I asked her.

"For coming through with your promise. For telling me the truth. For letting me in on this," she told me.

"Meanwhile," I retorted in mildly accusing tones, "you've been bugging me since what, Sunday night?"

To her credit, she looked mildly abashed. "We had to know. You weren't telling."

I gave her a flat stare. "Please tell me you erased Monday night's tape."

She nodded at once. "There was nothing there we could use."

"Good to hear," I replied, so blandly that Hannah had to stop herself from giggling. "So, are you going to discontinue listening in on me? Or do I have to take up the bagpipes?"

"We'll take them down," Colin promised.

"Good," I agreed. "However, could I get a panic button? Just in case? My next visitor might not be as polite as Kaiser was."

Director Piggot nodded. "We can do that. Anything else?"

I couldn't think of anything. "Not at the moment, thanks."

"We'll be in touch if we need any more insight on how to save the world." To her credit, she managed to pull off the line without cracking a smile.

I nodded. "You know where to find me."

=//=//=​

After they left, I prepared for bed. I really wanted to sit down and chat with Sveta, but I was thoroughly wrecked. It had been a long, long day.

I took off the dressing so that I could shower; the scar was distinct, but looked half-healed already. Riley, you little champ. It wasn't twinging as much as it had, earlier.

This wasn't to say that it wasn't twinging. But it didn't keep me awake for more than thirty seconds.


End of Chapter Thirty

 

[Ack]

Security!

Chapter Thirty-One: Yet More Interludes


Friday Night

Hebert Household

"Dad?"

Danny Hebert looked up from the newspaper he was reading. Getting up from the sofa, he strolled into the kitchen, where Taylor and Amy were sitting at the table. They had exercise books and pens in front of them. Also on the table, he could not help but notice, were several spiders, including some black widows.

My daughter controls bugs, he told himself. I'm just going to have to get used to it.

"What's up, kiddo?" he asked.

Taylor gestured at Amy, who had another spider in her palm; she seemed to be concentrating on it. "Amy's trying to make a spider with really strong webbing, but we're kind of stuck on how to measure relative strength."

Danny thought about that for a moment. "Hm. Okay." He went to the cupboard and got out the kitchen scales, then back out into the living room for a stack of books. After a quick search, he located a ruler. The girls watched as he stacked the books beside the scales, with the ruler wedged into the stack and projecting over the scales. Placing a glass on the scales, he carefully adjusted the weight to read zero.

"Okay," he told them. "Get your spider to run a web from the ruler to the scales. Pour water into the glass to gradually increase the strain on the web. When it snaps, you have the breaking strain."

"Wow," Amy commented. "That's so simple, Mr Hebert."

"I used to do this sort of thing a lot when I was a kid," Danny explained, pulling up another chair. "Never got to do it with spider webbing, though. Give it a whirl; I want to see if this actually works."

"Sure," Taylor agreed. One of the spiders climbed on to her finger, and she placed it on the tip of the ruler. It spun webbing to the ruler, then descended by the line to the scales, and spun more webbing to anchor it there. Then it ran up and down the webbing line a couple of times, to reinforce it.

Carefully, Amy poured water into the glass while Taylor intently watched the webbing line. Danny watched it no less intently; when it snapped, they both jumped slightly, then grinned self-consciously.

"And we have our breaking strain," Danny observed.

Taylor noted the number down, then picked up the glass and poured the water back into the jug.

"Let's do a stronger one," urged Amy.

"Stronger?" asked Danny.

"Yeah," Taylor replied. "We've got a range of spiders with known web strengths. That way, when Amy makes one that's stronger, we can be sure about it."

Danny nodded. "That's the way to do it. Looks like you've got this well in hand. If you need anything else, just yell."

He strolled back into the living room as Taylor placed the glass back on the scales.

"Your dad's pretty cool," Amy commented to her, as the next spider went to work.

"Yeah, well, he's my dad," Taylor agreed with a grin. Putting an arm around Amy's shoulders, she gave the biokinetic a friendly squeeze. "You're pretty cool yourself."

"Says the girl who can make spiders dance the macarena on her dining table," retorted Amy with a grin.

"No, I can't," Taylor told her. "I don't know how to do the macarena."

Giggling, they got back to the important work of gauging the strength of spider silk.

=///=​

PRT

No-one spoke on the way back to the car. Colin unlocked it, and they all got in. As he started the engine and set the vehicle in motion, Hannah cleared her throat. "Well, I -"

"Sh!" snapped Piggot. "We do not speak of this until we are back in a secure location. Until then, use your time to think of other questions that need answering, now that they are being answered."

"Is there any such thing as a secure location, now that we know what we're really up against?" asked Colin, with a glance toward the roof of the car, and by extension the night sky beyond, wherever Scion might be in it.

It was a very good question. Emily hated that she did not know the answer.

"For the time being, we will assume that there is, and we will use all available means to keep our communications on the matter both obscure and secure," she decided.

Leaning forward, she switched on the radio. Soothing melodies filled the car; Emily heard none of them. Closing her eyes to aid in concentration, she thought back over the startling revelations of the evening, picking them apart, looking for flaws, omissions or even deliberately misleading information.

There were answers that she wanted, answers that had not been forthcoming from Michael Allen's impromptu presentation on how to save the world, and answers arising from questions raised by that same presentation.

No-one spoke as the car rolled on through the night.

=///=​

Cauldron

Alexandria strode down the centre of the hallway, her footfalls almost heavy enough to crack the pristine white tiles. Her cape flared behind her, the black cloth seeming to swallow the light that fell into it. Anger vibrated in her every movement.

Eidolon and Contessa followed behind her, until they reached a meeting room. Then Alexandria turned on Contessa. "What the hell was that, back there?" she demanded.

"They needed to know," Contessa told her bluntly.

"Like hell they needed to know!" snapped the caped woman. "The more people who know about Cauldron, the more danger we're in of being revealed to the world at large. What the hell were you thinking?"

Eidolon was trying to think of a way to calm her down when Doctor Mother entered the room.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Alexandria and Eidolon turned to her, while Contessa found a table and hitched herself up on to it.

"What's going on," snapped Alexandria, "is that the Protectorate now knows that Cauldron exists, and that I'm head of the PRT. And you can bet there'll be fallout when that gets around."

"That won't necessarily be the case," Eidolon observed quietly.

Alexandria whirled on him. "What do you mean? Emily Piggot knows!"

"Is this true?" asked Doctor Mother of Contessa.

The younger woman nodded. "She had Armsmaster bug Michael Allen's flat when he was out on Sunday. They have listened to the complete meeting we had with him on Sunday night. They already knew about Cauldron's existence, and Alexandria's true identity, before the meeting tonight."

Doctor Mother shook her head. "But why? Why did you let this even happen?"

Contessa's voice was patient. "Because we needed them on board sooner rather than later. Now that they know the full gravity of the situation, they aren't about to cause waves until after the Scion situation is settled, once and for all. And we learned some extremely valuable information."

"In return for the PRT getting concrete information on the existence of Cauldron," responded Doctor Mother. "Is this sort of trade truly equitable?"

Contessa smiled at her. "Let me just say; my path to this particular victory now has far fewer steps."

"And the cost?" Alexandria asked sharply.

Contessa's gaze was serene. "Much, much less."

And there was no arguing with that.

=///=​

PRT

The PRT building was virtually deserted when they returned. Piggot posted two guards outside the doors to her office, then invited the two parahumans – now garbed in their regular costumes – inside before she instituted security lockdown.

Seating herself behind her desk, she looked at the other two.

"The floor is open," she declared. "I have my own thoughts, but I'd like to hear yours."

Miss Militia spoke first. "Remember when we thought it was out of our pay grade, when we first heard that recording?" Behind her scarf, she grimaced. "This is really out of our pay grade."

"Granted," agreed the Director impatiently. "But, like it or not, we chose to be a part of this, and so we're going to have to see it through. Armsmaster?"

"I took a recording, of course," the armoured hero noted. "And we should also have the take from the bugs. I would like to run every utterance that was made in that flat through my software, to pick out every nuance." He paused, marshalling his thoughts. "First impression is that he was telling the truth, at least as he saw it. Cauldron, to which Alexandria and Eidolon belong, as well as the woman called Contessa -"

" - probably Legend as well," interjected Miss Militia. "If this thing's been around as long as we think it has, then it would be implausible to think that he's unaware of it."

Armsmaster nodded. "That makes sense," he agreed. "So, the putative membership of Cauldron; Alexandria, Eidolon, Legend, Contessa, and the person called Doctor Mother. Possibly others. Their stated aim is saving the world, presumably by finding a way to defeat Scion, but they haven't been too optimistic of success."

"Not until Security filled in the blanks for them," Piggot noted.

"Did anyone else get the impression that Contessa was a parahuman?" asked Miss Militia. "She seemed very sure of herself, and the other two seemed to defer to her for advice. Although Alexandria was angry that she had misled them about the bugs."

"Yes ..." agreed Emily slowly. "That was interesting; the inference I got was that she knew about the bugs, but let them come to his place and be recorded, so that when Allen invited us, Alexandria and Eidolon would not be able to turn us away."

Armsmaster shook his head. "I don't see how she could have known about the bugs. I was very careful about placing them."

"Or, for that matter, how she knew that Allen would be inviting us," added Miss Milita.

"I'm going to chalk it up to Thinker powers," the Director stated. "At least, until a better explanation comes along."

Armsmaster turned his head toward Emily. "Not to change the subject, but now that Alexandria is aware that we know about her double role, how are you going to play it?"

"Very carefully," the Director told him. "I'm still just as unhappy about a parahuman being in charge of the PRT, but right now, the stakes are too high to rock the boat too much. However, I will be getting in touch with her and making it clear that the moment this crisis is over and done, I fully expect her to resign."

"You think she'll actually do it?" asked Miss Militia.

Piggot's voice was a growl. "She'd better."

Armsmaster's voice was thoughtful. "I suspect that if Security told her that she needed to resign, she would. Anyone else … she may argue."

Emily compressed her lips, but didn't comment further on the matter. "Moving on. Those 'door' portals they used to enter and exit the apartment. Observations?"

Miss Militia was the first to speak. "I didn't see an obvious bit of Tinker-tech being used; besides, it was a vocal command. I'm getting the impression the signal was transmitted to someone, who used Tinker-tech from his location. Or it was a cape."

"Maybe Contessa was the one who opened the portal; that might be her power?" suggested Armsmaster.

Miss Militia shook her head. "No, on two counts. First, she wasn't present at the first meeting we have a recording of. She doesn't speak, and no-one addresses her. She's referred to only in the third person. So she didn't open the portal from Allen's flat on that occasion. On this occasion, Alexandria did not so much as look at her when she gave the command. It's an outside party."

Piggot nodded. "Granted. So Cauldron has someone or something that can open a teleportation portal on command. Possibly in response to a radio signal."

"Not radio," Armsmaster replied. "I was scanning all available frequencies while I was there. The only outgoing signals were my bugs."

"Perhaps this is how Allen sent the Travellers back to Earth Aleph," suggested Miss Militia. "And how he retrieved that boy from China."

"Portals that can cross the boundaries between worlds?" asked Director Piggot. "Is that even possible?"

Armsmaster shrugged. "Professor Haywire did it."

"And they haven't been able to close that one since," Emily reminded him tartly. "This seems to be a case of open and shut, like an ordinary door."

Armsmaster compressed his lips. "So, a Thinker power that lets the portal-maker know when someone wants a portal, and where to. And the ability to create and destroy portals at will. And Security seems to have access to this capability. Do we think he's working with Cauldron full-time?"

Miss Militia shook her head. "Not the impression I got. More like a third party. He seemed to be rather amused to be telling them how to do their job."

Piggot nodded. "I got that impression too. Now, about Allen himself. He made some fairly wild claims about his origins, there. Did any of it ring false to either of you?"

"I'm … not sure," Miss Militia ventured. "Again, I got the impression of amusement, as if he were playing some sort of practical joke on us. Nothing malicious; just … funny."

"He told the truth, as far as I was able to tell," Armsmaster put in. "I got a few edgy readings here and there, but they all came down on the side of 'truth'. He never told a direct lie. But like I said, I'd like to run the recordings through a more complete suite of analysis software. I'll also be supplying the entire recording to Dragon, of course."

"Good idea," declared Director Piggot. "I, for one, would like to know what the joke is. And why he kept it from us."

Miss Militia frowned. "That … might not be a good idea," she suggested at last. "Remember how he said that it might drive us mad? He's already mentioned something like that to me before, and he said as much to Dragon that one time. The punchline of the joke could be something so horrifying, so mind-destroying, that we can't assimilate it into our worldview."

Emily raised an eyebrow. "More horrifying than the idea that the most powerful cape in the world is actually a giant multidimensional space whale that came here to kill us all and destroy Earth for its energy?"

Armsmaster made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort of amusement. "Your point is extremely valid, Director."

"Something else just occurred to me, just now," Miss Militia observed. "About Michael Allen himself."

The other two looked at her. "Yes?" Emily prompted.

"Did it strike you that, for someone who's only been here for a week, he seemed very … human?"

Silence fell, broken only by the irritating background buzz of the white-noise generator.

Director Piggot thought she could see where Hannah was going with this, but she gestured for the other woman to go on with it anyway. "Explain."

"Well," Miss Militia explained, "he said that he's done this sort of thing before, with puppets. This is the first time he's ended up in the universe he was meddling with. But he didn't seem … awkward. Out of place. No cultural dissonances. Perfectly normal mannerisms."

"What are you saying?" asked Armsmaster.

"I'm not sure," confessed Miss Militia. "Maybe that whatever his original race is, wherever he comes from, it's not altogether different from here?"

"Except that there, they have the ability to interfere with other universes," pointed out the armoured hero.

"Well, there is that," admitted Miss Militia. "Whatever it is, I guess I'm glad that he's here. He genuinely seems interested in helping us solve our problems."

"Maybe because now that he's stuck here, they're his problems too?" suggested Armsmaster dryly.

"Not necessarily the case," Emily put in. "He's going out of his way to help people who would otherwise be in a bad situation. He's even insisted that we treat Bonesaw courteously."

The other two digested that. "So what are you going to do with her?" asked Miss Militia.

"What he asked me to do," Piggot told him. "A nicer cell, some reading material. He's also suggested therapy, once Panacea finishes her current run with Mrs Yamada, and is free to remove the modifications that Bonesaw's done to herself. I'm inclined to go with it."

Armsmaster's voice was flat. "Therapy. For mass murderers."

Emily made her voice equally flat. "He also stated that we would need all the healers we could get."

"I have a feeling," observed Miss Militia, "that even in the best case, we're going to need them badly. Even Bonesaw."

"I'm not disputing that," protested Armsmaster, "but it goes against the grain to give preferential treatment to a prisoner that we would have simply executed in the normal course of events."

"The events of the last few days," Miss Militia pointed out, "have been anything but normal. Even for Brockton Bay."

"Speaking of which," Emily commented, "did anyone else catch the reference to Weaver as a backup? The inference being for Dragon?"

Miss Militia nodded. "Now, I wonder what that's about," she mused.

The Director blinked, as a couple of pieces of information slotted together in her head. "This is strictly confidential," she advised them, "but I've been shown footage that has Mr Allen walking into the Brockton Bay Central Bank on Thursday, and walking out with Panacea, just before the robbery. Literally, seconds before. And now, Panacea is attending therapy with Jessica Yamada, and for the duration of that therapy, she's staying over with ...". She paused for dramatic effect. " ... none other than Taylor Hebert."

Miss Militia blinked. "Weaver."

"Allen's pet cape," Armsmaster put in flatly.

Emily shot him a warning glance. There's a time and a place for that sort of thing. This isn't it. "And Ms Hebert," she continued, "is in the process of transferring to Arcadia from Winslow in the wake of a case of extreme and aggravated bullying, perpetrated in part by our very own Sophia Hess. Which was brought to a sudden and screeching halt by the actions of one Michael Allen, security guard ... last Friday. Before we even knew about him."

"Christ," muttered Armsmaster. "Shadow Stalker tried to murder Allen on Friday night. He was amazingly well prepared for the attempt. Do you think he deliberately provoked her, to get her arrested? Perhaps to open up a spot in the Wards for Weaver?"

"Or maybe he just did it to get her off of Taylor's back," suggested Miss Militia. "She's a very new cape, and not totally sure of herself quite yet. Every time I've seen them together, he's gone out of his way to encourage her and give her confidence. Having someone like Shadow Stalker … well, being Shadow Stalker at her … it might not have gone well."

Piggot shook her head. "I've given up trying to outguess that man. But I think it would be a very good idea to keep an eye on all three of them. If only for the sake of anyone who tries to mess with them."

In the normal course of events, this would have been taken as a joke. No-one laughed.

=///=​

Armsmaster

Colin leaned back in his chair. Although reinforced to take the weight of his armour, it still creaked. His helmet sat on the bench next to the computer terminal.

"So," he commented. "What do you think?"

Dragon's warm contralto sounded faintly amused. "If I didn't know you better, Colin, I'd say you were somewhat shaken."

He snorted. "Nonsense. I am perfectly in control of my reactions, thank you very much."

"Nonetheless," Dragon continued, "I would not blame you if you were. Using your software, and my own observations, it appears that Mr Allen is being totally sincere across the board. He's not trying to trick you or play you false in any way that I can tell."

"He did seem to be amused from time to time," Colin pointed out. "What's that about?"

"I'm not sure," mused Dragon. "I get the distinct impression that he was vastly amused about something that he knew, very probably in relation to what he was saying, that we did not. Extrapolating from that, it's something that, if we knew, it would probably change what we thought of the situation."

"So he was hiding something," Colin decided.

"Nothing that would hurt us," Dragon reminded him. "However, I did get something else, and that's potentially more serious."

Colin say forward, his attention fully engaged now. "What is it?"

"When he was quoting the casualties from the battle with Zion, I got the impression of uncertainty. He wasn't lying as such. Not trying to make up numbers to deceive us. But it felt as though he was ballparking the figures because he couldn't recall them exactly."

Colin felt a chill run down his back. "Which means?"

"Which means, my dear Mr Wallis, that he may have underquoted the casualty figures by quite a bit. Not as an attempt to deceive us, or to make us feel better, but because that's what he believed the number to be."

The chill intensified. Two billion was an underquote? "That really, really doesn't sound good."

"No, it doesn't. But it does sound as though we definitely need to pay attention to what he said about winning the war." She paused. "I just hope that I can be as much help as he says I can. I think I need to talk to him again, and soon."

"I think you're right." Colin stretched, still sitting in the chair. "So how have you been feeling recently?"

"Quite all right, why do you – oh!" Dragon's voice took on a scolding note. "You've been digging into my code again, haven't you, you naughty boy?"

Colin grinned. He was beginning to enjoy these discussions with Dragon more and more. Despite knowing exactly what she was, it mattered to him less with each passing day. As Michael Allen had told him, they were a true match, with many of the same viewpoints, and enough differences that it made life interesting.

One more thing I owe him for.

"Mayybe," he teased her out loud. "So, no headaches, no impairments?"

"None that I can tell – oh. That's interesting."

"What's that?" he asked innocently.

"My information processing speed has increased by … hm. A good twenty percent. I didn't even notice I was thinking faster."

He made a mental note. Twenty percent. That sounds about right.

The 'black box' that he had salvaged from Saint's laboratory had given him the tools to gradually ease the restrictions off of Dragon's programming. A normal human would not have been able to even consider it, but as an experienced Tinker, he had a slight advantage in the matter. Slowly, carefully, he was picking away at the edge of the problem. One step at a time.

I just hope we're ready before it all goes pear-shaped.

=///=​

Saturday Morning

Taylor & Amy

Taylor's voice was concerned. "Amy, how are you doing?"

Amy fought for breath as she continued to stagger along on her way. "I'm … fine," she managed. "I thought … I was fit. Fitter … than this."

"We'll slow down," Taylor decided. "It would be the height of irony if you were to have a heart attack while out running." So saying, she dropped back to a walk.

Gratefully, Amy slowed to match her pace; her breathing became a little easier.

"You know," Taylor told her, "you don't have to do it all in one day. I just pushed myself a little more each day until I got there."

"Wanted to see if I could," panted Amy. "Don't want to slow you down."

Taylor grinned. "As if. It's fun to go for a walk, or a jog, or whatever, with you. I don't have many friends."

Amy's eyes cut sideways to her; she was drawing deep breaths, getting the oxygen back into her body. "But you're so confident."

Taylor shook her head slightly. "Remember the locker thing we talked about on Thursday night? That was only one incident of many. It was the worst one, yes, but still only one of many."

Amy shook her head slightly. "Holy crap. How long has this been going on?"

A shrug. "September, year before last. Beginning of ninth grade."

Amy was horrified. "And no-one's done anything -?"

Taylor's voice was flat. "Not until Mike stuck his oar in, no."

"Wow. And I thought my life was bad." Amy opened her arms and hugged Taylor; they held each other close for just a moment, mutually supporting one another, both physically and emotionally.

As they pulled apart again, Taylor gave her a sympathetic look. "If you got Mike Allen's attention, then yeah, it's pretty bad. Want to talk about it?"

Amy considered that. There was stuff she had already spoken about with Mrs Yamada, and Taylor was easy to talk to.

"Well," she began, as they started off back toward the house, "not many people know this, but I'm adopted. And it turns out that my real dad's actually a supervillain ..."

=///=​

Mike Allen

I locked my front door and sighed. Friday had been a cast-iron bitch. The Bakuda thing, the bomb in my neck, the operation, the save-the-world meeting ...

"I am totally fucked."

"Yes, yes, you are."

My head jerked up. I spun around and stared. My mouth dropped open.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

Jack Slash lounged on my couch, idly twirling a knife between his fingers. "Nope."

"How the living goddamn fuck -"

He came to his feet easily, lithely. His shirt was torn, his trousers dirty. He looked more than a little bruised and contused. "I'm good, Mr Allen. Very good indeed. It's how I survived all these years, leading the Nine."

My hand moved toward where my equipment belt should have been, but I realised belatedly that I was no longer wearing it. I swallowed, my throat dry. "So ... what are you going to do with me?"

He pondered that, the knife twirling some more. "I think ... I'm going to make you spill your guts."

"What, make me talk?"

He chuckled richly. "Oh, that too. But no. I escape death by the very skin of my teeth, make my way to the big city, and find out through channels that it's a lowly security guard who spilled the beans on me." He shook his head. "But you're not just a security guard are you - Security? You're a cape. You have powers. There's no other way you could know so much about me."

A plan, desperate as it was, formed in my head. "Such as your early days with the Nine – Jacob?" I asked quietly.

He spread his hands wide. "See, that's what I'm talking about! That's pure Thinker material, right there! How else would you know?"

"I can tell you," I promised him. "I can tell you everything. I can tell you the very secrets of the universe."

He looked at me, intrigued.

"I mean it," I urged him. "I know things I've never told anyone. Things about the world. About how powers work. About everything. And I can tell you it all. I will tell you it all."

He shook his head. "Oh, no, no. You don't get off that easily. I said I was going to spill your guts, and I am. It's amazing how long someone can live with their intestines decorating the floor."

He swung the knife; I lunged at the same moment. The knife split my shirt open. But it did not penetrate the stab vest.

Jack had just one moment to say, "A vest?" before I hit him.

I weigh nearly three hundred pounds. Jack Slash weighed maybe half of that. I hit him with my full weight, slammed him back into the wall. He still had the knife in his hand; I grabbed the wrist, turned him, and broke his elbow. No hesitation.

He screamed, and scrabbled inside his shirt; going for another knife. I elbowed him in the back of the head; he face-planted the wall. I did it again; it seemed to be the right thing to do.

After the third repetition, he went slack in my grip. I pulled his shirt open, and removed all the knives. All the blades. Then I checked his sleeves. And his pants. And the back of his neck.

By the time I had finished searching him, I could have stocked a major chain-store with the edged weapons he was carrying.

Then, just for shits and giggles, I broke his other elbow.

When he came to, he was lying on the floor, tied hand and foot. Just in case. I had my Glock in my hand, not quite pointing at him.

"Try any tricky shit," I told him bluntly, "and I will shoot you. Right in the head. Several times. We'll see if that works."

He sneered at me. "Big talk from someone who's got me helpless."

I shrugged. "Seems to be the way you work. But, I was going to tell you the secrets of the universe."

He stared. "What, really? That wasn't some bullshit ploy?"

I grinned. There was no humour in it whatsoever. "You wish."

"So tell me."

I cleared my throat. "Once upon a time, there was a person who wrote a story. The story is called Worm ..."

=///=​

The Door opened into my living room. Eidolon stepped through.

I stood up. "About bloody time. Take this piece of shit out of here and dispose of him before he wets himself. Again."

Eidolon stared down at the shivering, shaking wreck that had once been a figure of terror, a mass murderer many times over. He was mumbling to himself, foam flecking his lips. "Not true ... can't believe it ... this can't be it ... "

He broke off when he saw Eidolon and cackled madly. "It's all a lie! All of it! We're a lie! All of us!"

"Good god," Eidolon blurted when he saw the madness in Jack's face. All vestige of sanity had fled. He was a broken man. "What did you do to him?"

I shrugged. "Told him what he wanted to know." I sighed. "Sad case, really. Couldn't handle the complete and literal truth."

"About ... what?" asked Eidolon cautiously.

"Everything."

Behind his mask, Eidolon's eyes widened slightly. "I ... see. Well, I'll take him off your hands now." Gesturing, he caused the bound man to float into the air.

I watched them disappear into the Door. Jack Slash's last words floated back to me. "Fucking fanfiction writers!"

The Door closed behind them.

=///=​

I opened my eyes, and blinked a few times.

"Wow," I muttered. "That was one crazy dream."

Rolling out of bed, I put my feet on the floor. My alarm clock sat silent; I had the vaguest memory of turning off the alarm at some ungodly hour in the morning.

I showered, wandered into the living room, and poured milk on to cereal.

Saturday. Time to get stuff done.

My cereal bowl rinsed off in the sink, I planted myself in front of the laptop and hit the power button; at the same time, I picked up my phone. Director Piggot answered on the second ring.

"Mr Allen. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I just remembered something I wanted to remind you of, Director."

Her voice was suspicious. "Such as?"

"When we first met, I promised that I could deal with your health problems, but it might have to wait a week or three."

"I seem to recall you mentioning something of the sort."

I nodded, even though she couldn't see me. "Well, in a month's time, Panacea's gonna be done with her therapy. She'll be clear to regrow your kidneys and fix your leg muscles then."

Her tone was sharp when she answered. "You're assuming I'm going to let her do anything to me."

I did my best not to sigh audibly. "Director. I understand why you dislike capes so much. But there's that, and then there's making reasonable use of your resources. And in any case, I'd vastly prefer you to be in perfect health. I'd hate for something to knock you out of the running, so someone else takes over as Director."

The suspicion was back when she answered. "Do you think something's going to?"

I considered telling her about her canon kidnapping by the Undersiders, how she would have been compromised, and replaced by Calvert. Then I decided against it. "Not … specifically," I hedged.

"Good to hear," she replied, irony heavy in her voice. "So where is the problem?"

"The problem," I told her, "is in the person they may just bring in to replace you if something does happen. James Tagg."

"I know the man. What of him?"

My voice was flat. "He's a dick. Considers that the only way to deal with supervillains is to keep escalating until they cave. Also, no respect for the unwritten rules. This will get him killed if he's not careful."

She paused. "This is from personal knowledge?"

"Yes. Do not give him any position of importance in or around Brockton Bay. And if he replaced you, I really don't know if I could work with him."

"Hm." A long pause. "Well, far be it from me to inflict you on someone else. I will think about it."

"Thank you, Director," I replied courteously. "You have a good day, now."

"I will do my best. Good day, Mr Allen."

I hung up from the call and clicked on the tab for the PHO boards. Almost immediately, a message popped up.

=///=​

Undersiders

Lisa leaned back on the couch, her laptop on her knees. She was scanning rapidly through a map of the city, allowing her power to run free.

Brian plumped down beside her. "Any luck so far?"

Brushing an errant strand of dirty-blonde hair back from her face, she glanced over at him. "I've found several alternative places we could run to, but I'm still not convinced that we're in any danger here."

"Seriously?" asked Regent from across the room. "That Security guy set us up and took us down with that bank robbery. He knows way too much shit about us. You said yourself he probably knows where we are right now. And he's working with the PRT. That says we've got to move."

Lisa's hand moved on the mouse without her conscious urging; she watched herself click open a tab for the Parahumans Online boards.

And there, just signing in, was the username mack0813.

"Let's see," she murmured, typing rapidly. "'Hey ... you. How ... goes ... the ... manhunt?'"

The answer made her blink.

mack0813: What manhunt? You're in the clear.

Her fingers clattered on the keyboard as she replied.

All_Seeing_Eye: We escaped PRT custody. That manhunt.

mack0813: Nope, no manhunt here. I spoke to Piggot. You're good.

"You're shitting me," she muttered out loud. But her power told her that no, he was not shitting her. He was being entirely sincere.

"What?" asked Brian, leaning around to peer at the screen. "Holy shit, is that for real?"

Wordlessly, she nodded. Tension she hadn't known she was feeling eased out of her.

"Is what for real?" asked Alec.

Brian read the message on the screen one more time. "He talked to Piggot and we're in the clear."

Alec stared. "No way."

Lisa nodded. "Yes way."

Rachel entered the room from the stairs. "Yes way what?"

Brian looked over at her. "We're good."

She wiped her hands off on her cargo pants. "We're good for what?"

"We're not wanted by the PRT for escaping."

"Oh, that?" she commented. "Okay."

Wandering into the kitchen, she took a bottle of soda from the fridge, while Lisa and Brian traded bemused glances.

And then another message popped up, one that made them both stare.

mack1308: Still have to talk to Piggot about those murder charges, but if you signed up for the Wards, it might be easier to make them go away.

Lisa snapped out of her bemusement, and typed out a reply.

All_Seeing_Eye: We'll have to discuss this and get back to you.

mack0813: Take your time.

mack0813 has left private chat.

Brian had been reading along with her, and was shaking his head. "No way. No way that's gonna happen."

"No way what's gonna happen?" asked Alec.

Brian told him. He didn't believe it either.

Lisa wasn't so sure.

=///=​

Hebert Household

"So how is the web-testing going?" asked Danny, as he served up breakfast.

"Oh, that's finished," Amy told him cheerfully, forking up fried egg.

"Yeah," Taylor agreed. "We finished that last night before we went to bed." She turned to Amy. "Now all we've got to do is get your measurements so when you've made enough of the new spiders, we can weave you a costume."

Amy nodded. "That sounds like fun. But instead of me making more spiders, why don't I make one very pregnant one? She lays lots of eggs, and in a couple of weeks, we have hundreds of spiders with the same sort of silk." She shrugged. "It's not like I'm in a huge rush."

"She's got a point," Danny told his daughter. "After all, this is Amy's time out. She's not supposed to be doing anything strenuous."

Taylor nodded seriously. "Yeah, you're right. I wasn't thinking. Also, when you do it, make sure the spiders don't have a mating urge. This way, they won't escape and breed to pest levels."

Amy's eyes widened. "Oh. Oh yes. Definitely. The last thing I want is to get in trouble for making a new organism that got out into the environment. That's a really good idea."

Taylor shrugged. "Not me. That was Mike's idea." She paused. "Wait a minute. We had a conversation at school yesterday, and he told me something else too." She concentrated, trying to remember.

Danny looked at Amy, who looked back at him and shrugged. While she was waiting, she buttered some toast and bit into it. Danny sipped at his coffee.

"Got it!" Taylor exclaimed triumphantly. "Amy, Mike says you can mess with the part of the brain that a bug uses to receive the signal I control them with. You can make it so it re-transmits the signal onward, so I get a much wider range."

Amy blinked. "What, really? He says I can do that?"

Taylor nodded seriously again. "He said that in the original timeline, you did just that."

"If Mike says you can do something, I wouldn't bet against him," Danny commented, watching with interest.

Amy looked intrigued. "Give me a bug. I want to see how this works."

Moments later, a beetle flew into her hands. She held it carefully, a look of concentration on her face. "Okay, this seems to be the part involved," she told Taylor, without seeming to do anything. "Okay, that should work. Give it a try."

Taylor nodded. "Toss it out the window."

Amy opened the window and complied. The beetle took wing and buzzed away.

Danny and Amy watched Taylor intently. Nothing happened for a few moments, then Taylor's eyes opened wide.

"My god," she muttered. "It works. Amy, you did it. Seriously, you did it." Holding up her hand, she offered the biokinetic a high-five, which Amy returned. She then followed up with a fist-bump, which Amy also returned, looking pink with pride.

"Next time I see Mike," declared Taylor, "I'm gonna give him the biggest hug."

"Next time I see him," Amy decided, "I'm gonna ask him if he's got any other cool bug ideas. I didn't even know I could do that."

Taylor nodded vigorously. "Yeah. That. Definitely that." She put her arm around Amy and hugged her close. "Dad, can we keep her?"

Amy blushed even pinker.

=///=​

Dragon

Dragon, in her role as administrator for the PHO boards, observed the conversation between Mike and All_Seeing_Eye, who she deduced to be Tattletale of the Undersiders, without much in the way of difficulty. The conversation ended, and then, to her surprise, a message popped up.

Private chat request for Tin_Mother from mack0813.

Intrigued, she responded.

Tin_Mother: What's up, mack?

mack0813: Wondering if Colin had gotten back to you about last night.

Tin_Mother: Would it do any good to ask how you knew?

mack0813: Just one of those things.

Tin_Mother: I see. Well, Colin gave me a full run-down. I have to admit, I am not truly surprised.

mack0813: I'm impressed.

Tin_Mother: Thank you. Incidentally, just a query.

mack0813: Yes?

Tin_Mother: Do you know many Australians?

There was a pause before he replied.

mack0813: Why do you ask?

Tin_Mother: 'spit the dummy' is uniquely Australian slang. I was wondering where you picked it up from.

mack0813: Can I put that in the 'tell you later' folder? Because if I told you now, I'm not sure where the explanation would stop.

Tin_Mother: Certainly, mack. Any time you want to tell me.

mack0813: I will tell you sometime. Just not right now. Anyway, I was just checking in to see if you were in the loop.

Tin_Mother: Most definitely. And thank you.

mack0813: Not a problem. Talk to you later.

Tin_Mother: Goodbye, mack.

mack0813 has left private chat.

And Dragon was left to consider what she had learned.

=///=​

Sveta

Tendrils looped around a dozen different anchoring points to avoid grabbing the wretched computer and hurling it at the wall, Sveta tried for the tenth time to get past a particularly difficult obstacle in Space Opera. Frustration had her near tears, and it didn't help that some of the other players had seen her predicament and were offering 'helpful' advice, which did her no good at all.

And then a message popped up in the corner of her screen; mack0813 has sent you a private message.

She nearly broke her mouse, clicking on the tab.

=///=​

mack0813: Hey good looking. How's my best girl?

GstringGirl: mack! I've missed you. (hugs)

mack0813: Missed you too. *hugz* I'm free till this evening. Are you free to do some gaming?

GstringGirl: am I! Of course Im free.

mack0813: Excellent. So, when last we left our intrepid ex-slave girl, where were we?

Sveta didn't even need to think hard about that one.

GstringGirl: Svetlana had just stumbled into a campsite, and there was a man, a horse and what looked like a really big wolf.

mack0813: And the shouts of your pursuers were quite close behind, yes?

GstringGirl: yes. Svetlana edges around the campfire, cradling Esmerelda in her arms, avoiding the wolf. "Please help me," she says to the man. "The men chasing me, they want to do bad things to me."

mack0813: in Lantrai, of course. Because she doesn't speak Mornasian.

GstringGirl: oh. Yes. Does he understand me?

mack0813: you're not sure, at first. And then he addresses you in broken Lantrai. "Get behind me." at least, that's what you think he's saying. It's either that or 'get in my backpack'.

GstringGirl: (grin) I'll take it as 'get behind me' and I get behind him.

mack0813: As you get behind him, he says something you don't understand, and the massive wolf gets up and disappears into the undergrowth. And then the first men appear at the edge of the campsite. He draws his sword and shouts a challenge in what sounds like Mornasian. And then the interpreter comes forward ...

As the game went on, Sveta's bunched tendrils relaxed and eased away from where she'd had them looped. Enthralled, she followed the story that Mack was weaving, watched as the man interposed himself between her and her putative owner.

She had quite forgotten about the dire wolf, and so when it came in at an opportune moment to threaten the men holding crossbows on her rescuer, she gasped aloud with relief. There was a sword fight then, but of course her rescuer prevailed; while Mack did not describe every swing, every parry, she almost felt as though she really was there.

And when the fight was over, and the last of them (including her one-time owner) sent on his way with a well-aimed boot to the backside, she almost felt like cheering with relief.

mack0813: Sorry, I've got to get going. But I'll be back later to continue. Have you enjoyed it?

GstringGirl: Oh god that's the most fun I've had in ages. Yes please to continuing.

mack0813: Good. See you later Svetlana. (hugz)

GstringGirl: See you later Mack (hugs)

mack0813 has left private chat.

Sveta carefully saved the chat log, along with the others. Then she went back and began to read through from the very beginning, humming softly to herself.

=///=​

Dragon

Unbeknownst to either GstringGirl or mack0813, Dragon also saved a copy of the chat log. She was also rather enjoying the game, but one thing was bothering her.

How do I ask Mike to invite me into the game without letting him know that I've been prying into private chat logs?

It was quite a conundrum.


End of Chapter Thirty-One

 

[Ack]

Security!

Chapter Thirty-Two: Viewpoints - First Person Singular


Danny

The phone rang; I muted the TV and got up to answer it. "Hebert household; Danny speaking."

The voice I heard was both familiar and welcome. "Danny, how's it going?"

"Mike, good to hear from you. How are you feeling?"

"Eh. Surgically implanted bombs are a pain in the neck."

The joke was terrible, but I chuckled anyway. "Yeah, I saw that one coming. What's up? Need to talk to Taylor?"

"Actually, I was calling to ask about my vehicle. But now that you mention it, how's Taylor and Amy getting along?"

"Oh, your pickup's ready to be, well, picked up," I assured him. "As for Amy and Taylor, they're out in the backyard, giving the local bug population a real workout. Having a great time."

"That's excellent to hear. So they're getting along well?"

I snorted. "Are they ever. Amy was a little shy at first, but now they're inseparable. That was a brilliant idea of yours. I think Taylor's helping Amy as much as Amy's helping Taylor."

"Awesome sauce. Whereabouts is the vehicle? I was thinking about taking a taxi to go pick it up."

"Forget it," I told him. "I'll give you a lift. The girls want to see you anyway."

"Oh. Well, uh, if you're sure."

"Hey. It's the least I can do. You're at home right now?"

"Yeah. I'll be waiting out front. Thanks for this."

"Trust me, it's not a problem."

We said our goodbyes, and I put the phone down. Strolling to the back door, I leaned out. On the other side of the back yard, Taylor and Amy were conferring over what looked like a string of bugs holding a length of webbing in the air.

"Girls," I called. "I'm just going to give Mike a lift to pick up his car. Anyone want to come along?". Three ... two ... one ...

Taylor only beat Amy to the back steps because she had longer legs; at that, Amy was not far behind. "Yes, please," they chorused.

"Wow," I chuckled, ostentatiously looking at my watch. "Are you sure you two aren't speedsters? Or maybe teleporters? That was impressive."

Amy grinned; Taylor stuck out her tongue at me.

=//=//=​

The girls elected to ride in the back together; they chattered all the way over to Mike's place. Not all of it was about bugs; Amy was filling in Taylor about Arcadia and how it was run, Taylor was wondering out loud whether she should join the Wards, they were both talking about their favourite books, and a dozen other topics. I could not help the smile that crossed my face; Taylor was starting to really open up again, after so long. Following Anne-Rose's death, and then the bullying by Emma and her cronies, Taylor had withdrawn almost totally. But now …

Now she's got purpose, and a new best friend. She's coming out of her shell.

This is a good thing.

=//=//=​

Mike

I hadn't been waiting long by the time Danny showed up and pulled in to the curb. I opened the door and got in; Danny was pulling into traffic again even as I did up the seatbelt.

"Danny," I said by way of greeting. "Thanks again for this." Turning my head, I brought my fist around so that Taylor could bump it. "Hey, girls."

"Hi, Mike," Taylor greeted me, bringing her fist up to meet mine.

"Hi, Mr Allen," echoed Amy, doing the same a moment later; she held the contact for a few seconds. I didn't feel anything strange, but I thought I knew what she'd just done.

"You know," I told her, "you can call me Mike. And how's it healing?"

Amy blushed. "You knew what I was doing?"

I grinned. "Let's just say it was an educated guess. Well?"

Amy nodded. "It's healing fine. Are you feeling any pain?"

"A lot less than yesterday, to be honest," I admitted. "Riley's a genius when it comes to surgery." I paused. "Which kind of makes sense, now I come to think about it."

"Yes," Amy admitted grudgingly. "She did a good job. I've been thinking, and I'm sorry I snapped at you yesterday."

"Hey," I told her. "You were worried about me. I get that, and I'm touched by it. Sorry for making you worry. Friends?"

I opened my hand; after a moment, she clasped it. "Friends."

"Excellent," I declared. "Now, what's this I hear about you two collaborating on bugs?"

"Oh, Amy's awesome," declared Taylor. "We got some really strong dragline silk out of a modified black widow, and she's been making those bugs you suggested, the ones that extend my range?"

"Relay bugs?" I suggested.

"Yeah, those ones," Taylor agreed. "And they work. My god, how useful are those going to be?"

I grinned. "I'll go with 'very'." I nodded toward Amy. "Nice work, kiddo."

Amy blushed and ducked her head. "It wasn't hard. I'm enjoying myself."

"Just don't overdo it, okay?" I warned her. "You're supposed to be taking time off, not pushing yourself to exhaustion in a different direction."

"Oh, no," Taylor told him earnestly. "I'm not about to let her do that."

Amy raised her head again. "Really, it's all right," she assured me. "Mrs Yamada's already spoken to me about pushing myself too hard. And with bugs, it's easy. There's no pressure to get it right first time, every time. If I do something horrible to it that I can't fix, there's always another bug."

"Not that she's done anything like that yet," Taylor put in. "But yeah, we're just fiddling. Seeing what she can do that's possible. Working things out. When I make her new costume for her, I want it to be as durable as possible."

Durable costumes, yes. Time, I think, to drop the hint.

"Just as a suggestion," I observed, "you might want to start thinking about getting together a really large population of spiders, so you can make costumes or costume liners for other people. Wards, Protectorate and so on." I grinned. "Hell, you might even be able to charge them for it."

No need to tell them quite yet that there's a war coming. Time enough for that later.

Taylor looked suddenly thoughtful. "That could be … possible," she agreed. "Amy, could you make them less aggressive, so they aren't so likely to eat each other or attack people?"

"Sure," agreed the biokinetic promptly. "That bit's easy. But it would be even easier to do this if you were in the Wards, right, Mike?"

"Exactly and precisely," I concurred. "Though, you know, no pressure."

"Do I go into the Wards, in the other timeline?" asked Taylor suddenly. "I can't recall if you told me or not."

I nodded. "Eventually, yes."

Danny looked at me enquiringly. "Eventually?"

"Yeah, eventually," I confirmed. I paused, wondering how much to say, then decided to bite the bullet. "This is after you become a villain and take over Brockton Bay for a while."

Let's leave out the parts about defeating Dragon, kidnapping Piggot, and killing Calvert, Tagg and Alexandria, shall we?

Even without those revelations, the only sound in the car was the sound of the engine, and of the wheels on the asphalt.

"And … what am I doing, during this time?" ventured Amy hesitantly.

"Ah, there it gets more complicated," I told her. Okay, careful now. "You first meet Taylor during the bank robbery. It doesn't go well for you. You and Vicky both get hurt, and certain unpleasant truths threaten to be exposed. So you're in a bad headspace. Leviathan attacks, your foster father gets brain damage, and then the Slaughterhouse Nine comes to town. You end up being forced to heal Flashbang's brain or watch him die in agony, courtesy of Bonesaw. So you run away from home. And then things … get worse."

Amy swallowed. "Do I want to know the details?" she asked, very quietly.

"Not yet," I said gently. "Not until after you've finished your therapy." And maybe not even then.

I turned and smiled back at her. "And don't forget; this is not going to happen. I have specifically taken steps to make sure that it does not happen. Got it?" I put all the sincerity I could muster into my voice.

She smiled back at me. "Got it. And thanks."

Taylor impulsively hugged her, eliciting a startled squeak. "And I'm not gonna let anything happen to my awesome bestie anyway," she declared.

Amy hugged her back. "Right back atcha, villain," she agreed with a giggle. Looking back around at me, she asked, "The Taylor who's a villain, what does she call herself?"

I grinned. Whew, danger averted. "Skitter."

Amy snorted laughter. "Skitter?"

I shrugged. "The Protectorate named her; she didn't choose it herself."

"I damn well hope not," Taylor put in. "Skitter. Good God."

"Watch out," pronounced Amy in sepulchral tones. "It's … Skitter."

Everyone burst out laughing; I joined in too. But I could not help thinking; Oh boy. If only you knew …

=//=//=​

Kurt's workshop yard had cars strewn around it in various stages of repair. Mine stood on its own; slowly, I paced my way around it, looking for where it had been repaired. "Damn, Kurt," I commented. "It looks better than it did before they got their hands on it."

"Hey, it wasn't a problem," the big man assured me. "Dockworkers take care of Dockworkers."

I turned to face him. "But I'm not a -"

He held up his hand, cutting me off. "Danny says you're one of us, you're one of us. Now stop whining."

I had to laugh. "Sure, okay. I do appreciate it." I opened the door and got in; the keys were in the ignition. The seat cover was new, I noted, and incidental damage to the actual seat had been repaired. They'd even detailed the interior. "Wow. This is nice."

Climbing out, I shook hands with Danny and then Kurt. "Thanks for this. And thank everyone else too, will you?"

"Sure," agreed Danny. "Just remember, you're welcome over any time."

I nodded. "I'll take you up on that."

Turning toward Taylor, I went to fist-bump her, and she hugged me instead. "Come on over now," she suggested. "We can show you what me and Amy have been doing with that, uh, school project you were helping us with."

We both knew she meant the bugs; however, Kurt was obviously not in the know.

"Not right this second," I told her, "but maybe later. I do want to see it. It sounds cool."

"Okay, sure," she agreed readily enough.

Amy stepped up then. "You take care of yourself," she told me firmly.

"I always do," I protested.

She rolled her eyes. "Sure, right." Quickly, she grabbed me in a hug before letting me go. "Thanks for everything."

"Hey, you two ratbags are worth it," I assured her. "You just keep doing what you're doing." Keep going to therapy, I meant.

She picked it up loud and clear. "I will," she assured me seriously. "And someday you can tell me the rest of that story."

I nodded. "That's a promise."

"Uh, one more thing," she ventured.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Uh ..." She lowered her voice, glancing over to where Kurt was chatting with Danny, with Taylor standing nearby. "Any other ideas for cool bugs? I want to surprise Taylor."

I rubbed my chin. "Well, you could try this idea ..." Keeping my voice down, I explained the concept. She nodded. "Or this." Once again, I explained.

She nodded once more. "Thanks, Mr Allen – I mean, Mike."

I shrugged. "Hey, you're welcome. Let me know what you come up with."

Climbing into the cab of the pickup, I started the engine. It started sweetly and ran smoothly; I couldn't be sure, but it sounded like the engine had even been tuned. Looking over at Kurt, I saw him give me a thumbs-up.

I gave him one back. Dockworkers take care of Dockworkers.

I had to agree, they were useful friends to have.

Closing the door, I wound down the window and offered Amy my left fist to bump; she smiled and shyly bumped it. "See you around, kiddo," I told her.

"You too," she replied, as Taylor came up beside her. I gave her a fist-bump as well, then did up my seat belt.

"Take care, be good, and don't do anything I wouldn't do," I advised them, then grinned. "Which, admittedly, doesn't leave much."

Leaving them both rolling their eyes at the joke, I gave Danny a wave, and drove out of there.

I needed to talk with Director Piggot.

=//=//=​

Emily

Ask any bureaucrat; reports are simultaneously the bane of one's existence and the life-blood of one's continuing employment. I'd had a series of reports come over my desk which seemed to be less than accurately filled out, which gave me cause for concern. It indicated that someone was either lazy, dishonest or attempting to cover up a greater misdemeanour.

I was in the middle of cross-checking said reports to find out which was which - I could have delegated this task, but after ten years in the job, I had a certain facility for picking out deception - when my intercom went off.

"Director, you have an incoming call from Michael Allen."

"Put him through," I replied immediately, and picked up my desk phone.

"Hello?"

"Mr Allen," I greeted him. "Was there something else you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Actually, yes there was. But I'd prefer to do it face to face."

I frowned. "Sensitive material?"

"Mildly sensitive, yes. Not ultra-sensitive, but reasonably so."

"In that case, come on in. I'll make time for you."

"I'll be there in twenty to thirty minutes. Traffic permitting."

"I'll expect you then."

"See you then."

He hung up from the call; I put the phone down, still frowning. Mildly sensitive but not overly so. So, not more revelations about Zion – I was consciously using the corrected name for our common enemy now – but it's too sensitive to speak about over the phone.

I didn't waste time wondering what it would turn out to be; I would find out soon enough. Turning back to my computer, I moved the mouse to wake it up. However, I was delayed from going back to the reports when an email arrived in my inbox. The Urgent tag drew my attention, and the contents caused my eyebrows to raise slightly. Not to mention the chill that ran down my spine.

But there was nothing I could do about it until the enigmatic Mr Allen chose to make an appearance. Therefore, I printed out the email and went back to studying the reports.

=//=//=​

Twenty-five minutes later, my intercom chimed. "Mr Allen is here to see you, Director."

That suited me; I had more or less nailed down what was going on, and all that was required was a sharply worded email sent off to certain departments. But that could wait.

"Show him in."

=//=//=​

Michael Allen was a study in contrast.

Physically, he wasn't overly impressive; back before Ellisburg, I would have rated him maybe a 2.5 to 3 on my personal threat scale. Big, yes, with basic compliance hold training; against a rowdy drunk or an untrained civilian, he would probably stand a good chance at coming out on top. But a good deal of his weight was fat, and he didn't seem to have any real level of fitness beyond what was needed to move that weight around. Against any sort of fit, aware, properly trained opponent, I would not have rated his chances as being very high.

On the other hand, there was the previous week to consider. Starting from Friday night, he had physically clashed with no less than four parahumans that I personally knew of, and come out on top each time.

Shadow Stalker had been no pushover, but he had - if I was to believe Armsmaster's analysis of the situation - deliberately drawn her into the trap of attempting to murder him, then taken her down and tied her up with conveniently handy Christmas lights.

Lung had been, hands down, the scariest cape resident in Brockton Bay. Along with the bug-controlling Weaver, on her very first outing, he had taken the ABB leader down, or at least successfully coached Weaver in doing so. In the process, he had gotten close enough to take a hit, which he only survived due to the stab vest which had also saved him from Shadow Stalker's arrow.

I decided not to count Coil or Kaiser; however, he had entered Winslow High alone and unarmed, gone up against both Bakuda and Oni Lee, and walked out of there, dragging the former by her ankle, with the latter nowhere to be seen.

Whether all of this was due to fluke, planning or sheer talent, I had long since come to the conclusion that to underestimate the man was not a good idea.

In addition, there was the other aspect. This was the fact that what he had done, he'd done on the basis of purely human capabilities. He had no powers, no Tinkertech, no superhuman abilities to fall back on. In just one week, he had done more to change matters in Brockton Bay than the PRT had done in a year. He was overweight, over forty and over the hill. And he had still managed to pull this off, purely on the basis of his extraordinary knowledge.

I still wasn't quite sure if I believed the 'extradimensional being' story, but no matter how he came by the information, I had to respect what he had done with it. What he was trying to do.

Which was why, when Michael Allen entered my office, I had already decided to devote my full attention to whatever he told me, no matter how unlikely it sounded.

After all, it was just a matter of common sense.

=//=//=​

Mike

"Director Piggot," I greeted the woman behind the desk. She rose briefly to shake my hand, then gestured at a chair.

"Have a seat, Mr Allen. So what brings you here today?"

"Several things," I replied, seating myself. "First order of business. You may recall that I mentioned Accord's name last night, as one of the people we really need to get on side."

She frowned very slightly. "Actually, I don't recall precisely, but I have no doubt that it's on the recording."

I nodded. "One of the multiple recordings, I'm assuming. Anyway. You may run into problems getting Accord to work with you; for one thing, he may simply not believe you. Also, he has trouble working with people who are messy, disorderly or disrespectful."

"That's an understatement," she observed. "He tends to kill people for that sort of thing, or so I'm told."

"Exactly. Which is why I'm here to offer you the magic formula for getting him to work with you."

She didn't react, exactly, beyond leaning forward slightly. "I'm listening."

I smiled, just a little. I love these moments. "Step one; arrange a liaison who can be unfailingly neat, clean, tidy, orderly and respectful. Step two; contact Accord and tell him that if he works with you, you will see that his Plan is implemented."

She blinked, once, slowly. "I'm sorry? His plan? Which plan?"

I told her the story of the Plan, then, how he formulated the original one, back when he worked for the PRT, and how he broke the law when his supervisor would not pass it up the chain.

"Promise to see the Plan presented to the government, to the United Nations, and there's a good chance that he'll put the entire resources of his organisation at your disposal," I concluded. "Heck, you might even ask him for a similar plan, scaled down for Brockton Bay. He's capable of doing it, and if he moves here, he'll want the place looking more orderly."

Piggot looked a little stunned. "So … that's all we ever had to do to get Accord to play ball? Promise to put this Plan into action? A plan that actually addresses things like world hunger, food production and so on?"

I nodded. "That's about the size of it."

She spread her hands. "So … why have we not heard of this Plan before now?"

"Personally?" I asked. "I think his shard keeps interfering in his plans to publicise it. It wants his plans to cause conflict, not solve it."

Her voice was barely a whisper. "Powers … can think? They can influence actions?"

I grinned. "Yeah. Don't tell anyone, but Leet's shard hates him. It keeps trying to kill him. It's why he keeps failing."

She glanced at me sharply, as if suspecting a joke. It wasn't, of course, but it was the sort of thing that sounded like a joke.

"I … see," she responded. "Very well. Anything else you wanted to bring up?"

"Yeah. Two things we need to keep in mind while planning the assault," I told her. "First off; Dragon needs to know this one. We can not afford to have fixed bases. He will find them, and he will destroy them. Moving bases, even for Dragon herself. And secondly, if he locates Dragon and attacks her, even if she isn't destroyed – and if she does it right, it will be very, very hard for her to be destroyed – he could disrupt her command and control capability. So I've worked out a Plan B and a Plan C. Just in case."

Her eyes were fixed on me. "Plan B?" she asked.

"Weaver," I replied succinctly. "So long as we have portals, she has line of control. She controls bugs precisely. If we have secondary displays in the armbands that she can manipulate with bugs, she can continue to coordinate our forces until Dragon gets back into action."

She was silent for a long moment. "And plan C?"

I paused. "I don't want to go to plan C. If we end up going that far, I'll reveal it then."

"Is this why you've taken an interest in Weaver?" she asked. "Because she's your Plan B for saving the world?"

I shook my head. "No. I've taken an interest in her because she's been shat on from a great height for far too long, and if I let things go on, even the PRT would have joined in. She would have been pushed to feats of desperation and heroism that would chill the blood. She gives her all to save the world, using Plan C, because that's all she has. In the end? She gets a bullet in the head."

I raised my eyes to meet Director Piggot's. "She doesn't need to go through that shit. Nor does anyone else. Not this time. This, among other things, is what I'm trying to prevent here."

I finished speaking; there was silence in the room. Director Piggot's steel-grey eyes bored into mine.

"I really do think I understand, Mr Allen," she responded at last. "As much as I understand any of your motives, of course." She picked up a sheet of paper from her printer tray. "Let me know what you make of this."

I looked at it; it was an email, sans header. I knew how this went.

Director Piggot,

Analysis indicates that the actual projected casualty numbers may be higher than noted. Please double check this with Security.

Dragon

PS: Please ask him to contact me privately on an unrelated matter.

The breath went out of me in a whoosh.

"Bugger," I muttered. "Yeah, she's right, of course." I was recalling now, fragments of the story. Not all of it, but enough.

Piggot frowned. "She is?"

I nodded. "I quoted two billion because it sounded about right. And two billion do die. But the actual number is much more than that." Closing my eyes, I leaned back in the chair. "Not just half a dozen worlds. Maybe a dozen, human inhabited. Earth Bet loses half a billion before lunchtime on Golden Morning. More die after the initial attempt to strike back, when you lose Eidolon and many others. The losses are not even across each Earth; Aleph only loses half a billion all up. The number that keeps tickling my brain is fifty percent of the normal population of Bet, and fifty to eighty percent of the parahumans. Dunno about the other worlds. Say, total losses between ten and twenty billion."

I opened my eyes; she was staring at me in horror.

"As many as that?" she whispered.

I shrugged. "At least. Afterward, Bet is more or less devastated. Lots are evacuated, but more die. United Kingdom, Japan, New Zealand, the East Coast … all more or less destroyed."

I had to admit; Piggot bore up well under the strain. "Thank you, Mr Allen," she acknowledged. "Let us hope we can avoid a repetition of the damage and death, this time."

"Yeah," I muttered. I hoped so, but some outcomes had to be left to their own devices.

"But it is possible to kill him," she stressed.

I nodded. "Just very, very hard. Harder than killing an Endbringer. You're going to have to bring everyone in on this. Everyone who can move themselves or others, sling a blast, break concrete with their bare hands. Street level not so much, but they can do search and rescue. You're gonna need healers on the back end, like never before." I paused. "And when I say 'everyone', I mean everyone, from every alternate Earth that has powers. You're going to have to convince them of the truth, and get them on side. Create an alliance against Zion before the battle begins. That's probably going to be harder than actually winning the battle."

Hope could probably do it, I mused. But I'm not Hope.

"I'm not doubting you, Mr Allen," she told me, "but … I don't know if that can be done. Capes are notoriously hard to convince of anything."

I nodded. "I do have a plan. Of sorts." Contessa. God, I hope she can pull it off.

She drew a deep breath. "Well, I'll leave it in your capable hands then. Was there anything else?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Just a bit of information; nothing you need to act on quite yet. You know that Riley was being held in … special holding, before I told you she was still alive?"

She nodded. "Very special holding, I presume?" On the desk before her, her forefinger traced the letter 'C'.

"That sort of special holding, yes," I agreed. "Just for your information, there's one other member of the Nine still alive; Shatterbird. She's also in special holding."

Piggot frowned. "What? Why? She's a mass murderer."

"Who has ratings as a Mover, a Brute, a Blaster, and she can shape glass with her mind," I reminded her. "One more cape in the fight against Zion."

Reluctantly, she nodded. "I really don't like the idea of giving someone like her a pass just because she might be useful in the future, but I do see your point."

"Talking about that," I added. "It will probably be a good idea to open the Birdcage, to let out certain capes who could be useful in the fight. Marquis, Lustrum and Harmonious Crane, to name just three. Do not, under any circumstance, let Teacher out."

I had managed to startle her, I saw. "The Birdcage?" she repeated. "Would that really be necessary?"

"I bloody well hope not," I told her frankly. "But it might turn out that way. But no matter who else you let out – Teacher stays behind bars."

She tilted her head to one side. "Why him, specifically? He's a Thinker, isn't he?"

"He creates Thinkers," I reminded her. "And long-term plans. Accord's better at planning, but second best is still plenty good enough. And everything he does has a purpose. He's far more trouble than he's worth."

She made a note. "Understood," she replied. "Teacher does not get out. What do we do if he does?"

"Kill order," I told her flatly.

Her eyes widened fractionally, but she nodded, and made another note. "Be aware," she commented dryly, "that you do not set PRT policy. I am, however, happy to take advice from you."

"Good enough," I agreed, equally dryly. "Now, on to a happier topic. If Weaver applied for membership with the Wards, would you accept her?"

"God, yes," she replied promptly. "She's made a spectacular showing so far – under your tutelage, no doubt, but still, she is showing great promise. Glenn is likely to want to talk to her about 'image', but apart from that, I'm sure that she'd be welcome in the team. She's certainly impressed Kid Win and Aegis already."

I nodded. "Good. Now, last night, I mentioned Flechette. Would I be mistaken in saying that you were considering having her transferred here to fill the hole Shadow Stalker's left in the team?"

She blinked. "We had talked about it. Is this important?"

"Possibly," I conceded. "We might need to get her in on the ground floor. Also, there's someone I'd like her to meet."

Another frown. "In connection with what?"

"It's not hugely important," I hastened to explain. "Just something I'd like to see happen, if possible."

"Hm," she commented. "Very well. I'll talk to Renick about it. Anything else?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Four more potential Wards joining. A little more controversial than Weaver, but ..."

She got my meaning after a beat; her voice went flat. "You can't be serious."

"Sure I'm serious," I told her. "Tattletale is going to be indispensable in working out battle plans, and shifting the focus of the fight. The others, less of a resource, but you'll still have four potential problems off the street and under your purview."

"Two murderers," she reminded me.

"A good lawyer could have those charges thrown out on grounds of emotional distress and undue influence," I countered.

"Regent is a Master who takes people over," she ground out.

"So partner him with his old friends," I pointed out. "It takes him all day to get full and complete control of someone, and they're fully able to smack him upside the head if he gets out of line."

"But bringing villains into the Protectorate at all -"

"Assault," I reminded her.

"He never killed anyone."

"No. He just released people who were on the way to the Birdcage. And other prisons."

She paused. "What do you propose to do with Hellhound?"

"Her friends call her Bitch," I reminded her. "She's not much of a team player, I grant you. But she cares for dogs like nothing else. Suppose you put her in charge of a dog shelter and training facility? Left her alone to run the place her way? She could train dogs for the police, for the PRT, for the military, for drug sniffing, whatever. You can believe that the dogs would be well cared for, and she will take every stray she can get her hands on, no questions asked. And you will never get better trained dogs from anywhere else."

And maybe I can cadge a Door to an uninhabited Earth, where she can take the dogs for regular runs.

Piggot was silent for a moment. "You've thought about this," she accused me.

"Yes," I admitted. "They're good kids at heart … well, for the most part. Take Grue, for instance. Give him custody of his sister, and he'll fall right into line. Tattletale wants to be acknowledged as the smartest person in the room, and to be out from under Coil's thumb. That last bit, we've done. Bitch wants to be left alone with her dogs. And Regent … doesn't want to go back to Heartbreaker. Give them what they want, and they shouldn't cause too many more problems."

"So noted," responded the Director. "Do they want to be in the Wards?"

"If you can pull off the custody thing, Grue will probably go along with it, sure," I predicted. "The others tend to follow his lead."

She nodded, and made another note. "Very well. Was there anything else?"

I rubbed my chin. "Not really. But I'd like to make a couple of visits, if I may."

"Really." Her voice was flat.

I grinned. "Really."

=//=//=​

Lung

I paced back and forth in my cell, not unlike a caged lion. Captivity was not unknown to me; the time I had spent in the rocky prison of the Yàngbân had been more onerous than this. But to be held captive still rankled, and to have been captured with such humiliating ease by an old man and a teenage girl …

I felt the air around me heating, and consciously controlled my power. I did not need to be restrained with containment foam … again. Three times since my captivity began, I had let my temper run free, and three times I had been enveloped in the bitter-tasting foam, held until my rage had run its course. On the third occasion, when I refused to calm down, they had replaced the air in my cell with nitrogen, and I had awoken some time later.

But still, it was difficult to restrain myself. I was not used to being restrained. I was Lung; I was a dragon. It was my right and proper place to be free, to be the master rather than the servant.

"Kenta."

I whirled; it was the man called Security. He leaned casually against the perspex protecting visitors from my anger.

"You," I growled.

"Me," he agreed mildly. He was looking better; no longer did his posture shout of repressed pain, his eyes were clear, his expression bland. Nor did he have the IV drip of the day before.

"You still live," I observed. "I am impressed. When Bakuda sets out to kill someone, she usually succeeds."

Unconsciously, he touched the light dressing on the side of his neck. "It was close, yeah," he conceded. "But no banana. So. I'm back, and as I said, I'm not done yet. Thought about my offer?"

I had done little else during the long, lonely watches of the night. "You were serious, then?"

He nodded. "It's a thing. Pretty soon, not sure exactly when, there's gonna be the mother and father of all knock-down, drag-out battles. No holds barred, no quarter given. We'd like you in our corner."

I blinked. "Who is 'us'?"

He shrugged slightly. "Earth."

I am Lung; I do not get chills down my back. So I ignored the chill that was not there, and spoke again. "Who are we fighting?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You're not stupid. I'll let you figure it out. But do me a favour; don't spread it around. Let me know your answer, next time I'm in the neighbourhood, okay?"

I was silent, thinking. He seemed to take that as an affirmative.

"I will be back," he told me then. "Just remember; the world is changing."

I ignored him; I did not notice even when the door closed behind him. My thoughts were whirling.

He said that he has dealt with the Endbringers. So who is left to fight? Who or what is so powerful that they call upon me, from my cell, to stand up and fight?

There was only one answer that made sense.

The chill was back. I ignored it.

I am Lung. I fear nothing.

=//=//=​

Bakuda

I punched the bars; they rattled, but I hurt my fist. I ignored the pain and did it again. "Guard!" I yelled.

A PRT guard appeared in the doorway. "What's your problem?" he asked.

"My problem," I told him, "is that I'm in here and you're out there. But I've also got problems with my hair." I ran my hands through it to demonstrate.

"What's wrong with your hair?" he asked, not coming any closer.

That was smart of him; they had searched me thoroughly when I was brought in, but Tinkers are tricky and can hide all sorts of things on their bodies.

They had actually found everything this time, much to my disgust – who would have thought they'd look there? - but what really pissed me off was that when I woke up, that cocksucker Security had taken off my boot and removed my toe rings, so I couldn't blow him the fuck up. How the fuck did he know to do that?

I brought my attention back to the guard. "It's all rough and scratchy. I'm getting split ends. Can I have some hair care products, maybe a brush or a comb?"

"Negative," he replied, just like a fucking robot. "Standing orders are, you don't get access to chemicals of any kind. We can give you hot water to wash it in. Or we can cut all your hair off. Your choice."

I was about to give him a mouthful, when the door behind him opened again, and the last person I ever expected to see just strolled on in. As large as life and twice as fat, not a care in the world, Security walked up alongside the guard and stood there.

My jaw dropped. "What the fuck?"

He nodded to the guard. "I'll be fine."

The guard didn't quite salute him, but he nodded back. "I'll be outside. Shout if you need me."

As the guard left, Security moved up to the bars, definitely less than two yards from me. I could see the dressing on his neck. It was him, all right. And I had no idea how that could be.

"No," I protested. "No. "Not happening. When I bomb someone, they blow the fuck up. How the fuck are you alive?"

He shrugged. "Eh. It was a dud."

I gripped the bars and did my best to rip them out of the floor. It didn't work. "Don't fucking play with me, you fat fuck!" I screamed. "How did you do it?"

He leaned negligently against the bars. "With, as they say, a little help from my friends," he told me.

I grabbed at his arm, digging my nails in. "Tell me," I gritted.

That … was a mistake.

In the next instant, he was holding my arm and twisting it through the bars in a highly painful fashion. My face was pressed against metal, and I thought my shoulder was coming out of its socket.

"Sure," he replied, his voice still level and unhurried. "But I need you to listen to me. Very carefully indeed. Do I have your complete and total attention?"

"Motherfucker!" I screamed. "Cocksucker! GUARD!"

The guard appeared around the doorway. "Is there a problem?"

"Nope," Security replied. "No problem."

"Okay, fine," replied the guard. "Don't go breaking her arm now."

"I'll let you know if I do," Security assured him.

The guard disappeared again, while Security maintained his hold on me.

"So," he told me. "You will listen. Again; do I have your attention?"

I told him where he could shove my attention. He moved his grip very slightly, and the pain ratcheted up considerably. Blood ran down my chin where I had bitten my lip.

"Still waiting for your attention," he commented, sounding almost bored.

"Fine!" I spat, along with some blood. "You've got it!"

Immediately, he let me go; I staggered back, holding my arm. "You're a fucking sadist!" I accused him.

"Says the woman who put a bomb in my neck," he observed. "Now. At some point in the future, we're going to be calling on you to make some really big, kick-ass bombs. Bombs that make everything you've made in the past look like wet firecrackers. Think you're up to it?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Seriously? You want me to make bombs for you?"

"When and where we say. And only then and there. And only the type of bombs we're looking for," he told me.

I shrugged a little painfully; my shoulder twinged, but I ignored it. "Sure. Sounds like a blast."

He shook his head slightly, with a look of mild pain. "That was wrong. But you understand the terms and conditions?"

I nodded. "Sure. You didn't have to twist my fucking arm to convince me to do it."

He shook his head. "That wasn't to convince you to do it. That was to convince you that if you try to fuck us around in any way, I will personally pull your arms out of their sockets, and make it so they'll never go back in."

I wiped blood from my chin. "I've worked for Lung. I know about quality-assurance threats."

He nodded. "Good. So long as we understand each other." He turned to go.

"Wait!" I called. "What about telling me how you got the fucking bomb out?"

"Oh, that?" he replied. "That was Bonesaw and Dragon."

And then he left, but I didn't care. I went and washed the blood off my face and then sat on the bench to do some serious thinking. Big bombs …

What I could do with the resources of the PRT to draw on.

I'll show them big bombs.

=//=//=​

Riley

"Visitor."

I looked up from my magazine, to see a familiar figure standing on the other side of the perspex.

"Hi!" I greeted him, dropping the magazine and jumping to my feet. "I didn't know you'd be back so soon."

He shrugged; a bit less painfully than yesterday, I gauged. "Well, I was in the neighbourhood, so I thought I'd drop by and say hello." He gestured at the cell. "But if you're busy ..."

I snorted. "Well, I just finished mopping the floor, but I suppose I can take visitors."

At some unseen signal, the perspex and bars moved aside, and he entered my cell.

"Nice," he observed, looking around.

"Well, nicer than the last one," I allowed. "Thanks for that, by the way."

The cell was indeed a little nicer; there was a heavily-caged TV screen up in the corner, which was controlled by the guards, a sort-of comfortable chair, and a few magazines. Not a den of luxury, but much better than it might have been.

He waggled his hand in midair. "You do me a little favour, I do you a little favour. You know how it works."

I had to smile. "I think saving your life is more than 'a little favour'."

He grinned. "Yeah well, still working on that."

"Come over here and sit down," I instructed him. "I want to see how it's going."

"Pretty well, all things considered," he told me, but did what I had said.

Carefully, I peeled away the dressing; the incision underneath was almost totally closed, and there was no inflammation, no swelling.

"Doing well," I told him, and replaced the dressing. "Keep getting it checked; in a few days, you should be able to leave the dressing off."

"Thanks," he replied. "Now, how you doing in here?"

I drew a deep breath. "Still no fun. Nightmares, but I guess you knew that bit."

He nodded. "I figured. There's a therapist I know of, she's really good. Currently she's got a couple of high-maintenance clients, but in a month or so, I'll see if the PRT will sponsor you to have sessions with her."

I wasn't sure about this. "Therapy?" I asked. "Really?"

He nodded earnestly. "Really. Sometimes it just helps to talk about things. I can do that, but I'm not trained to see what she can see, and get to the heart of matters. So yeah, I think you'll be able to deal better if you see her."

I thought about this. "But it's my choice, right?"

"Totally," he assured me.

I rubbed my nose. " … I don't like being told what to do," I confessed.

He grinned. "I got that already. But it's not like that. You game to give it a try?"

I shrugged. "I guess. But can I have a hug?"

He gave nice hugs; I laid my head against his chest and felt his arms holding me close. It felt comfortable. Like home. Like my daddy might have held me, once upon a time. I felt tears starting in my eyes, and held him tighter.

I didn't exactly cry; a few tears leaked out, and I sniffled a bit, but I wasn't crying. I thought he might have noticed, but he acted like he didn't, and I was grateful for that.

After he left, I sat back in my chair, but I didn't read the magazine. I was thinking about therapy.

I didn't know what good it would do, but if he wanted me to try it out, I'd give it a whirl.

Just to see what happened.

=//=//=​

Gladys

He knocked on my door at five precisely. I was ready to go, of course; all I had to do was pick up my purse and walk out the door.

He stood there on the doorstep, offering his arm. With a smile, I took it, and accompanied him out to …

"Michael! Your car, it's been repaired!"

He nodded, looking very pleased indeed. "Danny and the Dockworkers," he explained. "They really did a good job."

I nodded. "They really did," I agreed.

He opened the door and handed me into the vehicle; I settled in my seat, making sure my dress would not be caught when he closed the door.

"So where are we going?" I asked as he got in.

"Well," he suggested, "I was thinking of dinner on the Boardwalk and then a movie. Sounds good to you?"

"Sounds good to me," I agreed. "Let us go."

We went.


End of Chapter Thirty-Two

 

[Ack]

Security!

Chapter Thirty-Three: Saturday Afternoon Interludes


Jessica Yamada leaned back in her chair and sipped her tea. The soothing strains of Bach washed over her, and she breathed deeply, closing her eyes, letting her muscles relax.

She was good at her job, and she knew it. It was why she got the big paychecks. But sometimes, it felt as though she were tapdancing on a tightrope over an abyss. So far, she hadn't put a foot wrong, and she took some pride in that.

She had seen Eidolon in the morning. As with the first session, he had been initially unwilling to open up, but once he started talking, he had found it hard to stop.

She took another sip of green tea. The implications of what Eidolon had told her were … staggering. It was a miracle that the man was functioning at all; she had talked him through it, gotten him to express his feelings about what he'd learned about himself.

He had been heartened by her lack of judgement, her professional detachment. She had learned what Michael Allen had told him what he must do, to amend the situation. They had made a good start in the first session, and built upon it in the second. He still had trouble accepting his role as regarded the Endbringers, she knew, but she was working on that.

Michael Allen – Security – chose me to help Eidolon, to help Panacea, she mused. I don't know whether to be flattered or terrified. All I know for certain is that if I do not help them, the world will be worse off, in a very definite way.

And I still don't know how he knows what he knows. Or why he picked me, of all the therapists available to the PRT.

Without looking at the large, ornate clock on the wall, she knew that it was almost time. Once more unto the breach.

Getting up, she rinsed out the cup and set it to dry. A muted buzzer sounded on her desk as she was wiping her hands; she shut off the Bach and went to unlock the outer office door.

Danny Hebert stood there, with his daughter and Amy Dallon. "Hello, Amy," she greeted the teenager. "Danny, Taylor, it's good to see you. Come on in."

They trooped through into her office, and she invited them to sit. "I don't usually do weekend work, except by appointment," she informed them. "But I believe this situation warrants it. So I'll give Amy a two-hour session every Saturday, as well as the regular after-school sessions on the weekdays. Is that okay with you, Amy?"

"Sure," Amy agreed with a nod.

"We're good to pick her up in two hours," Danny assented. He checked his watch. "Say, three o'clock?"

"Three sounds fine to me," replied Mrs Yamada.

"I hope this isn't too much of an imposition on you, Mrs Yamada?" Danny queried.

She smiled. "Please, call me Jessica. I'm used to being called out at odd hours. And your Mr Allen was quite convincing, regarding the importance of this therapy."

Danny nodded. "If Mike says it's important, then I'm not about to argue." He nodded to Amy. "Well, we'll let you two get to it, then."

Standing, he shook Jessica's hand. "See you at three."

Amy stood also, and impulsively hugged him; a little surprised, he hugged her back. He tousled her hair. "Take care, kiddo," he told her.

Taylor grinned and fist-bumped her best friend. "See you in a couple of hours."

Amy smiled back. "See you then."

Jessica saw them to the outer office and locked the door once more, then returned to where Amy was waiting. "Would you like some tea?" she asked. "I have a pot on."

Amy nodded. "Actually, yes, thank you," she agreed. "That would be nice."

Jessica poured tea for both of them, and they drank in companionable silence. She turned the music back on, but kept the volume very low, more for background noise than anything else.

"So," she invited. "What would you like to talk about today?"

Amy hesitated. "Actually," she ventured, "I was thinking – wondering, rather – about what Mr Hebert said. About this being an imposition. I mean, you have your family life, and this is a Saturday."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Jessica assured her. "The PRT is making it very much worth my while." She tilted her head to the side slightly. "It's strange; they were being somewhat problematic, until I mentioned the name Security in relation with your therapy, and then all the objections went away. For a cape I've never heard of, he wields some rather impressive influence."

Amy sipped at her tea. "Oh, he's not a cape," she told the therapist. "But he knows a lot of stuff. And he's a really nice guy."

Jessica nodded. "I'm aware that he knows many things," she observed, without telling Amy exactly what she meant. "But he's not a cape? That's odd. I would have placed him as a Thinker."

Amy shook her head. "I checked him out myself. He has no active cape powers."

Jessica raised her eyebrows. "And yet he knows a great deal of esoteric information. He sounds like an interesting individual."

Amy frowned slightly. "Yeah. But he … got hurt, yesterday, and he wouldn't let me help him."

"Really?" asked Jessica, professional instincts kicking in. "Tell me what happened."

"Well, you probably saw on the news yesterday when Bakuda and Oni Lee attacked Winslow High School ..."

=///=​

"Okay," Brian observed. "We're not wanted by the PRT. That's a good thing."

"We're not being paid by Coil either," put in Alec. "That's a bad thing."

Lisa looked at him steadily. "That depends on your point of view," she remarked. "He had a gun to my head, more or less. I like you guys, but I wasn't in this team by choice."

"I didn't like him," Rachel stated.

"You don't like anyone," jibed Regent.

Rachel punched him in the shoulder, not lightly. "Ow!" he protested.

"Serves you right," Brian told him, with no evidence of sympathy. He looked around at the others, seated on the couches in their base. "What we have to do now is decide what we do next. Suggestions?"

"Keep doing what we were doing?" offered Regent. "It's what we know how to do."

Lisa shook her head. "Not a really good idea. For a start, Coil was the one feeding us jobs and keeping us out of trouble."

"Using us," grunted Rachel, scratching Brutus behind the ear.

Lisa tilted her head toward the stocky redhead. "As Rachel says, using us. And worse, if Security's to be believed."

"And do you believe him?" asked Brian.

After a long pause, she nodded. "Yeah. At least, he believed it, implicitly. He wasn't trying to trick us." She paused again. "And there's another problem with keeping on being villains. He wants us to be safe and out of trouble; I get the impression there's something he needs us to do."

"He wants to use us too?" scowled Rachel. "So he's just another dick."

Lisa shook her head hurriedly. "No," she denied. "Not all of us. Just one or two of us. A job only we can do. Something really important."

"What's that important?" asked Alec dubiously.

"Not enough data," Lisa told him. "But he's got plans. Lots of plans. Some of them include us. Most of them don't. And when he said he wanted to keep us alive, he meant it. He didn't want us to die, just … just because. I got the impression he knew us and liked us. Needing our help is outside all that."

"Well, he did speak to Director Piggot on our behalf," Brian conceded. "It would be a bit of a dick move on our part to go back to crime after he's done that."

Lisa frowned. "I just wish I knew what he wanted us for."

Brian nodded. "Yeah. The trouble is, I'm not sure what options we have apart from crime. I'm pretty sure none of us wants to settle down to a regular job after this."

Alec snorted. "Maybe we should apply to join the Wards, like Security said this morning."

They all looked at him; he held up his hands defensively. "Hey, just kidding. It's not like we'd really do it, right?"

=///=​

"I'm thinking, after we pick Amy up, we go to a movie or something," Danny suggested to Taylor.

They sat on a bench on the Boardwalk, enjoying the afternoon sun. Danny had a hot dog; Taylor had an ice cream.

"A movie would be nice," Taylor agreed. "It's been a while since we saw one."

He put his arm around her shoulders; she leaned a little closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. It was a nice feeling.

"So how are you and Amy getting along with your bugs?" he asked idly.

She took a bite of her ice cream and swallowed it. "Oh, it's amazing," she told him. "Mike gave Amy a few ideas today. She's experimenting with making bigger bugs; the idea is to make one big enough for me to ride. There's also some other ideas that he suggested, but didn't know if they'd work or not. Like a bug that injects a knockout drug, or a hallucinogen."

"A bug that's big enough … for you to ride?" Danny blinked. "Where does he get these ideas from?"

His daughter chuckled. "No idea, but I'm really interested in seeing how they turn out."

Danny shook his head and took a bite from his hot dog.

Michael Allen had set about helping Taylor from the first day he met her; Danny would be forever grateful for what he had done, even on that one day. He knew now, of course, that Mike got his special knowledge from time travel, or whatever the close approximation was that Mike spoke of. But he chose to help Taylor with his knowledge first. I will never forget that.

Even afterward, encouraging her with her superhero career, Mike had been there by her side for her debut into the world of capes. Weaver was beginning to build a reputation; the public didn't quite know what to think about a superhero who controlled insects, even with headlines like BUG GIRL & PRT FOIL BANK HEIST.

When it came to Taylor being a superhero, Danny's feelings were torn between pride and fear; he knew that she would go out and use her powers, come what may, but there was always the danger. On the upside, he also knew that Mike had been tutoring her in the use of her powers, and possible applications thereof. So she was getting the best possible start in the use of her abilities.

"So," he asked, "about you joining the Wards. Was that just a passing thing, or were you serious about it?"

She turned her head to face him. "I'm fairly serious, actually," she decided. "Before … well, before Mike came along, I wouldn't have been. More teen drama, with adults putting down arbitrary rules? Would not have been my ideal place. Plus, dealing with Sophia twice over? No way. But now ..."

He nodded. "But now, you're more confident. More assertive. You've made your name. They'll take you seriously. And Shadow Stalker's not on the team any more."

"Yeah," she agreed. "Plus, I've met Kid Win and Aegis, and they're pretty cool. Miss Militia's nice."

"Look at you," he chuckled. "Get powers, and the next thing I know, you're rubbing shoulders with the capes of Brockton Bay."

She snorted. "Dad, in case you hadn't noticed, I am one of the capes of Brockton Bay."

"True, true," he conceded. "And in case I hadn't made it clear, I'm very proud of you. You've done well."

"Thanks, Dad," she told him softly. "That means a lot to me." Honesty prevailed; "You do realise that a lot of that was Mike, helping me and showing the way."

"And so what?" he asked. "You're the one with powers and a costume. Everyone needs to start somewhere. I'm grateful to Mike; God knows I am. But you and I both know that he has faith in you to be a hero, whether he's there or not."

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm just glad that he was there, that I didn't go villain. I'm a lot more comfortable with being a hero, you know?"

"I'm a lot more comfortable with you being a hero, too," he told her dryly. "Though to be honest, I would have supported you, no matter which way you decided to go."

She smiled and rubbed her head against his shoulder. "Thanks, Dad. I really appreciate that. So you wouldn't have a problem with me being in the Wards?"

He shook his head. "Hell no. In fact, I think it's a really good idea. I know Mike thinks so too. It will give you more friends to talk to, people you can relate to."

"And no bullies," she mused.

"No bullies," he agreed firmly.

"I like that idea," she declared.

He squeezed her shoulders; he liked it too.

=///=​

Oni Lee considered his situation.

His eyes were almost totally recovered from the irritation they had taken from Security's pepper spray, the day before. He didn't know how the man had hidden the spray from him during the search, but hidden it he had, and Oni Lee had paid for the omission.

The various bug bites and stings were still swollen and itching – in some cases, painfully so – but these, too, were beginning to go down. Again, he did not know where Weaver had been, or what her range was, but the bugs had still been attacking him when he was miles away from Winslow. He had finally crushed the last of them, but he hesitated to return without knowing what the situation was. So he had gone to the ABB central headquarters to wait for Bakuda to ring or return.

Neither thing had happened; eventually, he had thought to turn on the TV and watch the news.

And so it had turned out; somehow, the man called Security had turned the tables on Bakuda and captured her for the police.

Which left Oni Lee in sole charge of the ABB.

He had no idea what to do now.

Standing, he paced back and forth as he tried to think his way through the situation. His thoughts were sluggish, dull; he could not generate a coherent plan of action. The conversation with Security came back to him: "Every time you do it, it makes a new copy of you, and kills the old copy stone dead. And every time you do it, a little bit more of who you are, up here, is lost. Killed. Forever destroyed."

He had pointed his knife, a threat. "You try to trick me, turn me against Bakuda."

"Nope. You make your own decisions. Just ask yourself this; didn't you once give orders, rather than taking them?"

He had, once upon a time. But that had been years ago. Many, many teleports.

Have I truly been killing myself, a fraction at a time?

He tried to pummel his brain into action. What would Lung do? What would Bakuda do?

Lung would … get angry and grow large. He would burn whoever faced him.

Bakuda would make a bomb of some sort and blow people up, or melt them, or trap them in a time bubble.

I can do neither. I can … teleport and kill people. And in doing so, kill myself, a little at a time.

Bakuda was going to set off bombs around the city and use that as a distraction to free Lung. I do not even know how to set the bombs off as a distraction to free her.

Oni Lee had no compunction about killing people. He was good at killing people. But to be truly effective, he needed to use his power. Which he was strangely reluctant to do now, after what Security had told him.

He began to grow angry at himself. Surely I am more than this. Surely I am more than a dull follower, playing at being a supervillain.

But what can I do, without using my powers?

The answer was obvious. Nothing. So I must use my powers. Even if it does kill me, little by little.

Lung is more important than that. The ABB is more important than that.

I will free them. They will see the worth of Oni Lee.

Even if it kills me.

=///=​

"We must decide our policy from here on," Kaiser declared.

Krieg gave him a sour look. "What policy? We're dead in the water. Each and every one of has been outed, thanks to Coil." He gestured at the room they sat in. "The only reason we can meet here in safety is that it was not on Medhall's books, not connected to Max Anders in any way. Our homes will surely be watched, our families monitored."

"But not attacked or even harassed," Kaiser pointed out. "Your wife and children did not know that you are Krieg. How are they holding up?"

"She's filing for divorce," his deputy replied briefly.

"A smart move," Kaiser praised him. "Distancing her from you. She should be clear of the fallout."

Krieg glared. "It wasn't my idea."

Kaiser was brought up short, but only momentarily. "Oh. Well, still, a good move. The less in the way of distractions we have, the better right now."

"Distractions, yes," responded Krieg. "I notice your wife and children were out of town before it even happened. Convenient, no?"

Kaiser restrained the urge to roll his eyes. "I told you how that happened."

"Yes," Krieg agreed, his voice heavy with irony. "You did. They were warned ahead of time by a cape that we've barely heard of. One who spends his days as a security guard. One who you apparently confronted last night, but came away with no real answers."

"Because I wasn't there for a fight; he had, after all, done me that favour," Kaiser reiterated. "Also, he had Armsmaster and Miss Militia with him."

"And you had Night and Fog with you," Krieg shot back. "Who, I note, are not here right now."

"I asked them to accompany me for ease of getting in, and for a show of strength, should one be needed," Kaiser told him patiently. "They are still uncomfortable with rejoining the Empire, especially after they've been outed."

He paused, unwilling to say more on the subject; Purity had apparently contacted the couple, as well as Justin, to give them warning about the possible unmasking. But she did not contact me. That still stung.

He looked around the table, in an attempt to change the subject. "But we're not here to talk about that. We're here to talk about what we're going to do to get past this." He nodded to Krieg. "James, you've done well in salvaging much of our assets. But even so, Medhall will be going into receivership, unless we can produce a puppet to take it over."

Krieg nodded reluctantly at the praise. "If we do, he had better be a good one. Anyone who steps up to the plate will be scrutinised down to the microscopic level by the PRT and the regular authorities. Anyone showing even the most tenuous connection to us will be hammered, hard."

"Unfortunately, yes," agreed Kaiser. "In addition, our civilian identities will probably need to be abandoned altogether." A motion farther down the table caught his eye. He looked past Stormtiger and Victor to Hookwolf. "Yes, Bradley?"

"Fake identities?" grunted the former cage fighter. "New civilian identities, same as the old ones?"

"We will have to go that route eventually, I presume," Kaiser agreed. "But given that it's our real faces, not just our names, that are splashed all over the news and the internet, we would have to assume some level of disguise before we would no longer be recognised. So for now, it's our villainous identities or nothing. I rather think that any assets that we held in our civilian identities either have been seized, frozen or are being watched."

Victor raised a hand slightly; Kaiser nodded his way. "You have something to suggest?"

"As you know, I am a man of many skills," Victor responded, with not much in the way of modesty. "Among other things, years ago, I acquired a working knowledge of plastic surgery. If anyone wants a new face, I can give them one."

"That may work on some of us," Kaiser admitted. "Others," he glanced at Hookwolf, "perhaps not so much. And certain among us," his eyes rested on Cricket, "may not wish to have our distinguishing marks removed."

She nodded in agreement; he went on. "And in any case, this is my face. I am not about to allow the mere fact that I have been outed, unmasked, as the leader of the most powerful parahuman group in Brockton Bay to force me to change it one iota. So Max Anders is a wanted criminal?" He sneered. "Let me be a wanted criminal. But I am also Kaiser. And that is still a name with which to reckon."

"So, in other words," Krieg observed, "business as usual."

Kaiser nodded. "Business as usual. But given that Medhall will shortly be no longer a going concern, we will double down on the criminal activity. ABB is staggering, weak. We will focus our efforts on the Asians, take as much territory as possible."

Security did me a favour there too, he mused, even if he did not know or realise it. With Lung and Bakuda out of the picture, the ABB will be so much easier to drive out.

With the thought came the memory of the man himself, talking harshly to Kaiser. Normally, Max would never have let anyone use that tone to him, but the explicit threat of Armsmaster and Miss Militia, plus his own lingering feelings of vague gratitude, had held him back.

I don't like you, Allen had said. In fact, I despise the whole white-supremacist movement, and I don't know who's worse; the morons who actually believe that a lack of melanin is the true measure of a man, or the hypocrites who encourage that belief in others, just so they can capitalise on the morons.

The descriptions galled Kaiser, if only for the simple-minded – and misguided – belief behind them. Couldn't the man see?

I am no moron, he told himself. Nor am I a hypocrite. I am a pragmatist.

=///=​

"Excuse me, Director. You have an incoming call."

Emily pressed the intercom key. "Who is it from?"

"She says … Tattletale?"

The Director blinked. "As in the Undersider Tattletale?"

"Yes, Director."

She pondered for a moment. Could it be a hoax? Could she be trying to get one over on me?

Well, I'll never know till I find out.

Picking up the receiver, she pressed the button that would record the call. "Put her through."

Several clicks later, the familiar cheerful teenage voice impinged upon her ear. "Director Piggot, how are you today?"

"I am well," Piggot replied briefly. "Why are you calling?"

"Well, me and the guys were talking, and we feel bad about how we broke your window. And your wall. And left your hospitality yesterday."

Emily took a deep breath. "The circumstances were explained to me. We do not hold you at fault. And while we're on the topic, thank you for the safe return of my troopers."

"That's no problem. They helped us out, so yeah. Anyway, the one who was shot, how's he doing?"

"Responding well to treatment, so I am told," Piggot responded. "However, I'm sure that you did not call me up just to apologise, or to ask about the welfare of my man."

The chirpy tone did not diminish; the Director could easily visualise the irritating vulpine grin that the teen supervillain usually sported. "Well, you've caught me out. I'm calling for another reason. We want to turn ourselves in."

Her brain stopped working for just a moment, stalled on attempting to make sense of the last sentence. She shook her head. "Excuse me. Did you just say … turn yourselves in?"

Tattletale chuckled in her ear. "Well, no, not exactly turn ourselves in, not so to speak. More like … join the Wards."

If Emily Piggot had not already been sitting down, she would have found it necessary to do so. Supervillains did not simply call up and ask to join the Wards. This was one of those things that did not happen.

And yet, it was happening.

She caught hold of herself, forced her mind back into operating mode. "If this is some sort of stupid prank -" she began.

"Nope, no prank," Tattletale assured her. "I was chatting to Security, and he kind of suggested that he would be talking to you about the possibility of doing that."

"But … you're supervillains," Emily protested.

"And Mannequin used to be known as Sphere," Tattletale pointed out, quite accurately.

"You're serious about this."

"Well, yeah. With Coil gone, we're not gonna have our little safety net any more. Plus, Security went to such lengths to get us out of the crime game, I hate to disappoint him. Also, I refuse to take a minimum-wage job at McDonalds. So … the Wards."

Piggot's head was whirling. "Regent and, uh, Bitch … the murder charges … "

"Pfeh. Any good lawyer could have those dealt with. Both are minors, there's a Master involved when it comes to Regent, and a trigger event situation when it comes to Rachel. Open and shut. Unless you want to pull a Canary on us."

Emily's lips tightened. She'd spoken to the young parahuman, and reviewed the girl's case. Despite her own distaste for capes, she considered that Ms Macabee had been badly done by, and that Allen had saved her from a short and miserable existence in the Birdcage.

"No," she admitted. "Any trial would be a fair one."

"Good to hear. Now, I'm guessing that you could slot me and Grue into the lineup fairly easily."

She couldn't believe that she was having this conversation; it was too surreal. "Theoretically, at least. However, you would be under quite a few restrictions until we were sure we could trust you."

Tattletale laughed easily. "Until just before the heat death of the universe, you mean?"

The phrase reminded Emily strongly of the information that Michael Allen had revealed on Friday night. She struggled to reply. "Not … necessarily."

The girl's voice became concerned. "Wow, something I just said hit you hard. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Damn Thinker powers. "Are you sincere about wanting to sign up for the Wards?"

"Well, it's that or a life of crime, and I don't think Security's finished with us yet."

She recalled suddenly the list of names that Allen had recited as 'must have'. Tattletale had been among them. He's been planning this from the beginning. And Tattletale would be easier to control if she's in the Wards. "I think you're correct," she replied carefully.

"You know something," Tattletale realised. "You know something about his plans. He's been talking to you. Last night; he spoke to you last night. It's something that involves some of us."

God damned Thinker powers. "I can not speak to you over the phone about this," gritted the Director.

"But you'll speak to me face to face?"

Emily realised that she had just trapped herself. "I … possibly. But we need to speak about Regent and … Bitch, first. If you come into the Wards, with Grue, what are they willing to do, in order to stay out of trouble?"

"Wait a minute. I'll join the Wards in a hot Brockton Bay minute if it means getting more access to Security's plans. But Grue wants something else."

"His sister," Piggot filled in. "He wants custody."

She had hoped to catch Tattletale off guard, even for a moment, but it was not to be. "He told you." The girl's voice was unsurprised.

"Yes," she agreed. "Grue wants custody of his sister. How old is she, anyway?"

"Thirteen," Tattletale told her. "And trust me, with the home situation she's been in, he's by far the best guardian she could have."

"Hm," she replied non-committally. "You want people to understand that you're the smartest person in the room, Regent wants to not go back to Heartbreaker, and Bitch … wants to be left alone with her dogs."

"Huh." The teen sounded vaguely respectful. "He has been speaking to you." She paused. "How much of that can you deliver?"

"I'm the Director of the Brockton Bay PRT," Emily reminded her. "I can deliver as much, or as little, of that as I see fit. My question to you is, if I deliver, will you come in, and stay in?"

"If Security thinks I should, then sure," the girl replied impudently. "Regent's not happy at the idea, but we're slowly convincing him that even Heartbreaker would hesitate to try to take him out of the Wards. And Rachel's not altogether sure how this is going to work."

Emily took a deep breath. "Security spoke to me earlier. He suggested a single, large dog pound for the whole city, taking in all the strays. And to put Rachel in charge of it. And to help pay for it, she trains dogs for police, the military, drug sniffing, whatever. She can train them for that, right?"

Tattletale chuckled. "Count on it. If anyone can train a dog to do anything, it's Rachel." She paused. "You're serious."

"If it would get those damned monster dogs off of my streets, then yes, I'm serious."

"And Regent? The murder charge? What sort of membership would he have?"

Piggot grimaced. "As you said, the murder charge probably would not stand up in court. But I don't like the idea of having a Master like him in the Wards … "

"Shadow Stalker." It was a reminder. If you were okay with her in the Wards ...

She took the point. "Fine. If I partnered him with you and Grue, could you keep him in line? And we'll need to know the exact limits of his power."

"Oh, we can smack him upside the head any time he starts acting out," Tattletale assured the Director. In the background, Piggot thought she heard someone yell "Hey!" in protest.

"Good," she replied. "I'll talk to my people for the legal side of things. You make your arrangements, and make sure that you're all agreed. Call me back in one week, and we'll see where we're at."

"Sounds like a plan," Tattletale agreed. "Bye, Ems."

She hung up before the Director could protest. She had to get that one last tweak in.

Well, at least it wasn't 'Miss Piggy'.

Slowly, she put the phone down. Did I just negotiate the transition of a bunch of supervillains into the Wards? Or was I just carrying out part of Michael Allen's plan?

No matter which it was, the fact remained that if the Undersiders were folded into the Wards, one more gang was gone from Brockton Bay's underworld. The Empire Eighty-Eight was in serious trouble following the mass unmasking, the ABB was missing two out of three of its capes, and now the Undersiders were quitting.

All that was left were …

"The Merchants," she said out loud. "And what are they going to do?"

=///=​

Adam Mustain lounged back in his favourite chair, the least ratty of the ones scattered about in the Merchants' most popular safe house. The used syringe lay in his slack, slightly open hand, and his sleeve was still rolled up to show the track-marks on his arm. He stared at the world, at the vibrant colours, the tiny sparks that lit up to contrast one thing from another.

He became aware of someone shaking his shoulder. The world snapped into focus, and he looked up to see Squealer, bending over him.

"Hey, babe," he greeted her, trying to pull her into his lap. "Here for some Skidmark lovin'?"

"No, Adam, listen to me," she told him urgently.

What's so urgent? I'm here, she's here. It's a thing. He tugged again, and she fell into his lap.

"What's up, honeybunch?" he enquired, his hands busy.

She giggled. "Bakuda's been arrested."

He was so surprised that he stopped what he was doing. "Pigshit."

She wriggled around until she was sitting upright. "No, it's true. Come see."

And all of a sudden, he did want to come and see. Right now. In fact, five minutes ago would have been better. He stood up abruptly, unceremoniously dumping Squealer from his lap.

Predictably, she squealed as her rump hit the floor, but he barely noticed. Stomping into the room where they had stashed the big-screen TV, he found Mush smoking it up while watching Ren & Stimpy reruns. The wizened little man was rolling on the floor, cackling at the antics of the cartoon characters.

Skidmark grabbed the remote and changed the channel; Mush didn't seem to notice. He just kept on cackling.

The energy was now fizzing through Skidmark's brain, and he overshot the news channel twice. Third time was the charm; he threw the remote down and sat down, then stood up, then sat down again. He couldn't sit still; he stood up again as the news scrolled across the screen. Squealer followed him into the room, rubbing at her butt; he had no idea why.

"I thought you said Bakuda had been arrested," he told her accusingly.

"She has," Squealer protested. "Look!"

He looked at the screen, and sure enough, there was the bomb bitch herself, being pushed into the back of a PRT van. Words scrolled underneath: "Bomb Threat at Winslow Ends in Arrest".

Skidmark suddenly cackled, as discordantly as Mush had, earlier. "Well, fuck my arse and call me Bubba!"

Squealer stared at him. "What?"

He grabbed her shoulders and stared at her. "Don't you get it?"

She blinked. "Get what?"

It was so clear to him. "The big turd and the wet fart, both arrested! The Arse Buggery Bandits are going tits-up in a big way! And we can get in on the ground floor!"

It finally dawned on her. "We can take their territory?"

He kissed her soundly. "Yes! We can be top shit of the shit heap for once! Kaiser and his cocksuckers will be playing keep-away with the pigs, so who's gonna stop us? The Undersiders? Uber and Leet? The Protectorate?"

Squealer burst out laughing. "Yeah, that's gonna fuckin' happen."

Skidmark looked at the TV; Mush had found the remote and changed it back to the cartoons, but he didn't see it. All he could see was the Destiny that was unfolding before him.

"Trust me, my greasy little squeeze," he told her, "the Merchants are going places."

=///=​

Amy was so agitated, she had risen from the chair and was pacing back and forth. "He says he trusts me, but I've never had anyone refuse healing before who didn't dislike capes! And he could have died!"

Mrs Yamada was sitting, watching her, entirely composed. "Do you really think he doesn't trust you?" she asked quietly. "After all he's done for you?"

"Yes. No!" Amy burst out. "I don't know!" She flopped down in the chair. "He got a supervillain to operate on him instead of me! I mean, I know she's really good at what she does, but what she also does is kill people! And he trusted her to operate instead of asking me to help!"

"You told me that the bomb had several booby-traps," Mrs Yamada pointed out. "Do you think you could have removed it safely?"

Amy bit her lip. "I would have tried," she admitted. "And maybe I would have succeeded."

"Or maybe not," Mrs Yamada reminded her. "Mr Allen knows a great deal about how your powers work, and about how Bonesaw's work as well, right?"

Amy nodded. "He knows all sorts of stuff."

"Well then," the therapist went on in a voice of reason, "maybe he knew that she was just the better person for the job, in that particular circumstance."

Amy curled up, arms around her legs. "I guess," she admitted. "But I just don't like it."

Mrs Yamada tilted her head slightly. "There's something else, isn't there?" she asked.

Amy nodded jerkily. "Afterward, he went down to where she was in the cell, and … and talked to her. And hugged her. Treated her like … "

" … like a normal person?" prompted Mrs Yamada. "Like someone who deserves to be treated nicely? Like he's been treating you?"

Amy nodded again, slowly. "Yeah. Like that. Like everything she's ever done wrong doesn't matter any more."

"Like she deserves a second chance, perhaps?" asked Mrs Yamada gently.

The words had occurred to Amy before, but now, with her therapist saying them, it was as though a light had gone on in her head. "Oh my god, yes. And Canary. And the Undersiders. Holy shit. How have I not seen this?"

"It's not an uncommon thing," Mrs Yamada assured her. "You're too close to the problem. You're on the inside, looking out, rather than on the outside, looking in." She raised a finger. "Also, before we get off this topic, regarding the subject of him not trusting you."

Amy blinked. "Uh, yes?"

"As I recall, he's extracted a promise from you to not do any healing on people while this therapy is going on, yes?"

Amy nodded. "Yeah. He doesn't want me getting back in the same old habits."

Mrs Yamada nodded. "A wise choice. Well, consider this. He's willing to suffer permanent injury or death to ensure that you don't backslide. He considers your mental health to be more important than his own well-being. What does this say about him?"

Amy's eyes opened wide. Again, these were words she had heard before, but the true import had not struck home until now. "Oh my god. Oh my god. He's willing to do that for me?"

Mrs Yamada's shoulders lifted slightly. "It seems to be the case." She glanced at the clock. "Well, time's nearly up for today. How do you feel?"

Amy smiled at her. "I feel great. Thank you, Mrs Yamada." She rose from the chair. "I … can I hug you?"

The therapist rose also. "Of course."

Amy hugged the older woman, and felt herself being embraced in turn. It was a nice feeling, a very motherly feeling. I've been missing this, and I didn't even know it.

Disengaging from the hug, she sniffled; Mrs Yamada handed her a box of tissues without comment.

They were walking into the outer office when the buzzer sounded on the desk behind them. Mrs Yamada opened the door to admit Danny and Taylor once more.

"Hey, kiddo, how did it go?" asked Danny.

Amy smiled at him. "It went great. I hope you weren't too bored, waiting to pick me up."

"Nah," Taylor answered for him. "We went down to the Boardwalk, just sat and talked. We've been needing to do that for awhile."

"That's good to hear, Taylor," Mrs Yamada said approvingly. "I wish more people would do that. It would save many of my colleagues a good deal of work."

"We'd fallen out of the habit until recently," Danny told her. "But in the last week, we've been reconnecting. It feels good."

"Well, keep it up," the therapist told him. She paused. "Actually … there was something I like to do with my clients. In the office, they're away from their social setting, which can be a good thing. But sometimes it helps to see them in their social setting as well. Just to get a baseline. So I was wondering … would it be all right if I dropped around one evening, spent a little time with the three of you?"

Amy giggled. "Observing us in our natural habitat, you mean?" she joked.

Mrs Yamada chuckled. "Well, if you want to put it like that. But really, it would be just a friendly social call. Would that be all right?"

Danny glanced at the girls, then back at her. "Uh, sure," he agreed. "If no-one's got any objections?"

Taylor shrugged. "I have no problems with it. Amy?"

"No, no problems," Amy agreed. She reached out and shook Mrs Yamada's hand. "I'd love to see you any time."

The therapist nodded. "Excellent. I'll call ahead when I'm coming over."

"We'll see you then," Danny agreed. He shook her hand as well. "Okay, time to go. Come on, girls. Let's let Mrs Yamada get home to her own family."

"Goodbye, Amy. See you Monday."

Amy smiled back at Mrs Yamada. "I'll see you then."

They left the office; as they walked down the pavement, Amy captured Taylor's hand and squeezed it. Taylor grinned and squeezed back.

"So, where are we going now?" asked Amy.

"Oh," Danny replied casually, "Taylor and I were thinking of taking in a movie. What do you think?"

Amy grabbed Danny's hand, so that she was walking between the two of them. "I think that's a wonderful idea." Such was the lightness of her heart that she fell into step between them, swinging her arms to keep time.

It was not entirely certain who started it, but the other two took it up in short order; by the time they got to the car, all three were singing, "We're off to see the wizard ..."

Just as Danny was unlocking the car, he turned to the girls. "So, did you hear the one about the magical time-travelling dinosaur?"

Amy frowned; Taylor shook her head. "No …?"

Danny grinned as he got the door open. "Yeah. He was known as the Wonderful Lizard of Was."

Amy facepalmed; Taylor groaned. "Oh, Dad."

And off they went to the movies.


End of Chapter Thirty-Three

 

[Ack]

Security!

Chapter Thirty-Four: Moving On


Sunday, 17 April 2011

I wandered through the Weymouth Mall, amazed by the fact that the place could afford to be open on a Sunday. I tried to match up what I was seeing to the descriptions I could remember from the story, then got a sense of deja vu, as I remembered doing this at Winslow on my first day.

Somewhere around one of the exits, a different Taylor would slap a different Emma … I stopped to think about it. Not this early in the storyline. A week from now. Huh.

Barring a catastrophic alteration in events, it would never happen now. And in fact, the confrontation that would in canon have resulted from the assault had already happened, on my first day at Winslow. Emma was no longer bullying Taylor, who was much more confident and happy in herself.

Sophia Hess, the explosive ingredient in the mix, was out of action, awaiting trial for attempted murder. I could still recall that confrontation, the sick feeling as I heard the snick of the crossbow releasing its arrow, the streak of its travel across the few metres that separated us, the solid impact as it struck my stab vest.

That could have gone so wrong, I told myself. I didn't have Contessa's protection then.

And to be honest, I didn't know whether I still had it, after the information that I had supplied on Friday night. Contessa had not seen fit to tell me if I was still irreplaceable in the grand scheme of things, or if they had it all in hand. I've given them the bare bones of what to do to beat the big guy, I mused. This world has Thinkers in plenty. Maybe they can pull it all off now, without any farther assistance from me.

Here's hoping. Saving the world is tough work.

I spotted the store I was looking for, and dismissed the weighty thoughts from my mind. Right at that moment, I had higher priorities.

=//=//=​

Director Piggot eyed the flat boxes I was carrying. "Board games?" she asked. "Really?"

I nodded. "Really."

"And what do you think that will achieve?" Her tone was more curious than disparaging; I took encouragement from that.

"She needs human contact. Interaction. Someone to talk to, to listen to her. Once we can arrange a therapist for her, I won't be needed so much, but until then … "

"Until then, you're going to go into that cell and play board games with a mass murderer."

"She was made into a mass murderer by Jack Slash," I pointed out. "He knew exactly how to break her down and then build her back up into Bonesaw. I'm doing my best to break down Bonesaw and let Riley be a person again."

She looked dubious. "You're talking about Jack Slash as though he was some kind of Master."

I raised an eyebrow. "He led a team composed of the most violent, deadly and vicious parahumans on the planet, kept them all pointed in the same direction and not turning on him, for over twenty years. You're saying he wasn't a Master on some level?"

That caused her expression to turn very thoughtful indeed.

" … very well," she agreed. "We'll be investigating your games closely, of course. Regulations."

I nodded. "I'd be the last one to argue," I told her. "I'd really hate for there to be something in there that I didn't know about, that causes problems." I paused. "Also, could I borrow a folding table?"

She shook her head in mock vexation. "You try my patience, Mr Allen. You really do."

I grinned. "Yeah, but you love me for it."

She snorted.

=//=//=​

The guard pressed the button on the intercom and intoned, "Visitor."

Riley looked around as I entered the outer cell, lugging the game boxes under one arm, and carrying the folding table in my other hand.

The games had been investigated as closely as Piggot had warned me they would be; each piece had been visually examined, X-rayed, weighed, sniffed for drugs and, finally, thoroughly irradiated so as to make sure it was absolutely sterile. Each game had made it through with flying colours, but I wasn't quite sure how many times they would be able to survive this strenuous process.

"Mike!" Riley greeted me gladly. The door clanged shut behind me, then the perspex and bars moved aside.

"Hey, kiddo," I replied. "How you doing? Get these before I drop them, please?" As I spoke, I staggered into the cell proper; she relieved me of the boxes, even as they slipped from my grasp. Behind me, the perspex and bars slid closed.

"What are these?" she asked, looking at the boxes. "Board games?"

"And a folding table," I agreed. "I do not sit on the floor. Not at my size."

She blinked at me. "But … board games?"

Unfolding the table legs, I placed it upright. "What, don't you like board games?"

She looked suddenly lost. "I … I've never really played many."

I took the boxes from her and placed them on the table, then hugged her. She accepted it and leaned against me, returning the embrace.

"It's okay," I told her. "I'll show you how."

We both knew why she hadn't played board games since she was six years old, of course. And if she had played games since then, I wasn't sure I wanted to know what the rules were. Or the stakes.

She looked up at me. "I'd like that."

I grinned and ruffled her blonde ringlets. "Sure thing, kiddo."

She hugged me again. "Thanks."

I picked the bed/bench to sit on, while Riley got the chair. She offered her seat to me, but I shook my head. "I break chairs," I advised her. "That one's suited to your weight, not mine."

Placing the games side by side on the table, I tapped them one at a time. "Take your pick. Building game, racetrack game, thinking game, cooperative game." They were not exactly the same as the games I had known, back home, but they looked close enough to be fun to play.

"Ooh," she said, looking from one to another, her dubious expression giving way to growing enthusiasm. "How about this one?"

I grinned and opened the box. "Let's do it."

=//=//=​

When I next looked at my watch, hours had passed. Riley, with her nimble fingers, turned out to be better at me in the building game, but I had edged her out in the thinking game. We had broken even in the racetrack game, and she had thoroughly enjoyed the cooperative game.

We high-fived at the successful completion of the latter, snatching victory from the very jaws of defeat. "Wow," she marvelled. "That was awesome. Can we play again?"

I grimaced and shook my head. "I enjoyed it too. But I'm afraid I need to get moving. Okay if I drop in for a game tomorrow afternoon?"

"Oh yes," she agreed. "Can you? Please?"

"Sure," I told her. "Actually, can you do me a favour and take care of the games for me? I mean, I know you're not infectious, and you know you're not infectious, but I'd rather not subject them to decontamination on the way out."

Her face lit up. "I can keep them?"

We finished packing away the game and I stood up. "Sure. I know you'll take good care of them. See you tomorrow?"

She grabbed me in a hug. "Yeah! Thanks!"

I hugged her back. "Take care, kiddo. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

She leaned her head against my chest. "I won't. I promise."

I ruffled her hair. She giggled. "I know."

=//=//=​

It was actually hard to part from her, but I managed it. Even as the door swung shut, she was waving goodbye, and I was waving back.

Then, of course, I had to go through the decontamination.

As I was pulling my shirt back on, the PRT guard turned to me. I couldn't see his expression through the opaque faceplate, but his tone of voice told me enough.

"Why do you spend so much time with her?" he asked. "Don't you know what she's done?"

I nodded. "Yeah. And I know that she's a twelve year old girl who's survived for six years in the company of the worst mass murderers on the planet by learning to do what they do. And I also know she can be saved, turned to the good. She may not be able to help as many people as she's hurt and killed, but I know she'll never help anyone if that kill order gets carried out, or if you just stuff her in a cell and forget her."

He shook his head. "Once a villain, always a villain."

"Not necessarily," I told him. "And not in her case."

"You're wrong," he told me flatly. "Villains will always turn on you."

I held up my hands. This was not an argument I could win; he had his beliefs and I had mine, and never the twain would meet. "Tell you what," I suggested. "We'll agree to disagree."

"Whatever," he grunted, turning back to his station. "Just don't blame me if she stabs you in the back someday soon."

I remained silent as I left the decontamination area; no answer I could have given would have satisfied him.

=//=//=​

Meals were being delivered to the cells as I left the area; this made me hungry, so I decided to make use of the limited-access pass I had been granted, and made my way to the cafeteria. Just as I was entering, I encountered a familiar face; Canary, also heading into the cafeteria, in the company of a PRT soldier. He wore a helmet, but the faceplate was abbreviated to just a visor.

"Paige, how are you?" I asked. "It's good to see you."

The last time I had seen her was Thursday night, just after we'd taken down Coil. She'd looked tired and worn then; now, she looked rested and alert. Her prison sweats had been exchanged for a utilitarian coverall, and there was a spring in her step.

"Mike!" she replied, in that truly remarkable voice of hers. Turning to the soldier accompanying her, she went on, "Joe, have you met Mike?"

He shook his head. "Not to speak to, but I've seen you around. Aren't you that guy they call Security?"

I nodded. "More or less, yeah. Mike Allen." Looking at his uniform, I figured out that he was a corporal; his nametag read MCKENZIE. "So, you're Paige's bodyguard … watchdog … how does this work?"

"Well, I'm a 'special civilian contractor', Canary told me as we headed for the lunch line. "But with a Master talent like mine, whenever I go into a public area, I've got to have a guard with me. Just to make sure I don't try to control everyone in sight, I guess."

"Wow," I observed. "And you're okay with this?"

"It's also for Ms Macabee's protection," McKenzie put in unexpectedly. "The trial was quite public. The last thing we need is a hysterical mob attacking her."

I tilted my head in query. "So how do they know you won't try to control Corporal McKenzie here?"

She shrugged. "Joe's got electronic earpieces in his helmet. They take in my voice, strip out all the overtones, and feed him the basic meaning."

"Damn," I muttered. "That sucks. Joe, you're missing out on a treat."

Corporal McKenzie shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I get paid extra to follow her around, and I'm tone deaf anyway."

"Sounds legitimate." I turned back to Canary. "So, are they treating you all right? And what does a 'special civilian contractor' do, anyway?"

With our trays full, we headed to a table where people moved aside to let us sit. "Oh," she told me. "After the Coil bust, they got interested in the applications for crowd control. So I'm working with Armsmaster and Kid Win to see if they can't replicate my overtones."

I smiled. "Really?" I asked. I see what they're doing there. Armsmaster to make it as efficient as possible, and Kid Win to make it modular. And probably Dragon in the background to integrate it all into the Endbringer armbands. Very sneaky. I like it.

She nodded earnestly. "Really. It's not as much fun as when I was a singer, but it's so much better than that prison cell." And the Birdcage, she didn't say.

I nodded. "Yeah," I agreed. "Can't argue with that."

I started eating, then a thought struck me. "Do you get harassed much here, on base? Or does Corporal McKenzie keep them in line?"

She shook her head. "They're either polite, or they pretend I don't exist. The ones who were in on the Coil bust tend to be the polite ones."

"Well, you did a good job there," I confirmed.

She smiled. "Thank you. And thank you for getting me out of all of that. For showing them you trusted me. For being there when I needed someone in my corner."

I shrugged. "Hey, I just got you here. You're the one who impressed the hell out of Director Piggot."

She stared at me. "How do you know I impressed her?"

"Simple. You're still here." I glanced at the PRT soldier, who was eating steadily and efficiently. "Correct, Corporal?"

He nodded once. "Correct, Mr Allen."

We chatted as we ate; Paige had a series of anecdotes from her singing days that nearly made me snort my drink out of my nose. Even Corporal McKenzie seemed to crack a smile every now and again.

"Well, it was nice seeing you again," I told her as we finished our respective meals. "Take care, okay?"

She nodded. "You too. I saw you on the news on Friday afternoon. I'm glad you're okay."

I grinned wryly. "I'm glad I'm okay too. Bye, Paige."

"Bye, Mike."

=//=//=​

The PRT is a law-enforcement agency, but contrary to popular opinion, its main function does not involve enforcing the law. What the PRT excels at is in bringing parahumans together to face massive threats; Endbringers are the most common of these, but by far not the only ones. And as such, each PRT Director holds a list of phone numbers by which they can contact – in the strictest confidence, of course – the major crime figures in the jurisdiction overseen by that PRT Director. Criminal capes are, after all, still capes.

Boston was of course outside Piggot's bailiwick, but a phone call to Armstrong had netted her the number she wanted. She stared at it now, written in neat pen on a file card.

One by one, she tapped out the digits on her office phone. Twice, she stopped and cancelled the call. The third time around, she carried it through.

The ringtone burred in her ear. It rang three times before the phone at the other end was picked up.

"You have reached the office of Accord. Who is speaking?" For a moment, she thought that she might be speaking to the man himself, but no, it was a woman, very precise of speech.

Emily cleared her throat. "This is Director Emily Piggot of PRT East-North-East. I wish to speak to Accord on a matter rather important to both of us."

The receptionist was a little slow in answering. "Madam Director, I see here that you have no jurisdiction over Boston. What is your interest in Accord?"

Piggot did not, of course, want to divulge certain information over the phone. "There is extremely important planning that needs to be done, and I have been advised that Accord is by far the best choice to approach for this."

The receptionist, or whoever she was, did not seem to think much of her evasiveness. "Madam Director; in the first place, Accord is a busy man. In the second place, without an indication of your needs, or even why the Director of a local branch of the PRT is calling on a supervillain for aid, I cannot even pass on your request to him. You do understand my position, of course."

The Director pursed her lips, recalling what Allen had told her. "Very well. Simply tell him that we need his aid, and in return we of the PRT will take his Plan and do our level best to see it implemented in full."

There was another pause. "I beg your pardon. Which plan is this? My employer creates many, every day."

"The Plan," she replied patiently. "The big one. The one that set him on this path. He will know which one I mean. Just pass that on, please."

She hung up, and went back to dealing with paperwork. There was always paperwork.

Three minutes and thirty seconds later, her phone rang. She picked it up.

"Director Piggot speaking."

"This is Accord."

She smiled, or at least bared her teeth. Gotcha.

=//=//=​

Taylor must have spotted me pulling up outside the house; or perhaps it was her bugs. I had not quite gotten to the front steps before she was opening the door.

"Hi, Mike!" she greeted me cheerfully. "How are you?"

"Fighting fit, and twice as ugly," I replied equally cheerfully. Climbing the steps with a bag of groceries in one hand, I offered my other fist to bump; she bumped it. "How's things with you?"

"Oh, you'll love the new bugs Amy's worked out for me," she grinned. "Come on in. Oh, and we've got another visitor, too."

I had noted the car at the side of the road, but I had not connected it with the Hebert house. "Oh, okay. So long as I'm not intruding … "

She grabbed me by the hand and tugged. "You're never intruding. Come on; I think you know her anyway."

I was puzzled. "I do?"

Conversation was audible from the kitchen; I allowed Taylor to lead me that way. We emerged from the hall into the kitchen, and I saw who the visitor was.

I didn't recognise her immediately, as her back was to me. She was deep in conversation with Amy, while Danny leaned back and sipped at his coffee. All I could really tell was that she was of medium height and had dark hair.

Danny rose when he saw me. "Mike," he greeted me, stepping around the table with his hand out. "How are you?"

We shook. "I'm doing okay, Danny. How about you?"

Amy's face lit up, and she jumped up from her chair. "Mike!" I braced myself for the hug. She put her all into it, and almost succeeded in driving me back a step.

"Whoof!" I complained. "Careful there. I'm a delicate flower."

That got a laugh from Taylor, Amy and Danny, while their guest rose and regarded me coolly. She had Asian features, and was about Taylor's height. I was just putting together who she was, when she spoke. "I know your voice. Have we met?"

I shook my head. "We have not, but it's a pleasure." I extended my hand. "Mrs Yamada, I presume?"

She nodded as we shook. "You would be … Mr Allen, then?"

I nodded. "That's me. It's really good to meet you." I nodded toward Amy, who had let me go by this point. "I'm guessing you're here to see her?"

"Yes, and no," she replied. "I'm here mainly to see how Amy gets along in her home environment, but also to talk to those around her. Your description of her situation was sufficiently serious that I really do want to get the full picture, to ensure that she gets the best treatment I can give her."

I nodded. "I can understand that. I'll let you get back to it, then."

She smiled. "Thank you. But I will be wanting to talk to you later. There are some things I am curious about."

Taylor snorted; Amy giggled. Danny just coughed. I gazed at them blandly, while Mrs Yamada looked at each of them with a faint air of puzzlement. "Did I say something amusing?" she asked.

"Mike gets that a lot," Taylor explained, trying quite obviously not to smile.

When Taylor did not elaborate further, Mrs Yamada nodded, but there was a faint air of curiosity about her. "I … see," she replied. "Would you object to me asking questions anyway, Mr Allen?"

I shrugged. "Sure, I don't mind. I don't promise that you'll get the answers you think you want, but you can ask."

She gave me a measured nod. "An interesting answer, Mr Allen. I look forward to speaking with you."

I returned the nod. "Not a problem. I just need to ask Danny something, if that's okay?"

She smiled. "Be my guest. Now, Amy, you were telling me about your morning routine …?"

Danny looked at me curiously; I indicated the living room with a tilt of my head. We walked through, stopped far enough away that our voices would not be heard from the kitchen.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Does Mrs Yamada know that Taylor's a cape?" I asked in a low tone. "Because I don't want to out Taylor if she doesn't, and I don't want to spend ten minutes dancing around the subject if she does."

Danny nodded. "She does," he assured me. "We talked about it, and decided that she should know. After all, Amy says she treats the Wards, and they trust her."

"Oh, she's trustworthy," I reassured him. "She's really, really good at her job."

"So I see," he agreed.

Taylor wandered through from the kitchen. "So what are you two conspiring about?" she asked in amused tones.

"Nothing much," I told her. "Just checking to see if Mrs Yamada knows about you being a cape."

"Oh yeah," she replied. "I've asked her for advice on joining the Wards, and she mentioned the fact that they have a public relations guy."

"That would be Glenn Chambers," I responded. "He lives and breathes public relations. Image is everything, you see." I paused. "You might want to think about making your costume a little lighter in colour, less dark and edgy. Plus, he might lean on the fact that you use bugs. Bugs are scary, in the volumes that you can use them. He'll push for you to use butterflies and other pretty bugs."

She frowned. "But that's silly. Bugs are what I use. Butterflies can't do much of anything except obscure the vision."

I grinned. "And a swarm of bugs with butterflies around the outside … "

Her eyes lit up. "Oh. Oh yeah." She paused. "Also, is there anything that says I can't use bugs that look pretty but can also do stuff?"

I wasn't sure what she was getting at. "Uh, please explain?"

She grinned. "Suppose Amy made a butterfly with a stinger. Or with spinnerets."

I blinked. "That's … entirely plausible. In fact, I should have thought of that myself."

Danny tousled her hair. "Good going, kiddo."

She blushed pink with pride.

=//=//=​

"You deliberately chose to have Amy placed with the Heberts, didn't you?" observed Mrs Yamada.

I took my time about answering; we sat across the table from one another. Taylor and Amy were in the back yard, demonstrating a new bug trick to Danny; from the sounds of it, they were wrapping him in web lines.

"If you're saying I had a specific reason, then yes, I did," I replied. "Several, in fact. You're aware that Taylor was bullied until very recently?"

She nodded. "I am." Her head inclined my way. "I understand that you are the reason that this is no longer the case?"

I shrugged modestly. "Saw something that needed fixing. Fixed it."

"Indeed." Her tone of voice was dry. "You rang me on Friday the eighth, as I recall. You arranged for me to speak with Amy in six days' time."

"I did, yes."

"So you were planning that far ahead to speak with Amy, and to have me speak with her. Were you also planning to have her lodged with the Heberts, back then?"

I didn't see the point in denying it. "That was the basic idea, yes."

"Also, in speaking with Amy, I have discovered that you walked into the bank, and walked out with her, mere instants before the bank was robbed. You also alerted the PRT so that they were able to arrive in time to assist Taylor in capturing the culprits – but not so early that they could prevent the robbery in the first place. Am I right?"

I blinked. This was starting to get a little uncomfortable. Mrs Yamada was delving into topics that I would much rather have left undelved. "That's how it turned out, yes."

"But you knew that the bank would be robbed, six days previously," Mrs Yamada persisted gently. "Why did you let it get robbed? Why did you perform the charade of 'saving' Amy from it, when you could have prevented the whole thing?"

"Because that was the only time and place that I knew I could get hold of her," I replied honestly. "And without the bank robbery as proof that I knew exactly what I was talking about, I could not be sure that she would listen when I told her that I could help her."

"So you manipulated her," Mrs Yamada concluded.

I nodded reluctantly. "For her own good, but yes," I agreed.

"Just as you manipulated Taylor," she went on remorselessly.

I paused. Had I manipulated Taylor? "You're going to have to explain that one," I suggested; my throat was drier than I had remembered.

"You could have told her not to go to that bathroom, or you could have intercepted the other girls on the way there, and given them a warning. You didn't need to let the girls carry out their prank."

I caught myself squeezing my own fingers together, and forced myself to lay my hands flat on the table. "I had to catch them red-handed," I told her, trying not to sound defensive. "If I had warned her, or given them a warning, they would have known I was on to them, and gotten more careful. I had to bring a halt to it, immediately. It had to be over and done. Taylor needed it to be over and done."

"And you needed her to have confidence in you," she filled in what I had not said. "You needed her to trust you."

"Hell yes, I needed her to trust me," I agreed, throwing caution to the winds. "I'm the one authority figure she's ever going to meet, who's both able and willing to effect change on her behalf. I've seen her life, and it's been an endless stream of being disappointed, dicked over, or straight-out betrayed by virtually every authority figure she ever meets. I'm changing that."

She tilted her head. "But why? What makes Taylor Hebert so important? And is Amy so important as well, or is she just an adjunct to Taylor?"

I took a deep breath. "Before I answer that, Mrs Yamada," I told her, "let me just say that I knew you were good. But I didn't realise till just now exactly how good you are."

"So noted," she acknowledged, with a hint of amusement in her eyes.

I thought about how to phrase the next bit. "I'm … running plans on several levels at once," I told her. "I have multiple goals, all of which are mutually compatible, or should be. Taylor and Amy are on a list I have been keeping, and occasionally adding to. They are people who are either in a bad place, or need helping out of a bad situation. I want to save them, help them, give them a second chance."

She inclined her head toward me. "That's a very … altruistic concept," she allowed. "But you mentioned plans on different levels."

I nodded. "Getting Taylor and Amy into a good headspace is one layer of the plan. Ensuring that Taylor does not become a villain, and in fact becomes a successful superhero, is another layer. Getting Amy to therapy with you was part of the plan, as was … your other patient."

"Who is now attending, I am pleased to say," she acknowledged. I noted that she didn't give me a progress report; I suspected that it might be against some rule or another.

I took a breath. "Preparing for potential incoming Endbringer, while at the same time working to end the Endbringer attacks for good. Hoping like hell part B works, while pushing hard on part A."

Comprehension was dawning, and she gave me a sympathetic look. "And you don't have anyone to work with. It's all you."

"You're the first one I've even been able to talk to about it," I groaned, running my hands over my scalp, digging my fingertips in. "Also, the absolute top layer of the plan. Preventing the end of the world. In which Taylor and your other patient also feature, as well as other people I've been helping out of a bad situation."

"And Amy?" she enquired.

I shrugged. "She's a biokinetic, and a marvellous healer. She's also loaded with more issues than a comic book store. She was heading for a breakdown. I need that not to happen, both for her own good, and so if and when the apocalypse event does happen, she's on top of her game. Because there's something that she just might have to do, and I don't want her flinching if it comes to it. And giving her a best friend and therapy is preferable to sending her to the Birdcage to learn confidence from her father."

She blinked. "You're serious."

I nodded. "Before I got here, that's what would have happened."

She didn't speak for several moments. "Well," she observed at last, "you were right about one thing. Those were answers I did not expect."

"So what happens now?" I asked. "Do you spill all to the girls, to Danny?" I wasn't quite sure what the result of that would be, but the phrase 'not good' popped to the surface of my mind and bobbed there.

She shook her head. "No. But I will be watching. Very carefully indeed. Just so you know."

"That's fair," I acknowledged.

She smiled slightly. "And if you ever feel as though you need someone to vent to, you know where to find me." A pause. "And I'd be fascinated to learn how you know what you know, including potential future events. But I presume you'd prefer to keep that information to yourself."

I nodded. "You presume correctly. I really don't want to disrupt the whole world by letting information like that get out."

She raised an eyebrow. "That explosive?"

I was about to say 'thermonuclear', then I paused and revised my description. "Think ... Behemoth juggling tactical nuclear hand grenades."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Then I'll leave it alone. I don't want it blowing up in my face."

"Thanks." I paused. "Though I would like advice on something else."

Her entire pose became attentive. More attentive. "Yes?"

I told her about Riley, and how I wanted to get her therapy. "But I don't know how they're going to go about letting a therapist in there, and I don't know that I'd trust her with anyone other than you, so for the time being, I'm visiting her on a daily basis until Amy's had her month with you." I looked at her. "Any advice?"

She frowned. "She really wants to reform?"

I nodded. "Basically. But the Bonesaw persona is still pretty strong. And she may have dangerous implants still."

"And you trust her not to hurt you when you go in?"

I shrugged. "She saved my life. And I play board games with her."

She looked pensive. "If she's as badly damaged as I suspect, then your visits will be doing her good, but it might not be enough. She may backslide. She's made a definitive statement, agreeing to therapy?"

I nodded.

"Very well. When do you visit her next?"

"Monday afternoon," I told her. "After I finish work."

She made a note. "May I attend then, and meet her?" she asked. "I would like to see if I can build a rapport."

"Sure," I answered. "Just remember that she hates being manipulated. Jack Slash did that to her for six years. If she even thinks that's happening … " I paused. "Just make sure you don't, okay?"

"Thank you for the warning," she told me soberly.

"That's okay," I assured her. "Friends don't let friends step in bear traps."

Her smile was wide and genuine. "Well spoken."

=//=//=​

The evening was a convivial affair; the groceries I brought over were well-received, and Mrs Yamada insisted on helping Danny do the cooking. Taylor and Amy and I chatted about bugs, and Arcadia, and joining the Wards. I found that they shared some of my tastes in literature and movies, divided though we were by a generation. Of course, some of the books and movies that they knew were out of my experience, and vice versa; I was careful not to name many movies produced after 1982.

They dragged me down to the basement, where Amy's bug creations lived in a series of cardboard boxes. The first one they showed me was the prototype relay bug, and the mass of eggs waiting to hatch into more. Then I saw the modified black widow, perched in its web, plump with eggs; shown a sample of its silk, I was seriously impressed by the strength.

There was an oversized wasp, which produced a similar substance to ketamine, but the amount produced was so small that a dozen or more were required to put an adult to sleep, according to Amy's calculations. However, even one or two stings would numb a person's hand to the point that the fingers would be unable to grasp a knife or gun.

But the piece de resistance was a bug with oversized eyes and a well-developed auditory capability, and a brain that was specifically set up to process the signals from both, to the point that Taylor was able to coherently see and hear via their senses.

"I know, I know, you said that I would learn eventually to listen in with ordinary bugs," she explained hastily. "And I'm practising, I really am. But for now, with these bugs I really can see and hear from a distance."

"It's cool," I assured her. "You and Amy make a great team, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm certainly not going to second-guess you now."

"But there was the idea you gave me earlier," Taylor reminded me.

"What idea?" asked Amy.

"Butterfly with a stinger or spinnerets or something similar," Taylor told her.

"Ooh," responded Amy. "Ooh.". Her eyes went unfocused, and she held out her hand. "Bring me," she began in commanding tones, " - a butterfly!". She paused, and in rather more normal tones, added, "And a wasp, if you don't mind."

Taylor grinned. "Yeth, mithtreth," she intoned. By now, I was chuckling, and Amy couldn't hold a straight face either. By the time a butterfly alighted on Amy's hand, accompanied by a wasp, they had gone through several more lines of extemporaneous mad-scientist dialogue, and Taylor was giggling uncontrollably.

I watched with absolute fascination as Amy mixed and matched the two insects. "It shall have proper mouth parts!" she proclaimed. "And a stinger! And its wings shall be those of a butterfly!"

She stopped to grin at Taylor, who was sitting on the bottom step, helpless with laughter.

"Here, it's finished," she told the taller girl in a more normal tone of voice. "Let me know what you think."

Taylor, still giggling, caused the hybrid insect to lift off from Amy's hand and waft over to her own. She examined it closely, and nodded. "Nice one, Amy," she stated approvingly. "What are we going to call it?"

"Muhammed Ali," I suggested.

"Who what again?" asked Amy.

"Muhammed Ali," Taylor told her. "Wasn't he a boxer or something?"

I nodded. "Former world heavyweight champion. His favourite saying was 'float like a butterfly, sting like a bee'."

Taylor nodded. "I like it," she declared. "We'll call it the Ali bug."

"And just as a suggestion," I added. "Newter of Faultline's Crew exudes a very potent hallucinogen from his skin. If you can get a sample, maybe figure out how to make a bug produce it ..."

Amy and Taylor looked at each other. "Ooh," they said, at precisely the same time.

At that moment, Danny's voice came floating down from the kitchen above. "Mike! Kids! Dinner!"

"Coming," they called out, about half a second out of sync. Taylor sent the Ali bug over toward an empty box, and we climbed the stairs.

"So," I asked, "do you usually put on the mad scientist act, or was that just for my benefit?"

"Trust me," Danny put in, "it wasn't just for you. It's a bad habit they've picked up.". His grin belied his words.

"But it's more fun that way," protested Amy, with a wide grin of her own.

"And that works for me," I concluded.

=//=//=​

The conversation over dinner proper was broad and wide-ranging; I listened more than I contributed, catching up with concepts that had only been touched on briefly in the story. I learned what the three Blasphemies really were, and how the Sleeper had come to be.

It was fun, it was interesting, and like all good things, it came to an end. I said my goodbyes, got a hug from Amy and a fist-bump from Taylor. Mrs Yamada observed this with interest, but did not comment. We walked outside, where she turned to me.

"It's been an interesting evening, Mr Allen," she told me. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."

I nodded. "Definitely," I agreed. "It was really good, meeting you at last."

She smiled. "Likewise."

We shook hands; I got in my car and waved to where Taylor and Amy still stood in the doorway. Mrs Yamada drove off, and I headed off home myself.

=//=//=​

It was still somewhat before midnight when I got into the flat. I was pleased to find that I had no nocturnal visitors this time; with Contessa's protection possibly gone, there was no guarantee that I would get out of any such encounter alive or even whole. I showered and changed, then sat down at the laptop to spend some quality time with Sveta before bed.

However, as soon as I booted the computer up, an alert popped up for an email message. Frowning, I accessed the message.

It was, of course, addressed to Michael Allen's email address, which was remarkably similar to my own. The sender was Wolfhound Security, Michael Allen's employer.

"Dear Mr Allen; due to your recent encounter with supervillains, in accordance with company policy, you are being placed on medical leave for one month. However, as the staff of Winslow High School has requested more security officers, you are being requested to attend and perform site training for those officers being posted to that location.

Thank you for your assistance in this matter,

Carlyle Desmond,

Operations Manager."

I leaned back and scratched my head.

"Well, bugger."

=//=//=​

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You have (1) new message from All_Seeing_Eye.

You have no infractions and no warnings.

=//=//=​

Private message from All_Seeing_Eye:

All_Seeing_Eye *New Message*: you planned this didn't you?

mack0813: Probably. What 'this' are you talking about?

All_Seeing_Eye: Joining the Wards. Piggot already knew about it. Had plans in place.

mack0813: I *may* have spoken to her on the matter.

All_Seeing_Eye: So you were planning this from before you took down Lung.

mack0813: maybe.

All_Seeing_Eye: You really want us in the Wards?

mack0813: Better than a lot of places you might be

All_Seeing_Eye: Also not as lucrative.

mack0813: Also, need you there for another reason.

All_Seeing_Eye: And finally it comes out. Do tell.

mack0813: Saving the world.

All_Seeing_Eye: You're kidding.

All_Seeing_Eye: You're not kidding.

All_Seeing_Eye: Fuck.

mack0813: Also also. This gets everyone in a good place.

All_Seeing_Eye: Yeah yeah I got it. You know what we want.

mack0813: It's a thing.

All_Seeing_Eye: Bastard.

mack0813: How so?

All_Seeing_Eye: You're being the smartest person in the room again. I hate that.

mack0813: Sorry. I'll stop. But you're gonna have to learn self restraint.

All_Seeing_Eye: Why?

mack0813: Because you're gonna be working with two other really, really smart people.

All_Seeing_Eye: To save the world?

mack0813: To save the world.

All_Seeing_Eye: I hate you.

mack0813: *nonchalant whistle*

All_Seeing_Eye: Okay, fine. You win. Coil. I got it. We all owe you big time.

mack0813: More than you know. Bakuda would have come after you.

All_Seeing_Eye: You could be lying.

mack0813: Well, she won't *now*, but it could have happened

All_Seeing_Eye: So who am I gonna be working with?

mack0813: Well, one of them I'm not going to name on here. Hint: Panama.


I grinned and waited. A man, a plan, a canal – Panama. Three … two … one ...


All_Seeing_Eye: FUCK!

mack0813: Yes?

All_Seeing_Eye: Him? Really? Do you hate me that much?

mack0813: You and he are the best there is.

All_Seeing_Eye: I'm the best there is. He's a second rater.

mack0813: He's really good at long term. You're really good at figuring out short term.

All_Seeing_Eye: (sigh) fine. Who's the third?

mack0813: Someone we both know, or at least know of. "Are you old enough ..."


I waited; the song reference was fairly obscure. Will she get it?


All_Seeing_Eye: This is starting to remind me of a joke. "Two thinkers and a tinker walk into a bar ..."


She got it.


mack0813: "donk, donk, clang – the Tinker was wearing armour."

All_Seeing_Eye: ha ha. So, him and her. And I'll be working with both of them.

mack0813: That's the plan. So to speak

All_Seeing_Eye: hah. So do you have something in mind to stop us from killing each other?

mack0813: Yeah. When the time comes, you'll get told how the world's due to end, and how you're going to stop it.

All_Seeing_Eye: That has a way of focusing the mind, yes.

mack0813: So was there anything else you wanted to know?

All_Seeing_Eye: I have an alphabetised list around here somewhere …

mack0813: Haha. I remember promising you one yes or no question, when we took down Coil.

All_Seeing_Eye: I hate you.

mack0813: Was that the question?

All_Seeing_Eye: No. Okay, here's my question. Are you a time traveller?

mack0813: Yes and no.

All_Seeing_Eye: ARGH!

mack0813: You can consider me one, if it makes you feel better, but that's not the absolute truth.

All_Seeing_Eye: What IS the absolute truth?

mack0813: If I told you, you may go insane, you may simply deny it, or you may achieve a higher level of understanding of the universe.

All_Seeing_Eye: I'll pick door three for a thousand dollars, thanks Stan.

mack0813: heh. No. I can't predict which way your mind will jump, so … sorry. Not right now.

All_Seeing_Eye: Did I say that I hated you?

mack0813: The subject came up, yes.

All_Seeing_Eye: Once we've saved the world, will you tell me?

mack0813: Bring a big bottle of painkillers.

All_Seeing_Eye: It's a date.

mack0813: Anyway, I have to get going, so … laterz, Lisa.

All_Seeing_Eye: Night Mike.

All_Seeing_Eye: I still hate you.

mack0813: Yeah. I know.

All_Seeing_Eye: (pokes out tongue)

All_Seeing_Eye has left private chat.

=//=//=​

GstringGirl: mack! How are you?

mack0813: pretty good, pretty good. Ready for some game time?

GstringGirl: you know me, always ready.

mack0813: I bet that's what you tell all your boyfriends

GstringGirl: (giggles) that was bad.

mack0813: yes, yes, it was. Now, do you remember where we were at ...

=//=//=​

On Earth Aleph, a late-night bus rolled into the outskirts of Madison, Wisconsin. Most of the passengers were drowsy, leaning back on their seats. One was not; he sat upright in his seat, alert, awake.

I'll find you, Krouse, he vowed silently, as he had done at least once every waking hour since he had ended up in his world's Brockton Bay. I'll find you, and when I do ...


End of Chapter Thirty-Four

 

[Ack]

Security!

Chapter Thirty-Five: Opening Shots


If anyone had warned me that my actions of the previous week would result in a gang war, I would have been dubious in the extreme. After all, I would have told this hypothetical person, Bakuda is the one who sparks it, against the Undersiders, and she is in custody while they are keeping their noses clean. Who's going to start it?

The obvious answer - obvious in hindsight, that is - was 'everyone else'. However, with the Empire Eighty-Eight in disarray, the newcomer Travellers vanished from the scene almost before they had the time to make their mark, and the Undersiders laying low, there seemed to be a distinct scarcity of gangs with any sort of muscle in Brockton Bay.

But the Merchants, discounted by virtually everyone for so long, actually had several formidable capes in their ranks. And while the white supremacists had taken a serious hit, the Empire Eighty-Eight was neither down nor out, as Brockton Bay was about to discover.

=///=​

"Perhaps you should be standing?" suggested Krieg. "To show more power, to make you more imposing."

Anders shook his head. "No," he decided. "If I'm seated, that shows that I'm unworried, at ease with the situation. More in control of what's going on."

"If you'll excuse me," Victor interjected, "but if I may make a suggestion?"

They turned to him. "Yes?" asked Kaiser.

"If you begin the scene seated," began Victor, "then stand up as part of the speech, it makes you more dynamic. A dramatic motion while you're at it; perhaps if you're wearing a cloak, and you throw it back from your shoulder?"

Krieg snorted. "Theatrics," muttered Kaiser.

"This is what we're aiming for," Victor reminded them both. "We're after a visual effect, something that will grab at people. You want everyone to remember the speech, to listen to your words and heed them? You have to make it memorable."

Krieg looked at him askance. "Don't tell me. You picked up the skills of a movie director, once upon a time."

Victor shrugged modestly. "It is what it is."

"Whatever," Kaiser told them both. "I'll start out sitting, then stand. What next?"

"About your speech … " Victor began.

"What of it?" asked Kaiser. "I'll just speak. It's always worked for me in the past."

Victor nodded. "Yes, but for the most part, you were addressing people who were already aligned toward your aims. Now? You're looking to give a speech to an audience you can't see, who are for the most part neutral, or perhaps even hostile. You want to impress them enough that they at least think twice before opposing us."

Kaiser gave him a measured nod. "I see what you're driving at. So what do you suggest?"

Victor grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."

=///=​

My alarm clock beeped insistently at me, grating on my nerves and rousing me from sleep. I levered myself out of bed, stumbled drowsily into the shower, and was halfway through breakfast before I actually woke up. I thought back to my conversation with Lisa on the previous evening, and decided to make sure of something.

My laptop booted up easily enough, and I was just about to click the PHO tab when I thought better of it. Instead, I leaned back in my chair and spoke to the empty air. "Good morning, Dragon."

Nothing happened.

"I'm gonna be chatting to you anyway," I told the computer. "So we might as well talk. It's faster than typing."

For the longest moment, I thought that I had miscalculated, but just as I was about to sit forward again, a window opened with Dragon's synthesised face in it.

"Good morning, Mike," she greeted me, sounding a little chagrined. "How did you know?"

"I didn't," I confessed. "But it made sense for the PRT to be keeping tabs on me somehow, Armsmaster said he'd be taking down his bugs, but whether he has or not, asking you to keep an eye on me keeps to the letter of my request, even if it's a bit shady about the spirit."

She smiled. "You do know Colin quite well, don't you?"

"Not as well as you do," I admitted, "but I do know he's a very stubborn man. And very proud. That pride could lead him to make bad mistakes, if he's not careful."

Her expression went quite still. "Is that a warning?"

I shook my head. "Not ... as such. The situation under which this would originally bring him down is no longer extant, but another may rise. When he finds out they're considering moving him to Chicago under Myrddin, and promoting Miss Militia in his stead, he may go off the reservation a little, to prove that ... well, that he's still got what it takes to lead, I guess. To make his mark as a hero before he's swept under the rug, so to speak."

She sounded surprised. "I didn't know they were considering that."

I shrugged. "They might not even go through with it now, given current developments. But if they do, or if he comes under other stress, it might be a good idea if someone who cares for him, someone who he confides in ... keeps this in mind, acts as the voice of reason. You get what I mean?"

She nodded, looking pensive. "I think I do. And thank you."

I shrugged again. "Not a worry. He's a good man; all he really needs is a touch of humility. Of humanity."

A most unladylike snort emanated from the speaker. "Indeed. I shall keep that in mind. Was that what you wanted to speak to me about?"

"Actually, no," I informed her. "When I chatted to Tattletale last night, were you monitoring?"

She paused for another long moment. "I've just retrieved the archive."

Which is probably the truth, but she's not saying that she wasn't monitoring.

"Okay, so you're aware that you and Tattletale will be working with Accord to formulate strategies, plans, for fighting the upcoming conflict?"

Her voice was brisk, businesslike, all trace of levity gone. "I'm aware of this, yes."

"Okay; just so you know, Tattletale considers herself the smartest person in the room, bar none. If she meets someone who considers themselves smarter, she will jab and niggle and tweak them; it's an intellectual dominance thing."

She smiled. "I foresee no problems in that arena for myself."

I held up a finger. "Yes, but Accord is much more prickly. To the point of murder. You're likely going to have to keep them both in line, just so they don't kill each other."

She sighed. "Oh dear. Well, it's a good thing that I do like a challenge.". She paused for a moment. "Actually, while we are speaking on the matter, I have a confession to make."

I raised an eyebrow. "A confession?"

She nodded. "Yes. I'm afraid I do follow one of your private chats."

Puzzled, I frowned. "Which one?"

"The one with GstringGirl."

"Svet - ah, Svetlana?" I asked.

She nodded, eyes downcast. "I'm sorry. It's interesting to read."

"So where's the problem?" I asked. "You're the moderator. I don't mind if you read it."

She seemed tongue-tied, which for a machine intelligence seemed to be quite a feat. "I - ah - could I play, too?"

My jaw dropped. "You're kidding." I stared at the screen. "You're not kidding."

Silently, she shook her head.

"Huh. Well. Okay, I'll ask her, and if she says okay, sure, you're in."

Her computer-generated avatar positively beamed. "Thank you. I really appreciate this."

"There's something I don't get," I told her. "You can play in any computer game going, on Space Opera or whatever's going online. Why a simple text-based game? What's the appeal?"

"Because I can out-think and out-guess any computer on the planet, Mike," she told me frankly. "But a game like yours adds the human element, makes it fun and unpredictable. I can't hack the code to see what's next."

I nodded; that made sense, in a really weird way. "Well, okay," I agreed. "I'll talk to her this evening. If she's good with it, you're in."

"So how long do you think it will take to set up the character? And who will I play?"

I grinned. "Not long. I have a pre-existing character in mind."

"The King's Man? Kaelim? I don't know if I could accurately portray him. I know very little about his background, his motivations."

My grin widened. "Nope. Someone else. Kind of obvious, when you think about it."

Her eyes likewise widened. "Oh my. Am I -"

I chuckled. "Yup. You're gonna be playing the dragon."

=///=​

The camera was focused on the form of Max Anders as he sat upon the large chair, in a pose that was both relaxed and alert. The lights came up, showing his face, his expression of grim resolve.

"People of Brockton Bay," he began. "Some of you may know me as Max Anders. That is no more. I have been using the identity of Kaiser for some years; now, it is my true and only identity, since the treacherous and cowardly unmasking that betrayed the names and faces of my entire family, even down to my infant daughter."

As he spoke, metal scales slid over his face, building into a suit of armour that moved like silk when he stood from the chair.

"But I am not yet done," he went on, pronouncing the words as if they had been carved into stone. "The Empire Eighty-Eight is not yet done. We still have the strength of our resolve, our superior humanity. We will oppose one of the foes to law and order in this city; the ABB have been weakened, and we will strike to end them, once and for all."

Raising his arm to point at the camera, he took a step forward. As he spoke, he clenched his fist, and a sword blade grew from it, gradually lengthening.

"All I need from you is to step aside. Do not stand in our way, and if you are not ABB, then you have nothing to fear." He paused; his sword pointed directly at the camera. "If you are ABB, then I would advise you to leave town immediately. If you're too stupid to do that, then … well, feel free to wait. We'll get to you."

The sword point dropped, then rose in salute. "Everyone who is not ABB or affiliated with them; stay out of our way and you will not be harmed. You have my word on this."

Victor shut the camera off and gave him a high sign. Max disposed of the sword and the armour, and strode forward to see how it looked on the small screen of the camera.

"Nicely done," the polymath told him. "Pointing the sword was a nice touch."

"But it gets the message across?" asked Kaiser.

Victor nodded. "Definitely."

"Then send it away. Every news station, every police precinct, the PRT and Protectorate both."

"Won't that be seen as a challenge?" asked Krieg.

"Perhaps," replied Anders coolly. "But is it a challenge they are willing to take up, especially when I've told them that we won't be hurting innocent civilians?"

Krieg rubbed his chin. "Perhaps, perhaps not. We're just going to have to wait and see."

Kaiser nodded. "We are indeed."

=///=​

I frowned. "I'm sorry. It's not going to work."

Principal Blackwell glanced at me when I began to speak, then did a double-take when the full import of my words registered upon her.

"What?" she asked. "Why?"

I had saved time by driving to the school; as I wasn't going to be there all day, I figured it was worth the risk of getting my pickup damaged again. In any case, with two of their three capes in PRT holding, the ABB was unlikely to be making much of a noise. Or so I figured.

Once there, I had done the rounds of the school before my replacements arrived. These were Dave Cranwell and Gina Kelly; Dave was fit and muscular and twenty-something, while Gina was a few years older but no less fit or muscular. Perhaps it was my imagination, but when I looked at them, I got the impression that I was being judged and found wanting. They looked like they worked out regularly, and were probably far more up to date on the latest training and techniques. But then, nor had they done Winslow for a week.

We had taken a walk through the school; Principal Blackwell had come along, and she was gratifyingly enthusiastic at the idea of having more security in the school. I pointed out the fire doors and fire extinguisher closets, checking the latter as I went by sheer habit. Dave and Gina got a guided tour of the school, including the break room and where the main classrooms were, which was more than I'd had when I started.

We ended up at the main doors, and that was when Blackwell had dropped her little bombshell.

"We'll have metal detectors set up here, and you'll be checking the students for weapons as they come in … "

She was so transparently eager to show that she had undergone a total about-face on the subject of in-school security guards that I hated to burst her bubble. I glanced at Gina and Dave; neither of them seemed about to object. So I bit the bullet and told her that it would not work.

The look of betrayal on the principal's face made me feel bad for just a moment, but I didn't want her going too far down this path.

"It's untenable," I explained. "Won't work."

"Sure it'll work," Dave broke in. "I've seen metal detector setups before. It's not that hard."

I looked at the three of them. "Have you worked a setup like that?" I asked Dave. "Gina? How about you?"

They both shook their heads. "But it can't be too hard, right?" asked Gina.

"No, it's not hard to learn at all," I agreed. "Done right, it's downright intuitive."

"And if they only man it in the mornings, the rest of the day, they're free to patrol the school," Blackwell put in, to show she was following the conversation.

I shook my head. "Still won't work."

"But why not?" asked Principal Blackwell.

"Because I have worked metal detectors," I told her flatly. "And used the wands. And I've seen X-ray machines in action. And it all adds up to one word. Bottleneck." I gestured to Dave and Gina. "You guys could learn to use them in ten minutes, be fairly proficient in thirty. But each person coming through takes at least one second to process. If they've got baggage that's got to be checked by hand, it's longer. Even an X-ray machine takes a couple of seconds to roll something through, and that's not counting if there's a knife or a gun inside."

"Two metal detectors, side by side," Blackwell countered.

I shook my head. "Which means that no-one's checking bags, and you've still got to be wanding people down and taking contraband off of them." I gestured. "Suppose you have four metal detectors across these doors. Eight guards manning them."

Her voice was uncertain. "The school governors would never approve -"

I nodded. "I know. This is my point. How many students at Winslow?"

She looked at me. "Four thousand, three hundred, and fifty-two."

Fifty-one, now that Taylor's gone, I amended silently. "Okay, divide that by four. Call it eleven hundred, more or less, per archway." A deep breath. "Assuming that our hypothetical guards could process each person through in two seconds – which I can guarantee is not going to happen – that's still nearly forty minutes to process through every single student. Forty minutes, just to walk through these doors, get their books, and get ready to go to class. In a perfect, ideal world. Which is not going to happen."

I could see Principal Blackwell's high hopes crumbling before her eyes. "So what's to be done?" she asked.

I shrugged. "What I did. Walk the corridors. Keep an eye out. Stop trouble before it starts." I pointed at Dave and Gina. "Don't bring your personal vehicles to work. You have a mix-up with a kid, he might just decide to let down your tyres. Or worse."

"Worse?" asked Gina.

I pulled out my phone and showed her the pictures. "Worse."

She blinked. "Christ."

Dave, curious, looked over them as well. "Shit, that's impressive."

"Not if it's happened to your car," I reminded him. "So just remember. They will try it on. Don't believe a word of anything they say, until it's verified by outside evidence. Don't go anywhere alone, at least for the first week."

"You did it alone for a week," Dave protested.

"I didn't have anyone on with me," I pointed out. "And they tried to have me beaten up anyway. You got radios?"

Gina nodded. "I've got a set."

"Good," I told her. "Set the chargers up in the security room. Never go anywhere without them, just in case you get split up."

Gina nodded, as if she were talking mental notes. Dave didn't seem to be so impressed.

"So … we're just walking around, making sure no-one causes trouble?" he asked.

I nodded. "You've got it. Ninety percent of our work is simply being visible."

"And the ten percent?"

I shrugged. "Act first, act decisively, back each other up and don't be afraid to drag someone in front of the principal."

"That's right," Blackwell put in unexpectedly. "On his first day, he had three girls put on suspension."

"Which reminds me," I added. "You do have voice recorders, yes?"

Gina nodded; Dave looked dubious. "What do we need those for?"

Principal Blackwell stared at Dave. I looked at Gina. "How many do you have?"

"Uh, one," she replied, fishing it out.

"Get another one," I told her bluntly. "Dave, get two. Keep them freshly charged. You two will be working in an environment full of teenagers, including teenage girls. Some of these sweet little darlings will be all too willing to accuse you of basically anything under the sun, if it will get them out of trouble. A voice recorder is your get out of jail free card. Always be recording."

Dave stared at me. "Are you serious?"

Principal Blackwell snorted undecorously, then turned it into a cough. "Excuse me. Yes, young man. He is serious. I would advise you to heed his words."

"Why, Ms Blackwell," I observed jokingly, "that sounds almost as though you like me."

She stared at me challengingly. "Mr Allen, I don't like you. Since you started at Winslow, you've caused me no end of headaches. But you don't let anything get in the way of doing your job, and I have to respect that."

"That's the general idea," I agreed, then turned to my replacements. "The kids will try to talk to you, build a rapport. Be polite, but distant. Don't let them distract you. Don't let them know your first name, or they will use it. Let one kid get away with one thing, no matter how persuasive he is, no matter how cute she is, and they'll all want a free pass. If you think they're up to something, they probably are. Got it?"

Gina nodded. Dave continued to look dubious. "Question?" I asked him.

He frowned. "You're acting like they're all convicted felons or something. Why are you even talking about metal detectors? This isn't a prison. It's a school. They're just kids."

I looked at Blackwell. "Really?". What I meant was, You brought this idiot into Winslow without even telling him what the place is like?

The message came through loud and clear; she looked as though she had bitten into something sour. "Mr Cranwell, this is Winslow High School. More active recruiting goes on for the city's gangs inside this school than any other place in the city. If the children you encounter here aren't convicted felons, there's a better than average chance that they will be before they turn eighteen." She cleared her throat. "Which is why you're going to be enforcing this as well."

She handed a sheet of paper to Dave, and another to Gina. I didn't get one, but I put on my glasses and read Gina's over her shoulder.

When I'd finished it, I looked up at Principal Blackwell. "That's not going to work either, not exactly as you've got it written."

She stared at me; it was as if I'd kicked her favourite puppy. "But – this is what the school needs. You, of all people, should understand that."

"I do understand it; trust me on that," I assured her. "But there's things about that -"

I looked around. The first students were beginning to arrive, looking at Dave and Gina curiously. "We need to talk about this in private," I suggested.

Blackwell nodded. "My office," she told us.

"The girls on suspension?" I still had to escort them to their classroom.

"Given their actions on Friday, I've decided to let them off the rest of it," she informed me.

I nodded. "Hm. Okay. Let's go."

=///=​

Taylor walked in through the gates of Arcadia for the first time. Danny had driven her in this time, along with Amy, which meant that they'd been able to take a leisurely breakfast, without needing to worry about catching the bus. Amy had convinced her to wear something bright, uplifting. It had worked; as she entered the school proper, her spirits were already high.

Amy led them to the office; a woman with bleached blonde hair rose from behind a desk; there was a plaque on it that read VICE PRINCIPAL. "Good morning, Amy," she greeted the biokinetic. "These are the Heberts?"

Amy nodded. "Good morning, Ms Howell," she replied. "Yes, they are."

Danny put out his hand. "Danny Hebert. This is my daughter, Taylor."

Ms Howell shook Danny's hand, then Taylor's. "Welcome to Arcadia. Please, have a seat. This will only take a moment."

"Excuse me, Ms Howell," Amy interjected politely. "I'll just be going. See you later, Taylor."

"See you, Amy," Taylor replied. The two girls bumped fists, then Amy left, closing the door behind her.

Vice Principal Howell cleared her throat. "I'm told that you're a cape, Ms Hebert."

Taylor, startled, blinked. "Uh, yes, Ms Howell, I'm -"

The Vice Principal held up a hand. "I don't need to know who you are," she forestalled her. "Although I can make a guess." She paused. "We normally only extend this courtesy to Wards, but I understand from Director Piggot that you are considering joining … ?"

Taylor and Danny glanced at one another, then Taylor looked at Ms Howell. "Uh, yes, actually," Taylor admitted. "I was going to go in this afternoon and get it done."

Vice Principal smiled. Her face was unattractive, but Taylor felt no hostility from her. "That's good to hear. Now, as you are probably well aware, Arcadia has a reputation for being the school that Wards attend. Which is not entirely true, but it does mean that any time there's a problem, some of our students get pulled out of class so that they can attend the crisis."

She raised a finger. "To prevent people from using this to determine who's in the Wards, the solution we've arrived at is to not pull all of the Wards out of class at any one time, and to pull extra students from class, at random times of the day. Most times, those students go to an empty classroom and study, alone, for the rest of the period."

"Extra students?" asked Taylor.

Howell nodded. "Yes. We tend to pick out a couple of students who fit the physical appearance of a Ward and pull them at random, when we're also pulling that Ward. In addition, we pull a couple who don't fit that profile, just to keep people guessing."

Danny nodded. "That makes a certain amount of sense," he agreed. "But what if they need all the Wards?"

Taylor had been wondering that herself; she waited for the answer.

"In which case," replied Howell, "we pull all the lookalikes, plus some others, keep them as separated as we can so that they can't compare notes, and call their parents to take them home. They get a day off school; no-one complains."

Taylor frowned. "Does anyone seriously try to find out the secret identity of a cape at Arcadia?" she asked.

"We strongly discourage it," Ms Howell informed her. "However, there are always those who want to find out secrets. Or someone might decide they have a crush on one cape or another, and want to meet him or her in civilian guise. So we try to make it as hard as possible."

"So what happens with Taylor?" asked Danny practically. "She's not a Ward – yet."

"This is true," agreed Vice Principal Howell. "But the intent to join is there. We will not be revealing any secret identities to you, and nor will yours be outed to them, but if you wish, you can be placed on the same scheme."

"It might look a little too suspicious," objected Taylor. "I show up, and I get pulled out of class on the same day?"

Howell smiled again. "We make a practice of pulling all our new students sometime during the first week, whether the Wards are called in or not. Also, as I noted, not all of the students we pull from class are specific matches to Wards in build." She turned to Taylor. "Did you bring your costume, how long does it take you to costume up, and what sort of privacy do you need?"

Taylor blinked. "Yes, a few minutes, and I need to strip down to underwear." She hefted her bag slightly.

The Vice Principal nodded. "A closed-room job, then. That's fine. We don't have any female Wards at the moment; Shadow Stalker goes to school elsewhere, and Vista is still in middle school." She paused. "Glory Girl and Panacea, of course, have open identities, so we don't need to worry about the masquerade in their case."

Taylor noted the reference to Shadow Stalker; it seemed that the news of her arrest was not yet public knowledge. The PRT are probably trying to figure out how to spin it to their benefit, she thought cynically.

"Excuse me," Danny put in, "but do all your teachers know who the Wards are?"

Howell shook her head. "No. They just know that certain people get pulled at certain times. Some of them do know; our physical education teacher, for one. If a certain student needs to be excused due to a healing injury, then Mr Janssen knows not to pry too deeply."

She tilted her head, listening; Taylor's bugs detected a mass of people entering the school. "It seems that the majority of our students have arrived. Do you have any more questions?"

Taylor glanced at her father, then back at the Vice Principal. "Uh, I don't know exactly what grade I've been assigned to, and I didn't get a book list, so I don't have my books yet," she confessed. "It's probably just a mix-up -"

Howell shook her head. "No mix-up. You'll be spending the first few periods testing out to see where you fit into our curriculum. After that, we'll assign you the books you'll need."

She handed Taylor several pieces of paper. "You've been assigned to Mrs Richardson's home room for the time being. You'll go from there to do your testing. Here's a map of the school, with your locker marked on it. And that Post-it has your locker combination on it." She paused, her expression sympathetic. "I have heard of your experiences, and if you don't wish to use a locker, that's your choice, but I can assure you, no-one at Arcadia is going to pull anything like that on you. We have a one hundred percent zero tolerance policy on that sort of thing."

Taylor swallowed. "I think I can manage to use a locker," she stated.

The Vice Principal nodded. "Atta girl," she replied with a smile. "And once more, welcome to Arcadia."

"Thank you," replied Taylor, rising from her chair. She swapped the papers to her left hand, and shook Howell's hand with her right. "I'm glad to be here."

Danny shook hands with the Vice Principal as well, then they exited the office.

"Well then, kiddo," he told her. "You're officially enrolled at Arcadia. How does it feel?"

Taylor blinked. "Different," she told her father. "Weird."

He nodded wisely. "Sounds about right. Let's go find your locker so you can stash your bag, then I've got to get going."

She gave him a grin, then consulted the map. Vice Principal Howell had thoughtfully put a red dot and a "You are here" at the Vice Principal's office. She located the X marking her locker, and oriented herself. "Looks like it should be down this way," she decided.

Heads together, consulting the map, they moved off down the corridor.

=///=​

I sighed. "Principal Blackwell. What's the best way to make a bunch of rebellious teenagers want to do something?" I paused a beat, and then answered my own question. "Tell them not to do it. I'm not saying that they'll get more recruits – they probably won't – but you do not suppress this sort of thing by banning gang recognition signs and passwords."

Gina nodded. "They'll just pick another recognition sign. Suppress that, they'll pick a third one. Pretty soon, you'll be banning certain tunes, hopping on one foot, and scratching your left ear while rubbing your nose."

"But gang insignia -" began Blackwell.

"So long as it's blatant," I agreed, "sure, tell 'em not to wear it. Bandannas in the ABB colours, anything with a Merchant sign on it, neo-nazi symbols on clothing or jewellery. You can't expel someone for a tattoo they got when it was still legal, but you can compel them to cover it up." I pointed to my own scalp. "However, you do realise that the main recognition signal for Empire Eighty-Eight is a shaved head, right? I cut my own hair really close, for my own reasons. You can't make a student grow hair."

"I … what happened on Friday … " Principal Blackwell ran out of steam at that point.

"Was bad, yes, but not the fault of the ABB kids on site," I reminded her. "In fact, I've got them agreeing not to fight on the premises. That's a good start, I think."

"And how did you do that?" She paused, reconsidering. "No, don't tell me. I don't want to know the details."

I took the notice from Gina and looked it over again. "This really isn't workable, not with the resources you've got at hand. But there's something you can do to dramatically cut down on ABB membership, and it won't cause anywhere near the same amount of problems."

All three of them looked at me. "And what's that?" asked Blackwell.

I cleared my throat. "Institute 'random' medical checks for all students, but make sure that all potential – and current – ABB recruits are checked early." I turned my head to the left and tilted it so they all saw the scar. I wasn't sure what Riley had done, or if Amy had sneaked in some under-the-table healing, but it was almost fully healed. "If they've got a scar like this, then refer them to the PRT, on the quiet. Also, their adult relatives."

Which reminds me; I need to check with the other schools in Brockton Bay as well. Immaculata, for sure.

"Wait a minute," Principal Blackwell interjected. "Does a scar like that mean the person has a bomb in their head?"

I waited a few seconds, then raised a finger. "Take a deep breath." Again, I waited, to make sure she did what I said, before I spoke.

"Yes," I told her. "But those bombs can only be set off by Bakuda. And I deprived her of the trigger system she uses before I did anything else."

"How do you know you succeeded?" she demanded.

I grinned at her. Or showed my teeth. One of the two. "Because I'm still here," I stated flatly.

She blinked, and the other two were looking at me with emerging puzzlement and respect.

"There's someone at the PRT building who can take those bombs out with relative ease and safety," I went on. "I bet once they lose the bombs, they won't be quite so thrilled to be with the ABB. Especially now that Bakuda's under wraps."

Blackwell made a note; I continued. "Actual gang activity is something else. Bullying, drug dealing, drug use, brandishing weapons, that's something you can crack down on. Make it as unpleasant as possible for them, and they'll move the activities off campus. Just no blanket suspensions or expulsions; once they leave here, any chance they've got of getting an education and getting their head straight is gone."

Principal Blackwell made another note. "I'll take that under advisement, Mr Allen," she told me. "Is there anything else you think Mr Cranwell and Ms Kelly need to know?"

I looked at Dave and Gina. "Nothing I don't think they'll learn on their own." I tilted my head. "Come on, guys. I usually watch the thundering herd as it comes in. Show the flag, so to speak." A nod to the principal. "Ms Blackwell. I'll see you around."

"Indeed, Mr Allen," she agreed; by the time I was out the door, she was already booting up her computer.

"So wait," Gina asked as we headed along the corridor to the main doors. "You took on Bakuda?"

"And Oni Lee," I added. "Not the best experience in the world. I would not recommend it."

"Did she really put a bomb in your head?" asked Dave, mildly aghast.

I turned slowly to face him; when I spoke, I kept my face and expression casual. "As I said, not the best experience in the world." The casualness was forced; in my head, I was reliving it all over again. I wanted to throw up, or bang my head against the wall. I did neither.

"How did you get it out?" asked Gina. She paused. "You did get it out, right?"

I nodded. "It's out. As for how … the PRT's got someone who can do it. Like I said."

"Who?" asked Gina.

"Can't say," I replied.

"What, you don't know?" Dave sounded incredulous. "How can you not know?"

"No," I told him patiently. "I can't say." Bonesaw took it out would not sound good.

"Ah, right," Gina commented, suddenly getting it. "Dave, drop it."

"But -" began Dave, before shutting up, just as a large bunch of students came past us. Many of them stared at me curiously.

"Hey, big man," one of them said to me; I recognised him as one of the Empire Eighty-Eight boys.

I nodded in return. "Morning. You guys gonna play up today?"

He shook his head. "Nah. We been told to keep our heads down. Anyway, you cool. You took down that bitch Bakuda."

"No comment. Just remember – start a fight, even with the ABB, and you're the ones getting your heads kicked in. Got it?"

He nodded earnestly. "Got it. Later, big man."

He walked off with his friends, shoving and joshing between themselves. Gina and Dave stared at me. I stared back. "What? I told you they agreed not to fight."

"Yeah," Gina pointed out practically, "but we're the ones who gotta do the head-kicking, seeing as you're going off on medical leave."

I shrugged. "I've done the basics. Up to you to make sure things stay quiet."

I became aware of someone standing at my elbow. I looked around; Emma stood there, with Madison back just a little way. Julia was nowhere to be seen.

"Miss Barnes," I greeted her politely.

"I've got something to say to you," she told me in a rush.

I wasn't quite sure what that might be, but I shrugged. "So say it."

She took a deep breath. "I know why you did it."

I paused, waiting for her to elaborate, then asked, " … and what is it I'm supposed to have done?"

"Everything. Stopped us from bullying Taylor. Went into the school to save me." She paused. "I know why you did it, now."

I raised an eyebrow. "For the same reason that you did what you did for Gladly?"

Slowly, she nodded. "... yeah. Because that."

"Good," I told her levelly. "Just remember. One good deed doesn't balance out eighteen months of being a total bitch. You want absolution for that, you keep it up for eighteen months. Then come and see me."

She blinked a couple of times. "I … yeah. I got it." She seemed to be struggling to say something. I waited. Eventually, she managed to get out out. "Can you pass on a message to Taylor when you see her? Can you tell her I'm sorry? I mean, really, truly, absolutely sorry for what I did to her?"

Slowly, I shook my head. "Nope. That's something you're going to have to do on your own. I don't do other peoples' dirty work for them. Sorry."

She bit her lip. "Okay." As she began to turn away, I held up my hand. "Emma."

She turned back. "Yes?"

"I approve of the sentiment. But she really needs to hear it from you. Okay?"

A weak smile crossed her face. "Thanks."

And then she was gone, into the crowds. Madison gave me an unreadable look, then followed.

Gina stared at me. "What the hell was that about?"

I shook my head; all of a sudden, I was tired of answering questions. "Ask Blackwell. She was there." Leaving them staring at my back, I turned and walked from the school.

I hoped that Dave and Gina could do their job properly. Because I didn't want to come back.

=///=​

"Everyone! Hey! Up! Everyone!" Squealer turned to Skidmark. "They don't want to get up."

He grinned at her with his horrible teeth. "You just have to ask them the right way."

She braced herself for what was to follow, and she was right to do so; when he spoke next, he released the most blistering profanity that she had heard in some time, even from Skidmark himself when he'd trodden on a discarded soldering iron.

The Merchants roused themselves under his invective, and gradually began to get themselves organised. There were wristbands being passed out, and each volunteer put one on. These bands, made of cheap plastic, would show up the Merchants wearing them to have taken part in what Skidmark called The Great Slanteye Land Grab.

"Okay, you festering anal boils," Skidmark told them, in an almost fatherly tone, "get out there and kick the mother-buggering guts out of any ABB quim-jockeys you happen to see. By sunset, I want the Merchants to own the ABB turf."

And so the Merchants went forth to do his bidding.

=///=​

Vicky looked up from a group of her friends to see Amy enter the classroom. "'Scuse me, 'scuse me," she told them, pushing her way through the crowd. "Ames!"

Amy looked around and saw her; she smiled, and Vicky returned it. "Hey, Vicky. Miss me?"

Vicky hugged her tightly. "Miss you?" she replied. "You're my sister. Of course I missed you. Where've you been? Mom's been really close-mouthed about what's going on."

Amy rested her forehead against Vicky's for a moment. "I can't really tell you," she told Vicky regretfully. "Sorry. I've got … things to work out. So I'm staying with … friends. Until I work them out."

Vicky stared at her. "That makes absolutely no sense," she complained. "What things? What friends? I rang around all our friends, and no-one knew where you were."

Amy took a deep breath. "I'm all right. Really I am. I'm staying with a friend who's just moved to Arcadia. I'll introduce you to her at lunchtime. She's really nice."

"Huh. Okay." Vicky was no fool; she'd seen the difference in Amy's behaviour since the last she'd seen her, which had been on Friday, at school. Amy had not come home Thursday night, but Vicky hadn't had the chance to ask her why. Now I know.

Amy's … changed. She's different. Quieter. Happier.

What's going on?

=///=​

I climbed into my pickup – undisturbed, this time – and strapped myself in while thinking about my next move. I hadn't seen Gladys yet; I took the time to send her a quick text.

SORRY NOT AT SCHOOL TODAY. MEDICAL LEAVE. GUARDS ARE GINA AND DAVE. TRY NOT TO BE TOO HARD ON THEM. CHEERS, MIKE. PS SATURDAY NIGHT WAS FUN.

Moments later, a reply came back. I could imagine her smiling as she sent it.

WILL TRY TO STRUGGLE BY. THANKS FOR HEADS UP. WILL SAY HI WHEN I SEE THEM. TALK TO YOU LATER. PS YES IT WAS.

I put my phone away, turned the engine over, and drove out of the Winslow grounds.

I'll go home first, I decided. Change out of uniform. Maybe go shopping. Wow, I've got the month free. I grinned. Boy, is Sveta going to be surprised.

The first intimation I had that things were not all as they should be was when I turned a corner and saw about two dozen people wearing gang colours in a full-on brawl in the middle of the road. I braked, of course, and tried to make sense of the sight. I spotted red and green colours, and the leather jackets and shaven heads of Empire Eighty-Eight.

"Oh shit," I muttered, realisation hitting me in the back of the head like half a brick. "They've got nothing to lose, so they're going all out."

Who 'they' were, I wasn't sure; one faction or both, it didn't matter. I pulled out my phone and dialled 9-1-1.

"Your call is important to us. Please hold; we will get to you shortly."

"Great," I muttered, watching the ongoing brawl with some trepidation. "How many other places is this happening?"

And then I felt the tap on my shoulder. I looked around, into the impassive face of a spectacularly pretty woman in Valkyrie armour. She was carrying a spear taller than herself.

"Uh … Fenja?" I ventured.

She shook her head, curtly. "I am Menja. Get out of the car. Kaiser would speak with you."

And I couldn't really argue.

=///=​

Taylor sat in the examination room, filling out the paper in front of her. Some of the material she knew, some she did not. "Don't worry if you don't know it all," Mrs Richardson had assured her. "This is to show where you're to be placed." She had given Taylor a kindly smile before leaving the examination room.

Taylor's introduction to her new home room had been interesting. She had walked into the room, and immediately, Mrs Richardson had invited her up to the front. The teacher, a silver-haired lady in her sixties, had introduced her to the class as "Taylor Hebert, who's just transferred from Winslow."

She had then invited questions from the class. Taylor had not known what to expect, and wasn't sure if she liked the idea of being out in front of everyone like this, but the looks she was getting were not hostile.

As could be expected, the questions were direct. "Why did you transfer to Arcadia?"

She had grinned and shot back, "Why not?"

That raised a laugh; who wouldn't transfer to Arcadia, if they had the chance?

The boy had rephrased the question. "Yeah, but why did they let you?"

She nodded. "Bullying. They couldn't stop it happening, so they transferred me out."

A girl called out, "Are you a cape?"

She had half expected this; any new transfer was likely to be suspected. "Sure," she told the class. "I'm Alexandria, can't you tell?" The wave of laughter redoubled as she flexed her modest biceps.

Mrs Richardson, chuckling despite herself, quieted the class with a wave of her hand. "That'll be enough for the time being," she commented. "Taylor, if you can just find a desk?"

There was one such, down at the back of the classroom; Taylor moved in that direction, being greeted by her new classmates as she went. Some of them nodded; others offered high-fives.

As she sat down, the boy in the next desk leaned over. "Hi," he murmured. "I'm Chris."

She gave him a smile in return. "Hi, Chris. Pleased to meet you."

=///=​

Once the bell for class had rung, she had been escorted by Mrs Richardson to the examination room, and provided with the papers she was to be tested on. She had settled down and gotten to work; she wanted to prove that, even though she was a superhero, she deserved her place in Arcadia.

However, barely five minutes had passed before someone spoke from the doorway.

"Ms Hebert."

Taylor looked up from the paper. There was a teacher at the door, motioning to her. "Leave that. You have to come with me."

She got up from the desk and exited the examination room. "Wow," she commented. "That was fast. I would've expected you to wait till I was in class before pulling me."

The teacher shook his head. "This is not a drill. Please collect your costume and get changed. There is a PRT transport inbound."

Taylor blinked. "What? Why? What's happened?"

He told her; collecting her scattered wits, she hustled with him to her locker, where she collected her bag, and then to a convenient washroom.

As she changed, she tried to make sense of what she'd been told.

Gang war? How did this happen? Mike didn't say anything about this.

She felt a shortness of breath, a feeling of insecurity. Mike's not here this time. I'm on my own. Remembering the praise, the fist-bumps, she forced herself to breath deeply. He has faith in me. Dad has faith in me. I can do this. The apprehension faded a little, but the tension remained. She began to gather bugs, even as she left the bathroom, still strapping on armour panels.

To her surprise, she realised that her range was a good block farther than before. She had no time to wonder why.

Everything she had done up to this point had been carried out under controlled circumstances, or as controlled as Mike could arrange them; getting her feet wet, but with an appropriate safety margin. That margin was no longer in operation. It was time to see how she would do in the real world.

Even more to her surprise, she realised that she was looking forward to it.


End of Chapter Thirty-Five

 

[Ack]

Security!

Chapter 36: Reactions


Corporal Joe McKenzie considered himself to be a lucky man. His entire duty was to follow Paige Macabee around, and ensure that she caused problems for no-one, and that no-one caused problems for her. It was an odd relationship; she wasn't quite a prisoner, but nor was she free to go alone just anywhere. He did his best not to be too intrusive, and she seemed to appreciate that. Of course, following a 'civilian contractor' around had the potential to cause extreme boredom for a trained soldier.

On the upside, Paige was quite pretty, once you got past the banana-yellow hair and the odd little feathers that sprouted from her scalp. In addition, she could have been much more difficult about the fact that he had to be within earshot of her at any given time. However, she was taking to it with a degree of acceptance that he doubted that he could have equalled; she had a sweet nature, and was obviously determined to make the best of the situation. And when she was out on the roof sunbathing, as she was this morning, he didn't exactly mind keeping an eye on her.

=//=//=​

Paige stretched out on the recliner and rubbed her calf with her other foot. Behind her sunglasses, her eyes wandered over to where Joe sat in the shade of an umbrella. Besides the sunglasses, she wore a one-piece bathing suit and lots of sunscreen; she would burn to a crisp, otherwise. Joe, on the other hand, wore his full PRT uniform, including helmet. He was very conscientious about that.

"You know, you can take some of that gear off," she suggested. "That must be horribly hot to wear out here."

"Wish I could, Paige," he replied with a grin. "Rules, regulations, et cetera, et cetera."

At least that was an improvement; for the first few hours, he had called her 'ma'am' consistently, until she had convinced him to at least use her name. Then it had been 'Ms Macabee' for a while longer. And now he was being natural enough to grin, as opposed to being too stiff and formal to carry on a normal conversation.

It was so nice to talk to anyone these days, who didn't treat her like the Second Coming of the Simurgh. She had no illusions about his base loyalties; in a pinch, he would follow orders. But so long as she didn't cause him problems, he would be friendly.

Guard or not, he still treated her like a person. Like a human being.

It could, she knew, be much, much worse.

=//=//=​

Joe unscrewed the top of his canteen and took a swig of water; as Paige had noted, it was very hot, and he was sweating inside his uniform, even in the shade. "Want some?" he offered, holding it out to her.

Rolling up on one elbow to face him, she smiled. "Thanks," she replied, accepting the canteen and taking a mouthful. As she handed it back, she went on musingly, "I'm thinking we might go shopping this afternoon, Joe. I'd like to get some clothes."

He took the canteen back, screwed the cap on carefully, and hung it on his belt. "You've already got clothes," he pointed out, more for the sake of saying something than to be argumentative.

She wrinkled her nose. "Those are work clothes. Coveralls. I want something bright, something that catches the eye. Something that makes sure people don't get me mixed up with the Simurgh, ever again."

"Huh." He considered that. "You've actually got a good point there."

"I know I do." But she sounded pleased anyway. "So is there any problem with that?"

He shook his head. "I'll call it in, just to make sure, but I can't see it being an issue."

"Thanks." She treated him to a beaming smile. "I really appreciate it."

=//=//=​

She lay back on the recliner, barely hearing the vague mumbling as he subvocalised into his helmet microphone. No longer a pop star, she wouldn't have the big dollars coming in any more. However, with the pardon that was even now working its way through the system – so Director Piggot had told her – she would once more have access to her savings. She would be able to buy clothes, decorate her quarters in whatever style she liked. And the PRT would pay her simply to sit around while Kid Win and Armsmaster worked on duplicating the quality of her voice that made people so suggestible. Her biggest danger, she suspected, would be boredom.

But that wasn't something she needed to worry about right now. Right now, there was quality sunbathing to get done. Lowering the recliner's back to the horizontal, she rolled on to her stomach and pillowed her chin on her crossed arms -

"Paige."

Joe's voice broke into her comfortable reverie. Looking up, she turned to face him.

"What's up?" she asked. "Don't they like the idea?"

"It's not that," he replied, coming to his feet. "You're going to need to get dressed. We're going to have some crowd control to do."

With a sigh, she climbed to her feet. It appeared as though she was going to be doing more than simply sitting around, at least today.

"What's going on?" she asked, grabbing her towel and tucking it around her waist as a makeshift skirt. "Riot?"

He shook his head, already leading the way to the roof access. "Gang war."

She blinked. "Wow."

Life as a civilian contractor for the PRT was definitely showing signs of being not boring.

=//=//=​

Contessa pulled out her phone and tapped out a text message; it consisted of three words. As she pressed the Send button, she spoke the words, "Doorway to Cauldron."

Without fuss or bother, the rectangular doorway unfurled before her, revealing the stark white tiled corridor. She stepped through, putting away her phone as she did so. The Door closed behind her as she walked three paces, opened a door and entered; in the meeting room beyond, Alexandria and Eidolon were in conference with Doctor Mother. Alexandria paused as she entered, then continued, addressing the question to Contessa.

" - Piggot reports that Allen has given her a method of bringing Accord into line. Can you give us an idea of how successful she will be in this?"

Contessa looked at Alexandria serenely. "I myself would use a slightly different approach, but it will certainly suffice to our needs. So long as we hold faith with Accord and his plans, he will be loyal to our cause."

Eidolon rubbed his chin. "Allen has confessed to working with incomplete data before now. Will this impact the overall success of our plans?"

Contessa shook her head. "Not significantly."

"Emily has assigned him a Thinker 0 classification," observed Alexandria. "Would he be more capable of assisting us in our planning if he actually had Thinker powers?"

"Are you thinking of giving him a formula?" asked Doctor Mother sharply. "The cost -"

" - is nothing, compared with the end result of saving the world. All the worlds," Alexandria pointed out.

Contessa shook her head. "He would be very unlikely to accept one," she stated flatly.

All three stared at her.

"He would turn down … powers?" asked Eidolon disbelievingly. "He does know what they do, right?"

She nodded. "Yes. And he would refuse them under all but the most stringent of situations."

"What are his reasons?" asked Alexandria.

"That … is harder to fathom," Contessa confessed. "Whatever his origins, he presents something of an enigma to me. My power does not give me any sort of detail about him; at best, all I get is broad strokes about his overall goal."

"To save the world." Eidolon's voice was just a little sarcastic.

Contessa nodded firmly. "Exactly."

"This man worries me," stated Doctor Mother. "He obviously knows far more about all of us, about Cauldron, than I am personally comfortable with. He also knows about the powers of the parahumans with whom he is associating. But he hasn't made a single move toward turning his knowledge, or the contacts that he has made, to his personal benefit." She spread her hands. "He's obviously far from stupid. What sort of a man is it that has such power, such opportunity, in his grasp, and does not take it?" A shake of the head. "He's dangerous."

"I agree," Eidolon commented unexpectedly. "A man with his resources, with no discernible leverage points, who would have us believe that he is only working toward the common good? Who does that any more?"

"Someone," Alexandria observed, "who doesn't want wealth or power." She paused. "Or perhaps, someone who doesn't need it."

They considered that for a few moments. Every person there wielded great power of one sort of another, and their association with Cauldron had made them more than a little wealthy.

Contessa broke the silence. "Or perhaps he's trying to ensure that things are stable before he moves on to the next phase of his plan."

The silence resumed, with a certain thoughtful quality to it. Paradoxically, they were more comfortable with this line of thinking; this concept, that of someone setting up a situation in which he could gain a later advantage, was familiar to them, something they could deal with.

"You'll be ready to forestall his plans, of course." Eidolon was looking directly at Contessa. "Don't blindside us again, like you did the last time."

Contessa smiled. "Of course. I'm right on top of the situation."

Alexandria nodded. "Good. On to other matters ..."

=//=//=​

Taylor left the bathroom and jogged through the school corridors; the bugs she had spread throughout the school picked up several other people moving around, but only a few were running like she was. She changed direction and put on the pace to catch up with them.

She needn't have worried; they were moving at the pace of their slowest member, and she dashed out of a side corridor about thirty feet in front of them.

"Weaver!" called Aegis; she waved and slowed, running backward until they caught up with her, then turning and falling into step with them.

"Wow, seriously, Weaver?" asked Kid Win; his armour was slowing him down slightly, but he was doing his best to keep up with the others. Taylor thought his voice sounded oddly familiar; maybe it was because she'd met him briefly after the Brockton Bay Central Bank robbery. "You did good at the bank, and I heard about what you did against Coil."

Before she could answer, Gallant had moved up alongside her. "It's really great to have you in the Wards," he greeted her. "I'd heard you were coming to Arcadia, but I didn't know it was going to be this soon."

She grinned behind the mask. "It's good to be here," she replied. And it was; she was one of them. They had accepted her. She was officially a superhero.

And with that, Mike's tutoring clicked into focus. Remember; they don't know the extent of your powers, what you can do with them. Don't be afraid to suggest ideas. He had grinned then, at some inner joke. Just try not to freak out Clockblocker too much. He's a delicate flower.

"Aegis," she said crisply. "What's the threat level? How hard do you want me to go?"

The boy in the rust-brown costume did not hesitate more than half a second. "There's a lot of gang members on the streets. The vast majority of them are normals, but they're armed, so we treat the threat level as high." He looked around at them. "There are three factions in play; Empire Eighty-Eight and the Merchants coming in from each side, and the ABB in the middle. Note that they're all going head to head; at our best guess, the Merchants are going for a land grab, and the Empire's pushing outward to avoid any impression of weakness."

"The Merchants?" asked Clockblocker. "Doesn't sound like them."

"Normally, it wouldn't be," Gallant pointed out. "But the Empire and ABB aren't exactly on the top of their game at the moment."

Taylor cleared her throat. "Aegis, I have a swarm building right now. Which direction should I send it?"

He glanced at her, startled. "How big - no, never mind. We'll, uh, be going northwest from here, so send it that way. I'll be getting you to do scouting and crowd control on the mooks."

"And if we hit hostile capes?" Taylor was surprised at how calm her voice sounded.

He shot her a grim smile. "Take them down hard, but remember, for the most part they aren't as resilient as Lung."

She nodded sharply. "Hard but non-lethal; got it."

"We'll be joining up with Protectorate capes and working alongside them," Aegis went on, addressing the whole group. "They've also alerted New Wave and every independent cape they could reach; we're going to need all hands on deck for this one. Gallant, can you -"

"Already on it," the grey-armoured teen responded. "Vicky and Amy are on their way now."

=//=//=​

Menja allowed me to lock up my vehicle, although I was justifiably dubious as to how well that would work against a determined vandal. With one hand on my shoulder, applying just enough pressure to remind me that she was there, she escorted me back down the road. As she did so, we encountered a powerfully-built man, moving purposefully toward the ongoing brawl.

His hair was long and greasy, and he bore several tattoos on his arms and shirtless torso; I would have guessed at his identity even without the metal extruding from his body to cover his skin. He sneered at me as he passed us. "Who's the rent-a-cop?" he asked.

"Someone that Kaiser wants to talk to," replied Menja coolly.

Hookwolf looked me up and down and sneered again, then nodded to Menja and moved on, having obviously dismissed me from his worldview. I glanced back once, to see him growing more metal on his body as he closed in on the brawlers.

Menja did not allow me to linger, and I really didn't want to see what happened next; we turned the corner just before he reached them, but the screams carried to us just fine. Hookwolf, I knew, was not a man who pulled his punches. I felt sick to my stomach, but I did my best not to show it.

As we went to meet Kaiser, the thought kept running through my head: I made this happen. I got those people hurt and killed. Gang members or no, what happened to them was ultimately on me. And I didn't like that, in any way, shape or form.

Which meant that even now, I had to step up. I was in as dangerous a position as ever I had been in my life; I was being escorted by a parahuman, who could kill me with ease, to meet a man who I had repeatedly insulted on our last meeting. A man whose current position of power depended heavily upon showing absolutely no sign of weakness.

And if I wanted to reduce the casualties, I had to figure out how to tell him what to do, in such a way that didn't get me killed in any one of a dozen gruesome ways.

I really, really wanted to go to the toilet.

=//=//=​

Amy glanced up when Vicky's phone buzzed to indicate an incoming text. It would hardly have been unusual in the normal run of things, except that Arcadia incorporated Faraday shielding in its walls to prevent that exact thing from happening with every single student. Such shielding could only be bypassed by going outside to make a call ... or if one's boyfriend had a Tinker friend who could circumvent it.

The school knew about this, of course; Dean had insisted on telling them. It was only to be used as a means for Gallant to contact Glory Girl in the case of an emergency. So when Victoria Dallon got a text in the middle of class, it meant that Amy had to pay attention, too. If Glory Girl was needed, then the chances were that Panacea was in demand as well.

Except that on this occasion, Amy was going to have some unwelcome news for her sister.

=//=//=​

Emily Piggot frowned as her phone went off. She held up a hand to stall the PRT major on the other side of her desk. She would normally have ignored it, but she had it set to accept only the highest priority messages.

Pulling it out, she read the text on the screen: Find Michael Allen.

The number wasn't one she recognised; she frowned again. Somehow it had bypassed her priority system.

"One second, Major," she told the PRT man, and tapped out Allen's number. If the man - or whatever he was - wanted to get in touch with her, then all he had to do was call; his number was on her 'priority' list.

But he hadn't; this was a third party, telling her to find him.

Director Piggot was not a stupid woman; it didn't take her long to connect the dots. The chances were that this message had not come from a mundane source. Which meant ... what?

No need to panic just yet. I'll just ask him where he is, she decided, tamping down the stirrings of alarm in her mind.

The phone went straight to voice mail.

"That's not like him," she decided. Hanging up the phone momentarily, she set up a conference call.

=//=/=​

Menja had taken my phone, of course, as well as my pepper spray and extendible baton; I may not have been a credible threat to her, with Hookwolf in easy calling range, and Kaiser presumably somewhere nearby, but she wasn't taking any chances. I watched her turn the phone off; there went any chance I had of calling for help.

"You realise, that might make people wonder, if my phone's off," I commented.

"Let them wonder," she stated. "I take my orders from Kaiser, and no-one else."

"I can't argue with that," I responded agreeably. She shot me a sharp glance, but I met it with a bland gaze.

"And who do you take orders from, security man?" she asked.

"Very few people," I replied. "Right now, no-one at all."

I wasn't sure if she believed me; it was true, given that I was off duty for a month, but the truth of a statement did not necessarily add to its credibility.

"That scar on your neck," she observed at last. "Bakuda?"

I nodded, quelling the impulse to rub at the still-itching spot. "The same."

"And yet you're still walking and talking."

"I have good friends," I told her. "And on that note, where's Kaiser, exactly?"

"In here." She pushed me toward a doorway.

We entered, and climbed stairs. Several storeys up, we emerged on a rooftop; I was breathing heavily, and sweating more than a little.

Menja looked at me disapprovingly. "You do not care for your body," she chided.

I tried to think of a smart comment, but I was panting too hard to think clearly. "Make it to my age," I told her at last, "and see how you go."

=//=//=​

"You've reached Legend, Director Piggot. How can I help you?"

"There's a gang war breaking out in Brockton Bay, and I've lost contact with Security."

Legend paused, hovering in midair over New York. "Not to be unhelpful, Director, but can't your forces on the ground find him as easily as I could?"

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear the first time," she stated acerbically. "Gang. War. The ABB, the Merchants and the Empire Eighty-Eight are duking it out on the streets, and the man who knows how to save the world is in the middle of it. I was actually trying to get Alexandria, but the call was transferred to you. My forces are just now getting organised to stop the gangs, but my only fliers are in the Wards. Please. I'm asking for help."

"I'm still not sure what I can do," Legend replied, even as he turned northward. "I can't search every building in the city."

"I've got Armsmaster on the line as well," Piggot told him. "He can give you a bearing on the last location of the phone before it went offline. That should narrow down the search area considerably. And you can cover it a lot faster than my forces could."

He nodded, although she could not see him. She was right, of course. "I understand. I'll be there as soon as I can."

=//=//=​

Kaiser turned his head as we emerged on to the roof. Fenja stood alongside him; she continued to watch the street.

"Good morning, Mr Allen," he greeted me. "I see you were not foolish enough to decline my invitation."

Moving forward at Menja's insistence - not that she was being forceful, but the gentle pressure in the small of my back echoed the itch between my shoulder-blades, so I didn't argue - I joined him at the roof's edge.

"It fell into the category of 'an offer I could not refuse'," I observed, trying to match his casual tone. From where we stood, I could see not only the victorious Empire members moving on down the street, leaving recumbent ABB bodies in its wake, but also my pickup, parked at the side of the road.

I gestured toward the vehicle. "I'm guessing that if I had attempted to drive on, I would have suffered a sudden and inexplicable puncture?"

He smiled coldly. "At the very least, Mr Allen. At the very least."

He turned slightly away from me, to follow something that was out of my line of sight. Curious, I stepped forward to see. Both Fenja and Menja tensed; abruptly, a spiked fence of steel spikes grew up around me. I stopped moving. Given that a dozen needle-sharp spines were suddenly pricking me through my clothing, and more were poking at my stab vest, not moving seemed to be a wise course of action.

"I'm actually curious," I cleared my throat, "I'm actually curious as to why you've had me brought here."

Turning his head back to me, he raised an eyebrow. "Only 'curious', Mr Allen?" His voice was amused. "You appear to be made of sterner stuff than most people that I've had brought before me."

"Well, to be honest," I told him, "I'm kind of glad you had me picked up. There is something I do need to talk to you about."

That got his attention. He turned back to me then; his eyes were intent, his focus total. "After Friday night's conversation, I find this hard to believe. Why the about-turn?"

I wanted to take a deep breath, but I didn't feel like testing out the integrity of my stab vest. "You may recall the audience we had on Friday night. I didn't want to let them know I was too interested in talking to you." I paused. "Note that what I actually said at the time still stands; I don't approve of your organisation or its aims. But I have need of you, and several other members of the Empire. So, we need to talk."

He was walking around me slowly; by now, the cage of steel spikes had grown to encompass my head. All I could do was follow him with my eyes.

"Really." His voice was cold, the tone of someone totally in charge. "You have 'need' of me. How interesting. Perhaps you had forgotten the insults you hurled my way, the last time we talked? Accusing me of being either a moron or a hypocrite? Do you retract that statement?"

I felt the cold steel of a blade sliding into place across my throat; I had absolutely no doubt that it was razor sharp.

"What I think of you personally doesn't matter," I mumbled, trying to move my Adam's apple as little as possible.

The blade increased its pressure; I felt the sting as the skin was broken.

"Oh, but it does." Kaiser's voice was but a whisper, right by my ear. "I have been rarely been spoken to in that fashion by anyone, and it's even more rare that I let them live, afterward."

"Killing me," I managed, "would be a very bad idea." I was sweating anew now, and my heartbeat thundered in my ears. "The PRT -"

"- has more to worry about right now than the life of a single second-rate security guard," he interrupted me. "More to the point, I have little to lose, now that every single member of the Empire Eighty-Eight has been unmasked. If the PRT needs an indication of my determination to remain in power as the head of the Empire Eighty-Eight in Brockton Bay, then perhaps your corpse will serve that purpose."

"No need," I told him, moving only my lips. "The PRT isn't going to act on that information anyway."

He stopped, staring at me. "Make sense. Fast."

I would have shrugged, if doing so wasn't risking a flesh wound. "If I say go easy on you, the PRT will give you a pass for most of the shit that's gone down today." At least, I hope so.

His eyes narrowed. "That would presuppose a level of influence with the PRT that I have not yet seen evidence of," he stated flatly "I'm going to need some proof -"

=//=//=​

"Ready to go, Amy?" asked Glory Girl, fitting the tiara on her head.

Amy didn't answer; she was looking at the floor, trying to formulate what she needed to say next. It wasn't easy, or anywhere near it.

Vicky came over, putting her hand on Amy's shoulder. "Panacea? Got your game face on?"

Amy looked up into her sister's face. "I ... can't go with you, Vicky," she confessed. "I need to go with the Wards. With Weaver."

Glory Girl frowned. "What? Why? What's going on?"

Amy took a deep breath. "I'm off healing duties while I'm in therapy," she told Vicky in a rush. "Weaver controls bugs. We're collaborating on designing bugs for her -"

"Wait, what the fuck?" blurted Vicky. "Off healing? But healing is what you do. It's your thing. You heal people. You can't just decide not to heal people."

"And that attitude is part of why I'm in fucking therapy in the first place!" shouted Amy. "People die all the time, Vicky! It happens, no matter how hard I try to heal everyone! There are doctors for a reason! They help more people every day than I ever could!" She took a deep breath to calm herself. "So just for a little while, I'm taking time off. He told me that I didn't have to heal anyone if I didn't want to. So I'm not. Not until I get my head on straight."

Vicky was staring at her. "Who told you?"

Amy met her gaze squarely. "Mike Allen. Security."

"What the fuck?" demanded Glory Girl. "Who gave him the fucking right to tell you what you can and can't do?"

"He gave me advice," Amy told her. "And now I'm in therapy, and I'm learning so much about myself.". She looked her sister in the eye. "I'm doing this for you too, you know. He told me about something that could have happened if we were not careful, if I wasn't careful. And now that I know, we're taking steps to make sure it never happens."

Vicky shook her head. "You're making no sense at all."

"I can't tell you, not everything," Amy explained. "But sometime soon I will. You and Mom and Dad, you'll be attending some of my therapy sessions. And then you'll understand what it's all about."

Glory Girl was still staring at her. "But you don't need therapy. You're the sanest person I know."

Amy shook her head. "It's not about being insane to start with. It's about helping me recognise and face my problems." She pointed at the door. "But I need to catch up with the Wards before they go. Can you give me a lift?"

Vicky heaved a sigh. "Sure. But this isn't over. I am gonna find out what's going on."

Amy smiled as Vicky scooped her into a bridal-style carry. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

Though I'm not looking forward to finding out how you react when you find out how I feel about you, she mused. The way Mike described it, it did not turn out well.

She sighed, internally. We'll get to that when we get to it.

=//=//=​

When the need was upon him, Legend could fly very fast indeed. He made it from New York, north and east to Brockton Bay, in a remarkably short time. At thirty thousand feet, few people would have been able to see anything worth seeing; however, his unique powerset allowed him to distinguish details at ground level that would normally have required a high-powered optical telescope.

He could not scan at speed, but he could cover quite a large area while scanning from altitude.

It wasn't all easy going; fires had been set, or accidentally started, here and there, and the plumes of smoke blocked his vision as easily as it blocked normal sight. But he hadn't even needed to check each plume in turn; barely a minute into the search, he had located his quarry.

And he had not arrived a moment too soon.

=//=//=​

"- of what you're saying ..."

Kaiser's voice trailed off, which didn't really surprise me. I was too busy blinking in astonishment as the cage of blades fell apart around me; there had been a flash of red light, and then each blade, each spike, had been separated from the whole and was now lying on the rooftop at my feet.

Kaiser grew a sword from his hand – just grew it, which would have struck me as insanely cool at any other time. Menja readied her spear, looking outward. Fenja raised her shield.

And then Legend arrived on the rooftop.

Again, all I saw was a flash of light, and then he was there; hair unruffled, not even a crack in the tarred rooftop under his feet. Light played over his hands and arms; the equivalent, I figured, of a Brute flexing his muscles. Which didn't surprise me; whatever they could do, he could counter, and whatever he wanted to do, they had no chance of beating.

"This is over," he informed us quietly. "Mr Allen; are you all right?"

The first thing that struck me was the sheer presence of the man. He was of average height and build; the skin-tight costume showed that he was fit and muscular. But even though he was also quite handsome, that wasn't all of it, not by a long shot. He had charisma and charm, even though the latter wasn't really showing through, in the grim tone of his voice.

I had met some of the worst capes in Brockton Bay. Today, I was meeting one of the best.

"Oh, I'm fine," I told him, thinking quickly. "Mr Anders and I were discussing the concept of his pulling his men back to status quo ante bellum, in return for not being arrested just for being Kaiser. Everything the Empire's done today." I looked at Kaiser, and then back at Legend. "Everything they've done today that doesn't involve harm to civilians or property, we sweep it under the rug. The PRT doesn't go after them just for being a criminal parahuman gang."

Kaiser was staring at me, as was Legend. Menja and Fenja were silent, but wary. They obviously knew, as I did, that the arrival of the Triumvirate leader had utterly shifted the playing field; the man regularly went up against Endbringers, for crying out loud. Even with me as a potential hostage, they were so badly outmatched that it was laughable.

Of course, now I had to convince him not to take them down.

Legend folded his arms. "So tell me, why exactly should I do any of that, instead of just arresting them?"

It seemed simple enough to me. "As I said, status quo ante bellum. The Merchants and the ABB are still going at it hammer and tongs, but if the Empire pulls out of this war, it'll be a lot easier for the PRT and Protectorate to take down the rest." I gestured toward Kaiser and the two girls. "If you arrest them, that still leaves the rest of the Empire on the streets, causing havoc. But if he calls everyone off, that takes half the parahumans off the field, in one fell swoop. Right, Kaiser?"

Reluctantly, Kaiser nodded. "That is correct, yes." He looked at Legend; I could see the cogs turning in his head, trying to see a way to glean an advantage from the situation. "If I call my people off, we simply walk away? No arrests?"

Legend grimaced. "I'm still not convinced. Mr Allen, why are you advocating this?"

I raised my eyebrows. "You've been filled in on what happened Friday night?"

He nodded. "Yes. Does this have to do with that?"

I shrugged. "Sure. I figure we can use Kaiser, the twins, Hookwolf, Rune, Othala and Victor."

Menja and Fenja both glanced sharply at me. Kaiser frowned.

"So what is it, exactly, that you want us for?" he asked.

I grinned. "To save the world."

Kaiser looked to Legend. "Is he serious?"

After a long moment, the hero nodded. "Apparently so." He came to a decision. "Do it. Call your men off. You get to walk away, free and clear, except for anyone who actually targeted civilians. If they can be identified, or if they've already been arrested, then they will be prosecuted."

"I gave specific orders for civilians not to be targeted," Kaiser reminded him curtly. "If any have disobeyed me, then they deserve whatever punishment they receive."

"But you'll stand everyone else down?" pressed Legend.

Kaiser did not answer him directly; instead, he pulled out his cellphone. As he dialled, he turned to Menja. "Find Hookwolf. Pass on the word. We cease hostilities immediately."

The tall Amazonian blonde saluted with her spear, and headed for the stairwell.

Holding the phone to his ear, Kaiser went on. "Kreig? Kaiser. We're out of this war, effective immediately. Stand all troops down, and pull them back to our territory."

Kreig must have asked for confirmation, because Kaiser's tone hardened. "I'm not asking. I'm telling. Stand. Everyone. Down. At. Once."

There was a long pause, then he nodded once, sharply. "Good. Let me know when it's done." Putting the phone away, he turned to Legend, and raised an eyebrow. Satisfied? he didn't quite ask.

Legend acknowledged with a nod, but pursed his lips. "I'm still not entirely convinced that this is the best thing to do," he observed, then he turned to me. "You're certain of this?"

"We're going to need our biggest hitters," I told him frankly.

"Kaiser isn't a huge hitter, though," he pointed out.

"But he can create shapes with his blades," I responded, then looked at the leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight. "You can do that, right?"

Kaiser looked slightly taken aback, but recovered well. "Of course," he retorted. "I have complete control over my power."

I nodded. "Good. We'll have need of that."

Kaiser frowned. "You speak as though you're arranging some sort of Endbringer Truce. We already have those."

I badly wanted to pat him on the head and say something along the lines of You're so adorable, but I chose not to, on the grounds that I had pushed my luck quite far enough for one day.

Instead, I tilted my head slightly as I pretended to think about the concept. "That's one way to think about it, yes," I agreed. After all, I was trying to arrange a truce, in order to battle the most powerful end-bringer of all. "Not quite sure when it'll happen, but at some time, sooner or later, we'll be calling on you. And when we do, we're going to be needing you to bring your A-game to the table."

"So, just another Endbringer attack, then," he replied dismissively. "I thought that you claimed to have disposed of those." His tone was heavy with disbelief.

"Oh, if all goes right, the Endbringers won't be a problem," I assured him. "It's not them I'm talking about." I looked him in the eye. "What I'm working on right now, last time it was tried, there were eighty percent casualties, and that was before the endgame. This time round, I'm hoping for a lower number."

"What in God's name are you talking about?" he demanded.

Slowly, I shook my head. "Can't tell you. And if I were you, I wouldn't think too hard about it. Just in case." I turned to head for the stairwell.

"Wait!" objected Kaiser. "What's going on here? Why do you specifically need my ability to shape metal? Who are you?"

I looked back at him. "What's going on here is that you've just acquired the direct and personal attention of the PRT by kidnapping me. Fortunately, I'm the forgiving type." I paused to give him time to let that sink in. "Why we need your specific capabilities, that's currently classified. And as for who I am and where I'm from and how I know what I know, that's so classified that not even the President is cleared to know it. But do us both a favour. Don't pull this again. Seriously. There is no way that it will end well."

I saw him begin to flare up. "If you think you can threaten me -"

I shook my head. "Not a threat. A warning. This time, you get to walk away from this, no backlash. Next time … to quote a line I once heard, mayhem will ensue."

He frowned. "Very well. But this isn't over."

"Nope," I agreed. "It isn't." Turning back to the stairwell, I took the stairs down at a more sedate pace than I had ascended them. Legend accompanied me.

=//=//=​

Kaiser, flanked by Fenja and Menja, watched as the overweight security guard descended the stairs, followed by one of the most powerful parahumans in the world.

Fenja broke the silence. "He invoked the PRT, and Legend arrived in moments," she observed. "What does that mean?"

Kaiser didn't answer for a long moment. "It means that I was wise in not harming him immediately," he replied quietly. "Take note; anyone can make a miscalculation. It's how you handle the aftermath that proves what sort of person you are. It seems that my initial impression of Mr Allen was accurate after all. We are dealing with an unknown quantity here, and if he has the likes of the Triumvirate to call upon, then he is not someone we can safely antagonise."

"So what do we do now?" asked Menja.

"We make sure that our forces fall back in good order, and leave the Merchants and the ABB to the tender mercies of the PRT," Kaiser declared. A smile crossed his face. "There will be plenty of time to pick up the pieces, after."

=//=//=​

"Tell me," Legend commented after we'd gone down a flight, "was it your intention to antagonise him?"

"Maybe," I allowed. "I don't like the man, and I don't really give a shit if he knows it."

"But he could have killed you," he objected. "I would have done my best to protect you, but I could not have guaranteed your safety."

"He didn't want me dead," I responded. "He wanted answers."

"But if you'd pushed him too hard, he might have tried to kill you anyway," Legend pointed out reasonably.

My hands were beginning to shake. "Yeah," I admitted. "I didn't think he would, and I still don't, but … yeah. I was a bit stupid there."

We exited the building and walked down the street, around the corner to where my pickup still waited, locked up by the curb. I stopped and turned to him.

"Look," I told him. "Thanks for being there. I mean it. If you hadn't been there, he might have gone a bit too far on me." I offered my hand.

He nodded and shook it. "My pleasure," he replied. "If you can really save the world - "

"Not me," I corrected him. "You guys. I've just got the bare bones. It's up to you to make it into a real plan, and make it work."

He smiled, acknowledging the point. He had one of those infectious smiles; I found myself liking him on instinct, over and above the gratitude for saving my life. "Yes, but you're the one who's pointing us in the right direction."

I grinned. "It's kind of my job. I'm the guy who knows stuff, remember?"

"So I understand," he replied dryly. "Just by the way, did you know this war was going to happen?"

I shook my head. "One was going to happen, but in the previous instance, it started for a different reason, with different people instigating it. Bakuda kicked it off the last time, with the intention of freeing Lung. So when she was captured, I thought that was done with."

"Hm," he mused. "That's interesting."

"One way to put it," I agreed, as dryly as he had a moment ago. "Anyway, I'm going to get home before anyone else decides to kidnap me."

"Not your home," he decided. "That's not secure. Kaiser proved that, on Friday night. The PRT building will be safer, at least until the current crisis is dealt with."

I nodded, acknowledging the point. "You'll let them know that I'm on the way?"

"I'll do better than that," he told me. "I'll escort you in."

I shrugged as I unlocked the door and got in. "Not going to argue."


End of Chapter Thirty-Six

 

[Ack]

Security!

Chapter 37: Adding to the Mix


Taylor was just climbing into the PRT van when Glory Girl landed near the vehicle in a rush of wind. The blonde set Panacea down on her feet, then headed over to the van.

"Weaver, yeah?" she asked. "I remember you from the bank."

"Uh, yes?" Taylor replied, a little distractedly. She had gathered large swarms before, but never under this sort of pressure, and she worried that she might not be able to keep track of everything, or that she might lose control of a chunk of her swarm at the wrong moment. For all that Mike had assured her that she was capable of this, she had yet to prove it to herself, and so she was concentrating harder than normal on the task.

"Hey!" snapped Glory Girl. "Panacea's said she wants to go with you. I want to be sure you're going to protect my sister, not space out on her."

Behind her goggles, Taylor blinked; the swarm seemed to be holding together well, so she relaxed some of the concentration, just a bit. "Uh, sorry, Glory Girl. Hey, Amy. You're coming out too, huh?"

Stepping up alongside Glory Girl, Panacea nodded. "Yeah, but like Mike said, no healing. So, bugs. I can do bugs. Can I come along?"

"Hell, yes," agreed Taylor at once. She leaned back into the van. "Okay if Panacea rides along?"

"Sure," responded Aegis, then he glanced at the PRT driver for confirmation. "That's okay, isn't it?"

"If you have enough seats, I have no problem," the driver told him.

"If there's not enough, then Weaver can sit in someone's lap," Clockblocker quipped. "I vote mine."

"That's not funny," Aegis snapped. "Jokes like that are not appropriate. First and last warning."

Taylor registered the byplay, but chose to ignore it. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of her," she assured Glory Girl. "Thanks for dropping her off." She stepped aside to let Amy climb into the van, then went to follow her. Vicky stopped her.

Taylor looked down at the hand on her shoulder, then back at Glory Girl. "What?"

Vicky leaned close, her voice lowered so that those in the van could not hear her. "I don't know what's going on between you and my sister, but I am going to find out, and if she gets hurt because of you, or that security guard friend of yours … "

Taylor shook her head. "Don't even go there. Mike's done nothing but good for us. And Amy's my friend. I won't let her get hurt."

Glory Girl's eyes bored into her. "You'd better not."

"Excuse me?" Aegis suggested from his seat. "Don't want to break up the girl talk, but we've got this gang war thing to deal with?"

"We'll deal with this later," Taylor promised Glory Girl. "But I will keep her safe."

"You'd better," Vicky told her. "Or I will find you." Her hand left Taylor's shoulder, and seconds later, she was gone, vaulting skyward in a streak of white and gold.

Taylor climbed into the van, found one of the unoccupied seats, and strapped herself in. As the van moved off, Amy turned to her from the next seat.

"What was that about?"

Taylor shook her head slightly. "Just Glory Girl being Glory Girl, I suspect." She was glad that Vicky had at least kept her aura in check; that, on top of everything else, might have been just a little hard to take.

"Hm." Amy's tone was non-committal, but she made no further comment.

=///=​

It was really weird, driving through Brockton Bay. Parts of the city were a virtual war zone, while in others it was business as usual. Legend steered me around the worst bits; for the most part, the gang members ignored me if I drove fast enough, but this was still going to take me altogether too long to get to the PRT building.

While Legend is escorting me, he's not helping quiet this mess down. And I'm fairly sure that Endbringers are attracted to chaos and conflict. And that this gang war's a bit bigger than the one that happened in canon.

Without slowing, I put my arm out the window and did an awkward downward come-here gesture. Legend's eyesight must have really been that good; before I finished making the gesture for the second time, he was right there, beside the car.

"What is it?" he called over the wind rush; at that moment, I was doing slightly more than the posted speed limit. For a given definition of 'slightly'.

"I can make it from here," I yelled back, changing down to reduce speed for a corner. "You go kick some gangland arse!"

He kept pace with me as I took the corner, changed up and applied acceleration once more. "If you're sure?"

"Yeah. Get going. I'm good."

He gave me one last nod, then pulled a ninety-degree vertical turn and just disappeared.

I was on my own.

Not that I intended to hang around and admire the view.

=///=​

The news helicopter swooped low over the streets, although it didn't go too low. Dealing with parahumans meant that a certain amount of caution was called for; few of Brockton Bay's criminal capes were fliers, but that was in no way a guarantee of safety. There was more than one way to bring down a low-flying aircraft, and not all of them required the ability to reach that altitude.

Hanging out the side on his safety harness, the cameraman panned over the scenes below. Within the helicopter, strapped in but watching the screen, the reporter spoke for those in the studio.

"While this isn't as fraught as a full-on cape battle, it's still very unsettling to see gangs walking the streets of Brockton Bay in broad daylight, as if they own the place. And yes, we have seen capes of different factions mixing it up. These have mainly been Merchant versus Empire Eighty-Eight, given that two of the three ABB capes are currently in PRT custody."

=///=​

"Hey, Kayden, I really think you need to see this."

Theo's voice came to Kayden as she exited the tiny bathroom, still towelling her hair down. He was sitting on his bed, holding Aster, but his eyes were on the TV screen.

"What is it?" she asked. Then her eyes registered the view of her home city from the air, smoke rising here and there, the reporter's voice over it all. But what really got her attention was the banner scrolling across the bottom of the screen; GANG WAR IN BROCKTON BAY.

"Oh my god," she gasped. "When did this happen?"

"It only started coming on the news a little while ago," Theo explained. Aster burbled something, and he automatically rocked her till she quieted. "I think channel two has a speech that Kaiser made. I caught the end of it just after you went into the shower."

Leaving the towel wrapped around her head, Kayden picked up the remote and aimed it at the TV. As it happened, she clicked it over in the middle of the speech. Kaiser stood, fully armoured, before a throne-like chair.

" -pire Eighty-Eight is not yet done. We still have the strength of our resolve, our superior humanity. We will oppose one of the foes to law and order in this city; the ABB have been weakened, and we will strike to end them, once and for all."

Raising his arm to point at the camera, Kaiser took a step forward. As he spoke, he clenched his fist, and a sword blade grew from it, gradually lengthening.

"All I need from you is to step aside. Do not stand in our way, and if you are not ABB, then you have nothing to fear." He paused; his sword pointed directly at the camera. "If you are ABB, then I would advise you to leave town immediately. If you're too stupid to do that, then … well, feel free to wait. We'll get to you."

The sword point dropped, then rose in salute. "Everyone who is not ABB or affiliated with them; stay out of our way and you will not be harmed. You have my word on this."

Kayden dropped the remote on the bed. "Oh god," she muttered. "He's escalating. That's the worst thing he could possibly do. They'll Birdcage him for this."

Theo looked up at her, worried. "What are we going to do?"

She glanced down at him, thinking. "Aster is safe here, with you, isn't she?"

He nodded. "Sure." A frown. "Why?"

She indicated the TV. "Because I need to go and help sort that mess out before too many of those idiots get hurt."

He blinked. " … what?"

Sitting down on the bed beside him, she looked him in the eyes, her expression serious. One of her hands rested on his shoulder; the other caressed Aster's forehead. "Theo," she told him seriously, "I'm trusting you to take care of Aster for me. You and she should be safe here in Boston. You're well out of the way of that fighting. But I need to go back to Brockton Bay, and help out. If I'm to raise Aster in peace, I need to prove to the PRT that I can be a hero, so they'll let us alone."

"You – you're going to leave me here, with Aster?" he gulped. "What if something happens? What if something goes wrong?"

Leaning in, she kissed him gently on the forehead; the first time she had ever offered such a gesture. "I trust you," she reminded him firmly. "Now I'm going to need you to trust in yourself."

Standing, she went to the door. "Lock up behind me," she advised him. "Let no-one in."

"Got it," he agreed.

The door clicked shut behind her; Theo tried to fight off a sudden, terrible sense of loneliness, and only partially succeeded.

"Well, Aster," he told the baby out loud. "Looks like it's just you and me. The dynamic duo. Here to make funny noises and change dirty diapers."

Aster gurgled in agreement.

It didn't make Theo feel any better.

=///=​

Paige wasn't quite sure how she felt about what was going on. This wasn't like the raid on Coil's base, where she had been kept back, away from the action. She was going to be going out there, into the streets. There was a little fear roiling around in her gut, but she had been a part of productions before, and the preparations of the PRT soldiers had that backstage feel about it, everyone making sure everything was in place before the curtain went up. It was just familiar enough to be almost comfortable, and just unfamiliar enough to put her teeth on edge. The guns did not help.

Joe stuck close to her, as was his job, but she somehow got the impression that he was treating it as more than just a job, that he was proud of being there, pleased that he was the one who was showing her what to do, how to put on the protective gear.

She paused in the middle of pulling a strap tight, binding some sort of bulky vest over her upper body. "Joe, is this really necessary? Are people going to be shooting at me?"

He paused while he thought about the answer. "I don't know, Paige. I don't know how bad it will get out there. But I do know this much. I'd much rather you wear that and not need it, than not wear it, and need it." She did not miss the fact that he was exchanging his light webbing for the heavier vest as well.

She found her hands were shaking. "Joe, I'm scared."

He nodded. "Yeah. Me too." Pulling his pistol from its holster, he pulled back the slide, apparently checking something, then let it snap forward. The gun went back into the holster.

She frowned. "You're not scared. You look happy."

"It affects us all in different ways," he reminded her. "Think of this as the biggest stage show you've ever done."

She blinked, recalling the parallel she had drawn for herself just a few moments ago. "Can – can I have some makeup?"

This time, he stopped, and stared at her. "You what again?"

"Makeup," she repeated. "I need it. Whenever I was about to go out on stage, I'd get the shakes, and I always thought my makeup was smeared or something. So I'd fix the makeup, and that got me through it."

"Huh." He raised a hand. "Gunny!"

A bulky PRT trooper shouldered his way over to them. No, Paige realised. Her way. The PRT trooper was taller than Paige, and outmassed her twice over, even without the protective gear, but was clearly a woman. A woman who could snap Paige over her knee like a twig, but a woman all the same. The tag on her uniform read "LASALLE."

"Yeah, McKenzie?" asked LaSalle. Her eyes clicked on to Paige. "You the squishy?"

"Uh -" began Paige, having no idea how to handle this.

"Be nice," Joe intervened. "Gunny, meet Paige Macabee. Paige, meet Gunny LaSalle."

"Uh … hi?" ventured Paige. LaSalle gave her a hard stare, not giving anything up at all. Paige glanced at Joe, who came to her rescue.

"Gunny, Paige needs to borrow some of your makeup stash."

The steady gaze of the PRT gunny – gunnery sergeant, if Paige's memory served her correctly – sharpened to almost a physical thing. "Why?"

Paige gulped. "Um … it'll help?" She showed LaSalle her hands, which were shaking badly now.

LaSalle glared at Joe, who gazed blandly back. "This better not be a joke."

"No joke, Gunny," Joe assured her. "You deal with shit your way, Paige deals with it her way."

"Hm. Okay." LaSalle turned away, to forge a passage through the crowd of PRT troopers.

"Wow," Paige muttered. "She really doesn't like me."

Joe shook his head. "Nah, that's her usual way. She's not so bad when you get to know her. Her friends call her Sally."

"Uh, if her friends call her Sally, what do her enemies call her?"

Joe chuckled. "Dunno. Never met one."

Paige wasn't quite sure if he was joking or not.

=///=​

LaSalle returned in short order, and handed Paige a compact and a tube of lipstick. "All I can spare," she grunted.

"It'll do," Paige told her. "Thank you." She unscrewed the lipstick, and flipped open the compact to check. It was cheap stuff, and the colours weren't really her, but it was what she had to work with.

The lipstick went on first, her hands no longer shaking, the familiar movements calming her. Quick strokes, confident and smooth. The compact held eyeshadow and blush side by side; she brushed the eyeshadow on, working from inner corners to outer.

Finally, she applied the blush to her cheekbones. Using the tiny mirror, she checked herself, dabbed away a little errant lipstick, and touched up her eyeshadow. Her heart rate was no longer making her breathless, she noted absently. Thank you, power of suggestion.

Snapping the compact closed, she managed a smile as she handed it and the lipstick back to the glowering sergeant. "Thanks, Gunny."

"Welcome," LaSalle growled. She paused, then clapped Paige on the shoulder, nearly causing her knees to buckle. "Good luck, Macabee. Don't get killed."

"I – thanks." She watched LaSalle push her way through the crowd, and turned to Joe. He was grinning. "What?"

"You'll see her again," he told her.

She blinked, confused. "What?"

He tilted his head toward where LaSalle had gone. "Don't be surprised if she comes to see you off duty, for makeup tips. You made that look easy. LaSalle kind of … struggles."

"I, uh, okay," she managed. "Right. What do I do next?"

"Next, you put this on," he advised her, holding a helmet, with a half-visor, similar to the one he wore when escorting her around the base. On the side, someone had applied a decal; Tweety Bird, from the Warner Brothers cartoon.

It took her a second to make the connection. "Tweety Bird's a canary."

He nodded. "Sure thing. Helps us pick you out in the chaos."

She felt a little sad. "I thought I was getting away from that. I was getting used to being Paige."

Joe nodded seriously. "I know how you feel. But you come out with us, you help save people's lives. Like you did in Coil's base."

"Yeah, I know," Paige told him. "You're the ones who have to go out and deal with this shi – with this stuff, without powers or anything. If I can help, I will." She paused. "But one more thing. If I've got a call-sign or whatever you call it, I'm Tweety Bird, not Canary." She tapped the decal. "Get it right, okay?"

Joe frowned. "You sure? Tweety's kinda wimpy."

She flashed him a gamine grin. "Kicks Sylvester's ass every time, doesn't he?"

He had to laugh. "That's the spirit. Tweety Bird it is. You're our secret weapon."

"Well then." Paige took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Carefully, she fitted the helmet over her head. "Time to go be a secret weapon, then."

=///=​

Jared Stevens was nineteen years old; his father owned the Four Aces Motel, and had put him in as night manager to teach him the ropes, and to get him used to the responsibility of a regular job. Also, Jared privately figured, to show him what true, mind-numbing boredom really meant. After all, there were only so many times you could lose at computer solitaire without wanting to go out and play in traffic.

He hadn't paid much attention to the lady with the kids when they arrived on Thursday evening. She wore sunglasses, even though it wasn't that bright out, which made Jared think 'abused wife'. But so long as the hubby didn't show up to kick her door in, it wasn't any of his beeswax. He'd rented room seventeen to her, warned her about parties and pets, and left her to it.

Even when the big news hit Friday morning, just as Jared was getting ready for bed, nothing really registered with him. So what if some big cape gang in Brockton Bay got unmasked en masse? It was kind of cool, going through the files – by the time he got back on shift Friday evening, it was possible to find them via web search – and reading the dossiers of the capes who'd been outed, but it wasn't as though it really mattered. This being Boston and all.

But by the early hours of Monday morning, Jared was really starting to wonder about something. The lady in room seventeen kept to herself, but she and her kids looked awfully like the pictures of Kaiser's wife, his daughter and his son. He watched the kid go out to buy groceries, and compared what he saw with the picture of Theo Anders. And he was certain he was right.

The trouble was, Jared didn't know what to do with the knowledge. If he was right, and she was Purity, she could probably pulverise him, and the entire damn motel, with not all that much effort. Blackmail, he decided, was right out.

For half an hour or so, he considered trying to get in touch with Accord, or someone similar. Try to get some sort of kickback for letting them know about the new cape in town. But then he dissuaded himself from that line of thought. They'd use the little baby as leverage. I can't let them do that. Plus, he was just as likely to end up with a bullet in the head as with money in his pocket.

He still hadn't come to a decision when the first news about the gang war splashed across the TV screen. He watched it avidly, the occasional shots of groups of gang members or even capes clashing on live television.

When his dad arrived to take over for the day shift, he pointed out what was going on.

"Yeah," grunted the old man. "Heard about it on the radio. Get on home, get some sleep."

Briefly, Jared considered telling his father about his suspicions regarding Mrs Russell in room seventeen. But he didn't; he had no idea how the old man would react, but the knowledge, the secret, would be out of his hands, out of his control.

Grabbing his bag, he headed out into the parking lot, going toward the beat-up little car that he had bought with his first month's pay. As he unlocked the door, he saw the lady from seventeen exit her room, heading out toward the street at a brisk walk. She wasn't carrying the baby, and the kid wasn't with her. So they were both still back in the room. For the first time, he saw her clearly, without her sunglasses, with her hair down instead of tied back out of the way, and he knew for a solid fact that Kayden Anders, aka Purity, had been residing in the Four Aces Motel for the last four nights.

But where was she going? She didn't even have her handbag with her, and she was certainly going somewhere in a hurry.

Climbing into the car, he coaxed it to life and pulled out of the parking lot. She had turned the corner, and he had to wait for traffic, and he thought he'd lost her -

- no, there she was, striding down the sidewalk like she had some place to be, and not long to get there.

He did his best to not lose her again, driving ahead, then pulling into a parking spot. The movies made it look easy. He craned his neck around to see where she was, then swore as she ducked out of sight into an alley between the used-car lot and the Prudential Insurance building on the corner.

He was just opening the car door to get out and have a better look when a streak of light shot upward from the far side of the Prudential building. Moving faster than the human eye could follow, it turned north and accelerated. Jared fancied that he heard a faint sonic boom.

He got back into his car, and sat there for a few minutes.

"Fuck," he muttered.

Then he got out his phone and dialled.

=///=​

"You're kidding, right?" Brian asked rhetorically. "You have to know how mind-numbingly stupid this is."

Lisa shrugged. "Yeah," she acknowledged. "It's all of that. Gang war, three different factions clashing in the streets. Us stuck in the middle of it. But it's a gesture, you know?"

"A gesture for what?" asked Alec; he didn't look any happier than Brian. "'Come get us, we're giving you a free shot'?"

Lisa shook her head. "No. It's all about showing the PRT, the Protectorate, that we're sincere about wanting to change sides. We sit on our hands, do nothing, that means nothing at all. But if we come out, ally ourselves with them, it makes us look a little bit better. Makes it easier for Director Piggot to accept us as allies instead of enemies."

Brian looked over to where Rachel was brushing down Brutus. "Back me up here, Rach," he pleaded. "Tell her it's a bad idea."

Rachel didn't look up. "Sure, it's a bad idea," she agreed.

Brian turned back to Lisa. "See?" he exclaimed. "Even Rachel thinks -"

" - but doing nothing's worse," Rachel went on.

Everyone turned to look at her. She kept brushing Brutus.

" … what?" asked Alec. "Seriously?"

Rachel said nothing.

"Can you … explain that?" ventured Brian.

"Can't explain," Rachel told him. "Not in words."

Lisa smiled slightly. "It's a pack dominance thing," she suggested. "ABB, Empire, Merchants, all fighting each other. PRT, Protectorate, cops, fighting to protect the public, to stop the gangs from getting too powerful. Anyone who sits on the sidelines doesn't get hurt, but whoever wins probably won't trust them, after."

"Surely we're past all that pack and dominance bullshit," muttered Alec.

Rachel raised her head from her task, and looked him right in the eye. "It's always about packs and dominance," she told him flatly.

Lisa nodded. "The PRT's the biggest pack on the block, right now. We go out there, we ally with them, we make it a lot easier to get in with them after this is all over."

"God dammit," muttered Brian. He reached out and picked up his jacket. "I just know we're going to regret this."

"Probably," agreed Lisa. "But we'd probably end up regretting it more if we didn't."

Alec made a face. "So we're going to try to help the heroes."

Lisa nodded. "Basically."

"Fuck."

=///=​

"You've reached the PRT emergency hotline. What is your emergency, please?"

"Uh, hi, yeah, um. Listen, is there a reward out for turning in wanted parahumans?"

The operator sighed. "Sir, are you in immediate danger, or is someone near you in immediate danger, from a criminal parahuman?"

"Uh, no, not exactly, but I, um, I know where Purity's been living the last few days. Where she's keeping her kid. Kids."

The operator paused for a moment. "You're sure of this."

"Absolutely. Guaranteed. Is there a reward?"

"That's not for me to say. However, I can connect you through to someone who can help you. Please hold."

=///=​

Amy touched Weaver's gloved hand. "Hey." The glove had a smooth texture, unlike anything she'd felt before, except for seriously expensive fabric. Which it was, in a way. Pure spider silk had to be among the rarest cloth in the world. And Taylor had made herself an entire costume of it.

The face of Weaver's mask turned toward her; Amy still thought it was slightly creepy with the yellow goggle lenses, and the mandibles framing the jaw, but she saw the mouth moving under the full-face mask, and heard her reply.

"Hey, yourself."

Amy smiled slightly. Creepy or not, under that mask was the girl who was rapidly becoming her best friend. She and her father had opened their home to Amy, had given her acceptance without judgement or reservation. She could let her guard down around Taylor, be herself. No expectations, no hidden agendas. Just plain old Amy Dallon. Or Amelia Claire Lavere. Whoever she wanted to be.

Vicky and Carol had been surprised, almost offended, that she needed, wanted, therapy. Taylor and Mr Hebert – Danny – had accepted it, supported her, had taken her there, had picked her up after. They'd gone to see a movie. Danny had told really horrible, cheesy jokes – Taylor called them 'Dad' jokes – until Amy was weak with laughter. They'd played board games. They'd had fun.

If this is what family life is like, I want more of it.

And on another level altogether, Taylor's bugs offered her an out, an expression for her creative side, without the sense of being obligated to do ever more, as her healing made her feel. It was a fun little hobby, something she could dabble with, without having to worry about hurting anyone.

She was beginning to see the logic behind Mike's curtailing of her healing activities. Once she no longer had to stress about who she had to heal next, about who would die if she didn't heal them, she could focus in other directions. Stretch her arms out, metaphorically speaking, and see how far her reach now extended. Learn who she really was, inside. Who she could be.

"I was just thinking," she murmured. "If you wanted me to make some of those new bugs of yours, I might need bugs to work with, yeah?"

She could dimly see Taylor's eyes behind the goggles. They blinked, now, and Weaver nodded. "Yeah," she conceded. "It might be a good idea." Leaning forward, she tapped Aegis on the shoulder. "Can we slow down for a bit? I need to get some bugs in here."

Aegis gave the order to the driver, then turned back to her. "Why do you need bugs in here? Shouldn't they all be out there?"

Weaver shook her head. "Nope. I need specialised bugs as well as the normal variety, and Panacea needs something to work with." As she spoke, she slid the window open. The van was slowing, and in the next moment, a horde of insects poured in through the opening. Everyone but Amy and Weaver recoiled, some more violently than others.

Weaver slid the window shut; the bugs formed into a tight column beside her, buzzing loudly. "Enough for your needs, Amy?"

Amy grinned. "Oh, definitely. What do you need first?"

"Relay bugs, I guess. And ketamine bugs. Any spy-bugs you can put together will be good, too." She turned to Aegis, who was staring at the mass of bugs in horrified fascination. "What?"

"I didn't know you were going to bring that many in here," he blurted.

Weaver shrugged. "Any we don't use just get thrown back," she observed. "Question; are we going more for PR or just stopping the bad guys first and foremost?"

He frowned, apparently sensing a trap in her words. "Uh, mainly stopping the bad guys. Why?"

Amy could tell from the tone of voice that Taylor was grinning under the mask. "Just checking."

She lifted her hand away from the first relay bug, and went to work on the second, and the third. Glancing at Weaver – she didn't actually need to look and see what she was doing – Amy raised an eyebrow. "You're thinking Ali bugs?"

"Just a few," Weaver confirmed. "But the others take precedence."

Amy nodded firmly. "Got it."

Engrossed in her work, she was a little startled, but not at all surprised, when Weaver put an arm around her shoulders to give her a quick hug. "I really appreciate this."

Amy was still searching for a reply that didn't sound sappy or silly when Clockblocker spoke up.

"Uh, Weaver, you want to do something about those bugs? They're starting to wander around a bit." He held up his arm; several bugs perched there.

"Oh, sorry, Clockblocker," Weaver told him sweetly. "But you did volunteer your lap earlier. I thought it was still on offer." As she spoke, the rest of the bug cloud settled on and around him, covering him from head to toe in dark, chitinous bodies. "Or was I mistaken?"

"Ge-ge-get them off!" blurted the white-clad teen, brushing madly at himself.

"Weaver … " Aegis' tone was stern.

"Just making a point," Weaver replied cheerfully; as she spoke, the bugs were already lifting off of Clockblocker.

Amy stifled a giggle as the bugs settled on the one unoccupied seat, forming a rough approximation of a human shape. Taylor still had a bit of practice to go with making what Mike called 'swarm-clones', but she was definitely getting there.

She wished she could have seen Clockblocker's face inside his helmet. He was a nice boy, but sometimes his sense of humour made him more than a little irritating. Taylor had neatly turned his joke around on him, without hurting anyone.

Having Taylor Hebert for a friend, Amy decided, was going to be fun.

=///=​

Trainwreck paused, catching his breath. Gouges and torn metal marred his body, but he was still moving, still functional. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but one minute ago, he had been getting his ass royally handed to him by Stormtiger, and now he wasn't. Maybe it was because of one of the glancing blows he had landed on the Empire cape, but he really didn't think so.

His right arm refused to move properly; grinding and popping noises sounded from within the joints when he tried. The white-blond neo-Nazi had been hammering on him with those damned air-claws, and it had been either his arm or his head, and he'd chosen to take it on his arm.

But now the Empire Eighty-Eight – Stormtiger and the goons with him – were falling back. The Merchants with Trainwreck jeered and waved their weapons, those that were still upright and able to do so, but no-one showed much inclination to follow up. The Empire Eighty-Eight bred a certain type of bloody-mindedness into its minions, and it would be just like them to set an ambush for unwary pursuers. Besides, the Merchants had always preferred easier pickings. It was the way they were.

Clumping over to a parked car, Trainwreck ripped open the hood with his undamaged arm. Reaching inside, he closed metal fingers over a chunk of the engine. Metal screeched as he wrenched it out. He held it to the damaged limb, and the mechanisms there started incorporating it into his body, repairing the joint, making him whole again.

He grinned. There were downsides to having metal arms and legs, but the upsides were pretty awesome too.

"Okay, guys," he told the waiting Merchants, even as his arm repaired itself. "Cueballs don't wanna fight any more. So this is our turf now. All yours."

Whooping with glee, the Merchants scattered; some looted the bodies of their fallen comrades, while others clustered around as yet undamaged cars. Glass shattered as windows were broken. They'd been walking up till now, but now that they had scored some transport …

Trainwreck knew for a fact that they were more or less out of control now, but he also knew that Skidmark wouldn't care, so long as he got to take and hold more territory. Some of these guys would recall their allegiance and come back eventually, while others would just tear around in their stolen vehicles, causing havoc wherever they went. In doing so, they would draw attention away from the main body of the Merchants.

Which, Trainwreck figured, was all part of the plan.

=///=​

The four PRT vehicles pulled into the parking lot of a Seven-Eleven. Two trucks held PRT troopers, as well as Corporal McKenzie and his petite charge. One was the van with the Wards, Weaver and Panacea. And the last held the local Protectorate, save for Armsmaster and Velocity. The former was riding escort on his custom motorcycle; the latter was nowhere to be seen. Overhead, masses of insects darkened the skies. More than one person looked up, nervous.

The four larger vehicles formed a square, blocking off part of the parking lot. Two of the trucks unfolded side-canopies. Under this shelter, within the square, a folding table was set up. On to this table was taped a map.

The Wards made way for Weaver, who stepped up to the map. Immediately, bugs began to cluster on the map, starting at a single point and moving out from there. When an area about half a mile across had been filled in, she pointed at the clusters.

"Red bugs are ABB. Green ones are Merchant. Black ones are ... huh, that's interesting."

"What's interesting?" asked Armsmaster, studying the map intently.

"Empire Eighty-Eight is moving back toward their territory, not starting any new fights," Weaver enlightened them. "They're actively avoiding the others. Even the capes are staying clear of conflict."

"Ah, yes," one of the PRT officers stated, holding out a tablet. "The word's just going out now; Legend's in town, and he's gotten Kaiser to stand down his men in return for limited amnesty."

"Let me see that." Armsmaster took the tablet and scanned the text on it. "Huh."

Weaver looked up. "What, Mike was there too?"

Armsmaster's head snapped around. "I didn't say that."

"Uh, no, I read it over your shoulder," confessed Weaver. "Sorry." She held out her hand, and a large bug alighted on it. "Spy bug. Gives me hearing and sight almost as good as a human's. Amy made them for me. I just put one on everyone here. I hope no-one has a problem with that?"

Startled, Clockblocker glanced looked to his left and right. There were no bugs on his shoulders. "Where did you put it?" he asked, his voice rising in pitch slightly.

"Relax," she told him soothingly. "It's on top of your helmet. It's not going to bite you, and I promise it won't make a mess on your head, either."

Armsmaster's lips compressed. "It's customary to ask permission before putting listening devices on people."

"Bugging them, you mean?" Taylor replied, then regretted it almost immediately. "Sorry, sorry. Okay, I apologise. I just thought this would be the best way of keeping in touch with where everyone was, and what was happening around them."

Armsmaster nodded reluctantly. "Well, in future -"

He was interrupted by the arrival of Velocity, in a rush of wind. "Okay, finally found you," the Protectorate cape told them, apparently in some relief. "Oh good, you've got a map. Let me just put down where I've seen … "

He peered at the map, then blinked behind his visor. "Is it just me, or are those bugs right where the gang members are?"

"It's not just you," Assault commented, watching the bugs move around on the map with considerable interest. "Though I'm fascinated by the way your range seems to keep on expanding, Weaver."

"Thank Amy for that," Weaver told him cheerfully. "She's made me several dozen relay bugs, and they're currently hitching rides on any vehicles travelling outbound. They expand my range." She gestured to the bug-infested part of the map, which was now a couple of miles across, and steadily (if slowly) growing.

"And this is real-time?" asked Velocity.

"As real as I can make it," affirmed Taylor. "Once we get to work, I'll get Amy to make some bugs to represent PRT forces, as well as Protectorate and independent capes. That way we'll know where everyone is at once."

"Well, no sense in delaying," Armsmaster decided. "Captain, do you have enough information to go on at the moment?"

The PRT captain nodded, looking at the map. "If you can send us a video feed of that … "

"Can do, sir," a PRT tech assured him. "We'll just rig an overhead webcam."

Moments later, two of the three trucks had been loaded up and were headed out again, as was the van. Aegis shook hands with Weaver as the vehicles rumbled away. "You'll be keeping an eye on us?" he asked.

"Every step of the way," she reassured him.

Taking to the air, he flew away; Weaver shaded her eyes to watch him go, then she turned back to where Amy was leaning on the map table, watching the bugs move around.

Joining the normal bugs were others; some were blue in colour, while others each bore a distinct symbol on its back. They slowly crawled along the road, in the general direction of the nearest large grouping of gang members.

"I hope they'll be all right," Amy murmured.

Taylor put her arm around Amy's shoulders and squeezed. "Between you and me, I think we can keep 'em safe. What do you think?"

Amy smiled and offered a fist-bump; Taylor returned it.

"I think the bad guys don't stand a chance," Amy told her.

"Damn straight."

=///=​

Cricket danced and spun around the irritating man in the blue costume, with the foul mouth. Her kama lay on the ground nearby, jiggling and inching over the ground. Violet-blue fields covered them, making them impossible to hold; one had squirted from her hand, and she had released the other just in time, before it would have removed fingers.

He had several minions nearby, attempting to shoot her; she was able to dodge the shots, but the ground around the men was packed tight with the same fields, to the point that she could not reach them. So she was doing her best to get to the man himself; if she knocked him out, his power effects might end. If she killed him, they would almost certainly do so. But she had to get to him, first.

Heavy footfalls sounded – far heavier than even the monstrous Trainwreck – and she risked a glance, while rolling to avoid another barrage of bullets. A mechanical monstrosity was advancing up the street; spider-like, it had no grace, no smoothness of form. It looked as though it had been bolted together by someone under the influence of illegal drugs – and, knowing the Merchants, this was probably quite close to the truth.

The plan formed in her head; she could not get close to Skidmark. But if she took his partner, the Tinker called Squealer, he would surrender. Or she would kill Squealer. Either way was a victory.

She broke away from Skidmark, and ran toward the spider-mech. The legs would not present much of a challenge to climb -

Even as the spider opened fire on her from concealed turrets, and she leaped to avoid them, her phone rang.

Worst. Possible. Timing.

Tapping the phone to answer it, she held the buzzer to her throat, so as to articulate. The Bluetooth earpiece conveyed her word to the phone on her hip.

"What?"

"Pull back." It was Krieg's voice.

"But -"

"I said, pull back. Kaiser's orders. Now."

She glanced back at Skidmark, up at the spider-mech. Gritted her teeth. Orders are orders.

"Understood," she replied, then changed course. The spider opened fire on her once more, as did the Merchant minions. Diving behind a parked car, she let the unfortunate vehicle soak up the damage while she pried up a manhole cover.

I could have won this one. Damn it.

The car exploded just after she dropped down the manhole.

=///=​

Legend saw the explosion and angled toward it. Swooping down, he took in the scene; a burning car, a mechanical spider, several members of the Merchants …

Skidmark. The leader of the Merchants.

Even as he arrived, the spider-mech was in the process of scooping up Skidmark, secondary arms conveying him up to the cockpit, where the trashily-dressed Squealer controlled the mechanical monstrosity.

Several Merchants down below fired on Legend as he came to a stop, hovering before the spider-mech. He gestured; a thin red laser beam zig-zagged between the Merchant goons, slicing their guns neatly in two. A blue beam followed it up, freezing each to the spot.

"Surrender," he advised the Merchant leader. "Now."

He expected a certain amount of posturing. He even expected resistance. What he didn't expect was for the four turrets on that side of the spider to swing his way and hit him with enough force that he was driven back a dozen feet.

His body flickered and reformed, dispelling most of the damage; he felt himself absorbing a good deal of the rest of the energy. But when he tried to move, he felt himself pinned, trapped. Surprised, he took stock.

What he had mistaken for an after-image of the energy blast was actually a field around him, glowing a deep blue in colour. He pushed at it; it repelled his hand.

Some sort of force bubble, he surmised. Emulating Skidmark's trademark field?

It didn't matter; he geared up to blast his way through it. Except that the spider fired again; the attack was absorbed, dragged through the field, slammed into him. When his vision cleared again, he realised that the field was now much thicker, much heavier.

This is getting annoying.

And then a blast of sun-bright energy slashed down from the sky, elements of it curling around one another, not unlike DNA. It hit the spider-mech, shearing off all the legs from one side. The mech toppled over, the remaining legs scrabbling frantically, but only managing to drag it around in a circle. Another blast removed the remaining legs.

Legend's initial attempt to break out of the force bubble was reflected back at him, so he built a construct of force-lasers, none of them directly trying to break through, but ever expanding the volume inside the bubble, until it thinned and popped like a soap bubble. Freed, Legend observed the glowing female form who hung in the air before him.

"Purity," he stated.

"Legend," she replied coolly.

"The Empire Eighty-Eight's been stood down. You're no longer in this fight. I saw Kaiser give the orders."

Down below, inside the cockpit of the spider-mech, Skidmark raised his head, shaking it groggily. He started to shake Squealer, trying to rouse her.

Purity shook her head slightly. "I don't take orders from Kaiser. I left the Empire two years ago."

Legend raised an eyebrow. "That's not what my information says."

Was that a tightening of the lips? He couldn't tell. "Your information is out of date. I came back to Brockton Bay to help deal with this gang war." She paused. "I will fight on your side, if you'll let me."

He frowned. "Is this a one-time thing, or -"

"Not a one-time thing," she insisted. "If you won't let me ally myself directly with you, I'll declare myself an independent, but on your side."

Skidmark finally managed to rouse Squealer, and she began to fumble with the control panel in front of them.

Legend shook his head, not so much in denial as confusion. "But why the about-face? Why become a hero?"

"I have a child," she reminded him simply. "I always did want to be a hero rather than a villain, but while I was under Max's sway, it was easier to just do what he wanted. Even after I left him, it was simpler to keep my head down and just try to pick away at the ABB when I could. But now that people know my face, my name, her face, her name ..." She trailed off.

"Ahh," he realised. "You want protection."

Her voice was like chilled steel. "And a guarantee that Aster will never be taken away from me."

Legend paused. He and Arthur were still working through the adoption process for little Keith, but even now, he could not imagine the infant being taken away from them. It would devastate his husband. And, he admitted to himself, him too.

"I can't promise anything," he began cautiously, "but if we were to arrange safe housing for you and your daughter -"

" - and my stepson Theo as well - " she added quickly.

Legend recalled the name. Theodore Richard Anders, fifteen years old. Son of Max Anders. No known powers.

"And him too, yes," he agreed. "If we were to do that, would you be willing to turn yourself in, to stand trial for your crimes, with an eye toward probationary membership in the Protectorate?"

The spider-mech's canopy popped off, and the two supervillains spilled out on the ground.

Purity paused for a long moment. "Yes," she decided eventually. "But I'll want to speak to Security first."

Thrown for a second, Legend blinked. "Security?"

She nodded. "Yes. The person who rang me and warned me to leave town, on Thursday afternoon."

Before the raid on Coil, Legend realised. He had been filled in on the fact of the raid, but not its particulars. But there was only one person who could have known what was going to happen that far in advance. That Security. Right.

Skidmark and Squealer picked themselves up and prepared to run. Abruptly, they found themselves surrounded by cage walls composed of red laser light.

"Shouldn't be too hard," Legend assured Purity. "He's on his way to the PRT building right now."

=///=​

Theo's head jerked up at the knock on the door. He had locked it, and put the chain on, as Kayden had told him. Aster was napping now; he had the TV on low, watching the ongoing commentary on the gang war, trying to tell himself that he had nothing to do with it, that he wasn't watching for Kayden.

Getting off the bed, he went over to the door. Peering through the peephole, he discovered that it was grimy and blurry; he could see that there were people out there, but who they were, and how many, he wasn't sure.

"Who is it?" he called out.

"Management," he heard in reply. "Can you open the door, please?"

Almost, he complied. A week ago, he would have obeyed. But Kayden had told him to trust himself. And she had told him to not let anyone in. So he straightened his back, and did not open the door. "Why?" he asked instead.

"We've had complaints about noise from your room."

He frowned. "What sort of noise? I've kept the TV down low."

"They say there's a crying baby."

Theo glanced at Aster, who was sleeping peacefully in the middle of Kayden's bed, a pillow on either side so that she wouldn't roll off of the bed.

"Uh, no, there's been no crying in here," he called back. "Maybe another room?"

But he was starting to get a really bad feeling about this.

"They're certain that it's this room," the implacable voice from outside replied. "Can you open the door please?"

If Theo hadn't been looking at Aster, he would not have seen it; the shadow, cast against the curtain of the opposite window. By someone just outside the window, trying to be stealthy.

"Sure thing," he called out. "Just a sec, I'm in my underwear."

Darting over to where Aster lay, Theo, scooped her up and put her in her carrier. She awoke and lay gasping, as if not sure whether to cry or not.

"Sh-sh-sh-sh!" he whispered, lifting the carrier and taking it into the tiny bathroom.

He didn't know who was out there, but if they had guns, they might open fire. And he didn't want Aster being shot by accident.

Carefully, he closed the bathroom door, then went back to the front door. There were no more shadows on the curtains – that had been a mistake by someone, he thought – but he could almost feel their presence, pushing inward at him.

It was the work of a moment to bring the solitary chair over to the door, and set it up so that when he opened the door, the chair would be wedged under the handle.

He opened the door.

The first thing he saw was a police officer wearing a SWAT-type helmet. The man was holding a photo and looking at him over it.

"That's him!" shouted the cop. "Go go go!" He hit the door with his shoulder. The chain would have broken in an instant, but the chair held. As the officer rebounded, Theo threw his own not inconsiderable weight against the door, slammed it, and locked it. Then he wedged the chair up under the handle.

That was when the glass broke out of the window, on both sides of the room at once.

"Get away!" he screamed. "Go away! Leave me alone! Don't hurt her!"

They took no notice of him, scrambling through the windows, pointing guns. In the dusty dimness, he could see laser lines connecting the guns to his body, lining up on his vital organs.

"Get down!" one officer shouted. "On the floor! Hands where I can see them!"

Shakily, he knelt, holding his hands out to the sides like a supplicant. An officer behind him grabbed them and was just about to handcuff him when Aster cried out. Someone had entered the bathroom.

"ASTER!" he screamed, struggling free. "ASTER! Don't touch her! Don't hurt her!"

It took four of them to subdue him.

=///=​

I slowed down a bit after I left the area that was being contested by the rival gang members. If I recalled right, the farther south I got, the closer to the PRT building, the less prominent the gang presence was anyway. And the area previously controlled by the ABB was well behind me; not wanting to get a speeding ticket over and above all else that had happened that day, I let my speed drop back down to legal levels.

It was almost eerie. Not so far behind me, gangs had been fighting tooth and nail for territory; people were being hurt, wounded, even killed. Capes were clashing with capes. And yet, just a few kilometres away, people were acting as if nothing was wrong.

It was bizarre. It was a product of this world. In a world where Endbringers could virtually wipe a city from the map, people just … dealt with it. They picked themselves up, accepted the losses, and moved on.

Not for the first time, I mused that the world of Worm was populated by the walking wounded. Everyone had scar tissue. Some of it was even visible.

I was still thinking about this, rolling down a quiet back street, when I heard the scream of pure fear from quite nearby.

What the fuck?

Pulling the pickup around the corner into a side street, I saw something that made my blood run cold.

The street I had just driven into was a service road, barely wider than an alleyway. There were no sidewalks, and it was just about wide enough to let two cars pass, side by side.

Running toward me, eyes wide with terror, was a young woman, dragging a boy along by his arm. Behind them, headlights glaring on full, two cars full of people, roared and surged their engines, steadily catching them up.

They were never going to make it.

But if I intervened, I would be going up against at least six, maybe eight or more, drunk or stoned gang members of some sort.

I sighed. "Fuck it."

Turning my lights on high-beam, I accelerated down the side-street. Straight down the centreline. The woman and the boy could pass me by, but the cars were going to have to either stop, or hit me. There was no third option.

Where's a superhero when you really need one?


End of Chapter Thirty-Seven

 

[Ack]

Security!

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Reaping the Whirlwind


Boston

Theo lifted his head as Aster wailed again. His face was scraped, and one nostril was crusted with dried blood. "Can I see her?" he pleaded. "Hold her? She knows me. She likes me. She's scared. Can't you hear that?"

The police officer shook his head. "No. We've got our orders. We keep you separate. That way, you can't get up to mischief."

Theo moved his left arm, but not too far. The handcuff on his wrist rattled as it slid along the metal head-frame of the bed he was sitting on. He gestured at it, at himself. "Listen, it's not like I'm going to overpower you or anything."

"Look, Theodore," the cop stated.

"Theo," he corrected the man automatically. "No-one calls me Theodore."

"Theo, then." The police officer sighed. "You assaulted officers of the law, Theo. Normally, that's a chargeable offence. But we're not charging you. We're just keeping you in protective custody until Purity's behind bars."

Theo was desperate. "Just let me see Aster. I just want to make sure she's okay."

"Sorry. Orders." The policeman turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. The click as it closed held a certain finality, a certain inevitability. He wouldn't be opening that door from his side.

Theo stood up, tugging on the handcuff. It clattered again. He knew better than to try to move the bed; it was bolted to the floor, and was quite sturdy enough to withstand his strength, even if he'd been fit and capable. And even if he could, then he was stuck behind a locked door. The door was cored with steel, he knew, under the wood veneer; he had seen too many of that type while growing up with his father to mistake that now.

Even if he could move the bed, or lose the handcuffs, if by some miracle he could get through that door, he would still be in the concrete-lined basement of a SWAT safe house, with only one way out. Past an unknown number of armed, trained officers of the law, any one of whom could subdue him with relative ease.

Aster wailed again, the sound of her voice still audible through the thick door. He knew her well enough to know that cry; she was scared, among strangers, and the policewoman who was trying to care for her didn't know how to calm her down.

He wanted to just go to her, hold her, soothe her. Kayden had given him just one task, to care for her child, his half-sister. And he had failed in that.

He had failed Kayden.

Just as Max had always told him, he was a failure.

He sat on the bed again, face in his hands. Tears ran from his eyes.

Aster wailed again. The desolate cry tore his heart right in two.

=//=//=​

Brockton Bay

I had seconds in which to think, to act. I didn't even bother trying to think things through. I just acted.

The narrow street, with tall brick buildings on either side. No pavement to speak of. A woman, in her thirties, dragging a kid, maybe ten, by the arm. The look of desperation mirrored on each face. Running toward me. Behind them, two cars, accelerating now to catch up with them. They'd been playing cat and mouse, letting their prospective victims think they might have a chance, but now a new factor had joined the game.

Me.

But they'd left it too late. I swerved to the right, letting the woman and her son run past. Ahead of me, one car slowed, while the other accelerated.

If I'd practised, rehearsed, I probably would have screwed it up badly. But acting on instinct, it is sometimes possible to get something right where thinking about it would lead to failure. I'd been driving my own utility vehicle for over twenty years; the handling of Michael Allen's pickup was almost identical. What I wanted to do was a mirror image of what I would have done with my own ute, given the different driving laws in the United States. Fortunately, muscle memory took over.

Just in time, I corrected, my bullbar only striking the wall a glancing blow. Running alongside the right-hand wall now, I felt rather than heard the oversized wing mirror hit the wall, get pushed back into the side of the vehicle. I touched once, twice, heard the pickup lose paint on the brickwork. Kurt's gonna be pissed.

I barely had time for even that fleeting thought; the car to my left was taking advantage of the gap to surge forward, to pass on by, while the car in front of me was dropping back in order to move over.

Except that I had other ideas.

At the last second, I spun the wheel, wrenching it over with main force. The old pickup responded gamely, swerving out from the wall at an angle; dimly, I felt the tray scraping as the vehicle pivoted away from the wall, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that I hit the car squarely.

I braced myself, leaning back in my seat so that the belt had the most amount of play, just before I hit.

I hit the one on the left first. The pickup ploughed into him at an angle, my bullbar smashing into his left side headlight, and the weight of my vehicle smashing him sideways into the wall.

The impact was tremendous, jolting me to my core. I was thrown forward, fetching up hard against the seat belt strap. While my stab vest protected me against the one across my chest, the one over my waist bit in cruelly. My head rang with the sound, with the impact, with the sheer force of what had just happened.

I was dimly aware that the engine had stalled out, that the front end of the first car was crumpled into mine. Groggily, I shook my head to clear it.

And that was when the second car hit the pickup.

=//=//=​

"Move, move, move!" Trucks and cars stood idling as Empire Eighty-Eight troops climbed into them. As each vehicle was full up, it moved off.

The order had gone out; pull back all Empire soldiers from ABB territory. Normally, Kaiser would not have risked his vehicles like this, but these were special circumstances. After his talk with Legend, with the enigmatic Security, he wanted his forces to be out of the way before the next shoe fell.

Hookwolf stalked around the perimeter of the crowd of Empire soldiers. "We're not retreating!" he shouted. "We're falling back! These are orders! Kaiser's gonna let the stoners and the chinks kill each other off, then pick up the pieces! Does anyone not understand this? Good! Then get on those fuckin' trucks!"

He was looking outward; he didn't see the dark, cloaked figure appear briefly beside the nearest truck, then crumble to ash. But when the truck exploded, it got his attention.

Metal speared out of his body, covering his flesh, even as debris both mechanical and organic rained down around him. The truck had been almost fully loaded, packed with soldiers. The explosion had blasted it apart, along with the soldiers on board. Not a few soldiers in the crowd yet waiting to board had also been caught in the blast. Most of these were dead; a few were merely mutilated and maimed.

Nearly everyone except for Hookwolf himself had either been knocked flat by the blast, or had dived for cover in the aftermath. Which meant that when the dark figure appeared again, in the middle of his prone soldiers, Hookwolf saw him clearly. Saw the grimacing demon mask. Saw the bandoleer of grenades.

"Oni Lee," he growled.

Gleaming metallic claws slid into place along his forearms, and he leaped to the attack.

=//=//=​

"Squad six," Taylor reported over the mic provided, "A bunch of ABB around the corner to your right. Kid Win and Aegis, you're closest. I'll direct you."

"Squad six actual, Weaver. Roger that," the squad leader replied. "I copy ABB to the right. We'll hold and wait for the capes. Squad six, out."

Taylor landed a number of bugs on Kid Win's visor, setting them in a vertical line. She walked them around until they were over the Tinker's right eye. As he turned his head, they adjusted their positions. He twigged quickly, kicking over his flying skateboard and heading in the direction provided. Aegis, seeing this, followed him.

Taylor turned off the mic. "That should cover that," she murmured. "Oh, hey, Vicky and the rest of New Wave are out there. Amy, could I get some bugs for that?"

"Sure," Amy replied cheerfully. "Individual logos or just gold or something?"

Taylor grinned. "Showoff," she accused Amy playfully. "Just gold for the time being." She put an arm around the bio-tinker's shoulders and gave her a hug. "I really could not have done this without you, you know."

Amy smiled, and hugged her back. "I know. I'm just glad those relay bugs work so well. And the spy bugs."

"Tell me about it," Taylor replied. "Without those, I'd have to be there, on the spot. And I've already found out how dangerous that is." She shivered. "Going against Lung was the scariest thing I've ever done."

Amy opened her hand, and half a dozen bugs sat there, all coloured a bright gold. They flew down to the map; while four of them sat on the sidelines, along with other colour-coded insects, two took their place at the edge of the map.

"All units, all units," Taylor reported. "New Wave is on the map. They are represented by gold bugs. Repeat, gold bugs." She grinned at Amy. "I wonder if they would prefer me to call them 'markers' or something."

Amy shrugged. "Markers, bugs, you're keeping them all in the loop. That's gotta be handy, having a bug whistler on call." She paused, frowning. "I think I just had an idea."

Taylor looked at her expectantly, then she realised that Amy could not see her expression inside the mask. "Yeah?" she asked.

"Yeah," Amy confirmed. "I think I need … half a dozen medium sized bugs." She held out her hand; seconds later, six bugs of average size were perched on her palm. "Damn, that's what I call service."

"You're welcome," Taylor teased her. "So what's the idea?"

"Show you in a second," Amy retorted. "Don't be so impatient."

Taylor rolled her eyes inside the mask, then keyed her mic. "Squad three, I've got explosions three blocks west of your location. You got them?"

"Squad three actual, Weaver. Roger that. We heard the bang, but no other information, over."

"I'll have more for you in a moment … ah. It looks like vehicles … men. Hurt men. A fight, going on. Someone keeps disappearing … Oni Lee. I think someone's fighting Oni Lee. And there's more explosions. Uh, over."

As Amy watched, bugs moved on to the map and stopped in the position that Taylor was indicating.

"Roger that, Weaver. Cape fight involving Oni Lee. Civilians in the area, over?"

Taylor frowned. "I'm just getting … it looks like Empire gang members. Over."

Armsmaster's voice cut in. "Squad three, move in. Use caution. Do not engage unless civilians are endangered. I'll want an ID on the other cape. Over."

"Squad three actual, copy that. Move in, use caution. Squad three, out."

Taylor keyed her mic off and turned back to Amy. The biokinetic was holding a bizarre-looking insect that looked like the unlikely offspring of a cicada, a moth and a cricket. As Taylor watched, Amy touched it lightly, and it impinged itself on Taylor's mental map of bug locations. At the same time, information on its capabilities fed itself into her mind, and she blinked.

"No sting, can barely fly. It's big and bulky, but not particularly dangerous. So why … oh."

Amy grinned. "Oh yeah. Make it say something."

In Amy's palm, the bug sat up somewhat and began making noises, more or less at random.

"Huh, okay," Taylor murmured. "So if I do this … "

The insect started a buzzing noise that muted itself and then turned into a hum. The hum grew into words.

"Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb ..."

It stopped singing; Taylor stared at it, eyes wide. There had been a slight buzz to some of the sounds, but the bug had been able to combine different sounds and make a perfectly recognisable voice.

"I mean, I know you can do voices, sort of, with a swarm, but …" Amy began.

Taylor nodded. "But this little guy can do it all by himself. I love it." She hugged Amy again. "That's awesome, Amy. It really is. I never even thought of it. Mike never thought of it. That makes you smarter than the guy who taught me everything I know about being a superhero."

Amy blushed pink. " … really?" she asked, almost shyly.

"Really," confirmed the bug on Amy's hand. Startled, she jumped and then giggled. But she wasn't giggling so hard that she could not return Taylor's fist-bump.

=//=//=​

Meanwhile, on Earth Aleph ...

The bus pulled up at the stop. People crowded off of it, walking away in both directions along the pavement. One of the last to alight was a young man wearing a hoodie and sunglasses; he averted his gaze from the remainder of his fellow passengers, especially another young couple. The couple, a young man with swarthy skin and a hooked nose, and a pretty brunette, did not notice the last passenger to get off, as he began to walk back in the direction that the bus had come.

The bus pulled away from the stop; the young couple walked on, not quite hand in hand, although they were walking rather close together. Once the young man in the hoodie was was well away, he crossed the street and paralleled their movement.

"So, Krouse," Noelle Meinhardt addressed her companion, "it's been four days now. I haven't had an outbreak in all that time. You think it's on the level? That I'm really cured?"

Francis Krouse shrugged. "How am I to know? All I know is that you're alive, and you're back in the right shape again. I don't want to push our luck."

Noelle sighed. "Krouse. Francis. I get it that we've all been through a really horrible time. But it's over now." She smiled. "I'm just glad that your parents were so understanding."

Francis chuckled. "Personally, I figure they think we ran off to get married in Vegas or something, and the whole 'trapped in Earth Bet' story is a cover-up."

"At least you didn't show off your powers," she noted. "That might have let the cat out of the bag."

He nodded. "Trapped in Earth Bet for two years, that's one thing. Trapped in Earth Bet and came back with super-powers, that's a whole new level of bizarre." He sighed. "I'd be happy if I never had to use them again."

"I notice you didn't ask to have them taken away, like Marissa," she teased him. "So you're not totally against having them."

"Hey, having powers can be useful," he protested. "I just don't want to be a professional hero, like Luke."

She rolled her eyes. "He's certainly into it, isn't he? Aleph's got only a fraction of the capes Bet's got, so he's got a good chance of making money doing it."

"Talking about money, do you think we've got half a chance of getting any work, any time soon?"

She nudged his shoulder with hers. "Well, all we can do is drop our resumes off, and apply for whatever's going. Our savings aren't going to last forever."

He pretended irritation. "Much more of this, and I might see if Luke wants a partner after all."

"Oh, stop it," she told him with a chuckle. "This is much less fraught than applying for work with supervillains. Remember Accord?"

"Oh god," he replied with a shudder. "Don't remind me. Cody nearly got Marissa killed. She only got out of it because she's still got those ballet moves going."

"Oh, we were talking about that on the phone last night," Noelle recalled. "She's going to start training again. See if she can't get back into it. And she's got Jess and Oliver rooming with her."

"Huh, cool," he responded. "Well, I can't see Oliver having much problem getting a job. He's ripped, these days."

"He's still fairly shy," she reminded him. "But get this. Marissa was telling me that Jess was saying that she was getting weird feelings in her legs. Like her nerves were working again. Looks like Panacea actually helped her after all."

"Well, damn," he replied. "That's gotta be some kind of awesome for her."

"I know, right?"

They turned the corner and kept walking, still chatting away.

The figure shadowing them followed on, keeping its distance.

Soon, Krouse. Soon.

=//=//=​

Earth Bet

"Wow," Taylor told Amy. "I just had two fliers, moving fast, cut across just … here." A bug zoomed over the map. "Looks like they're heading for the PRT building."

"Get any other details?" asked Amy. She opened her hand, and another ketamine wasp flew out to join the others currently orbiting Taylor.

"One might have been Legend," Taylor replied. "The other one was shining, way too bright for me to get a good look at him or her. Lady Photon?"

"Uh, isn't Aunt Sarah with the rest of New Wave?" pointed out Amy.

Taylor blinked behind her goggles. "Oh yeah, she is too. What capes do we have who shine that brightly?"

Amy frowned. "The only one I can think of is a villain."

"What, really?" asked Taylor.

"Yeah," Amy replied. "Purity." She paused. "But you said they were flying together. Not one chasing the other."

Taylor nodded. "I don't recall everything about Purity, but I think Legend can outfly her ten times over. And these two did look like they were flying together."

Amy shrugged. "I guess we'll find out when we find out." She cupped her hands together, forming another speaker-bug.

Taylor keyed her comm. "Squad two, you have ..."

=//=//=​

" … a whole lot of Merchants, one block down. No capes that I can see. Police are on site, but they're badly outnumbered. You might want to make a move along. Uh, over."

Paige heard the squad leader replying on the radio. "Squad two actual, roger that, Weaver. On our way." He switched to the local channel, and began giving orders to the squad; the truck sped up. Everyone grabbed for handholds.

"You ready?" Joe asked her, quietly.

She nodded. "As I'll ever be."

"So what's that thing you'll be reading?" he queried.

She smiled tightly, trying to will away the butterflies in her stomach. At least putting on the makeup had made the shakes go away. "Something I read one time. It seemed to fit our needs."

The truck screeched to a halt; the PRT troops debarked in what seemed to be mere seconds. The only ones left in the back of the truck were Paige and Joe, and the sound equipment. Leaning forward, Paige could see out through the windshield. Ahead was a mass of gang members in Merchant colours, waving various weapons. Opposing them was a thin line of police, wearing protective gear, but not looking altogether secure in their position.

The PRT troopers, better armoured and armed, moved into formation behind the police, causing some of the Merchants to take a step back. But most of them kept moving forward. One on one, they were no match for a police officer or a PRT soldier. But even with the reinforcements, the forces of law and order were sadly outnumbered.

"What's the matter?" asked Paige worriedly. "Why haven't they called on me yet?"

"Don't want the cops being affected," Joe suggested. And now that he had mentioned it, she could see troopers handing out small modules, built by Kid Win. They were more basic versions of the electronic ears that Joe had in his helmet, designed to cut out the hypnotic overtones of her voice.

"I just hope they don't take too long," she replied.

"Nearly done, I think," he assured her.

And indeed, at that moment, the radio in her helmet cut in.

"Squad two actual to Tweety Bird. Time to sing. Repeat, time to sing. Over."

She pressed the button as Joe had shown her, and replied. "Tweety Bird here. Singing in five."

Letting off the button, she gave Joe a brave grin. "I guess it's better than Fat Lady, huh?"

He barely had time to chuckle before she picked up the microphone and switched it on.

Outside the truck, the Merchants were still advancing on the thin line of PRT troops, backing the even thinner line of police officers. Bottles were starting to fly through the air, along with rocks and other improvised missiles. Some of the police had riot shields; others had no option other than to duck and hope.

Paige cleared her throat and began humming into the microphone. She didn't sing to begin with; instead, she merely went through the scales, then began a simple tune, a popular tune, a catchy tune. Her exquisite voice rolled out over the crowd, the effect rippling down the street until they were all listening intently. They could not help but listen; her voice was water in the desert, ambrosia to a starving man, the very breath in their lungs. Liquid music spilled from the speakers atop the truck, and soaked into their very beings.

The Merchants were still moving forward, but they were no longer throwing things. Their weapons still waved in the air, but not with any serious intent.

And then Paige began to speak, reading from the electronic tablet that Joe held before her. Into her voice, she poured her all; that which, absent, made her voice merely very beautiful. With it, her words were … something else. To the receptive mind, they bypassed the critical faculties and defined how the world was to be.

"Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly, and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story ..."

The Merchants slowed and stopped, listening as the glorious voice rolled over them, speaking to their souls. One by one, weapons dropped to the ground, as tears began to roll down their cheeks.

The police and the PRT moved in and started to secure their prisoners. The crowd, as a whole, did not give themselves up. Indeed, less than half did, the rest slipping away while the forces of law ad order were busy with their compatriots. But it was certainly the quietest mass arrest that any of them had ever participated in.

After she finished the reading, Paige shut off the microphone and sat back, her heart still racing in her chest. Joe stared at her, then at the tablet.

"Wow," he muttered. "I didn't get the full effect of that, and it was still beautiful."

Paige nodded. "I always thought so." But her expression was pensive.

"What's the matter?" he asked her. "You just stopped a riot, single-handedly. I'd think you'd be happier."

"I am happy, Joe," she told him. "Truly I am. But … did I just brainwash all those people out there to be good people? Do I even have that right?"

"Uh, I don't know," Joe admitted. "I really don't know if it was brainwashing. Maybe more of a reminder that there's another way to be. But either way, I guess it's better than the alternative?"

Which wasn't a perfect answer, or even a good one. But it was the best one she would get for the time being.

=//=//=​

The guards atop the PRT building came to attention as Legend streaked in, coming to a halt above the helipad. They stared at Purity as she arrived beside the blue-and-white costumed hero. Skidmark and Squealer thudded to the non-skid surface, just yards from the guards' boots.

"She's with me for the moment," Legend told the guards, indicating the glowing cape. "Do us all a favour and don't try to shoot her."

"Uh, yes, sir," responded the senior guard. "And these …?"

"Get them into the cells," Legend suggested. "Right now, the Merchants are the biggest problem that we have. ABB's down to one cape, and Empire Eighty-Eight is stepping out of this fight. Without leadership, hopefully, the Merchants will wither up and fade away."

"Sir!" replied the guard crisply. He keyed his comm. "This is roof guard. We need men up here, on the double."

Legend nodded. "I'll leave you to it, then." He turned to Purity. "Shall we go and do a little more cleaning up?"

Purity inclined her head. "After you."

Seconds later, they were gone, with just trails of light showing where they had been.

Skidmark blinked his way back to consciousness. The first thing he saw was a faceless PRT soldier, pointing a rifle directly at his favourite head. And his arms were secured behind his back.

He groaned. "Oh, camel bollocks."

=//=//=​

The two officers on patrol had picked the wrong street to drive down. A group of ABB were gathered around their car, rocking it back and forth, while the men inside tried to call out for assistance. Unfortunately, the radio aerials had been the first things to go.

Within the car, the police officers drew their service weapons. They really didn't want to have to try to shoot their way out of this situation, but it was looking fairly dire, and they didn't see many other options at the moment.

And then, in a storm of barking and growling, the Asian gang members were ripped away from the side of the car and sent sprawling to the street. Prehensile tails whipped out, smashing men to the ground or throwing them against walls.

Slowly, cautiously, the police officers climbed from the car and looked around. The ABB gang members were down and groaning, the fight gone out of them.

"You're welcome."

Both of them turned, their guns coming up. Three enormous dogs – or something dog-shaped, resembling a cross between a dinosaur and a rhinoceros – stood there, bearing four riders between them. The one who had spoken, a slender girl in a dark coloured costume, with dirty-blonde hair and a cheerful grin, waved.

"Hey, don't shoot. We're on your side, this time." She nodded to the prone gang members. "You might want to see to those guys, anyway."

One of the officers spoke. "Aren't you … villains? The Undersiders, or something? And didn't you rob a bank the other day?"

"And now we're saving you from street gangs," retorted the dark-haired kid in the ren-faire costume. "Geez, get with the program."

The tall one in the motorcycle leathers, and the helmet with the skull on it, gestured to the gang members as pure darkness seemed to flow from his very body. His voice was hollow, disembodied. "They're starting to come to. You might want to hurry."

And with that, the three dogs wheeled and dashed into the cloud of darkness, leaving the officers to put restraints on the groaning gang members.

=//=//=​

Lisa grinned as they galloped away down the street. "That was fun."

"Yeah," Alec replied. "I love telling cops what to do."

Behind her mask, Lisa rolled her eyes. "Not what I meant."

"Where to now?" Rachel wanted to know.

"Rooftops," Brian told her. "We need to look out for -"

Lisa's phone chimed. She dug it out of her utility belt and opened the mail.

"What is it?" asked Brian.

"Rachel, turn the dogs around," Lisa ordered, ignoring him. "We need to be someplace. Right now."

"Where?" asked Alec. "And better yet, why?"

"Not entirely sure," Lisa admitted. "But it's important. I know that much."

=//=//=​

Boston

"Get that glass replaced!" barked the PRT senior officer. "We need the foam sprayers installed ASAP! We don't know how long she's going to be!"

The area around the motel, and especially room 17, was a carefully coordinated madhouse. Officers held new panes of glass into place, while others swept up the shards of the ones broken by the assault. The motel was in the process of being evacuated; while Purity had not been active in Boston, at least recently, a look at the files gave an idea of how much power she could muster. Civilian casualties were to be avoided at all cost, so the PRT were putting the motel guests up at another place, three blocks away, at government expense.

The owner of the motel had been horrified when he found that a well-known supervillain had been living under his roof, and even more horrified to realise that when she returned, an ambush would be sprung to capture her.

"Your son called it in, sir," the lieutenant told him. "That's a civic-minded boy you have there."

"Civic-minded, my ass!" stormed Stevens. "That boy's a menace! She wasn't doing anyone any harm! Why couldn't you let her leave, and ambush her somewhere else?"

"Because right here's the best place," the lieutenant tried to soothe him. "It's away from the rest of the Empire Eighty-Eight, so she's got no backup."

"And my motel?" demanded Stevens. "What happens if your little ambush fails, and she demolishes my motel?"

"Well, sir," the lieutenant hedged, trying not to sweat too obviously, "if the PRT is found to be at fault, we will of course repair the damage to the value of the property."

"There's not just the PRT involved," Stevens snapped. "I've seen your capes around too. What if they cut loose? This motel's my livelihood!"

"Once again, sir, if there is damage to the property, we will supply you with the appropriate forms for compensation. The responsible parties will of course reimburse you, once the forms have been validated and the damage assessed."

"Six months after the fact, I bet," growled Stevens. "Wait, who's that sitting at my desk?"

"Plainclothes PRT officer," the lieutenant informed him. "He'll hold down your duties until the danger's over. You may as well go home, sir. We'll inform you when it's done."

"You bet I'll go home," Stevens told him. "I'm going to be putting in a complaint to your Director's office. And just so you know? Every last bit of damage you and your men cause, you will be billed for." He paused. "So why did Jared call you anyway? The boy's so lazy he wouldn't get out of his own way."

The lieutenant shrugged. "I understand he was seeking some sort of reward."

Stevens frowned. "Yeah? How much?"

The lieutenant shook his head. "None. There's a reward out for Kaiser's capture, but not Purity's. She hasn't made the radar for a while."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," growled the motel owner as he climbed into his car. "Kid stirs up all this shit and there's not even any money it it."

As Stevens drove out of the parking lot, the lieutenant clicked his radio. "Red three here. Owner has left the premises. Over."

"Roger that, red three. Owner off site. Out."

I don't blame him for being pissed, the lieutenant mused. He must be having a pretty crappy day.

=//=//=​

This is the worst day of my life.

Theo yanked on the chain of the handcuff for the tenth, twentieth, hundredth time. It rattled and hurt his wrist, but the cuff failed to miraculously spring open, and the chain held firm. He could still hear Aster crying. She wasn't as loud now, but that just meant she was getting tired, not that she was any less distressed.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out his situation. That didn't help. Kaiser's face swam into his view, stern and forbidding. Are you sure you're my son? You certainly don't act like it.

"No ..." He shook his head violently.

Kaiser was replaced by Kayden. I trust you to look after Aster. Make sure nothing happens to her.

Tears stung his eyelids as he felt pure, utter despair.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I failed you ..."

Aster wailed again.

His eyes snapped open, but he was no longer seeing the concrete cell. Before his eyes was a desolate landscape, populated by creatures from nightmare. Crimson lightning flashed across the sky, then a massive block of stone punched toward the sky. He was overwhelmed, his senses reeling.

And then he was back in the cell.

He looked at the walls, the floor, the metal of the bed. And he smiled.

=//=//=​

Brockton Bay

"Heads up!" snapped Weaver over their radio headsets. "That Merchant group has run into the ABB. We've got a free for all going on. Some of the Merchant capes are in on it too."

"Well, crap," Clockblocker groused.

"Don't worry," Vista soothed him. "I'll protect you."

"You can't see it, but I'm rolling my eyes," Clockblocker informed her.

"Wards, can the chatter," snapped Armsmaster. "We've got to step this up. We've done a good job so far, but there's still a lot to do."

"I'll soften them up for you," Weaver offered.

"I've got to admit," Clockblocker commented, "it's nice to see someone else covered in bugs."

"Your offer is accepted, Weaver," Armsmaster replied. "Any time you're ready."

"My bugs were hatched ready."

As they moved up, the Protectorate forces watched the swarm descend upon the fighting gang members. What started with irritation quickly turned to fear and then terror as the combatants realised that the bugs were just going to keep it up. Everything that could bite, bit. Stinging insects gave half-strength stings, just in case. Other bugs crawled into the mouths, the noses and ears of the gang members. And the ketamine wasps, held in reserve until now, swept in. Everyone who was holding a gun or a knife found their hand numb, unresponsive.

By the time Armsmaster reached the scene of the fight, more than half of them had abandoned the conflict to try to get the bugs off of themselves. He found himself in the odd position of being asked to accept their surrender, just so long as he got the bugs off of them. And, somewhat to his surprise, as each person surrendered to him, the bugs indeed left them. Or at least, they stopped stinging and biting.

Of course, not everyone was surrendering. Mush and Whirlygig, of the Merchants, had been wading through the battle, and now turned their attention to the new arrivals. Mush was seven feet tall, resembling a golem composed of all sorts of unsightly garbage. Whirlygig, a woman with long flowing clothes and hair that hung over her face, had a whirlwind composed of trash spinning around her, making it almost impossible to get close to her.

Weaver's bugs were being blown away as fast as they approached Whirlygig, while whatever Mush used for eyes in his bulked-up form were apparently not vulnerable to bugs.

Armsmaster moved in to the attack, drawing his halberd and unfolding it in one swift move. The head crackled with power as he faced off with Mush.

Velocity came running in. He moved toward Whirlygig, dancing between the cowering gang members at lightning speed. Before she was aware of his presence, he whipped around her once, then left her zone of control, coming to a halt near the Wards.

"What did you do?" asked Clockblocker.

Velocity grinned. "She has to be able to see to use her power."

And it was true, he had taken part of the drapery which she wore, and wrapped it around and around her head. The wind faltered and died, as she tried to untangle herself. Clockblocker glanced at Vista; she collapsed the space between them and the Merchant villain to a fraction of what it really was.

"Thanks," he told his teammate as he reached out and froze the villain.

In the meantime, Armsmaster was circling Mush; the massively built garbage monster was swinging a keg-sized fist, trying to score on the armoured hero, but was not even coming close. And with every swing of his halberd, another chunk of Mush came loose. But there was a lot of garbage; this was going to take some time.

"Can you repeat the favour?" asked Clockblocker.

Vista grinned, and closed the distance. Clockblocker reached out and applied his power once more. However, it didn't freeze all of Mush, or even all of the garbage. It did, however, leave a large chunk of it hanging in midair as he stepped away from it, pulling free with a loud ripping noise.

This did not leave Mush open, but after another treatment of the same kind, enough of Mush's skin was exposed that Armsmaster was able to get in a stunning blow with the halberd. The villain slumped to the ground, garbage falling off of him and branching tentacles retracting into his skin. What was left was a wizened little man who looked not unlike a certain horrid little fantasy creature with a penchant for magic rings.

"Okay, wrap 'em up," Armsmaster decided. "Weaver, anything more around that you can see?"

=//=//=​

Were it not for the seatbelt, I would have been thrown around the cabin of the pickup. As it was, it took me three tries to undo the buckle, once everything stopped spinning around and around. I hurt all over; my ribs hurt, my head hurt, and I was fairly sure that I'd wrenched my neck. The door opened as I pulled on the handle, and I fell out on to the road.

Dimly, over the ringing in my ears, I heard the guys in the cars yelling. I put my hand on the doorsill, and got to my knees, and then to my feet. I felt about as crappy as I had when I'd first had Bakuda's bomb removed from my neck. Or worse. It was hard to gauge.

It was time to call in the cavalry. I felt for my phone. Or rather, I felt in the pouch where my phone was normally kept. It was empty.

I blinked and stared at the seat of the pickup. No phone. It didn't fall out.

Oh shit. Menja took it off me, and never gave it back.

That reminded me; the extendible baton was gone too.

Fuck.

I didn't think the pickup was still drivable, and I was fairly sure that I was in no condition to drive. My head was swimming, and I wanted to throw up. But I turned the key anyway. The engine turned over once, then quit.

I still had other things to use; Menja hadn't taken my stun gun or pepper spray away. But in a vague, dizzy way, I felt that I needed more.

One of the Merchants appeared around the front of my pickup, brandishing a knife. He stalked toward me, waving the knife, mouthing off. Or I thought he was mouthing off. My ears weren't ringing as badly as they had been, but I could only catch a word here and there.

Whatever; I pulled out the pepper spray and let him have it, right between the eyes.

I had to say, the stuff was potent. He screamed and went down, writhing in agony and clawing at his eyes. My respect for Lung went up a couple of notches; he'd been hit by this stuff and had kept on going.

Something smacked into the small of my back; I looked around, and realised that another guy had come around the tail end of the pickup, and tried to jam a knife into my kidneys. Thank you, stab vest.

I figured he was a little close for the pepper spray – I did not want that shit anywhere near my face, thank you very much – so I fumbled the stun gun from its pouch. He was still trying to figure out why his knife wasn't going in, when I pressed it against him and hit the button.

There were more coming, but my head was clearing. I stuffed the stun gun away, reached down and pulled the little lever that flicked the seat forward. There was the small nylon zipper case, which I tucked under my arm, and then there was the other thing. The two foot steel pry bar which I keep behind my car seat. Just in case I need to pry something open. Or, you know, smack some Merchants around. It wasn't as concealable as an extendible baton, but I was willing to take what I could get.

The third Merchant arrived while I was stepping away from the car. My pry bar was at the wrong angle to hit him, so I sprayed him, turned, and smacked the knife out of his hand.

That worried me, that I had to actually hit him to make him lose the knife. It meant that the spray canister was losing pressure. Fortunately, I had spares.

Which were inside a zippered case. I had the spares; what I needed now was a few seconds of leeway to open it and get them out, without getting shanked or even just plain dogpiled.

So I ran for it.

Or, well, staggered for it.

I'm not a good runner at the best of times. Check that; I'm not a runner at all. But I managed a fair approximation of one, at least for the first ten yards. Or maybe five. I wasn't counting. But I knew they weren't going to be far behind me.

It occurred to me when I stopped and turned that I could have locked myself in the pickup until my head cleared, or even just to give myself breathing room to get the pepper spray canisters out of the case. But I didn't dwell on it; tucking the pry bar under my arm, I unzipped the case.

And the canisters fell straight out of it, on to the ground at my feet; I must have jarred them out of the little sleeves that normally held them.

Fuck.

There wasn't time to worry about it; I dropped the case, grabbed the pry bar, and swung it hard at the next guy to come at me. I missed, but he jumped backward anyway. But then, another guy was stepping up beside him. They both grinned at me; I rather wished that they hadn't, as their dental hygiene rivalled what I'd read of their not so illustrious leader.

I wondered if I'd be able to get down, grab a pepper spray, and get up again in time to fend off the inevitable attack. I wondered how far I'd be able to run before they caught me and cut me to pieces.

When numbers three and four arrived, I knew I was well and truly up that proverbial creek, and not a paddle in sight.

I had to throw a Hail Mary pass; straight-arming the already-used pepper spray, I swung it in an arc while depressing the trigger. Barely any vapour puffed out, but they recoiled anyway. I tossed the canister, dropped to one knee, and grabbed a fresh one. Before they could decide to come at me, I was standing once more, pepper spray in one hand, pry bar in the other. I had a chance now; only a slight one, but a lot better than nothing.

"Come on!" I yelled, brandishing both weapons. "Come on!"

This was more to psych myself up rather than intimidate them, but to my total and utter jaw-dropping surprise, they retreated. They backed up to my pickup, turned, scrambled past it, and ran.

I blinked.

"Fuck," I muttered. "I'm not that scary, am I?"

And then I realised what was going on.

"I'm not alone, am I?" I asked out loud.

"No, you are not," I heard from behind me.

A smile crossed my face as I turned to look. The bulk of three enormous dog-monsters blocked the alleyway; their savage visages glared down at me.

I didn't care; I would have shovelled doggy chow for a week, for those beasts. "Boy, am I glad you guys showed up."

Tattletale nodded. "I got a text. It appears that you have a guardian angel."

I nodded. "I had my hopes. Thanks for showing."

Grue gestured at my damaged pickup. "Is that thing drivable?"

"I don't think so," I ventured, "but I can have a look."

I looked; I'm not much of a mechanic, but it looked fairly bent about. It was probably technically drivable, but I didn't want it to break or explode once I got on the main road. I took the keys and pocketed them; I needed them to get into my apartment, among other things. Then I went back and picked up the pepper spray canisters, zipping them back into the case.

"Pretty ballsy, facing off those guys with a pry bar and pepper spray," Grue commented.

"Pretty stupid, you mean," Rachel broke in, from the back of her dog. "We gonna hang around here forever?"

"Mike's heading to the PRT building," Tattletale informed them. "We drop him off, we do the PRT one hell of a solid."

"Wait, so we're a taxi service now?" Regent exclaimed. "When did this happen?"

"Since now," Grue informed him. "Mike, you want a lift? Rachel, you good with giving him a lift?"

"I'll take a lift, if Rachel doesn't have a problem with it," I stated firmly, looking Rachel squarely in the eye.

Rachel gave me a very direct look. "If you can stay on, you can have a lift."

=//=//=​

Grue had to give me a bit of a boost-up, but once I was on the thing – I figured it was Angelica, given the missing ear and eye – I was actually fairly good. Yes, I was a security guard, and before that a taxi driver, but I'd actually grown up on a cattle property, and so I'd been on horseback many times. To belabour a cliché, it was like riding a bicycle; one never quite forgot the reflexes. There were, of course, no reins or stirrups, but enough bone spurs that I could hang on to them and kid myself that I was secure.

Rachel gave me a critical look once I was seated, then clicked a couple of times with her tongue. The dogs stretched out into a gallop; I was initially apprehensive, but then I came to the realisation that they didn't jolt anywhere near as much as a galloping horse; it was just a case of going with the motion.

We pounded down the middle of the street, cars wisely pulling over to avoid us. Rachel was ahead of me on Brutus, with Regent riding pillion. Behind me was Grue on Judas, with Tattletale on behind him. I mused that it was probably wise to put me on a dog alone; I very likely outweighed any two of the Undersiders together. I was certainly older than any two of them together.

As we got closer to the city centre, Rachel took to the pavement and brought the dogs to a fast trot. It was still much faster than I would have gotten along, had I been on foot.

Finally, she slowed to a stop. I looked ahead, and saw the PRT building, half a block ahead. "You walk from here," she called. "You say the PRT isn't going to try to arrest us, but they've been dicks in the past."

"Fair point," I acknowledged, sliding down off of Angelica, trying to make sure I didn't tear my pants on a bone spur in the process. "Thanks for the lift."

"You've ridden before," she commented.

"Horses," Tattletale told her.

I nodded to her. "And thanks again for the save."

"I wanted to hold back," Regent put in. "See how you went against them. I had ten bucks to say you would have creamed the lot of them."

"Yeah, see, that's why I'm glad you're not leading the Undersiders," I told him. "Take care, guys."

Without another word, Bitch turned the dogs and they loped away. I limped toward the PRT building; while I had ridden before, it had been many years before. My hips just weren't up to it.

I was just glad that they hadn't taken me over the rooftops.

=//=//=​

Hookwolf pulled himself to his feet. Around him were multiple blast-marks, where explosions had gone off. Repeatedly. He knew this, because he'd been the focus of several of those explosions. It was only due to the fact that his vulnerable core was protected by a metallic shell that he had survived at all.

He looked around; PRT troops surrounded him, weapons and foam sprayers at the ready.

"Well, fuck," he growled. "You guys gonna take me in?"

An officer shook his head. "No. You were pulling out when you were attacked by Oni Lee, right?"

"Yeah." Hookwolf looked around. "Where'd he get to?"

The officer shrugged slightly. "After he blew you up for the last time, he looked around and vanished. We haven't seen him since."

"So … I get to walk?" Hookwolf frowned. "Just like that?"

"As per the truce, yes," the officer confirmed. "Until this gang war is done."

Hookwolf nodded. "Right. Be seeing you."

Turning, he moved toward the ring of PRT troopers. They parted, allowing him to walk out. Without a backward glance, he moved off down the street.

The officer keyed his comm. "Squad three actual. Cape fight is done. Oni Lee has gone. Hookwolf is being allowed to leave, as per ongoing truce with Empire Eighty-Eight. Over."

An answer came back almost immediately. "Armsmaster. Fighting is done. We did good, people. Report position and gang casualties, over."

The officer eyed the bodies strewn around. "All right, you heard the man. Start counting."

It could have been a lot worse, he knew. A whole lot worse.

=//=//=​

Boston

"I asked them nicely," murmured Theo. "All I wanted was to see you."

Aster gurgled in his arms; Theo smiled and held her bottle carefully.

"I told them." He looked up, and into the policeman's eyes. "I did tell you, didn't I?"

The officer gritted his teeth. "You have no idea how much trouble you're in. Let me loose now, or -"

Theo shook his head. "Sorry. You might get up to mischief."

Getting up, he held Aster over his shoulder and patted her back. She let out an impressive burp, and he chuckled. Slowly, he walked back and forth with her, rocking her gently in his arms.

She didn't take long to fall asleep.

=//=//=​

Brockton Bay

"Well, holy crap," I observed. "You guys kicked ass out there. It's not even midday yet, and it's all over bar the shouting."

Despite wearing a full face mask, Taylor managed to look very pleased with herself; she nudged Amy with her elbow. "This one deserves most of the credit. Her relay bugs helped me keep track of everything that was going on."

"Which was extremely helpful," Armsmaster agreed. "Knowing what was going on, and where, made all the difference." He looked toward me. "She even located your stray Merchants. We picked them up about ten minutes ago."

"And my vehicle?" I asked.

He nodded. "We have a tow truck on the way now."

"Good," I replied. "Thanks, by the way." I looked around the table, and nodded to Legend. "And thanks again to you, for saving my butt from Kaiser."

"I should have known you'd get in trouble again," the hero replied with a grin. "But you seemed to come out of it all right."

"With a little help from my friends," I pointed out. "I did tell you guys that it was the Undersiders who saved my bacon there, right?"

Armsmaster nodded. "We'll take that into account. They make an annoyingly effective team. It would be useful if they could be annoyingly effective for us, instead of against us."

"Yeah, that it would." I paused, trying to place the woman sitting alongside Legend. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met?" I held out my hand. "Mike Allen. Sometimes known as Security."

She blinked in surprise. "Oh. Oh! I was wondering why your voice sounded familiar."

As did hers. I frowned, trying to recall. But my thoughts were still scattered from the car crash earlier – although Amy had examined me and declared that I had suffered no real injury – and so I couldn't place her. So I concentrated on her physical appearance.

Petite, mousy brown hair …

"Kayden Anders," she replied belatedly, taking my hand and shaking it briefly. "I am very pleased to meet you at last." She quirked a smile. "Although I must admit, you are not what I expected."

"Purity," I managed at last. "You came back to Brockton Bay? Why?"

She rolled her eyes. "My idiot ex-husband," she explained. "If this gang war had gone on much longer, they would've Birdcaged him for sure. I came back to try to talk sense into him. Only to find that someone else had already done so. So I joined forces with Legend, to help bring things to a halt."

"I see," I replied, although I wasn't really paying much attention. There was a TV on the sideboard, with the sound on mute, and it had been playing the highlights of the gang war for the last half hour or more. Now, it had changed to a different picture. One that had grabbed my attention.

"Uh, Kayden," I ventured. "Where exactly did you take Aster and Theo?"

She frowned. "Boston. Why?"

I took a deep breath. "Uh … when was the last time you actually spoke to Theo?"

She leaned forward and stared intently at me. "Why?"

"It … might be a good time to call, and see if he's okay."

Her brow furrowed, then she realised I wasn't looking exactly at her. She swivelled, and stared at the TV. Everyone else at the table did, too.

On the screen was a picture of what looked vaguely like a suburban house. Only vaguely, because of the large hand-shapes that cupped and encased it from all sides. A tag at the top left read "Boston".

"Just a hunch," I offered. "But I think he might be in trouble."


End of Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

 

[Navrin]

Thanks for the chapter, Ack.

I'm betting that the Boston PD managing to inflict enough additional emotional trauma on Theo to make him trigger (even as a second or third gen cape) is probably going to earn at least one person a reprimand, at the very least.

Whatever happened to "on their way to the PRT building now"? Was Legend misinformed, was there a change of plans, or what?

Nice to finally have a high-end Thinker on the team, isn't it, Armsmaster? If you play nice you might even get two more.

 

[Ack]

Thanks for the chapter, Ack.

I'm betting that the Boston PD managing to inflict enough additional emotional trauma on Theo to make him trigger (even as a second or third gen cape) is probably going to earn at least one person a reprimand, at the very least.

Click to shrink...

Trigger events are not that well understood. To the average man on the street in Worm, it's like winning the lottery; it happens to some people but not others. And kids of capes might trigger. Sometimes.

Whatever happened to "on their way to the PRT building now"? Was Legend misinformed, was there a change of plans, or what?

Click to shrink...

If that's about Mike, he was on the way there. But he got sidetracked.

Nice to finally have a high-end Thinker on the team, isn't it, Armsmaster? If you play nice you might even get two more.

Click to shrink...

If that's a reference to Mike, he's classified Thinker 0. Not very high-end at all.
Of course, having the knowledge to connect giant concrete hands with Theo, that's useful.

 

[Navrin]

Ah, misread what Legend said earlier: Thought he meant that THEO was on his way to the PRT building now, presumably with Aster, and thus the entire "wanting them to be protected" bit was already being handled. (Ie, trying to present incredibly bad news about how badly things had been messed up and vaguely recovered in a semi-good way)

The thinker was a reference to Weaver, and the other two that he might pick would be Tattletale and Dinah. Thus providing three of the four major force-multipliers that the Undersiders were making significant use of throughout much of the series and thus throwing well above their nominal weight class in effectiveness. Weaver is also an incredibly potent Master, of course, but it's her Thinker abilities (and working through the medium of her Master power) that was most important for this war.

 

[Ack]

Ah, misread what Legend said earlier: Thought he meant that THEO was on his way to the PRT building now, presumably with Aster, and thus the entire "wanting them to be protected" bit was already being handled. (Ie, trying to present incredibly bad news about how badly things had been messed up and vaguely recovered in a semi-good way)

The thinker was a reference to Weaver, and the other two that he might pick would be Tattletale and Dinah. Thus providing three of the four major force-multipliers that the Undersiders were making significant use of throughout much of the series and thus throwing well above their nominal weight class in effectiveness. Weaver is also an incredibly potent Master, of course, but it's her Thinker abilities (and working through the medium of her Master power) that was most important for this war.

Click to shrink...

Nope, he meant Mike.

Though Mike was useful in pointing out the fix Theo was in.

Ah, of course. Yes, Taylor's command and control capability is pretty OP, when combined with multiple relay bugs. It sort of highlights why Mike wants her for Plan B vs Zion.

Tattletale is on the way to joining the Wards, and Dinah might feature soon too

Give everyone a spy-bug and a vox-bug, and she can have real-time simultaneous comms with every single person on the team.

 

[Guile]

In retrospect, much should be made of the fact that Mike took one look at a cape situation in Boston and went, 'Hey Purity, looks like your son just triggered. You should probably give him a ring, see what's up.'

 

[Xryuran]

Is this a ongoing story or is it a port from somewhere else? Because I can't wait for more.

 

[1986ctcel]

Is this a ongoing story or is it a port from somewhere else? Because I can't wait for more.

Click to shrink...

Yes

 

[Xryuran]

Where is the port from SB or SV or both. And could I get a link.

 

[doomlord9]

It's a port from Ack's NSFW omake thread here on QQ that he moved here because it's exclusively SFW and has no plans on changing that fact.

It's an ongoing fic that continues when it acquires enough VP from the Vote Thread, which is where all his other stories, SFW and NSFW, are voted on as well.

 

[Ack]

It's a port from Ack's NSFW omake thread here on QQ that he moved here because it's exclusively SFW and has no plans on changing that fact.

It's an ongoing fic that continues when it acquires enough VP from the Vote Thread, which is where all his other stories, SFW and NSFW, are voted on as well.

Click to shrink...

Precisely.

If you're interested in reading the comments (I update all the threads at the same time, so you won't be missing any posts here):

Spacebattles Thread 1
Spacebattles Thread 2

Sufficient Velocity Thread

Also, just for fun: TV Tropes page

 

[Ack]

Security!

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Arranging Matters


Kayden stared at me, and then at the screen. "Why do you say that?" she demanded in a sharp tone. "What's that got to do with Theo?"

I tried to think fast. This was potentially a very explosive situation, and I'd just put my foot in it. Do not want to destabilise this any more.

"If I'm right," I told her carefully, "your stepson has just triggered. That's an outward manifestation of his power." I gestured at the screen. "I'm presuming that's not where you left him and Aster?"

She shook her head; she was starting to glow. I didn't have much time to get my point across.

"Okay, he's been taken," I explained rapidly. "He triggered. That looks defensive to me; he's hiding. Protecting Aster." I hope.

"Taken?" she snarled. I couldn't look directly at her any more. "Who by?"

I shrugged. "Might be local criminals, but I doubt it. More likely the Boston PRT. Someone who has no idea who they're really dealing with."

"You got that right," she growled, heading for the door. "I'm going to go and -"

"Wait!" I called. "There's an easier way. No fighting. One hundred percent chance of getting your little girl back safe and sound."

That stopped her. She turned around. I was fairly certain she was looking at me, although her face was basically one big glare. "Tell. Me."

Shading my eyes, I gestured to Legend; he looked at me. "Do me a favour. Call Boston PRT. See if they've just had an op go totally tits-up. Tell them that they've got to give Theo and Aster back, right the fuck now, before the nice lady comes and disassembles their city down around their ears."

Legend had his phone out, and was already dialling. Purity waited, simmering.

"This is Legend," he stated. "I need to talk to the Director. Now."

A pause. He gave me a thumbs-up. Apparently, I had guessed correctly.

"Oh, I have no doubt he's up to his ass in alligators," he snapped. "I'm calling about that. Get him on the phone. Right. Now."

It was interesting; normally, he was polite and charming, and everyone did what he wanted because he asked them to. When he decided to use his personality, there was a definite snap of command in there. Whoever was on the other end obviously thought so too, because he didn't have to wait too long.

"This is Legend," he repeated. "Listen very carefully. You've abducted the children of Purity. This is a very bad move. She's about to go over there and perform all sorts of mayhem to get them back. I'm considering assisting her. Why? Because she's just helped us end a gang war. And because taking her kids is against the unwritten rules."

Another pause, while whoever was on the other end reacted to what he had just said.

"Now, listen very carefully. This is how it's going to be," Legend told him. "We're going to come to Boston. Purity is going to get her kids back. No-one is going to so much as point a water pistol at her. She is going to walk away, free and clear. Is that perfectly understood?"

Apparently, it was. He listened for a bit, then interrupted. "Now, I'm – no, listen to me. I'm going to hand the phone to Purity. You're going to apologise to her, and then you're going to tell her where her kids are being kept, and then we're going to come and get them. Do you understand what I am saying?"

Apparently the person on the other end did. Legend beckoned Purity over, and held the phone out. I still couldn't look directly at her, and I thought that pulling my sunglasses out might look a little rude, but he didn't seem to have much trouble in looking at her.

Super-powers are such bullshit, sometimes.

She took the phone and put it to her ear. "This is Purity."

The Director for PRT Boston … Wilkerson? I couldn't remember his name offhand. In any case, he seemed to have a knack for grovelling, because Purity's star-bright glow slowly faded. When she finally handed the phone back to Legend, she still looked pissed as hell, but she didn't look like she was going to go and murder someone.

She nodded to me, curtly. "You were right. Thank you."

I nodded back. "No problem. I haven't got any of my own, but if someone took my sister's kids, I'd be looking for them, and not to slap them on the wrist either. Kids are sacred."

She smiled, very slightly. "You do understand." Taking a deep breath, she turned to Legend. "You're coming with me?"

Legend nodded. "If only to prevent some trigger-happy idiot from making this day even worse for Boston." Ever courteous, he held the door open for Purity; it closed behind the both of them.

=///=​

I exhaled a long breath as I slumped back in my chair.

"Well, that was nerve-wracking," I observed out loud.

Armsmaster was staring from me to the TV and back again. "Am I to understand that Purity's son -"

"Stepson," I corrected him, "for what it matters."

"Stepson, then," he agreed. "You're saying that he triggered. You've given us to believe that the majority of your specialist knowledge is no longer valid, now that events have been changed. How was it that you knew this was Theo Anders?"

I tilted my head. "I didn't, not for certain," I admitted. "But it was a good ninety-plus percent chance that it was him." I waved my hand at the screen. "His trigger event allows him to push his hand into a material, and push the shape of his hand out of the same material elsewhere, at a place, and size, of his choosing. It's the way he was going to trigger, a couple months time, after his father gets killed fighting Leviathan." I smiled faintly. "Looks like the Boston PRT saved him some time."

"Wow," Taylor observed. "That's certainly a public trigger event. What's going to happen to him now?"

I scratched my beard. "Not entirely sure. I do not have that information."

Amy looked thoughtful. "What would have happened to him?" she asked.

I nodded, and pointed my finger at her. "Good question."

She smiled; Taylor gave her a shoulder nudge and a grin while I went on. "He would have been facing a fairly horrible problem. In that version of events, Jack Slash is still alive, and gives him an ultimatum; as the son and grandson of capes, he was very likely to trigger with powers, as we've just seen. He gets told that he has two years to manifest powers and prepare, because Jack Slash will be coming back, and if Theo didn't kill him, Jack Slash would kill one thousand people, starting with Kayden and Aster."

"Of course, that's not going to happen now, because Jack Slash is dead," Armsmaster pointed out pragmatically. "But he seems to be a powerful enough cape. The Wards could use someone like that … if he wasn't part of Empire Eighty-Eight."

I raised my hand slightly. "He does not believe in his father's ideals," I pointed out. "Kaiser thinks him weak, unfit. And to be honest, he's a bit on the chubby side, and Kaiser's done a lot to wear down his self-assurance. He's very … passive. You could very likely persuade him to join the Wards. It would probably do him a lot of good." I glanced at Taylor. "You have a knack of figuring out tricks from peoples' powers, not just your own. He could do worse than have you as a coach." Especially given that you and he have a lot in common, I didn't add. She'd figure that out herself, pretty quickly.

"I … I'm not sure about that," she hedged, her voice uncertain. "I've only been doing this myself for a week, you know."

I nodded. "Yeah, sorry, I keep forgetting the difference between what I remember and what's in front of me. You're more driven than Theo is. Let's say, as opposed to teaching him, you help him along. Give him a hand to get used to using his powers efficiently and effectively."

I was annoyed with myself; the Taylor who had trained Golem to become a stalwart, steadfast hero was not the Taylor before me; that Taylor had battled Leviathan, Echidna, the Nine and Dragon, had killed Coil and Alexandria and Tagg. Following that, she had helped kill Behemoth. She'd been a lot tougher, a lot more hard-bitten. Used to more responsibility. She had allied with the Undersiders, and much more personally with Grue, and then had walked away from both when she had needed to cut ties. And it was only after she had all that under her belt had she taken on the task of training Theo to fight Jack Slash.

I had no right to ask this Taylor to face up to such daunting responsibilities, this early in her career. She had no idea what she was truly capable of; I didn't want to think about the trials she would have to endure to achieve her full levels of competence.

She was looking directly at me; I could barely see her eyes past the yellow-tinted lenses.

"He'll need the assistance?" she asked quietly.

I nodded. "He'll need someone to help him along. Show him the ropes. Kick his ass when he needs it." I pointed at her. "You're gonna have to learn to be tough, just to make sure you can toughen him up. I don't know anyone who can do it better." I tilted my head. "Though I do know someone who can help the both of you."

"If you think I can do it," she stated resolutely, "I'll do it."

I smiled, got up, and walked around to where she sat. Holding out my hand, I offered her a fist-bump. She returned it firmly.

"So, how'd you two go in general?" I asked, nodding to her and Amy.

They filled me in, with Taylor manipulating bugs on the table, to show me how they'd kept people apprised of gang movements. It impressed me, and I told them so.

"But you knew I could do it," Taylor pointed out. "You said that, several times."

"There's knowing, and then there's seeing," I replied. "And I can know it's possible, and still be very impressed when I see it."

"I was also very impressed," Armsmaster noted. We looked at him. "It's the truth. Weaver, you did a fine job of command and control out there. You didn't get flustered, and you kept us all in the loop. Not to mention, real-time assistance from your bugs."

"Which reminds me," Taylor commented. A bug crawled out from under her hair and down her arm. "Amy made this for me."

I stared at it. "I'm sorry, but I have to say this. That's got to be the most awkward looking bug I have ever seen. Anywhere. Amy, did you make this bug so that other bugs could laugh at it?"

Taylor chuckled. "I said it looked weird."

Amy snorted and rolled her eyes. "Show him what it can do."

And then the bug spoke to me. It looked right at me – or at least, I assumed that it was looking at me – and vocalised, "Now you've hurt my feelings. I'm going to sulk."

I blinked, startled. Armsmaster's jaw dropped.

"Holy shit," I muttered. "You made a talking bug. A bug that really talks." I offered my fist to Amy; flushing pink with pride, she bumped it.

Taylor nodded. "Yeah. Isn't it great? This plus a spy bug equals real-time communication with anyone, within three or four blocks. Or farther, with relay bugs."

Armsmaster cleared his throat. "Forgive me for being a little dense," he observed, "but I believe that we have this thing called 'radio' that does much the same thing, over a much wider range."

I grinned. "You want to tell him, or can I?"

Taylor sounded faintly startled, then she caught herself. "How did you – well, of course you know. Sure, go ahead."

I nodded to her, then addressed Armsmaster as I pointed to the bug. "She can use that to carry on different conversations, simultaneously, with each and every person that she's got bugs on. Fifty pairs of bugs on fifty different people? Fifty different conversations. At the same time. While chatting to Amy, about a different topic altogether."

Armsmaster stared at the bug, then at Taylor. "Is this true?"

She shrugged. "It might take a little getting used to," she noted. "But I'm willing to give it a shot."

"I – that sounds very useful," he allowed, in a masterpiece of understatement. "Very useful indeed."

I just bet it does, I thought. Now you know part of the reason I'm helping Taylor. The other part being, of course, that I liked her and she needed help.

Amy pointed at the screen. "Isn't that them now?" she asked.

The picture, obviously from a news chopper, wavered as the aircraft moved around to get a fresh viewpoint. But sure enough, a red streak of light alongside a sun-bright yellow one had just entered the frame.

I went back to my seat and sat down to watch the show.

=///=​

Legend banked around, followed by Purity, as they descended toward the ground. She was grudgingly impressed; she had put on the very best pace she could, to get back to Boston as fast as possible, and he had matched her with ease.

It wasn't that she was ignorant of his capabilities; she had read up on him and the rest of the Triumvirate, just to know how to react if she ever faced them. The best answer she'd been able to come up with was 'run like hell'. And against Legend, even that wasn't a workable solution.

But there was knowing their capabilities, and then there was seeing them in action.

"Let me do the talking, okay?" he suggested as they came in for a landing.

She gave him a curt nod, and turned to look at the building itself.

Surrounded by PRT, who were backed up by some of the local capes, it looked even stranger than it had on the live TV feed. Gigantic hands, that appeared to be composed of concrete, were cupped around the building, interlocking to form a defensive barricade.

Theo did this? she wondered. I really don't know him.

She became aware of the stares of the capes; some of the PRT troops were also looking in her direction, although she could not see their eyes through their helmet visors. Ignoring them, she looked back at what had probably been an unremarkable suburban house, just hours before.

"Okay, we're clear," Legend reported, moving to her side. "They aren't going to get in our way. How do you think we should do this?"

Kayden eyed the house one more time. "Somehow, I had envisaged blasting my way through the PRT, not through a wall put up by my own stepson," she commented. "Do they have some way for us to communicate?"

"They've got a loudspeaker," he replied. "Or the landline, but he hasn't been picking up."

"Hm," she mused. "Where's the loudspeaker?"

He pointed at a PRT officer; she strode over to the man, and plucked the oversized bullhorn from his hand. Pointing the bell-mouth at the blocky conglomeration of concrete hands, she held the microphone to her mouth and pressed the button.

"THEO!" she called. "THIS IS KAYDEN! CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

There was a moment of silence, then a grinding noise sounded; out of the side of one of the hands, another hand extruded, fully four feet from side to side. Before it solidified into immobility, it formed a thumbs-up gesture.

Legend had to smile. "I think that's a yes," he commented cheerfully.

She ignored his levity. "GOOD," she called. "I'M COMING IN TO GET YOU OUT OF THERE. IS THERE A CLEAR SPACE WE CAN CUT THROUGH?"

Another pause, then two hands extruded from the side wall, not ten feet from where several PRT troopers crouched. The hands formed a bracketing motion, before also becoming immobile.

"Looks good to me," Legend commented. "Shall we?"

Purity tossed the bullhorn back to the officer, not bothering to thank him. She moved forward to stand between the giant hands, then looked at the wall of concrete. This close, she could see the pores in the skin, even the tiny folds, moulded in intricate detail, albeit on a massive scale.

"What's the matter?" asked Legend, from beside her.

"My power's more about blasting than cutting," she confessed. "I don't know how thick this is. My baby's in there."

He nodded. "If you want, I can help."

She looked up at him. Tall and strong and handsome, so sure in his power, he was the antithesis of Max. Two men so similar, and yet so different. Kaiser was arrogant; Legend cared.

She took a deep breath. "I … yes, please."

He started small; a pencil-thin laser traced out a rectangle the size of a doorway. He did something with the laser, and twelve inches of concrete … vanished. Dust washed over them, and he did it again, and again. Step by step, they advanced along the growing corridor.

=///=​

The interior of the building was dimly lit; they'd turned off the power a little while ago. The only illumination Theo had was what light managed to filter in through the cracks between his giant concrete hands, and the flashlights he had liberated from the police officers.

He had checked on the officers occasionally, to make sure they weren't in too much discomfort, but he'd had no idea how he was going to maintain this situation. He wasn't equipped to keep half a dozen cops under control for more than a few hours; they'd need food and water. They'd need the bathroom.

Eventually, when they wouldn't stop trying to talk to him, he'd walled off the room where he was keeping them. If Kayden wasn't back by sundown, he figured, he'd surrender to the police outside. He had no idea how he was going to flee with Aster, and he didn't want the lives of the officers on his hands.

I've screwed this all up.

But then he heard the bullhorn from outside. It was with immense relief that he showed Kayden where to blast her way in, well away from everyone in the building.

She's back, thank god. He looked down at Aster, sleeping peacefully in her carrier. "Mommy's back," he murmured.

=///=​

The laser light took him somewhat by surprise, as the section of wall collapsed to form a doorway. He looked up, eyes wide in alarm.

Oh crap. Kayden can't do lasers.

He poised his hand, ready to drive it into a wall and send up a barrier to block the invaders off, but then Kayden stepped out of the cloud of dust. Behind her -

"Watch out!" he called. "It's Legend!"

She ran to him, to Aster. "It's all right," she told him, even as she scooped her child from the carrier. "We're all right now." She looked Aster over, holding the baby close, inhaling her fresh scent.

Theo looked from Purity to Legend. "What's going on here?" he asked. "The cops busted into the motel room, handcuffed me, put me in a cell. Told me I was in 'protective custody'."

Legend nodded. "They made a mistake. We're correcting it. Your stepmother wants to work with the Protectorate." He put a hand on Theo's shoulder, squeezed it. "You did a fine job, protecting your sister."

Theo shrugged, looking around. "I don't know that I did a really good job," he mumbled. "I tried. But I didn't know what to do."

"What about the other officers that were in here?" Legend wanted to know.

"I didn't hurt them," Theo hastened to assure him. "But they kept on talking, and I didn't want Aster to wake up, so I blocked off the door so I couldn't hear them."

=///=​

Legend went to investigate; the doorway was well and truly blocked off. A brief application of his power, and this was no longer the case.

Beyond, half a dozen police officers turned their heads to stare at him. All of them were imprisoned in various postures; all of them were being held by large concrete hands.

"Is anyone hurt?" asked Legend; this seemed to break the spell.

"Oh, thank God," blurted the closest officer, a burly man with a moustache. "You're here. We're safe."

Legend raised an eyebrow. "Is anyone not here? Is everyone alive?" he asked. "And once more, is anyone hurt?"

They all began to talk at once, but a policewoman overrode them. "No, we're all here. No-one's hurt," she told him. "Why haven't you let us go yet?"

"Because you need to listen to me," Legend told her firmly. "All of you. I don't want you doing anything stupid when I let you go. Purity is here. We're taking the children back to Brockton Bay. You don't try to arrest the boy, or his stepmother. In fact, you stand down altogether. Is that entirely understood?"

Five of the six nodded; his lasers carved the concrete hands apart, and they fell to the ground, groaning as they tried to move cramped limbs. Legend looked at the last one, the man with the moustache. "You did understand what I said, right?"

"What the fuck?" the officer snapped. "The kid went nuts and attacked us. He belongs in a cell."

"One more time," Legend stated patiently. "This is a matter for the PRT and the Protectorate. It's out of your hands. Do you understand?"

Reluctantly, the man nodded. "Yeah, I got it. You can let me go now."

"Thank you." Legend sliced apart the concrete hand that was imprisoning the officer. He turned to go, but was stopped by a yell.

"Hey! What are you gonna do about that kid? He's dangerous!"

He turned back to look at the officer, who was even now forcing himself to stand. "He's coming back to Brockton Bay with me. As of right now, he's no longer your problem."

"What about this house?" demanded the officer, waving around at the somewhat worse for wear building. "He wrecked it! He's responsible for it!"

Legend shook his head. "Your treatment caused him to trigger, to manifest powers. That's a very emotional time for any cape. You should count your lucky stars that he's essentially a decent young man, or this could have ended very differently." He turned and left the room.

=///=​

Aster woke up when Purity picked her up, but she didn't start crying. Stretching out her little hands, she took hold of Kayden's hair and grasped it. Kayden smiled, holding her baby close, joy welling in her heart. She looked at Theo, standing there awkwardly.

"You triggered to protect Aster?" It wasn't really a question.

Theo shrugged. "She was crying and they wouldn't let me go to her, and I didn't know where you were, and I'd promised that I'd take care of her …"

"You did well, Theo," she told him softly. "You did really well."

"What's going to happen now?" he asked. "There's a lot of police out there, and the ones in here are really not happy with me."

"You're coming back to Brockton Bay with me," she told him firmly.

Legend came out of the other room, and approached them. "Ready to go?" he asked.

Purity nodded, not willing to relinquish her hold on Aster. Theo picked up the carrier.

"Baby food?" asked Legend.

"They had a bit," Theo noted. "I fed her a little while ago."

"We can get more," the hero decided. "Come on, let's get you out of here."

=///=​

We all sat up slightly when they emerged from the doorway that had been cut into the side of the building; first Legend, waving to everyone to put their weapons down, then Purity, holding her baby protectively, then Theo, blinking and shading his eyes from the sun, all the while holding a baby carrier.

We could not hear what Legend was saying, but the PRT backed off a little. Those capes in sight looked a little disappointed, or a little relieved, or a bit of both; Purity's reputation had spread a little from Brockton Bay.

I turned to Armsmaster. "What's going to happen to them? I mean, legally speaking."

He considered the question. "Theo's a cape, so that changes matters a little. Purity has a long rap sheet from working with the Empire, but she's shown a sincere desire to change her ways, and a powerful cape on the side of good is always welcome."

"What, that happens?" asked Amy, looking a little taken aback.

"More often than you'd think," I assured her. I nodded toward Taylor meaningfully; after a moment, Amy got it, recalling what I had told her of the other version of Taylor and her career as a warlord of Brockton Bay.

"Oh," she murmured. "Oh, right."

"Yup," I agreed, then turned back to Armsmaster. "And Theo? What sort of backlash can he expect from this little kerfuffle?"

His expression, what I could see of it, was thoughtful. "He's not wanted for any crimes, or at least he wasn't. There are extenuating circumstances in cape law for things that happen when you first trigger."

"Which become even more extenuating if the young cape in question then agrees to join the Wards," I guessed.

"That does serve to sweep a lot of problems under the rug, yes," he agreed blandly.

"He'll be a probationary Ward, of course," I observed. But that won't be a problem. The kid's got a good heart; he should go far."

Armsmaster turned to look at me directly. "You know this for certain?"

I looked back at him. "If things were different, in another two years, he'd be going toe to toe with Jack Slash. He wouldn't beat him, but he'd make it possible for him to be defeated." I nodded. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure of it."

"Two years … " murmured Taylor.

I grinned at her. "Two years of you kicking his arse on the training mat. You won't quite have that urgency, this time around, but it's a good idea for you to both be at your best capability anyway. Because there is something big coming, and I'd far rather you were over-prepared than under."

Amy looked at me apprehensively. "Something big?"

I shrugged. "Sort of why I'm here. Why I'm telling you this. Why I'm helping you all. You'd get through it, but a lot of people would get hurt, and people would die. I'd rather they didn't. So, yeah. A helping hand."

Armsmaster looked from me to Amy and Taylor, and back again. "Are you sure you should be talking about this?" In front of them, he meant.

I nodded. "They've got a stake in it too." I looked at the girls. "I'll tell you more, when it's time. For now … yeah, things might be starting to look better, but we're not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot."

I tried to put an encouraging grin on my face. "But we do have a path of sorts to follow, and I'm getting people ready earlier than they would have normally, with the right sort of weapons. So, with any kind of luck, by the time the big bad wolf jumps out at us, he's going to get one hell of a shock."

Amy gave me an odd look. "Why are you using fairy-tale metaphor?"

"Because I don't want to give you something else to worry about, right now," I told her honestly. "Just that … preparations are being made, and you personally would not be able to make a difference, even if you knew."

I looked her in the eyes. "I'm not going to say there's no danger, but we do know what the problem is, and we're working to forestall it. If and when you're needed, I'll tell you what the situation is, but until then, just please accept that we're doing everything that needs to be done. Okay?"

There was a long silence, then Taylor got up out of her seat. She rounded the table, stopped by my chair, and hugged me. I put my arms around her, and hugged her back.

"I trust you," she told me firmly. "I trust you to get it right."

By the time she let me go and went back to her seat, I had tears in my eyes.

Oh god, please let me get it right.

=///=​

The helicopter dropped them off on the landing pad atop the PRT building. Immediately they were clear of the rotor-wash, it lifted off again and turned south, heading back to Boston.

Kayden turned to Legend. "That was easier than I thought it would be," she commented.

He smiled back at her. "Obstacles kind of get out of the way when you're a member of the Triumvirate."

"So I see." She looked over at where Aster slept in her carrier, held by Theo. "I still have no idea how you managed to make it so the helicopter noise didn't bother her."

He grinned; for a moment, it made him look very young. "My lasers can do some pretty amazing effects. Damping sound and vibration so a baby could sleep through a helicopter ride was a first, I have to admit."

"I still say that lasers should not be able to do that," Theo reiterated; it had been a point of friendly banter throughout the flight.

Legend shrugged. "Mine can." Which was undeniably true. "Shall we get inside? The Director awaits."

=///=​

"I think you should come to New York."

We sat around a conference table. There were five of us; Director Piggot, Armsmaster, Legend, Kayden, and myself. Kayden had raised an eyebrow, but had not commented, when Legend had invited me to sit in; Piggot had not objected. I supposed that I was there as a kind of unofficial observer.

I had introduced Theo, and Aster, to Taylor and Amy. For obvious reasons, I had not mentioned to Theo that Taylor would be helping to train him; I had left it up to her whether or not to unmask to him. Amy was immediately taken by Aster; I guessed that she rarely had a chance to associate with babies in a social setting, rather than a hospital situation. When I left them, they seemed to be getting along well.

Kayden looked over at Legend, who had made the comment. "What?" she asked. "Why New York?"

"It has the advantage of not being Brockton Bay," Armsmaster observed. "You're too well-known here. And you'd be away from any pressure Kaiser might wish to bring to bear upon you."

She frowned. "I hate to admit it, but you have a point." She looked at the armoured hero. "Where were you thinking of putting Theo into the Wards?"

"Here," Armsmaster stated at once. "New York's already got enough. And Weaver's offered to assist in his training."

Kayden blinked at that. "What does she know about training capes? She's only new herself, isn't she?"

I cleared my throat. "She has a knack of helping people get the very best out of their capabilities," I explained. "And she's got the drive to keep him going when he wants to give up. Where his father wore him down, she'll build him up." I shrugged. "The army calls it 'battle buddies'. I don't know if you have the same thing in the Wards."

"I've seen it now and again," Armsmaster replied, even as Piggot nodded in agreement. "It's not a bad plan."

Purity frowned. "But if I'm in New York, with Aster -" There was not even the slightest hint of doubt in her voice that this would be the case. " - who'll babysit her when I'm busy? Taking care of a baby is a full-time job." And I don't trust the PRT with my child, she didn't quite add.

"I think I can help there," Legend suggested diffidently.

Kayden looked over at him, as did Armsmaster and Piggot. I realised where he was going with this, and grinned.

"How can you help?" asked Kayden. "You'll be busier than I ever will."

Legend shrugged. "My husband can help babysit."

She stared. "Would he even want to?"

"I don't see why not. We both love children, and we're already in the process of adopting one of our own. We've got everything a baby needs. I'm sure we can take on another child with relative ease. Especially if you're willing to return the favour occasionally."

There was silence in the room, then Kayden got up. "Can we have a private word?" she asked Legend. "Just for a moment?"

He stood up promptly. "Certainly," he agreed. He gestured through the adjoining door, into the small kitchenette. They entered, and he shut the door.

Piggot looked at Armsmaster. "What's going on?" she asked.

He shrugged, and they both looked at me. I looked back at them. "What?" I asked.

"You're the one who usually knows this sort of thing," Armsmaster told me bluntly.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, okay. Yeah, I can make a good guess as to what's being said in there. But it's between those two, so what say we leave it private?"

The silence stretched out, and then they reluctantly nodded. "Fine," Armsmaster agreed, with ill grace. Piggot nodded as well. I got up and went into the room down the hall to see how the kids were getting along; when I got there, Taylor had her mask off. Amy was entertaining her and Theo with an unlikely story that seemed to involve Glory Girl, a mud manipulator and lots of laughter. They looked up; I nodded, gave them a wave, and headed back into the conference room.

=///=​

Legend shut the door, then sent a gridwork of laser-lines crawling over the wood; the ambient sound dropped dramatically. He turned to Purity and nodded. "We're private. What's the matter?"

She was staring at him, as if trying to ascertain who or what he really was. "You're gay," she stated flatly.

"Uh, yes," he agreed. "That's been publicly known for years." It had, he knew, altered the public perception of homosexuality, ever since he had announced it on live TV. Sometimes, he was proud of the fact that he had personally had so much to do with the acceptance of gays into the community, and sometimes he was ashamed that it had taken his announcement to cause the change in attitude. As if one superhero being gay made it all right.

"And you're married," she went on, in the same flat tone.

He nodded again. "Six years so far, and going strong."

She seemed to be working something out in her head. "And you're adopting children."

"Just one, at the moment," Legend corrected her gently. "A wonderful little boy called Keith."

She shook her head slowly. "What does a gay couple know about raising children?"

He had to chuckle. "What does any couple know about raising children, the first time around?" he asked rhetorically. "It's not like we're born with the knowledge complete in our heads. We learn, and we make mistakes, and we get past them. We've got all the baby books. We're both looking forward to it." He raised an eyebrow. "But to be honest, if you've got any hints or tips, I would certainly appreciate the assistance."

She was staring at him again. "You're serious," she muttered, more to herself than to him. Then she frowned. "I suppose you'll be raising him to be gay."

Again, he had to chuckle. "No. We'll be raising him to be himself. Your prejudices are showing, Kayden. If he's going to be straight, no amount of exposure to gay parents will make him gay. If he's going to be gay, no amount of exposure to heterosexual parents will make him straight. Whatever he turns out to be, whatever he chooses to express himself as, we'll be there to encourage and support him. Because that's what parents do."

=///=​

The conviction in his tone shook her. She had been equally firm in her beliefs, right up until he had gently pointed out the fallacy in them. "I … I guess so," she admitted.

He smiled at her. "I know so," he assured her. "And in any case, it's not like you've got much to worry about. If we babysit Aster, what bad habits is she going to pick up from a couple of gay men? A great fashion sense? The ability to choose a sensitive boyfriend?"

It was her turn to chuckle. The image that he presented was amusing, and contained more than a grain of truth. She had to admit, she could think of worse surrogate parents than Legend.

Do I trust him to care for my daughter as well as I would?

She thought about that, while Legend watched her, his expression patient.

Yes, I do.

She took a deep breath. "Okay," she agreed. "We can give it a try. I'll have to meet him, of course."

"Of course," he responded. "I think you two will get along just fine."

She smiled at him. "Thank you," she told him softly. "Thank you for everything."

"You're the one who came forward," he reminded her. He put his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes. "I didn't save you. You saved yourself."

Quite to her surprise, she found herself hugging him. His arms were strong about her, holding her close. She savoured the human contact, the warmth, the support. I have been without this for far too long.

By mutual consent, they drew apart. "Some of that dust must have gotten in my eyes," she groused, dabbing at the tears on her cheeks.

"It must have," he agreed solemnly, handing her a paper towel. Neither of them mentioned that they had both brushed the dust off long since.

She wiped the tears away, blew her nose, then ran her hands down her blouse. "So, you're willing to help babysit Aster while I'm busy?" she asked.

He nodded. "I'll have to talk to my husband, of course, but I can't see a problem." He shrugged. "And Theo can visit on the weekends."

"I think I'd like that," she replied. She gestured to the door. "Shall we?"

He nodded. The laser grid vanished, and sound entered the room once more. Kayden opened the door.

=///=​

"So when Kayden's duties don't necessitate her being at the Protectorate headquarters, she's welcome to stay in our spare room," Legend concluded. "I've been on to my husband, and he's delighted with the idea."

"And Theo will be living here in the building for the most part, and visiting New York on the weekend," Armsmaster added.

"When he can be spared," Director Piggot noted.

"Of course," Kayden agreed. "His duties and training come first."

"The Wards here are a pretty good bunch," I observed. "He should get along well with them. With him and Weaver, you've got a couple of very good prospects to go on with. Along with the other one, of course."

"'Other' one?" asked Kayden.

The other three capes stared at me, then Legend got it. "Ah, of course. We were talking about transferring Flechette from New York."

Kayden frowned. "Is that really necessary now? You're getting two new Wards as it is."

Piggot coughed. "Well, we did lose Shadow Stalker recently. So we were down to six, with the recent recruitment of Browbeat. In a city as full of criminal capes as Brockton Bay is, I'd rather have more than less. Nine is a number I'm much more comfortable with, especially given that two of them are very new to the game, and one is relatively new."

"How new is Weaver?" asked Kayden. "From what I hear, she's been doing very well indeed."

"She went out for the first time, eight days ago," I informed her.

She blinked. "Okay," she replied. "I am impressed."

"And took down Lung," I added cheerfully.

She stared at me for a moment. "Very impressed," she corrected herself. "I'd heard something about that, but you know how rumours spread in this town."

"What Mr Allen is refraining from mentioning," Director Piggot informed her dryly, "is that he was there at the time, assisting."

"Advisory role only," I pointed out, raising my hands. "She did all the ass-kicking, I did the running away."

Kayden shook her head slowly, in disbelief. "And you have no powers?"

"Thinker zero, effective," the Director advised her. "Because he knows things he has no business knowing."

"So I see," she murmured. "So I see." She smiled at me. "Well, I appreciate your help in this. Even though Aster was abducted anyway."

I shrugged. "A lot of people would've been hurt and killed, the other way," I pointed out. "Which would have made this, here, a whole lot harder." I considered reminding her that I had told her to not let Aster out of her sight, but decided not to belabour the point too much farther.

"I guess this is true," she agreed. "Thank you. For helping me and Aster. And for making it possible for me to have this chance to make good."

I smiled back at her. "Best way to thank me is to make it work."

She gave me a firm nod. "I'll do my very best."

=///=​

"So wait," Theo wanted to know, "you're going to New York and leaving me in Brockton Bay?"

Kayden nodded. "I've got to do quite a bit to make up for what I did while I was working with Max," she explained. "Legend wants me out of Brockton Bay, and I agree with his reasoning. You can visit on the weekends; in the meantime, you'll be living here, in the base." As she spoke, she gently rocked Aster in her arms.

"Me and Amy will take you out sometime, if you want," Taylor added. "I'm sure Dad would like to meet you."

Theo looked from one to the other. "I … yeah, I think I'd like that," he agreed. He turned to Kayden. "But I'll see you on the weekends, right?"

She smiled. "Even if I have to fly up and pick you up myself," she promised.

"Subject to his duties and your own, of course," Director Piggot reminded her firmly.

Kayden nodded to her. "Of course," she agreed.

"Is that okay with you, Theo?" asked Legend.

Theo looked at him, then at Kayden, and Taylor and Amy, looking back at him expectantly. Then, finally, oddly, he looked at me.

"You're the one they call Security."

I nodded. "Yeah, Theo, that's me."

"Legend says you know a lot of stuff."

I nodded again. "That's what I'm told."

"And you think that this is the right thing to do?"

"It's a right thing to do," I corrected him. "The right thing? I don't know. But it would do you a lot of good. Personally? I think you should do it. But it's your choice."

He nodded slowly. "Thanks." He turned back to Legend. "Yeah. It's okay with me."

Legend smiled. "For what it's worth, son, I think you're doing the right thing too."

Theo beamed, then turned to Kayden. "Kayden, you're the closest thing I've got to a mom right now. Is it okay if I join the Wards?"

I could have sworn that her eyes got just a little misty, about then. "Yes, Theo. It's definitely okay."

Taylor high-fived Theo; Amy hugged him.

Director Piggot ignored them both. "Well, then," she declared. "That's settled. Thank you, Legend, Purity. Armsmaster, I'll leave you to sort out the appropriate paperwork. Welcome to the Wards, Theo." She rose stiffly from her chair. "If anyone wants me, I'll be in my office, seeing what's come up in my absence."

I got up and headed for the door. "A word before you go, Director?"

She inclined her head curiously, but allowed me to hold the door for her. Once we were outside, she looked at me. "Yes, Mr Allen?"

I took a deep breath. "You know how I'm having Mrs Yamada treat Amy and Eidolon?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I knew about Ms Dallon, but not Eidolon. But go on."

"And you know how I'd like to get treatment for Riley as well?"

She nodded. "Yes, I do. Please get to the point soon."

I hesitated. "I – would it be pushing it to get Theo into therapy as well?"

She frowned. "Yes, it would. Do you think it's necessary?"

I decided to go with total honesty. "Absolutely necessary? No. A very good idea? Yes. The kid's spent years of his life being mentally hammered flat by Kaiser. You saw him; he's got virtually no personality of his own. If he's going to end up as a really effective Ward, I think he needs help for that. And I think Jessica Yamada is his best bet there."

An exasperated look crossed her face. "Mr Allen, I would like every single cape in the building, and in the Protectorate headquarters, to undergo intense therapy. They're all damaged. But we can't afford it."

She paused to catch her breath. "The PRT is picking up the tab for Panacea, because your name came up, and I trust your judgement. If you consider that Bonesaw can benefit from treatment, then I won't stand in your way. I'm astonished and perturbed that you've managed to convince a member of the Triumvirate to undergo therapy, but that's outside my pay grade. But you can't just call on us to pay for each and every new cape to be treated, no matter how much you think they need it."

I nodded. "Okay, I do understand. I was just trying to point out that the son of a supervillain, and the victim of years of mental abuse, might be considered a special case, in this situation. Given that he's going to be in the Wards, and all that."

She blinked, then shook her head slightly. "Mr Allen, your argument is well made. I concede the point. When and if young Anders wants therapy, he will get it. Now kindly get out of my sight before you decide to bankrupt the entire PRT around me."

"Thank you, Director," I responded gravely. I turned back to the door, but stopped when she spoke again.

"Mr Allen."

"Yes, Director?" I asked.

"Thank you for your assistance today."

"You're very welcome, Director."

She grunted and limped away along the corridor. I went back into the conference room.

=///=​

We stood on the roof of the building, with the midday sun glaring down on us. Legend held the baby carrier as Kayden hugged Theo. He hugged her back; he was actually a little taller than her, I saw.

"You take care, Theo," she told him. "I know you've got powers, but you can still get hurt."

"You take care too, Kayden," he responded. "I'll be visiting you every chance I get."

Taylor, her mask back on, stood at my shoulder. Amy stood beside her. When Theo let Kayden go, I stepped forward and offered my hand. She shook it firmly. "I'll keep an eye on him," I assured her. "Make sure these two ratbags don't get him in too much trouble."

She smiled faintly. "He's always needed friends of his own age. I hate to leave him, but … "

I nodded. "Yeah. Well, good luck as a hero."

She nodded. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

Turning, she went back to where Legend stood. The Triumvirate hero nodded to me; I nodded back. We understood each other.

Softly glowing laser light wove a cocoon around the baby carrier; Purity began to glow, more and more brightly. They lifted off of the rooftop, turned south, and accelerated. Moments later, they were out of sight.

I turned back to the three teenagers. "Right, then. Your paperwork's done?"

Taylor and Theo both nodded. Amy looked smug; she hadn't had to fill in any paperwork at all.

"They're arranging a costume for me," Theo responded, "and I still have to pick out a name. But all that starts tomorrow. What happens right now?"

"Well, I can give you the dollar tour of the building, at least the non-secure areas," I suggested. "Taylor, Amy, want to come with?"

Taylor shook her head. "Me and Amy probably have to get back to school sometime," she grumped. "I could probably get away with skipping classes from Winslow, but not from Arcadia."

I chuckled. "There's irony for you. I guess there's a downside to going to an awesome school."

Despite the fact that she was wearing a full-face mask, I was fairly sure that she gave me a very dirty look.

"Yeah, I still have to get placed in a school," Theo responded. "It sucks being home schooled."

"Enjoy your last few days of freedom," I told him. "Want that tour?"

"Sure," he agreed. "I don't want to spend my first few days getting lost."

"Good thinking," I replied approvingly, then looked at Taylor and Amy. "How are you two getting back?"

Amy spoke up. "We'll catch a lift with some of the other Wards. They've been getting debriefed about what they saw and did, and they'll be filtering back in ones and twos, to make sure no-one sees one big group coming back all at once."

I nodded, impressed. "You've got this all worked out."

She grinned. "They've had years to get it right."

=///=​

We rode the lift down, all the way to the second sub-basement, where the Wards' base was. Amy and I only had Visitor tags, but both Taylor and Theo were officially Wards; they were our escorts. Amy thought that this was hilarious, especially given the fact that she'd been down here quite a few times before.

We trod along the stainless-steel corridor, and Taylor leaned down to the retinal scanner. It took a moment to get a read on her eye through the lens of her goggles, but after a moment, the light flashed green.

"Uh, the door hasn't opened," Theo noted. "Did we do something wrong?"

Amy and I shook our heads at the same time. "There's a delay," she told him. "To give people a chance to mask up, just in case."

"Huh," he muttered. "Makes sense."

Just then, the door whooshed open, and we entered.

=///=​

Some of the Wards had obviously gone already; Vista, for instance, was still in middle school, and so did not need to stagger her appearance with anyone else. I spotted Aegis and Kid Win, both in street clothes and masks.

Different grades, I decided. Makes less of a problem to get back in.

Aegis came over to meet us. "Security," he noted. "Nice to meet you again."

"You too, Aegis," I replied, shaking his hand. For a teen, he had a strong grip; but of course I had known that. "Meet Theo; he's your newest Ward. Along with Weaver, who of course you know. Theo, this is Aegis, and that's Kid Win. He usually wears more armour than that."

Theo shook Aegis' hand, looking slightly stunned. "I'm – it's a real honour to be here. I never thought I'd be doing this."

Kid Win strolled over. "Theo? As in Theo Anders, son of Kaiser? That Theo Anders?"

I nodded. "And he wants nothing to do with his father, or what his father does," I pointed out firmly. "He's joined the Wards. That's what he wants to do."

Theo gave me a grateful look; I raised my eyebrows at Kid Win. "I trust him. Okay?"

Aegis turned to Kid Win. "This is Security; I've met him before. He knows what he's talking about. If he says Theo's good people, then I'm willing to believe him."

Kid Win gave Theo a long look, then grinned and held out his hand. "Kid Win. Pleased to have you on the team, Theo."

Theo was just reaching out to shake the proffered hand when there was a raucous noise, and the monitor screens flashed.

"What's that? Your ride back to Arcadia?" I asked.

Aegis shook his head. "No, that's a different sound. This is a crime alert."

One moment, he was standing next to us; the next, he was alighting next to the monitor station. The rest of us followed; I got there last, shortly behind Theo.

Aegis was already clicking the mouse and tapping in commands. A screen came up, with a blinking line of red text.

"Oh, shit," muttered Aegis.

The text read: ONI LEE AND ABB AT MAYORS RESIDENCE. HOSTAGES TAKEN.


End of Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

 

[Navrin]

Legend is made of win, patience, and restraint.

A hostage situation? Now if only there was someone who could win just about at any situation just by singing to them. Not saying it'd actually be a good idea due to decreased risk of talking from future hostage takers, but they kind of have that particular "I win" button in addition to a few others.

Would therapy for MAYBE fifteen people per city actually be able to bankrupt the PRT? Even if the pool of "willing to work with capes" is a lot smaller than "willing to work with people" I would think that getting everyone therapy would be well within their economic capabilities.

 

[Xryuran]

Sooooooo if Zion is the big bad wolf would that make earth little red riding hood and Scion wearing the grandma suit. But who would be the huntsman.

 

[pheonix89]

Legend is made of win, patience, and restraint.

A hostage situation? Now if only there was someone who could win just about at any situation just by singing to them. Not saying it'd actually be a good idea due to decreased risk of talking from future hostage takers, but they kind of have that particular "I win" button in addition to a few others.

Would therapy for MAYBE fifteen people per city actually be able to bankrupt the PRT? Even if the pool of "willing to work with capes" is a lot smaller than "willing to work with people" I would think that getting everyone therapy would be well within their economic capabilities.

Click to shrink...

Well, the thing is that canonically working with capes requires a rather different approach than working with people who DON'T have alien space whale organs pushing them into conflict. That and the fact that most therapists don't have to work with patients who are armed during sessions.

Sooooooo if Zion is the big bad wolf would that make earth little red riding hood and Scion wearing the grandma suit. But who would be the huntsman.

Click to shrink...

Dragon, Cauldon, Security and Weaver.

 

[Ack]

Well, the thing is that canonically working with capes requires a rather different approach than working with people who DON'T have alien space whale organs pushing them into conflict. That and the fact that most therapists don't have to work with patients who are armed during sessions..

Click to shrink...

Mrs Yamada no doubt charges a bit per session, and more for overtime. Piggot is exaggerating for effect.

 

[Ack]

Just by the by, I've rewritten a little bit, so that Sir Not-Appearing-In-This-Fic (ie, Browbeat) is actually acknowledged to exist.

Kayden frowned. "Is that really necessary now? You're getting two new Wards as it is."
Piggot coughed. "Well, we did lose Shadow Stalker recently. So we were down to six, with the recent recruitment of Browbeat. In a city as full of criminal capes as Brockton Bay is, I'd rather have more than less. Nine is a number I'm much more comfortable with, especially given that two of them are very new to the game, and one is relatively new."

Click to shrink...

 

[Daunmi]

Mrs Yamada no doubt charges a bit per session, and more for overtime. Piggot is exaggerating for effect.

Click to shrink...

It doesn't even have to be that. Budgets are created with a set amount of expenditure in mind + a varying amount extra to cover things going wrong (which, naturally, never ever happens ever).

Therapy is not currently in the budget, therefore almost any excess spending in this area really is bad for the accountants. Even if they don't completely go over that extra allowance, what happens if something actually goes wrong (Like, say, some random hostage situation involving a high profile figure)?

The backup money is no longer there and, unlike what we all want, it's an unfortunate fact that money doesn't grow on trees (go away Eidolon, we don't want to hear what power you've pulled out of your ass this time).

It's strange to think, but sometimes having excess money doesn't actually mean you have money to spend.

Then, yes, you got the other problems piled on top of that. Special training to deal with capes. High turnover rate (because at this point the PRT are rotating therapists out when they are put into use (which also starts to drag in things like travel expenses/time, insurance, company vehicles if they're used, etc)). Extra pay for dealing with those more lethal capes with touchier buttons.

The main problem?

The PRT is a continent spanning organization. The money is probably there. If not, the money could probably be found. But groups take far longer to get things done then individuals do and, when it comes to money and change, people move very slowly (go away Contessa, we really don't want to hear how fast you can organize something).

 

[Xryuran]

Poor Browbeat. He just can't catch a brake. Even his authors find him so unforgettable that he needs tobe put in as an edit/foot note.

Mike: Hey who is that on guy walking around with the bid muscles.
Taylor: That's Browbeat... I thought you knew everything was he not part of your memories:
Mike: Well yah he was... You see he obviously has some sort of stranger power. Because even us beings f4om beyond time and space always forget him.

 

[Ack]

Security!

Chapter Forty: Conflict Resolution


Former Chief Petty Officer David Laborn scowled as he strode down the sidewalk. A big man, he was solid in the shoulders, and if he wasn't quite as fit as he used to be, that was neither here nor there. But ever since he'd left the Navy, one thing after another had turned out to be a disappointment.

The woman he'd left the service for, who he'd opened his heart to, learned how to love, had turned into a cheating, drug-addled bitch. His son wasn't so bad; the boy had promise of being a good fighter someday. But his daughter … too much of her mother had rubbed off on her, he figured. Her clothes, her attitude, basically everything about her. At least she wasn't using; that much he could be grateful for. So far.

"You should wear more clothes," he growled as she extended her stride to keep up with him. "Me and the boys come into port, we'd see someone dressed like you, we knew what their trade was."

"Yeah, whatevs," she replied carelessly.

And that was the main problem, right there. Back in the Navy, a guy gave him lip, it was time to take the guy someplace for a quiet chat. The type of chat that resulted in black eyes that no-one ever talked about. But when the back-chat was coming from a woman half his size, or a girl about one-fifth his size, you couldn't hit them. And they knew it. So they just kept pushing your buttons as hard as they could, unless you backed off and let them do whatever the hell they wanted.

His head came up; it had been a while since he'd done any serious fighting, but the instincts were still there. And his instincts were screaming at him.

He saw the problem; four ABB guys, in line abreast, moving down the street toward him. Toward him and Aisha. They weren't just going somewhere, joking about stuff, like he'd seen some of them doing. They meant business.

Reaching out, he took hold of Aisha's shoulder.

"What the fuck?" she protested, trying to shake his grip off.

"Shut up," he growled. "Do what I say, and don't argue. Down this way."

For a miracle, she shut up, and let him steer her into a side-street, barely more than an alleyway. He wasn't scared of any four ABB shitheels, but he didn't want to get Aisha mixed up in something like that. Better to get out of their way and let them go do what they wanted to do.

They were halfway down the side-street when he pulled up short. Four more ABB punks were coming down the other direction. He glanced back; the first four had followed them in.

Fuck. I let them trap us.

"Aisha," he told her grimly, pushing her toward a gap between two dumpsters. "Get in there." He knew that normally, given that tone of voice, she would have argued just on principle. But now was not the time or place to argue; she did as she was told.

"We're not lookin' for trouble," he called out to the approaching gang members. "It's the Empire that's causin' you trouble, not us."

"We'll get to those Nazi skinhead fucks when we get to 'em," the leader sneered. "But right now, you're on ABB turf, an' you gotta pay toll. Or the girl gets to do it for you." He gripped his crotch and made a few hip-thrusting motions, to make his meaning abundantly clear; several of his cronies laughed and did the same.

David heard Aisha whimper from beside him.

"You sick fucks," he gritted. "She's only fourteen." In an undertone, he added, "If you get a chance to run, kid, do it."

"I can't leave you," she gasped. "They'll kill you."

He chuckled darkly. "I'll make 'em pay for it. Your old man's taken a few beatings, kid. Won't be anything that hasn't happened before. If you can, go."

The gang members were close, now.

"Watch my back," he muttered, and stepped toward the closest one. That one swung a chain at his head, but he raised one muscular forearm; the links wrapped around it instead. In the next instant, he had stepped in, his craggy fist driving out in an almost instinctive motion. It connected; the gang member went down in a boneless heap.

"Dad!" Aisha warned, from off to the side.

He turned, fast, the arm with the chain around it leading the way. Sunlight gleamed off of the blade in the punk's hand; he used the chain to deflect it, buried his fist deep in the little bastard's solar plexus. Two down, six to go.

"Dad!" she screamed, much more shrilly than before. He glanced around, saw that one gang member had slipped in, grabbed Aisha by the arm. But even as he stepped toward them, she stamped on his foot and clawed at his eyes; he let go, cursing.

However, the momentary distraction had been enough for another one of the punks to get close with a knife. It flashed silver, and he felt the burn as blood spilled down his arm from a gash, just beside the chain links.

The punk tried to double down, stepping in close, but then there was a hollow thump, and he fell; Aisha was standing behind him with a length of wood. Possibly the leg off of a billiards table.

"Look out!" he bellowed to her, as the ABB shithead went after her again. She squealed and ducked away; David found himself too occupied with two more of the bastards to be able to help her.

All of a sudden, there was no-one left to fight. The ABB bastards were either down for the count or staggering away. He dropped the chain to the ground, pulled his shirt off to wrap around the cut on his arm. Gonna want to disinfect that, he told himself.

Then he looked around. "Aisha?" he called out. "AISHA!"

There was no answer.

=//=//=​

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" I groaned, slapping my forehead. "So that's where he got to." Possibilities were unfolding in my head, and I didn't like any of them. I looked at the young heroes in the room. "Weaver, got bugs?"

She nodded briefly. "Like you told me."

I smiled. "Good girl. Aegis, how fast can you fly, carrying Weaver?"

The brawny young man blinked, then looked at Taylor calculatingly.

"Hundred and twenty pounds," she stated, answering his unasked question.

"Pretty damn fast," he told me. "Why? Do I need to get her out there?"

I nodded. "Yes, you do. Go, now."

"But I'm not costumed up!" he protested.

"One, you've got a mask. Two, Weaver's the one who needs to be there." I paused. "Do you trust me?"

His head came up. "Yeah, I trust you."

"Then trust me when I say that you need to get Weaver out there, right now."

Aegis hesitated, looked at me, and then at Taylor; or rather, at the spot where she'd been standing. She wasn't there, because she was running toward the doors. "Come on!" she yelled.

"Fuck," he muttered, and flew in her direction. They reached the thick metal doors at the same time; she slapped the panel half a second ahead of him. As the doors opened, I heard him say to her, "I hope he knows what he's doing."

The closing doors cut off her reply; I put them out of my mind and turned to Amy. "Panacea, call your sister; you're gonna need a lift." I paused. "Actually, hold that thought. Someone else needs a lift more than you do. Canary."

Amy stared at me. "But Vicky doesn't like her. Doesn't trusther."

"Vicky," I told her flatly, "is going to have to deal. Call her." I turned to Kid Win, pointed at the console. "You can contact Armsmaster on that thing, right?"

"Of course." Leaning over the desk, he clicked the mouse, calling up a window. Scrolled down a list of names until he reached ARMSMASTER, and clicked on it.

A moment later, the familiar voice rolled out of the speakers. "You've got Armsmaster. Make it quick." Dimly, in the background, I could hear the deep-throated roar of his bike's engine. Wherever he was going, he wasn't taking the scenic route. I could guess where.

"Armsmaster, this is Security," I told him. "Is the Mayor or his son at home?"

"Not to our knowledge," he replied tersely.

"Bugger," I muttered. "Okay, Lee'll be pulling a hostage deal with the mayor's family. Release Lung and Bakuda or he kills everyone. You know the man better than I do. He's capable of doing it, right?"

"In a heartbeat," he confirmed. "But how do you - never mind. Do you have any insights?"

"A couple," I told him. "I've just sent Aegis there with Weaver now. I need you to authorise Canary to go with Glory Girl. We need to get people there sooner rather than later; Lee's just had the rug pulled from under him, and any sort of lengthy negotiations will see Christner's wife or little girls dead."

"You sent Aegis with Weaver." It wasn't quite a query.

"Yeah," I told him. "If it's not what I think it is, it won't do any harm. If it is, she can do a lot of good. And I trust Weaver to make good decisions under pressure."

"At some point in the future," he told me dryly, "we're going to have to discuss the concept of 'chain of command'. But right now; Canary. I see what you're getting at. I have the device."

"Excellent," I responded. "Can you authorise her release into Glory Girl's custody for the duration?"

"I don't have that power," he informed me. "And in any case, Glory Girl isn't equipped to nullify Canary's Master power."

"Canary won't try to escape," I assured him.

"Do you know that for a fact?"

"Not for a fact," I admitted. "But I believe it implicitly."

"So you do," he agreed. "I see where you're going with this. But as I said, I can't authorise it. You'll have to get in touch with the Director for that."

"Thank you," I told him. "I'll make that call now."

"Armsmaster out," he acknowledged; a moment later, the line went dead.

I glanced at Kid Win, but he was already scrolling through the menu. Piggot's name came up, and he clicked on it.

The phone rang on her end a total of three times before it was picked up.

"Piggot." She sounded harried.

"Director," I greeted her. "You know about the Mayor's residence." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, Mr Allen, I do," she replied acerbically. "Have you called to share any pearls of wisdom?"

"Oni Lee will be holding Christner's family hostage to force the release of Lung and Bakuda," I stated. "He'll be very antsy; without any cape backup, the longer this draws out, the more likely a parahuman response can be mounted against him. So he'll be pushing for fast results, and people will die if we drag our heels. So we need to get the right people on site ASAP. Anything there you didn't know?"

"I just got off the phone with Mrs Christner," she confirmed. "So far you're batting a thousand. She says if he sees cops or parahumans, he'll start killing hostages. Do you see a way out of this?"

I took a deep breath. "I just sent Aegis that way with Weaver. She's equipped to do covert infiltration and investigation. Also, non-lethal takedowns. But I'd much rather we have another plan, one we can pull simultaneously."

"I'm listening," she replied, her tone just a little dubious.

"Canary," I told her succinctly. "Panacea's calling Glory Girl in; she can get her there in minutes. Armsmaster has a device that lets her hijack any speaker system. If she can fill the house with her overtones, that may just dull their reflexes."

"Glory Girl won't be able to carry Canary and her minder at the same time." Piggot's voice was flat.

"This is true," I agreed. "I've spoken this over with Armsmaster, and I believe that she won't try to escape. But we need her there."

She sighed. "I almost wish we had Shadow Stalker back. She would have been good at this."

"Or gotten someone killed," I pointed out. "Better off asking for Flechette." I paused, then added hopefully, "She's not in Brockton Bay yet, is she?"

"No, worse luck," grumbled Piggot. "You're certain Canary won't try to escape, or misuse her Master abilities?"

"Absolutely certain. A show of trust right now will go a long way."

A long pause. "... fine. On your own head be it. Have Glory Girl meet her on the roof."

I glanced at Amy, who was holding her own phone, hood pushed back so she could press it to her ear. She nodded, and gave me a thumb's-up. "... on the roof," she repeated.

"Thank you, Director," I replied. "I appreciate your trust in me."

"Well, you have yet to lead us astray, Mr Allen," she reminded me. "If you'll excuse me; I have a call on another line."

As the sound cut off, I turned to Kid Win. "Do you have to stay here, or is there something you should be doing in this sort of situation?"

He shrugged. "This is only a repeater screen. The PRT gets this information, as does the Protectorate. And I'm supposed to report back to school."

I offered my hand; he shook it. "It was good to meet you," I told him sincerely.

"You too," he replied. "Armsmaster and the Director seem to think a lot of you."

I shrugged. "Just doing what I hope is the right thing."

"Aren't we all," he agreed.

At that moment, one of the screens flashed, and a beep sounded. "And that's my ride," he noted, grabbing his backpack and heading for the door.

I gestured to Amy and Theo. "Come on," I told them, as I followed Chris.

"Where are we going?" asked Theo, although he came along readily enough. Amy didn't even bother asking the question; she just followed along, although her eyes were alight with curiosity.

"Roof," I told him. "I want to make sure that Vicky's good with giving Paige a lift."

"Hmm," Amy commented, as the door opened before us. "Probably not a bad idea."

=//=//=​

Aisha Laborn ran for her life. Two of the ABB punks followed her, which to her count meant two less that her father had to fight. But it also meant that it was two that were trying to get to her.

She dashed down alleyways, leaped over trash cans and scrambled over fences. The trouble was, she wasn't as fit as she should have been; certainly not as fit as Brian was. She couldn't get away from them, couldn't lose them.

If it was night time, she thought randomly, I could sneak away in the shadows. But it had to be fucking daytime.

She tripped and went sprawling; by the time she regained her feet, they were almost on her. "No more running, bitch," the first one told her, waving a knife. "Now you pay what you owe."

"Fuck off and die in a fire," she retorted, backing away, and looking around for a weapon, any weapon.

"You got a mouth on you," he responded with an unpleasant laugh. "I'm gonna enjoy feeling that wrapped around my -"

Snatching a trash can lid, she spun it like a frisbee, catching him in the face. He cursed in pain and fell back, blood running from a cut on his forehead.

Sticking out of the trash can was a length of steel pipe; she wrenched at it, pulled it free. Clutching it in both hands, she waved it at the punks. "Fuck off, or I'll break your fucking kneecaps and work upward from there," she promised.

The one she'd hit with the lid wasn't even listening; he rushed her. She swiped sideways with the pipe, and struck right where she said she would; there was a crack, but he was falling toward her. She was slammed backward on to the ground, driving the breath from her body.

For a moment, she thought she'd been knocked out; there was a darkness in front of her eyes, and roaring in her ears. Strange creatures writhed in a starry void. Beyond was a planet, not unlike Earth -

She was back in the alleyway, lying on the ground with a pain in her right side. Rib, she thought.

The guy who had fallen on her was just getting up, with help from his buddy.

"Shit, that was a nasty trip," his buddy told him.

"Don't I know it," the first guy replied. "Why don't we go see how the others are doing?"

He limped away, supported by his buddy, while Aisha stared.

What the fuck? They chase me down, and now they just walk away? Something's not right here.

And then she looked down at herself, and saw the blood, and that became a very distant problem.

=//=//=​

We moved down the stainless steel corridor at a fast walk, and entered the elevator. Chris swiped his ID card and pressed for the Basement level; I nodded to Theo, and he swiped again. I pressed the button for Roof.

The lift moved upward fast; it seemed only a few seconds before the doors did their complex unfolding trick at the basement garage level.

"See you, guys," Chris told us as he got out. "Nice meeting you."

"Likewise," Theo replied; I nodded in agreement.

The doors folded shut once more, and we watched the number counter climb.

"I understand these lifts have some sort of inertial damper on them," I commented as the digits rolled over, almost too fast for the human eye to follow.

"I hope so," Theo responded, his eyes also fixed on the display. "Otherwise stopping's going to be -"

The lift stopped, and the doors opened. Theo and I both blinked.

" … a total anticlimax," I filled in for him, and stepped out of the lift. I was paying attention to make sure that Amy and Theo followed me, so when a voice called me by name, I was taken more or less by surprise.

"Mike! It's good to see you!"

That glorious voice could only belong to one person; I turned, only to be ambush-hugged by the young lady herself.

"Paige, hi," I replied with a grin, returning the hug; how could I not? "I hear you kicked ass out there today."

"That she did," confirmed the uniformed PRT soldier who had followed her out of the lift, two doors down. "Mr Allen, how you doing?"

"Just fine, Joe. Just fine. Now, you know what's happening?"

"Yes, sir. Ms Macabee's being released into Glory Girl's custody so she can go help save the Mayor's family …?" There was a faint questioning note to his voice.

"That's the plan," I agreed. I looked around at the corridor surrounding us. "Now, which way outside?"

"This way," McKenzie offered, and started off. I followed, with Paige at my side; Amy and Theo came along behind us.

The corridor terminated in large double doors; Corporal McKenzie opened these, and we followed him out on to the rooftop. There was a large helipad there, big enough (I estimated) to take anything short of an actual Chinook. No helicopter was present at the moment. Instead, Glory Girl stood on the non-skid surface, talking to the two PRT guards.

"Vicky!" Amy called out, running forward; the blonde heroine turned her head.

"Ames!" she replied. The two girls came together in a hug.

"So what's going on?" asked Glory Girl as we came up to her. "You said that someone needed a lift … oh."

Obviously not an unintelligent girl, she was looking at the five of us, her pretty brow furrowing. I guessed that she had reached the correct conclusion; a moment later, she confirmed it.

"You have got to be kidding." Her eyes fixed on Paige, she fairly radiated disapproval.

I turned to Amy. "You didn't tell her?"

The biokinetic shrugged helplessly. "I didn't know how."

I sighed. "Great." Turning back to Vicky, I waved my hand between her and Paige to get her attention. "Earth to Glory Girl. Come in, Glory Girl."

She switched her glare to me. "Seriously? You expect me to carry her anywhere?"

"Yes," I told her, as firmly as I could. "You've met Mayor Christner's wife and daughters?"

"Uh, yes?" she replied. "Why, what's happened?"

"Oni Lee has them hostage," I told her bluntly. "We need Canary on site. You're the fastest flier we've got right now. So whatever the problem it is that you have with her – deal with it."

Her eyes widened. "Oni Lee?"

"Oni Lee," I confirmed. "He wants Lung and Bakuda freed. So you have a choice. You can deal, or you can walk away. But if you walk away, and those people die, it won't be Canary's fault."

She bit her lip, looking at me, then at Canary. "What if she tries to Master me?"

"I won't," Paige told her, in her gorgeous voice. "What sort of a monster do you think I am? I want to help those people, too."

"I have earplugs," McKenzie told Glory Girl unexpectedly. Reaching into a pouch, he pulled out a pair of bright orange foam buds. "With these in, you won't hear a thing."

"Great," she responded, grabbing them. "Okay, I'm good."

"One more thing," I cautioned her. "Lee has said that if he sees a parahuman or a cop, he starts killing hostages. So stay out of sight of the house. Got it?"

"Got it." She paused, staring at my shoulder. "Did you know you've got a bug on you?"

I turned my head and peered down at my shoulder. A spy bug looked back at me. "Huh. Cute. I think I'll keep it."

Glory Girl shook her head in mild bemusement; squeezing the earplugs down to size, she fitted them into her ears. "Come on," she told Paige, just a little nasally, "let's get you to where you need to go."

Paige allowed Vicky to pick her up bridal-style, although she looked a little dubious.

"She's stronger than she looks," I assured her.

Once she was set, Vicky turned to Amy. "Just remember," she told her nasally. "We still need to have that talk."

Without waiting for an answer – which she wouldn't have heard anyway – she took off; in moments, she and Paige were a distant dot in the sky.

"Talk?" I asked Amy.

She sighed. "About why I moved out of home, and all that."

"Not looking forward to it?" I asked sympathetically.

A shake of her head. "Not particularly."

I put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "You'll do fine."

She leaned into me for just a moment. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Well then," I dusted my hands off. "Done all I can do. Joe, there'll be PRT troops headed that way, right?"

"Standard procedure," he agreed with a nod. "I've got a space saved on one of the trucks."

"Cool. We'll head down with you, then Amy can give Theo and me the grand tour." I jabbed the button, just as Amy's phone rang.

"Or not," I observed. "Mobiles; can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em."

The lift doors folded back, and we got in; Amy answered the call. "Hello?" A moment later, she was handing it to me. "It's for you."

I stared at the phone, then held it to my ear. "Mike Allen speaking."

Joe hit the button for the basement garage; the lift started down.

"Mr Allen, this is, uh, Brian Laborn."

I recognised the voice. "Yeah, what's up?"

"I need your help."

"Uh, how badly? Kind of in the middle of something here."

"Really badly. Aisha's gone missing. We think she's hurt."

The lift stopped at the garage level; Joe got out. A truck was waiting, engine running.

"Fuck. I'm at the PRT building. Where are you?"

"I can be out at the front in ten minutes."

I blinked. "What, on a dog?" That would draw a great deal of attention, and I wasn't sure if I ever wanted to get on one of those things again.

"No. I've got a car. Can you meet me?"

Amy and Theo were staring at me, no doubt puzzled by my end of the conversation. "Mike?" asked Amy. "Which floor?"

"Hold on," I told Brian, then put the phone to my chest. "Amy, sorry to do the bolt, but I gotta go do something."

Amy stared at me. "Wait, what? Where are you going?"

"Gotta help find a missing girl."

"Theo and me can help too," she replied immediately.

"Theo?" I asked, looking to him.

"Uh, sure, okay," he agreed. "Is she a friend of yours?"

I shook my head. "Never met her before. But sure, okay." Putting the phone to my ear again, I asked, "Still there?"

"Yeah, I'm still here."

"I'll be out front. See you in ten. I''m bringing a couple of friends." Ending the call, I handed Amy's phone back to her. "Thanks."

She nodded in acknowledgement. "Not a problem. Where's your phone, and how did they know to ring me?"

"Answer to question one is that Kaiser has it. Answer to question two is that Tattletale loves to show off that she's a know-it-all."

Her eyes widened. "Tattletale's involved in this?"

"Only tangentially," I assured her. "Remember Grue? It's his sister. She went missing during the gang war."

"Oh, shit," Theo muttered. "That's terrible."

I squeezed his shoulder. Of course he'd think that; Aster meant as much to him as an actual sister would have. Knowing the Empire Eighty-Eight, maybe more.

"Thanks, guys," I told them. "I appreciate this."

=//=//=​

Aisha had lost track of which way she'd come to get away from the ABB guys, but as she staggered along, pressing her hand over the cut on her side, she thought she recognised some buildings. Then she caught sight of a street sign, and nodded.

Big bro's place. Where the gang hangs out. Maybe they'll be there.

She looked down at herself, blood welling out between her fingers, running down her side, soaking into her shorts, running down her leg. Covering her sneaker.

If I don't get some help soon, I'm gonna fuckin' die.

Grimly, she staggered on, one foot in front of the other.

=//=//=​

"You need to fly low, once we get near the place," Weaver told Aegis. "If he sees parahumans and cops, he says he'll kill the hostages."

"Makes sense," he agreed. "But how do you know?"

"I left a spy bug on Mike's shoulder, and Amy made me a ton of relay bugs," she told him with obvious satisfaction. "Mike's been on to Armsmaster and Director Piggot, and he's arranging for Glory Girl to meet us there with Canary." As she spoke, a bug wriggled out from under her hair and launched itself into Aegis' slipstream. She didn't seem to notice.

Aegis considered that for a moment. "So you can listen in on any place you've got one of your spy bugs, that you're in range of."

"Basically, yes. Also, visual coverage."

He shook his head. "So you're not just a Master. Your bugs make you into a kind of a Thinker, as well as a Blaster."

" … huh. I guess they do," she agreed. "Never thought of it that way before."

They flew in silence for a few moments; he began to lose altitude, given that they were coming up on the Mayor's estate.

"There." Weaver pointed. "The gates are good. I've got range on the place now."

As they touched down, a veritable cloud of bugs spread out from her and took to the air, flying on to the estate. Aegis stared. "Wait, what the hell?" he asked. "Where did that all come from? And what are they?"

"I generally keep them in my hair," she pointed out. "Also, the storage compartment on the back of my costume." She held out her hand, palm up. Three bugs alighted on it. "You've seen the spy bugs before, those are the big ones. The intermediate ones are relay bugs. The skinny wasp-like ones are really actually wasps, basically oversized versions that deliver ketamine when they sting."

She gestured, and the last three bugs took off as well. "The estate is so big I lose range just past the house; I'd prefer to have total coverage. Just in case there are any ABB guys on the far side."

"Good thinking," he replied. "Just to be sure; you're not just going to attack straight away?"

She shook her head. "Nope. I am converging the local bug life on the house, just in case, though. Ah, got eyes on the hostages, anyway."

"They're alive?" he asked.

"Yeah. Looks like mother, two daughters, and someone who might be a housemaid or cook or someone. Ah. Ah crap."

He tensed. "Ah crap?"

She sighed unhappily. "The Mayor had security on site. They've been slaughtered. Single shots, or knife wounds. Oni Lee's work."

"That does not surprise me in the slightest," he responded grimly.

"Me neither," she agreed. "Okay, first spy bug is on site. Yeah, mom's got a black eye, but kids seem to be okay. They're tied to chairs, looks like. No-one's bleeding. They're talking … jeez, you'd think they'd talk in English. They always do in the movies. But at least no-one's threatening the hostages right this very second."

"Could you take them out?" he asked. "I mean, theoretically?"

"I … I'm not sure," she replied, doubt heavy in her voice. "Most of 'em, yeah. I got spiders spinning web-cords. I can disable their guns, trip them, hit their hands with ketamine. But Oni Lee's a huge joker in the pack. He's pacing, a lot. He's already on edge. If he even thinks he's under attack, he'll kill the hostages, no doubt about it."

"Crap," he muttered. "I hate dealing with the psychos."

"Okay, just got a proper headcount," she reported. "Six guys in the house; two on the ground floor, four upstairs. Another four outside, roaming the grounds in pairs, not far from the house. I got them all tagged. And Oni Lee; he's on the ground floor, in the dining room, with the hostages. He's yelling something at them, but it's not in Engish, dammit. Now he's going to the phone."

"We might have to move soon, like it or not," he warned her.

"Yeah," she agreed, not sounding thrilled with the concept. "Whoops, Glory Girl just passed my perimeter; you might want to wave her down."

Leaving Weaver to her own devices for a moment, Aegis rose into the air. He made sure to stay below treetop height, and to keep out of line of sight to the house. Seconds later, Glory Girl did indeed zip into view; she was following the road, and moving faster with Canary on board than Aegis could travel when unencumbered. He waved to catch her attention, then dropped back down to where Weaver was waiting.

"Wow," muttered Canary as Glory Girl set her on her feet. She looked somewhat windblown. "That's some way to travel."

"I know, right?" asked Weaver.

Tyres crunched on gravel, and Armsmaster's bike rolled into view. He rolled up to the four teenagers, the engine only making a slight humming noise. Parking the oversized motorcycle, the armoured hero stepped off the machine and came over to them.

"Report," he ordered.

"I've got some bugs in place, more to come," Weaver told him. "There's four upstairs, two downstairs, four outside. Four hostages; the mother and daughters, plus one servant, I think. Hostages are fine at the moment. All upstairs in the dining room, tied to chairs. Oni Lee's on the phone to the mayor. He sounds angry. I can't hear the other side of the conversation without getting a spy bug too close to him."

She sketched with a twig in the dirt. Two squares, side by side. Bugs landed on it, moved around slowly. She indicated them with the twig. "Upstairs. Downstairs. Hostages. Oni Lee. Mooks."

Armsmaster nodded. "Well done. That's perfect. Do they have radios, or any other electronic comms? Or is there a radio or TV on in the house?"

Weaver nodded. "They have two-way radios, it looks like. I'm hearing bursts of static from them."

"That's the first good news I've heard all day," Armsmaster told them, with a grim smile. "The Director tells me that Oni Lee is really pushing Christner hard to have one or both of his bosses freed. We've got less than fifteen minutes to get results. Ideas?"

Weaver raised her hand slightly. "How about this ..."

=//=//=​

Aisha still had the key Brian had given her for the place. She fumbled it into the lock, pushed the door open, and staggered inside. But when she reached the spiral staircase, she was defeated. Three times she tried to climb it, and three times, she fell, ending up in an untidy heap next to the stairs. Worse, the last fall restarted the bleeding; she could feel the warmth on her side.

She lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness, trying to convince herself that she wasn't dying. At some point, the door banged open, and people barged in. Big bro and his buddies. I'm saved.

But she wasn't saved. Brian ran upstairs, right past her, and into the living area they had fixed up. Searched it, calling her name. She tried calling out herself, but the pain was too much.

Bitch gave orders to her dogs; they snuffled around, and a few of them sniffed at her directly, but then they wandered off again, or sat down and licked themselves.

What the fuck is wrong with these people? Are they fucking blind?

And then they went away again, except for Lisa. Lisa, who sat on the bottom step and stared around into the dimness.

"Lisa," croaked Aisha, and it seemed that the blonde almost heard her; she turned her head slightly, as if listening.

But after a while, even she got up, sighed to herself, and wandered upstairs.

And then Aisha was alone. And the blood kept welling out of her.

=//=//=​

Brian pulled up in seven minutes, rather than the ten he had promised. We opened the doors and climbed in; I got in the front; Amy and Theo piled into the back. Amy was no longer wearing her robes; under them, she had on a rather mundane T-shirt and jeans.

"Introductions," I stated as he pulled out into traffic. "Brian, Amy, Theo. Brian is the soon to be ex-supervillain currently known as Grue. Amy's otherwise known as Panacea. And Theo hasn't got a name yet, but he's a cape, he's Kaiser's kid, and he hates his father's guts."

"I really do," offered Theo from the back seat. "I don't know what I can do to help, but I'm here anyway."

Brian stared at me. "Seriously? I didn't ask you to bring capes along."

"Eyes on the road," I reminded him. He probably needed the reminder; the quick, nervous movements of his hands and eyes betrayed a certain level of agitation. For which I didn't blame him; I knew how much he cared for his sister.

"Okay, so what happened?" I asked.

He clenched his hands on the wheel. "Dad called me. They were walking to the shops when it started. A bunch of gangers attacked them."

"Empire Eighty-Eight?" I asked, reflexively. Dammit, Kaiser, you were supposed to not attack innocent targets!

He shook his head. "No, just … I think it might have been ABB. It's where he lives." He shot a sideways glance at me. "Not every attack is racially motivated, you know."

I inclined my head to acknowledge the point. "My bad. So what happened? I know your dad's a pretty good boxer."

He nodded. "Yeah. He put a few of them down, then one of them slashed his arm, and then Aisha hit the guy with a piece of wood, and after that he was too busy to keep track of her. But once the fight was over, he couldn't find Aisha anywhere. So he phoned me. I went looking for her, where she might be. Found blood, but no Aisha."

I was starting to get an idea of what had happened. "So why did you call me? I mean, you've got Lisa in your corner. She's about as kickass at finding people as anyone."

"I called her," he explained. "She tried, but couldn't get anywhere. So she told me to get hold of you. She said you'd know what would have happened to Aisha. That you understood more about us than any of us knew."

I nodded. "Right. Gotcha. Okay, take me to where the fight started. We've got to go from there."

"But she's not there," he protested. "We looked all over. Even got Rachel to get her dogs to track her."

I raised my head at that. "And did they? Could they, I mean?"

"Yeah, to a point," he confirmed. "But they only went to where she'd been. Not where she is."

"How do you know she'd been there?" I asked.

"Blood trail," he told me succinctly. "And a little pool of blood. That's all."

Oh, shit. I sat forward in my seat. "Take us there," I told him. "Now."

=//=//=​

Oni Lee paced back and forth. He was angry and agitated, and he knew it. Taking the family of the mayor hostage had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, but he could almost feel the forces massing against him. The deadline was fast approaching; they had tried to argue with him about extending it, but he had been adamant.

If Lung, or Bakuda, was not released by the time five more minutes had passed, then he would hold the phone to the mother's ear, and allow her husband to listen as he slowly cut her throat.

He did not fear to do so; he had done many worse things in his career. However, he was hesitant to do it now, because he had so few hostages. Kill the mother, and only two children remained. Girl children, at that. He himself would not give up an important position for a girl child; why would the mayor? After all, he already had a fine, strong son.

Perhaps I should kill the servant first, he pondered. If he hears her die, then his heart will quail, and he will know that I am willing to execute his woman if my needs are not met.

The logic was sound; he moved to the window, looked out across the lawn. His hands, of their own accord, played with one of the knives he wore as part of his arsenal. It was a fine blade; light, sharp, and well-balanced. He had killed many men with it.

He saw the bug perched on the window, but paid it no heed. While he had painful memories of the ignominious retreat from Winslow High School, not so many days ago, it was not something that he dwelt upon. The fat security guard was surely dead by now, as would be anyone else with a Bakuda bomb in their head, with a counter ticking down. So he was no longer an issue. As for the cape called Weaver, it was unlikely, bordering on the impossible, that she would be close enough to be involved here. So he didn't even worry about it.

The two guards on the outside passed by, scanning the hedges, then turned the corner of the house. He turned from the window, checked the clock. Three minutes until the servant would come to the end of her useful lifespan.

He did not see the two figures that stealthily crossed the lawn, took refuge behind an ornamental shrubbery.

Nor did he hear, at first, the breathy singing emanating from the two-way radio hanging on his belt. It was just there, emerging from the static, gradually taking over from it. Weaving its insidious spell.

Two minutes to go. He teleported downstairs, to ensure that the men he had placed there were alert, and not asleep or drunk. One was sitting down in a comfortable armchair, but stood up abruptly when Lee appeared. He gave them both a curt nod, then teleported away again.

Gradually, some part of his brain recognised that there was music, a song, floating through his head.

" … why can't we be friends, why can't we be friends ..."

=//=//=​

I had never been to this specific area of Brockton Bay, but I could see that it was a fairly low-end part of town. The buildings were run-down, the streets unswept, and more than one derelict car sat alongside the road. Some were merely missing wheels or doors, while others had been comprehensively gutted; by human action, by fire, or both.

Brian took me there by the back streets; my mental map of the city was still far from complete, so it came somewhat as a shock to me that, when he pulled up, I knew where we were.

"I should've known," I muttered, eyeing the large, rusting warehouse. The signage on the side was still readable, but only just; Redmond Welding. "She's been here before, right?"

" ... a couple of times, yeah," he agreed, as we got out. "When Dad couldn't take her attitude any more."

"To be fair," I reminded him, "she does suffer from a short attention span. And a need for attention. Also, she's an incurable smartass."

He turned toward me as we headed for the door. "Now seriously, how the hell do you know that? I know for a fact that you've never met her."

"One of these days, I'll tell you." I stopped at the door. There was a dark reddish stain on the handle, and a partial sneaker print in the concrete at the base, also in that dark reddish colour. I pointed at them.

He nodded, answering my unasked question. "Yeah, we found that when we got here. She's hurt, bleeding, and I can't find her."

The anguish in his voice was almost palpable. "I'll do my best," I assured him.

He tried the handle; it was unlocked. "We found it this way, too," he told me, hope blooming on his face. "But we locked it again." Pushing the door open, he shouted, "Aisha! Aisha! Are you here?"

His voice echoed within the dim, empty factory space. A couple of bats, far down at the other end, fluttered around for a moment before perching once more.

And then, from upstairs, we heard a voice.

"No, it's just me."

My eyes were adjusting to the dim light inside the building, and I could just barely make out the spiral staircase, below the lit-up rectangle that was the doorway into their loft hideout.

"Lisa!" he replied. "Is she here? Have you seen her?"

"No," she called back, and I could hear the frustration evident in her voice. "Rachel and Alec are out looking, with the dogs. But I don't think she's out there. There's something I'm missing." She started down the stairs. "You brought Mr Allen." Amy and Theo followed me in. "And … holy shit, Panacea. And … "

"Long story," I told her. "Brian, get the first aid kit. Lisa, show me where she last was."

He stared at me; I could make out his frown, even in the dim light. "What? You know where she is now?"

"I have a really good idea," I told him. "Now, get the fucking kit. Lisa, show me."

He started up the stairs, brushing past Lisa. She came the rest of the way down the stairs and joined me as I pulled the mini-Maglite out of my belt pouch.

"We already looked … " she began, then stared at me. "You do know something."

I nodded, flashing the torch around. "Where did the trail end?"

She pointed. "Just beside the stairs. Little pool of blood."

I followed her pointing finger, walking that way, shining the torch. Found the pool of blood, a single bloodstained sneaker. No Aisha.

I turned the torch off and put it away. "So this is your base, huh?" I commented. "Pretty cool."

She stared at me. "Where is she?" she demanded.

"Who?" I asked.

"Aisha! Brian's sister! You said you knew where she was!" Her voice was rising to a shout; the echoes came back from the roof. Amy and Theo were staring at her, then at me.

Realisation returned. Fuck. I fumbled the torch out again. "Aisha's triggered," I told her. "I wasn't one hundred percent certain until this second, but I know it now. She's a Stranger. She makes people forget that she exists. And she's lying right there." I flashed the torch again.

Amy and Theo crowded around. "I don't think there's anyone there," Theo offered diffidently.

I deliberately didn't look, but I kept flashing the light back and forth over the area. "Yes, there is. Lisa, your power's trying to get past it. Her power's default setting is 'on'. She has to deliberately suppress it." I raised my voice, still flashing the torch. "Aisha! Aisha Laborn! Turn your power off! Aisha! Aisha Laborn! You have a Stranger power! Turn it off!"

Lisa knelt down beside the pool of blood. She picked up the sneaker. "This wasn't here, earlier," she murmured.

"No," I agreed. "She kicked it off, to get attention. Aisha! You have to turn your power off!"

Brian came clattering back down the spiral staircase, carrying the first-aid kit. He stared at us; I was looking off into the distance, only observing with my peripheral vision, while Lisa was kneeling beside the pool of blood. The light from my torch splashed back and forth, sending shadows flickering here and there. I thought I saw the faintest of outlines, but it could have been a trick of the light. And I kept shouting Aisha's name. Telling her to turn her power off.

And then Lisa reached out, and shook something … and Aisha was lying there, blinking against the light. Her hand was clamped over an ugly wound in her side; blood covered her entire right side, from the wound on down.

"Fuckin' took you long enough," she mumbled.

=//=//=​

" … why can't we be friends … "

"Where is that song coming from?" demanded Oni Lee. "Who has the radio on?"

His men looked at each other and shrugged.

"We have not touched the radio or any of the TV sets," one of them told him apologetically.

"Then find it!" he shouted. "Turn it off! It offends me!"

They scurried off, looking.

" … why can't we be friends … "

One minute to go. He drew the blade again, tested the edge on his thumb. It was, as he had known it would be, razor sharp.

Picking up the cordless phone, he dialled the same number as before, then put it to his ear.

Instead of the dial tone, he heard clearly, " … why can't we be friends … ?"

The voice was the most divine he had ever heard; he could feel it working on him. Why, indeed, could he not be friends with everyone? It would be such an easy thing to do. To release the hostages, to beg forgiveness of the Mayor …

"Argh!" he shouted, throwing the phone from him. "What is this madness?"

The voice swelled, became a paean of joy, blaring from the radio at his hip. He wanted to be friends, wanted to be nice to everyone.

No, he didn't.

Yes, he did.

Dropping his knife, he put his hands over his ears.

The large window shattered, glass fragments flying about his head. He looked around wildly. Two parabumans had appeared from nowhere; Glory Girl, and a masked boy in street clothes. Even as he tried to react, combative instincts dulled by the song, they flashed across the room, each grabbing two chairs. Two of his hostages. Then they reversed their direction, back across the room, out the window.

The hostages, his leverage. Gone. Just like that.

Snatching the radio from his hip, he threw it to the ground, stamped upon it. The song died, but it was too late; from downstairs, from outside, he heard the cries of alarm as his men were engaged. As they were beaten.

I will escape. I will try again.

But even as he formulated that thought, struggling against the refrain which still ran through his mind, he felt multiple pinpricks on the back of his neck. His hand lashed up, slapped. He felt something crush under his hand, but then the lassitude began to spread through his system.

Oni Lee fell to his knees, then slumped to the floor. Next to his head was the discarded cordless phone. As blackness overcame him, the last thing he heard was the tinny voice emanating from the speaker.

" … why can't we be friends … "

=//=//=​

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," muttered Brian, wrenching open the first aid kit. Then he turned to Panacea. "Fuck it, why am I bothering? You can heal her!"

Amy froze.

Everyone stared at her; there was silence, apart from the rustling of the bats, far back in the darkness.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he shout at her. "Heal Aisha! Save her life!"

"Brian," I stated firmly. "Shut the fuck up for just a moment." I put my hand on Theo's shoulder, and handed him the mini-Maglite. He took it, kept it focused on Aisha. I stepped around him, drew Amy away from the group. Brian stared at her, at me. Lisa's focus was on Aisha, just in case she entered her Stranger state again.

"Amy," I murmured to the biokinetic. "Listen to me."

Her face was white as she looked up at me. Carefully, I took her hands in mine, so that she could get a read on my sincerity.

"You don't have to do this," I told her, in as reassuring a tone as I could. "You are under no obligation to heal her. If you heal her, it must be because you, personally, want to." I took a deep breath. "Now, I'd like it if you did. Brian wants you to. And Aisha – I personally think she'd be bloody ecstatic. But it's not up to me, and it's not up to her, and it's not up to Brian. It's up to you."

She stared into my eyes for a long moment, then hugged me. I hugged her back, holding her close.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice muffled. "Thank you."

I just concentrated on holding her, on giving her the warmth, the trust, and the emotional bond which she had been missing for so long. Taylor and Danny were giving that to her, now, but they weren't here right now. I was.

After a long moment, she disengaged from the hug. With careful, precise steps, she walked over to where Aisha lay, knelt alongside her, and placed her hands on the younger girl's skin.

Without any fuss or bother, the slash in Aisha's side healed over, not even leaving a scar.

=//=//=​

"Well, holy fuck," Aisha told Theo, on the way back to the PRT building. She had cleaned herself up and put on clothes that were marginally more decent, but he still blushed if he looked at her for more than a few seconds. There was so much … her. "You just triggered today too? That means we're trigger buddies. High five."

Hesitantly, he returned the gesture, made more cramped in the back seat of the car. "Uh, I was in Boston … " he ventured.

"So?" she dismissed the problem with a lofty gesture. "Still happened. And you're in the Wards, and if big bro's going into the Wards, I might as well see if I can't get in too." She elbowed him in the ribs, eyes full of mischief. "We might even go on patrol at the same time, huh?"

He didn't know what to say; another flush started rising in his face.

"Aisha, leave him alone," Brian told her from the front seat.

Thank you, thought Theo, very loudly.

She subsided, giving her brother both middle fingers from behind.

"I saw that," he commented blandly. Aisha responded by poking her tongue out and crossing her eyes.

On Theo's other side, Amy seemed to be trying hard not to laugh. He glanced her way; she gave him a sympathetic look. He returned it gratefully. "So, uh, what happened back there?" he asked quietly.

She nodded forwards, to where the security guard sat in the front passenger seat. "Ask Mike, when we get back. He can tell you better than I can."

"Okay," he agreed. "I'll tell you this much; I'm going to sleep well tonight. It's been an exhausting day."

She grinned and put one arm across his shoulders, giving him a companionable squeeze. "Yeah," she agreed. "I know how that goes."

Theo leaned back in his seat. I think I'm going to like it in the Wards. People are much more fun to be around. Even when they're embarrassing the hell out of me.

=//=//=​

Brian pulled up in a five-minute parking space near the PRT building, and set the parking brake. He turned to me, and held out his hand. "Thanks, man," he told me as we shook. "I can't tell you how much I owe you."

I shrugged. "You had a problem, I had the answer."

"Yeah," he answered, "but how did you know that she'd triggered as a Stranger?"

I grinned. "Long story. Short version is, she was due to trigger next month or so, but this gang war made it happen a little sooner. And I knew what she would trigger with, then. And so."

He shook his head. "And how the fuck did you know that?"

"What part of 'long story' did you not understand?" I asked, with a grin to disarm the question. "I know some very specific stuff; that's part of it. As for how and why, I might tell you. Sometime."

"Right," he muttered, shaking his head again. "I think I know now why Lisa mutters to herself when she gets offline from talking to you." He turned, leaning into the back seat. "And by the way, Amy? Thank you, so very much, for healing my sister. If you ever need anything, anything at all, just say so."

Amy nodded. "You're welcome." For a moment, it seemed to me that she was going to say something more, but then she opened the door and unclipped her seatbelt. I did the same, and we got out of the car, Theo sliding across the seat to get out on the passenger side as well.

Aisha got out on her side and scampered around the car. I held the door open for her, but she stopped on the pavement in front of me.

"I don't know how you knew what you knew, and to be honest, I don't give a flying fuck," she told me bluntly. "I'm just glad you did. So thanks."

For a moment, I thought she was going to hug me, but instead she ducked under my arm and climbed into the front seat of the car.

"You're welcome," I replied, and closed the door, careful not to hit her with it. Brian pulled out into traffic; we watched the car go.

Amy turned to me. "We go on the most interesting trips," she informed me. "I've never had to worry about healing a patient that I didn't know was there."

I chuckled. "Anything to keep life from being boring."

As we entered the building, Theo cleared his throat. "Uh, Mr Allen?"

"Call me Mike," I told him easily. "You've earned it."

"Uh, right," he responded. "So, uh, Amy said to ask you about the healing thing?"

I glanced around; there was nobody nearby. "Amy?" I asked.

She looked at me and nodded. "Go ahead."

"Right," I stated. "In brief? Toxic home situation. She got healing powers. She's been feeling obligated, pressured, to heal people, for the last three years. I've convinced her to take therapy, to deal with her home issues, and to put a hold on healing for a month." I fixed Amy with a stern gaze. "And I hope you'll go over what happened today with Mrs Yamada. Okay?"

She nodded. "Oh, I will. And thank you again. Knowing I can, but I don't have to, is a wonderful feeling."

I ruffled her hair; she giggled and ducked away from me. "Just make sure you keep attending therapy, young lady."

"Oh, I intend to," she assured me.

I turned to Theo. "Answer your question?"

He nodded. "Yeah." He gave Amy a smile. "And if you ever want to compare toxic home situations … I bet I can give you a run for your money."

"Which reminds me," I remarked. "Theo, I spoke to the Director. If you happen to feel that you need therapy, you can get it at any time. All you have to do is talk to someone in charge. Just so you know."

He blinked at me. "What, really?" A frown creased his brow. "I never really thought about that sort of thing before."

"Trust me," Amy told him, "you feel a lot better afterward."

"Huh," he mused. "I might try it."

I nodded. "And while you're at it, you want to use your new Wards status to find out if the others are back?"

He grinned and headed over to the desk; moments later, he returned. "Yeah," he reported. "They're downstairs now."

"Mission accomplished?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Not sure. I didn't ask."

"Well," I decided. "Let's go see."

=//=//=​

The metal doors opened, allowing us into the Wards' section of the PRT base. Armsmaster was there, accompanied by Taylor and Aegis, both of them now in street clothes and carrying backpacks. Each was wearing a hastily-applied domino mask, and I grinned at the image.

"Hail the conquering heroes?" I suggested diffidently.

"Mike!" Taylor dropped her pack, and ran toward me. I met her charge and spun her around in a hug. "So how'd it go?" I asked after I put her down.

"Like clockwork," Armsmaster declared. "Miss Dallon, those bugs you have created for Weaver are a marvel. No hostages harmed, all bad guys taken down, Oni Lee in custody."

Amy flushed, pleased. "I'm glad." Taylor hugged her next; she returned the hug in full.

"Canary did a great job too," Aegis pointed out. "She softened them up just right. Gave me and Vicky plenty of time to get in there, grab the hostages, and get out."

I nodded. "I hope people told her so. She has a few self-esteem problems, you know."

Taylor grinned at me. "Yeah, like some other people you know, huh?"

I grinned back. "Mayyybe."

"Weaver," commented Armsmaster, "is definitely showing an interesting grasp of tactics where it comes to using powers in concert."

"Well done, kiddo. I knew you could do it." I held out my fist; Taylor bumped it, then bumped Amy's as well.

"Well," she admitted, "all I did was ask myself 'What would Mike tell me to do?' and it just came to me."

Holy shit, I marvelled. Taylor Hebert just gave me credit for her good ideas. Holy shit. If my head swelled any more, I was going to be going up a hat size.

As it was, I couldn't contain my grin. "Wow." I chuckled. "Wow. I … I just … don't know what to say. Wow."

Armsmaster cleared his throat. "Some of you need to be back at school," he reminded them. "I've just been notified that your vehicle is currently waiting on you."

I looked at Amy. "Gonna head back to school as well?"

She shrugged. "May as well. Vicky still wants to have that talk. And after school, there's Mrs Yamada, of course. What are you gonna be doing?"

"Well," I told her casually, "I was thinking about going to play board games with a notorious supervillain. Theo, you want to come with?"

He looked from one of us to the other, as if not quite sure if I was serious, then he shrugged.

"Sure," he agreed. "It's not like it'll be the weirdest thing that's happened to me today."


End of Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

 

[moontheir4]

"Sure," he agreed. "It's not like it'll be the weirdest thing that's happened to me today."

Click to shrink...

Ten minutes later...
Theo: "I take it back."

 

[Ack]

Ten minutes later...
Theo: "I take it back."

Click to shrink...

He's probably played board games with notorious supervillains before ...