The Slippery Slope [Worm AU]

[Ack]

When Taylor makes a new friend at Winslow, it may not be as good a thing as it seems ...

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

Part One: Approach (below)
Part Two: Acceptance
Part Three: Points of View
Part Four: Consolidation
Part Five: Meet the Family
Part Six: Fight or Flight
Part Seven: Preparations
Part Eight: Best-Laid Plans
Part Nine: Out of Control
Part Ten: Enmities and Allegiances
Part Eleven: Reports and Conclusions
Part Twelve: Meetings and Conferences
Part Thirteen: Analyses and Revelations
Part Fourteen: Families and Foreshadowing
Part Fifteen: Farewells and Continuations
Part Sixteen: Montage
Part Seventeen: Behind the Scenes
Part Eighteen: Try, Try Again
Part Nineteen: Means to an End
Part Twenty: The Gathering Storm
Part Twenty-One: Point of No Return
Part Twenty-Two: Everything Goes Sideways
Part Twenty-Three: Harsh Measures
Part Twenty-Four: Regrouping
Part Twenty-Five: Backlash

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part One: Approach


September 2010

The impact came out of nowhere. I was thrown from my feet, landing on my side with stunning force. The wind was knocked out of me; I couldn't breathe, couldn't move. A foot trod heavily on my hand. Through tears of pain, I looked up, into Sophia's sneering face.

"Want to watch where you're going, Hebert."

And then she was gone, and others were running past, a couple sneaking surreptitious kicks with their gym shoes into my back or my legs as I curled up protectively. Emma's friends. Always Emma's friends.

But of them all, it was Sophia I hated the most. She was always there, always at the forefront, most willing to hurt me. To cause me pain.

"Hey, you all right?"

I looked up, surprised, through eyes still blurry with tears of pain. Someone was crouched beside me, offering me a hand up. Awkwardly, I gave him the hand that hadn't been trodden on, wasn't throbbing with pain. Is it broken? I couldn't tell.

He didn't seem to be simmering with internal mischief, so I let him help me to my feet. I was still a little wobbly, so he helped me stumble to the benches at the side of the gym. Mr Johannsen glanced my way, saw that I was walking wounded, looked back toward the action. I heard the whistle blow as he pointed out a foul. He hadn't blown it for me. The simmering tide of resentment within me notched up a fraction.

"Thanks," I croaked, as my rescuer helped me lower myself to the seat. As my eyes cleared, I got a good look at him. About my age, kind of good looking, blue eyes, sort of dark brown hair that was messily tousled at the moment, but looked good anyway.

"Hey, anything for a sister," he told me with an engaging grin, then ran off to join the pack jostling for the ball. I was left sitting there, holding my aching ribs, wondering what the hell he actually meant. Sister? I'm not his sister.

By the time the period ended, I could stand and walk on my own, and I had decided that my hand wasn't broken. I spotted my rescuer in the crowd as we herded out of the gym; he caught my eye and grinned, and then he was gone. I felt an unexpected lightness of heart for just a moment. I have a friend at Winslow.

And then I shook my head, reality intruding. I have no friends at Winslow. Emma's made sure of that.

Whatever this guy was playing at, I had to be wary of it. It would come back to bite me. Of that I was sure.

<><>​

October 2010

My hands hit the linoleum first, followed by my face. At least I managed to soften the impact enough that I didn't break my cheekbone or my nose; however, I knew I would have a beautiful shiner. My glasses came off my face and skittered away across the floor. The backpack that I'd had slung over my shoulder also came free; books slid out of the open top, scattering far and wide.

"Jesus, Hebert, you're so fucking clumsy."

It was Sophia's voice. It was she who had pushed me down the stairs. Of course. I heard her descend the steps behind me, her giggling coterie following. She crouched beside me; tears filled my eyes as she took hold of a handful of hair and twisted it. "You need to stay down, Hebert," she murmured, just loudly enough for only me to hear. "It's where you belong. In the fucking dirt." With a push that smacked my face against the linoleum – again – she let me go and stood. "She says she's fine," she announced loudly. "So let's leave her alone, shall we?"

My wrists ached, as did my chest, when I tried to push myself to my feet. I could see that Sophia's little group was making a game of kicking my books down the hallway, treading on them and twisting viciously to rip the pages and covers off. I would have to do a lot of repair with tape, tonight. If I ever got all the books back.

And then I heard footsteps descending the stairs behind me, in a rapid staccato pace. Heavier footsteps. A guy. I braced myself for a knee in the back or a kick in the ribs – both of those had happened to me before – but neither of those eventuated. Instead, someone was kneeling beside me. "Holy shit," a familiar voice asked. "Are you all right?"

I'd been asked that before, not long ago. I turned my face to his; even with my imperfect eyesight, even with one eye starting to swell, I recognised him as the guy from gym class. "I … I guess," I managed. "I'll be fine. Once I get up."

"Come on," he coaxed. "Let's get you sitting up, at least. Make sure you aren't hurt worse than you think."

Carefully, he rolled me over and helped me into a sitting position. A few people coming past looked at us curiously, but no-one commented and no-one stopped.

"Your ribs need to be palpated," he told me. "To make sure you didn't fracture or break any. I'm not about to do it, so you need to do it yourself."

"Okay," I wheezed. "How?"

So he demonstrated on himself, and I copied his movements. No place I pressed seemed to be sharply painful, and I didn't have stabbing pains when I inhaled deeply, so we concluded that I'd live.

"Just rest there for a minute," he advised me. "I'll get your books for you."

Without giving me a chance to respond, he was off, doing exactly what he said he was going to do. I was just about ready to give the idea of standing and walking a try, when he came back to me, carrying a stack of books. "These are yours too, right?" he asked, holding out something to me.

I took them; they were my glasses. "Oh, uh, thanks," I muttered belatedly. I put them on; one lens was cracked, but not badly. I could still see through it, but I'd have to get the spare pair from home. Again. But I could see his face clearly now. He was just as good looking as before, maybe more so. The sweatshirt held a nicely muscled torso. His hair was adorably tousled, making me want to run my fingers through …

He cleared his throat; he was still holding the stack of books, and looking meaningfully at the backpack, which was still lying beside me. "Oh, uh, right," I blurted, feeling the flush creeping up my cheeks. Bending over was an effort, but it hid my face from him for a moment; a moment I desperately needed to regain my composure. I had been checking him out. I barely knew him! Scratch that; I didn't know him at all! And I still didn't know if this wasn't some insidious plot by Emma to get my guard down, so that she could humiliate me on some grand scale.

I held the pack open, and he carefully placed the books within. "Some of them are pretty badly damaged," he told me apologetically. "But I found all the pages, I think."

I steeled myself and looked at his face. "Why?" I demanded bluntly.

He blinked. "Why … what?" he asked.

"Why are you nice to me?" I elaborated. "It's not because of my looks. If you were just going by looks, you'd be off drooling over Emma like the rest of the school. Or Madison. Or Sophia." I was surprised at how bitter that came out, but it was true.

He shook his head. "I can't like you because of how you look?"

I was starting to get my head back together. "What's your name?"

"Peter," he offered, holding his hand out. "Taylor, right? Taylor Hebert?"

Very gingerly, I shook it. He was careful with it, which I appreciated; my hands and wrists were still sore from landing on the floor.

"It's nice to meet you, Peter," I told him. "And thanks for helping me out. I'm grateful, I really am. But I've already been warned about guys who act nice to loner girls, just so they can … "

He blinked rapidly, and held his hands up in front of him, even taking a couple of steps back. "Hey, hey, not my intention." His tone was either sincere, or he was the best actor I had ever seen.

Of course, when it came to getting what my Dad solemnly informed me that all teenage boys want from teenage girls, I knew quite well that teenage boys could be very good actors indeed; the number of teen pregnancies just within the halls of Winslow was testament to that. So I was still dubious.

"If it's not your intention, Peter, what is? Because I find it hard to believe that you're just being nice to me out of the goodness of your heart. How about all those other kids who are being picked on right at this moment, that you're not helping?"

He shook his head. "I'm helping you because you're a sister. Because you're being stepped on and put down, and I've been there, and I don't like seeing it happen to others."

I frowned. "Like I said, other kids are being picked on all the time. Why are you being my white knight?"

His expression was serious. "Because they're not being picked on by that nigger bitch Sophia Hess."

It took a few seconds for the content his words to sink in, and the tone of them. "Wait, what?" I stared at him. He looked so nice, so clean-cut, so wholesome. "You're ... in the Empire Eighty-Eight?"

He nodded. "Yes, I am. Is that such a bad thing?"

"Well, yes, it is," I told him. "It's a terrible thing. Because I was just starting to think that you're a nice guy, and now I find out that you're a member of a criminal gang that commits hate crimes all the fucking time." I slung my pack on my back, my movements jerky and uncoordinated with my haste. "Leave me the fuck alone."

"Taylor … " He didn't move forward, didn't try to grab my arm. "Can I just … "

I shook my head violently, so violently that I nearly lost my glasses again. "No. I'm grateful that you helped me, but leave me alone."

He watched me as I strode away; he didn't follow me, for which I was grateful. And also obscurely disappointed, for some reason.

Just my fucking luck. The one guy at Winslow who's nice to me, and he's a fucking racist prick.

<><>​

November 2010

Taylor's a bitch
A dirty, dirty snitch
All you can do is tell tales and lie.
Taylor's a bitch
A dirty, dirty snitch
Why don't you just crawl away and die?

I stared at the email that had just popped up on my screen. "What the hell?" I muttered.

Drawing a deep breath, I hit the button to send the mail to the printer, then got out of my seat.

"Is something the matter, Taylor?" asked Mrs Knott, looking up.

"I … no, Mrs Knott. Just doing a test print," I told her, hoping that she would not request to see it. But she and I got along quite well, and I was pretty good at using the computers properly. Unlike some, I wouldn't use the pretext of 'test prints' to put dirty jokes or rude pictures on to paper.

"All right," she replied mildly. "Carry on."

I thought furiously as I walked over to the printer, which was even now grinding out my 'test print'. Things had been relatively quiet for the last few days. Even my email inbox hadn't been jammed with hate mail for more than a week; maybe they were running out of spiteful things to say to me. But this latest one had come out of the blue. Snitch? Tell tales? What's that all about?

Tearing off the sheet, I folded it carefully and headed back to my desk. Where I found that I may as well have saved myself the walk; six more emails were waiting for me. All of which were unpleasant in nature, and all of which extolled my lack of virtue as a snitch and a tattletale, and other such implications.

I clicked off the emails, noting that at this rate it would be full in a matter of hours, and sighed as I began to go through the process of opening another account. I must go through more of these than any other three students at Winslow.

After that, there was actual classwork to do; I looked over the parameters of the program Mrs Knott wanted us to work at, and figured it out in my head. Then I began typing rapidly. There were benefits to having my own computer at home; I finished it before the bell went, saving it to my school account. Most of the kids in the class were still plugging away at it, referring regularly to their textbooks.

"Those of you who haven't finished, save your work and complete it tomorrow," Mrs Knott told us. "In the meantime, your homework tonight is to complete the exercise on page one hundred and twenty-nine."

I grinned to myself; I had already done that exercise myself, a few weeks ago, to prove that I could. All I had to do was copy it out properly, and I'd be done. Which left me only one thing to do; find out why I had been sent those emails.

<><>​

I got to the cafeteria and groaned at the length of the line-up. I would hardly have time to get to a quiet place to eat my lunch at this rate. And given that unless I found some place out of the way, one or another of Emma's friends would find an excuse to harass me, which meant that even lunchtime was going to be an unpleasant experience. Maybe I should start buying pita wraps and bringing them to school.

"Hey, Taylor!" I looked up as the totally unexpected occurred. No-one ever called my name out. But someone had; staring around, I finally picked out who had done so. It was Peter, standing in the lunch line.

I wanted to ignore him and just walk out, but he had been nothing but polite to me, so I walked over to him, edging my way through the crowd.

"Peter," I greeted him, as neutrally as I could. I didn't want him thinking that I actually approved of him or his associates.

"Hi, Taylor," he replied, as cheerfully as if I had just smiled and hugged him. "Have you already eaten?"

I shook my head. "No. Got delayed leaving World Affairs. My bag got tipped all over the place."

He frowned. "What, again?"

I gave him a warning glance. Don't talk about that in front of everyone. "It was an accident."

"Yeah, okay," he agreed, but I saw his look. Like hell it was. "Anyway," he went on, "seeing as I'm nearly through the line, want me to get you something?"

"I … what?" I blinked.

"I could buy you lunch, or something," he explained. "You know, if you want."

I thought about it. He's actually just trying to be nice. "Okay, but you don't get to spend your money on me." I pulled out my purse and pressed some money into his hand. "Pita wrap, orange juice, banana. Got it?"

He nodded once. "Pita wrap, orange juice, banana."

"That's right. And … uh, thanks."

He grinned. "No problem."

I moved away from the line, before the mutters about me 'budging in' could become more than mutters, and found an empty seat at a table. Before long, he had collected his food, as well as my own, and was gesturing me toward a table, where several other boys sat. Most of them had buzz-cuts, and looked a little taken aback to see me walking alongside Peter.

I stopped him before we got to the table. "No, sorry, I'm not sitting there."

"What?" He looked confused.

I plucked my order from his tray. "I'm not sitting with your friends. Sorry, but you and I are barely friends, if even that, and I don't want to be associated with the Empire Eighty-Eight in any way, shape or form. Especially as I don't subscribe to your racist viewpoints."

He blinked. "Oh. Okay." With a shrug, he put his tray down and picked up his own food order. "Lead on, then."

It was my turn to be taken aback. "What?"

"Where do you want to sit? We'll sit there. I don't have to sit with my friends. They'll understand if I choose to sit with someone else."

Damn it, how am I supposed to deal with this? He's not supposed to be reasonable. He's supposed to tell me to choose to sit with his friends or go away.

"And if I told you that I wanted to sit alone?"

A shrug. "Then I'd go and sit with my friends. But I'd much rather sit with you." That damned engaging grin again. "You're a lot prettier than they are."

I felt a flush rising in my cheeks, and spoke harshly. "Fine. We'll sit together. But one more comment like that, and you're wearing your lunch. Do you understand me?"

"Entirely." He managed a courteous half-bow. "We shall sit, and eat, and talk about whatever you want to talk about. Or I will shut up and let you read a book."

Which actually sounded quite attractive, to be honest. I had a new book out of the library, about the early days of the PRT, and I was looking forward to getting into it.

I tried to glare at him, but couldn't quite pull it off. "Okay. Come on."

<><>​

"I don't know why I haven't eaten out here before. It's rather pleasant."

We were sitting on the front steps of the school; Peter was leaning back against the top step while he ate a fish paste sandwich. I was using the wall at the side of the steps for a backrest as I ate my pita wrap.

"Maybe because you and your racist buddies like to pal it up in the cafeteria?"

I hadn't meant for my comment to come out quite so nasty, but he looked around mildly all the same.

"Yeah, sure, the Empire discriminates against some ethnic types," he agreed, "and I won't try to justify it to you, but you will agree, won't you, that one of the major gangs in the city is overwhelmingly Asian in nature, and they don't even hold to the standards of civilisation that the rest of the gangs do?"

I frowned. He had a point; the ABB had a reputation for savagery, especially their leader Lung, and his second in command Oni Lee. The man carried grenades, for crying out loud.

"The Merchants are also pretty bad when it comes to that sort of thing," I pointed out incautiously.

"So you're agreeing that the Empire, of the three major gangs in Brockton Bay, is the most civilised of them?" he asked; his question was cheerful, not triumphant.

"I … that's like asking which of the three sports cars is least expensive," I countered weakly.

"Just a little unfair, if you ask me," he replied. "We don't kidnap girls for sex slavery. And we don't forcibly recruit people into the Empire. Anyone joins, it's because they want to."

I blinked. "Sex slavery? Are you trying to tell me that … "

"The ABB kidnaps teenage girls and sells them to brothels overseas, yes," he stated seriously.

"Oh, god," I muttered. "That's terrible."

"And then there's the ones that the Merchants take, and forcibly addict to drugs, so they'll turn tricks for a fix," he went on. "Is it any real surprise that the leader of the Merchants is a black man? Or that his girlfriend is underage? Or that they're all drug-addicted perverts who will whore out their sisters for their next hit?"

"What, Skidmark's black?" I asked. "I never knew that."

"As black as the bitch who's been bullying you all this time, along with her r- with her friends," he confirmed.

I stared at him. "What were you about to say?"

He looked back at me. I saw him come to the decision to not lie. "I was going to say 'race traitor'," he admitted. "It's not a phrase you're very comfortable with, I can see."

"'Race traitor'?" I asked. "What does that even mean?"

"It means someone who sides with someone not of their race, against someone of their own race," he explained simply. "Emma and Madison, they're siding with Sophia against you … and Emma knows you, doesn't she? The things I've heard, she knows you pretty well."

I put my head back on the concrete wall and rolled it so that I wasn't facing him any more. "We used to be friends," I admitted, in a small voice.

"So Emma's basically a race traitor against you with Sophia," he concluded. "Do you feel bad about that? Betrayed? Angry?"

After a long moment, I nodded. " … yeah," I admitted.

"Well, that's how we feel, whenever someone who should otherwise be a good, honest upstanding white citizen sides with a black man, or an Asian, or some other ethnic, against his own colour, his own creed," Peter explained reasonably. "That's why we call them race traitors. Because we feel betrayed."

"I … I get it, I do," I admitted. For a moment, considering the feelings I had about what Emma had done to hurt me so many times, I actually knew what it felt to be raging against the unfairness of someone else co-opting what had once been mine. I could feel the sincerity in Peter's voice, and for just a moment, I felt sympathetic toward him. We weren't the same, and I would never advocate violence against other races, but I felt I understood him better now.

"So, have things eased off a bit yet?" he asked me, breaking into my train of thought.

"What?" I asked.

"I said, have things eased off a bit? I've been keeping an eye on who's been doing the most harassing of you, and this morning before school started, I took the list of names, as well as times and dates, to Principal Blackwell. Has she asked you about it yet?"

I stared in horror at him. "You fucking did what?"

"Reported the girls for bullying you," he told me, looking somewhat taken aback at my reaction. "Why? I thought you'd be pleased. She seemed to take it most seriously."

All the pieces fitted together then, with a deafening clang. "So it was you!"

"It was me, yes," he agreed. "But why -"

I pulled the folded paper from my back pocket and threw it at him. "Because that, you idiot!"

He reached over to pick it up from where it had fluttered to a lower step, and unfolded it. Lips moving silently, he read it. Then he read it a second time. Comprehension crept over his face. "Oh."

"Fucking 'oh' is right!" I snapped. "My inbox will be full of that shit by now. Everyone thinks I snitched. I had Madison and Julia staring daggers at me through World Affairs, and at the end, Madison distracted the teacher while Julia grabbed my bag and tipped it over."

"But surely he saw -"

"Mr Gladly wouldn't see a clue if it bit him on the leg, not if a pretty distraction wearing a short skirt was in his face at the time," I snarled. "I get that shit all the time, and now they're going to be doing it twice as hard, to make sure I don't snitch again."

"But you didn't snitch," he protested. "I did. I was just trying to help you. To protect you. Because I don't know if you can see it, but Sophia Hess isn't very stable. I mean, even if she was white, I'd be wary of her, but being what she is, I wouldn't trust her not to do anything."

"You shouldn't say bad things about her, just because of the colour of her skin," I tried to protest, but it sounded weak, even in my ears.

"Then why else is she pushing you down so hard?" he countered. "You yourself said that it was only after Sophia met Emma that Emma started bullying you. Sophia infected her against you, and Madison is following her lead, because she doesn't know any better."

"But she's not being a racist about it," I responded, trying to find my footing in the argument.

"Yes, she is," Peter insisted. "And Emma and Madison don't see it, but they're taking a black girl's side against a white girl. And you know what's worse?"

I swallowed. "What?"

"You told me that the Empire Eighty-Eight is guilty of hate crimes. Suppose that's true. Then what's Sophia been inciting the others to do to you all this time? She knows you're better than her, and she's been making the others force you down, humiliate you, so you don't realise it. She's the real hate criminal, here. And she's inciting white people, people who should be on your side, to do her dirty work for her."

I took a drink of orange juice, trying to clear my head. His arguments were insidious, persuasive. I could see the logic in them, and it scared me. Have I been wrong all this time? Are black people and Asians really the enemy? Is Sophia really just the tip of the iceberg?

"So what can I do about it?" I asked. "How do I get her off my back?" The phrase 'that black bitch' rose up in my head, and I forced it down again.

He didn't answer, and I looked around. He was sitting up, and his open hand was extended toward me, palm up, an offer. An invitation.

"What?" I blurted. "No!"

"Why not?" he asked. "If you're known to be affiliated with the Empire, she won't dare come near you. Nor will any of her friends. Because once you've got friends, you've got the power, and they know it. The Empire protects its own."

It was tempting, very tempting, for just a second. To know that if Sophia or Emma or anyone else tried to bully me, I would have a bunch of tough Empire Eighty-Eight kids ready to hit back. They would have my back. At long last, someone would have my back.

Then reality intruded, and I shook my head. "I'll just be trading one set of enemies for another. The ABB is in Winslow. And so are the Merchants. I don't know how to fight; I'd be asking to be shanked in the first week."

He shook his head. "You wouldn't be a full member," he assured me. "That takes more than an introduction. It takes initiation, and dedication on the member's part, to show that he's got what it takes to be part of the cause. ABB only goes after members who show the colours, or people who are bucking for membership. Everyone who hangs around with us, just because it's a bit safer? It's not worth going after you guys, because they know damn well that if they touch you, we'll touch them up a damn sight harder. And no-one wants a war inside Winslow."

I blinked. "Oh. I see. I guess."

He shrugged and smiled. "So you see, there really is no downside to at least giving it a try."

I took a deep breath. "Still not sure. If I start sitting with you guys, people are going to think I'm in with you. That I think the same way. That I hate everyone who's different. And I don't, not really."

He leaned in and grinned conspiratorially. "I'll let you in on a little secret. Not everyone in the Empire is like that. Oh, we all know that white people are better, because we're white, and it stands to reason. But not everyone hates black people, or Asians, or Hispanics, or Jews, or even gays or cripples. Some people believe one thing, and some people believe another. But none of us believe that we deserve to be shoved in the dirt by people who think they're better, because of their skin colour."

"So ..." I ventured. "I'm allowed to think that Sophia Hess is a bitch … "

"A black bitch," he prompted me.

"A black bitch," I repeated, feeling a weird sense of liberation. How many times have I wanted to say that, and not done it, because I felt it was wrong? " … because she's been bullying me all this time? Not really because of her colour, but because of what she's done?"

"You're perfectly allowed to feel that," he assured me. "It's another step on the road to understanding what's really going on. And trust me, it's far better for you to feel that way, than to think that it's okay for her to do that to you because of some white guilt trip over what someone's ancestors did, two hundred years ago."

"I … I guess," I replied. "I just wish she'd stop. I wish they'd all stop."

"That's fair," he agreed easily. "Actually, now that I've brought it up … you aren't Jewish, are you? Because your hair's kind of curly and all. And your surname … you know, Hebert, Hebrew … "

I blinked. "Uh, no. Not that I know of. My family name is French. I know, because I looked it up one time. My great-great-grandfather emigrated from Normandy just after the First World War. Previous to that ... well, that's where the Vikings settled, so ..."

He smiled broadly. "Oh, that's okay then. That's better than okay. Vikings are very good."

I tilted my head. "What would you have said if I'd said I was Jewish?"

He shrugged. "I'd have still been your friend, but nothing more. You could never have become a member." He held up his hands. "Nothing against you, personally, of course. You're a really nice girl, and I like you. But if you'd been a Jew, there would be people in the Empire who wouldn't have allowed you to get any farther in than you are now."

"But I'm not," I pointed out, "and in any case, I don't really want to be a member."

"That's also fair," he conceded. "But you'll accept our protection? My protection?"

I frowned. "Still deciding. What's expected of me if I accept?"

"Well, it's not the same as actual membership, of course," he pointed out. "You don't get to know anything important, or meet anyone outside of the current group. But if an Empire member needs your help, you help them. You're expected to keep what secrets you do learn about us, well, secret. And if you're invited to a gathering - you're free to not go, of course - anything you see and hear there, we'd expect you to keep it to yourself."

I thought I saw a trap. "What if it's something illegal?"

He shook his head. "Not everything we do is illegal, Taylor. You'd still be an outsider, just one who has some views in common with us. Not totally trusted, but not distrusted until you gave us a reason to. No, even if I was to admit that the Empire commits crimes, which I'm not -" he shot me a conspiratorial grin, "- we wouldn't compromise you by dropping them on you. Any help would be things like food, what money you could afford, a phone call, stuff like that. Nothing that would get you in trouble. And any gatherings you were invited to wouldn't have anything like that. They'd be more like ... get-togethers. Barbecues. Parties. With a very specific invitation list. Letting us young people mix, with adult supervision."

"And what about people trying to, well, convert me?" I asked.

He shook his head again, looking mildly amused. "We aren't a church, Taylor. We're an organisation of like-minded people. If you show up, you're assumed to be at least partly in line with our views, so we don't try to shove them down anyone's throat. Just be aware that there will be people there whose language will be a little … stronger than you're probably used to hearing, because yes, we are a whites-only organisation. But on the other hand, if you've ever wanted to cut loose and use those words, no-one will censure you."

"But I'm not like that." I wasn't sure if I was trying to convince him, or me. It actually sounded kind of … inviting? To go somewhere that I knew I'd be welcome, to mix with people of my own age, without having to worry about being bullied. "I don't believe in what the Empire believes in. And I'm not sure that I want to be seen as being 'with' you and your friends. Okay, sure the ABB and the Merchants might not bother me, but what about other people? I don't want them thinking I'm a racist."

"Taylor." He looked at me directly. His eyes were a very piercing blue. I felt as though they could see through to my very soul. "Answer me this directly. Is Sophia Hess a good person?"

I blinked. "No, she's not."

He nodded. "Is she a bitch and a bully?"

"I … yeah, she is."

"Do you think that there's any possibility, absolutely any possibility, that the reason she's treating you like this is because she's black and you're white?"

I paused. I wanted to be honest, but I didn't want to sound like a bad person. "I, uh … "

"Okay, let me put it this way. Do you think that there's any possibility that she might be treating you this way because of how blacks were treated by whites back before Civil Rights happened, before the slaves were freed? Pushing them down into the dirt? Like she's trying to do to you?"

It was hard not to see his point, follow his logic. "I … I guess there's a possibility, yeah."

"So, because she's a bad person for treating you like this, and you're a good person, do you think you're better than Sophia Hess?"

I took a deep breath. "... yeah, I think I am."

He smiled. "So tell me."

I smiled back. "I think I'm better than Sophia Hess."

A mock frown. "'Think' or 'know'?"

My voice was firmer now. "I know I'm better than Sophia Hess."

His grin was back. "And what's Sophia Hess?"

"A black bullying bitch." The answer came readily.

"And so … ?" He gestured, inviting a statement.

It only took me a moment to figure it out. "I'm so much better than that fucking black bullying bitch Sophia Hess, they'll need to invent a whole new system of measurement to work it out."

By the time I finished saying it, I felt flushed all over again, proud that I'd finally gotten it out of my system. Peter was nodding appreciatively.

"I like it," he agreed. "So we agree that you're better than one black bitch. That's a good start." Rising to his feet, he dusted himself off. "Lunch tomorrow?"

I accepted his hand to help me up. He was unexpectedly strong; there was real muscle under that sweatshirt. "I … sure. If we can sit out here again?"

He spread his hands. "Sure. Anything you want. You want to vent, I'll listen. You want to hear more about the Empire, I can talk about that. Hell, you want to talk about TV shows, we can do that, but you'll have to give me prior warning."

I chuckled. "You're an idiot, but I might just take you up on that."

His return grin warmed me all over. "You just let me know when you're ready to sit with everyone else. I'm not going to push you."

"Hey." My tone was light. "I haven't even decided whether to accept your friendship or not." That wasn't true, but I was pretending otherwise, and he knew it. I just had to finish convincing myself that it was a good idea. To accept the friendship – and no more – of a bunch of guys who would watch my back, or to spend the rest of the school year, and the next two as well, having my life made a living hell by Sophia and her patsies.

It was a no-brainer, really.

"Okay," he offered. "Tell you what. Take this phone, and think about it. When you make your decision, let me know." He held out an inexpensive-looking cellphone, along with the charge cord.

"I can't take that from you," I demurred.

He shrugged. "Call it a loaner. If you choose to affiliate yourself, it'll be necessary in case you ever need to contact us. If you decide not to, you can always give it back."

It made sense. "Okay, fine," I agreed, shoving the charge cord in my pack, and the phone in my pocket. "How do I call you if I need to?"

"My number's already on it," he pointed out. "Speed dial one."

"Uh, okay," I told him. "Thanks, I guess." I paused. "You don't call me, though. Dad doesn't like cellphones, and if he finds out I have one, he'll be asking all sorts of questions." Especially if he finds out a boy gave it to me.

"That's fine," he agreed. "Just think about it, okay? Let me know when you come to a decision."

"Yeah. I'll do that."

He pushed open the door to the school and stood aside to allow me entry; I pretended not to notice, while he pretended not to see my pleased smile. And then the antiquated PA system crackled to life.

"Taylor Hebert to the principal's office. Taylor Hebert to the principal's office."

That was the other shoe. I knew I'd been feeling too good.

I shot Peter a brave smile. "Well, gotta run. See you around."

He nodded. "See you around."

Shouldering my backpack, I jogged off down the hallway.

<><>​

"Ferguson, reporting in."

"Ah yes. You're working on the Hebert girl, right? How's that going?"

"I think she's coming around."

"Only 'coming around'? You've been talking to her since September. How long's this going to take?"

"As long as it takes, sir. She's a smart one. You've got to dangle the hook. Let them reel themselves in."

"Is it worth taking this long on her?"

"Yes sir, I think it is. Her father runs the Dockworkers; if she becomes a member, she can influence him. Through her, we could have an in."

"Good thinking, Ferguson. But are you sure there isn't more to it?"

" … yeah. I kind of like her, sir. She's good. Smart. Sharp. Keeps me on my toes. We need people like that in the Empire. She could be a real asset, in time."

"Just don't let your emotions get the better of you, Ferguson. If she rejects us altogether, be ready to cut your losses and get out."

"Understood, sir. But I think I've got it covered."

"For your sake, I hope you do."

"Yeah, look, the bell just went. Got to get to class."

"Fine. Go."

<><>​

I knocked on Principal Blackwell's office door. "You called for me, ma'am?"

She looked up. "Yes. Come in and sit down."

I did as I was told. "Uh … what's the problem?"

"The problem, Ms Hebert," she told me, an ominous tone entering her voice, "is this stack of allegations against other girls that was handed in, in your name. Do you know anything about it?"

"Uh, yes, ma'am," I answered automatically. "I mean, no."

Her brows drew down. "Which is it, yes or no?"

"I mean that I didn't know that it had been done, until just a little while ago," I explained. "But I didn't have anything to do with it happening."

"So are the allegations true?" she pressed me.

"I don't know, ma'am," I protested. "They're probably true. It's just that I didn't -"

"Well, which ones are true, and which ones are not?" she interrupted.

I took a deep breath. "I don't know what allegations were made, so I can't tell you until I see them," I pointed out. "If you'll tell me what they are, I can tell you if they're true or not."

She drew air in through her nostrils, then finally nodded. "Very well," she stated.

As I sat there, she read out half a dozen accusations against some of Emma's friends. I nodded, as each of them seemed familiar to me.

At the end of it, I nodded. "Yeah, those things happened."

She frowned. "Do you have proof?"

I grimaced. "No." I did have my own notes on what had been happening to me, but they were at home.

"I'm sorry, but without proof," she stated, "I can't act on them."

"What?" I was dumbfounded. "But I'm telling you they are true."

"And yet you say you didn't hand them in." She tilted her head. "Do you have a witness? The person that you say handed them in?"

"I – I guess," I admitted. "But -" I didn't want to bring Peter's name up. If he was known to be part of Empire Eighty-Eight, it would ruin all the testimony.

"But what? Does this other person even exist?" She leaned forward and stared hard at me. "Your evasiveness is not filling me with confidence, Ms Hebert. Without something or someone to back up these allegations … "

"It's been going on for months," I told her. "More than a year, in fact."

Her expression closed down. I wasn't surprised; I'd as much as told her that she and her staff were blind and deaf, and so they might be. "I find that hard to believe. I've heard nothing of this."

I was beginning to get frustrated. "But I did tell teachers when I was being picked on. Nothing ever happened. It just kept going."

"That's a weak excuse," she retorted. "When I spoke to the other girls - "

"Wait, you spoke to them?" I asked. "When?"

"This morning. I had them pulled from class so that I could investigate." Her look at me didn't make me very confident that it had gone my way. "They all categorically denied that any of it was true. Mss Barnes -"

"You never mentioned Emma's name just now," I realised. "Or Madison's. Or Sophia's. Weren't there allegations about them too?"

"As I said, Miss Barnes was quite upset that you would do such a thing to her. She -" Blackwell paused, then went on. "Needless to say, I am now satisfied that all the allegations are utterly unfounded. I called you in here to see if you had anything to do with them."

"What?" I asked. "But Emma, Sophia and Madison are the ones -"

" - who urged me not to punish you for spreading rumours about them," she interrupted me. "Does that sound like the act of a bully to you?"

It did. The act of a smart bully. Such as Emma.

"I – there are emails," I began. "Since this morning. Hateful emails."

She didn't leap to turn on her computer, as I had vaguely hoped that she would. "Ms Hebert, emails can be faked. I'm aware that you spent part of the morning in Computer class. Unless you have more solid proof, or a witness, any witness … ?"

"Sorry, ma'am, but -"

She sighed; it almost sounded regretful. "Ms Hebert, I'm going to tell you this once. It is a vicious, spiteful act to spread damaging rumours about other people, and I will not stand for it in this school. I don't know whether it was you or someone else who handed in those allegations, but I'll be letting you off with a warning, this time. Do you understand?"

"But it's not true," I protested. My frustration began to grow. She was warning me not to bully Emma!

"I've made my decision," she declared. Before my eyes, she held up the stack of papers that Peter had handed in, and tore it in two. "As far as I'm concerned, this incident never happened. But be aware that you're on notice; if anything like this happens again -"

"For fuck's sake, you stupid fucking bitch!" I shouted. "They're causing trouble for me! Can't you see that? Why are you being so fucking obtuse?"

There was a long, frozen moment. Principal Blackwell stared at me, and breathed deeply. When she spoke, her voice was almost normal.

"I'm going to chalk that up to an excess of emotion, Ms Hebert," she stated quietly. "But no more warnings. One more word, and you're suspended. One. More. Word." Another long pause. "Do you understand me?"

I went to shout at her again, but then I stopped. Slowly, I nodded.

"Good," she told me. "Now, get out of my office."

I went.

Outwardly, I was meek and respectful. Inwardly, I was furious.

Dad can't protect me at school. The staff can't or won't protect me. Sophia and her patsies won't leave me alone. I can't watch my back all the time.

Pulling out the phone that Peter had given me, I brought up his number, and sent a text. It consisted of two letters.

OK.

A moment or so later, the phone chimed, with a return text. It was a smiley face.

I drew a deep breath. For better or worse, I was committed to friendship with the Empire Eighty-Eight.

Now to see if Peter is as good as his word.


End of Part One

Part Two

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Two: Acceptance


It didn't take long before the results of my innocuous text message began to bear results. Two days later, I began to notice the same few boys loitering where I was, going from class to class at the same time. They were never intrusive, never too close for my liking, but they were always there.

And then, as I was going downstairs on the third day, I heard a scuffle behind me. Looking around, I saw Sophia sitting on the steps, one of my shadows between me and her. She was glaring at him; he shrugged and said, "Sorry, didn't see you there."

I quickly pieced it together; she'd been about to trip me down the stairs, and he had intervened, body-checked her into the wall or something. There was no way he'd not seen her; boys drooled over her all the time.

I moved on; I didn't want Sophia knowing I'd seen her like that. The boy followed me to my next class, then paused and murmured, "Peter says hi," before strolling off.

I sat through the class, somewhat stunned. Peter had actually lived up to his word. I was being protected. On one level, I was elated; on another, disturbed. Nothing good happened to me, not these days. There was another shoe waiting to drop, another bolt of lightning waiting to strike. Another price to pay.

None of Emma's cronies were in Mrs Knott's computer class, so I had relative peace and quiet there. Pulling out the phone he'd given me, I dashed off a quick text: Thank you.

Moments later, I got one back; another smiley face. I would have liked to send another text, but Mrs Knott had heard the chime, and was looking my way, so I applied myself to the work.

<><>​

That was Friday; on the Monday, things started warming up again.

<><>​

It began simply enough; in World Affairs class, Madison's friend Julia tried to get close enough to pour glue on my book. However, someone sitting behind me stuck his foot out, and she tripped; glue splashed all over the floor and all over herself. She got up, hotly accusing me of tripping her. Before I could answer the accusation, the boy behind me stood up.

"Sorry, sir," he addressed Mr Gladly, "it was me. I tripped her."

Mr Gladly looked suspiciously at him, then nodded curtly. "Sit down, and don't do it again." He turned to Madison's friend. "Julia, go and wash yourself off. Why were you carrying an open glue container, anyway?"

She mumbled some sort of excuse and fled; I glanced around to look at the boy, who seemed to be totally engrossed in the lesson at hand; beyond him, I could see Madison glaring at the both of us. I gave her an innocent shrug – I didn't do anything – but it didn't seem to help.

"Hey," he murmured, once Gladly was facing the board. "Swap books?"

I frowned; I wasn't sure why he wanted to do this, but he'd helped me out once, so I passed my book back, and received his in return.

When Julia returned, she came straight over to me, pretended to trip and planted both hands on the open textbook. Then she went on back to Madison, with a satisfied smirk; on the book was a mass of pink hand soap, ruining the page. I stared at it; what the fuck?

But then there was a tap on my shoulder; the boy behind me wanted to swap books back.

"She put soap on it," I hissed.

"I know," he murmured back.

I blinked; if he wanted a damaged textbook …

We swapped books once more, and I kept a surreptitious eye on Madison and Julia from then on. However, it was getting pretty close to the end of the lesson then, so they didn't try anything else.

<><>​

I went to the next class after sending another thank-you note to Peter; he sent me yet another smiley face. Once again, I was shadowed to my classroom; I nodded to the boy as he peeled off. He nodded back, ever so slightly. It was a weird feeling; I had bodyguards.

There was no-one to bother me in Mr Quinlan's math class, but my head was still reeling from the realisation that Peter – or someone – was going to some lengths to ensure that I was undisturbed by bullies while at Winslow. But even if Peter hadn't organised it, he had certainly set it in motion.

The trouble started during the lunch hour, when I went upstairs to the girls' bathrooms. I noticed that the boy who had body-checked Sophia was following me; I slowed to let him catch up.

"I'm going to the bathroom," I told him bluntly. "You won't be able to follow me in there."

"Ah," he noted, and pulled out his phone. I watched, mystified, as he sent a text.

"What was that about?" I asked, as he finished.

"Reinforcements." he replied, as we kept going up.

I got to the third floor, and my heart sank. There was a bunch of girls standing around the bathroom door, and I thought I recognised them all. All of them were Emma's friends … or rather, Sophia's patsies. Doing her dirty work, because she saw me as a threat.

Hoping against hope that it was just a coincidence, I approached; however, when they saw me coming, they closed ranks.

"Sorry, Taylor," one of them told me with false sweetness, "but the bathroom's occupied."

"What, by all of you?" I asked disbelievingly.

"Sure," one of her friends added. "You can go down and use the boys' toilets. I'm sure they won't even notice."

The girls laughed, and I felt my face grow hot. "Come on, I need to go to the bathroom," I insisted. "You've had your joke."

But as I tried to push my way forward, they pushed me back again. I glanced back to the boy who had accompanied me, but he was standing off a little way, casually observing us.

Great. Well, I won't get much help out of him, then. Thanks a bunch, Peter.

Just then, Emma emerged from the bathroom, and another girl entered.

"Oh, hi, Taylor," Emma greeted me brightly. "So sorry, the bathrooms seem to be occupied."

I was starting to feel the pressure on my bladder. "Emma," I ground out. "Seriously. Blocking me out of the bathrooms?"

"Oh, we're not blocking you out of the bathrooms," Emma informed me. "But everyone else was here first. You know how it goes."

"Well, I don't know how it goes," a voice behind me observed, "but I am going to the bathroom."

I looked around; a girl had approached the group from the stairs. Blonde, with strong features, she was almost my height, and maybe twice my weight; I figured her for a senior.

Moving toward the little group around the door, she simply didn't stop; they were forced to step aside. Emma didn't move quickly enough, and the girl gave her a jab in the ribs with her elbow; surprised, Emma reeled away. The older girl stopped as she opened the bathroom door, turned to me, and tilted her head in a come-on motion. Jolted to action, I followed her in.

Within, Madison and Sophia were just washing their hands, along with a third girl. They turned to stare as I followed the senior into the bathroom.

"What the fuck are you doing in here, Hebert?" demanded Sophia.

"Going to the bathroom," I retorted. "What did you fucking think? Waiting for the fucking train?"

In the silence that followed, Madison's jaw slowly dropped; Sophia's suffused with anger. At the same time, I saw the senior going along the row of cubicles, pulling on the doors. The second one opened, and she held it that way, a clear invitation to me.

"You do not fucking talk to me that way," Sophia growled.

"I'll talk to you any way I fucking like … bitch," I replied, giving her the finger. Not giving her a chance to reply, I entered the cubicle and locked it behind me.

<><>​

Despite the urgency of my bladder, it took me a little while to calm down enough to actually pee; by the time I finished and got out of there, the bathroom was empty, save for the senior.

"Where'd they all go?" I asked as I washed my hands.

She shrugged. "Decided they had better places to be, I guess."

"Well, uh, thanks," I told her. "I appreciate it."

She smiled briefly. "Any time to help a sister out. Besides, Peter asked me to."

I cleared my throat. "I … uh … is Peter someone special? He seems to have a lot of influence … ?"

She tilted her head to one side. "Peter is … Peter. He's a good guy, in case you're wondering."

"But … why's he helping me?" I asked; a question I had posed myself a few times in the last hour. "I'm no-one special."

"Everyone's special," she told me. "But most people can take care of their own problems. Peter saw that your problems were overwhelming you, through no fault of your own, and he likes you, so he asked for help."

"Because I'm a sister," I repeated the term, perhaps just a little sarcastically.

She raised an eyebrow. "Don't knock it. When they try to push you out of where you belong, when they try to tell you that you don't deserve what you've worked for, because of some government equal-opportunity bullshit, you'll be glad to have a brother or a sister at your side to help you out."

"Oh, I appreciate it," I told her. "I'm grateful as hell. I just don't know if I've earned this sort of help."

She smiled as she shook her head. "You don't earn it. You accept it, and pass it on to the next sister or brother who needs it." She held out her hand. "Jenna."

"Oh, uh, Taylor." I shook her hand; she had a strong, firm grip. "And really, thanks."

She shrugged. "Hey, help out a sister sometime, and we'll be even."

We exited the bathroom; my shadow was loitering near the stairwell. Jenna gave him a nod as we neared him. "Kelly."

"Jenna," he replied. "Thanks for stepping in."

"Any time," she responded, bumping fists with him. "See you round. And you too, Taylor."

"See you round, Jenna," I told her, and watched as she went down the stairwell two at a time.

I checked my watch. "Shit, I won't have time to get through the lunch line."

"We figured as much," Kelly told me easily as he strolled down the steps. "Bronson's in the lunch line now. He's getting what you had with Peter that time. Peter'll meet you out at the front steps with it; that okay?"

I stopped, my jaw dropping slowly. Kelly turned to look at me. "What?"

"Why?" I stared at him. "Why me?"

He shrugged. "Peter says you're a sister, so you get protection. I don't know what those bitches have against you, and it's none of my business. I'm just here to make sure shit doesn't go down."

I fumbled money out of my purse. "Give this to Bronson, whoever he is. I pay for my own meals."

"Sure," he agreed, accepting it. "Gonna meet Peter out on the steps?"

I nodded. "Yeah. The steps."

<><>​

"Hey, Taylor."

I turned around as Peter pushed open the school doors and joined me at the steps. "Peter."

He sat down just close enough to pass me my lunch, then looked at me quizzically. "From your less than overjoyed expression, you've got a beef with me."

"Yeah." I reconsidered. "No, not really." Closing my eyes, I let my head bump back against the concrete wall. "Fuck, I don't know."

"And now that we've cleared that up … " he murmured, sounding amused.

I opened my eyes and glared at him. "Don't you fucking start."

He shrugged. "Taylor. I just got here. I'm really pleased to see you, but please don't come over all pissed at me without actually telling me what I've done."

Conflicting emotions chased through me. He's pleased to see me. A warm flush spread through my chest. This was followed by embarrassment and guilt; I had snapped at him for no good reason.

I took one deep breath, then another. "I'm just a bit unsettled, I guess. And kind of weirded out."

"Why is that?" His expression was polite, his tone mildly curious.

"Because of Kelly, and Jenna, and Bronson, and the others," I burst out. "They're actually helping me. Getting in the way of the bullies. Stopping shit from happening."

One of his eyebrows raised slightly. "And this is a bad thing?"

"No, but I didn't expect it to happen like this," I confessed. "Not like I'd have bodyguards running interference for me."

He looked somewhat bemused. "Well, how did you expect it to work?"

"I don't know!" I paused and lowered my voice. "I don't know. I don't even know if I really expected it to work. I know I didn't expect anything this blatant."

"Well, I'd prefer it that way too," he assured me. "But those bitches are pretty determined to get to you. Bitch-face must be pushing them hard."

I shook my head. "I don't even know what I did to piss her off. I'd spoken to her about once, before school started. She was a bitch to me then. I'd never even met her before."

Peter nodded sympathetically. "Emma was your friend back then, right?"

"Yeah," I told him. "I went on summer camp, and visited Emma when I got back. Sophia was there, and she told me to fuck off, and Emma -" I paused, breathing deeply. "Sorry. Emma just looked at me. Like I was a stranger. Told me that she'd basically outgrown me."

"Oh, that's easy then." Peter's voice was light.

I frowned. "What?"

"Sure." He sat forward and twisted around so as to face me. "Emma's popular. Well, she's good-looking, her dad's got money, and she's got a strong personality. Which pretty well translates to 'popular', yeah?"

"Well, yeah," I admitted. "But I was never interested in all that. She was just my best friend."

His beaming smile lit up his face, and caused my heart to lurch, just a little. "That's just one of the things I really like about you, Taylor. You're so genuine. You don't do the bullshit thing."

I found myself flushing, and there was a lump in my throat. "Uh, Peter," I managed, "you were talking about Sophia?"

He nodded. "Yeah. See, she meets Emma. Emma's popular, she wants to get in on the popular thing, so she gets her hooks into her. She's kind of good-looking, if you're into that sort of thing, and she probably fed Emma a line of bullshit about how cool she was. Meanwhile, she's just using Emma to pretend that she's better than she is. So when you show up, Emma's actual friend, she's got to get rid of you fast, before you uncover her for the lying parasite she really is."

I thought about that. The warmth that had filled me from Peter's compliment had drained away completely, leaving me with a cold empty place inside. It made sense; it made a lot of sense.

"So, what you were saying, earlier, about Sophia knowing that I'm better than her ... "

"Well, duh," he replied, with a warm chuckle. "She's a lot of things, but she's not fucking stupid. Of course you're better than her. If she let Emma see that for even a moment ... "

"You're saying that Emma would be my friend again?" I wasn't sure what was in the tone of my voice.

He shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe she's bought too much into the black-is-better thing. In any case, would you really want to be friends with a turncoat race traitor who would dump a friendship of years to be with a manipulative black bitch like Sophia?"

Tentatively, I shook my head. "I ... I guess not."

"Of course not," he agreed. "It's this sort of thing that teaches you who your real friends are."

Slowly, I nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

He tilted his head. "I detect a note of doubt in your voice. What's up?"

I took a deep breath, and took the plunge. "I really don't want you to think that I'm not grateful, because I really am, but ... "

My voice trailed off, and he looked at me understandingly. "But you're wondering what it's all about, yeah?"

"Well, yeah," I admitted awkwardly. "You're getting your friends to protect me, and it's really nice, but I can't help wondering where the price tag is in all this. Like, you protect me for a while, until I'm used to it, then you tell me that it'll all go away unless I do something for you, like, uh, commit to joining the Empire, or give you some money, or ... " I blushed again, involuntarily.Sleep with you.

"Or that you have to be my girlfriend?" he finished for me, teasingly.

"Uh, yeah, that," I agreed gratefully. He knows damn well what I meant, but he's being nice.

He shook his head. "Taylor," he told me, his voice firm and warm and sincere, "we would never do that to you. I would never do that to you. I mean, sure, I'd love to be your boyfriend – and I do mean just your boyfriend – but I'd never coerce you into a relationship. Or anything else. That would be totally up to you. And as for the rest of it ... well, you have to want to join the Empire. I can't make you do that. Nor would I even try. And you're a friend of the Empire. We don't extort money from our friends."

Stunned, I was unable to talk. He just said he'd like to be my boyfriend.

I didn't know what to think of that. On the one hand, he was a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight. On the other, he was good looking, polite, nice to me, and was organising his friends to make sure I didn't get bullied. In short, he was treating me like a girlfriend should be treated, without even being my boyfriend.

"Taylor?" he asked.

I blinked, and realised that I'd been staring at him for about thirty seconds without speaking. "Uh, sorry?"

He grinned. It was sweet, it was cute, it was engaging, and it was aimed at me. I hadn't realised until right then how much I liked his grin.

"I was just asking if there was anything else you were worried about," he explained.

"Um," I began, "if I wanted out … would there be any trouble?"

"Nope," he assured me. "Just tell me, and it's done." He tilted his head. "Do you want out?"

I thought about that for just a few seconds, then shook my head decisively. "Not unless things change," I told him. "I still don't see what's so special about me, but you're doing what you said you would, and oh god you have no idea what it feels like for me to know that someone else is on my side."

"I actually think I do," he replied simply. "I'm a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight. Doesn't matter that I'm still a teenager. I need a hand, someone's got my back. Any hour of the day, I really need it, all I gotta do is make one phone call, and there'll be someone there to help." He grinned at me. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

I nodded. "Yeah. It does. It really does." I looked back at him. "And there's no price I have to pay? Really?"

"Only what you can afford," he told me. "And only what you're willing and able to do. Right now you haven't got much; I get that. But if you see one of our guys getting a hard time from the ABB or the Merchants, you call me. Or if we need a message passed along, you could do that. Nothing illegal; just, you know, stuff. Help us out. Little favours."

I thought about this. It seemed reasonable. "Bronson and Jenna and Kelly, they're putting it on the line for me," I pointed out. "Sophia might convince some of the boys or girls to beat them up or something, so they can't protect me."

He smiled. "They can try. The Empire takes care of its own."

"And you take care of me, too," I agreed.

A serious nod. "We take care of our friends."

I shifted along the step until I was sitting alongside him. He looked at me curiously. Carefully, I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," I whispered.

He didn't make any motion to touch me, to kiss me back; he just smiled at me. "You're welcome," he murmured in return. "But hey, if you're interested, we've got a gathering coming up in December. You're invited, if you want to come along."

"I, uh -" I was suddenly unsure. It felt like a huge step. I knew Peter, and I'd met Kelly and Bronson and Jenna. Meeting more people from the Empire Eighty-Eight …

"Your choice," he assured me. "No pressure. You don't want to come, you don't come."

I took a breath. "I … it's okay if I don't want to come?"

A nod. "Totally."

"Then … yeah, I think I'll pass this time. Thanks anyway." I smiled uncertainly. "We can still hang out, right?"

He laughed, cheerful and carefree. "Oh god yes. Did you think I'd be offended or something?"

"Um … maybe?"

Another chuckle. "Nope. I like you. That doesn't depend on you coming to gatherings."

"And it's okay if I don't want to be your girlfriend?" I pressed. The word Yet bobbed up into my mind. I shooed it away.

He eyed me with a raised eyebrow. "I'd be worried if you wanted to be my girlfriend just so you could be with the 'in' group. No, it's fine. I like us just the way we are."

"The 'in' group?" I asked curiously.

"Some of us kids," he explained casually. "Our parents are better connected in the Empire than others. There's not really a ranking system, but we've got sort of higher status. It's why I can ask Bronson and Kelly and Jenna to help you out. Dad says it's good practice for when I get older."

I nodded. "So you are more important. I thought so."

He gave me a shrug in return, though I caught a quickly-hidden half-smile; he seemed to be pleased that I'd figured it out. "I don't like to make a huge deal out of it."

"So tell me something, Peter-who-pretends-not-to-be-important," I began, "if I came to a gathering with you, I'd be just your guest, right?"

He nodded. "Right."

"Would they assume that we were involved, just because I came with you?" I watched his face carefully.

"Hell, no," he replied cheerfully. "Grandpa would've been be put out if I showed up with a girlfriend who wasn't Empire, but he was always old-fashioned."

I tilted my head. "Would have been?"

He took a breath. "Died a few years ago. My uncle took over the family business."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I told him immediately. "I know what it's like to lose a loved one. My mom … "

I trailed off; even two years on, it was still painful to refer to it.

His arm went around my shoulders for the first time; lightly, gently, giving me the chance to pull away.

I didn't pull away. Instead, I leaned against him, my head on his shoulder, and closed my eyes. For the first time in a long time, I felt warm and safe. Almost as safe as I felt with my Dad.

But Peter can do more to protect me. The thought felt vaguely treacherous, even if it was true.

We sat that way until the bell rang.

<><>​

December 2010

"Hey, Taylor!"

I looked around; Emma stood there, flanked by Sophia and Madison. I turned back around, kept walking.

"Taylor, I'm talking to you!"

Frowning, I turned back. Bronson faded into the background as I did so. "For fuck's sake, Emma, what?"

Sophia glowered and took a step forward at my tone; Emma murmured something to her and she stopped. Then Emma raised her voice. "You know that boy you've been hanging out with? Peter Ferguson?"

I nodded. It wasn't exactly a secret that he and I ate lunch on the steps every day. "Yeah, so?"

"Did you know he's Empire Eighty-Eight?" With an expression of triumph on her face, she watched my expression, looking for the shock, the denial.

"Is that all you wanted to say?" I asked. "Seriously?"

I turned away from her and headed down the hallway. Bronson was shadowing me today, because Kelly had been suspended after getting in Sophia's way once too often. I'd apologised to Kelly; he had shrugged and told me it was worth it.

"It's true!" she yelled after me. "Are you a fucking racist bigot as well as a loser, Hebert?"

I stopped and turned around. Slowly, I walked back to Emma. Face to face, we traded glares. I knew that Bronson was nearby, ready to interpose if things got physical.

"I'd rather be a fucking loser than to take my orders from Sophia fucking Hess, any day of the week," I told her flatly. "The moment you want to stop being that bitch's hand puppet, come see me."

"Hey!" yelled Sophia. "That's fucking enough!" She swung her hand at me, open, ready to deliver a stinging slap. I went to dodge away, but it wasn't necessary; Sophia's wrist slapped into Bronson's hand.

"You don't touch Taylor," he rumbled. As he was about my height, and heavier than Jenna, he had a certain physical presence about him.

"Let go of me!" snapped Sophia, wrenching her hand from his grasp. She glared at him; he glowered back.

Emma stared from me to Bronson and back again. "The fuck?" she muttered. "Taylor, have you really fucking joined the Empire Eighty-Eight?"

"No, Emma, I really fucking haven't," I retorted. "I've just got friends now. Friends you can't frighten away. So you can fuck off and leave me alone, or the next time you and your little friends try to get up in my grille, I'm going to punch your fucking lights out."

"Touch me," Emma told me triumphantly, "and my dad will sue your dad into a fucking smoking crater."

I stared at her, trying to see in her the best friend I had once had. She wasn't in there; not any more. The Emma that I had known was dead and gone.

"That's low," I told her. "Fucking low. But then, I bet you learned it from Sophia."

Turning, I took two steps away from her. That was when something smashed into the back of my head, sent me sprawling forward on to the linoleum, head ringing. My glasses had gone somewhere, I didn't know where. Waves of blackness came and went. I heard shouts, screaming, bellows from Bronson.

I was still struggling to get my arms and legs into working order when I felt strong hands helping me up.

"Bronson?" I mumbled.

"That's me," he agreed. "Let's get you to the infirmary."

"Glasses," I slurred. "Came off."

"Shit," he muttered. I vaguely saw him looking around, then he bent down and picked something up. They were my glasses, but someone had stood on them; the frame was bent. Carefully, he bent them back into something approximating normality, and fitted them on to my face.

"Better?" he asked.

"'s'better," I agreed woozily. "Wha'hoppen?"

"She hit you in the back of the head," he stated flatly. "When your back was turned."

I turned my head dazedly, not sure why she would have stopped at hitting me once. The crowd parted briefly, and I saw her lying on the floor. Blood pooled nearby.

"Bronson?" I asked, alarm cutting through the clouds of confusion in my head. "What did you do?"

"Punched her," he growled. "And kicked her a few times."

"Call Peter," I mumbled.

"It's okay," he assured me. "I got this."

"No," I insisted. "Call. Peter. Now."

Because splitting headache or no, concussion or no, I knew that all the shit in the world was going to pour down on Bronson's head. I didn't know exactly why, but I knew that it was.

<><>​

Peter arrived at the infirmary, as the nurse was examining me. He consulted in low tones with Bronson, and nodded; Bronson got up and left. The nurse ignored the byplay and shone a light into my left eye.

"Hmm," she murmured. "Concussion. Mild." She looked at my face. "Split skin on your jaw. Bump on the back of your head. What happened?"

"Sophia Hess hit me in the back of the head," I stated grimly. "I hit my jaw on the ground."

She stared at me. "Sophia Hess? The girl who does track?"

Yeah, the black bullying bitch who does track, can't possibly do anything wrong, I thought sourly.

"Yes," I confirmed. "The girl who does track."

"Why did she hit you?" she pressed.

"I had an argument with one of her friends."

She looked troubled. "Has anyone told the principal about this?"

"I'd say she knows," Peter put in dryly. "An ambulance just showed up to take Sophia away to the hospital."

My head jerked up, and the nurse scolded me. "Please keep still."

"Wow, that was fast," I muttered, letting the nurse check my right eye.

"It was," she agreed. "Sometimes we've waited an hour or more for an ambulance to get here for injured children." She paused. "Wait, what happened to her?"

"Police are here too," Peter noted, with gloomy satisfaction.

"Wait, seriously?" I stared at him. "One little tiny brawl, and we get an ambulance and police here in the time it normally takes someone to drive out of the parking lot?"

"What happened to Sophia Hess?" insisted the nurse.

"I didn't see," I told her honestly. "I was flat on my face, and my glasses were being trod on at the time." I indicated my obviously-bent glasses on the tray next to me.

"Oh." She didn't ask me any more questions.

<><>​

The police, however, wanted to ask me lots of questions.

I was escorted into a conference room, and a female police officer sat down opposite me. "I'm Detective Graves," she informed me. "I understand you witnessed the event?"

At this moment, a male officer pushed the door open and pulled a chair up next to Graves. He chose not to identify himself. I looked from one to the other.

"What?" I asked. "Don't I get a school counsellor to sit with me?"

"She's busy," the officer told me shortly.

"Then I'm going to sleep. Someone call my Dad?" I laid my head down on the table, on my crossed arms.

"Hey, kid, this is a serious matter," the male officer snapped. "She was seriously injured."

"Good," I mumbled.

"Good?" He was on his feet, shouting. "GOOD?"

I raised my head. "Yeah. Good. Because I'm the one she punched in the back of the fucking head and gave a concussion to, just before she got the shit kicked out of her. Now fuck off and call my Dad before I choose to sue the school, the police department and everyone in between."

Closing my eyes, I laid my head back down on my arms.

They didn't ask me any questions after that, either.

<><>​

I stayed home for a couple of days, until my head stopped aching at the slightest noise. Dad stayed home as well, fussing over me.

"But what happened, kiddo?" he asked me worriedly. "Why would this Sophia Hess hit you like that?"

I sighed; the cat would be out of the bag soon enough. "Because she hates me, Dad."

His brow creased. "But what did you do to her?"

"I didn't do anything," I stressed. I wanted to explain to him how she found me a threat to the hold she had on Emma, but that would involve explaining that Emma was no longer my friend, and that she had threatened to have Mr Barnes sue Dad … it was too big a can of worms. Better not to open it at all.

"I'm not blind, kiddo," he told me after a moment. "I knew when you broke your glasses and came home with that black eye. I've seen the other times you came home with bruises. I gave you your space, gave you time to tell me. But you never did. Is something happening at school? Is someone picking on you?"

I took a deep breath. "People were," I admitted. "But not any more. They've got friends, and I've got friends, and we leave each other alone."

"Except that this Sophia Hess punched you in the back of the head, and then ended up in the hospital with broken bones," he told me flatly. "That's more than a schoolyard scuffle."

"I didn't pick it," I told him honestly. "But maybe it's done, now."

I didn't believe that myself, but it was something I could hope for.

He frowned worriedly, and hugged me; I hugged him back. "Listen, if anything else happens at school like that, tell a teacher. Tell the principal," he urged me.

I shook my head. "She's the golden girl there. She was the one who assaulted me, and they were going to interrogate me like I was the criminal. And the last time I spoke to Principal Blackwell about this sort of shit, she didn't do a damn thing."

"Okay, then tell me," he decided. "I'll take it to the media if I have to. I can't let this go on."

"Okay, Dad," I agreed. "I'll do that." I knew that I wouldn't. But I'd make the promise if it made him happy.

The only people who could protect me at school were the Empire Eighty-Eight.

<><>​

Peter's smile was broad. "Taylor," he greeted me. "You're back."

"I am," I agreed, sitting down beside him on the steps. "Still a bit headachey, but I'm good. Better than I was."

"Bronson had to bolt before they arrested him." His voice was low. "Good call on that, by the way."

"Thought there might be trouble over that," I agreed. "And Sophia?"

"You wouldn't fucking believe it," he growled. "Back in the next day, not a hair out of place."

I blinked. "How the hell?"

"Panacea's my guess." He shook his head. "Someone's got serious pull to get her in at short notice."

"Dammit," I muttered. "It's never going to end, is it?"

"Oh, it'll end, one way or the other," he observed. "But in the meantime, we just keep on going."

"Kelly's still suspended, and the cops are looking for Bronson," I noted. "Before this all started, Emma was saying how you were Empire. How would she have figured that out?"

Peter grimaced. "Fuck. It's not exactly a secret, but I would have preferred that it not get out. You didn't say anything, of course." I felt warm inside; he was stating a fact, not asking a question.

"Not a thing," I replied with a grin. "Waved the concussion flag. Emma's dad once told me that cops can't get legal statements from someone under the influence of alcohol or a concussion."

"Nicely done." I smiled at the praise. "It does leave us a bit short-handed, though. I might have to bring in someone else."

"Fuck it," I told him. "I can tough it out till Christmas."

"And Kelly's suspension will be over after that," he agreed. "Good. You can handle it?"

"If Bronson can beat the living shit out of Sophia Hess, I can handle myself for a couple of weeks," I assured him.

"Maybe you should start sitting with the other guys," he suggested. He meant the ones with the buzz-cuts, of course. The ones wearing the colours. "Send a message. Show them that you're with the Empire now, and to fuck with you is to fuck with us."

I shook my head. "Sorry. Not really ready to take that step yet."

A light shrug. "Your choice."

I smiled at him. "Thanks. Could you do me a favour? Thank Bronson for me?"

"Consider it done," he assured me. "He'll be glad to hear you're doing well."

I took his hand and squeezed it. "You're a good friend, Peter," I told him. "I appreciate it."

"Hey," he replied lightly, squeezing my hand back. "Anything for a sister."

<><>​

Oddly enough, the last two weeks before the Christmas holidays were the easiest that I'd had all year. Sophia backed right off, and her patsies stood down as well. I figured that maybe the beatdown that Bronson had inflicted on Sophia had given her second thoughts.

Every time I passed her in the halls, she glared at me, but did nothing else. I tried to give her glare for glare, but I doubted that she was intimidated.

Emma was less mouthy, but she still got in the occasional jab. I ignored her; she'd done worse. To my mild surprise, she left out the comments about the Empire Eighty-Eight. Maybe it had been a wild guess after all?

I ate lunch outside on the steps with Peter each day; it was my time to enjoy myself with someone nice. Sometimes we swapped lunches, just for the hell of it, and I recommended him some of my favourite books. He read them, and we discussed the merits of some of the characters.

More and more often, I would sit alongside him, and he would put his arm around me, 'for warmth', as he put it. We both knew that if we wanted to be warmer, we could go back inside.

Peter, I decided, was a nice, kind, gentle, sweet boy. A gentleman, in every sense of the word. I liked him just a little more with each passing day.

<><>​

The Christmas holidays went by in a blur. I spent Christmas Day with my Dad; most every other day, I went out to meet with Peter. We browsed the Market and walked along the Boardwalk, looking out at the sullen winter swells. Occasionally we held hands; most times, we did not, mainly because holding hands with gloves on is unrewarding, and holding hands in a chill breeze without gloves on gets uncomfortable very quickly.

"So how was the gathering?" I asked on one occasion.

"Oh, it was fine," he told me. "Dad asked about you."

"You told him about me?" I was mildly startled. "What did you say?"

"That you were a friend."

I nudged him with my shoulder. "And?"

He grinned. "And that you were a nice girl."

I rolled my eyes. "And what did he say?"

"Told me that he'd like to meet you."

"Oh." I stopped walking; he moved on a couple more steps, then turned and looked back at me.

"What's the matter?"

I took a deep breath of the chill air. "Your dad wants to meet me. What am I supposed to say to that?"

"Anything you want, Taylor," he told me. "He knows we're friends. He knows you're a friend to the Empire. He knows what you've been going through. He wants to say hello, and make sure you know that we're on your side."

"But he's a big wheel in the Empire Eighty-Eight," I pointed out. "I'm not even a member. I'm nobody."

"He is kind of biggish and kind of wheelish," Peter admitted. "But he doesn't want to meet you because of that. He wants to meet you because I like you. Says that you sound like an interesting person."

I snorted. "Yeah, that impression won't last."

"It did with me." His voice was soft, almost lost in the cutting breeze, but I heard him, and my heart lurched in my chest.

"Seriously, Peter," I asked, my own voice rough, "what do you see in me?"

He smiled. "If you have to ask, you'll never believe me."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, fine. Be that way. What are we gonna do about school? They won't have given up, and Bronson can't come back because he's still wanted."

"Kelly's off suspension now," he pointed out. "We keep screwing them around, sooner or later they'll realise that Sophia's pushing them around for her own amusement. With luck, they'll turn on her and we won't have to do a thing."

I was less hopeful. "Sophia's pretty tough."

He tapped me gently on the tip of the nose. "You're tougher. You're better."

I smiled and leaned against him; he put his arm around me. "You say the nicest things."

"It'll be fine, Taylor," he assured me. "You'll see."

<><>​

January 2011

First day back at school. The corridor was crowded as I made my way through it, Kelly trailing behind. Up ahead, there was even more commotion; people crowding, pointing, making comments.

Around my locker.

I slid through the crowd; there was some benefit to being skinny. Kelly, less so, was left behind. I didn't realise, and I didn't care.

"What the fuck?" I gasped.

Plastered all over my locker, with some having drifted to the floor, were dozens and dozens of photos; Nazi flags, pictures of emaciated people staring through barbed wire, tanks rolling across rivers. Pictures of Hitler giving speeches.

And over it all, a stench, as of something rotten.

Emma and Sophia stood off to the side, smugly satisfied. Oddly, I didn't see Madison anywhere.

"What the fuck is this?" I demanded, looking at Sophia. It was her, of course. It couldn't be anyone else.

But it was Emma who spoke.

"Looks like someone gave you a change in décor, Hebert," she sneered. "Given that you're in the Empire Eighty-Eight. There's your cultural background, right there."

I turned away from her, ripped some of the photos down, threw them to the ground. "I'm not in the Empire," I snapped. "I just want to be left -"

As I spoke, I was unlocking my locker, wanting to see what they'd done to cause the godawful smell.

I saw.

It was a third full of … garbage. Rotting garbage. Food scraps, dirty diapers, sour vomit, and everything else that could possibly cause a distressing smell. There might not have been a dead skunk in there, but I would never have been able to prove it. The smell hit me then, full on, and I bent over to throw up.

That was when Sophia grabbed me by the hair and shoved me into the locker.

The door banged shut, bruising my legs, and I heard the lock click.

I was locked in with the stench and the garbage.

<><>​

I threw up, right then and there. With fresh vomit on my shirt, I twisted desperately in the tight, dark confines of the locker to bang on the door. "HELP!" I screamed. "HELP! GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

I had to inhale after that, and promptly threw up again. The smell was … intense. Invasive. I was treading on things that I didn't want to know about. Squishing under my feet. I would have thrown up a third time, if there was anything left to throw up. I gagged anyway, and retched.

And then I heard a voice outside. Peter's voice. Blessed, blessed Peter.

"Taylor!" he called. "Taylor! What's the combination?"

"HELP! GET ME OUT!" I screamed, near hysteria.

"The lock!" he bellowed. "The combination!"

He wanted the combination to the lock. The lock that would let me out.

The combination is …

Come on, it's …

My mind was a blank, all logical thought chased out by the incredible stench.

"I DON'T KNOW!"

"Taylor! I believe in you! You can do it!"

My mind snapped into focus. I screamed the combination so loudly that my ears rang. Then I retched again.

An interminable time later, the lock clicked open. The door swung wide.

I fell out of the locker, into Peter's arms. Despite the fact that I was covered in vomit and with various noisome substances, he held me tightly.

I clung to him. I never wanted to let him go.


End of Part Two

Part Three

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Three: Points of View


Blackwell

The first day of school after the Christmas break was always a madhouse. High spirits came out over the holidays, and were not always completely exhausted by the beginning of January classes. However, Carrie Blackwell had not expected this amount of uproar in the corridors, especially not at this hour of the school day.

She looked up from the paperwork on her desk – an amendment to the Act which allowed Wards to work out of schools – as the noise got nearer, or louder, or both. It sounded as though a positive mob were loose in the halls. Taking the paperwork from her desk and locking it in a drawer – it would not do for the wrong people to find out that Winslow was harbouring a Ward – she rose, preparatory to going out and finding exactly what was happening.

If people really want detentions this early in the year, then by God, I will oblige them.

However, she had barely made it around the desk before the door burst open. Taylor Hebert came first, half-supported by a boy who was unfamiliar to Blackwell. Following on were Sophia Hess and Emma Barnes; the track star was struggling grimly in the grip of two shaven-headed Empire Eighty-Eight boys, while the Barnes girl was being dragged along by an older girl, one of the seniors. A foul stench arose in the office; the immediate cause appeared to be the Hebert girl, as she was covered in reeking garbage from the thighs on down, and vomit from the chest on down. The boy with her had some of both on him; it didn't seem to bother him.

Several more students piled into the office, but thankfully stopped before the crush became too intense. Carrie blanched, recoiling from the smell as much as the sudden incursion.

"What in God's name is this all about?" she exclaimed. "Miss Hebert! What are you doing? And why are you covered in muck?"

Taylor Hebert, white-faced but with her lips pressed together in determination, leaned on the boy's supporting arm. "Principal Blackwell," she ground out. "You might recall a few allegations of bullying, that were handed in a while ago? Ones that you tore up in front of me?"

Blackwell blinked. She was suddenly starting to regret that somewhat-hasty action. "I – well – there was no proof -"

"Well, how about this?" Taylor pointed to the trash clinging to her legs. "Does this look like proof to you? How much more proof do you fucking need?"

"I - " Blackwell tried to rally. "What's happened? And why are you holding those two girls? Release them immediately."

"No." Taylor's voice was cold and hard. Blackwell recoiled again, from the look of utter loathing in her eyes. "They did this to me. You will call the fucking cops, and you will have them fucking arrested, right the fuck now!"

Blackwell's eyes flicked to Sophia Hess, who glared back at her. Fractionally, Hess shook her head. You don't want to do that. Emma Barnes looked more frightened than angry, but she didn't want it to happen either. Fix this, her eyes told Blackwell. Fix this.

Carrie Blackwell drew a deep breath, and played her last card. It was a weak one, but she played it for all she was worth. "All I see is two girls being held against their will, and a known troublemaker, in the company of members of a white-supremacist gang who recently beat up one of the girls in question, throwing unfounded allegations. I'll need more than that."

And then one of the other boys in the room cleared his throat. Blackwell looked his way; she vaguely recalled giving him a suspension in the weeks leading up to the Christmas break, following a complaint from Sophia Hess that he had been deliberately jostling her in the corridors. He pulled out his phone, and held it up so that she could see. A video file started playing; as she watched, ice formed around her heart.

The image was shaky and the phone itself had obviously been held up over the heads of a crowd, so the picture quality was imperfect. But it was good enough. It was good enough to see Taylor approaching her locker and exchanging words with Emma. She couldn't make out the conversation, but she could see when Taylor went to her locker, pulled a few photos down, and opened it. There was something in the locker; Blackwell could not make it out, but Taylor began to bend over, as if to examine it.

Due to the picture quality, Sophia's form was a blur when she first approached Taylor, but the image of her shoving the skinnier girl into the locker was impossible to mistake. And then Emma moved forward, slamming the door on her. Blackwell could not see what happened next, but the shouts and screams from within the locker were easily discernible, even over the crowd noise.

The boy shut the footage off, and turned to Taylor with a slight bow. Taylor nodded back to him, then turned to Blackwell. "We can show you the locker, if you like," she informed the principal. "If you want more proof." The emphasis Taylor put on the last word showed Carrie just how much she thought of her, and her stalling tactics. "Or we can just give this to the news. See how that runs." See how long you keep your job after that, she didn't have to say.

Principal Blackwell shook her head. "No," she conceded, her voice sounding distant even in her own ears. "You've made your point."

Lifting the phone, she dialled 9-1-1.

Ward or no, lawyer's daughter or no, I don't need trouble like this in my school.

<><>​

Piggot

Emily Piggot leaned back in her chair, allowing herself a slight smile. Her leg muscles weren't giving her trouble, and she had yet to field a single troublesome phone call. Parahuman criminal activity had been slightly down over the Christmas period, compared to previous years, and PRT recruitment was experiencing a slight uptick. Clockblocker hadn't even been caught saying anything remotely rude to the news crews yet, although that was only a matter of time.

However, she refused to allow herself to even consider the concept that this might be turning out to be a good day. She'd had that thought before, and had paid for it in full before the day was over.

And then the phone rang.

She eyed it cautiously, as if it were a venomous snake.

Emily Piggot wasn't a parahuman; she had tested negative for even the possibility of triggering with parahuman abilities. But right at that moment, she had a sudden flash of intuition that told her that she did not want to pick up that phone.

However, she was Director, and thus, as Director, sometimes she had to take the bullet.

It rang again.

She drew a deep breath, and picked up the phone. "Piggot."

"Ma'am, this is Captain Jensen; I'm the watch commander. We just got a hit on the police scanner. There's been a call-out to Winslow High, regarding an assault. The name Sophia Hess came up."

"Oh Christ," muttered Piggot. "Again? I thought she was better at watching her back than that. How badly is she injured?" If we have to call on Panacea again ...

"Uh, not at all, that I know of, ma'am," Jensen told her. "The call seemed to indicate that Hess was one of the perpetrators."

Piggot paused. Jensen didn't know, officially, that Sophia Hess was the Ward known as Shadow Stalker. But the system was set up so that if any of the Wards' civilian identities was mentioned on the police band, it would throw up a flag in the PRT watch centre.

However, certain officers in the chain of command at the Brockon Bay Police Department also knew that certain names were more important than they seemed. And so Emily should have already gotten notification, even before the all-points went out. Which was a question that she was going to have to address. However, right now, she had to ascertain the extent of the damage.

"Did any cape names come up?" she asked. Was her cape identity involved? Or worse, exposed?

"Uh, no, ma'am," Jensen replied. "No cape names at all. Just Sophia Hess and Emma Barnes as the perpetrators."

"Barnes, Barnes," mused Piggot. "I know that name from somewhere." There was a beep in her ear, and a light popped up on her phone. "Good work, Jensen. I've got a call on another line. Keep me apprised, and get someone to chase up the name Barnes. It's come up before."

"Will do, ma'am."

Piggot cut the call, then hit the button for the next call. It was coming in from an outside line, and was being routed straight to her phone. There were few who had that number; among these were the Brockton Bay Police Commissioner, the Mayor, and the principals of each of the local high schools in which the Wards were being educated. She recognised the number as belonging to Winslow High.

That would be ... Blackwell. Finally, she chooses to get in contact.

"Piggot here," she stated curtly. "What's going on over there?"

"What's going on," Blackwell told her even more curtly, "is that I've just called the police to have your precious fucking Sophia Hess, as well as her friend Emma Barnes, arrested and charged for assault and god knows what else. They will both be expelled from Winslow just as soon as I can get the paperwork processed through."

Piggot blinked. "Wait. Walk me through this. Who did they assault? Isn't expulsion a little bit of a strong penalty for a first offence?"

"Director Piggot," Blackwell snarled, "Miss Hess and Miss Barnes plastered the locker of another girl with highly offensive material, as well as filling it with toxic waste. Then, when she opened the locker, Sophia Hess shoved her into it, Emma Barnes closed the door, and they locked her in."

Piggot was dumbfounded. "And you know for a fact that it was her ...?" she began hopefully.

"Because someone filmed it on their phone!" snapped Blackwell. "And you can bet that footage is making the rounds!"

"So confiscate the phone," Piggot suggested automatically. "You're the principal."

"And they're the Empire Eighty-Eight!" retorted Blackwell. "Yes, I'm the principal. But I am neither stupid nor suicidal. They are holding the girls, outside my office, waiting for the police to arrive and make the appropriate arrests."

"Wait, hold on a moment," Piggot protested. "What do the Empire Eighty-Eight have to do with an assault case that they didn't even perpetrate?"

"Because the assault happened to a girl who was friendly with one of their members, is the best answer I can get at the moment," Blackwell told her.

There was something Blackwell wasn't saying; Piggot's instincts kicked in. "Wait a minute. Is this even a first offence?"

Blackwell sighed. "Apparently not. I'm told there is firm evidence that this has been ongoing for over a year."

Piggot's jaw clenched. "And you didn't do anything about it."

"I didn't know about it!" protested the principal. "Nothing credible was reported to me!"

"Nothing … credible?" If the word had been an object, Piggot would have been handling it with thick rubber gloves. "Unless I miss my guess, that's code for I didn't want to know, so I didn't listen too hard. Or am I mistaken?"

"Oh, Christ!" snapped Blackwell. "Listen. I run the biggest school in Brockton Bay. All three gangs actively recruit here. Not a day goes by that people aren't beaten up, either on the premises or off. We don't go into some areas alone, for fear of what we might find there. We need all the funding we can get, just so we can get by. So when Sophia Hess joined the Wards, it was a huge shot in the arm for us. Your handler has been working closely with me; any time we heard anything untoward about her activities in the school, I passed it on to her. I never got any reply back, so I figured it was all fine."

"I've never had anything untoward reported to me," Piggot replied slowly.

There was a long pause on the line. Then Blackwell continued. "I … can't answer to that. She never caused much trouble. Never got into fights, not until recently. Friendly, outgoing, good on the track. Very competitive. Very few incidents worth speaking about. When she joined the Wards, we passed those on to your handler, but I guess they were settled, because nothing came back to me about them."

Piggot scribbled a memo to herself before she spoke again. "It was never settled, because I never heard about them. When you heard nothing back, you should have checked with me."

"If I double-checked everything everyone said to me, I'd never get any work done. And meanwhile, it's your fucking Ward who's just unleashed a shit-ton of trouble on my school!"

"If Hess was causing problems for more than a year, then it started on your fucking watch," Piggot snapped back. "We only brought her into the Wards in October!"

"Well, I want her out of my school," Blackwell told her. "The funding we're getting for her isn't worth the bad publicity or the lawsuits that we're likely to get because of what she's done today."

"Fine, we'll pull her," Piggot agreed. "But understand this; she committed this crime in her civilian identity, so the PRT and Protectorate don't ever show up on any of the paperwork. We're not a part of this."

"Okay, fine," Blackwell agreed. "But what about the Barnes girl?"

"What about her?" Piggot didn't care about the Barnes girl. She wasn't a PRT problem.

"She was in on it, too. And her father's a lawyer."

At that moment, a message popped up on Piggot's computer, and she automatically scanned it. Her head fell back as she breathed out. It was all starting to make sense now.

"Yeah, so I see," she told Blackwell. "I just got the notation. Her father was the one who represented Hess at the hearing that got her into the Wards, rather than juvey. So a popular girl, whose father is a lawyer, along with another pretty girl who's a track star. No wonder there weren't many complaints against them that you were willing to act on. Especially after Shadow Stalker got into the Wards."

"I resent the implication," Blackwell retorted, but it was weak.

"Yeah, I'll just bet," Piggot told her cuttingly. "I'll be dealing with the problem of Sophia Hess. Emma Barnes, and her lawyer father? They're your problem. Have fun."

There was squawking from the earpiece, but she put the phone down anyway, and eyed the message on the computer once more. Alan Barnes, father of Emma Barnes. Not my problem.

Well, I'm going to be having a shitty day, but at least there's at least one person whose day is going to be even shittier.

At least her identity didn't come out. That could have complicated this immeasurably.

<><>​

Emma

Emma watched the Principal dial the number for the police. This can't be happening. This doesn't happen to me.

"Okay, everyone, let's get back outside," Peter ordered, and they readily obeyed him. "Leave the Principal to do her job." He was moving slower than most, as Taylor was still leaning on his arm, but Emma was slower still, given that she was unwilling to go anywhere that the musclebound senior girl wanted to take her.

Sophia was hustled outside by the two Empire Eighty-Eight boys that Peter had detailed to hold her, and then Peter and Taylor left. Emma found herself in the office with the senior and Blackwell.

"Principal Blackwell!" Her voice was urgent. "Please, listen to me! My father -"

" - is not here," Blackwell told her coldly. "Get out of my office." She took her hand from the mouthpiece and spoke clearly. "Yes, this is Principal Blackwell at Winslow High. I'd like to report an assault on a student by two other students. The names of the perpetrators are Emma Barnes and Sophia Hess … "

She didn't hear any more, as the older girl managed to muscle her out through the door, pulling it closed behind them. Peter stood there, his arm around Taylor. "Well?" he asked.

The older girl holding her smiled. "She was talking to the cops when I left. Named both of them." She frowned. "We really going to let the cops handle this?"

Peter nodded. "The cops do our job for us, we don't need to get our hands dirty." He paused. "Okay, everyone who's not needed here, get to class." People began to disperse, and he turned to the girl at his side. "Taylor, you should probably go shower, get changed."

"You should too," Taylor told him, smiling wanly. "I got you pretty stinky."

"Actually, maybe you should both stay the way you are," the girl holding Emma suggested.

Peter looked at her, tilted his head slightly. "Okay, Jenna. Explain."

Jenna shrugged. "Evidence. Cops are a lot more likely to take this seriously if Taylor's still messed up from the locker, right?"

Taylor looked at Peter. "She's got a point. I mean, I would literally kill for a hot shower right now, but if it helps put those two fucking bitches where they belong, I can stay dirty a little bit longer." She pointed at Sophia. "Especially you."

Emma had to hand it to Sophia; she wasn't fazed. Or she was really good at pretending. "Same old weak fucking Hebert. Hiding behind others to do your dirty work."

Taylor stepped away from Peter, approached Sophia. "You want to know something, you black cunt? Before you started on me, I never even approved of the Empire Eighty-Eight. But they showed me something that you never did. They showed me what was right in front of my nose. They gave me someplace to belong. With them, I've got friends." She turned toward Emma, who flinched at the look in her eyes. "Friends who won't stab you in the back, just because some black bitch is crawling up their ass." Her gaze returned to Sophia. "And before today, I really didn't think that I ever wanted to join the Empire proper. But guess what? You fucking changed my mind. Congratulations. You showed me the right way to go."

Whoops and congratulations resounded from the Empire Eighty-Eight members in the corridor; Peter smiled. "Well done," he told Taylor. "I knew you'd get there eventually."

"I'm not kidding," she told him. "How do I join?"

"I know you're not," he assured her. "Our next gathering is later this month. Would you like to come along? We can explain it there."

"Sure," Taylor agreed at once. "I can be there."

"You've got to kill a minority," burst out Sophia. "A black person, or an Asian, or a Jew. Kick them to death, or stab them, or shoot them. You willing to do that, Hebert? Get up close and personal, and kill someone like that? You got the guts?"

Taylor turned slowly toward her; her smile was razor-edged. "You volunteering, Sophia?"

The moment hung in the air, then Peter chuckled. "We'll talk about it at the gathering. You'll find that Sophia's information is a little … misplaced. Much like Emma's loyalties."

"Actually, about that," Emma snapped. "You're gonna join the Empire Eighty-Eight, Taylor? Fucking seriously? You know your dad'll have a heart attack as soon as he finds out."

Taylor turned toward her. "And you'd tell him, too, wouldn't you?" she murmured. "Just to fuck with me. Just like you used my dead mother's memory to fuck with me." She took a pace toward Emma, but then Peter was there.

"It's fine, Taylor," he told her. "Wait here. Emma and I just need to have a … chat."

Emma hesitated; she didn't want to go anywhere with him.

"I promise you, I'm not going to harm you in any way," he assured her.

Somehow, she believed him; they strolled a little way down the corridor, then she turned to him. "Okay, say what you have to say."

He had blue eyes, she noticed, the colour of a summer sky. "Well, to start with, do you recall how you told Taylor that I was in the Empire Eighty-Eight?"

She nodded. "I asked around, and someone said that you were. Are you going to threaten me now? Because my dad's a lawyer -"

He shook his head. "Oh no, Miss Barnes. I'm not going to threaten you." His voice had not changed; he was still polite, slightly bantering. But his eyes had become hard and cold, like two chips of blue ice. "I don't need to."

"Wh-what do you mean?" She hated herself, hated her voice for shaking.

"I mean, Miss Barnes, that when you pointed out the fact that I'm a member of a notorious criminal gang, you failed to think it all the way through," he went on, quietly and inexorably. "You see, we have connections. Contacts. We know where your father works. What time he arrives at work. Where he parks his car. How much it would take for the parking attendant to look the other way. Where your mother goes shopping, and when. Where your sister Anne goes to college. What classes she takes. What dorm she lives in. Which room. Who she's seeing. Which nights she gets back late."

Emma felt the blood draining from her face, but he was still talking. "Now, I don't know what excuse that fucking nigger bitch used to get you to attack Taylor, and I frankly don't care. I do care about two things. I care about the welfare of Taylor Hebert, and I care about the image of the Empire Eighty-Eight. By hurting her, you've attacked both things I care about. Now, due to your actions, recompense is in order. You can give, or we can take. Taking is easy; you have any number of things that we can take away from you. People you love. Accidents do happen, after all. Or random attacks; you hear about predators on campus all the time. Anything ... or anyone ... can be taken away from you at any time." He showed his teeth, just for a moment. "Giving, on the other hand, is up to you."

He stopped talking; she was too much in shock to answer. Dad ... Mom ... oh god, Anne.

"Miss Barnes?" he asked. "It's a simple choice. Would you prefer that we take, or that you give?"

She swallowed, feeling nauseous. "What – what could I give you?"

His smile widened fractionally, became more friendly. "Sophia. You roll over on her. Tell the police everything that she's ever done that could be considered a crime." An eyebrow raised. "Don't skimp on what you did either; however, if you tell them how she convinced you to do it, you should get off with a lighter sentence. Being white and all. Your dad's a lawyer; he'll be able to get you a good deal. But not her. Never her." He glanced down the corridor at the others. "Cut her loose. Abandon her. You're better off without her. Trust me on this."

The lump in her throat was still there. She swallowed again. "And my family will be safe? I'll be safe?"

He tilted his head slightly. "There will still be the matter of personal recompense for all the pain you caused Taylor. But it won't be too severe."

Oh god. Emma didn't hear the almost bantering tone of his voice. She was seeing the ABB thugs in the alleyway, hearing their sneering voices, reliving the terror. What they had been about to do to her ... I can't go through that again. Anything but that.

Abruptly, she spoke. "If – if I gave you something more, something big, could you just leave us all alone? For good?"

A frown. He was intrigued. "That depends. How big?"

"Big," she assured him. "Huge." She was shaking now; she wanted to cry. She didn't want to do this, but she had to. Surely Sophia understands self-preservation. For Dad, for Mom, for Anne. I'm protecting us all.

He nodded. "If it's that big, sure."

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "She's Shadow Stalker."

For the first time, she saw that she had cracked his façade. He blinked. "Come again?"

"Sophia Hess," she insisted, her voice low. "She's Shadow Stalker. The Ward."

His eyes were unfocused. "You're certain of this."

She nodded urgently. "Guaranteed. I've gone out with her. On patrol."

The smile, which had gone away for a little while, returned. "Well, now. Isn't that … interesting."

"So it's good?" she asked.

He nodded. "It's good. Roll over on her, throw her to the wolves, leave Taylor Hebert the fuck alone … and you're good. You will be forgiven for what you did to Taylor. On that, you have my word." She turned to go; he held up a hand. "And don't warn Sophia. Or the deal's off."

"I – I won't," she assured him.

A brief nod. "Good. You can go now. Call your father. You'll want him here. Just remember what it is that you'll be saying to him."

"Th-thank you," she told him. Turning, she hurried back to the others.

She barely heard his voice behind her. "No. Thank you."

<><>​

Peter

"Ferguson."

"Why are you calling? Are there new developments?"

"Yes, sir, there are. Emma Barnes is gonna roll on Sophia Hess. She's giving her up."

"Well, that's good, but it's hardly surprising. Did you settle on recompense?"

"Well, that's the kicker. She gave me something else, which should be more than adequate."

"Which is?"

"Not something I would prefer to discuss over the phone, sir."

"It's that important?"

"I believe so, sir."

"And you think it's worth letting the Barnes family off for?"

"Even better. After this, we'll own them."

"Very well. I'll have you picked up from school. I need to know what you've got."

"Trust me, sir. You will not regret it."

"For both of our sakes, I hope not."

<><>​

Kelly

Kelly was lounging at the front steps when the police cars rolled up. They stopped with a crunching of gravel in the No Standing section, and several officers got out. Three of them were women.

"Oh, hey," he called out. "You're here about the assault thing?"

In return, he got several suspicious looks. Admittedly, it was a bit of an odd one for him too, to be cooperating with the pigs, but Peter had told them it had to be this way, so that was the way they were playing it.

"What do you know about that?" asked one of the officers. "And what's your name?"

"Kelly Fitzgerald," he replied honestly. "I can show you where it happened, and where the perpetrators are."

"Okay, kid, let's go," the officer told him. "But screw us around, and you won't like what happens."

He shrugged. "Sure. I just wanna see justice done." And he even meant it, too. He hadn't thought much of Taylor when he first met her, but as Peter said, she was a sister. She hadn't folded on Bronson, and had even tipped him to bolt before the cops showed. That showed she had guts and brains both. What the nigger bitch and her race traitor girlfriend had done to her …

We shoulda just dragged them both out of here and shown them justice, Empire Eighty-Eight style. Let the redheaded bitch live, but let her see what happens to niggers who hurt our friends. Mentally, he shrugged. But Peter wants it this way, so it happens this way.

"Here's Taylor's locker," he told them, somewhat unnecessarily. "That shit was inside when she opened the locker. They shoved her inside, locked her in there."

The officers stared at the open locker, the still stinking mess spread over the floor around it. One got too close, and had to retreat, looking green. "Holy Christ," one muttered. "You got witnesses?"

"A metric fuck-ton," Kelly grinned, pulling his phone out. He started the file, and the officers watched, fascinated. When it finished, one of them held his hand out.

"Gonna need that phone, kid," he advised.

Kelly shook his head. "Sorry, not unless you got a warrant that says you can search the rest of my phone." He grinned. "It's not that I don't trust you, but I don't trust you."

The officer shook his head. "That's material evidence, kid. You do not want to be charged for withholding evidence."

Kelly shrugged. "Shit no, I don't want that. You want, I can send the file to you. Got a number?"

Several of the officers conferred, and one nodded. He quoted a number, and Kelly quickly sent the file to it. The officer confirmed that he had the file, and started playing it through again.

"Okay, where are the perpetrators?" asked another officer. "We need to speak to them, to the victim, and to any witnesses."

"Paramedics are also on the way," another officer told him. "Were there any injuries that we need to worry about?"

Kelly considered that. "Not that I can think of," he allowed, "but it probably wouldn't hurt to find out."

He led the rest of the officers to where Taylor and Peter were silently facing off Sophia and Emma; the black girl was still being held by the buzz-cuts, as Kelly privately thought of them. Emma wasn't being held, but Jenna was shadowing her pretty closely.

"Thank fuck you're here!" Sophia burst out. "These assholes are Empire Eighty-Eight, and -"

" - and we've seen the video footage, miss," the female officer in the lead told her. She waved to the boys holding her; at a nod from Peter, they let her go. She stood sullenly, rubbing her wrists.

"So who's Sophia Hess, and who's Emma Barnes?" asked the officer, pulling out her notebook.

"I'm Sophia Hess, and I need to make a private phone call," Sophia stated flatly.

"After I take your statement," the officer facing her replied, equally flatly.

Another woman cop approached Emma. "And you would be Emma Barnes?"

She nodded. "Yes. And my dad's a lawyer, and he's on his way in here now."

The officer grimaced; Kelly grinned to himself. He didn't like cops at the best of times, but having to deal with rat-bastard lawyer relatives of the people they arrested must be a royal pain in the ass. It was almost enough to make him feel sorry for them.

Almost.

A third officer approached Taylor. "And you would be the victim, miss?"

Taylor nodded. "Yes." Her voice was quiet but firm. "My name is Taylor Hebert."

The female officer scribbled away, then nodded encouragingly. "Tell me everything that happened."

"Well," she began. "I was going to my locker … "

<><>​

Sophia

"Not until I get my phone call," Sophia repeated stubbornly. "I'm not under arrest; you haven't read me my rights."

The police officer looked irritated. "Is this you in this video?" she asked, holding her phone so that Sophia could watch it.

She hadn't had a chance to see it before, having been at the back of the room when the Empire shit had played it to Blackwell. But it was pretty damning, even with the shaky picture and bad sound. However, she'd gotten away with a lot more through sheer audacity.

"No," she stated flatly.

"Well, here's your problem," the officer told her. "I think it is. I've been given your name in connection to the case, and this footage very strongly suggests that you were the one who shoved that girl into the locker. So I am arresting you on suspicion of aggravated assault and deprivation of liberty, with other charges pending, once they analyse the waste that was in that locker."

"But she's in the fucking Empire Eighty-Eight," Sophia insisted. Can't this bitch see that? "Why aren't you arresting her?"

"Because she's committed no crime that we can see," the officer told her patiently. "Whereas you have. Hands behind your back and turn around."

Sophia shook her head. "No. Fuck this. No. I don't get arrested. Let me make my fucking phone call." She began to move away from the cop, but suddenly she felt herself being grabbed and shoved face-first against the wall.

"Let me fucking go!" She struggled, but the officer was a good ten years older than her, possibly more. The woman was stronger, and had leverage on her side; she had Sophia's hands cuffed behind her in short order.

"You have the right to remain silent," panted the policewoman. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you do not have an attorney, one will be provided for you." She took a deep breath. "Do you understand these rights as I have read them out to you?"

Sophia was silent, seething. She wanted to go to shadow, to shed these cuffs, to show this fucking flatfoot who she was dealing with, but she held back. Where had it all gone wrong? How had her righteous win over that fucking racist Hebert bitch turned into this?

"Miss Hess," the cop tried again. "I know you can speak. I know you can hear me. Do you understand your rights as I have read them out to you?"

Sophia gritted her teeth. Reading them their rights. Yeah, you go and do that, while I do the real work, cleaning up the fucking streets.

Another voice from behind her, male. "How's it going?"

"Okay. I've read her rights to her, but she isn't responding. Won't acknowledge."

"Hm. Let me try." The man leaned closer, took hold of her elbow. "Sophia Hess. Do you understand your rights, as my colleague has read them out to you?"

Fuck you. She stayed stubbornly silent. And then his thumb pressed on a nerve in her elbow joint, and she stiffened in pain. "Ow!" Almost, she went to shadow. But she restrained herself. You are so going to fucking regret that, you piece of shit.

"Oh, sorry," he replied, not sounding at all sorry. "But now that we know you can speak, would you mind answering the question?"

"Fuck – yes," she gritted. "I understand my fucking rights. Now can I please have my fucking phone call?"

"Given that you understand these rights," he carried on, ignoring her question, "are you willing to waive the right to silence, and speak to us on the matter at hand?"

She twisted around and glowered at him. "Not until I get my fucking. Phone. Call," she ground out, putting as much emphasis on her words as possible.

"Just one moment," he told her, and turned to the female officer. "Has she been searched yet?"

"Not yet," the woman told him. She looked Sophia over. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way, sweetie. The hard way involves a private room and rubber gloves. You want to go there?"

Sophia shook her head. Stubbornness had gotten her nowhere. "No. I do not want to go there."

Just bide my time until I can get my phone call, and unleash the hounds of hell on these fuckers.

"Good. Hold still."

Frisking her with cuffs on was a little awkward, but apparently neither of the cops was willing to remove them, and so that's how it happened. It was a little more personal than she had expected, but it was over relatively quickly. As it was, she wasn't carrying anything illicit, for which she was grateful; had she been, the female cop would have found it. She was quite thorough.

"Now can I have my phone call?" she asked, once it was done.

The two cops looked at one another. The male one shrugged. "Sure. May as well."

The female cop nodded. "Sure. But here's the question." She held up the two phones that she had taken from Sophia. "Which one? And why two phones in the first place?"

Because I'm a Ward, you dumb piece of shit.

"The newer one," Sophia told her. "And can I have my hands cuffed in front of me for this?"

With the male cop watching, the female cop uncuffed her hands and recuffed them, then gave her the PRT-issue phone. Fortunately, it didn't have any exterior markings to show it as such.

Taking a deep breath, she keyed in the PIN, making sure not to let the cops see it. Then she scrolled through the numbers until she found the one she wanted. Pressing Dial, she awkwardly held the phone up to her ear. The cops watched impassively.

The phone rang twice, then was picked up.

"Hi, Mom."

"Shadow Stalker. I presume that you are in police custody by now."

"Yeah, it's all good. When are you going to come pick me up?"

"We're not."

She blinked. "Sorry, what? I didn't get that."

"We're not going to pull you out of this. This is a criminal matter involving your public identity. You haven't revealed your secret identity yet, I hope?"

"Uh, no, no, that's all good," she managed. "But … "

"But nothing, Shadow Stalker," Director Piggot told her. "You will submit to arrest. You will let them take you downtown. We will pick you up there. You will not give them any reason to think that you are anything but who you say you are. You will not, under any circumstance, try to use your standing as a Ward to get out of this. Do you understand?"

"I, uh, yeah, but -"

"If you violate these orders, then we will consider you to be a criminal to be arrested," Piggot warned. "You've been getting away with this sort of thing for far too long. No more. It ends now." There was a click as the call ended.

The bottom fell out of Sophia's world. It didn't make sense. She always got away with this sort of thing. It was what she did.

I always win. I'm better than everyone else. I always win.

I never lose.

She put the phone away automatically, her mind working fast. Piggot gave me orders. Still a Ward.

A deep breath. She's a bitch, but she wouldn't cut me loose just like that. I didn't commit any crimes in costume, so this doesn't break my probation. Alan Barnes had made her read the terms and conditions of her probation, for which she was now grateful. I can't figure the outs if I don't know the angles.

She felt her heart rate slowing as she calmed herself. PRT coming here would out me. Pickup at the station, right. So say nothing. Don't even bother denying anything. Emma won't be saying anything either. When her dad gets here -

And then, in the silence around her, she heard Emma's voice. " … yes, she pushed Taylor down the stairs lots of times. And broke into her locker a few times. I remember once, she stole a flute that Taylor brought into school … "

Her brain whited out. Emma? How is this possible? She's giving me up?

SHE is giving ME up?

"FUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKK!"

It took Sophia a moment to realise that the tearing, animalistic noise had been torn from her own throat. She didn't even bother going to shadow; straightening up with a lunge, she slammed the heels of her hands up under the chin of the larger, male officer. She was very fit for her age, and fairly strong. His head snapped back and he staggered backward; she began to turn to the female officer -

Too late, she registered the prongs of a stun-gun as they jammed into her ribs. The current crackled through her; she convulsed and fell to her knees. Even then, she tried to fight, tried to go to shadow, but it was too little, too late. The female cop hit her with the stun gun a second time.

This time, the lights went out.

<><>​

Taylor

I ran my hands through my hair yet again, facing into the pounding spray of the hot shower. It felt heavenly. I had scrubbed myself all over, twice, and finally – finally – I felt clean again. Now, I knew, I was just indulging myself.

And what's wrong with a little indulgence?

I smiled to myself, and turned off the taps. Turning, I stepped out of the shower cubicle, accepting the towel that Jenna handed to me.

"Thanks," I told her, as I began to towel off. "But you really didn't have to come down here with me."

"Peter wanted me to stay with you," she pointed out. "I mean, I know that Emma and Sophia are in custody, but there might be one or two other idiots in the school who want to hurt you. After all, it wasn't always just those two, was it?"

I shook my head, spraying droplets. "No. Madison Clements was always one of them, up until this time, that is."

She smiled slightly. "She obviously realised that fucking with you is a losing proposition."

I chuckled. "No. Fucking with you guys is a losing proposition. I'm just along for the ride."

"More than that, I think," she pointed out. "Were you really serious about wanting to join?"

I shrugged. "Well, yeah," I told her. "I don't necessarily agree with everything you guys do, but fuck, you've protected me, and Peter saved me from the locker, and … fuck. What it was like in there … you do not want to know."

She nodded soberly, handing me my underwear. "I saw it from the outside. From a distance. I have to say, Taylor, you were badass in Blackwell's office. I mean, covered in shit, your own puke all over your shirt, and you still fucking gave it to her with both barrels."

I blushed to the roots of my hair, as I did up my bra. "I … well, it seemed to be the right thing to do. To say."

Jenna jerked her chin in an upward nod as I climbed into my gym sweats. "Well, it sure as hell impressed everyone there. Peter always said he saw something in you. Today, I saw what it was."

I ducked my head, trying not to blush again. "Yeah, well, let's hope it doesn't require me to be locked in a locker full of shit before I can be that way again, huh?"

She laughed and ruffled my still-damp hair. It felt good, comradely. "Yeah, let's hope so."

Peter was waiting at the entrance to the girls' shower room as we exited. He was also freshly showered and changed; I walked up to him and made a show of sniffing the air. Then I turned to Jenna, who was grinning broadly, and asked, "Where's Peter? I can't smell him anywhere."

Peter, chuckling warmly, put his arms around me; I snuggled into his embrace. "Mmm," I murmured. "There you are. You smell nice."

"So do you," he replied, just as softly.

"Thanks," I told him. "Actually, you know something? How we talked awhile ago about you being my boyfriend? That offer still open?"

He nuzzled my cheek. "Yeah, why?"

"Because I'm taking you up on it," I told him with a smile.

He stopped, still staring at me. "You're serious?"

I nodded. "Deadly. Is there a problem?"

Slowly, he shook his head. "No. No problem at all."

Tentatively, I leaned in toward him. He divined my intention, and mirrored my movement, tilting his head. Our lips met in a brief, warm kiss. It wasn't a kiss for the ages, and of passion there was barely anything. But it was my first kiss with a boy, and I felt a calm spreading through me, settling my racing thoughts.

I didn't kiss him again, not right away; once was enough.

For now.


End of Part Three

Part Four

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Four: Consolidation


As we walked back toward the Principal's office, Jenna handed my glasses to me. They'd been smeared with horrible substances during my sojourn in the locker, but now they were pristine and sparkling.

"Oh, thanks." As I fitted them into place, the world came back into focus. "You didn't have to do that for me."

She smiled. "Actually, I did. You're a member now, for all intents and purposes. You're one of us."

The warmth in her voice caught at me, and my eyes filled with tears. I stopped and hugged her; she returned the gesture, her arms warm and comforting around me.

"Thank you," I murmured. "Thank you … for everything." I remembered once more the scene at the girls' bathroom, when she had simply walked in, taking me with her. Clearing the path. Being there for me.

"Hey," she told me, patting me gently on the back. "We look out for each other, okay? Someday you'll be helping someone else out like this. Another sister or brother who needs your help."

Peter's phone rang, and he stepped to one side to answer it. I didn't mind; even though I had just decided that I wanted him to be my boyfriend, I knew that he had stuff to do, related to his position in the Empire.

Did I just really decide to join? I wasn't sure how I felt about that. On the one hand, it was a really, really huge step. On the other … it seemed almost inevitable. Peter and his friends were already helping me. Saving me from … from what Sophia had wanted to happen to me.

I had no doubt that if they hadn't intervened, I would have been stuck in that locker, until I died of the stench, or choked on my own vomit, or something equally gruesome. Sure as hell, they hadn't had any plans to let me out.

I felt once more a tide of hate, of loathing, against everything that Sophia was, everything that she represented, and I felt closer to Jenna. She understood. She knew how I felt right then.

But I had to know. I let Jenna go, and faced her. "Got a question."

She smiled warmly. "And I've got an answer."

I took a deep breath. "What if I decided not to join?"

She tilted her head slightly. "Are you deciding that?"

"I … I need to know."

A slight nod. "Well, if you don't want to join, you won't be forced to. We only take members who actually want to be members. You can walk away any time, right up till the day and hour of your final acceptance, and that's it. No repercussions. You don't want to be a member, you're not a member. You can stay a friend of the Empire; that's a whole different matter."

Peter put his phone away and rejoined us. Glancing from face to face, he raised an eyebrow. "Serious discussion going on?"

There was a lump in my throat, but I made my voice work anyway. "I was just asking Jenna what would happen if I decided I didn't want to be a member."

He nodded. "And she told you that there would be no problem with it?"

"Yeah." I looked at him. "Would you have a problem with it?"

Slowly, he shook his head. "You have to make your own choices, Taylor. I can't make them for you. But you know I'd be there for you, whether you chose to become a member or not. Because you know you're more important to me than that." He paused. "So are you actually choosing that, or were you just asking the question?"

I felt the warmth in my chest expanding, and I smiled at the both of them. "Just asking the question," I told him. "This is what I want. I know this now."

"Good to hear," he responded warmly. "Now, I just got told that your father's here. He's in the Principal's office, probably looking for you."

"Oh god," I muttered. "If he saw the locker, and heard what happened, he'll probably be worried sick."

As if cued by my comment, the asthmatic PA system crackled to life. "Taylor Hebert to report to the Principal's office … Taylor Hebert to report to the Principal's office … "

" … and that's me," I noted.

Peter nodded seriously. "Well we won't keep you then," he agreed. "Best go and put his mind at ease."

I latched on to his hand. "I want you to come along," I told him impulsively. "I want to tell him what you did. What you've been doing."

He frowned. "Not so sure about that," he demurred.

My grip on his hand tightened as he made to pull away. "No," I insisted. "I want him to meet you. To know what you're like." A smile flashed across my face. "After all, you are my boyfriend now."

"Uh, maybe I really shouldn't." He made another half-hearted attempt to pull free, but I wasn't letting go.

"No, Peter," I told him. "Seriously. You don't get out of this. You saved me today. You're meeting my Dad, whether you like it or not."

Behind his back, I met Jenna's eyes; her expression seemed to be somewhere between consternation and amusement; in any case, she wasn't interfering.

"I'll just be getting back to class then," she told me.

I smiled at her. "Okay, Jenna. I'll see you later. And thanks again."

"No problem, Taylor." A flashing smile, a wave, and she was gone.

Peter made a feeble attempt to follow her, but I was having nothing of it.

"I should be getting back to class too … " he hinted.

I shook my head as I towed him along the corridor. "Nope."

"Blackwell didn't call for me."

"Don't care."

"Taylor, no father ever wants to find out that his daughter's got a boyfriend."

"Tough. I'm done hiding things from him. That never solved any problems for me."

"Uh … are you going to tell him everything about us? About me?"

I stopped, and looked at him. "You mean, am I going to tell him that you're Empire Eighty-Eight, and that I've agreed to join?"

Emma's words came back to me. You know your dad'll have a heart attack as soon as he finds out.

He nodded. "Yeah. That could kind of make him not so grateful."

I grinned. "Don't worry. I've got a plan."

An apprehensive look came over his face. "Am I allowed to know it?"

My grin widened. "Now what would be the fun in that?"

His apprehensive look intensified, but he made no comment. I drew him onward.

To be honest, I wasn't too sure about my plan either, but I was done letting people walk over me. Peter and the others had shown me how to be strong. More to the point, they'd shown me that they'd back me up if and when I asserted myself. So here I was, asserting myself. And hoping like hell that it didn't all blow up in my face.

I was about to make a leap of faith. Now all I had to do was stick the landing.

<><>​

I tapped on the door of the Principal's office.

"Come in."

When I opened the door, Dad was already moving toward me; I let Peter's hand go as Dad's arms went around me. I hugged him back just as fiercely, feeling his arms tight about me.

"Oh god, Taylor, what have they been doing to you?" he asked urgently, not letting me go.

"I'm all right now, Dad," I assured him, holding on just as tightly. "I'm all right. It's all right now. I'm not hurt. Just a few bruises."

He let me go and I showed him the discoloured patches on the heels of my hands, where I'd slammed them against the unyielding metal of the interior of the locker. "Bruises, see?" I asked. "I'm fine. I was only in there for about a minute."

He shook his head. "Taylor, I saw that locker."

A nervous giggle arose from my chest. "Admittedly, it was about the longest minute I've ever lived through, but it was only really just a minute."

Slowly, he shook his head. "So what happened? Who let you out?"

I drew a deep breath. "You don't know? Nobody told you?"

"Nobody told me anything," he replied in frustration. "Just that you were shoved in a locker full of trash, and that the two girls who did it have been arrested and taken downtown. They wouldn't even tell me their names."

Principal Blackwell cleared her throat. "Actually, it was -"

I held up my hand to stop her; amazingly, she shut up. "Dad, I think that it's better I show you." Turning to Peter, I held out my hand. "Phone, please?"

He blinked, pulled his phone out, and fiddled with it. When he handed it to me – doing his best to ignore Dad's curious gaze – the video clip was cued up. I handed it to Dad, and he tapped the 'play' icon.

I didn't want to watch it – didn't want any reminder of what I'd been through – so I watched his face instead. His expression was curious to start with, then startlement arose as he recognised Emma. When he saw Emma shutting me in the locker, I saw pure rage on my father's face for the very first time ever. Had Emma been standing before him, her life would likely have been in danger.

His jaw set like stone, he watched the clip through, all the way till Peter coaxed the combination out of me and opened the door. When the clip finished, I caught a glimpse of it from the corner of my eye; the door open, me stumbling out, vomit down my front, covered in muck. And Peter's arm about me, supporting. My arms, clinging to him.

There was silence in the office as Dad tapped the 'replay' icon, and watched it all the way through a second time. As the clip ended again, and the incoherent crowd noise cut out, he raised his eyes to Peter. "You're the one who let her out."

Peter nodded. "Uh, yes, sir."

Dad handed the phone back to him, then held out his hand. "For that, you have my profound gratitude. Danny Hebert."

Peter took it, then shook his hand. "Peter Ferguson, sir. I'm very pleased to meet you."

Danny nodded. "Likewise. So, how do you know my daughter?"

I cleared my throat; they both glanced at me. "Uh, can we maybe discuss this somewhere else?" I asked.

Dad nodded, and bent an unfavourable eye upon Principal Blackwell. "We'll continue this discussion later. You've fallen down badly on your obligation toward my daughter. I suggest that you start thinking about compensation. Lots of it."

He didn't wait for an answer, as we went out the door, Peter leading. I took Peter's hand as we headed down the corridor; after a few paces, Dad noticed, and his eyebrows rose.

We stopped a little way away from Blackwell's office, and Dad turned to us. "Now suppose you tell me what's been going on. All of it."

Peter seemed disinclined to speak, so I took the plunge. "That was Emma on the clip."

Dad nodded. "I thought I recognised her. I'm going to be having words with Alan." There was a certain strain in his voice; I suspected that the words would be neither quiet nor polite.

"She turned against me because of Sophia Hess," I told him. "The black girl in the clip. They've been bullying me since I came to Winslow."

He frowned. "That long? I thought you were friends."

I shook my head. "Did you never wonder why we didn't do sleepovers after I started high school? Sophia and Emma and a friend of theirs called Madison have been doing shit to me all this time."

"Taylor." His voice was wondering. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have done something about it."

"Because they never did anything provable." My voice was bitter. "I tried complaining to the teachers. Nothing happened. They'd get called into the office, get a brief talking to, then let go and they'd start up again. I fought back, once, and I got disciplined, because Sophia and her friends said that I started it, and no-one but me said otherwise."

"But you could've spoken to me," he protested. "I would have believed you."

"And what could you have done?" I took a deep breath. "Come in here? Complained? Exactly the same thing would have happened. Without proof, exactly nothing. And they would've taken it out on me. Again. So I kept my head down, hoped they'd give up, get bored."

"But they didn't." He sounded sick.

"But they didn't," I agreed. "This year, in September, I started a kind of diary. Writing down everything they'd done to me, at the end of each day. Printing out and saving nasty emails."

"Well, at least you did that," he noted with approval. "That's something we can give to the police."

"I wasn't sure exactly what I was going to do with it, but that's not a bad idea," I agreed. "Around the same time, Peter was transferred in to Winslow, and he saw what was happening, and he tried to offer me his help."

Dad glanced at Peter. "So that's where you come into this." He looked back at me. "You said 'tried' to offer help."

I grimaced. "I was frightened. Other boys had helped bully me, so I thought that maybe he was going to pull some nasty prank on me when I let my guard down. So I pushed him away."

A slow nod. "I can see why you'd think that. Go on."

I took a deep breath. "They kept bullying me, and Peter was there. Offering encouragement. Friendship. He started helping me clean up after things happened to me. Told me that he and his friends could help me, if I wanted them to."

Dad's expression was not encouraging. "I've heard about this sort of thing before. I don't think I like where this is going."

Hastily, I shook my head. "No, it wasn't like that. He never tried anything with me, ever. He was just offering … help. So when he went to Blackwell on his own with information about what was happening to me, and I got blamed for it, and bullied all the more, I decided that I may as well accept. Because they weren't going to let up. So his friends started helping."

"Helping." Dad's voice was neutral.

I looked at Dad earnestly. "They did help, they really did. Every time Sophia or the others tried to do something to me, they got in the way. One boy got suspended because they complained about him so much."

Dad frowned. "Wait a minute. Who complained about who? Peter's friends complained about someone bullying you?"

"No." I shook my head. "His name's Kelly. He was helping me. Literally stepping in the way when Sophia tried to shove or kick me. Emma and Sophia complained about him bumping them in the halls, and he got suspended. For stopping them from bullying me."

Dad's jaw was set again. "I've a mind to go back and have another chat with your principal," he gritted.

"It's okay, Dad," I told him. "He's not suspended any more. In fact, he's the one who took that footage. But yeah, they just wouldn't stop. Remember when I got beaten up?"

He nodded. "I remember. Why didn't Peter's friends stop that?"

"Because Sophia hit me from behind," I told him. "I was walking away from her. Never saw it coming. But Bronson – that's another one of Peter's friends – stopped her after that first hit. Beat her up pretty good."

Dad frowned. "They said they never got a real suspect for that."

I shook my head. "Covering it up as hard as they could. I'm not sure why. Bronson had to run for it, because I'm pretty sure they would have arrested him."

"Even though he was just defending you?" Dad shook his head in turn. "This is ridiculous. Those girls have had far too much influence in this school. I mean, I know that Alan's a lawyer, but why does this Sophia girl get away with so much?"

"I really don't know," I confessed. "She's a track star, but I can't see that counting for all that much. She's actually a bit of a bitch, even when she's not doing something to me. But this time, they did something, got caught on camera, and the police know about it."

"Good," Dad agreed. "But do you have any idea why Emma even turned on you like that?"

I took another deep breath. "Peter says it's because Sophia wants to be her friend, and doesn't want anyone else in her way, so she's pushing Emma to reject me." I shrugged. "It kind of makes sense to me, in a twisted sort of way."

"I see." Dad turned his attention to Peter. "So, Peter. What's my daughter to you?"

Peter blinked, but rallied. "She's a strong individual," he stated. "Sophia and the others have done their best to push her down, but she's still hanging in there, still persevering. I admire that. And personally, I like her, and want to get to know her better."

Wow. I had kind of known that Peter thought that way about me, but to have him say it to my Dad gave me a warm feeling all over.

Dad shook his head. "There's more to it than that. Why are your friends so willing to expose themselves to punishment on her behalf?"

Peter opened his mouth, not quite sure what to say. I grabbed his hand and squeezed. "Dad, they're just protecting me because Peter asked them to. He's my boyfriend, and … I think I might be pregnant."

Absolute, stunned silence. Dad's face turned slowly red. Peter, just as slowly, swivelled his head to stare at me, his eyes and mouth opening in a classic oh shit, did you just say what I think you just said expression.

"You … little … slimy … bastard." I always knew that Dad had a temper, but he'd managed to keep it reined in. Mostly. Now he was letting it out again. "I'm going to break your fucking neck."

He was advancing on Peter, who was backing up, hands up defensively. I jumped in between them. "Dad! Dad!"

"Out of the way, Taylor." Dad's face was set, his fists were clenched, and a muscle was jumping in the corner of his jaw.

"No, Dad, I was joking! I'm not pregnant! We've never done anything! We've never even made out! He's been my boyfriend for about fifteen minutes! I'm not pregnant, honest!"

Slowly, Dad registered my words. His fists unclenched. "Not pregnant?"

I shook my head emphatically. "No. Seriously, no. Not pregnant. But he is my boyfriend, and he's a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight."

Silence, as Dad absorbed my words. "He's in the Empire Eighty-Eight."

I nodded. "Yes."

"And he's your boyfriend."

Again I nodded. "Yes."

"But you're not pregnant."

"No, Dad, I'm not pregnant."

"But you just told me you were." His gaze narrowed behind his glasses. "Because you wanted me to see a worse case before telling me about the Empire Eighty-Eight side of things."

Apprehensively, I nodded. "Uh, yes."

He pressed his lips together. This was not a good sign, but it was a vast improvement, compared to how he'd been a moment ago. "Taylor, I'm disappointed in you."

I began to wonder if the plan had been such a great idea after all. It always works in sitcoms suddenly didn't seem to be such a reliable indicator of success. "I'm sorry, I -"

"Let me finish." His voice was firm, although he seemed to have calmed down. "You should have told me. Even if I wasn't able to do anything to start with. It's better that I know things like this. I could have supported you. I don't like to be blindsided."

"I know, Dad, I didn't ... " I trailed off. How could I say I didn't think you could help me without hurting him badly? "I didn't think," I told him lamely.

"So I gathered," he retorted. "And what were you thinking, associating with a bunch of racist thugs like the Empire Eighty-Eight?"

"Dad, Peter's not a racist thug!" I protested. Racist, yes. Thug, no, I amended in my head. And even the fact of his racism was beginning to have less and less impact than it had before. Am I getting used to it, or am I starting to agree with his views in some part?

I didn't have time to think about it. "I was bullied for a year before he got to Winslow, and nobody did a damn thing about it! Since I met him, he's been nothing but caring and supportive! Okay, so he's in the Empire. So fucking what? Him and his friends are still the only ones who cared enough to do anything about Sophia and Emma and Madison, just because Peter asked them to! And he's the one who got me out of that locker, after Sophia put me in there, and Emma locked the door!"

I stopped for breath, aware that my face was flushed and that my fists were clenched with the intensity of my emotions.

Dad looked at me gravely, and then turned to Peter. "My daughter thinks highly of you, young man. Answer me a question. Why did you offer to intervene on her behalf?"

Peter blinked. "Because she was being bullied by a black girl, sir. And I will not stand aside when I see that happening."

"But there was more than just Sophia doing it," Dad pointed out. "Did you and your friends stop them, as well?"

"Well, yes," Peter told him. "Once she accepted the friendship of the Empire, then we protected her from whoever was trying to bully her. Because the Empire protects its friends."

Dad frowned. "And what form did this 'friendship' take? Was Taylor required to do anything ... specific?"

"God, no, Dad," I burst out. "Peter explained it all before I accepted. They help me out in little ways, I help them out. Nothing bad or wrong. Just ... friends helping each other out."

He gazed at me intently. "So they didn't make you join before helping you out?"

I shook my head emphatically. "No. Seriously. They only want recruits who want to be members."

Another frown. "Right." A sad sigh. "I guess this is largely my fault. I haven't been paying attention. I'm sorry, Taylor. I failed you."

I put my arms around him. "Don't talk like that. You didn't fail me. I'm supposed to be safe at school. If anyone failed me, it was the school. But Peter saved me."

Dad nodded. "Yes, I saw the locker." He paused, giving his attention to Peter as I let him go. "Understand this, boy. I'm not happy with the fact that you're Empire Eighty-Eight. I'm not even happy with the fact that it exists. But the fact of the matter is that it does, and that you've been there for Taylor when I could not. You've been a friend to her, in fact. And now she says you're her boyfriend?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, sir. She asked me, after we both finished getting cleaned up. I accepted."

Dad glanced my way. "You asked him?" His tone was wondering.

I nodded. "I know he likes me. I like him too. And he's done nothing but support and help me."

Just for a moment, Dad closed his eyes. "Well, there's not much I can say to argue with that." He opened them, and fixed Peter with a stern gaze. "Just remember one thing. Empire Eighty-Eight or no Empire Eighty-Eight, I make the rules as to when she can go on dates, and how long she can stay out on those dates."

"Of course, sir," Peter replied immediately. "You're her father. You have that right."

Dad blinked, as if he had expected argument. "What does your father think of you dating a girl who's not part of the Empire?"

Peter looked him in the eye. "He trusts my judgement, sir. Of course, when the time comes, I'll be expected to marry within the Empire, but that's a long way to go yet."

Dad didn't let up. "Does he know that you're associating with her?"

Peter nodded. "She's been a friend to the Empire for several weeks now. I've made it known that she is to be treated as such. Father has not had a problem with that."

"So what's this 'friend of the Empire' stuff?" He looked at me. "What have you been expected to do?"

"Nothing that I didn't want to," I assured him. "A couple of times, I've loaned some of them a few dollars for the vending machines. I've always gotten it back. I've helped Kelly with his math homework. Bronson wanted to know why his girlfriend was mad at him, so I explained how girls think. I passed on a message from Jenna to her boyfriend. Stuff like that."

"That sounds … pretty mundane," he admitted.

"It really is," I assured him. "Face it, Dad. If they weren't Empire, would you have even the slightest problem with them being my friends?"

From the look on his face, I had scored a hit. "I guess not. But I'm still not comfortable with you having a boyfriend. Especially one who's a member of the Empire."

I raised an eyebrow. "Would you be any more comfortable if he wasn't Empire?"

As if he'd been looking for the opening, he nodded vehemently. "Yes, I would."

I tilted my head. "Why?"

"Because then there'd be far less chance of you being arrested!" he snapped.

"Dad," I told him patiently. "I'm not about to do anything illegal. They haven't asked me to, and I'm not going to. Peter being Empire doesn't change that."

He drew in a breath, and his eyes flicked to Peter for a second. "But -"

It was the look that clued me in. "Dad, is this just about the Empire, or is it even a little bit about springing a surprise boyfriend on you? Because either way, I'm not dumping Peter."

I swallowed a little as I said that, hoping that Dad wouldn't take it as a bluff. As much as I loved him, I couldn't cut ties with Peter, or by extension the Empire. The safety, the security, they now represented to me meant too much.

Some of that must have gotten through to him, because his shoulders slumped slightly and he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose just below his glasses. "Maybe it is, Taylor," he admitted wearily. "I don't like it that you're associated with the Empire, and I don't like the cheap trick you played. But I can see your mind's made up, and I'm not going to push on it, not right now. But we will be talking about this, later."

I reached out and took his hand. "It's all right, Dad. I'm the same person as I was yesterday. I'm not going to do anything stupid with Peter. But I like him, a lot, and we're going to be spending time together. And I really don't think anyone's going to be trying to bully me again. Not for a long while."

Peter cleared his throat. "Not ever. Not if I've got anything to say about it."

As Dad and I looked at him in surprise, he shrugged slightly. "What? It's true."

Dad gave him a searching look, then grudgingly nodded. "I'll accept that, Peter. For now."

I felt Peter squeeze my hand as he gave Dad a slight smile. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate it."

<><>​

Sophia sat in a holding cell alongside Emma. On arrival at the station, their ID had been checked, and as they had been both found to be minors, they were placed in holding to await the arrival of their respective guardians.

Emma seemed to have drawn in on herself, a mere shadow of the bright, confident Emma with whom Sophia had spoken just that morning. Sophia turned to her. "What the fuck, Emma?" she demanded in a low tone. "What got into you?"

Emma turned to look at her, and her eyes were … dead. Dull. Lifeless. She shook her head. "I don't want to talk to you, Sophia." She got up and walked to the other side of the cell, where she sat down, and recommenced staring at the floor.

"But I want to talk to you, Emma," Sophia snapped, getting up and following her over. "Why the fuck did you roll over on me? We could've held out." She thought back, recalling the events following the locker. "Wait, that Peter guy, he threatened you, didn't he? Listen, fuck him. He can't touch you. He's fucking nothing."

Emma hunched away from her. "Leave me alone. Don't talk to me."

Sophia grabbed her by the shoulder. "Fucking talk to me, bitch!"

At her pull, Emma swung around and shoved her; Sophia stumbled and fell on her ass. Emma glared at her, a momentary flare of life in her eyes. "I said, fucking leave me alone!"

Mindful of those in the cells around her, Sophia came to her feet with athletic ease. She stalked toward Emma, placing each foot carefully. "No-one does that to me, Emma," she stated threateningly. "So unless you want me to show you why not, start talking."

Emma ignored her, hunched away again. Sophia yanked her around again. Emma tried to shove her once more, but Sophia was ready this time, and clipped her on the jaw. Grabbing Emma by the front of her top, she hauled the redhead to her feet and slammed a knee into her stomach; Emma doubled over, retching.

Sophia stepped back, watching her with satisfaction. "Maybe now you'll -"

Emma launched forward off the bars, colliding heavily with Sophia, bringing them both to the ground. Sophia twisted so that the wind wouldn't be knocked out of her; she brought her knee up again and again, into Emma's stomach, and then as she grabbed the other girl's hair and pushed her head down, into her face. Cartilage crunched and blood flowed.

She rolled over, came up on to her knees, arm cocked to throw another punch -

"Sophia!" The shout, a familiar voice, from the cell door caught her attention. She turned, dropping Emma, pushing her hair back as she looked. Alan Barnes was there, flanked by a police officer and Sophia's twit of a PRT handler. There was also a woman in what she recognised as PRT undress uniform; fatigues, sunglasses and beret, but no helmet or body armour. She bore a sergeant's stripes.

As the cell door opened, the PRT sergeant, whose nametag read LASALLE, stepped forward and lifted Sophia to her feet with a hand under her arm. She was marched to the side while Alan dropped to his knees beside Emma. The redhead was still conscious, and he was able to help her to her feet, although blood ran down her face, and she was wobbly on her legs.

"What's going on here?" she addressed the cop. "What's she here for?" She gestured at the PRT woman.

"You," the police officer told her. "Apparently you're a person of interest in an ongoing case of theirs. Fortunately, we got in touch with your social worker, so all that paperwork's filled out. So now you get to go cool your heels in one of their cells, instead of ours. Rest assured, we'll be sending them all the relevant information. Including the fact that you assaulted a police officer."

Sergeant LaSalle nodded, holding up a pair of cuffs. "Turn around," she told Sophia. "Give me your hands."

"What?" blurted Sophia.

LaSalle unhitched a heavy-duty taser from her belt. "Hands," she repeated.

Seething, Sophia turned her back and allowed LaSalle to handcuff her once more. By the time this was finished, Emma had been escorted from the cell.

Sophia's handler entered the cell. "Has she been read her rights?"

The cop nodded. "Sure. Just before she put the guy in the infirmary with a bitten tongue and a wrenched neck." He nodded toward Sophia. "Don't let your guard down. She's a live one."

"So I see," commented LaSalle. She took a firm grip on Sophia's arm. "First and last warning, kid. You act up, I won't try very hard not to hurt you. Understood?"

Sophia gritted her teeth, biting back the response she so very much wanted to give.

LaSalle hitched her arms up slightly, reminding Sophia that her shoulders were not made to turn in that direction. "I asked a question. Do you understand what I said?"

Grinding her teeth together, Sophia nodded jerkily. "I heard you. I understand."

"Good." LaSalle allowed her arms to lower to their normal position. "Let's go, then."

<><>​

Still holding Peter's hand, I waved goodbye to Dad. He waved back, still looking not one hundred percent happy, and got into the car. I sighed as he drove off, and we turned to walk back into the school.

"Maybe I should've done like he said, and taken the day off," I ventured. "I'm not looking forward to the rest of the day."

He smiled at me and squeezed my hand. "I think he wanted to get you away from me, just for a little bit, to prove that he could," he told me jokingly.

I rolled my eyes, and punched him lightly with my free hand. "He's not that petty."

"I've seen Father with my sisters," he countered. "Yes, fathers can be that petty, without even noticing."

"You've got sisters?" I stared at him. "When was I going to hear about this?"

"When you met my family," he replied. "Don't hit me again, please."

"But you having sisters is important," I insisted. "What if they hate me?"

"They won't," he assured me. "They already know about you, and what's been happening." He paused. "I noticed that you didn't tell your father that you were joining the Empire."

I nodded jerkily. "I didn't want to hit him with too much at once. Just letting him know that you were Empire was almost too much for him to accept."

"But you managed it," he pointed out. "Although almost giving both of us heart attacks in the process."

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" I gave him my best innocent look.

He favoured me with a mock glare. "A warning would have been nice."

I giggled. "But the look on your face was priceless. The only thing that would have made it funnier would be Kelly, filming for posterity."

"Kelly values his life and limb more than that," he grumped. "That was mean."

I lifted his arm and tucked myself under it, snuggling up to him. He tightened his grasp slightly; I put my arm around his back. "We survived it, and now Dad knows about us, and sort-of approves," I reminded him.

He nodded judiciously. "There is that." He moved his arm to hold me more firmly around the shoulders. "But please, don't do that again. Or warn me first." Touching his fingers to his lips, he touched mine in turn; I kissed his fingertips gently.

"Deal," I agreed, putting my head on his shoulder.

I felt warm, safe and secure.

I could get used to this.

<><>​

Emma tried not to cry as her nose was re-set; the pain afterward was not nearly as bad as before, but it still hurt. Now, at least, she could breathe. But tears still ran down her face.

Sitting beside her, Alan Barnes held her hand. "What happened?" he asked. "Why did she do that?"

"Because I gave her up, Dad," Emma told him, a little nasally. "I told them everything that I'd ever seen her do."

He blinked. "But why? Why this sudden about-turn? Why are you turning on her?"

She turned to look at him, eyes beseeching him to understand. "Dad, she's done bad things. So have I. They've got us cold on the locker thing. If I roll over on her with everything, before she can do the same to me, they'll go lighter on me. Won't they?"

"Technically, yes, they probably will," he admitted. "But you don't have to admit to anything. Not until you've got an attorney present." He meant that she didn't have to admit to anything the police couldn't prove, as she well knew.

Emma shook her head, recalling Peter's veiled threats. He would carry them through, she knew. It's what I would do. "No, Dad," she told him. "I have to do this. I have to clean the slate."

He frowned, obviously not understanding. "You want to go to juvenile detention?"

Hastily, she shook her head. "No. I just need to get it all off my conscience. Everything Sophia did. Everything I helped her do."

"Well, I'll get the best legal counsel in to represent you," he told her. "Maybe even Carol Dallon."

She mustered a smile. It was weak, but it was there. "Thanks, Dad. I know I can always depend on you."

She felt his arm go around her shoulders, and he hugged her carefully. "Anything for you, Emma. Anything at all."

And so I cast off Sophia Hess, Emma thought blankly. Taylor's stronger than the both of us. Why didn't I see it before?

It was a question that would bother her for quite some time.

<><>​

"Shadow Stalker."

Sophia walked into Director Piggot's office straight and tall. She was still pissed; once in the PRT HMMWV, LaSalle had removed the cuffs, but had kept a watchful eye on her all the same. Re-entering the PRT building didn't feel like coming home; then again, it had never felt like it. More like a prison with work release. An anchor, holding her back.

She hadn't even been given time to clean herself up, or to put her costume on, before being curtly informed that Director Piggot wanted to talk to her. Along with her handler, LaSalle had accompanied her up, hand on the ever-present taser. She wanted to clean the woman's clock, but she had an uncomfortable feeling that the veteran PRT sergeant could hold her own, even against a cape like her.

"Director," she replied, hiding her anger. It would do her no good now. It had done her no good earlier, but this time she was under control. She would not lash out. Lashing out would be a very, very bad idea.

The heavy-set woman behind the desk stared at her with a single-minded intensity. Sophia felt as though she was being disassembled on the molecular level; if the Director had possessed cape powers, she probably wouldn't have survived walking through the door.

Finally, Piggot laced her fingers together before her. "Tell me what happened at the school," she ordered.

Sophia waited for LaSalle to respond – the sergeant surely would have read the report – but the woman didn't speak. And then she realised that the Director was looking at her. "Me?" she blurted.

Piggot nodded once. "You," she confirmed. "You were there. Tell me what happened at the school. Understand that your future relies very heavily on how you tell me this."

Her handler cleared her throat. "I, uh, viewed the report -"

The Director turned her head, and the faux social worker shut up. "I will be speaking to you, later, about your dereliction of duty," Piggot told her flatly. "For now, shut up and listen." She turned back to Sophia. "I'm waiting."

Fuck, thought Sophia. Motherfucking turdburgers. It's all Hebert's fault. She did this to me.

She took a deep breath. "It's all about the Empire Eighty-Eight."

Director Piggot's eyes narrowed. "Please explain."

So Sophia did. She explained about how the Empire was a problem in the school, and how she'd seen them approaching Taylor Hebert. Wracking her brain to try to recall exactly what Emma might have said about her actions, she did her level best to spin them toward keeping Taylor out of the hands of the Empire.

The photos, she said, were one last attempt to snap Hebert out of it, to show her the reality of the people she was associating with. But she had ignored them.

"And the trash in the locker?" asked Piggot relentlessly.

Well, of course she'd ask about it. It was impossible for her not to know about it.

"That was a bit over the top," Sophia admitted, trying for remorse, but not entirely sure how it should go. Should she look at the floor, or meet Piggot's eyes? "And we shouldn't have locked her in there. That was just … it went too far, right there. We would have let her out."

"Yes," Piggot stated flatly. "You should have. But do you know who let her out? A member of the Empire Eighty-Eight. Do you know who took you into custody, and held a member of the Wards for the police? The Empire Eighty-Eight." She was standing by now, leaning against the desk. "And do you know who's showing up as the good guys in all this?" She raised a hand and slapped her desk, with a sound like a pistol shot. "The Empire fucking Eighty-Eight!"

Sophia opened her mouth. "I -"

Piggot glared at her as she subsided back into her chair. "Shut the fuck up. Henceforth, you are banned from all patrols. You will wear a tracking device at all times, until your court date."

Sophia blinked. "Court date?"

"Is there an echo in here?" Piggot leaned forward over the desk. "You will be going back to court, to ascertain exactly what legal penalties will be inflicted upon you regarding today's activities, and all those which Emma Barnes has seen fit to inform us about. I can't kick you out of the Wards today, worse luck, and nor can I throw you straight back into juvenile detention, but once you've attended court, and had the judgement handed down, you will carry out whatever punishment has been assigned to you. As a civilian. Not a cape. Do you understand me?"

Sophia stared. "I – but - "

Piggot seemed to discern her meaning. "Ms Hess, I was going to go somewhat easier on you. Until you chose to assault a police officer. And until I read the list of crimes that Emma Barnes has been assigning to you. Pending proof of those, I have no choice but to decide exactly how big the book is that I'll be throwing at you." She made a tired gesture. "Get her out of here."

Sophia felt her arms being grabbed, clamped behind her. Before she could resist, cuffs closed over her wrists. Not the normal variety; the type designed for her.

And then she was being frog-marched from the room. "You can't do this!" she shouted. "It doesn't happen this way!"

But Piggot was ignoring her, gesturing at her handler to stay. The doors closed behind her. She didn't struggle. It wouldn't do any good.

But she could plan.

Fucking Hebert. It's all her fault.

<><>​

World Affairs class finished, and I put my books back in my bag. As I stood up, I noted Madison and Julia standing nearby. Deliberately, I caught Madison's eye; she flinched back. I smiled slightly. She'd heard. Good.

Leaving the classroom, I smiled again as Kelly fell into step with me. "Hey," I greeted him.

"Hey yourself," he replied. "Any problems?"

I snorted. "Nope. Everyone who ever caused me trouble is backing right off now. The locker was no fun, but now? It's almost worth having gone through it."

He eyed me with respect. "Okay, there is no way in hell you could convince me to go through that."

I nodded. "Well, I have to agree, I'm not about to back up for a second go."

My phone buzzed; I pulled it out and checked the message. In the line. Your usual?

I smiled and tapped out the return message. Yes please. Thank you sweetie.

As I slid the phone back into my pocket, Kelly pulled his own phone out. "Wanna see something cool?"

"What's that?" I asked.

He grinned and played the film clip. I watched as Sophia was handcuffed, with little in the way of gentleness. Then she was searched, and I winced in sympathy. Then her hands were shifted to the front, and she was let make a phone call. And then … "Holy shit," I muttered.

Kelly nodded. "Isn't it classic? And all we had to do was stand there and watch."

I nodded, running the footage back slightly. Was it so very wrong that I revelled in the sight of Sophia Hess being tasered? Because it felt so very right.

We entered the cafeteria. "Later, Taylor," Kelly told me, peeling off toward the tables where the Empire Eighty-Eight contingent sat.

Peter met me halfway across the room, bearing his lunch and mine; I pulled the money out of my pocket to pay him for what he had bought.

"You don't have to do that," he protested.

"So what?" I asked, tucking the notes into his pocket, then relieving him of my lunch.

"Front steps?" he asked, already turning in that direction.

"No," I told him. "I don't think so. Not today."

Wonderingly, he followed me between the tables to where Kelly sat with his shaven-headed buddies, showing them the same filmclip.

"Hey, Kelly," I said.

He looked around. "Hey, Taylor, what's up?"

I indicated the empty chair beside him. "Anyone sitting there?"

He blinked. "Uh, no."

"Good," I told him. "I am." Dropping my lunch on the table, I sat down, and Peter took the seat beside me.

"You're eating with us today?" asked Kelly, looking somewhat surprised.

I nodded. "Well, I'm joining, so I may as well get to know you all, right?"

"Hell yes," agreed Kelly enthusiastically. He began to introduce me to the others around the table; I did my best to remember names, but I knew that they wouldn't be offended if I forgot. In an interval, I turned to look at Peter. He smiled at me, and I smiled back. The guys across the table leaned across to give us both their congratulations; it seemed the news about us being a couple had gotten around. But the comments were all good-natured, friendly. Peter was held in high regard, and apparently, so was I.

As I started on my lunch, I smiled. I had accepted the Empire Eighty-Eight; they had accepted me. I was one of them, now.

It felt good.

It felt right.


End of Part Four

Part Five

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Five: Meet the Family


"I have to say, Mr Hebert, you're a very good cook."

I hid my smile as Dad glanced at Peter, obviously trying to figure out how to respond to the compliment.

"I ... it's really nothing," he managed. "After Taylor's mother passed, it was a matter of either learning to cook, or subsisting on takeout or mac and cheese."

Peter grinned engagingly. He was good at that. "I know many people who would have settled for takeout." The grin faded. "Taylor told me about her mom. You have my sympathy. My own mother died when I was quite young." His eyes dropped.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Dad blinked, and looked to me.

"I remember you telling me about it," I told Peter, putting my hand on his. "But I don't remember how it happened. Was it an accident, or did she get sick?"

Dad cleared his throat. "If he doesn't want to talk about it, kiddo ..."

"No, no, it's fine." Peter lifted his eyes from the table and rolled his hand over, closing his fingers over mine. "It was a long time ago. I was too young to really know her. Father told me that a supervillain killed her."

"A supervillain?" I sat up, shocked. My fingers squeezed Peter's, and he tightened his grip in reply. "Was it some kind of, of racial thing? Is that why ..." I trailed off.

"Why I'm in the Empire Eighty-Eight?" He shook his head, with a wan smile. "No, it had nothing to do with race. It was just some stupid pointless thing that never should have happened. But it did, and my mom died because of it."

Dad cleared his throat. "So who, uh, if you don't mind me asking ..."

"Who did it?" Peter shrugged. "I don't know. They never told me. I just got told that he was sent to the Birdcage. For that, or for something else, I have no idea."

"Does it bother you?" I asked softly, putting my other hand on his.

"A little," he admitted. "Not knowing who he is, or if he's even alive in there. Not knowing why he killed my mom ... yeah. Sometimes I just wish I could talk to him, just once, and ask him why. Why he took my mom from me."

"You wouldn't be after revenge?" asked Dad, just a little cynically. "Because what I hear is that the Empire's really big on revenge and eye-for-an-eye."

"Dad!" I exclaimed, shocked. "Don't say stuff like that!"

"No, no, it's a fair question," Peter assured me. "And while I'm pretty sure that it would feel good to have me, him and a baseball bat in the same room together, I'm also pretty sure that the last ten years in the Birdcage would have done more to him than I ever could. Like I said, I'm not even sure if he's still alive in there."

"That's a very mature outlook, Peter," Dad observed. "I've known grown men who wouldn't measure up as well as that."

Peter smiled at the praise. "Well, I can't entirely claim the credit for that. After Mom died, I was raised by my father and my uncle, mainly. They taught me the value of pragmatism, and how to be self-reliant. How to be strong, and to how important it is to stand up for what you believe in."

His tone shifted as he spoke, so that by the time he was finished, his voice was the only sound that I could hear. His presence, his personality, were almost palpable; I thought I could see the man he would become, someday. Tall and strong and proud; a leader of men. Someone I could stand alongside; someone I could share my life with. Can I? Do I have what it takes?

"Well," Dad commented into the silence that followed. "You've had speech training, I can tell."

Unexpectedly, Peter grinned again, once more a teenager with slightly mussed hair. "Yeah," he agreed. "Uncle Max insisted. It's kind of fun. They seem to think I'm pretty good at it."

"You are," agreed Dad. "I've heard plenty of speeches, and made one or two myself. Ever thought of going into politics?"

"To be honest, sir, I'd prefer to have a job like yours," Peter demurred. "Where you don't have to compromise your morals and your beliefs every time you open your mouth, just to keep one interest group or another happy and voting for you."

Dad opened his mouth, and then closed it again. "Huh. You have a point." He smiled briefly. "Although you might find that it's less rewarding than you imagine. Fighting tooth and nail to ensure that not everything is taken away from the people who trust you to watch out for their well-being, by the people who are supposed to be watching out for yours."

Peter nodded. "I can see that. But what's the point in having a dream if you can't be bothered fighting for it?"

"You're a very dangerous young man."

Dad's comment was unexpected, and I stared at him in consternation. "Dad!"

He may as well have been commenting on the weather, for all the reaction he got from Peter, who tilted his head slightly. "Interesting observation, sir. Why do you say that?"

"Because it's been so pleasant having you over and talking to you that I nearly forgot which organisation you belong to." Dad had a faint smile on his face, his eyes half-closed. "You're young, idealistic, and full of drive. You've undoubtedly been tutored in politics by your elders, and so you have the basic knowledge of how to get to where you want to go, to implement your beliefs. For a member of a white-supremacist organisation, you're not stupid. You're not some jack-booted thug; you're a polite and personable young man, and you've won my daughter's heart through your own merits, not by any fast-talking or trickery."

Slowly, Peter nodded. "All of which is true, sir." He fell silent, apparently awaiting further comment.

Dad swung his gaze on to me. "Taylor, if I thought for even a moment that it would stick, I would forbid you to see Peter. I know it won't. So I'm not going to try."

"Dad, I - "

He raised his hand slightly from the table, spreading the fingers in a 'stop' motion; I stopped talking.

"You don't see what I see, kiddo," he told me quietly. "You don't see the danger in him."

"He's not a danger to me!" I protested.

"Well, no, he's not," he admitted. "Unless I miss my guess, he's going to do his best to keep you just as safe as he can. Aren't you, Peter?"

"Yes, sir." Peter nodded.

"And so." Dad's smile widened a fraction. "Young man, you have a tell. You might want to look into that, for future reference."

I saw Peter's eyes widen very slightly. "May I ask what it is, sir?"

"I'll leave that for you to figure out." Dad turned to me. "Like I said, Peter is not directly dangerous to you. And in fact, given this mess at Winslow, your association with him is probably good – in the short term. But in the long term, the Empire Eighty-Eight has enemies, and will likely make more, and if you associate with them, you might end up in the cross-hairs. Do you really want to risk that?"

My throat was suddenly dry. I realised, somewhat belatedly, what Dad was doing; what he'd been doing for the entire dinner. He's treating me as an adult. Treating Peter as one. Telling us how it is. Not sugar-coating it.

I took a deep breath and faced my father, looking him in the eye. "Dad, this is Brockton Bay. Life is dangerous, here. We're in about the top seven cities in the US for capes per capita, and most of those are supervillains. And if it's not the capes, it's the gangs."

"I know, Taylor, but I -"

Letting go Peter's hand, I made a 'stop' gesture of my own. "Sorry, Dad, but can I finish?"

A nod. "Go ahead."

I hated arguing with Dad like this, but he had to understand my side of things. "I go to a school where the Empire competes with the Merchants and the ABB for turf. The staff are so distracted by the gang problems that people like Sophia and Emma can bully someone like me without anyone ever noticing. You saw what they did to me this time. If Peter and his friends hadn't stepped in, if they'd gotten away with it, what would they have done next? And they aren't even part of a gang." My voice was getting heated; I pulled it back a notch. "Seriously, it's a demonstrated fact that it's safer to be associated with the Empire Eighty-Eight than not!"

"You're right." Dad's voice was calm and measured.

"I – I am?" I blinked. Did I actually just win an argument with Dad?

"Sure. I already told you that right now, your association with Peter is a good thing for you. It's later on that I'm worried about. Peter's charismatic and intelligent, and once he leaves school, unless I miss my guess, he's going to be moving toward a position of some influence." He gave me a meaningful look. "And combine that with his choice of ideologies … "

"You don't know that'll happen." I knew it was feeble as soon as I said it, but I didn't want to even think of reasons for me to split with Peter.

"Taylor." It was Peter. I turned to look at him.

"Yes?" My voice was faint in my ears.

"Your father is right. Being at my side won't necessarily be the safest place in the world." He paused. "But."

"But what?" His hand was warm between mine.

"But the Empire Eighty-Eight always does its best to protect -" He almost said its own, but I saw him change his words mid-sentence. "- those associated with it. And its best is very good indeed. So it will be a place not without risks, but also not without protection." He shrugged, his tone becoming light, easy. "Or we may decide to break up before then. Who can tell?"

I looked at my father. "Dad?"

"As he says, you may break up before then." His tone indicated that he didn't hold much hope out for that particular outcome. "And once you leave school, I can't make you do anything, or stop doing anything, anyway. Just please … don't do anything stupid in the meantime?"

"I wasn't about to," I assured him, then took a deep breath. "There is something that I want to run past you, though."

"Do tell." I didn't miss the fact that he sat up slightly, looked more alert.

Peter shot me a glance; I knew that he knew what I was about to say. His glance said, I hope you know what you're doing.

I squeezed his hand. So do I.

"Uh, well, Peter's invited me to attend a kind of family gathering. And I've kind of agreed to go along."

For a long, long moment after I finished speaking, no-one said a word. A lone fly buzzed through the living room; the clock ticked quietly on the wall. I opened my mouth to fill the silence, to give details, but Peter squeezed my hand warningly, and I shut up again.

"A gathering." Dad's voice was almost contemplative.

"Yes, sir." Peter's was polite.

"And by 'family', I presume that Taylor actually means 'Empire Eighty-Eight'; am I correct?"

"That is correct, sir."

"And what happens at these gatherings, Peter?" I wasn't fooled by the mildness of his tone; I hoped Peter wasn't either.

"It's a party, sir. Usually it's a barbecue, or they roast a pig or something. Kids run around playing games and having fun. Adults stand around with drinks, catching up on what's been going on. There's enough adult supervision for the teenagers to not get into any real trouble, but it's light enough that we can still enjoy ourselves."

"Drinking? Smoking? Drugs?" Dad had caught the one word, and had extrapolated the other two.

"No, sir," Peter responded at once. "It's a kid-friendly environment. No drinking or smoking if you're underage. And the strongest drug that you'll find at a gathering like that would be weed, and only among the adults."

"I find it hard to believe that teenagers of any stripe would not choose to act out, especially when it comes to impressing their peers." Dad's tone was very dry.

"It's about family, sir. Teenagers are seen to be representing their families as much as the adults are. If a teenager screws up in public, makes a spectacle of himself, or gets caught smoking or drinking when he really shouldn't be, then it reflects badly on the family. Someone pulling that crap would likely be banned from further gatherings, and no-one wants that. They're the big social event."

"Hm." Dad rubbed his chin. "So you've told me what happens. Now tell me what really happens at these gatherings."

Peter lifted his chin just a little. "It's a chance for them to look us over, sir. See how we interact with our own peer group, how we do in a social situation. Determine which of us can be brought along, and which are better in a subordinate role."

"And where do you think Taylor will fall in all of that?" asked Dad pointedly.

"Oh, Taylor's not a member, sir," Peter reminded him. "People who are associated, but not members, don't get in on that. For them, for the rank and file, it's just a party, a gathering of like-minded people."

"And you want to go to this gathering, Taylor?"

I was caught on the back foot by Dad's question. "Uh, yes. Yes, I do."

"Why?"

Why indeed. "I, uh, Peter asked me if I wanted to go in December. I didn't really feel up to it. Thought I'd be out of place. But since then, everyone's been helping me out so much. I'd feel like I was snubbing them or something if I didn't go at least once, just to say hi."

Every word was true, and yet I knew I was lying by omission. I hated to hide things from Dad, but there was the simple fact that when I sat down at the table with the Empire guys, they always greeted me, treated me as one of their own. They were nice to me.

I didn't want to lose that.

I didn't want to lose what I had with Peter.

Dad just wouldn't understand.

And so I told him what I wanted him to hear, instead of the total and absolute truth. That I intended to join the Empire Eighty-Eight.

Dad's gaze on me was intent, and I was worried that he would see straight through my feeble subterfuge. But he didn't denounce me, didn't hit me with the third degree, as he had with Peter.

"Well," he mused at last, "it's a fact that no man ever approves of his daughter's taste in boys. And short of pulling you out of school altogether and enrolling you in Arcadia – which I would if I could, don't get me wrong – there's no way I can prevent you two from seeing each other, at school and out of school as well, if you wanted to."

He paused then, a look not unlike pain crossing his face. I had seen it before; he had worn it when faced with an unpalatable dilemma, neither action being one he really wanted to contemplate.

"Sir, I -" began Peter, for once failing to read a situation properly.

"Save it." Dad gave me a measured glance, then looked at Peter. "I've spoken to you before about how I don't like the fact that you're from the Empire Eighty-Eight. This dinner's given me a better chance to get a look at you, and I'm more than ever certain that I don't want my daughter going around with you."

He sighed heavily, unhappily. "Unfortunately, I seem destined to not get my way, these days. Between the fact that you actually represent a measure of safety for her, and my gut feeling that any attempt to split you up would drive you closer together, I'm going to let it lie. I'm not okay with it, but I believe that I can trust you to not let harm come to Taylor. I can trust you with that, right?"

"Yes, sir." Peter nodded earnestly. "You can. You have my word."

"Which I suspect is somewhat better than that of some of the people on the city council," Dad murmured, more to himself than us. "Taylor."

"Yes, Dad?"

"I want you to promise me just one thing."

I waited; he didn't speak. "Yes, Dad?"

A deep sigh. "I want you to promise me that if ever anything starts looking skeevy, if being with Peter ever stops looking fun and starts looking dangerous, if you ever, ever start thinking 'I don't want to be here', that you'll call me. Any time, any place. I'll come get you. I'll even forgo my parental right to tell you 'I told you so'. Just promise me that. Okay?"

I swallowed. Dad's tone sounded almost … desperate. Poor Dad. He thought I was safe at school, until I wasn't. He can't keep me safe, no matter how much he tries. And now, the people who did keep me safe are people he doesn't want me around. Even though I like and trust them.

He really is between a rock and a hard place.

"I will, Dad." My lips were dry; I moistened them. "I promise. If anything like that starts happening, I'll call you, I'll get hold of a phone and call you straight away." I had nearly given away the fact that Peter had already given me a phone. Did he notice?

Apparently not; he nodded. "All right, then. Peter, you're being picked up, yes?"

"Yes, sir. My father's coming around."

Dad nodded. "Good. When he gets here, could you please tell him that I'd like to talk to him?"

Peter's eyes widened slightly. "I – yes, sir. I can do that."

"Good," Dad repeated, and leaned back in his chair. "Well, that was a fairly intense dinnertime topic. Who wants dessert?"

<><>

Dessert had gone down moderately well; the tension hadn't totally dissipated, but it had been reduced considerably. I now knew how Dad felt about Peter, and that he had reached a certain level of acceptance about him.

We sat watching TV; Peter and I held hands, and Dad affected not to notice. A news article came up about the ABB; we discussed it seriously. I noticed that Peter kept his racist terms to a minimum, and gave solid opinions on the Asian gang; their aims, their motivations and their likely moves. A cape had attempted to crash the New York Stock Exchange; he had been detected and stopped with plenty of time to spare, or so the newscaster claimed.

"Electromaster," Dad commented. "I don't know that one."

"Nor do I," admitted Peter. "His name's never come up before."

"Stupid name anyway," I offered.

Peter chuckled and put his arm around my shoulders to give me a quick hug; I leaned into him.

"You're not wrong," he agreed. "There's a certain mentality among new capes sometimes; they get powers, work out a costume, and they're straight out to either take over the world or fix all its problems. What they somehow fail to realise is that we've had capes for thirty years. If someone could do that so easily, someone else would already have done it."

"And you know this how?" asked Dad curiously.

"Well, I don't know this personally," admitted Peter, "but I'm told by those in the know that the Empire capes have to smack down some young upstart every couple of months. Or, you know, someone challenges Lung, and they have to hold a closed-casket funeral."

"Ew, no thanks," I replied with a shudder. I didn't know all that much about Lung, but what I did know was 'do not mess with'.

I looked up at a knock on the door. Peter checked his watch. "That's probably Father," he noted. Getting up from the sofa, he squeezed my hand before letting go, and heading out into the entrance hall. I followed along anyway, with Dad right behind me.

When Peter opened the door, the cold air rolled in. I was pretty sure that the man standing there was his father; they had the same basic look, although Mr Ferguson had a few inches and a couple dozen pounds on Peter.

"Good evening, all," he greeted us past Peter. "I trust my son has been behaving himself?"

"He has indeed," Dad responded. "Danny Hebert."

Peter stepped aside, and his father shook Dad's hand. "Ed Ferguson," he told us. "And you must be Taylor. At the risk of sounding like a cliché, Peter has told me so much about you."

"I'm very pleased to meet you, sir," I replied, holding out my hand. I wasn't even sure where the 'sir' came in, unless it was unconscious mimicry of Peter. He shook my hand carefully, squeezing just hard enough to avoid the impression of a dead fish.

"You too, Taylor. I heard about the incident at school; I'm glad to see that you've recovered from it."

"It could've been a lot worse," I noted. "If Peter hadn't been there ..."

He nodded. "I'm just glad he was. Are you ready to go, Peter?"

Dad coughed, and Peter glanced at him. "Oh, uh, Mr Hebert wants to have a word with you before you go, Father?"

Mr Ferguson looked at Dad with a modicum of curiosity, then nodded. "Certainly. Where shall we talk?"

"Outside will do," Dad replied briefly. "It won't take long."

It was kind of chilly out, being January and all, but for some reason, the temperatures rarely dropped too far, even in winter, and almost never went below freezing at all. Dad stepped out on to the porch and shut the door firmly; I heard his footsteps going down the steps.

"Wonder what they're talking about?" I asked.

Peter grinned slightly. "He's probably asking Father to confirm what I said about the gatherings."

"You did tell the truth, right?" I asked.

"Of course I did," he replied immediately. "I had an idea he'd check."

"Good." I hugged him then, holding him close to me. He put his arms around me, and I felt warm and safe and protected.

I knew I couldn't have it all the time, but even being able to hug Peter sometimes was far better than nothing.

Without prompting, my face lifted to his; his lips met mine in our second kiss. Fireworks failed to go off behind my eyes; the world did not ascend to a higher plane. I just felt … at ease. Complete.

Closing my eyes, I leaned my head against his shoulder. He leaned his head so that it rested in turn upon mine; I felt good. Comfortable. Whole.

We were still holding each other, comfortable in each others' presence, when the door opened once more to let both my father and the winter chill back in.

"Ready to go, Peter?" asked Ed Ferguson once more, from the porch.

"Yes, Father." And Peter squeezed my shoulders one more time, then let me go. Stepped away from me. "Good night, Taylor. I had a really good time."

I smiled at him. "So did I. See you at school?"

"See you at school."

And then he clattered down the steps, and into the night. I wandered out on to the porch, watched them get into the car. Doors closed, and I thought I saw a wave. I waved back anyway; the car started up and drove away. When it was quite out of sight, I went back inside and closed the door.

<><>

Dad was in the kitchen, clearing away the dishes. I went through, to give him a hand.

"So how did the talk go?"

He looked over at me. "It went. I asked questions; he answered to my satisfaction. I'm good with you going to this gathering."

"Good with it?" I put the plug in the sink, started the hot water running.

"Well, not unhappy with it," he amended.

"Well, I'm glad you're letting me do it," I told him sincerely.

"If I told you not to go, would you stay away?" His voice was curious.

I considered that. "Probably. I wouldn't be happy, but I can still see Peter at school. And he already told me that even if I didn't go, he still wants to be my boyfriend."

He shook his head slightly. "Every father lives in fear that his daughter will become smitten with some uncouth lowlife. I suppose having an Empire Eighty-Eight boyfriend isn't as bad as it could be."

"Yeah," I agreed, adding dishwashing detergent. It immediately started to froth. "I could be going out with someone from the ABB. Or the Merchants."

"Merchants, no," he replied. "I suppose that the ABB would be as bad as the Empire, in this instance."

Worse, I thought, but I didn't vocalise it.

I didn't hate Asians, didn't think that they were inferior, but I had seen them watching me sitting with the Empire boys, and I had seen the flat hostility in their faces. They didn't like me, even though they knew nothing about me. They assumed that just because I liked an Empire boy, that I was automatically a racist. I wasn't, but they didn't know about that. Even if they had, they probably wouldn't have cared. To them, I was the enemy.

I didn't want it that way, I didn't like it that way, but it was the way it was. Up until I met Peter, I hadn't had any Asian friends. To be honest, I hadn't had any friends at Winslow, given that Sophia and Emma had scared away anyone who wasn't Greg Veder (who was oblivious) and Sparky (who was semi-conscious at the best of times).

The majority of Asian students in the school, I figured, were either ABB, thinking about joining, or keeping their heads down so they didn't get noticed. However, all of them recognised the Empire Eighty-Eight as their enemy. Which made them see me as the enemy.

I can't help that. Peter and his friends stopped the bullying. None of the Asian students did anything to help me. If they have a problem with me supporting the people who helped me, saved me from the locker, then screw them.

I set to scrubbing plates, my mind busy.

They never raised a hand to help when I needed it. But now that I've gotten help, they want me to ignore the people who gave it to me? They don't get to dictate that shit to me. Fuck them. Fuck them all.

Almost imperceptibly, an epiphany opened up before me.

I would stand by my allies, no matter what. And to hell with anyone who tried to tell me otherwise.

<><>

I sat nervously on the sofa. Not for the first time, I had to restrain myself from jumping up and running into the kitchen to check the time.

"Relax," Dad told me. "You're wearing yourself into a frazzle."

I looked up at him. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one who's going to meet his family."

He chuckled warmly. "I remember the first time I went to meet your mom's parents. We were both so nervous, I thought I was going to throw up."

"Oh god, don't say that." Now I was terrified of throwing up.

"You'll do fine. And here."

"What?" I looked at the thing he was holding out to me. It was a cheap cell phone, almost identical to the one currently residing in my handbag. "Dad, that's a phone."

"Good eye, kiddo. Take it." I did so.

"I'm pretty sure I managed to get the house phone into speed dial. Even if I didn't, you know it, right?"

"I know it," I agreed. "But Dad … you don't agree with cells. Not since ..." Not since Mom died.

He heard what I didn't say. "No. But I think this is a situation where it's necessary. You want to do this, and I don't want to drive you away by trying to stop you. So … if you need to get hold of me, you don't even need to borrow a phone." His eyes were serious. "I know that Peter means well, and his father assured me that the gatherings are harmless. But … this is the Empire Eighty-Eight. You're allowed in, as Peter's guest; I'm not. This frightens me more than anything else."

"And if I call?" I hefted the phone.

"Then I'll come in anyway." He squared what jaw he had. "Call me, and I will come get you. I promise."

"I will, Dad. If I don't like it, I will call. I promise."

The creases on his forehead didn't go away altogether, but they did ease off a little. "That's all I ask, kiddo."

I tucked the phone into my handbag and stood up; he hugged me, and I hugged him back. Dad didn't know the Empire, not like I did. I didn't feel in any danger from them. He couldn't know that; all he knew was what people said about them. But he hadn't set himself against me, just because I was affiliated with them, and for that I loved him.

At that moment, I heard the tyres crunch on gravel at the side of the road, just outside the house. "I think that's him. Do I look all right? Oh god, I look a mess, don't I?"

"You look fine," he assured me. "I do like the fact that you've been wearing brighter colours these days. You're happier, more confident."

This was due to Peter; Dad knew it, and I knew it. My grades were up, and I was actually looking forward to going to school every day. Jenna and I had cruised the Market a couple of times, getting ready for the Gathering; she had picked out clothing that she said suited me. I had worn some of the outfits to school, and Peter's compliments had proved her right.

There was a knock on the door; I broke free from Dad, and almost ran to open it. Peter stood there on the porch; he looked sharp. Dark trousers, black coat over a white button-up shirt; the clothes were ironed, his shoes were polished. His hair was very slightly mussed, in the way that made me want to run my hands through it.

"Wow, Taylor, you look nice," he blurted. "I mean, you always look nice, but wow, you look really nice."

I blushed and shuffled my feet. I hadn't put this much thought into getting dressed since forever. Jenna had picked out the knee-length dark blue dress, and the shoes that went with it. The wrap over my shoulders – it was likely to be chilly, later – was such a dark blue as to almost be black. I had brushed my hair to a shine, after shampooing it extravagantly, and then tied it back with a dark blue ribbon. Makeup was not my thing; I didn't know how to do eyeliner or mascara or the rest of it, so I had just put on a little lip gloss.

"Uh, thanks," I mumbled. "You look … wow, like someone on the front of one of those trendy magazines."

There was that engaging grin again. It sent tingles right down my spine. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Peter." That was Dad, right behind me.

Peter raised his head slightly. "Mr Hebert, hello. How are you today, sir?"

"I'm fine. What time do you expect to have Taylor back by?"

"Eleven sharp, sir," Peter replied promptly. "At the latest. Gatherings tend to start breaking up around ten, ten thirty. It's not an all-nighter."

I caught the motion of Dad's nod out of the corner of my eye. "I'll hold you to that. Have a good time, both of you. And Peter … "

"Yes, sir?"

"Please take care of my daughter."

Peter's nod was definite. "Always, sir."

We trod down the steps and along the path to where the car waited at the side of the road. It was a very nice car; some expensive model, and it looked relatively new. The car Dad and I used to get around in hardly measured up by comparison.

Peter opened the door for me, and I climbed in, settling myself on to an expensive-smelling seat. There were two girls in here already; they looked at me with intense curiosity as Peter closed the door for me. Both of them were younger than me; the one in the middle looked about twelve.

"Hello," the girl on the far side greeted me; she looked and sounded about thirteen or fourteen. "You're Taylor."

"That's me," I agreed. "And you are?"

Peter opened the front door and got in; I pulled my seat belt around me and buckled it in.

"I'm Melissa," the older girl told me, "and this is Helen."

"Well, I'm very pleased to meet you both," I replied. "I hope we'll be friends."

"Of course we'll be friends," Helen responded immediately. "I like your hair."

"Your hair is really nice, too," I told her. And it was; a lighter colour than mine, it had done up into a complicated French braid.

"Peter likes you," Melissa observed brightly.

"Peter likes you a lot!" Helen added, and burst into giggles.

"And so it begins," Peter murmured from the front seat, just loud enough for me to hear.

"Now, now," Mr Ferguson commented from the driver's seat as he started the car. "Play nice, kids. Taylor, how are you?"

"I'm fine, Mr Ferguson." And I was. I had butterflies in my stomach, but that was normal for something like this. I hoped.

As the car pulled away from the curb, I looked back at the house. Dad was still standing in the doorway. I waved; he waved back. And then he was out of sight.

<><>

"Wow," I exclaimed. I sounded like an excited teenager, but there it was. "You rented the Augustus Country Club?"

"Through intermediaries, yes," Mr Ferguson confirmed. "Of course, they don't know the real purpose of the gathering, but then, they don't have to." Leaving the car running, he climbed out, as Peter got out on his side.

Each of them opened one of the back doors, and I let Peter hand me out of the car. Turning, I offered my hands to Helen; giggling, she let me help her out of the car. Peter closed the door and offered each of us an arm; side by side, we strolled into the Club.

I had been to the Augustus Country Club once before, years ago. Alan Barnes had been attending some sort of event, and his wife and older daughter had been unable to attend, so he had offered the spare tickets to Dad and me. That was the first time I had ever seen Dad in a suit and tie, and I had been so overawed, I had barely been able to eat a bite. Emma had had a ball, of course; she had that knack of being able to fit in, five minutes after walking into a place.

This time around, I still didn't feel as though I belonged, but I thought that I could fake it, at least for the night. I smiled at Peter; he smiled back. "Wow," I murmured. "This place."

"Makes you just want to hide in a corner, doesn't it?" he replied perceptively.

"Not you, I bet," I told him.

He grinned. "You'd be surprised. I've come here a few times, and even now, I sometimes feel like I've walked into someone else's party."

I suspected that he was putting on a little bit of an act to put me at my ease. It was working, however; I felt my breathing slow down, and my heart rate ease off.

At the main doors, six large men stood shoulder to shoulder with folded arms, blocking entry. They wore suits and bow-ties, but they would have been classic heavies on any movie set anywhere. The shaven heads and scarred knuckles were just gilding the lily, as it were. Peter marched up to them and stopped.

"Peter Ferguson, Helen Ferguson and Taylor Hebert, guest," he announced.

One of them pulled out some sort of electronic pad, just as Peter's father caught up with us, his other daughter on his arm. "Edward Ferguson and Melissa Ferguson," he stated.

Finger-taps on the screen were announced by tiny electronic beeps, and the heavy nodded. "Ferguson party, yeah," he grunted. "Pins."

By way of answer, Peter and the others pulled out discreet gold pins and attached them to their lapels; I found a silver version of the same pin being offered to me by the heavy. Taking it, I pushed it through my dress so that it showed up plainly. "Uh, thank you," I stammered.

The only reply I got was a grunt as they moved aside to let us through; Peter took my arm and we entered my first ever gathering of the Empire Eighty-Eight.

<><>

My first impression was They look so ordinary!

And they did; nobody was dressed up as a Nazi officer, or offering raised-arm salutes. Nor were any Empire Eighty-Eight capes slinking about in costume. I supposed that such things might just give the game away; even if there were any capes here, they were safely disguised behind evening dress. And even if there were, and others here knew of them, I certainly didn't.

"I thought you said there would be a barbecue or a roast pig," I commented as we crossed the expanse of tiled floor toward the rear palazzo.

"I said that's usually how they do it," Peter reminded me. "This time, we're just going to have to suffer with the all-you-can-eat buffet. And I suspect that roast pork will be on the menu anyway. Father and Uncle Max do like their crackling."

Helen tugged on Peter's other arm. "Can I go play on the computer games?"

I glanced at him. "Computer games?"

""She means arcade games," he told me. "Wait just a moment," he advised her. "We have to make an appearance, be seen to be here. Then you can go and play as you want. Melissa can go with you."

"What if I don't want to?" challenged Melissa.

Mr Ferguson cleared his throat. "Melissa -"

"I want to see my own friends," she pointed out. "It's not like I don't want to spend time with Helen, but I want some time of my own, too. You're always saying how we have to make our connections and contacts."

"I'll go with Helen," I ventured hastily. "I haven't seen the arcade games here. Can you show me how to play them, Helen?"

"Sure!" the girl agreed readily. "That'll be super!"

"And once I've caught up with Tammi, I'll come find you," Melissa added. "Let you have your time with Peter." She grinned at me; I grinned back.

"Sounds like a plan," Peter agreed. "Thanks, Taylor."

"Hey, if I'm going to be a part of this, I might as well do my bit, right? Friend of the Empire and all."

"Yeah, well, offering to babysit my sister is really going above and beyond, that's all I'm saying," he commented. I caught the sly glance he gave Helen; she poked her tongue out at him, then hastily withdrew it as her father cleared his throat.

<><>

While there were people walking back and forth in the main area of the Country Club, all discreetly wearing a pin – mostly gold, a very few silver like mine – more and more people seemed to be congregating out on the palazzo. Wide enough, it seemed, to fit the Winslow gymnasium in it with room to spare, it had a fancy carved stone balustrade that overlooked what I presumed to be the actual golf course over which the Country Club presided. It was, of course, dark by now; I could see nothing but the glare of the overhead lights.

While I could not pick one person out from another, Peter and his father led us to a group of men who seemed to be in serious discussion. Two absolutely gorgeous blonde twenty-something women, who could have been twins and should have been supermodels, stood off to the side at a respectful distance. The men turned as we approached, and one who would have been in his mid-thirties stepped forwards.

"Ed," he greeted Peter's father. "Good to see you. How are you?"

"Reasonable, Max, reasonable," Mr Ferguson replied, shaking his hand firmly. As they shook, I noted a silver pin in the lapel of the man called Max. Uncle Max? No way to tell. "How are things with you?"

Max gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "Things could always be better." He turned to where Peter and I stood. "Ah, Peter, you've brought along the young lady I've been hearing so much about."

"Yes, sir," Peter replied steadily. "Taylor, this is my uncle, Max Anders. Uncle Max, this is my girlfriend, Taylor Hebert."

<><>

Something was slightly off with the situation, and I thought I had it; despite the pin in his lapel, the other men – sporting gold pins all – were deferring to 'Uncle Max'. He's more important than he pretends. Peter's introducing me to the real power in the room.

"I, uh, I'm pleased to meet you, Mr Anders," I offered, holding out my hand.

He took it, then to my surprise, bowed over it and pressed his lips gently to my knuckles. He was very smooth about it, and the courtliness of it simply took my breath away; wow, so this is who Peter learns his manners from. By the time he released my hand, a few seconds later, I realised that my heart was thumping in my chest. Mr Anders was very good at being charming.

"Enchanted to meet you, Miss Hebert," he told me, and despite the cool night air, I felt a flush pass over my face. I mumbled something in reply, and a few moments later, I felt myself being guided away by Peter.

"Wow," I murmured. "Is that what they call 'presence'?"

"He's like that," he replied, amusement in his tone. "Don't feel too bad; I've seen ladies twenty years your senior come over all flustered when he goes full court press like that."

"For a minute there, I thought I was going to faint," I told him honestly. "I've never had anyone kiss my hand before."

"I've seen them do it," he responded seriously. "I mean, this is pretty well the cream of the cream, right here. There's a lot of stress, people trying desperately to not say or do something wrong."

"So who is 'Uncle Max', anyway?" I asked curiously, as he snagged a glass of water from a passing waiter, and handed it to me. "Oh, thanks. I thought he looked familiar. Or maybe the name was."

"Oh, he's no-one really," he replied casually. "Just the CEO of Medhall Corporation, that's all."

I blinked. "Oh. Right. That Max Anders." I stared at Peter. "And you're his nephew? Is he your dad's brother? Because they don't look alike."

"They wouldn't," he agreed. "Mom was Uncle Max's sister."

"Ah." I sipped at my water. "Okay, I feel better now. Shall we go and meet some more people?"

"Sure." He offered his arm; I strolled along beside him, back into the crowd.

<><>

The first person I met was a handsome young man who shook Peter's hand heartily. "Hey, Pete, how's it going?" He turned to me. "You'd be Taylor, right? The girl that nigger cootch was gettin' all up in the grille of?"

It took me a second to realise what he was talking about. "Ah, yeah, that's me. She was giving me a hard time, before Peter stepped in."

"My man." He slapped palms with Peter, then turned back to me. "And I hear you had the pigs take her away after she shut you in your locker with all that shit?"

"That's the one," I agreed. "Kelly, one of Peter's friends, filmed the whole thing."

"Hah!" He offered me a high-five; I took it. While my palm was still stinging, he put out his hand. "Justin's the name. Good to meet another sister, Taylor. You and Pete, you did good."

"Thanks," I told him. "Good to meet you, too." He didn't crunch my hand too badly, but as we walked away, I had to shake the feeling back into it.

Other faces, and other names, came and went. I smiled, and shook hands, and told people that yes, I was glad to be there. And they all seemed genuinely pleased to meet me; Peter was known to them, and it seemed that the exploit with Sophia had well and truly made the rounds.

And in each and every encounter, Peter introduced me as his girlfriend – the ones where the people didn't already know, apparently – and they accepted me as such. Spoke warmly to me. Treated me as though I belonged.

Of course, there was also the racist speech, but I had heard so much of that at the table with the Empire boys at school, that it hardly even bothered me any more. I carefully didn't use those terms myself – Dad would have had a stroke if one slipped out in his presence – but I didn't worry about others using them. It was a small price to pay for acceptance. A very small price indeed.

<><>

A pudgy teenager was leaning on the balustrade, looking out into the night, as Peter and I approached. His clothing was the same evening-casual sported by Peter and most of the other teens there – of whom I had met a few – but on him it somehow managed to seem ill-fitting and out of place.

"Hey, Theo," Peter greeted him. "How's things?"

Theo never even looked around. "Peter."

"Theo," Peter tried again, "I thought I'd introduce my girlfriend to you."

He looked around then, standing up straight. He was shorter than me, and I guessed that he was about a year younger. Oddly enough, he wore neither gold nor silver pin. "Oh. Hi."

"Taylor, this is my cousin Theo Anders. Theo, this is Taylor Hebert."

"Hi, Theo," I ventured, putting my hand out. "I'm pleased to meet you. Are you related to Max Anders?"

"He's my father," he mumbled, ducking his head. Taking my hand, he gave it a quick shake, his hand dragging limply off of mine.

"Oh, okay," I replied. Congratulating him didn't seem to be in order, as he appeared to be somewhat less than pleased at the relationship. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Theo."

"Yeah, same," he muttered, turning almost rudely back to stare out over the balustrade.

After a moment, Peter took my arm, and we began to move away; then we heard Theo speak from behind us. "Peter."

Stopping, we turned. "Yes, Theo?" asked Peter.

Theo gestured toward the main group. "Julie was looking for you. She sounded pissed. Now I know why."

"Julie?" Peter's lips tightened. "Crap."

"What's up?" I asked him. "Who's Julie?"

"Tell you later." He nodded to Theo. "Thanks. I owe you one."

Theo gave a one-shouldered shrug. "You've always been polite to me. No debt." Turning away once more, he resumed his survey of the outer darkness.

<><>

We were a few yards away before I turned to Peter. "Why isn't Theo wearing a pin? And who's Julie?"

Peter sighed. "Theo is Uncle Max's son, sure. But he doesn't want to be here."

"What, at the Country Club?"

Peter shook his head. "No, in the Empire Eighty-Eight. He's known, but if they give him a pin, he just throws it away."

I stared. "But surely if he doesn't want to be in it -"

"Oh, he's not a member," Peter agreed. "But Uncle Max is a big wheel, and so Theo gets to come along as well. He has ideas of toughening up Theo, so that one day he'll take over."

" … Medhall, you mean?" I asked.

"Yeah, Medhall," Peter confirmed. "But crap, I did not know that Julie would be here."

"So who's Julie?" I asked again. From his manner, I was starting to get an answer that I didn't like.

He sighed again. "My ex-girlfriend."

<><>

"Your ex." My voice was flat. "When were you going to tell me that you had an ex-girlfriend in the Empire?"

"Hey, I didn't know she was going to be here." He raised his hands defensively. "I let enough people know you were coming along, so they should have steered her away."

"Unless she got word too, and came along anyway," I pointed out. "Crazy exes tend to do that sort of thing. Or hadn't you heard?"

"Crap," he muttered again, glumly.

I folded my arms. "So how long since you dumped her?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Last September."

"About the time you got transferred to Winslow," I filled in.

"About then, yeah," he agreed.

"And the reasoning behind the breakup?" I was beginning to tap my toe.

"She was too clingy." He drew a deep breath. "Wanted to come around every night, saw every girl I met as a threat. She'd ring me up to talk about homework and somehow that would turn into a three hour conversation about absolutely nothing at all."

"Sounds like love to me," I observed.

"Yeah, well, it was doing my head in," he muttered. "I couldn't turn around but she'd be standing there. Any time I wanted some alone time, some me time, she wasn't happy unless she was right in the middle of it."

"So, in other words, she loved you more than you loved her," I suggested. I was starting to get an idea of what was going on; Peter liked to be the one who set the pace. If someone pushed harder than he was comfortable with, he pushed away.

"Something like that, maybe," he replied. "Anyway, Father wanted me in Winslow, so I used that as an excuse." A ghost of his customary grin crossed his face. "Because I might be just a guy, but I know that no woman wants to hear 'sorry, but I don't want you around any more'."

"Yeah, well." I gave him a level stare. "You do realise that if I find out that you've put in all this work just to recruit me for the Empire, only to dump me once I've joined, I will find you and use your spleen as fish bait, right?"

"Yeah, well, that's not going to happen," he told me. "I like being with you. You're comfortable to be around."

"Yay," I retorted, deadpan. "I'm comfortable. That sounds just great."

"Trust me, it's a lot better than me wanting to find any excuse to get out of your presence," he assured me. "Which I don't. Even if your dad doesn't really like me, I still enjoyed that dinner with the two of you."

"Relax." I leaned my head against his shoulder. "I'm just kidding. But you know what you've got to do now."

"What's that?"

"Go find Julie. Talk to her. Make things right."

His voice was aghast. "What? No. She'll rip me a whole new one."

I stepped back, looked into his eyes. "Peter. You do 'diplomacy' better than anyone I know of. If anyone can talk a crazy ex down from the ledge, you can. And you need to give her that closure."

"I guess I should at least try."

Gently, I shoved at his shoulder. "There is no try, young padawan. Do, or do not."

"Taylor, if you ever doubt that I love you, don't," he grinned. "What you just said is what I needed to hear." He gathered me in and hugged me; we shared the embrace for a moment, then he was moving away from me.

I watched him go; part of me wanted to go with him, to be at his side as he confronted Julie. But, even as unused to romance as I was, I knew that such a situation would only lead to disaster.

What if he gets back with her, if she manages to rekindle the spark?

I pondered that for a second, then shook my head. No. He just now told me that he loves me. Wow, he loves me. The warm feeling from that was still spreading through my chest. I trust him. I have to. If I don't trust him now, I'll never be able to.

"Taylor, there you are! I've been looking for you forever!"

I looked around, and opened my arms as Helen rushed at me. Wrapping my arms around her, I picked her up and spun her in a circle; she giggled as I put her down. "Again!"

"No, I think once is enough for you." Melissa, following behind at a more sedate pace, nodded to me. "Where's Peter?"

"Gone to take care of something," I told her. "You want to go mingle? I can take care of the munchkin."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." She handed me a hundred dollar note. "Dad gave me this, for her tokens. Feel free to play a few games yourself."

"Oh, uh, thanks."

"No problem." She smiled at me. "I appreciate you doing this."

"Hey, it's been a while since I've played arcade games. Let's go do this, Helen."

"Yay!" Helen grabbed my hand, and started dragging me away. "Let's go!"

<><>

I let her pull me along; we went back inside, then off down a side corridor, to a large room, filled with beeping arcade games of all kinds. Helen zeroed in on one with a couple of bright pink machine pistols holstered on either side, and waited impatiently while I figured out how to use the token dispenser. I fed in the hundred, which spat out eighty dollars in twenties, and twenty one-dollar tokens. Tucking the twenties into my bra, I brought the tokens over to the machine.

Others were in here, but the room was large enough that no-one was nearby; I put the tokens on top of the machine, and fed enough in that we were both able to use our plastic guns to blast the bad guys. Helen had a rather daunting enthusiasm for the job, and rattled away on full rock and roll more often than I was comfortable with; after I got the hang of it, I preferred to use short bursts and single shots to get the job done.

All the same, by the time she ran out of enthusiasm for that machine, Helen was ahead on points, but willing to grant me provisional acceptance as being 'all right' for playing arcade games with.

"Okay, Annie Oakley," I chuckled, "which one do you want to play next?"

"I'm Helen, silly, not Annokey," she chided me. "Let's play this one." She pointed at a racing car game.

"Sure, but we're almost out of tokens. I'll get us some more."

"Okay, but don't be too long," she agreed.

I headed back over to the dispenser, pulling the four twenties from my bra. Tucking three back in, I slid the last one into the machine, to be converted to more tokens. As I was awaiting their arrival in the hopper, someone stepped up behind me.

"Almost done," I said over my shoulder.

"You're Taylor, aren't you?" asked an unfamiliar voice. "Taylor Hebert? Peter's girlfriend?"

Half-turning, I smiled. "Yes, I am. Who are you?"

The punch came out of nowhere; striking me on the nose, it sent my head back to smack into the dispenser. Dazed, I sagged, feeling someone gripping my dress, and sensing the fist being drawn back again.

"The name's Julie. Bitch."


End of Part Five

Part Six

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Six: Fight or Flight


My head was spinning, my ears ringing. I would have slumped to the floor, my knees somewhere between jelly and water in consistency, but for her grip on my dress. "Whaa ...?"

"Peter's mine, bitch," she gritted before throwing the next punch, which gave me time to bring my hands up in a vague attempt to fend her off. I caught the blow, sort of, but her punch knocked my hands into my face, so it wasn't a total win. My head whipped around sideways and my glasses came off; even as I tried to catch them, she smashed her fist into my stomach.

Coughing and gagging, I doubled over; she let go of my dress and grabbed my hair, pushing my face down hard. My vision, blurry as it was, cleared just in time for a good view of her knee, coming up fast. All I had time to think was, This is gonna hurt.

But it never connected. Instead, Julie lurched backward, losing her grip on my hair. I stumbled, falling to my knees, wondering muzzily why I was still conscious. A high-pitched shrilling in my ears resolved itself into words. "Leave her alone! Julie, leave her alone!"

Blinking, I stared at Julie. Her blurry form was wrestling with a smaller one; though hampered, she seemed to be picking herself up from the floor. I couldn't see properly, due to having lost my glasses, but I thought it might be Helen who was struggling with her.

"Let go, you little twerp," grunted Julie, pushing Helen away, the child fell heavily on to her backside.

"Don't hurt her!" Helen insisted. "I'll tell Peter! I will!"

"Yeah, like anyone'll believe you, squirt." Julie moved toward me; I had used the respite to get to my feet. I was wobbly, my face hurt, my stomach hurt even more, but I was up.

"Helen, go get Peter," I told the younger girl, gingerly feeling my face; my nose felt like it had swelled to three times its normal size, but I didn't think it was broken. "Go get help."

"Yeah, Helen, run away," Julie told her. "Get lost."

"No!" Helen launched herself gamely at Julie's legs. I didn't see Julie move, but I heard the smack of hand striking flesh. Helen cried out in response.

"Leave her alone!" Almost by instinct, I lunged forward, clumsily tackling Julie; we fell heavily to the ground.

This close up, I could see Julie more clearly. But it didn't help me when she brought her elbow around, striking me in the mouth. I thought I felt a tooth loosen. We rolled over and she ended up on top of me; she was stronger and more adept at fighting, but I wasn't giving up. Wildly, I flailed at her, my knuckles grazing her cheekbone; in return, she punched me again, this time in the eye. Fireworks flashed in my head and I felt woozy all over again.

And then Helen began to shriek. It is possible to get sounds that are louder and more piercing than a girl of that age screaming, but not many. She had good lungs and she was putting her all into it.

"Shut it!" Julie went to get off of me, to grab for Helen. At the same time, I stopped pushing her back and grabbed hold of her. I didn't know what she was going to do to Helen to stop her from spreading the alarm, but I didn't want to find out.

At the same time, I managed to get my knee into her gut; the air went out of her with a gratifying whoosh, but it didn't incapacitate her. It did, however, slow her down long enough for me to pull her close and bring my forehead up sharply into her face. The impact hurt, a lot. I wondered dizzily why I had ever thought head-butting someone might be a good idea.

Helen was still screaming, at a particularly ear-splitting level, as Julie recovered. Using one hand to push both of mine away from my face, she punched me again; this time, I was pretty sure that she'd split my lip. I struggled to free my hands, but she punched me yet again; more fireworks erupted inside my head and my vision narrowed until all I could see was her expression. From all appearances, she had forgotten about Helen and was going to do her best to make me pay for fighting back.

That reminded me of someone, but my head was swimming from the repeated impacts and I lost the connection almost immediately. Besides, I had more immediate concerns. I heaved, trying to throw her off, but she had strength, position and leverage on me; holding me down with one hand, she readied a punch with the other.

And then someone was looming over her, dragging her off of me. I blinked, trying to focus as my brain struggled to add two and two. I could hear someone soothing Helen as Julie struggled and protested; there was a sharp smack and Julie shut up.

"Get her out of here." That was Peter's voice. "I'll see to Taylor." A form knelt beside me and blurry features resolved into his familiar face. "Taylor, talk to me. Are you all right?"

"No." It came out as a whimper and I tried to get control of myself. A hand slid into mine and another under my back, helping my to sit up. One of my eyes was swollen shut, I was pretty sure my nose was broken and I could taste blood in my mouth. The places where she had hit me were no longer discrete points; all were part of the swollen, throbbing whole. "Don't – don't look at me." Knowing that I must look horrific, I tried to turn my face away from his.

"Hey, it's all right. It's not your fault. I'm here now."

His words failed to reassure me; my memory flashed back to Theo, isolated by choice, and Peter's comment that his Uncle Max – more powerful than he seems – was trying to 'toughen him up'. Had this been some sort of setup to toughen me up? If so, I wanted nothing more to do with it. "Peter," I mumbled, trying not to cry. "I wanna go home. Let me go home. Let me call my dad."

"Sure, of course," he agreed at once. "I'll arrange for a car to take you home. I'll go with you, make sure you get there okay."

"Not looking like that, you won't," interjected another voice, feminine. "Come on, help me get her up." I thought I recognised the voice. Was it one of the people who had greeted Peter on the palazzo? "If you go home like this, your dad's going to absolutely freak, and worse, you're going to get blood on your dress. Come on, let me take you to the bathroom and get you cleaned up."

"And then let me go home," I insisted, allowing them to get me to my feet. My head spun and I wobbled but stayed upright, more through their efforts than mine.

"Of course," Peter assured me. "Anything you want. Absolutely anything you want."

"Julie's head on a pike?" I asked, more hopefully than serious.

Peter's voice was deadly serious. "We're already working on that," he told me grimly. "That was unforgivable. But come on, let's get you to the bathroom."

The woman – she was blonde, but I wasn't sure whether the colour was natural or bleached – helped Peter escort me along to the bathroom, but turned him back once they got me to the door. "Peter, honey, you go talk to your dad about what happened. Me and Taylor have got this. Okay?"

He sighed, obviously wanting to help me further. "Okay," he agreed. "Taylor, come see me before you go, okay?"

I nodded; it hurt. "Okay," I mumbled.

He turned and left; the woman helped me into the bathroom, through into where a sofa was set up for nursing mothers. Gratefully, I sat down; the spinning in my head eased a little. She disappeared for a moment, then returned with something in her hands. "First aid kit," she explained; with a click, she opened it and started dabbing at my face with what felt like cotton balls. It stung a little – some sort of antiseptic, I figured – but it also felt good in a weird sort of way, so I didn't pull away.

She was really good at this first aid thing, I concluded; as she worked on my face, I just felt better and better. She was also fairly chatty, but I didn't mind; it took my thoughts off of the fact that I'd just had my ass thoroughly handed to me, by a jealous ex. Not something I ever expected to happen to me.

"So you and Peter have known each other for a while then?" she asked, dabbing at my eyebrow; the cotton ball came away red.

"Yeah, a bit," I agreed, finding to my surprise that I could talk without my mouth hurting. "I kind of got bullied at school, a lot, and one of the girls doing it is black."

"Ah, say no more," she agreed. "So he helped you out, huh?"

"Well, he offered," I admitted. "But I didn't want anything to do with the Empire at first, but then they kept doing it, and he kept offering, so I didn't see a good alternative. And it's been good. It really has. They've had to lay right off me." Honesty made me qualify that. "Well, mostly."

"Mostly?" she asked, getting a new cotton ball and dabbing under my nose. It, too, came away red.

"It was my locker," I began. "They filled it full of crap over the Christmas holidays and then they shoved me in it at the start of term. But Peter and the others were there -"

"I remember that," she interrupted brightly. "They grabbed the girls, and let you out, and called the police, right?"

I nodded; if the others, outside, had heard about it, then it was no surprise that this woman had. "Yeah, that was basically it." With a rueful tone, I went on. "It looks like Peter's having to make quite a habit of rescuing me from psychotic bitches."

That startled a laugh out of her. "You may be right. Though I don't really think he minds. See if you can blink your right eye."

I blinked my right eye; to my surprise, it opened and I could see clearly with it. Well, as clearly as I could see with my left. "Wow, what did you do?"

"Oh, I just cleaned it up a bit," she assured me. "It wasn't as bad as it looked."

I snorted, which brought me to the realisation that my nose was no longer swollen or even sore. "I couldn't even see out of it. What are you using on it? And did you just re-set my nose?"

"I'm just using antiseptic," she assured me, holding up the small bottle close enough that I could see it. "And no, it wasn't broken. I just cleared out the blood that was clogging it. Your nosebleed's stopped, by the way."

"Oh wow, I thought for sure it was broken." Carefully, I probed my teeth with my tongue. None of them were sore or loose. "I thought she hit me harder than that."

"Have you ever been in a fist-fight before?" she asked me, packing away the first-aid kit.

"Uh, no," I admitted. "I've been slapped and pushed around a bit, but never actually held down and punched." Gingerly, I touched the back of my head. No swelling, no pain.

"Well then." She disposed of the used cotton balls in the trash can. "There you go. Being punched for the first time can be a shocking experience and can feel much worse than it really is."

"Oh, right." There had to be something wrong with her statement, but she was so cheerfully positive about it, and the evidence was right there, that I decided to provisionally accept it. "Uh, my glasses -"

"Last I saw, Melissa was holding on to them for you. How do you feel?"

"I … I actually feel really good," I told her. "I mean, wow. I just got beaten up and now I feel like it never even happened."

"That's the spirit," she encouraged me. "Go wash your face and I'll see where the girls have gotten to."

"Thanks," I told her and headed for the basins. Just before I got there, I turned back, realising that I hadn't even gotten her name. "I really appreciate it, uh … ?"

Too late; the outer door swung shut behind her, leaving me alone. Bemusedly, I went to the basin and washed my face as instructed; leaning close so that I could see myself in the mirror, I frowned. There were no bruises, even around my eyes, although I had been punched repeatedly in the face. My lips weren't split, my mouth not even swollen, even though I had tasted the blood, not to mention swallowed some of it. Experimentally, I touched my nose, wiggled it from side to side. It wasn't even tender. There was a little blood around my nostrils, but paper towels got that out and they were clean afterward.

Frowning, I pulled the ribbon from my hair – I had not lost it, although my hair wasn't exactly neat any more – and re-tied it. There were no tell-tale spots on my dress, except from water, and that would dry out. I really had come through without a mark.

Which, I decided as I headed for the door, was rather suspicious. Did I Trigger with a regeneration power?

Opening the outer door, I came face to face with Peter's sisters; Melissa, as promised, held my glasses, while Helen bore my handbag. Both looked at me anxiously.

"Are you all right, Taylor?" asked Helen. "She was hitting you really hard."

Which only bore out my suspicions as to the fact that something weird was going on. "Yes, sweetie, I am," I told her, leaning down and hugging her. "And you're really brave. You could have gotten hurt, jumping in like that. Are you all right?"

"I'm okay," she assured me, hugging me in return. "I'm just glad that you're okay. Julie shouldn't'a done that."

"Here, I found your glasses." Melissa offered them to me.

"Thanks." I took them and put them on, and only then noticed the fading mark on Helen's face. "Is that where Julie hit you?"

"Yeah." She rubbed it self-consciously. "Peter says it'll go away pretty soon. He told me that he's gonna take me down to the Boardwalk on my birthday and buy me all the ice-cream I can eat."

I smiled. "You've earned it, munchkin." Taking her hand, I turned to Melissa. "Do you know where Peter is?"

"Oh, you're going?" The disappointment was clear in the older girl's face.

"Don't go, please?" Helen's expression echoed it.

"I ..." My earlier determination was fading; between my miraculous recovery from Julie's beating and the concern shown me by the girls, I was rethinking my initial desire to go home and hide under the covers. "I don't know yet. Peter?"

Melissa nodded. "He's with Father. Come on." She led the way; I followed with Helen at my side.

As we did, Helen handed me my handbag. "Here you go, Taylor."

"Thanks, munchkin." I slung it over my shoulder. "Uh, the lady who came out of the bathroom just before me. Do you know who she was?"

"Uh -" Helen began to speak, but Melissa cut in ahead of her. "Just some lady. We've seen her around sometimes, but we don't know her name."

"Uh, yeah," agreed Helen, catching on somewhat belatedly. "We don't know her at all."

Which to me shouted out that they knew something about her, but that they had been enjoined most carefully to not speak of the matter. Was she a cape? Did she heal me?

If she had, she'd done it most subtly; I hadn't even noticed her doing it. Does the Empire even have a cape who can heal? I seemed to recall that regeneration was one of the powers that … Othala. Was that Othala?

In any case, the point was moot; I was healed, and Othala – if it really was her – obviously didn't want a big deal made of it. Though I resolved to keep an eye out for her, if she hadn't left already, so that I could thank her again. Which in turn made me wonder again how important Peter was and how important that made me, given that she'd risked outing herself by using her power on me.

I was pretty sure that we both knew that the risk of that happening was essentially zero; I wouldn't unmask her, even if I knew her real name. She had offered to help me entirely selflessly and had turned the night from utter disaster back into something fairly good. Although I wanted to see Peter before I went any farther with that line of thought.

"Just here," Melissa told me, breaking into my musings. She pointed at a door marked 'Conference Room 1'. Standing outside it was one of the security guys who had been out at the front, earlier. "Peter said he'd be in there."

"Okay, thanks," I told her. "Oh, here." Pulling the three twenties from my bra, I handed them to her. "The rest of the change. There should be tokens in the vending machine."

"Oh, thanks," she replied. "Come on, Helen. Let's go play arcade."

"Okay. Bye, Taylor." Helen hugged me again, then took Melissa's hand; they moved off together.

Turning, I approached the security guy; he watched me come, his face showing no sign of his emotions.

"Uh, hi." I took a deep breath. "Is Peter Ferguson in there? I need to speak with him."

This close, I was almost certain I could hear raised voices within. Raised angry voices. Is Peter in trouble with his father over me?

"Name?" he asked. It was almost a grunt.

"Taylor," I told him. "Taylor Hebert." Here it comes. He's going to tell me to get lost.

To my surprise, he nodded. "You can go in." Stepping aside, he knocked once on the door, then opened it.

<><>​

As I entered, I saw that there were four people in the room; Peter, his father, Julie, and a man whom I had not yet met. Julie was seated in a chair, while the other three were standing on either side of her. All four turned to look as I entered; the door clicked shut behind me. I desperately wanted to find out what was going on, but right then I only had eyes for Peter, who was coming to meet me.

"Taylor," he murmured as he reached me. "Are you all right?" Cupping my cheek in his hand – and how good did that feel – he looked over my face.

"I'm fine, now," I informed him in similarly low tones. "As you well knew."

He smiled in response to my comment; oh yeah, you know what I'm talking about. "Yes, but it's still good to see. It's good to see you."

"Flatterer," I replied with a smile and rewarded him with a decorous kiss on the cheek before sliding my arm through his. "So what's happening?"

"We're just deciding what to do with Julie." Turning, he walked with me back to the small group.

As we approached, I saw Julie's eyes searching my face for the damage she had done me; as she registered that there was none to see, her eyes grew wider and wider. I saw her lips moving involuntarily; it wasn't hard to read the words no fucking way.

For her part, she was looking somewhat the worse for wear from our little scuffle. There was a bruise coming up on her cheekbone and another around her left eye, her hair was disarranged, and I was pretty sure that her lip was starting to swell. I wasn't quite sure how much of that I was responsible for, but I felt a fierce glee at the clear indication that she had not come out of it unscathed.

"Taylor." Ed Ferguson turned to look at me as we approached. One eyebrow raised slightly and he continued, "You're looking well."

"Uh yes, sir," I agreed readily. "I got cleaned up in the bathroom. It turns out that Julie hits like a powder-puff."

Beside me, Peter choked on what sounded like an aborted laugh and even Mr Ferguson hid a smile. "I … see," he noted, giving me a very slight nod. He knows that I'm covering for Othala and he approves. Good.

The look on Julie's face, on the other hand, was almost worth the whole ordeal; she turned white and then red by turns, with such a look of baffled fury that I nearly burst out laughing myself. The other man, staring at me in puzzlement, frowned heavily. "What is this, Ed?" he demanded. "I was told that my daughter attacked your son's girlfriend without provocation and hurt her badly. And now the girl has no marks at all upon her, while Julie here is the one who has been battered."

Her father. Right. I was beginning to wonder if having Othala heal me was the best option after all, especially if it gave her father the chance to accuse me of attacking her.

Ed Ferguson turned to him. "Joe," he stated, "there's something you need to know." Stepping forward, past where Julia sat in the chair staring at me, he took the other man by the upper arm. They moved away into the corner of the room. I shared a glance with Peter; we both knew exactly what was going to be said in the privacy of that corner.

Julie, it was obvious, did not. "How the fuck?" she hissed. "I beat you bloody, you skinny cow!"

I opened my mouth to reply; Peter squeezed my hand briefly and I closed it again. "If I were you," he told her warningly, "I would worry less about what you think happened and more about what's going to happen. You attacked Taylor and you struck Helen. Either one would be bad enough on its own, but you had to compound your mistake and do both." He would have said more, but his father and hers were returning from the corner; from her father's expression, I figured that he'd been clued in about Othala. Julie, I presumed, was to be kept in the dark.

"Well then," Ed Ferguson observed, as if carrying on a previous conversation. "Now that Taylor's here, we can get down to brass tacks. Taylor, you're the injured party here. You get first voice in Julie's punishment. What do you say?"

"What, really?" Julie's astonishment was clear for me to see. She'd been ready, I suspected, to be given her punishment in front of me, but Mr Ferguson's words came as just as much a surprise to me as to her.

"Yes." Mr Ferguson's voice was flat, hard. "Really. Unless you want us to take this further up the chain."

Julie's expression indicated that no, she didn't want to take it 'up the chain', whatever that meant. But nor was she thrilled about me being given first option on her punishment. Of course, I wasn't so sure about it either.

"Uh, may I just confer with Peter for a second, please?" I asked.

Mr Ferguson nodded. "Certainly."

I moved away into the same corner as Mr Ferguson had spoken to Julie's dad and turned to Peter. Keeping my voice down, I murmured, "Okay, what's expected of me here?"

"Exactly what Father said," he told me. "You designate a punishment and it will be carried out."

"But there's limits, surely," I replied, a little desperately. "I mean, not death or something like that."

"Of course not," he agreed. "Nothing that will cause lasting harm. But if you wanted to, say, have her caned or something, that could easily be done."

I blinked; the mental image of Julie yelping under the impact of a cane was somewhat compelling. "What would you do if it had been you?"

"Oh," he replied readily, "I would demand physical satisfaction. One on one in the ring. Beat the tar out of them."

"Oh," I responded glumly. "That's out, then. She'd cream me."

"You can always nominate a representative," he noted. "Such as me. Or maybe Jenna. I know she could smack Julie into next week."

"You'd beat up your ex for me?" I stared at him. "You'd do that?" I didn't bother asking about Jenna; she and I got along pretty well.

"In a heartbeat," he confirmed. "Especially after what she did to you and to Helen."

It was so very, very tempting. But I didn't want to seem to be hiding behind anyone else, making them do my dirty work for me. "What about that thing you said earlier, being banned from the Gatherings? Would that fit?"

"Well, sure," he agreed. "But if you do that, you can't apply any corporal punishment. Are you sure you want to go there?"

"I'm sure," I told him. "Okay, let's go."

We strolled back to where Julie sat with the two men; I nodded to Mr Ferguson. "Have you reached a decision yet?" he asked.

"Yes, sir." I hope this is acceptable. "I request that Julie be banned from further Gatherings," I told him, then paused.

He cleared his throat. "You're going to have to nominate a time limit. One with a finite span. 'Until Hell freezes over' has already been tried at least once and has been judged to be not a viable limitation."

"Understood, sir," I assured him. "The ban should cover at least one Gathering – that is, the next one – and, after that, ends when one of two things happens. The first is that I meet Julia at a place and time of my choosing and beat the living crap out of her." I took a deep breath. "The second is that she gets down on hands and knees and grovels to me and to Helen in front of Peter, and poses for photos while doing it. She's got to sincerely apologise to both of us for attacking me and hitting Helen and also acknowledge that Peter is my boyfriend and that she has no claim on him."

"Grovel? To you?" Julie's voice was strangled with rage. "Like hell I will!" She swung around to Mr Ferguson. "She's not even a member. Where does she get off -"

"Julie." Her father's voice cut through the tirade. "Be quiet."

Her eyes opened wide, but not as wide as her mouth. "But, Dad -"

"I said quiet." She fell silent then, staring at him. He turned to Mr Ferguson. "Ed?"

"I think it's a fair punishment," Peter's father decided, rubbing his chin. "Peter?"

My boyfriend nodded. "Tough but fair. I like it."

"Good to hear. Joe?"

"Sure, if you say so." Julie's father eyed me. "You've got a mean streak, young lady."

"Your daughter punched me in the face for no good reason," I told him, keeping my voice level. "She's got to learn not to do that."

"She was distraught," he protested. "Peter had split up with her and then she found that he was going to be here with his new girlfriend -"

"I'm kind of distraught too," I pointed out. "I got attacked out of the blue. She didn't approach me, she didn't talk to me, she didn't try to get me to dump Peter. Just boom, fist to the face. So yeah, I want to make sure that never happens again."

"She's got you there, Joe," Mr Ferguson decided. "I agree with the punishment. Unless you want to take it further, it's settled."

Reluctantly, Julie's father nodded. "Okay, fine. We'll do it your way."

"Good." Mr Ferguson turned to me. "Is that to your liking?"

"I – uh – yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

A wintry smile. "You're very welcome. Did you still want to leave?"

Leave? When Peter's right here? Hell no. I hugged my boyfriend's arm closer to my side. "Uh, no, sir. I guess I did at first, but then I changed my mind." Just to make it certain, I added, "I want to stay, sir."

"Good." He inclined his head toward Peter. "You two can go now. Enjoy the Gathering. I've got this."

"Thank you, Father." Peter turned toward the door; I followed.

As we escaped down the corridor toward the noise of revelry, I turned to him. "What's going to happen now?"

He didn't even need to think about it. "Oh, her father will be reprimanded and she'll be officially banned from attending Gatherings until one thing or another is sorted out. In fact, she's going to be escorted from the premises and sent home immediately." He gave me a serious look. "The Empire Eighty-Eight is all about supporting each other against those who would tear us down. When she attacked you like that, she went directly against everything that we stand for."

"Even though I'm not a member?" I asked, recalling her comment.

"Well no, but you're a proven friend of the Empire and you're my girlfriend, which kind of counts for a bit as well."

"Oh. Wow." I thought about that for a moment. "Your family's pretty high up in the Empire, isn't it?"

"We're somewhere up there, yes." He eyed me with interest. "What are you getting at?"

"She wanted you more for your family than for you," I concluded. "I mean, apart from the fact that you're devastatingly handsome and charming as hell."

"Quite apart from that, yes," he agreed, sounding amused.

"But you already knew that, didn't you? That she wanted to marry you because of who your father is." I paused, then daringly added, "And because of who your uncle is."

It was his turn to pause. "What do you know about who my uncle is?" he asked, the bantering tone gone from his voice.

"I know he's someone really important in the Empire," I replied. "He's someone that people listen to. People with gold pins, while he wears a silver pin." Something occurred to me and I asked, "Or is it really silver? Platinum, maybe?"

"Well well," he murmured. "Well, well, well. I should know not to be surprised by you, Taylor, but you just keep managing it. Yes, some of the silver pins are really platinum. And yes, some people at this party are more important than they seem at first glance." His eyes searched mine. "You know why it's a good idea to leave it at that, right?"

"Oh, heck yes," I agreed. "I just wanted to know. It just didn't make sense, otherwise." I gave him a half-shrug. "That lady who helped me clean up in the bathroom; she was wearing a platinum pin, wasn't she?"

"Yes, she was," he confirmed. "And I'm not going to ask if you know who she really was."

"Good. Because I'm not going to tell you." I grinned at him. "See, I can keep secrets."

He smiled back at me; I felt weak in the knees once more, but in a good way this time. "Yes, you can."

<><>​

We emerged into the party once more and almost immediately I spotted a friendly face. "Jenna!" I exclaimed, breaking free of Peter to go to her.

"Taylor!" she replied, with equal delight. We hugged, careful of one another's dresses and traded kisses on the cheek.

"It's good to see you," I told her sincerely. "I didn't know if you were coming today."

"I was a bit delayed, is all." She waved it off. "Well, I'm here, now. What did I miss?"

Peter and I shared a glance, which Jenna caught on to immediately. "Ooh, ooh,what happened? Tell me, tell me now."

So I related the story, which she followed with bright-eyed interest. "That bitch," she muttered, once I got to the part where Peter pulled her off of me. "I'm gonna go find her and kick her ass so hard -"

"Don't bother," interjected Peter and he then told her the rest of the story, including the punishment I'd had passed on Julie.

"Hah!" Jenna put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed; my ribs creaked. "I knew there was a reason I liked you and not just because you and Peter make such an adorable couple." The startled look on Peter's face made me giggle. "Well, you do," Jenna insisted.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Just don't say that where Father can hear it. I'd never hear the end of it."

Jenna and I chuckled in unison. "Really?" she asked.

"Oh god," he muttered. "Now you sound positively evil."

Taking pity, I leaned into him. "Leave him be, Jenna," I told her. "He did get Julie off of me. I think he's definitely earned a break."

She nodded consideringly. "I can go with that," she agreed, then looked around as an announcement came over the PA system. "Oh, good. The buffet's open. I knew we got here just in time."

"It's not all about the food here, is it?" I asked, as we were swept along with the crowd, back into the building.

"Oh, you have no idea," she assured me.

<><>​

"So, Taylor, how are you enjoying the Gathering so far?"

I looked around guiltily, after ladling one more dollop than I really needed of that delicious gravy on to my plate. Standing there, plate in hand, was none other than Peter's uncle Max. Max Anders, CEO of Medhall Corporation and, if my intuition was correct, something more again. I noted in passing that yes, he had loaded up on the crackling.

"I – I'm enjoying it quite well, thank you," I stammered. Honesty compelled me to add, "Well, mostly."

He nodded briefly. "Yes. I had heard of that. It was all resolved to your satisfaction?" It wasn't really a question. He knew the answer already; he just wanted me to say it.

I was beyond surprise where this man was concerned. "Yes, sir. Very much so. Please thank the lady for me, the one who cleaned me up."

"Indeed I will." His gaze searched my eyes, then he nodded once. He knows, I realised. He knows I know.

To venture any deeper into that conversational minefield invited embarrassment or worse; I didn't know how much I was supposed to know and I didn't want him thinking I knew more than I really did, in case it backlashed on me. "So, uh, so Peter's your nephew, huh?"

"Yes, he is," he agreed. "My sister's son." Nothing that I hadn't already known. "He thinks quite a lot of you." My cheeks heated slightly, but I'd been pretty sure of that too.

"Oh, uh, I think a lot of him too," I blurted.

He smiled very slightly. "Good. I trust his judgement."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me somewhat stunned. Did I just get a compliment from Max Anders … whoever he really is?

I was too young to drink – not that alcohol was available to those of us at the junior table – but I was still a little light-headed when I got back to my seat. Peter was sitting on one side of me and Jenna on the other, with several of Peter's other friends from Winslow up and down the table. Helen waved from her seat; I waved back.

"I saw you talking to Uncle Max," Peter observed. "Do I need to be worried?" His tone was light, unconcerned.

"Not really." I related the conversation, as short as it was.

At the end of it, Peter blinked. "Wow. Uncle Max must like you."

"Yeah, I kinda got that." I shook my head. "I feel kinda like Alexandria just dropped down out of the sky, shook my hand and told me that I was doing a great job and to keep it up."

"And left you wondering exactly what you'd done right and if you needed to do something more?" he guessed.

"Exactly," I admitted. "It feels great to get a compliment, but I get the feeling he never gives them out without a really good reason."

He smiled wryly. "You're on the money there. In any case, Dad likes you and Helen thinks you're cool and Melissa's already told me she thinks you're a keeper -"

"Peter!" I protested, my cheeks heating again.

"Well, it's true," he pointed out reasonably. I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to ask whether he meant that Melissa had really said it, or that what she had said was true. Either way, I would probably get more embarrassed than I already was, which I really didn't need.

"Can we change the subject, please?" I begged.

"Sure," agreed Jenna readily enough. "I'm having a problem with my computer homework. I can't get that stupid Visual Basic to work right."

Now, this was something I could handle without blushing. "What are you trying to do?" I asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Mrs Knott wants us to create a calendar that updates … "

I listened and nodded and gave advice. The dinner went on.

<><>​

"So, I hope you didn't let Julie spoil the night for you?"

Peter and I were standing out on the palazzo, near the rail. Only a few people were out here as well, but none of them were anywhere near us. Soft music drifted over us, played from hidden speakers.

"Julie who?" I asked rhetorically.

"Ah." He smiled. "That's good."

The night's chill was drifting down over us; I pulled my wrap closer over my shoulders.

"You're cold," he stated. "Should we go in?"

"No, not yet," I murmured and pulled him closer. "Do you dance?"

"Some," he admitted. "Do you?"

"A little." I put my hand up on his shoulder. He put one hand on my lower back and took my hand with the other. Slowly, we began to move, back and forth, with the music. It probably wasn't the best music to dance to and I wasn't the best of dancers, but with Peter to guide me, we seemed to float across the flagstones.

In time, I moved closer to him and we stopped dancing so much as moving from side to side slowly. I had my head on his shoulder and he had both arms around me.

"I had a really good time tonight, Peter," I told him softly. "Thank you for inviting me."

"Thank you for accepting," he replied. I raised my face to his and he kissed me. It was as soft and gentle as his hold on me and left me floating on a cloud.

We were still standing on that spot, holding one another and swaying gently to the music, when Melissa came to fetch us with the news that it was time to go.

<><>​

"Well, I had a good time tonight," declared Helen. "Except for Julie, who's a big meany. I hope you're all right, Taylor?"

"Yes, munchkin, I'm all right," I told her fondly. "Thanks to you." I turned to address Peter, in the front seat. "I understand that you're going to take her to the Boardwalk on her birthday and stuff her full of ice cream?"

"All she can eat," Peter confirmed cheerfully. "Why, do you have a better idea?"

"Not really," I told him. "I was just thinking, I might come along, if that's okay with the two of you?"

"Hmm," Peter replied, pretending to consider the matter. "Helen?"

"Yeah!" Helen bounced in her seat. "I like Taylor!"

"Good, then it's settled," Peter decided. "We'll both come along and buy you birthday ice cream."

"Yay!" Helen exclaimed. "My birthday's gonna be the awesomest!"

"Well, you've earned it," I told her sincerely. "I think she would've done worse, and gotten away with it, if you hadn't been there."

"You mean, she would've gotten away with it if it wasn't for that meddling kid?" asked Peter.

He sounded so serious that it took a moment for me to get it. Melissa groaned out loud. "Peter, that was awful!" Helen took a more direct stance; she leaned forward and punched Peter on the shoulder.

"Now, now, kids," Mr Ferguson told them mildly. "This is your house isn't it, Taylor?"

"Yes, sir," I agreed. "Thank you again for the lift." Sharing a quick hug with Helen, I gave Melissa a nod, then got out of the car. "I'll see you guys later."

Peter buzzed his window down and I leaned in to give him a quick peck on the lips. Fourth kiss. Wow. We're on a roll, here. Mr Ferguson ostentatiously looked out of his window, Melissa pretended not to notice and Helen giggled loudly.

"Bye," I told them – but mainly Peter – and stepped away from the car. I headed along the front path and up the steps to the door; as I reached it, it clicked as Dad unlocked it from the inside. Only then, as the door opened, did the car pull away from the curb.

"Hi, Dad," I greeted him; as I stepped into the house, I noted that the TV was on, the sound turned down low. He'd been waiting up for me.

"Taylor." His tone seemed split between relief that I was home and curiosity about how it had gone. "Did you have a good night?"

"Well …" I hesitated for half a second. I got beaten up by my boyfriend's ex, then healed by a supervillain. Yeah, no, let's leave that bit out. "Yeah. I met some interesting people and the buffet was really good. And I danced a bit, too. And I met Peter's younger sisters. They're really sweet."

"Oh. Good." He seemed a little taken aback at the normality of what I was describing to him. "Well, I'm glad you had a good time. Do you think you'll be going to more of these Gatherings?"

"Yeah, I think so." I know so, if I'm going to be joining. "It was fun." That bit, at least, was true, for the most part.

"Well … good, I guess." He paused, seemingly at a loss.

Taking pity, I gave him a hug. He returned it. "I did have a good time, Dad. Thanks for letting me go. But it's kinda late and I'm kinda tired."

"Okay then. Good night, Taylor."

"Good night, Dad."

That night, I dreamed of Peter.

<><>​

One Week Later
Winslow High School

Collecting my books from my new locker – I had categorically refused to use the old one again, however much they cleaned and fumigated it – I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed for class. Things had eased off tremendously since Sophia and Emma had been caught for the locker incident; I hadn't seen Sophia around at all, Madison had made a practice of avoiding me and Emma stared defiantly whenever we passed each other, but never spoke.

As a result, my bodyguards had eased off on their protectiveness; I still saw them and spoke to them in the halls, but they didn't dog my every step. Paradoxically, this made me feel better, not worse; I was no longer in need of protection from bullying. My life was looking up.

Humming a tune to myself, I had just turned a corner when my world suddenly went dark. Some kind of cloth bag, smelling vaguely of vegetables, had been yanked down over my head from behind. Arms wrapped around me from behind, trapping my arms at my side. I yelped in protest, but the thick cloth muffled it. Struggling didn't help; whoever it was had a stronger grip than I could wriggle out of.

Before I could really start to worry about what was going to happen next, I was shoved off balance, my arms released, then someone tripped me. I fell, flailing my hands wildly to protect myself. One hand hit something solid and angular; I caromed off, landing with my other hand on the floor. Coming to rest, sitting on the floor, I reached up and yanked the bag off my head. I was in a classroom. Alone, even. Okay, what the hell's going on here?

Picking myself up and retrieving my backpack, I headed for the door. The handle clicked, but the door didn't open. I was locked in. All right, this isn't good.

Pulling my phone out, I sent off a quick text. Locked in classroom … I checked the door. … 173. Great going, guys.

A text came back immediately. On the way.

Less than ninety seconds later, someone rattled on the outside handle. "Hey!" I called. "In here!"

"Yeah, I know," Peter replied from outside. "The door's locked. Someone used a key."

"Yeah, I got that," I told him dryly.

"Okay, give me a second. Stand back from the door."

I stood back. There was an impact on the door, then a second one. This time, a crunch heralded part of the door frame giving way. The door opened.

"You okay?" he asked me, stepping inside and putting his hands on my shoulders.

"Yeah, sure," I told him. "Whoever it was just put this bag over my head, shoved me in here and locked me in. Where were the guys?"

He grimaced. "Not sure. I'll have to check. Sorry about this."

"Nah, it's fine." I kissed him on the cheek. "No harm done. They probably wanted me to stew for the period and get in trouble for missing class."

"Yeah, you're probably right." He squeezed my hand and led me from the classroom. "I'll walk you to class. Make sure nothing else happens."

I smiled up at him. "I'd like that."

<><>​

We got to math class without further incident; Peter departed, tapping on his phone as he went. I wondered where the boys had gotten to, but put it from my mind. They could take care of themselves and there'd been no harm done.

Or so I thought, until halfway through the period, when the geriatric PA system burbled into action. "Taylor Hebert … please report to the principal's office … Taylor Hebert … please report to the principal's office …"

Frowning, I looked up. Mr Quinlan stared over at me. "I suppose you'd better go, Miss Hebert."

"I guess so," I admitted. Standing up, I slung my backpack over my shoulder.

As I left the classroom, I heard running feet; looking around warily, I spotted Kelly, heading in my direction.

"What's the matter?" I asked, as he slowed to a halt next to me. "And where were you guys earlier?"

"We got decoyed away," he confessed, sounding angry and upset. "Peter thinks it's an ABB thing, to prove they could have taken you away without any of us being able to stop them. Fuck with our heads, you know?"

"God, what is this?" I threw up my hands. "Politics? I don't want that! I don't hate the ABB. I just wish they'd leave me alone."

"Yeah, well, it's a thing," he noted. "Anyway, I'm here to walk you to the office, just in case that's some kind of trick too."

"Thanks." I smiled at him. "I appreciate it."

He rolled his eyes. "Peter'd have my balls if anything else happened to you today."

"Well, let's just make sure it doesn't, all right?" I set off down the hallway, with Kelly beside me.

<><>​

When I entered the office, I saw two boys and a crying girl in front of Principal Blackwell's desk. The first thing I noticed was that all three were Asian; the second was that the girl had a bruised face, a split lip and a bloody nose. Distracted by the reminder of what had happened during the Gathering, I tried to make sense of the scene before me.

"Uh … you wanted me, Principal Blackwell?" I ventured.

"Yes." Her tone was forbidding. "Come on in and close the door."

Frowning, I did so. "What's going on?" I asked. "Why did you call me here?"

Her answer was direct, to the point, and made no sense whatsoever. "Because these three say that you beat up this girl just before this period started and stole her purse."

I blinked. "I … what?"

One of the boys pointed at me. "She did it," he told Blackwell. "She was the one. She beat up Jill pretty bad and took her money."

As he spoke, the other boy was nodding. "We saw it happen, but her Empire friends stopped us from interfering."

Blackwell wasn't looking happy. "Jill. Is that what happened?"

Hesitantly, Jill nodded. "She grabbed me and shoved me into a classroom and beat me up," she claimed. "Then she took my purse. My friends tried to help me, but Empire Eighty-Eight skinheads held them and stopped them. Then they locked me in the classroom and my friends had to break the door open to let me out."

"Wait, no, no, that didn't happen," I stated flatly. "I was the one shoved into a classroom. This girl wasn't there at all." I took a step closer; the girl shrank back from me, raising her hands defensively. "Tell her. Tell her the truth!"

"Don't come any closer, Miss Hebert," Blackwell warned me. "You say you were shoved into a classroom? Were you beaten up?"

"No," I told her. "Just locked into the classroom. I called my boyfriend and he came and got me out."

"Was anyone else there to see you? Any witnesses?"

I hesitated. "Uh, no. There was a bag, that they shoved over my head, so I never saw who did it."

"Hm." She paused. "Which classroom was this?"

"One-seven-three. Why?"

"That's the one you beat me up in!" Jill shouted.

Fuck, this is a setup. I castigated myself for not seeing it earlier. Wait a minute.

"I texted my boyfriend to get me out," I told Blackwell. "He replied. Here, I'll show you."

Stepping around the cringing Jill and her scowling friends, I pulled up the texts in question and showed them to the principal.

"The times are about right," she noted. "But those could have been simply made to cover your tracks …"

"Or they could be genuine and all of this could be a huge set-up," I retorted. "Shove me into a classroom, then claim that I beat someone else up in the same classroom."

"I somehow doubt that they would beat up a friend of theirs just to get you in trouble," Blackwell replied, but I could tell that she was starting to see my side of things.

"What about my money?" demanded Jill. "My purse! She took it!"

"Like hell I did," I snapped. "I haven't got your purse." I slapped my pockets, pulling out my phone, as well as my own purse. "See?"

"In her backpack." One of the boys pointed. "She put it in her backpack."

Oh shit. A cold feeling started creeping over me, as I realised that I may just have been outmanoeuvred. But it was too late; Blackwell gestured to me. "Pass your pack over here, please."

Reluctantly, I passed it over. "If it's in there," I told her rapidly, "it was planted when I was shoved into the classroom. You've got to believe me."

She didn't reply, quickly and efficiently, she lifted the books and pencil-case out, then held the pack upside down. Nothing fell out. Unzipping the case, she checked inside; again, nothing but pens and pencils. But then she looked at the side pockets. One was flat, empty. The other was bulging. Opening the flap, she reached in … and came out with a fancy pink purse.

"Jill, is this your purse?" She hardly had to ask the question.

The Asian girl's eyes lit up and she stepped forward to accept it. "Thank you, Principal Blackwell." Opening the purse, she checked through it. "It's all here."

"She probably didn't have time to go through it yet," one of the boys remarked.

Blackwell turned her attention back to me. "Miss Hebert, this looks very bad for you. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Just that this is all a set-up and you're buying it hook, line and sinker," I told her angrily. "I'm the one who was being bullied here, not all that long ago, remember? Remember the locker? All the shit that was in it? How about all those complaints that were made on my behalf? The ones that you tore up in front of me? That happened to me. How come you're coming down so hard on me when you never did anything until you were forced to, any other time?"

Her lips tightened. "You could never produce witnesses to your alleged incidents until the locker incident," she snapped. "Jill has two, right here. Now, I am sympathetic to your problems, but having been bullied is in no way an excuse to become a bully yourself. I understand that you are friendly with people in the Empire Eighty-Eight?"

She paused, making it a question that I really didn't want to answer. Of course, I didn't have many ways out of it. "Well, yes," I admitted. "But that doesn't mean that I -"

"I hadn't finished, Miss Hebert," she interrupted coldly. "I've seen this before. A loner joins a gang and in order to prove their loyalty, they have to do something, such as beat up people from a rival gang. Is this what you were doing?" She paused. "Were you coerced into doing this?"

"No!" I protested hotly, then realised what that sounded like. "I mean, I wasn't coerced because I didn't even do it!"

Slowly, she shook her head. "I think I've heard enough. This could be an expulsion offence, but given your previous good record, I think detention is in order. Five afternoons, from now until Friday." She made a note on her desktop calendar. "Is that understood?"

I stared. "I can't believe this. I did nothing and I'm being punished for it?"

"That's the problem, Miss Hebert," she told me flatly as she loaded my belongings back into my pack. "I believe that you did something. And therefore, the punishment is in my hands. Detention. Until four thirty. Is that understood?"

Glumly, I nodded. There was no point in screaming about it now, but when I got home, Dad was going to hear all about it. Maybe he can change her mind, where I can't. "Got it. Detention."

"Good." She held my pack out to me. "Now get back to class."

<><>​

Kelly fell into step with me as I exited the office. "So what happened?"

"You know that movie with Morgan Freeman in the prison? I can't recall who the main character was. Where the main character escapes?"

"Yeah, Shawshank?"

"Yeah, that one. Remember that quote from it? 'Lawyer fucked me'?"

"Yeah, I remember that."

I nodded. "Yeah, well. Lawyer fucked me."

"Why, what happened?"

So I told him; how the story had been spun that I had beaten up Jill in the classroom and two boys had pretended to be witnesses. How the purse had been planted in my backpack and I was now on detention for the week.

"Fuuuck," he groaned. "That's gotta suck big hairy donkey balls."

"Oh, it does," I assured him. "It does. And I didn't even do what I was supposed to have done!"

"Would you like to?" he asked. "I mean, she's already been beaten up, or pretended to. We do it for real and she can't complain."

It was tempting, but I shook my head. "That brings me down to her level," I told him. "I'm not going to go there."

"I was just offering," he noted. "But hey, you're a better person than me."

"Just to be clear," I told him, "it's not that I don't want to, okay?"

He grinned. "Gotcha."

I grinned back, but internally I was a lot less cheerful. Detention is gonna suck.

<><>​

I glanced up as someone sat down beside me. Thus far, everyone else in the room had chosen to sit at a distance from me; it was kind of depressing to note that even when Emma and Sophia weren't working to keep me ostracised from everyone else, my own choices did the same thing for me.

"Hi," grunted the newcomer.

"Hi," I responded, looking at him curiously. I knew him from the regular Empire Eighty-Eight table; he was what most people saw as a typical skinhead, loyal to a fault but not too bright.

Well, stereotypes have to come from somewhere.

"Peter told me to get into detention, to keep an eye on you," he confided.

"Oh, okay," I replied. "Uh … what did you do to get in here?"

Reflexively, he rubbed his knuckles. They were reddened and one was split. "Picked a fight with three Merchants. Dared Sorenson to put me in detention."

I revised the 'not too bright' description. That ploy showed a certain amount of native cunning. It only left one question unanswered. "So … I guess you won?"

He looked almost offended that I had even had to ask. "Well, yeah. I said they were Merchants."

"Right, right. So what happens -"

"Miss Hebert!"

I jolted in surprise and looked around. Mr Gladly had entered the room and was surveying George and myself with a certain amount of distaste. I was surprised that I had even made his radar; Mr Gladly usually only noticed the popular kids. "Yes, Mr Gladly?"

"This is detention, not a gossip meeting. Pick up your books and move over … there." He indicated a desk well across the room from George. Raising his voice, he went on. "You will not talk to one another. You will not interact with one another. Doing so will cause me to give you more detentions. You do not want this."

Wow, I thought. This is not your standard friend-to-all-students Mr G. I wonder who pissed in his cornflakes? Cynically, I decided that the fact of being picked to oversee detention must have something to do with his current level of disgruntlement. Oh well. Sucks to be you.

Still, there was detention to get through. And I would rather not spend it wondering about Gladly's mental state. So I pulled a book from my bag and started reading.

When the first spitball hit me in the back of the neck, I couldn't believe it; spinning around, I saw four different kids, each watching me with varying degrees of sly anticipation. I did not disappoint.

"Okay, who did that?"

Mr Gladly looked up from his paperwork. "Miss Hebert, be quiet."

"Sir, someone hit me with a spitball," I argued.

He sighed. "Did you see who it was?"

"No, but -"

"No throwing spitballs in class." He dropped his eyes back to his paperwork.

"Mr Gladly!" My voice was louder this time.

He looked up again. "What, Miss Hebert?"

"Aren't you going to do anything more than that? They're just going to keep throwing them if they know you're not going to do anything about it."

He sighed, aggravated. "Miss Hebert, you're here for beating up another girl and stealing her purse, as a wannabe member of a white-supremacist gang. I really don't think you've got much room to complain about being victimised, here."

"For the first part, I didn't do it. For the second part, that doesn't matter. I'm here to be in detention, not to be hit by spitballs."

"For the first part, I don't believe you. For the second part, if I catch them, I'll punish them. Now be quiet, or I will start adding detentions."

I subsided, but I wasn't happy. George, across the room, was staring at Mr Gladly, looking distinctly murderous. I caught his eye, shook my head slightly. No beating up teachers.

He paused for a long moment, then turned his gaze to the other kids in the room. Then he stood up. I watched him, wondering what the hell he was going to do.

Mr Gladly caught the motion as well and looked up. "Mr Albert, sit down."

"Got something to say," George stated boldly.

"Sit down!"

George ignored him. "I don't give a fuck how many detentions I get, but if one more cocksucker throws a spitball at Taylor, I will beat the fuck out of you." He let that hang in the air.

Gladly banged on his desk. "Sit down!" he yelled.

Slowly, George sat, but he turned his chair sideways until he had a good view of all the kids who were within spitball range of me. The look on his face promised that he'd do exactly what he'd said he would.

"You have your wish, Mr Albert," gritted Gladly. "Detention all next week, as well."

George didn't react; he just kept watching the other kids. Watching my back.

Slowly, the tension leached out of the room. Mr Gladly went back to his paperwork. I gave George a very slight nod and smile. Thank you. He returned the nod without smiling. Just doing my job. Peter, I decided, was going to hear about this. George deserved an official pat on the back.

Time passed; the clock hands slowly crawled around the dial. I read my book. Mr Gladly did his paperwork, then pulled out the newspaper and read it. George watched the room. Nobody threw any spitballs.

Eventually, even Gladly decided that enough was enough. At about a quarter past four, he folded the paper and stashed everything away in his briefcase. "Okay, go home," he ordered us. I heard the unspoken part of the message loud and clear; get out of here and good riddance.

Standing up, I stretched, then bent down to put my book in my bag. At the desk, Mr Gladly let out a shout of anger. "Who threw that spitball?" Looking up, I saw the white spot decorating the middle of his shirt.

"Not me," I told him. "I've been reading."

Simmering with anger, he turned to George. "Did you see who threw it?"

"Nope," replied George. "Wasn't looking." I got the distinct impression that he would have seen if the spitball had hit me, but he didn't care about Gladly; no doubt he had not forgotten Gladly's earlier comments to me.

I moved over to George's side, thus discouraging any further attempts at spitball-throwing in my direction and we headed for the door.

"Wait!" shouted Mr Gladly. "Nobody leaves till we find out who did this!"

"Wasn't me and it wasn't George," I pointed out. "Detention's over. We're going." He may have sputtered something, but I wasn't listening; I pushed the door open and we stepped out into the corridor.

Immediately, George pulled out his phone. "What's up?" I asked. "Not calling in a hit on Gladly, I hope?" I was only half joking; the Empire was very serious about protecting its own.

"Nope, though he was really rude to you in there," George replied. "Just letting Peter know we're getting out early. He was off with the guys doing something and he was gonna swing back around four thirty to pick us up."

"Okay, cool," I agreed. We set off down the corridor toward the main doors, with George laboriously tapping away on his phone.

Eventually he finished and put the phone away. "They're on the way now," he told me.

"Good," I replied. "Thanks for just before, in detention. I appreciate it."

"Eh, you're one of us. No big."

One of us. I hugged that phrase to me. Having been on the outs for so long, to be reminded once more of the camaraderie within the Empire, to be reminded that I was part of that, that they had my back … every time, it got me right where it counted. The warm feeling that generated in my heart lasted all the way out to the front doors and down the steps.

Which was where they hit us.

<><>​

They came around the steps from either side, ABB colours bright in the late afternoon sun. About three grabbed for me, while more again hit George. I struggled, screamed, kicked, clawed, bit. My backpack was wrested from my grip, but I snatched it back. I don't even know why I did that. There were too many people on me. I was losing, but still I didn't give up.

And then George was there, smashing into the three that were wrestling with me. He had a switchblade in his hand and it was red with blood. To my shock, he was also bleeding, on his cheek and across his chest. He slashed once, twice, and the hands holding me fell away.

"Run!" he bellowed, shoving me. "Run! Get Peter!"

I stumbled a few yards away, saw them closing in on him. "I can't leave you!" I screamed.

"You gotta!" he roared. Two started for me; I backpedalled. George lunged after them and his switchblade flashed again. One of the ABB stumbled and fell; the other turned on George. Two more started after me. They were carrying switchblades, too. The others converged on George.

There were too many. I couldn't face them. I couldn't fight them. I couldn't help George.

I turned and ran.


End of Part Six

Part Seven

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Seven: Preparations


I ran for my life.

That wasn't a figure of speech; once the switchblades had come out and I'd seen the blood, I knew that this wasn't going to end in a few shoves and posturing. People were going to get hurt. People had gotten hurt. There was a good chance that someone would die.

And from the look of it, they intended for that someone to be me.

At one time, I might have tried to reason with them, to explain that no matter who my boyfriend was, I didn't hate Asians or blacks. But I now knew that they wouldn't listen, and even if they did listen, they wouldn't believe me. I wasn't a person to them; I was a target.

Dammit, Peter, the thought flashed through my head, I thought you said they didn't do this.

I resolved to have words with my boyfriend regarding the difference between what he thought they didn't do and what they actually didn't do. Then I put the matter from my mind and concentrated on running just as hard as I could.

My backpack was hampering me, bumping around on my back; I discarded it, letting my arms slip free of the straps. Maybe one of them will trip over it. It was a forlorn hope, but right now, that was all I had. Behind me, I heard their footsteps, all too close; I found a new burst of energy and ran on.

Peter said to call him if anything happened. The phone he'd given me was in my pocket, but there was no way in hell I was going to be able to get it out, wake it up and send a text, or make a call, while running down the road. There were people I knew who could probably do it. I wasn't one of them.

The footsteps came closer. A glance over my shoulder told me that there were two following me, and that they were gaining. I tried to run faster, terror pushing me on. But the human body has limits, and I was reaching mine all too quickly, while it looked like they weren't.

Still, I tried. The breath sobbed in my lungs; my chest burned and my eyes blurred as I tried to exceed my limits, snatch myself a few more seconds of life before they caught me.

Oh god, if there was ever a time I need to get super-powers, this is it.

But I didn't. Still plain old Taylor Hebert, I ran on down the road.

They were so close behind me that their harsh breathing was plainly audible. Even over the roaring of blood in my ears, I heard the distinct snick of a switchblade opening. I needed to run faster. I couldn't run any faster.

I was going to die.

A car beeped its horn behind us, a very familiar sound. Despite my best intentions – keep running, don't look back – I glanced back over my shoulder. In that instant, I saw my salvation. Peter's father had bought him a big four-by-four for Christmas, and he was pretty good at driving it. Right now, he was coming down the road behind us. Veering toward us. He had one hand on the wheel and one off. The free hand was gesturing, palm downward, pushing down.

Down.

I didn't hesitate; I threw myself flat. I had been running all-out and didn't have time to slow down, so I skidded on the concrete pavement. Skin abraded off of my hands and arms, but I was past caring.

Behind us, the engine roared as the wheels bumped up over the curb; the ABB kids must have had less than a second of warning. I might even have imagined hearing the impacts before darkness blotted out my world. Then the roar of the engine overrode everything, except the screech of tyres. The stink of oil and gasoline was overpowering. Something pressed down on my left foot. I cowered, face-down on the concrete, eyes clenched shut, hands clasped over the back of my head.

Then the engine noise died away. In the sudden silence, the sound of the doors opening was very plain; several sets of boots jumped out on to the pavement. I could hear the vehicle lifting on its springs, or whatever holds a car up.

"Taylor?" It was Peter. "Taylor? Are you all right?"

Unlacing my fingers from the back of my head, I raised it, only for it to go clunk against something hot and metallic about two inches above me. It was that close. Opening my eyes, I turned my head. There was a car tyre beside me; further back, behind it, Peter was kneeling, looking under the vehicle. Other faces could be seen, but I only had eyes for him. His worried expression made my heart melt.

"I think?" It came out more as a question than a statement. "What's on my foot?"

He leaned down and twisted his neck to see. "I think it's the back wheel. Does it hurt?"

"Just – just pressure," I said. I tried to move it. "It's stuck."

"Just hold on one second." He stood up, then climbed into the truck. I hard the engine start, and the gears grind. The truck moved, rolling backward a foot or so. The pressure lifted off of my foot. I stayed right where I was, in case the vehicle moved again.

But it didn't. He shut it off again, and climbed out. "Is that better?"

"Y-yes." I tried to keep the whimper out of my voice. "I want to get out from under here."

"Can you wriggle out?"

"I'll try."

I did more than try. I'd never done the whole commando-crawl thing, but I discovered an unexpected talent for it. Directly ahead was bright daylight and fresh air; I was going to get there or die trying.

Peter was waiting for me when I scrambled out from under the truck. He steadied me as I got up; I clung to him. The others crowded around, looking worried.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked, concern written all over his face.

"Y-yeah," I said uncertainly. My foot was a little sore, but there was no stabbing pain, nothing to indicate any damage. "Oh god, George."

His eyes became alert. "Where is he?"

"Back – back at the school. They ambushed us." I was almost in tears. "He told me – he told me to run."

"Then you did the right thing." Taking my arm, he guided me around to the passenger side of the truck, where Bronson already had the door open for me.

"You okay?" Bronson asked as he climbed into the back seat; the other guys piled in with him. It had to have been more than a little cramped, with four big guys squashed into a seat meant for three, but there were no complaints.

"I am now, thanks," I told him as I climbed in. "But George … there were about six of them -"

"Shit." Leaving me to close the door, Peter ran around the front of the vehicle and got in on the driver's side. He started the engine and backed down off of the pavement. As he did so, I looked ahead, to see the crumpled forms of the two ABB kids who had been chasing me. They hadn't moved the whole time.

"Wh-what about them?" I asked tentatively.

"What about 'em?" asked Peter grimly. "They were gonna kill you. Or worse."

"I can stay and make sure of 'em," Bronson offered. Somehow I got the idea he didn't mean applying first aid.

"No time," Peter told him, pulling a hard U-turn. I wanted to protest; they were people too, after all.

People who wanted to kill me. Or worse, whatever that means.

Leaning back in my seat, I did my seat belt up. They wanted to hurt me, but they got hurt instead. I didn't exactly feel good about it, but I didn't start that fight.

As we drove away, I didn't look back.

<><>​

My hands and elbows were beginning to sting when we pulled up at the school, but I wasn't paying any attention. Instead, I was staring at the schoolyard, hoping against hope to see George waving to us. He wasn't; in fact, he wasn't there at all.

"Bronson, stay with Taylor. Rest of you, with me." Peter snapped the orders, and the others obeyed without a moment's hesitation. They piled from the four-by-four and spread out, calling out for George. To my utter astonishment, I saw a small pistol in Peter's hand; I'd had no idea that he even owned one, let alone carried it.

Bronson got out of the back seat and stepped up to the passenger side front door. "It might be an idea to lock the doors, just in case," he suggested. "Not telling you what to do, but just saying."

"It's a good idea," I agreed, and reached across to hit the locking button on Peter's door, then I did the same with mine. "Oh god, I hope he's okay." Tears were beginning to run down my cheeks. "They were coming after me, but he pulled them off of me and he told me to run, and I -" I hiccuped then started again. "I ran away. He told me to."

"Hey." Bronson's voice was warm and comforting. "Like Peter said, you did exactly the right thing. If you were still there, he'd have had to watch out for you and him both. He made the call to tell you to run, and you ran. Soon as you were gone, he had a better chance. Trust me on this."

As he spoke, he wasn't looking at me; his eyes were quartering the schoolyard. Searching for danger, I realised. Despite the fact that the only people visible were Peter and his friends, he didn't relax or let down his guard.

"I hate this," I whispered.

"Hate what?" he asked; despite his attention being on his surroundings, he wasn't ignoring me.

"Feeling stupid and weak and useless. I hate it. I don't know why Peter puts up with me. I'm nothing but trouble for him, and now George -" I gulped back a sob. "Because of me -"

"Hey." His voice was a little firmer, a little sharper. There wasn't anger in there, exactly, but he didn't sound quite so comforting. "Peter likes you for you. I like you, too. You're smart and brave and you're willing to face up to him and tell him what's what, and trust me, we all appreciate that. So things happened that you weren't prepared for? That's on Peter, not on you." He took a deep breath then looked into my eyes, just for a moment. "Yeah, we took our eye off the ball. That's our bad. But you can be damn sure that Peter's never gonna let that happen again. You're that important to him. To us."

And then, as if he had never spoken, he was scanning our surroundings again. Which was fine with me, because I had to stop and try to process his words. My thoughts were already churning in a dozen different directions at once; this just increased the chaos three times over.

Peter is willing to kill for me. I was under no illusions as to the state those kids had been left in after the four-by-four had hit them. Dead or badly hurt, we had just left them lying in the road. Peter didn't care, so long as I was all right.

I should have been horrified at the callousness, should have insisted that they be given first aid, medical attention. But the more I thought about it, the more I came to realise that I didn't care. Not really. Peter had said that they would have killed me or worse – and I really wasn't sure if I wanted to know what 'worse' was – when I hadn't invited any attacks, or even done something against them to justify it. They were just going to attack me for the crime of being in love with Peter.

Well, screw them.

My thoughts turned to Bronson. He had spoken frankly about Peter's feelings for me. I was pretty sure that Peter hadn't told him to, or even knew about it. He'd been willing to get in trouble to make sure I knew what was going on in Peter's head about me, to set me straight. That spoke to a loyalty deeper than almost anything I'd ever seen before. Not only loyalty to Peter – that went without saying – but loyalty toward me.

I'd seen it before; a guy gets a girlfriend and she immediately has to run the gauntlet of his friends' judgement. And all too often, when they disapprove, he has to choose between one and the other. Peter's friends weren't just going along with his choice of me; they were actively supporting it. They want me to be with him. They want me to be one of them. It was an amazingly warm feeling, one that spread through my chest and out to my extremities. Wow.

Tears were forming in my eyes again, for a different reason this time. I blinked them away and turned to Bronson. "Can you tell me something?"

"Sure." He didn't look away from his self-imposed vigil.

"When Peter said 'worse' … what did he mean?"

His jaw hardened; I knew right then that it was really bad. "Not sure if I should tell you."

"I'm asking. Please."

Muscles bunched at the corner of his jaw. "Dammit," he muttered, then took a deep breath. "You didn't hear this from me, okay?"

"I promise."

"Right then." He continued to look around, even as he spoke in a low tone. "Few years ago, one of Peter's cousins had a girlfriend outside the Empire. They were silly in love. ABB got wind, kidnapped her. Kept her. Tortured her. Worse. Every week they sent him a packet of photos and a finger joint or some other part of her, freshly severed."

I felt sick to my stomach. "Oh god."

"You asked."

"And they would have done this to me, this time?"

The slightest of shrugs. "Probably."

All of a sudden, I felt even less worried about the welfare of the ones who had been chasing me. But I had to know the end of the story. "What … what happened?"

"To her, or to him?"

"Uh, both?" I wasn't certain that I wanted to know. But I was certain that it would eat at me until I did know.

"He cracked. Couldn't take it any more. Got a gun and went after the ABB. They killed him, of course, but I'm pretty sure he took a few with him. Then they sent her back. What was left of her. She needed full-time care. Died about six months later."

I hunched in on myself. "But why do they even do this?"

"To win." His voice was low and hard. "They're brutes. Cowards. They'll hit loved ones to hurt our leadership. Bleed us of our best and brightest."

I knew the answer to what I was saying, but I said it anyway. "I don't hate them. Why attack me?"

"Even if they knew it, even if they believed it, they wouldn't care," he said. "They don't want peace. They want to win. To grind us down. To draw us out and destroy us. And someone who doesn't hate them is someone they can't draw out."

"Oh, god." So, damned if I do, damned if I don't.

"Yeah. But just so you know." He was looking at me again. "We won't let that shit happen again." There was absolute sincerity in his voice. I believed him, implicitly. The warm feeling inside me redoubled. If a cop had walked up to me right then and asked about the two ABB kids who had been hit by the truck, I would have lied my ass off to protect Peter.

"I -" But I was interrupted by a shout from across the parking lot.

We both looked around; it was repeated. "Found him! Bring the truck!"

My head came up, as did Bronson's. An image of the way I had seen him last crossed my mind. All I could see was the blood and the knives. "Why the truck?"

"We'll be taking him away for burial. Not leaving him here." Then Bronson was hustling around the vehicle. I leaned across and unlocked the door to let him in. He climbed in; the keys were still in the ignition. The engine roared to life and he started the vehicle moving.

There was a garden bed between us and where we had to go. Bronson just aimed the four-by-four at it and bumped up and over it. I heard straggly plants crunching under the wheels. Neither of us commented; I just hung on.

When we got to where they were, I saw that George had managed to back up into a corner of the building so that he was protected on two sides. There was blood splattered around, on the brick exterior wall of the school, and on the ground around him. That can't all be his, I told myself. There's too much of it. For the first time, I hoped that the ABB who had attacked us were all suffering extremely painful wounds.

I got out of the vehicle and moved closer, brushing aside hands that tried to stop me. He was covered in blood; I could see white bone through a scalp wound, and one eye was just gone. There was something odd about the way he was lying back in the corner, until I realised that he had an ABB guy on top of him. One arm was clutched around his enemy, fist clenched around a switchblade that was driven into the guy's back, while the other held a second switchblade. Even in death, he had not let loose of it.

"Killed the guy and used him as a shield," muttered Bronson behind me. "God damn, that's badass."

I couldn't help but agree. Moving right up to George, I crouched down. From here I could see the slashes on his shoulders and arms. He had fought with everything he had, to keep them from chasing me.

"I'm sorry I got you into this," I whispered. "Thank you for saving me."

And then his one good eye opened.

I jumped, just a little. "George?"

"Taylor?" It was the barest breath of a whisper.

"Holy shit, he's alive!" That was Peter. "Get that fucker off of him!"

"Yeah, it's me," I told George. "You saved me. I'm fine."

Peter and Bronson moved up past me, crouched down to take hold of the dead ABB guy. George resisted, holding on to the switchblade, or perhaps it was the crusted blood that refused to let his hand unstick from the knife.

"You can let him go now," I urged him. "We're going to get you to help."

Slowly, the gore-coated fingers loosened, allowing Peter and Bronson to lift the corpse away. Under it, his clothes were just as covered in blood; I couldn't believe that he was still alive. I put my knuckles in my mouth and bit down so I wouldn't break down and cry. This had happened to him because he was defending me.

"Taylor." It was Peter's voice, low and calm. "In the truck, under the front seat. First aid kit. Can you get it, please?"

George didn't need first aid; he needed a hospital. But I didn't argue. Tearing my eyes away from George, I hurried over to the vehicle and felt under the front seat. Pulling the plastic box out, I opened it. Bandages, pads … this is the one.

Closing the box again, I took it back to Peter. "Anyone here know first aid?" he asked.

Bronson cleared his throat. "I haven't, uh, done a proper course, but I've helped patch guys up before."

"Good, then you're it," Peter told him, shoving the box at him. "Patch him up so we can get him to proper medical attention."

"Shit." Bronson looked down at George. "I've never dealt with anything this bad before."

"First time for everything," Peter said. "This is George. He's had your back a dozen times. Come on, Bronson. Man up and do it."

A grimace crossed Bronson's face, then he took a deep breath. "Crap. Okay then. I need his shirt open. Off. All the way off. I need to see what I'm dealing with."

It was so sticky with blood that they couldn't even unbutton it, so they had to cut it off of him. Then Bronson started flushing away the blood with a squeeze-bottle full of water and wiping off the residue with cotton balls. As each ball became too sodden to use, he discarded it. A quick glance at the first aid box and he frowned. "We're not gonna have enough pads."

The word triggered an association in my mind, and my head came up. "I have some, in my backpack."

"What?" His voice was distracted.

"Pads. In my backpack." I gestured at myself. "For, you know, periods."

"Oh. Oh!" The revelation burst upon him. "They'd be perfect. Where?"

I pointed. "Down that way. Maybe a hundred yards."

"Tom." Peter didn't need to say more; one of the guys broke away from the group and took off running.

Bronson kept working; as he found each cut, he pressed a pad over it and got someone to hold it in place. Pretty soon, each of us had a hand on at least one pad. Thomas returned with my pack, and my emergency stash of feminine hygiene products was also pressed into service. Nobody made any jokes about it, for which I was grateful. The stab wounds got cotton balls. Then Bronson got the guys to sit George up while I wound a bandage around him to keep all the pads and cotton balls in place.

George's legs and arms were also cut and bleeding; Bronson was out of pads, so he just wound bandages around them as well, then around his head. By the time he'd finished, George looked like a very inexpertly mummified corpse, with fresh blood seeping through at more than one spot.

Eventually, he sat back. His hands were bloody to the elbows, but George's chest was still rising and falling, so he was still alive, which was enough.

"We've got to get him to the hospital," I urged Peter.

"No," he told me. "We've got a better place. Hospitals will involve the police."

I knew better than to argue. "Okay, fine." I shot an agonised look at George. "But do it fast. Please."

<><>​

It took all four of them to get George over to the truck, where they carefully slid him on to the back seat. I helped as much as I could, anxiously trying to make sure that the blood-stained bandages stayed in place. I would have worried about getting blood on to the seats of Peter's truck, but he didn't seem to care at all.

"Taylor, I want you talking to him," Peter told me grimly. "Hold his hand. Keep him alive. He seems to respond to you."

"Okay, I'll do that," I said. "I'll try, anyway." I looked at the truck, then at the other boys. "Uh, how are you getting home?"

"We'll call up for lifts," Bronson assured me, using the bottle of water to clean the dried blood from his hands and arms. He nodded to Peter. "We'll be fine. Go."

Peter negotiated the garden bed with more finesse than Bronson had, but even then, the bumps drew a faint groan from George. "It's okay," I assured him, leaning back between the seats so I could take his hand in mine. "That's the last of it. It'll be smooth from here on. Just hold on."

In answer, he squeezed my hand; I squeezed back. Through the rear window, I saw the boys stamping on something in the garden bed. For a moment I was puzzled, then I realised that they were obliterating the wheeltracks. Wow, they really do think of everything.

"Taylor." Peter was hunched over the wheel, driving with careful concentration. "My phone, right back pocket."

"Okay. Skootch forward."

He shuffled his butt forward on the seat and I reached down awkwardly with my right hand – my left was occupied with holding George's hand – and eventually pulled out Peter's phone. At his direction, I slotted it into the bracket on the dash. It woke up; he told me the PIN to enter to unlock it.

"Call … Father," he directed it. I heard the dial tone, then the phone was picked up.

"Peter?" It was Mr Ferguson's voice, coming out of the speakers all around us.

"Yes, sir," Peter replied. "We have a situation. George is badly hurt. The ABB tried to take Taylor."

"Is she all right?"

"She's fine. Just a bit shaken. She's with me now. But George needs urgent medical help. I'm taking him to M- to the clinic. Can you make sure that, uh, that the best doctors are ready when we get there?"

"I can try. Does Taylor know about where the clinic is?"

Peter took a deep breath. "Not yet, sir. But I trust her."

"Trust is immaterial in this case. We need to discuss this matter before revealing more information to her. Taylor, can you hear me?"

"Uh, yes, sir," I said nervously.

"It's not that we don't trust you. It's just that there is certain information, very sensitive, involved here. Peter vouches for you, and I trust his judgement, which is why we're even considering letting you in on it. But it has to be discussed before you are given full access. Do you understand?"

"I – yes, sir, I understand," I replied. "I really do. You can't just let anyone in on it." I had a sneaking suspicion that I already knew some of it, but I wasn't about to admit to that. Better to let them think that they were telling me of their own free will. It wasn't as if I was about to tell anyone, anyway.

"Good. Peter, until this matter has been discussed, she is not to know the location of the clinic. Do you understand?"

"Understood, sir," he said. His tone was firm, but his expression was a grimace.

"Very well. I will do my best to make sure that your friend gets all the care he needs. And Taylor?"

"Uh, yes, sir?"

"I'm glad you're all right. Very glad."

"Thank you, sir."

The call ended; I glanced at Peter. He glanced back at me. "I, uh, I'm sorry -"

"No need," I told him briskly. "It's important to keep it secret. I'll go with that." I gave him a quick smile, then shut my eyes. "I'll keep my eyes closed till we get there. How about that?"

His voice was full of wonder. "You're amazing, Taylor. Anyone ever tell you that?"

My smile widened. "Nobody but you. But I could stand to hear more of it." As I spoke, I used my free hand to take my glasses off and hang them off of my shirt. I wasn't going to be using them, and if I did happen to open my eyes, I didn't want to see anything incriminating.

"I'd kiss you, but I'm driving. Maybe later?"

"Definitely later."

<><>​

The drive seemed to take far too long. George was still alive by the time we got there, but his grip on my hand was weaker than when we had started. I gave him what encouragement I could, and it seemed that my voice helped, but there was only so much I could do.

Behind my closed eyelids, I saw the light levels drop, then Peter pulled the four-by-four to a stop. The doors were opened from the outside and I felt George start to move, being lifted out of the back seat.

"Holy crap, he's a mess." That was a voice I didn't know, female. "Injuries?"

"Multiple cuts and stab wounds, from switchblades." Peter. "He's lost a lot of blood."

"Type?"

"AB negative," he replied crisply. Somehow it didn't surprise me that he knew George's blood type.

"Roger that," the woman said. "We've got it from here." I felt George's hand slip from mine.

"Who's she?" asked a male voice.

"She's with me," Peter replied firmly. "She'll be coming in with me. No names, no reference to where we are."

"If she's not cleared, then why did you -" The man stopped talking.

"She's. With. Me." Peter's voice was even sharper. "Is there a problem?"

"Uh, no. No problem at all."

George was out of reach; I heard the clatter of wheels on concrete. "Peter?"

"They've got him on a gurney. Taking him inside. Keep your eyes closed; I'll walk you in."

"Okay."

He was as good as his word; moments after he got out, the door on my side opened and he assisted me out. With a steadying hand at my elbow, we walked forward; I heard automatic doors open and felt the chill of air conditioning.

"I'm not prying for information, but is this clinic very good?" I asked.

"It's the best," he replied shortly. "All our guys who get hurt badly come here. Most of them walk out again."

It occurred to me that the Empire must have serious money behind it to be able to afford their own private clinic, or to perhaps be able to request the services of a regular clinic for themselves when they needed to. I didn't voice any of this, of course; any comment Peter made would probably give away information he wasn't allowed to reveal to me, and I didn't want to put him on that spot.

"That's good," I said, for want of anything better to say. "I'm glad. I hope he makes it. If it wasn't for him …"

Peter let go my elbow and wrapped his arms around me; for the first time, I realise that I was shaking. I buried my face in his shoulder as the tears began, then the sobs. He didn't say anything, just held me and rubbed my back gently in circles as I cried. I didn't even know why I was crying; the danger was long past, and George was getting the medical help that he needed. Reaction, I supposed.

Still, I guess that I needed it. I needed someone to hold on to, and I needed to get it out of my system. Peter let me take my time, merely guiding me to the side of the corridor (I guessed) so that people could get past.

"Oh, god," I muttered eventually. "I must look a mess." I sniffled; he pressed a handkerchief into my hand. I wiped my eyes and blew my nose.

"You look just fine to me," he told me seriously.

"You sure I'm the one with my eyes shut?" I asked him with a damp giggle. "I mean, seriously, nobody looks at their best after crying. It's kind of a law of nature."

"Ooh, ouch," he muttered. "Talking about a mess. We need to get your hands seen to."

"My hands?" I asked. "What about my hands?" That was when the stinging started up again in full force; all too readily, I recalled diving headlong on to the concrete pavement, my hands and elbows catching the impact, skin shredding off of them. "Ow. Ow ow ow."

"Come on, you can open your eyes now," he said. "Let's get this sorted out."

<><>​

A little to my disappointment, the clinic looked like a clinic and not, as I had secretly hoped, like a supervillain lair. Off-white painted walls, hard plastic chairs and examination tables with just enough mattress to be uncomfortable all added to the general decor. I had no idea where it was, which was probably the idea; it could have been in the basement of Brockton Bay General or hidden inside a fake apartment block in midtown.

With Peter in attendance, I sat on an examination table while a motherly nurse – or someone who was dressed like a nurse and had the attitude down pat – cleaned and disinfected my hands and arms, then put a topical cream on them. The disinfectant stung like crazy, but I refused to make a sound. I'd already shown myself up to be a wimp enough times today.

"I'll just put a light dressing on them for the time being," the possibly-a-nurse told me. "Take it off when you shower, then cover them again afterward. They should be healing inside a day or so. If they show signs of infection, see a doctor as soon as you can."

"Okay," I told her. "Thanks." I turned to Peter. "What about George?"

"If this is the young man that you brought in," the maybe-a-nurse said, "he's in surgery. Given his injuries, he might be there for some time yet."

"But will he be all right?" I tried to keep the pleading note out of my voice as she wrapped bandages around my hands and wrists. Please, give me some good news.

She shook her head. "I can't say. You got most of the bleeding stopped, and you got him here in good time, so he has a chance. But beyond that …"

"He's a fighter," Peter reassured me. "We both know that. He'll pull through." He helped me down off the examination table. "How do your hands feel?"

"A little sore, but nothing that I can't handle," I said honestly. "That cream helped a lot."

"Good. Let's get out of here." He smiled at me. "Up to keeping your eyes closed a little longer?"

"Well, I'd much rather look at you," I told him mischievously, "but I suppose I can stand it for a while. Where are we going?"

It was his turn to grin back at me. "It's a surprise."

<><>​

"Okay, you can open your eyes."

Putting my glasses on, I looked around, blinking a little at the glare. I'd had no idea where we were going in the truck, and Peter hadn't explained anything. The cryptic phone calls he'd made on the drive hadn't served to clear anything up either.

"Okay, where are we?" I asked. "I don't think I've ever been here before."

Peter leaned forward a little and pointed. "Over there."

I turned and looked; the only building of note that I could see was an old run-down gym. "The gym?" I asked as I turned back to Peter, only to be surprised – but not displeased – as he stole a kiss. I stole one right back, so we were even.

"The gym, yeah," he said. His arm slid around my shoulders; almost automatically, I snuggled into him. "But you know, we can sit here a bit longer, if you want."

So we sat there for a bit longer. It was very pleasant, and a good way to take my mind off of what had happened earlier. But all good things must come to an end, although my glasses were starting to steam up by the time he reluctantly opened his door.

"Come on," he told me. "I'll introduce you to Harry. We did him a favour a few years ago, got rid of a gang called the West Side Demons who were pushing for protection money. These days, we help him keep going and he teaches our guys how to fight."

Harry, as it turned out, was a blocky fireplug of a man, maybe Dad's age or a little older. He was a little shorter than me, but broad enough in the shoulders to make two or three of Peter. The way he held himself and the scarring around his eyes marked him out as a boxer; one who was getting on a bit, sure, but someone who could still take care of himself.

Waiting with him was Jenna; we hugged, then I turned to greet Harry as Peter introduced us. For his part, the ageing pugilist looked less than impressed to see me. He looked me up and down with an intense scowl on his face, then growled, "Okay, girl. Let me see your hands."

Obediently, I held up my hands. He took them, one at a time, and worked the fingers, pressing his thumb in between the knuckles.

"Ever thrown a punch?" he asked gruffly.

"Uh, no, sir," I answered hesitantly. "I've never had to."

"Don't call me sir, girl. Call me Harry. I work for a living. If young Ferguson here thinks you need to learn to throw a punch, then you need to learn. Make a fist for me."

I curled my fingers into a fist with a wince at the pain from my hand; with a snort, he pulled them open again. Oh, he's realised that I'm hurting.

But no such luck. "Thumb on the outside, girl. Otherwise you'll break it, first time you hit someone hard enough to hurt." Crap.

I closed my fist again, this time with my thumb on the outside. He nodded and held up his hand, palm out. "Hit it."

Hesitantly, I swung my fist. This is going to hurt. My knuckles impacted with his palm with a light smack; sure enough, it sent a spike of pain up my arm from the heavy abrasions. I tried not to show it, but I couldn't resist grimacing and tucking my hand under my left armpit. Some of the more vile words I had learned from the Dockworkers welled up in my mind, but I gritted my teeth and kept my mouth shut. Tears welled in my eyes and I blinked them back.

"Let me see that, girl," Harry told me. Taking my arm, he turned my hand over and peeled away some of the dressing. "What happened here?"

"Gravel rash," I told him. "I was running and then I fell flat to avoid being run over by some idiot in a car." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Peter's lips twitch as my barb went home. Jenna, on the other hand, grinned.

"I see. Well, makes sense that you need to know how to fight." He eyed my hands. "But no way you can hit anything till that heals."

"Hmm, good point," Peter acknowledged. "Jenna. Think you can train Taylor to fight with Harry coaching?"

Jenna looked me over with a smile tugging at her lips. "She's tougher than she knows," she decided at last. "I figure we can do this. Taylor, you up for it? We can start with footwork."

I had to admit, I felt better at the idea of being trained to fight by Jenna rather than this gruff old man. Although the idea of being trained to fight at all made me feel a little less than thrilled.

On the other hand, I never again wanted to feel so helpless as I had when the ABB had attacked us. And Jenna's comment had heartened me; she wasn't one to pay a meaningless compliment. With the feeling of stepping out over a bottomless pit, I nodded.

"Okay," I said. "Let's do this thing."


End of Part Seven

Part Eight

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal and her teenage daughter, who shall remain nameless.]

Part Eight: Best-Laid Plans


"Let's do this thing."

It was as if the world had been waiting for me to say that. The moment the words left my mouth, I heard a muffled ringing from deep inside my backpack.

I stared at Peter, and he looked back at me. "Uh, that's not me," he said, quite unnecessarily. "And anyone else who'd be calling you is right here."

"Not necessarily," I replied, as belated recollection clicked in my head. "Dad gave me a phone too. I never told him about the one you gave me." As I spoke, I was delving into my bag.

My hand closed around it and I yanked it from the backpack. Pressing the answer button, I held it to my ear. "Hello, Dad?" There was no reply. A moment later, I realised that the ringing sound was still coming from my bag. "Argh, wrong phone! Here, hold this!" Thrusting the silent device at Peter, I dug into my bag again.

It stopped ringing the moment I found it, because life sucked that way. But I pulled it out anyway and checked the number. Sure enough, it was Dad. Because who else has the number to this phone, duh? Taking a deep breath, I looked at the others. "I'm gonna have to call him back."

Still holding my other phone, Peter nodded seriously. "That's a good idea. If he's heard about what happened at Winslow, you need to let him know you're all right."

"Yeah, what he said." Jenna started strolling toward where benches lined the wall of the old gym. "I'll be over here."

Harry, not even bothering to say anything, had also faded back out of earshot; I wondered briefly how many urgent phone calls came in to people working out in his gym. Then I looked at Peter, who was also moving away. "Stay," I told him.

"But it's your dad -" he began.

"I'm gonna be telling you how it went anyways," I said impatiently. "It'll save time to have you here. Okay?"

Slowly, he nodded, his eyes searching mine. "Okay."

I took another deep breath, feeling my heart thudding in my chest. A single button press would call Dad back. He had to be worried, given that he was calling me at all. How much did he know already? How much could I tell him?

Just as I went to press the button, the phone rang again. I jumped, nearly dropping it. "Shit!"

It was Dad again. Fuck, he must be frantic. I pressed the button to answer, and held the phone to my ear.

"Hi," I said brightly, forcing myself to sound upbeat and cheerful. "I'm fiiiine." Well, that last bit wasn't exactly true, except for a very limited version of 'fine', but Mom had taught me the power of words once upon a time.

"Taylor. Where the hell are you?" God, he sounded terrified.

Humour. Go with humour. I snorted. "Well, duh. I'm with Peter. My phone was in the bottom of my bag and I didn't get to it in time. I'm fine."

There was silence on the other end, for about as long as it would have taken to draw two deep breaths. Then he spoke again, sounding much calmer. "You're certain you're all right? You're not being … made to say that, are you?"

"Yes, Dad, I'm being held hostage. There's a gun to my head." I made sure that the sarcasm was obvious, and forced a chuckle. His fears were a little too close to the mark, considering what had almost happened earlier. "Here."

Peter blinked as I handed the phone over, but he took it and held it to his ear. "Hello, sir?"

Dad must have asked him something, because his face took on an intent expression. "No, sir, she's fine. We're both fine. I picked her up after school and we've been driving around." Another pause, as Dad spoke. "No, not just the two of us. We've got a couple of the others with us. I'm actually just showing her the gym where I work out. Jenna wants to do some exercise training with her." Yet another pause. "Yes, sir." He handed the phone back toward me.

I took it. "Yeah, it's me. Sorry, I'll be home soon."

"That's not what I'm worried about," he said. "I was watching the news and I saw that the police had been called to a gang fight outside Winslow. And then when you didn't come home and didn't call …"

"Oh," I said, trying to sound surprised. "Oh, that. No, I wasn't mixed up in that. I saw it starting, so I ran away."

"Wait, you didn't mention that before," he said, suspicion growing in his voice. "Nor did Peter."

"Well, Peter wasn't even there when it started." I tried to sound perfectly reasonable. "And you do know that the gang kids clash about once a week in Winslow, right? If you're not part of it, you just go around it."

"But you are part of it now." The worry was back in his voice. "You're dating a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight." I could hear in his voice, even now, the faint hint of disbelief, as if he had trouble comprehending what he was saying.

"But, Dad, I …" I trailed off, not even sure why I was defending my relationship with Peter. I loved him, I was pretty sure of that, but then there was that thing Bronson had told me about. I needed to talk to Peter, in private, about that. What else hasn't he told me about?

"Taylor, I need you to be totally honest with me. Is there any chance at all that some other gang will try to get at Peter through you?"

"Um …" About one hundred percent, I admitted to myself. "Dad, it's not that likely."

"That's not saying that it won't happen." From his tone, he'd picked up on the hesitation in my voice.

This conversation was not going the way I wanted it to. "Dad, chill. It's not going to happen."

"You're damn right it's not going to happen. I want you home right now."

That didn't sound good. "Uh …"

"Where are you? I'll come and pick you up." I could hear the tension in his voice.

"Uh, no need. Peter can drive me." I met Peter's eyes; he must have seen the worry in them, because he stepped closer to me.

"He'll drive you straight home, then. No detours, no delays. Is that perfectly understood?"

I hadn't heard that tone in Dad's voice in a long time, if ever. "Uh, yeah. Straight home. Got it."

"Good. When you get here, we need to talk."

Dad hung up without giving me a chance to argue – or even answer – and I stared at the phone.

Peter spoke, breaking me out of the daze. "I guess I'm driving you home?"

Jerkily, I nodded. "Yeah. I think …"

"He knows?" Peter's voice was questioning. I guessed that he was referring to the attack.

"Not that it was about me." I looked at him, scared. Peter meant more to me than just about anyone else in the world. I didn't want to lose him, but the way Dad was talking … "But he knows something happened."

"Ouch." He grimaced. "Well, we should be going then."

"Where to?" I was still a little dazed from the conversation with Dad. Did Peter want to spirit me away, hide me in the ranks of the Empire Eighty-Eight?

"Home, of course." He gave me a serious look. "Your best bet for clearing this up is to talk to him." He started out of the gym; I hurried to catch up.

We were halfway back to the truck by the time I found my voice again. "But what if he tells me I can't see you again?" I don't want to lose you.

He hit the key fob, and the truck unlocked with a bip-bip. We climbed in and fastened our seatbelts before he answered. "We'll work that out if it happens. But Father and Uncle Max have always taught me two things." The key was in the ignition, and the engine started with a roar. "Never ignore a direct order from above. It's better to obey it and then run damage control than to get in trouble for disobedience. And secondly, never assume that those above you know everything that you've been doing until they actually prove it."

He put the truck into gear and drove out of the parking lot. I looked sideways at him. "I can't really see anyone actually teaching their kid that second one."

His return grin made me feel warm all over. "Well, let's just say that they didn't actually teach it to me. But I sure learned it."

I didn't have anything to say to that; the next mile or so rolled by under the tyres. Neither of us spoke, until the ominous silence began to weigh heavily in the cabin of the truck.

"I think -" he began, just as I said, "I need -"

We both stopped. He glanced over at me and made a 'go-on' gesture. "You first."

I considered arguing that he could go first, but I didn't know if we'd have time to say everything we wanted, so I nodded. "Uh, okay. Um, there was something that Bronson said, about a cousin of yours whose girlfriend got abducted? Really bad things happened to her?"

He missed a gear change, and I regretted bringing the topic up at all. But then he got his driving back under control, and turned to me. "Yeah, that happened. Bronson told you?" His voice wasn't harsh, or even angry. He was just … matter of fact.

"Don't do anything to him, please," I said hastily. "I asked questions, and he gave me answers. I just need to know – why didn't you warn me that something like that could happen?" Anxiously, I searched his face. I didn't want him thinking I was angry at him. I just wanted to know.

He looked straight ahead through the windshield, his hands tight on the wheel. I could see a muscle in his jaw jumping, the skin of his knuckles whitening under the strain. Is he pissed that I asked? He didn't look at me, and he didn't speak.

We went through another traffic light before he finally released a long sigh. "I'm sorry, Taylor. I fucked up. Badly. I've been trying to convince myself that it wasn't my fault, but I'm just fooling myself. What happened was my fault, and I should've seen it coming."

To hear him admit it was a little scary. Peter was always the competent one, the single person I knew who never screwed up. His admission made him a little more human, but it also made me feel all the more worried. "Peter, talk to me. What made you think they wouldn't come after me?"
He fell silent again. I began to feel concern that we wouldn't finish the talk before we got home. Another city block passed behind us before he spoke.

"He was a few years older than me. His name was Andre. He fell in love with a girl called Dell. She was Jewish, I think, but he didn't care. She wasn't a Friend to the Empire, but we didn't mess with her, because she was with Andre. I didn't think it was the same because you're affiliated with us and I had George with you. Anyway, they don't often go after Friends because we really do come back at them hard if they do. She wasn't a Friend, so the rest of the Empire had no stake in the matter. The only people the other gangs usually go after are the skinheads, because it's the skinheads who go after them."

I swallowed a lump in my throat. "But they came after me. Because I'm with you."

"But even that shouldn't have meant anything," he said, sounding a little perplexed. "I mean, nobody ever went after Julie."

Now I was on firmer ground. "I know why. Two reasons."

He blinked. "Well, that's two reasons more than I know about."

It was odd, being two steps ahead of Peter for once. "First reason. Sophia and her fucking hand puppets. They've been making it real well-known that I'm with you, and thus with the Empire, just to fuck with me. Even Blackwell and Gladly have bought into the act. But they've also been saying that I'm weak. An easy target."

He drove on, but his expression was intent. I could almost hear the cogs clicking behind his eyes as he thought about what I was saying. "Okay, second reason?"

"Fucking Winslow." I left it at that. I could've elaborated on the topic, but he'd seen Winslow for himself. There was no doubt, with the strong ABB presence at the school, that they would have known of me before I met Peter. The constant bullying I was undergoing would not have impressed anyone with my toughness. And then I came to their attention again, thanks to Sophia … "Fuck. It's almost like Sophia planned it this way."

"I wouldn't be surprised." Peter's voice was hard. "But she's already proven that she's a dangerous animal. I doubt we'll see her back at school any time soon."

"Yeah." I saw my house up ahead. "Fuck. We're home already. Come in with me?"

"Sorry." He shook his head. "Right now, depending on what he knows, he probably sees me as the enemy. If I go in there, he won't listen to a word I say."

"But I don't want to stop seeing you!" I tried not to wail, but it was a close thing.

Carefully, he pulled to a halt in the driveway behind Dad's beat-up car. "We'll do whatever we have to. But you can't give your father any reason to distrust you." He took my hands in his. I shivered as he kissed my knuckles gently.

Unfastening my seat-belt, I pulled him close to me. He held me tightly, his arms warm around my body. In his embrace, I felt safe. I felt at home.

We didn't kiss. Every other time we'd kissed, it had been a celebration of our love. This would have felt too much like a goodbye, and I didn't want that. I will be with you again. I clung to that thought, as I clung to Peter.

Eventually, his hold on me loosened. "Taylor," he murmured.

"Don't go," I protested.

"Your father just came out," he said softly.

I let out a wordless groan, but let him go. Blinking the tears from my eyes – when had I started crying? - I looked around and saw Dad there. Standing at the top of the steps. Waiting.

"I love you," I said urgently.

"I love you too," he replied. "Here." I glanced down as he pushed something into my bag. It was the phone he'd given me. I vaguely recalled shoving it at him while I searched for Dad's phone.

"I'll call," I promised.

"Be careful," he urged me. "Don't do anything to make him distrust you." He leaned forward, and for a moment I thought he was going to hold me again, or even kiss me, but instead he reached past and opened my door instead. Cool air spilled into the car, and I let out a long, shuddering sigh.

I had so much to say to Peter. He'd saved my life. He'd saved my sanity, in the months gone by. I didn't care that he was a future leader of the Empire. I wanted to be with him so much it ached.

But then I looked over and saw Dad. He was still standing on the porch, but his fingers were gripping the rail. If he has to come over here and tell me to get in the house, it'll be much worse. I didn't need Peter to tell me that.

Reluctantly, as if every movement could be my last, I climbed out of the truck. With my feet firmly on the ground, I looked at Peter. "Thank you," I said. For everything.

He shot me a beaming grin. "You're welcome." I'd do it all again.

Right then, I wanted to do nothing more than climb back into the truck and tell Peter to drive me away, to wherever. His father would put me up, I was sure. Jenna could train me and I'd join the Empire and be at Peter's side.

But I didn't. I closed the door of the truck, and I turned away from Peter, and I trudged over to the front steps, where Dad was waiting.

It was the hardest thing I'd ever done.

Behind me, I heard the truck engine start up. Gravel crunched under the wheels as he backed up. I heard the change in noise as he reversed on to the asphalt. A tiny squeak of brakes, then the muted crunch as he shifted into first.

I didn't look around as he drove away. I couldn't. Just hearing it tore my heart clear in half. If I'd been looking, I wasn't sure if I could stand it. It was like he was driving out of my life.

As slowly as anyone ever climbed the stairs to the scaffold, I went up the front steps to meet my father. He stepped forward, letting go of the rail. His hand came up, palm open, and I thought for a split second that he was going to hit me. But he didn't; his arms wrapped around me, and he hugged me as tightly, as fiercely, as Peter had. There was nothing for it; I hugged him back.

"Taylor, I was so worried," he groaned as he held me. "The police found a body at Winslow. And so much blood, all over the ground. When you didn't answer your phone, I thought …"

I tried to take a deep breath, but his arms around me prevented that. "Dad," I husked, "I'm all right."

There was a pause, then he let me go and held me at arms' length with his hands on my shoulders. His eyes went downward; too late, I realised that he was looking at my hands. A moment later, he was holding them, turning them palm upward, inspecting the dressings. "What happened?" His voice was ragged. "What happened to your hands?"

I didn't want to lie, but I didn't want to tell him what had happened, either. "I … fell."

"Fell, or were you pushed?" His eyes, haggard with worry, met mine. "Taylor, I thought you said the bullying was over."

"It is over," I insisted. "This wasn't them! They were arrested!"

"If this wasn't them," he pressed, "then who was it? How did this happen?"

The question took me back to the chase, air rasping in my lungs, the pounding footsteps behind me. I heard again the clearly audible snk of switchblades popping open. And then the honk of Peter's truck. Diving to the ground …

"Taylor?" Dad was looking at me carefully. "Taylor? What happened?"

My mouth was open, but words would not come. I nearly died, or worse. "Dad, I …"

He put his arm around my shoulders. "Inside."

I let him guide me into the house. When he closed the door, I didn't miss the fact that he locked it behind him. He pointed at the couch. "Sit."

I sat. There was no strength in me to do anything else.

Walking into the kitchen, he returned with a chair, which he placed opposite me. Carefully, he lowered himself into it. "Taylor."

I raised my eyes to his. "What?"

"Those dressings are hospital-grade," he said, pointing at my hands. "But you haven't been to the hospital. If you had, you'd still be there. I know what the waiting time is for injuries like that. So you got patched up elsewhere, on the quiet. And you didn't call me. Which means that you didn't want me to know what happened." He leaned forward in his chair. "Which means that you've been lying to me."

The look of betrayal on his face was almost more than I could bear. I tried to meet his eyes, and failed. "Dad, I … I didn't lie. Not exactly."

His hands, in his lap, clenched into fists. I wasn't even sure if he knew that he was doing it. "Taylor, please. No more lies. No more evasions. No more deceptions. Just tell me what's going on. Is it Peter? Is he hurting you?"

"No!" I almost shouted the word, and he jolted with surprise. "No, Peter would never hurt me! He loves me!" I could barely see straight, with the indignation that I was feeling. I couldn't believe that Dad would even think that. After everything Peter's done for me …

"He's Empire!" Dad did shout, that time. "He can't be trusted!"

"He saved my life!" I screamed it at him. A second later, I realised what I'd said, and wished I could take it back. "I – I mean …"

Dad stared at me. "What. Happened?"

Again, I couldn't meet his eyes. "It was nothing. Nothing happened." Well, not to me. But to George … A huge lump welled up in my throat. Tears welled in my eyes again.

"I don't believe you." His accusatory tone stung. "Try again."

Peter's voice came back to me. Don't do anything to make him distrust you. I took a deep breath and looked at him. "Dad, I … I really need you not to freak out. Okay?"

His return stare was incredulous. "How can you even say that, and not expect me to freak out? Taylor, something happened to you, and you won't tell me! What am I supposed to believe, if you keep lying to me?" The anguish in his voice cut me to the quick. I closed my eyes, and just for a moment I saw Mom's face in front of mine, her expression one of disappointment. Is this what it's come to? Am I lying to Dad now? How can I even call myself a good person any more?

I took another deep breath, flushing my lungs out with oxygen. "How about … the truth." Forcing my eyes to meet his, I blurted, "But you've got to promise not to freak out. Promise me."

His lips tightened. "I don't know if I can promise that. Not right now."

I felt the first stirrings of desperation. He was pushing me into a corner, one that I couldn't escape from without either lying about everything or telling him some version of the truth. "Dad. You've got to promise not to freak out or call the cops or anything. I'll tell you everything, I swear. But you have to promise, first. Please."

"The truth?" He nailed me with a stare that pinned me to the sofa. "Not holding anything back?"

I nodded miserably. "Just promise. Please."

His eyes searched mine, and he seemed to come to a conclusion. "Fine. Unless someone hurt you and got away with it, I promise not to freak out or call the cops."

It wasn't quite what I'd asked for, but it was close enough. I hadn't wanted to tell him, but we don't always get what we want. But if I told it right, nothing would come back on Peter.

"It started today at school," I said. "Some of the Asian kids framed me for an attack on a girl, and planted her purse on me. Even though I said I didn't do it, Blackwell put me in detention." I saw him raise an eyebrow. "What? Dad, seriously. I didn't do it. I told you, they framed me."

He relaxed slightly. "Okay, I'll accept that. Though I'll be having harsh words with your principal. She didn't even bother calling me about it."

I hadn't known that, but it didn't surprise me. "Yeah, she's had it in for me since the locker thing."

"But … you were the victim, there." He frowned. "Why would she take it out on you?"

"Because I made her look bad?" I shrugged. "All I know is that Mr Gladly was letting the kids throw spitballs at me all the way through detention, and not doing a fucking thing. But when George stood up for me, he got really pissy."

He didn't comment on my swearing. "Who's George?"

"A friend of Peter's. Peter told him to get detention so he could keep an eye on me."

"Wait." Dad held up both hands. "So this friend of Peter's deliberately got detention so he could protect you? Because Peter said so?"

"I guess." I grimaced. "This next bit's the part you need to not freak out about."

His gaze sharpened. "This is where you hurt your hands?"

I took a deep breath. "Yeah." I paused, trying to figure out how to word what I was going to say next. "Some of the ABB kids were kind of waiting for us when we got outside. George told me to run away, so I did."

Dad's eyes widened more than a little. "ABB? How many of them were there?"

I squirmed. "I dunno. A few? I didn't stop to count them."

"And you ran away."

"George told me to." I felt the guilt welling up in me again.

"And he was the only one there."

"Yeah."

"And this was that fight that the police was called about." His voice was implacable.

My throat closed up; I just nodded, looking at the floor.

"And George? What happened to him?" Dad's voice was surprisingly gentle.

"Peter … we went back and got him." I bit my lip. "He … we got him to medical care."

"What aren't you telling me?" I didn't want to answer him; looking away, I pressed my lips together. "Taylor. You said you'd tell me everything."

I hugged myself, rocking back and forth on the sofa. I'm sorry, Peter. "A couple of them chased me. I ran. Then Peter was there, in his truck. He … he hit them with his truck. I fell over and scraped my hands. Then we went back and got George. He was still alive. Peter took him to some sort of clinic where they saved his life. They fixed my hands too. Then he took me to a gym because Jenna said I need to learn to defend myself. That's where we were when you called." I realised that I was babbling, and took a couple of breaths. "That's everything that happened, I promise."

He stared at me. "Peter … hit them with his truck?"

"They were chasing me!" I burst out. "With knives! So yes, he hit them with his truck!"

His eyes searched me up and down. "And they didn't hurt you?"

Convulsively, I shook my head. "No. Peter got there first." I reached out and grabbed his hands. "You can't tell the cops about this. You promised."

"Jesus, what am I supposed to do?" he demanded. "You come in and tell me that you were witness to a fucking felony, maybe even murder, and I'm just supposed to do nothing about it?"

"He was defending me, Dad," I pleaded. "Can't you see that? If he hadn't been there, I wouldn't be here." Either dead or abducted, and I don't want to think about either one. But I could tell there'd be nightmares in my future.

"And what about when the police question you about it?" His gaze was direct.

I managed to look defiantly back at him. "I have no idea what you're talking about, officer."

Despite his obvious unhappiness, one corner of his mouth tilted upward and he chuckled very softly. "I suppose that it would be a dick move to testify against the kid after he saved you like that. But still."

"But still?" I didn't like the sound of that. Not in the slightest.

All humour was gone from his expression now. "This is direct proof that it's far too dangerous for you to even associate with that boy or his Empire friends."

"But they were protecting me!"

"And see what a great job they did of it!" He held up my hands, the dressings still on them. "You yourself said that you were running for your life with two ABB gangsters coming after you with knives. If he'd been thirty seconds later, would you have been okay?"

He had a point, but I didn't want to admit it. "I'm still safer with Peter than without him. That's kind of obvious." Plus, I love him and I don't want to lose him.

"But just being with him makes you a target. That's even more obvious!" His voice was getting louder again.

"But they're protecting me!" I knew I was repeating myself, but didn't know how to avoid it.

"If you weren't with them, they wouldn't need to protect you!" He reached out and took hold of my shoulders. "Taylor. You have to cut ties. It's the only way you'll be safe from this."

I shook my head. "Dad, I can't."

"You mean you won't." His tone was serious. "I know you think you love him. I know you think he's the one. But he's dangerous to be around. I've said this before. Maybe now you'll actually understand what I'm talking about. None of this would've happened if you'd never met him."

"No, Dad. I mean that I can't." I tried to match my tone to his. "I literally can't walk away. Not now."

He frowned. "What, you mean they might hurt you if you -"

"God, no!" I shook my head wildly, my hair swinging back and forth. "Peter wouldn't harm a hair on my head. Nor would the rest of them. But if I stopped being a Friend to the Empire, they'd have to stop protecting me. And even if I made a huge production of quitting in the middle of the cafeteria, all it would take is one ABB kid who didn't get the message, or didn't believe it, or just decided that an ex-Friend was still a worthwhile target. After all, Sophia made damn sure everyone thought I was a racist the moment I started talking to Peter. It's not like they're gonna think I've changed, right?"

He sat back, folding his arms. "So, what you're saying is that if you walk away, you're going to get hurt because you used to be friends with them. Is that it?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it like that -"

"I would." He overrode me. "They've got it all figured out, haven't they?" Anger flooded through his voice. "Fucking Empire. Once you're in, you can never get out. They don't even have to put any effort into punishing you for leaving. They'll let the other gangs do it for them."

"It's not like that!" I protested. "They're not doing it deliberately!"

"They may as well be," he pointed out. "And I'm pretty damn sure they point it out to anyone who does want to leave."

"No, it's just a Winslow thing," I said desperately. "Look, if you can use this to get me out of Winslow and into Arcadia, I'll be away from the gang kids. They're not about to attack me outside of school." And I'll be away from Peter. But I can always arrange to meet him elsewhere.

He shook his head. "No."

I blinked. "No? But it's the perfect solution." Out of Winslow, still with Peter.

"No. It's not." His voice was harsh. "If it leaves you within reach of the goddamn Empire, then it's not a solution at all. I'm going to have to take drastic measures."

Oh, that doesn't sound good at all. "Uh, drastic measures …?"

"We're moving."

His words didn't really register on me. "Uh, moving?"

"To Boston. We're leaving town." He stood up and checked his watch. "I'll make the call tomorrow, start proceedings to sell the house. In the meantime, I'd advise you to start packing. Decide what you're taking and what you're leaving. Once we go, we're not coming back."

"Wait, what?" I jumped to my feet. "Dad, seriously? We're moving to another city? Holy shit, isn't that kind of going overboard just a little bit?"

Taking a step forward, he laid his hands on my shoulders. "Taylor. You're all I've got left. I'll do whatever I have to, to keep you safe. I can't do that here in Brockton Bay." The desperation in his voice tore at my heart. "Please, let me protect you. This is the only way I can do it."

"But … Peter …" I pulled away from his hands. "Dad, I love him!"

"And he's also the reason this is all happening to you," he pointed out.

"But he -"

"I know he doesn't want you being hurt," he interrupted. "I respect him for that much, at least. But he can't protect you every hour of every day. That's been proven. And if they'll try once, they'll keep trying. So the only way out is to remove you from the situation."

"But I can still go to Arcadia," I tried again.

"You'd still be in the same city as the ABB," he said flatly. "Not an option."

"They wouldn't attack me outside of school -"

"Until they do." His tone was uncompromising. "I'm not about to take that chance."

"What about your job?" I figured I wasn't going to shift him on anything else, but I hadn't tried this tack yet. "How are we even going to pay for this? And where are we even going to live in Boston?" Boston. I felt a wrench at my heart. Where Peter isn't.

"We've got a little put away," he said. "Once the house is sold, that'll be a bit more. As for my job, head of hiring doesn't mean much when there's no hiring going on. Pretty sure they can replace me without much effort. And there's a Dock Workers' Association in Boston. I'll make a few phone calls tonight and see if they've got any vacancies going."

I stared at him. "What about the ferry? And the Boat Graveyard? You've put years of your life into trying to get that fixed up, getting the ferry running again. And you're just going to walk away?"

Dad shook his head, his lips tightening. "The ferry is just a thing. The Boat Graveyard is a thing. You're more important to me than either one. Than anything, really."

"But …" I trailed off. How do I say "I don't want to leave Brockton Bay" without making it sound like "I don't want to leave Peter"? Especially when that's what I really mean?

Dad looked at me, his gaze softening. "I'm sorry, kiddo," he said softly. "But my hands are tied. I really don't see that I've got another option. If it's a choice between your safety and basically anything else, I'll pick your safety every time."

"What about Winslow?" I asked hopefully. "I'm still going to school until we leave, right?"

"Hell. No." He shook his head again. "If you think I'm letting you near that hellhole again, you've got another think coming. You're staying right here at home."

Irony, thy name is Taylor Hebert. Before I met Peter, I would have rejoiced to hear those words from Dad. Now, they filled me with dread. "But nobody bullies me any more."

"No. Apparently, they're trying to kill you instead." Apparently, Dad wasn't above sarcasm. "Not an improvement."

The point wasn't one I could argue against, especially given that I'd emphasised that they were only going to attack me in the school. "Okay. So can I go out -"

"No. You're not leaving this house until we're ready to hit the road for Boston." His tone was firm.

I rolled my eyes. "Wow, house arrest much?"

"I think the term is 'protective custody'," he corrected me. "Seriously, Taylor. You're in danger. Leaving the house on your own is asking for trouble. Especially since they know your face and name, so they can probably find out our address."

"But the police -"

"Well, for one thing, you were the one who made me promise not to talk to the police. For the other, if I started explaining that you were in danger because you were dating a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight, do you think they'd be more likely to help, or to try to get you to wear a wire for them?"

I was a little taken aback by the way the conversation was going. "A wire? I'm pretty sure that's not exactly legal. I'm not even sixteen yet, let alone eighteen. And I'd tell them to go screw themselves anyway."

He grimaced. "Legalities are one thing. Facts of life are another. We live in a town where just one of the gangs has more capes than the local Protectorate. The cops will take any advantage they can get. And if they don't, the PRT will. If you didn't cooperate, I can see all sorts of harassment happening. So I'm nipping that in the bud. The cops don't hear about this." He pointed at me. "And you don't leave the house, young lady."

I sighed. "Fiiiine. I get it. I don't leave the house."

"Good." He pulled me into another hug. "It'll be for the best. You'll see."

I highly doubted that, but I didn't argue.

<><>​

Dinner was a quiet affair. We spoke mainly in monosyllables; I asked him to pass the grated cheese, while he requested the salt. Neither of us referred to the elephant in the room.

Afterward, I washed the dishes while he dried them. As I let the water out of the sink, he gestured toward the living room. "I think I'll watch some TV before bed."

"Not me," I said. "I'm kind of beat. Bed for me."

He nodded. "Okay. Good night."

"Night." I headed for the entrance hall.

"Taylor." His voice was quiet.

"Yeah, Dad?" I turned to look at him.

"Don't … don't go sneaking out tonight? Please?"

I rolled my eyes. "Relax. The thought never crossed my mind."

One corner of his mouth quirked upward. "Well, if that's the truth, your face is an awful liar."

My face flushed slightly. "Well, I thought about it, then I decided that I didn't want to try climbing out my window with these hands, and I figured you'd be waiting up just in case anyway."

"Damn right." His face took on an expression of something like pain. "Taylor, don't you get it? Every time you go outside, you're exposing yourself to danger. Going to meet that boy makes it even worse. Because the ABB hates him more than it hates you."

"His name is Peter, Dad. Not 'that boy'."

He sighed. "Sorry. I'm just not feeling very charitable toward him right now."

It was my turn to hug him. "That's okay. I kind of understand how you feel." I wasn't feeling particularly friendly toward the ABB myself.

I took myself upstairs and showered, examining the abrasions as I did so. The water stung as I washed them; I hissed a little, but made sure they were okay. Getting the first aid kit out, I put some basic antiseptic cream on them, then awkwardly wrapped them with bandages. It wasn't easy doing it one-handed for either hand, but I got there eventually.

Dried and dressed for bed, I closed my bedroom door then carefully dug in my backpack. Getting both phones out, I put Dad's on my bedside table and took Peter's to bed with me. Lying there in the dark, I looked out the window at the night sky for a while. Then I thumbed the phone on.

I didn't dare ring Peter; as quietly as I tried to speak, Dad would probably hear it. So I went through the settings and turned off all alerts, then sent him a text. Hi, how are you?

He didn't answer immediately, but I wasn't surprised. If he was already in bed asleep, or the phone was turned off, I might not get an answer until morning. However, I didn't put the phone away straight away. Instead, I tried to imagine what it would be like to live in Boston. I'd gotten as far as 'no Lung, and no goddamn ABB' when the phone vibrated in my grasp.

Great now, how did the talk with your father go?

I let out a huff of breath that I hadn't known I was holding. My lips curved upward as I imagined his answering smile.

Not so great. I hesitated for a long moment, then added more. He wants to move us both to Boston to get away from the ABB.

This time, the delay was barely any time at all. And from me, no doubt. A smiley face was appended.

Mainly the ABB, but I'm not going to lie. I tacked on a frowny face.

How soon are you moving?

I grimaced. My fingers didn't want to type out the message. Maybe a week. He wants to just sell the house and go.

Wow. Holy crap. Your father does not waste time.

I want to see you. Tears ran down my face.

Tomorrow at school?

I can't. I can't leave the house, in case the ABB is looking for me. I felt the first shudders running through my body. The sobs would come soon.

I can't argue with that. Probably wise. But I want to see you too.

What if I just ran away? Would your dad take me in? It was a wild and crazy thought. But I wasn't feeling very sensible right about then. Too many things were being decided for me.

There was a long pause, and I wondered what was happening at his end. Was he asking his father for permission for me to run away and join him? Would that be seen as initiative or recklessness?

Probably not a good idea. Not because I don't want to see you.

I let out another long breath. Mostly it was out of frustration, but a little tiny bit was due to relief. I didn't really want to run away, and it was good that Peter agreed with me. But I had to ask the question. I had to rephrase it several times to get it the way I wanted, blinking tears from my eyes.

Okay, why isn't it a good idea then?

His reply popped up almost immediately, so I figured that he must have been already typing it. Your father would not let it go. He would come after you. He might go to Father, or directly to the Empire, to demand that we hand you back over. At best, Father would indeed hand you over. At worst, your father might be hurt or killed.

I squeezed my eyes tightly closed. Peter was right. Dad would do exactly that. And it would probably get him killed. I couldn't even begin to risk it. Opening my eyes again, I typed a reply. I wish you weren't right all the time.

Me too.

Any chance of you coming to see me in Boston once we're settled?

I think there might be a reasonable chance of that, yes.

Instead of filling with warmth as it should have, my heart ached more than ever when I read that.

I still want to be in the Empire, with you.

And I want to have you here. With me. I had to blink tears out of my eyes again before I could keep reading. With what I feel for you, if we have to wait, then I'm willing to wait.

But I don't want to wait! It was a cry from the heart, for all that it was electronically transmitted.

I don't want to wait either. But Father and Uncle Max have both taught me that sometimes it's a good idea to take your time over a big decision.

I began to type out my reply, but was cut short by a knock at my bedroom door.

"What?" I called out, shoving the phone under the covers.

The door opened, spilling in light from the hall. "I just remembered that I gave you a cell-phone to call on if things got dicey." He raised an eyebrow. "You also failed to call me once things did get dicey. So I'll have it back, thanks."

"Geez, Dad, Indian giver much?" I muttered. I was proud that I wasn't showing any of my inner anguish.

He shook his head. "You're unhappy."

Well, I wasn't showing much of it.

"I get that," he continued. "But when we get to Boston, you'll have the chance to make more friends." He didn't add who aren't in gangs but I heard it loud and clear anyway. Crossing the room, he scooped the phone up off the bedside table.

I made a non-committal noise, trying not to let it become a sob. He ruffled my hair. "Good night, Taylor."

"Mm," I replied, which was all I could say right then without bursting into tears.

He exited the room, closing the door carefully behind him. I waited till I heard his bedroom door open then close before pulling out Peter's phone. Blinking away the tears, I pecked out the message. Yeah, I got it. I just don't have to like it. Night.

A moment later, his answer came back. I know. Night.

I turned the phone off, then rolled over and let the tears come.

The last time I had cried myself to sleep was when Mom died. Even the worst that Sophia had put Emma up to doing to me hadn't managed to achieve that. But now, with the possibility of never seeing Peter again, I bawled into my pillow.

<><>​

Waking up the next morning was weird and surreal. For the longest moment, I gloried in the idea that the previous day had been one big nightmare, until my abraded hands sharply reminded me otherwise. With that point settled, the rest of it crashed in on me. The ABB had tried to kidnap or kill me, and possibly wanted to try again. We were moving to Boston. I might never see Peter again.

That one thought kept me in bed until Dad finished his shower and knocked on my door. "What?" I called out, a little more sharply than I really should have. Finding my glasses, I put them on.

"Shower's free. I'm going to start breakfast now. Scrambled eggs okay?" I could hear the forced cheer in his voice. For a moment, I wondered why he had to pretend to be happy, then I realised that he'd listened to me crying all night and was maybe feeling a little guilty.

Good. Maybe he'll rethink the Boston thing. "Don't feel like breakfast."

This time, he opened the door. "Taylor, I'm sorry." I believed him; he didn't look much better than I felt. "But I can't take the risk that someone will get to you. At school or in the street or anywhere. The ABB is a big gang. The only way to avoid them is to move away. So it's what we've got to do."

"The Empire could protect us," I blurted without really meaning to say it. "If we asked them, I mean."

"No." His face set in uncompromising lines. "I made a vow, long ago, that I would never put myself or my family into debt with any gang."

"But -" I wanted to say that we wouldn't be going into debt, that I would be joining them as a full member, and from there they protected their own. However, I hesitated to make that particular revelation to Dad, and then he was speaking anyway.

"Because the next step would be to let me pay off the debt by giving them access to the Dock Workers Association, and that's something that I'll never do. I'm not going to let the gangs own me, my family or my work. It's that simple."

I stared at him. This was a side to Dad that I'd never seen before. He was strong, firm, principled. I'd always loved him for being my Dad, but for the first time I began to admire him as well. I think that this is maybe what Mom fell in love with. "Uh …"

He manufactured a smile. "Now, if you want to get up and have a shower, I'll put on some breakfast. We've got a long day ahead of us."

I got up and had a shower.

<><>​

Dad hadn't been kidding. It was going to be a long day. Mainly for me; normally, I would've been getting ready for school and running to catch the bus. But instead, after eating breakfast, I washed the dishes and then sat on the sofa, watching TV. Dad, on the other hand, settled himself at the kitchen table with the phone and a notepad. I lost track of who he was talking to after the third phone call.

After the fifth call, I got bored and switched the TV off. Dad watched as I headed for the entrance hall. "Excuse me a moment," he said into the phone. "Taylor?" he asked, putting his hand over the mouthpiece.

"Just going upstairs to read," I said over my shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm not going to sneak out."

His expression tightened a bit at the snarkiness in my voice, but I didn't much care. If he wasn't going to take my feelings into account, then I didn't feel much in the way of obligation toward his feelings either.

"Okay, then," he said. "Have you started packing yet?"

"No." I bit back a sharper comment. "It's kind of hard, you know?"

His voice was sympathetic. "Yeah, I know. But I've got a possible place lined up. If I can get everything organised, we could be leaving in the next few days."

That jarred me to my heels. He was talking about moving, but I hadn't thought it physically possible to do it that soon. "Dad, how the hell can you even make that work?"

"We'll talk about it later." He took his hand away from the phone. "Sorry, where were we?"

I saw that his attention was back on the phone call, so I headed upstairs. Pulling a book off of the shelf in my room, I flopped on to the bed and started reading. Or trying to read, anyway. Every few lines, my thoughts would wander back to the shit that my life had become, and I'd lose track again. About twenty pages in, I gave up; I'd read the book a hundred times before and I still had no idea where the plot was going.

I wanted something to do. Anything to do. Sitting down at the computer that Dad had gotten for me for my fourteenth birthday, I tried to log on to PHO. Reading the mindless chatter about the doings of capes around Brockton Bay should take my mind off things.

Except that I couldn't log on. I couldn't even get online. The modem, when I checked it, was on, but showing a red light where it should have been showing a green light. I cycled it, but the red light stubbornly refused to turn green.

Getting up, I trotted along the corridor and down the stairs. Dad was just in the process of dialling another number on the phone. "Dad," I said before he could finish. "The internet's down."

"I know," he told me. "I had it cut off."

"What?" I stared at him, stunned. Was this some sort of punishment? "Why?"

"Because we won't be here much longer," he said patiently. "And I hear you can get better bandwidth, or whatever they call it, in Boston."

"But that doesn't help me much now," I protested.

"Well, it's a good thing that you don't need the internet to help you pack, isn't it?" He turned back to the phone and hit the last few buttons.

Wow. Okay. Fine. Hint taken. Turning, I left the kitchen and headed upstairs again.

My old suitcase was still under my bed since the last time I'd gone to summer camp, which was … jeez, two thousand and nine.

Sitting on the bed, I found myself indulging in a few satisfying daydreams of punching the living crap out of that black bitch Sophia Hess. To be honest, I'd been kind of looking forward to learning how to fight from Jenna, so I could track Sophia down and kick the shit out of her. Turn my best friend against me, will you?

But even that palled after a while, so I hauled the case out from under the bed and opened it. Then I pulled the nesting case out from inside it and opened that as well. There were still a few forgotten souvenirs from the camp in the cases, including a friendship bracelet from some girl whose name escaped me, and another that I'd made for Emma and never given to her. Both of them went into the trash. I have actual friends now.

Packing became a lot easier once I discarded a lot of the clothing that I wasn't wearing any more. Jenna and I had shopped at the Boardwalk more than once. She had convinced me that Peter liked seeing me in bright clothing; given the look on his face when I tried it out, I guessed that she had a point.

So, the shapeless hoodies went into the Goodwill pile, and the belly tees and the skinny jeans (not that I'd wear the shirts before doing something for my fitness) went into the suitcase. I found myself humming as I went through my wardrobe to determine what I'd keep and what I'd throw away; it wasn't as though I was happy to be moving away from Peter, but packing gave me something to do. And besides, he could come and see me on the weekends. It was only sixty miles, after all, and he had his truck.

The suitcases were halfway full before I realised that it was almost noon. Lunchtime at Winslow. I hadn't wanted to text Peter during class but if I was going to do it at any time, this was as good as any. Going to my door, I leaned out into the corridor. Downstairs, I could hear Dad's voice, making yet another phone call. Good.

Pushing a case aside to make room, I pulled out my phone and sent away a text. Hey. Able to talk?

Within thirty seconds, I got a reply back. For you, any time. How you holding up?

I may have sniffled just a little. Missing you.

I miss you too. And I'm not the only one. Everyone's been asking if you're all right.

I hugged the phone to my chest as I savoured the feeling. They care. They really care.

Tell them I'm fine. My hands are a bit sore, but I bet I'm doing better than the two who were chasing me.

Haha yeah. There was a smiley-face attached. Oh, just by the way? We sent a little message last night. Nobody does this to you. We didn't kill anyone, but we're pretty sure they got it loud and clear.

I blinked a little at that. If I was reading this right, Peter and his friends had gone and extracted revenge for the attempted abduction-or-murder, whichever it was, that the ABB had tried on me.

Wow.

I really wasn't sure what to feel about that. On the one hand, someone had gotten hurt. On the other, I had nearly fallen into the clutches of the ABB, and George had been hurt so badly defending me. Protecting me. Doing his duty, against impossible odds. He'd nearly died.

I'd been lying to myself. I did know what to feel about that. My lips skinned back from my teeth as I typed a single word. Good.

After I sent it, I thought for a moment and sent another text. Bronson isn't in too much trouble, is he?

I didn't have to wait long for an answer. Bronson's not in trouble. When I thought about it, I realised that he was just being honest with you. More honest than I was being. You deserved to know the full truth.

I let out a small sigh of relief. I liked Bronson. He wasn't 'just a skinhead' to me, not any more. He was a nice guy who told really stupid jokes and idolised Peter. But he hadn't shirked from telling me what he thought I needed to hear. Peter needs people like that around him.

Which reminded me of something else. How's George doing?

He came off the critical list this morning.

The knot in my chest unclenched slightly. I'm glad. Say hi for me when you see him next please?

His reply made me smile. I'll send him flowers for you.

Humming to myself, I typed out another message. Make it a set of knuckle-dusters instead. I'm sure he'll appreciate that more.

Haha yeah, you're probably right.

Then a serious issue occurred to me. Uh, another question. Just because I'm moving away, I don't have to stop being a Friend to the Empire, right?

His reply came back quickly. Pfft, as if. You only stop being a Friend if you want to stop.

He could always give me that deep-down warm feeling. Good.

We texted back and forth a little longer, nothing serious. I told him what I was packing into the suitcases, and he told me what the mystery meat looked like. I hadn't even known there was a puking emoticon. He passed on comments from the other people at the table, and I answered to them, chuckling at their replies. It gave me a warm feeling of belonging; even when I wasn't there, they were still including me in their group.

All too soon, Peter had to go back to class. I turned off the phone and put it away, then sat staring at the floor. It felt weird not to be at Winslow in the middle of a school day. I bet Peter and the others are the only ones who've even noticed that I'm not there. Except maybe the kids with the spitballs. Who are they gonna throw them at now? The thought raised a giggle, then I forgot why I was even laughing as Dad called me down for lunch.

<><>​

"Report."

"She's not there."

"What do you mean, she's not there?"

"I mean, she eats lunch every day with the Ferguson kid, without fail. She even sits at their table. But she's not there today."

"Maybe one of our people hurt her before they got killed."

"I don't think so. He spent most of the lunch hour texting on his phone, and showing the texts to the others. They're laughing. That's not the face of someone whose girlfriend is in the hospital."

"So she's staying away from school."

"It looks like it. So, the afternoon's a wash then."

"Not necessarily. It won't be hard to find out where she lives. She's probably out right now, but she'll be home tonight. We'll get her then."

"With respect, may I ask a question?"

"You may."

"Why are we going after this one girl so hard? What's so special about her?"

"Her, personally? Nothing. It's what she represents."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"She's important to Ferguson. That much is clear. We don't quite know if he likes her for herself, or for the fact of who her father is. Either way, we don't want the Empire getting its hooks into the Dock Workers. They're too strong as it is. Also, fucking up Ferguson is a good thing. Especially after they roughed up some of our people last night. Someone needs to pay, and she's it."

"But if we kill her, won't her father blame us and turn to them?"

"Not if we make it look like their fault. In any case, we're not going to kill her."

"We're not?"

"No need. A week in one of our brothels should do the trick, so to speak. She'll still be alive, so there'll be no inconvenient murder charges to answer to. The Empire will wash their hands of her faster than a skinhead punching out a Merchant. We get her hooked on something in the process, so she keeps coming back. Her father will cover the whole thing up, of course. It'll never make the news. We get what we want, with profit on top. Win-win-win."

<><>​

"So, how's your packing going?" Dad had made stir-fry, and he heaped it on to my plate. It smelled really nice.

"Kinda," I grunted. "What's the occasion?" I gestured at the stir-fry.

"Well, it's better to eat the food we've got than take up space packing it along with us," he pointed out. "So I looked at what we had, and decided to throw it all in together. What do you think?"

I took a forkful and chewed it thoughtfully. "Not bad," I allowed.

He rolled his eyes. "A ringing endorsement for the ages, if ever I've heard one."

If he was trying to wind me up, he was succeeding. I swallowed the food and poked my tongue out at him.

He chuckled. "Feeling a little better, I see."

"Maybe," I replied. "It's not like Peter can't come and see me in Boston."

From the look on his face, he wasn't hugely thrilled with that idea. "So long as he leaves any Empire business behind in Brockton Bay. Like I'm trying to do."

"It's not the Empire who's a danger to me. It's the ABB." My protest was reflexive, and I was sure it would be in vain.

His next words proved me correct. "If it wasn't for the Empire, the ABB wouldn't even be coming after you. So yes, in a very real way, they are a danger to you."

I did my best to hide my grimace. As much as I hated to admit it, he kind of had a point. Of course, as far as I was concerned, Peter was blameless. Hunching my shoulders, I ate some more stir-fry.

"So anyway," he went on, "I've managed to find us a place to live. We can pick up the keys in two days' time."

"So we're leaving in two days?" I tried not to hide my dismay. So quickly?

"Hah, no." He shook his head. "We drive down tonight. Two nights in a motel, then we'll be able to start moving into our now house. Our new life."

"Tonight." I'd been taken aback; now I was stunned. For all that Dad kept talking about moving, I hadn't truly believed that we'd be able to pull up stakes and relocate to Boston in less than a week, much less a single day. "We're leaving tonight."

Dad nodded. "Yes. I'll pack the car with everything we absolutely need, and we'll leave just after sunset."

<><>​

"Yeah, that makes sense. So, tonight then?"

"Tonight. We'll hit them just after the sun goes down."


End of Part Eight

Part Nine

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Nine: Out of Control

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

I was sitting on my bed, looking out the window, when Dad knocked on the bedroom door. Without turning my head, I called out, "Come in."

I heard the door open, and looked around. Dad looked a little frazzled around the edges, but he had an energy to him that had been missing for quite some time. He indicated the cases I had filled. "Everything packed?"

I patted the mattress, which had been stripped bare. "Gonna need to wash my sheets at some point, but sure." The words were light, but my tone wavered between forced cheer and pure unhappiness.

Stepping past the cases, he cleared his throat. "It's going to be better than you think, Taylor. It's a new town, a new beginning. We can start fresh, without all the old baggage hanging off us."

I shook my head, letting some of my frustration show on my face. "What if I wanted some of that baggage? I was happy with Peter, for the first time in basically forever. You never did anything when I was miserable, but when I find some friends who are actually willing to stand up for me, you leave town to get me away from them."

There was a frozen moment when I realised exactly how bitchy that sounded. I wanted to take it back, but the words wouldn't come. I didn't mean that wouldn't work, because I had meant it.

And then the time was past. "Taylor, I'm sorry." Dad's voice was heavy, but I could hear the anger he was trying to conceal. "You're just going to have to trust me on this. Once you get a little older and get some perspective on this, you'll realise that I did the right thing, getting you away from the Empire before you got too deep into it."

"And in the meantime, I get no say. Because I'm just a kid."

He sat down on the bed beside me. "Taylor, I really hate to say this, because you're damn smart. Smarter than most people your age. But the fact is … you are a kid. You don't have the age or experience to truly look at what's happening and see how they're manipulating you to like them. I've seen it a hundred times before. Nearly fell for it a few times myself."

I threw up my hands. "Dad, everyone manipulates everyone to make them like them! It's not something that starts after you leave school! Peter actually wanted to know me, and he spent time being nice to me. Am I supposed to reject him because of that? Because maybe he thought I'd be a nice person to talk to? Or because I was being bullied, and he wanted to stop that? I mean, fucking wow, if you reject everyone who spends time trying to get you to like them, you're gonna be real fucking lonely!"

He grimaced. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant it with the gangs. They make people feel good so they'll join. Now, I know you hadn't joined, but this 'friend to the Empire' thing was just the first step. Next, there would've been subtle pressure and hints that if you were 'really' their friend, you'd commit yourself more to it. And the next thing you know, you're wearing the colours and chanting the chants."

I stopped and thought about that for a moment. Had there been pressure for me to join? Had Peter hinted at any time that I wasn't really good enough for him if I was just a Friend to the Empire?

No.

Dad was looking at me expectantly. I shook my head. "No, Dad, you're wrong. They weren't like that. They were just … there for me. I know you can only think the worst of them, but they weren't pressuring me to do anything at all."

He looked unhappy. "I'm sorry to say, Taylor, but they were actually pressuring you. Making you think you were special to them when you were really just another recruit. Want me to prove it? Do you think they would've treated you the same if you'd been Asian? Or black?"

"But I'm not Asian or black!" I couldn't believe he'd even gone there. "If I was, I wouldn't have even been getting bullied!"

"Not by Emma and her friends, maybe," he said gently. "But what about by the Empire?"

"You're wrong," I said stubbornly. "They might pass a few remarks, but they don't hardly ever go after Asians or blacks in the school, unless they're ABB, and there's no fucking way in hell that I'd ever join them."

His lips thinned. "That's another thing I want to talk to you about, Taylor. You're starting to swear more than I'm comfortable with. I think they're a bad influence on you in that way, too."

I rolled my eyes. "Well, at least I'm not saying nigger or chink or spic all the time. You've gotta be happy about that, right?"

From the look on his face, I had hit exactly the wrong note. Jeez, what does he want from me?

He sighed. "I'm going to go put your cases in the car. We've got about half an hour before sundown. I want to be on the road by then."

"Whatever," I grunted, turning back to the window. Crossing my arms on the windowsill, I rested my chin on them. It's just not fair.

<><>​

My bedroom window faced west, with a great view of Captain's Hill. I hadn't paid attention to it for years, but now I found myself actually studying it for the first time in basically forever, taking in the details. I'm gonna miss this.

Who was I kidding? It wasn't Captain's Hill that I was going to miss. It was Peter and the others. My boyfriend and my other friends. Yeah, they were racists, but that didn't matter. Okay, so if I was being brutally honest with myself, me being associated with them might've had a little tiny bit to do with the ABB coming after me, but Peter had saved me, right? He'd been there when I needed him. So had George, Jenna, Bronson and the others. Which was a hell of a lot more than I could say about anyone else in my life, Dad included.

Life was just so goddamn unfair, sometimes.

Even as I heard Dad grunt, heaving the suitcases into the trunk of the car, I considered ducking out the back door and calling Peter to come pick me up. But I shot down that plan almost as fast as I came up with it. Dad would come looking for me, and he knew that I was associated with the Empire. Knowing him, he'd go to either Mr Ferguson, or try to contact Kaiser himself. At best, he'd raise a fuss which would be the exact opposite of me slipping away quietly. At worst … I wasn't thrilled with Dad right now, but he was still my Dad, and I didn't want to see him hurt or killed.

With a sigh, I resumed my study of Captain's Hill. Why the fuck are there no good options in my life any more?

<><>​

All too soon, I heard Dad's familiar tread on the stairs. "Taylor," he called. "Time to go. Let's hit the road, kiddo."

I didn't want to go. I did not want to go. But I was all out of viable alternatives. At least Peter will be able to visit. Dad can't stop him from coming to Boston.

Wiping away something that wasn't a tear, because I wasn't going to cry, I heaved myself to my feet and swung my backpack on to my shoulder. He met me at my bedroom door and glanced at the pack. "We can put that in the trunk too."

"No." I'd packed it myself. It held things that I considered essential right now. Tissues, just in case I got a runny nose because of pollen or something (because I wasn't going to cry), an emergency change of clothes, a few of my favourite books, and the phone Peter had given me, stashed away in a side pocket. That last one was something that I definitively did not want Dad finding, ever. "I'm good. I'll carry it in the car."

"Okay." He shrugged. "If you say so. Let's go."

I followed him downstairs and out the back door, which he locked – he'd already done the front, I figured – and around the corner of the house to the car. At the passenger-side door, I paused. "I, uh, might need to go. Before we go." It wasn't an escape attempt or anything. Just an excuse to spend a little more time in the house. In Brockton Bay.

He shook his head. "I already had the water turned off. If you do need to go, just let me know on the way out of town. We can stop at a gas station." His eye fell on my backpack. "But you'll be leaving that in the car."

"Dad!" I protested. "I wasn't going to run off on you!" Despite the fact that I had considered the idea several times, I still felt a little affronted. After all, I'd decided not to, hadn't I?

He gave me a 'Dad' look, the type that tries to convey the message I was a kid too, once. So don't try to pull that on me. "Get in the car, Taylor. We've got a ways to go before we hit Boston."

I got in the car.

<><>​

I brooded in the passenger seat as Dad carefully reversed down the driveway. At least I didn't feel like I was going to cry any more, because I was too busy feeling indignant that Dad had thought I might actually try to duck out on him. Okay, so I'd probably do it if I was sure he wouldn't get hurt, but that was beyond the point.

Looking out my window as Dad paused at the end of the driveway, I saw a car coming. That wasn't unusual; cars drove down our street all the time. But this guy was slowing down, despite the fact that Dad had stopped to let him go past. Then I saw the open window, and the arm coming out. Last of all, I saw the colours.

"Dad!" I screamed. "It's the ABB! They're here!"

To give him his credit, he never hesitated for an instant. Still in reverse, he slammed his foot down on the gas. Gravel sprayed everywhere as he rocketed the car out of the driveway and into the street. The ABB car was coming up on my right; we shot past its nose with inches to spare. In the process, I got a really close look at the front end of their car, the startled faces behind the windshield, but most importantly, the gun that the guy in the passenger seat was holding.

Rubber screeched on asphalt as Dad swung us in a turn that left us on the other side of the road, facing the opposite way to the ABB car. The driver of that car must have been surprised by Dad's sudden move. As it was, he flinched and swerved, putting two wheels up on the curb and wiping out a series of trash cans.

"Guns!" I yelled, my brain finally catching up with what I'd seen.

Dad didn't answer, but the engine roared and the tyres did their best to leave black marks on the road as we took off. I began to heave a tiny sigh of relief, looking back over my shoulder; by the time those guys got turned around, we'd be long gone.

But then we swerved violently, slewing across the road. I grabbed for a handhold as another car shot by on the right. This time, I only caught a glimpse, but I was pretty sure that I'd seen more colours and more guns.

Oh, shit. The ABB really does have it in for me me.

"Taylor," grunted Dad as he wrestled the car back on to the correct side of the street. "My phone's in the overnight bag. Call the cops." His hands were occupied, but he jerked his head toward the back seat.

I had a better idea. Yanking open the side pocket to my backpack, I pulled my phone out of it.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed. "Where'd you get that from?"

"Peter gave it to me." I tapped in the code to wake the phone up.

"You never told me about that!"

"You never asked!" Peter's number was speed dial 1; I hit that, and held the phone to my ear.

"When we get out of this, young lady, you and I are going to have a long talk."

Seriously, his priorities needed work. "Okay, Dad. Now, shush!" The phone was ringing, and I didn't want to miss Peter.

Pops sounded behind the car. Are they shooting at us? I yelped as the rear window shattered, spraying bits of glass into the back seat. Fuck. They're definitely shooting at us.

"Hello?" Peter sounded unreasonably relaxed. "What's up, Taylor?"

"Peter!" I gasped, flinching as more pops sounded, and something hit the car with a resounding clang. "We need help! The ABB are chasing us and shooting at us!"

"Christ! Okay, on my way. Where are you?" I heard the roar of an engine in the background.

Oh, thank God. He's already in his truck.

I stared at a street sign as it whipped past, then hung on for a corner. The old car fishtailed slightly, but Dad had it well in hand. "Uh, we've just turned down Landau Street from my house."

"Jenna, hit the GPS," I heard him say. "Where can we intercept? Bronson, call my dad. Call everyone."

"Please hurry," I begged. I let out a little scream as a couple of bullets whipped past my head to punch holes in the windshield. Fortunately, it didn't shatter as far as Dad's side, so he could still see. Mostly.

"It's okay," he assured me. "We're gonna get you out of this. You just need to stay ahead of them. Can you put the phone on speaker?"

"Oh, uh, okay," I blurted. Fumbling with the handset, I finally pressed the right button. "You're on speaker."

"Mr Hebert, this is Peter Ferguson," he said.

Dad gritted his teeth and swerved the car around a slow-moving sedan; a couple of bullets hit the back somewhere. The noise of the engine was loud in my ears. "Yeah, I get that," he half-shouted. "This is your fault. What are you gonna do about it?"

"You're right, and I'm sorry. You're heading south on Landau? Make a left at Ronan."

Ronan Avenue made a T-intersection across the southern end of Landau Street. It was coming up fast, a situation with which I was uncomfortably aware. "And after that?" Dad's voice was clipped.

"Right on to Hammerhead. We'll be there. Reinforcements on the way." Peter's voice was calm and assured. He sounded so confident about the outcome that I actually felt myself relaxing slightly. Peter's in charge. He knows what to do.

"Got it." Dad didn't have time for any more than that. Cars were passing through the intersection ahead of us, but we had neither the time nor the inclination to slow down. He jammed the heel of his hand down on the horn button and swung the car as far over to the right as he could. All I could see was a blur of picket fences and startled pedestrians.

At the last moment, he yanked on the wheel, swerving across three lanes to aim at a driveway just before the intersection. More clangs sounded, and Dad's window shattered inward, spraying him with tiny cubes of safety glass. I grabbed a handhold just in time to prevent my head from banging into the roof of the car. There was a tremendous crunch from the front suspension and the car nearly launched itself into the air. Then we cut across the corner of the intersection with the engine screaming like a banshee.

There was a hedge and a fence in the way. Or rather, there had been a hedge and a fence. We went through the former like a combine harvester and the latter like a bulldozer; leaves and palings went everywhere. Dad grunted and swung the wheel a little; a split second later, a telegraph pole took off the mirror on my side of the vehicle. Launching off the curb, we caromed off of the corner of a parked car and bounced on to the road, tyres squealing wildly as our back end swung outward. Spinning the wheel like a rally driver, Dad corrected the skid and accelerated into the straightaway.

"Are you still there?" Peter sounded concerned. "Taylor, what was that?"

"Corner at Ronan," I managed. "Dad took a shortcut." A bullet took a chunk out of my headrest; I actually heard it go whap past my head, before adding another hole to the windshield. I let out an involuntary scream.

"Are you all right? What happened?"

"Bullet," I gasped. "Came really close."

"Just hang on. We're coming to you."

"Yeah, I know." I saw the corner to Hammerhead Street coming up. "Dad, we gotta turn down here."

He grunted painfully and began to turn the wheel with both hands. That was when I saw the blood covering his left hand. "Dad!" I yelled. "Peter, Dad's been hit! He's bleeding!"

"How bad is it?"

"I don't know! I can't see! Dad!"

From being hunched over the wheel, Dad slumped sideways against the door. His hands began to slip off the wheel. Frantically, I lunged across the space between us and grabbed the wheel, knowing that the tacky feeling was from my father's blood and not being able to do anything about it.

"PETER!" I screamed, knowing that he wouldn't be able to do anything about it either. "HELP!"

We had drifted on to the wrong side of the road. Fortunately, there wasn't much in the way of traffic; unfortunately, we were barrelling down the wrong side of the road against said traffic. I desperately yanked the wheel around and got us back on the right side of the road, but then we were heading for the curb and some parked cars.

I didn't have my license; I'd never even been in the driver's seat of a car. There were three pedals down on the floor, and Dad's foot was still jammed on what I figured was the accelerator. One of the other two was the brake, but I had no idea which one it was, or even how to reach it.

I couldn't stop the car or even slow us down. I had the vague idea that changing to a lower gear would reduce our speed, but that wasn't something I could experiment with at the moment. So I did everything else that I could think of. I pulled the wheel over toward myself as fast as I could to turn us away from the parked car, causing our back end to swing around and the tyres to squeal in protest. We bounced off of the other car anyway, and I yanked the handbrake on. At least I knew where that was, and what it did.

That was when everything went to hell.

The first thing that happened was a horrible grinding noise came from under the car and the engine stalled. Then we were spinning around, totally out of control, a horrible screeching noise coming from the tyres. I was pulled back toward my seat by the force of the spin, losing my grip on the steering wheel.

And the third thing? The third thing was when the car flipped. I felt it start to go, and I hung on for dear life. I watched in horror as Dad began to tumble out of his seat; too late, I recalled his habit of stopping at the end of the driveway and then putting his seat-belt on.

"Dad!" I screamed, reaching over to grab him. I got got my arms around his waist just as the car hit the ground again. It didn't matter that I was holding on as tightly as I could, he was jerked free of my grip like it was nothing.

The car rolled over a few more times, or few dozen more. I wasn't sure. I tried to keep hold of Dad, to cushion him from the worst of the impacts. Not that I succeeded very often. There seemed to be blood all over him; by the time we stopped rolling, it was all over me, too.

I was bruised and battered, and my nose was bleeding. My thoughts were muzzy and confused, and for the longest time, I couldn't make sense of what was around me, or why Dad was lying on the roof of the car. Slowly, I pieced it together. The car was upside down. He hadn't been wearing his seatbelt.

"Dad," I mumbled. He didn't respond. "Dad!" I said again, more loudly. Still no response.

I had no idea how badly he was hurt, or if he was even alive, but I had to get to him. Feebly, I felt for my seat-belt release and triggered it. In retrospect, this was a bad idea; I could easily have broken my own neck when I fell out of my seat.

Fortunately, I didn't, although my shoulder hurt where I had landed on it. My glasses hadn't even been dislodged from my face, although they were a little awry. I reached out to him. While I didn't know first aid and had no idea how to take a pulse, I put my hand flat on his chest. A moment later, I felt it rise slightly, then drop. He was still breathing, at least. Dad was alive.

I had to get him out of the car. While I wasn't sure if I should be moving someone who'd been in a car accident, and I'd read that cars exploding after a crash was mostly Hollywood, I didn't want to assume that it wasn't going to explode anyway, or blow up, or whatever. So I turned from where I was kneeling under my seat, and tried to open the door. It didn't want to open. I tried harder. It still didn't want to open.

"Okay," I said out loud. "Okay. Door won't open. How do we get out?"

That was when I looked at the car window on Dad's side, which wasn't there any more.

<><>​

After a few moments of painful crawling, including climbing over my unconscious father, I managed to get out through his window. Turning back, I started dragging him out as well. It wasn't easy, and the little bits of glass that kept falling down out of the door didn't help in the slightest.

I had him about halfway out of the window, sobbing from the exertion, when I heard a vehicle brake to a halt behind me. Oh, thank God. Peter's here. I didn't stop hauling on Dad's shoulders. Dad had been hurt before the crash, and I was pretty sure that he was still bleeding. I needed to get him out to where I could maybe do something about it. Peter's truck, as I recalled, had a first aid kit in it. Bronson knows first aid. Hope began to stir in my heart at last.

"Well now, what do we have here?"

The voice wasn't Peter's. It didn't belong to anyone I knew in the Empire. Maybe it's someone else he knows? Without pausing in my efforts, I looked over my shoulder, and instantly regretted it. Four of them stood there, with another four walking over from another car. All of them were around my age, or a little older, wearing ABB colours.

Carefully, I lowered Dad's shoulders to the ground. I didn't even know how I was going to do this, but I wasn't going to leave Dad. Peter was depending on me to stand strong until he got there. I couldn't let either one of them down.

Standing up, I faced them. "What do you want?"

The guy I figured was in charge of the first group – he was bigger and taller than the rest – walked straight up to me. I saw the punch coming at the last second, but it was far to late for me to do anything about it by then. His fist hammered into my stomach, and I collapsed to my knees, coughing and gagging. Pain slashed through my scalp as he twisted his fingers through my hair and hauled me to my feet. All I could do was wheeze helplessly, my body trying to double over so as to relieve the pain in my gut. Two of his buddies came up beside him and grabbed my arms, holding me firmly. My shoulders hurt where they were twisting my arms back, but it was still better than having my hair pulled out by the roots.

"Funny girl," he sneered into my face, and spat at me. It landed on my cheek; I wanted to reach up to wipe it off, but I couldn't. Even as I struggled uselessly, he slapped me across the face. My ears rang, and I reeled. My glasses were knocked askew again, but I didn't lose them, for which I was grateful.

My nose started bleeding all over again, and tears came to my eyes. I coughed and gasped, trying to get my breath back. He just looked at me, sneering.

"What we want, funny girl, is you." His voice was contemptuous. "By the time we're finished with you, the Empire's gonna kick you to the curb." One of his compatriots, a girl, giggled in a way that scared the life out of me.

I forced air into my lungs. "Dad … leave him alone … nothing to do with this." I wanted to explain more, to point out that Dad had been literally going to take me out of town to keep me away from Peter, but I didn't get the chance. My head rang as he slapped me again, this time on the other side of my face. My glasses were roughly jolted back into position, an outcome I was fairly certain he hadn't intended. Nor had he intended to slap me where he'd spat on me; he grimaced as he wiped his hand off on his jeans.

"Yeah, Lee," said one of the ABB guys. "What do we do with the old guy?"

Lee shrugged. "Put Empire marks on the car, then torch it."

"No!" I screamed. "No! Please, don't!" I wrenched at the arms holding me, putting my shoulders under almost unbearable strain, but to no avail. "Leave him alone! He's not Empire!"

That got me a sneer from Lee. "Yeah, but you are, funny girl. Lung wants you alive, so he dies."

"Yeah, but how alive does Lung want her?" asked one of the others. He cupped his crotch suggestively. "Plenty of room between healthy and dead."

Lee smiled; the expression made my blood run cold. "You know, I -"

I had no idea how Peter did it, but one moment all was quiet and the next, his truck blasted through the middle of the group of ABB punks. No engine noise, no lights, nothing. He came so close to me that I felt the wind of the passing vehicle; Lee, on the other hand, crunched heavily into the bullbar and was flung away from me. Brakes squealed and the truck jolted to a halt in the middle of the street; Peter leaped out of the driver's side, while Jenna and Bronson got out on the other.

Muted pops, and entirely un-muted screams, told me where Jenna and Bronson were mopping up the demoralised ABB teenagers. Peter, on the other hand, strode toward where I was being held by Lee's friends. "Taylor," he said flatly. It was both a greeting and a direction. His right hand was behind his back, while his left hand made a vertical patting gesture; I knew what he wanted me to do.

"Hey, man," blurted one of the ABB. "Back off or we'll cut -"

Even as his switchblade snicked open, I was already doing what Peter told me; letting my legs go limp, I collapsed to my knees. My shoulders nearly dislocated on the spot, but I didn't care about that. Peter brought his right hand around from behind his back with a pistol in it. Levelling the firearm, he fired once, shifted aim, and fired again. Both the guys holding me let go; I heard them collapsing to the ground.

I tried to climb to my feet, but between the car crash, the exertion, and the physical abuse, my joints were in a state approximating water. Peter was there before I could perform an embarrassing face-plant into the street; with one hand he helped me up, then shifted position so that his shoulder was under mine, supporting me. I felt the warmth of his closeness, the strength of his muscles, and wanted to burst into tears from sheer relief. Peter's here, I thought again. This time, however, I knew it to be true. Everything's going to be okay.

"Taylor," he said again, this time much more warmly. His gun went away somewhere, and he smoothed back my hair from my face. I soaked up the sensation of his fingertips brushing my cheek. "Are you all right? Where are you hurt?"

"I – I'm fine," I stammered. "You got here just in time. It's Dad. He's hurt. He won't wake up."

"Oh, shit." He looked down at where Dad was still sprawled halfway out of his car window. Turning his head, he raised his voice. "Bronson! Jenna! Get here, now!"

Once I felt that I could stand on my own, he knelt down beside where Dad lay. He reached down to take Dad's pulse in a gesture that I recognised from any number of movies and TV shows. "Okay, he's still alive," he noted. "Heartbeat's a bit fast and a bit faint. You said he was hit? How bad?"

I took a couple of staggering steps and leaned against the car, upside down as it was. "I – I don't know. He's bleeding, I think, from his left side."

"Okay, right." He looked around as Bronson and Jenna approached. "Bronson, gonna need your help to get Taylor's dad out of the car. He needs first aid. Jenna, grab the first aid kit, then get Taylor settled in the truck."

Bronson just nodded and went down on one knee beside the car; Jenna dashed over to the truck and started digging out the first-aid kit. I vaguely hoped that they wouldn't need to use my pads any more, because I had no idea where my backpack was.

"Okay," Bronson muttered. "A little bit further. Watch his arm." A pause. "Got a bullet hole. Putting pressure on it. Okay, now lift and move."

I looked at the side of the car, and for the first time I realised that there were holes in it. A bullet must have gone through and hit Dad. I didn't know they could do that. It appeared that Hollywood had lied to me again.

"Okay, got the kit." Jenna hustled over with the large plastic box, which she placed near Bronson; the burly teen delved into it immediately, muttering something about 'bleeding'. "Come on, Taylor, you look like you're about to fall over. Let's get you settled down."

"Dad …" I protested feebly. I wanted to watch, to make sure he was going to be okay.

"It's all right," she assured me, divining what I meant. With her arm under my shoulders, she easily supported my weight, guiding me toward the truck. "You'll be able to see what's happening, and we've got Vic- shit, Peter, look out! Grenade!"

A dark-cloaked figure wearing a demonic mask had appeared about three yards away and tossed something toward us. Even as he collapsed into white ash, Jenna lunged toward the truck, half-carrying me with her. I couldn't see what was happening with Dad and Peter and Bronson; before my brain could really catch up, the grenade went off. The explosion was oddly muffled; Jenna screamed "Bronson!" and shoved me to the ground. Then she pulled out her pistol and fired several shots at something out of my line of sight.

I was vaguely aware of bellowing engines and glaring headlights as I lay on the ground. The dark figure – Oni Lee, I gathered at long last – appeared about two yards behind Jenna. He fired into her back before I was able to shout a warning. She grunted and fell sideways, her pistol clattering on to the asphalt. More shots sounded from the other side of the truck even as the ABB assassin collapsed into ash once more; I heard Peter cry out in pain.

Trying to keep myself as low as possible, I crawled up next to Jenna. I didn't know what good I could do, but I wasn't going to do nothing.

"Jenna," I whispered, trying to keep my voice down despite the persistent ringing in my ears. "Are you alive?" Which rated among the ten stupidest questions in history, I decided immediately. In any case, she didn't answer. Cautiously, I ran my hand over her back, finding the bullet-hole almost immediately; at least, I assumed that was what it was due to the wet warmth under my hand. With hardly any understanding of what I was doing, I pressed on the spot with the heel of my hand, hoping that I could slow the bleeding and give her a slightly better chance at living through this.

Any chance above zero is a good chance, right now.

Raising my head slightly, I cautiously looked around. Dad was most of the way out of the car, and he seemed to have a white bandage on his side. Peter was lying beside him, blood staining the front of his shirt. He was scrabbling weakly for his pistol, which lay just out of his grasp. Bronson was a few yards away from Peter. He was face-down on the asphalt, and even I knew what the dark spreading pool around his body meant. He threw himself on the grenade to save the rest of us.

Peter's eyes met mine, and he paused in his reach for the pistol. His lips formed words that I could read even across the gulf that separated us. Stay. Down.

I bit my lip. What he was advocating was the safest course of action, but I didn't want to be a coward, again, and leave Peter and Dad to the mercy of the ABB. They'll die. I'll have to watch them die, and live with that for the rest of my life.

Of course, there was the faint hope that the ABB would just, well, leave them alone. Maybe once everyone's down, they'll take their men and go. I was lying to myself – I knew I was lying to myself – but I didn't want to give in to utter despair.

Peter's efforts to regain the pistol redoubled as a lone figure approached him. I couldn't see the person properly against the headlights, but he was moving confidently. Almost strutting. Peter finally managed to get a proper grasp on the firearm and half-rolled to bring his arm up, but he was too late. A foot rose and then fell on to his forearm; bone cracked. Peter cried out feebly, the gun sliding from his hand.

The man turned, and I saw the metal mask that covered his face. Then the light fell on the tattoos that covered his torso. Tattoos of dragons.

This was Lung.

I knew what he'd done. We'd covered it in World Issues. He was one of a very few capes who could boast of facing an Endbringer in close combat and living to tell the tale. Unfortunately, he wasn't a hero; far from it. Lung had unified the Asian gangs (or, to put it another way, he'd killed the bosses and co-opted the rest) under one banner, and made the Azn Bad Boyz into a name to be reckoned with. But not in a good way; under his rule, the ABB dealt in human trafficking and drug smuggling with equal gusto. I knew that falling into his hands was a very bad idea.

He spoke, uttering three words. The mask and his accent conspired with my still-ringing ears to defeat understanding, until he spoke again, raising his voice.

"Where is she?"

I didn't need to be a genius to know exactly who 'she' was. Me. Lung was after me.

Peter gasped something, and Lung casually kicked him in the face. His head snapped back and he went limp, blood running from his nose, as Lung stood over him.

"Girl," Lung called out. He really had a very impressive voice. "Come out now, or I kill your father and your lover. Stay in hiding, and I kill them both, then find you."

A small part of my mind fastened on to the total irrelevancy about Peter, wanting to correct Lung in his misconception. The rest of my mind squashed it, trying to figure out a way out of this. I shifted slightly, and my hand brushed something hard and metallic; Jenna's pistol.

Can I? I had never been trained with firearms. But I'd seen too many movies and TV shows to not know the basics of how one aimed and fired a pistol. I knew it was ready to be fired; Jenna had been using it for just that purpose, not five minutes ago.

Do I dare? If I missed, then I would be in just as bad a position as before. I was pretty sure that I couldn't make Lung more pissed off with me than he had been before. And what if I actually managed to …

… to kill him?

Would the rest of the gang back off?

Would they turn tail and run, or avenge their dead boss?

All I knew was that if I didn't try, I'd never know.

"Girl -" he called out, but I was already moving. The pistol fitted neatly into my hand, as if it had been designed for it. Well, it had. I had zero confidence that I could hold it steady against the kick-back, so I added my other hand, making it slightly more awkward than the other one. I was still working out which finger to put on the trigger as I lined the thing in his general direction, and -

BANG

It went off in my hands, before I was properly ready or braced for it. The kick jolted my arms, but I didn't drop it. The flare had partially blinded me, and I blinked my eyes clear; I couldn't hear anything at all. Lung still stood there … but there was a trickle of red on his shoulder.

Holy shit, did I hit him?

As he turned toward me, I jerked the trigger again. This time, I missed. He started walking toward me; I fired again and again. By the time I realised that there was nothing happening when I pulled the trigger, there were two more trickles of red on his torso.

The good news? He was officially distracted from Peter and Dad.

The bad news? It didn't affect him at fucking all.

Belatedly, I dropped the pistol and tried to scramble backward, with some idea of maybe crawling under the truck, but he was there before I could do anything like that. Standing over me, he leaned down and picked me up by the scruff of the neck, like someone grabbing an alley cat. That about covered my level of threat toward him.

Lifting me effortlessly off the ground, he looked me in the face. His mask moved, like he was saying something. I couldn't hear a thing. He tilted his head and his mask moved again. All I heard was the roaring of abused eardrums; I wondered if I'd get permanent hearing loss out of this. Then I wondered if I'd live long enough to have to worry about permanent hearing loss.

He carried me back over toward where Peter lay next to Dad. He pointed at them while saying something, then very clearly ran his fingertip across his throat. I didn't need to be able to hear to understand that one; even though he had me, he was going to kill them anyway.

"No!" I shouted; it sounded flat in my own head. "No! You've got me! Leave them alone!"

His chest began to shake, then he tilted his head back. It took me a moment to realise that he was laughing. Laughing at me, at my plight. At my helplessness. I knew exactly what he was thinking, though he probably wasn't putting it into words.

Nobody can help you now.

He carried me in that same humiliating way toward one of the cars that had pulled up nearby. I didn't have a chance to escape, given that my feet were six inches off the ground the whole way. At some sort of command from him, one of the goons standing there popped the trunk. There were at least a dozen guys there, maybe more. They were all leering at me in a way that would've made me want to take a dozen showers if I just saw them on the street corner. As it was, I wanted to curl up and die.

The trunk lid gaped open, and he tossed me in. Again, like an unwanted alley cat. The lid slammed down.

I was alone. In the darkness. Nobody could help me. Nobody was coming to save me. Everyone I loved and trusted and depended on was lying out there on the road, either dead or about to die. And once Lung was finished with them … he'd come for me.

Bone-deep despair welled up inside me. I stopped fighting it.

<><>​

I opened my eyes. Did I pass out? It was still dark. My ears were still ringing. If I did, it wasn't for long. I could smell the musty-carpet stink of the inside of the trunk. But something was different. Very different indeed.

I now knew the car, inside and out. Every part of it was totally familiar to me, and how those parts interacted with every other part. Reaching out, I could feel the other cars, even the overturned one, though that had a few broken parts. Small machines danced through the air or lay on the ground; with a minor act of concentration, I identified them as pistols, with a few machine-guns here and there. Even tinier ones wandered back and forth. They were … switchblades, I thought.

Each and every one, a machine. Within my range, they were at my beck and call.

I took positive control over the car that I was trapped in. I didn't want to be trapped in it any more.

The trunk popped open.

I sat up.

My turn.



End of Part Nine

Part Ten

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Ten: Enmities and Allegiances

[A/N: This chapter beta-read (and much improved upon) by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



A strange kind of calm fell over me as I swung my legs over the lip of the trunk and climbed out. I was assimilating what my power was telling me; however, I could not make any real use of it until I thought like the very machines that I was trying to control. Frivolous data, such as emotion, became redundant.

Standing near the car, just now looking around at me, were members of Lung's gang. The Azn Bad Boyz.

Non-cape adversaries: twelve. Names irrelevant.

Specialist combat training: unlikely.

Possibility of evasion: low.

Leaving that problem to be dealt with in time, I looked farther outward.

Cape adversaries: Two. Lung and Oni Lee.

Two versus one. Analysis: Formidable.

Winning strategy: Formulating.

My mind fell to calculating plans. Factors fell into place like the polished cogs of a well-designed mechanism.

Optimally, when opposing a cape the idea was to avoid engagement. Tried and failed.

The next best concept was to use a surprise attack to render the enemy cape harmless or unable to retaliate. Lung, possibly. Oni Lee, unlikely.

Lastly, I could use their fixation on me to lure them into an environment where they could not use their powers to advantage. Promising.

That decided, the next order of business was to catalogue the tools I had at hand. My power carried out that task in an instant, assimilating the numbers as quickly as it took me to formulate the requirement.

Fourteen vehicles, condition satisfactory. Assigning numbers one through twelve. Assigning tags "my car", "Peter's truck". Six of these were parked at the side of the road, but my needs outweighed the needs of the owners. One vehicle, inverted. Useless. Irrelevant.

Eighteen firearms; pistols, semi-automatic. Five discarded. Irrelevant. Ignore.

Assigning pistols numbers one through thirteen. Eight grenades; potentially useful. Ten switchblades; irrelevant. Ignore.

Step two: locate powered adversaries. Oni Lee located. Lung located.

The former, wearing a pistol as well as the bandolier of grenades, was standing off to the side of the loose crowd formed by the Azn Bad Boys. His black bodysuit blended into the shadows quite well, the effect only spoiled by the colourful demon mask. If his intent, on the other hand, was to present the impression of a floating demonic head, then he was moderately successful.

The latter was standing over Peter and my father. It did not appear that he had done anything to them as yet. In fact, both capes seemed to be distracted; they were shaking their heads, looking around in a puzzled fashion. Unknown outside factor. Advantage gained.

Initial plan; detonate grenades.

If I could force the grenades to explode at range, I could dispose of the teleporting killer. I attempted it. It didn't work.

Internal mechanism designed to prevent accidental detonation. Undoubtedly, the ongoing efforts of generations of low-intelligence Army recruits had forced the designers of the latest type of grenade to make it as hard as possible to cause it to explode without actually removing the pin.

Remove pin with powers. Again, I was unable to carry out the plan. The pins had been bent in such a way that made it impossible for my powers to remove them from the grenades. Available force from power insufficient to achieve goal.

Secondary plan in effect.

Step one: remove Azn Bad Boyz.

It seemed that the average gang member disregarded basic firearm safety as often as he disregarded the law. While they knew enough to set the safety catch on their pistols, the overwhelming majority had apparently decided that the waistband was an adequate location in which to carry said pistol. Of the dozen non-capes, eight had tucked their pistols into the front of their pants, while three had them in the back. Just one wore a shoulder holster.

The gang members were slow to react to my inexplicable emergence from the trunk of the car. The three closest men were advancing on me, hands out to seize me, mouths opening to call out an alert.

Assume positive control: pistols one through twelve.

Pistols one through eleven: Safety catches off. Initiate rapid fire. Repeat until empty.

Too late, I remembered to cover my ears as gunfire erupted all around me. Deafeningly loud, it almost managed to drown out the screams of agony from the stricken gang members.

Eleven cases of moderate to serious injury: groin, buttocks, legs, feet.

Conclusion: Adversaries one through eleven out of commission.

Adversary twelve remaining.

Pistol twelve: immobilise mechanism.

The man with the shoulder holster pulled his pistol, took two steps away from the car that he had been leaning on, and looked around to search for the danger. He saw me, aimed the pistol, and pulled the trigger. The weapon, of course, failed to fire.

Assume positive control of car number seven. Remove adversary twelve via vehicular assault.

The car lunged forward and struck him, then stopped. He fell to the asphalt in front of the car. It backed up, then ran over him. He didn't get up.

Step two: engage capes.

Lung was the first to react; he turned away from Peter and my father, and advanced toward me. Or rather, he was advancing toward the carnage.

Analysis of intent: unknown. Irrelevant.

Assume positive control: vehicle tagged as "Peter's Truck". Initiate vehicular assault on target 'Lung'.

The vehicle was large and heavy, but its tyres were capable of gripping the asphalt quite well. With my power driving the wheels, it accelerated more quickly than its engine would have been able to manage, smashing into Lung's back and driving him into the road surface. Never slowing, it ran two wheels up over him, and on to the road beyond.

Result: Target 'Lung' down, but not incapacitated.

Damage to front of Peter's Truck: minor/irrelevant.

Repeat process as needed.

Locking all four wheels, the truck rocked to a halt. Lung stirred and sat up, just as the heavy vehicle reversed course. He was knocked prone for a second time, forced to the asphalt as the chunky wheels ground over his body.

Damage potential: high.

Data on target 'Lung' includes power of biological regeneration, growth, pyrokinesis.

Possibility of vehicular assault resulting in fatal damage: low.

Projection: target 'Lung' will increase in size, assume armoured form, begin to emit flame.

Recommendation: repeat vehicular assault as necessary.

It took the truck running Lung down to jolt Oni Lee into action. He began to turn his head, looking around in an attempt to determine the proximate cause of the catastrophe that had overtaken the Azn Bad Boys.

Assume positive control of vehicle tagged "my car".

Open front passenger door of "my car".

Get into "my car" and close door loudly.

An instant later, Oni Lee stood outside the car door, staring through the window.

Six potential assault parameters projected. Prepare countermeasures. I drew my legs up on to the seat, holding my knees close to me. With my free hand, I took hold of the dashboard.

Stepping forward, he opened the car door and reached in to grab me.

Conclusion: still adhering to 'live capture' order.

Attack parameter two detected.

Perform countermeasure; close door at correct moment.

As his left hand passed the doorframe, I used my power on the hinges of the door, easily breaking his grip on it and slamming it shut on his wrist.

Countermeasure: successful.

Potential for damage to wrist: high.

The unique pattern of eight grenades appeared for a second time, behind the first. Oni Lee stepped up to the car as his clone crumbled to ash, allowing the door to slam shut. He produced his pistol; pointing it at the glass, he gestured. He may have also been saying something, but between the level of trauma to my hearing, and the glass he was trying to speak through, I heard nothing.

Attack parameter one detected.

Perform countermeasure: immobilise pistol mechanism.

I saw his finger move, compressing the trigger. Nothing happened.

Analysis of angle indicates an attempt to break window with bullet.

Conclusion: Target 'Oni Lee' still operating on non-lethal parameters.

Target 'Lung' has enlarged, as projected. Assume positive control of vehicles one through four. Initiate random vehicular assault on target 'Lung'.

Oni Lee stepped up to the car door and attempted to smash the glass with the butt of his pistol.

Attack parameter three detected.

Perform countermeasures: open door, maximum speed.

While he was still in the middle of his first swing, the door unlatched and swung outward, knocking him off his feet. Abruptly, he appeared within the car, seated directly behind me.

Attack parameter four detected.

Perform countermeasures: assault target 'Oni Lee' with seat.

As I held my knees out of the way, my seat slammed forward on the runners. When it reached its limit of forward motion, the seat back dropped down hard, landing on his lap. Then the entire seat reversed its direction of travel, just as fast as it had gone forward. This drove the headrest into his solar plexus. It may or may not have injured his ribs. Almost certainly, it drove the wind out of him.

He was still there when his next clone appeared in the driver's seat, beside me.

Attack parameter six detected.

Target 'Oni Lee' now armed with knife.

Conclusion: non-lethal parameters no longer in effect.

He was holding the knife in his right hand, swinging it in a way that telegraphed his intent to stab me.

Perform countermeasures: airbag and seat assault.

I triggered the airbag at the same time as I rammed his seat as far forward as possible.

Airbag expansion speed: two hundred mph.

Result of impact: knife dropped.

Possibility of injury from airbag impact: moderate to high.

Possibility of injury to sternum from impact with steering wheel: low to moderate.

Possibility of injury to knees from impact with car interior: moderate to high.

Assume positive control over bandolier clasp. Open bandolier clasp.

Assault target 'Oni Lee' with seat again. Take hold of bandolier.

Abruptly, he crumbled to ash as well, but the bandolier remained in my hands. I saw him briefly, standing some distance away from the car. His left arm hung limply at his side, and he held his right arm carefully. Then he crumbled to ash and did not reappear.

Analysis: target 'Oni Lee' has retreated.

I climbed from the car and considered my next move. Lung was growing bigger, and starting to exude flame while metal scales covered his body. This was having little effect on the vehicles I was using to shove him around, given that all I needed from them was four working wheels.

Step three: remove target 'Lung' from vicinity of injured allies tagged 'Peter', 'Father', 'Jenna'.

Assume positive control of vehicles five through twelve plus "my car".

Initiate asymmetrical vehicular assault against target 'Lung'.

Withdraw "Peter's truck" from assault group.

The nine cars homed in on Lung as I pulled Peter's truck out of the melee. Instead of battering him randomly from side to side, they concentrated their efforts in one direction; specifically, away from myself, my friends and my father. Step by step, roaring loudly (or so my returning hearing told me) he was driven away. The metal talons with which he clawed at the cars were quite impressive, but they did not help him in the slightest.

Initiate life signs check on allies. Use bandages to reduce flow of blood from wounds.

Taking a handful of the bandages from the medical kit, I moved to where Peter lay next to my father. He was breathing. Pulling up his shirt, I taped a bandage over the middle of the bloodstain on his chest.

Analysis: Ally 'Peter' still functional. Injuries: bullet to chest, broken nose. Unknown internal damage.

I went to my father, and found that he was also still alive. The bandage which Bronson had placed on his side was now stained with blood.

Analysis: Ally 'Father' still functional. Injuries: bullet to side, damage to skull. Unknown internal damage.

Getting up, I went and knelt by Jenna, who was now lying in a pool of her own blood.

Analysis: Ally 'Jenna' still functional. Injury: bullet to back. Unknown internal damage.

Her injury was more difficult to get to, but I managed to tear her shirt. Taping the bandage over the wound seemed to slow the bleeding.

Further action: keep Lung away.

Probability that allies will die soon from wounds: high.

Analysis: death of one or more allies will cause problematic emotional reaction in long run.

Conclusion: seek aid. Complication: phone unavailable.

While applying bandages, I had been able to keep note of Lung's position; while my power allowed me to operate machines outside of my line of sight, it did not let me keep track of adversaries who were not conveniently carrying machines of some sort.

Complication: searching for phone will necessitate removing attention from Lung. Already, he had disabled two of the cars when I had let them stand idle for too long.

Complication: allies will die if not assisted.

Complication: lacking knowledge to assist allies.

Complication: lacking ability to transport allies to assistance.

Conclusion: Allies will die. Situation sub-optimal.

As I concentrated on pushing Lung back to the edge of my range, my power picked up something else.

New factor: two vehicles approaching. Not police. Occupants armed. Allegiance unknown.

Assume positive control of vehicles and weapons. Bring vehicles close. Inspect occupants.

I could feel the drivers of the cars attempting to fight my control over the vehicles, but they weren't being given a choice in the matter. Keeping one eye on Lung, I guided them closer to me.

Vehicles three, six, eight and nine disabled. Increase intensity of assault. Retrieve vehicle two.

Lung, now almost ten feet tall, was beginning to win against the constant vehicular assault. Where he regenerated, they did not. His flame was beginning to melt tyres and seize important working parts. I needed to end this.

Bringing the newly-arrived cars to a halt before me, I looked at the occupants.

Preliminary analysis: attitude non-hostile.

Secondary analysis: colours worn are Empire Eighty-Eight, not Azn Bad Boyz.

Tertiary analysis: positive identification of Empire capes Victor and Othala.

I opened the car doors. Victor and Othala emerged, accompanied by shaven-headed men and women, each showing signs of Empire membership.

Conclusion: Allies.

Turning my attention back to Lung and the car now approaching us, I spoke out loud. "Peter is hurt, there." My finger pointed unerringly. "My father is hurt, there. Jenna is hurt, there."

"Are you hurt, Taylor?" That was Othala. "You're covered in blood."

"And are those grenades?" That was Victor.

"The blood is not mine. The grenades belonged to Oni Lee. Assist them." Use of politeness may improve quality of assistance. "Please."

"Yes – yes, of course." She darted away, toward Peter and my father. Victor gave me a long look, then went toward Jenna.

Car two rolled up to me; I opened the trunk. Assume positive control of grenades. Prevent explosions. As I pulled the pin from each grenade in turn, I heard loud exclamations from around me. Glancing around before returning my attention to Lung, I saw the Empire allies diving for cover.

"Taylor!" Victor still knelt beside Jenna. His voice was somewhat higher-pitched than before. "Those are grenades! Get rid of them!"

"That is what I am doing." I dropped the bandolier in the trunk, which shut at my command. The car moved off, toward Lung. In the meantime, he had disabled two more vehicles.

Victor looked at me, then at the car. I dropped the eight pins on the road; he flinched. "Wait … are you controlling them?"

"Yes."

He drew a deep breath, apparently in the grip of some strong emotion. "You could've warned us!"

"I was busy. You were busy." Use of politeness may prevent rift with allies. "Sorry."

"Okay. That's all right. Just don't do it again without telling someone." He turned his attention to Jenna. "Honey, she's fading fast, here."

Analysis: Ally 'Victor' is addressing ally 'Othala'.

"Peter and Mr Hebert aren't doing well either," she replied. Getting up, she hurried over. "See what you can do for them, please?"

"Will do." He got up. "Can you save them?"

She did not look at him as she replied. "One, sure. Two, maybe. Three, with injuries this bad? I can slow it down but I can't stop it."

Car two was approaching Lung. It turned and reversed toward him. As it reached him, I released my control on the grenades, and opened the trunk.

Warn allies of impending event.

"Explosion," I said out loud.

"What?" asked Victor.

The eight grenades vanished from my perceptions, as did the car. A shattering BOOM echoed down the street, breaking windows as it came. I saw something small and silvery, perhaps an arm, fly in a lazy arc until it impacted the street. "Can Lung live without his arm?"

"Probably," Victor said. "We're going to need to get these people out of here anyway. Hospital?"

Othala wiped her face with the back of her arm. "I give them a one in three chance for that."

"Unacceptable." They looked around at me. "Find a better alternative." Use of politeness may increase possibility of attaining more favourable result. "Please."

Victor's face creased. Analysis: sub-optimal situation. "I can think of one thing." Peeling the bloodstained glove from his right hand, he reached into his belt and produced a phone. He pressed speed-dial and held the phone to his ear.

"Sir, it's me. Yes, it's bad. Young Ferguson is down, and so is Miss Parsons, and Mr Hebert. Taylor? No, she's fine. She's right here. Apparently she had an event. Yes, I'm sure. But the others are critically injured. The hospital will be too little, too late. Yes, sir, she's trying, but it won't be enough. We need Panacea, sir." A pause. "Yes, sir, I'll wait."

Projection: transport required for injured allies. Resume positive control of "Peter's Truck".

Within the truck, the seats were sliding forward, the backrests reclining as far as they would go. It would not be the most comfortable of beds, but it was far better than nothing.

Victor turned to me. "He's making inquiries. We have people in the PRT, who occasionally pass on useful information to us. Unfortunately, if one of them does happen to know where Panacea is, it may put him in a difficult position."

I moved my head in a nod. "We need that information immediately. They can ride in that." I pointed at Peter's truck.

He stared. "You have to be joking. The front end is wrecked."

"That does not matter," I told him. "The wheels work. I will guide it."

He gave me a long stare. " … okay." Raising his voice, he gave orders. Men hurried to obey him, and then the phone rang again. He held it to his ear.

"Yes, sir. The Boardwalk, toward the southern end? Thank you, sir. On our way."

Conclusion: Empire has superior information-gathering capabilities. Useful allies.

Following the explosion, Lung was either dead, unconscious or gone. I kept watch, the few remaining vehicles at the ready, but nothing attacked us.

"Taylor?" It was Victor. "We're ready to go."

I looked at Peter's truck. Peter, Jenna and my father had been placed side by side on the now-horizontal seats. Othala shared the space with them. As I watched, she laid her hand on Peter's arm. Regeneration power. Useful.

I climbed into the passenger seat of Victor's car. As we moved off, Peter's truck followed. The second car fell in behind. Victor accelerated quickly.

We had barely gone half a block when Victor said, "Fuck."

Context: profanity.

Conclusion: sub-optimal situation.

I looked at him. "What?"

He pointed ahead. "Cops."

He was correct; I inspected the flashing red and blue lights, which were approaching quite rapidly. "They will try to stop us. You are exceeding the posted speed limit."

"Only way to get them there on time, kid."

Conclusion: correct.

Corollary: speed must not be reduced. Police must not succeed.

I turned to him. "Keep going."

"Well, I wasn't about to stop, kid."

There was an odd tone to his voice. I ignored it. "They will not stop us."

"Well, good to hear."

Assume positive control of vehicles tagged 'police cars'. Move vehicles aside and apply brakes. Disable engines.

Our three-vehicle convoy blew past the four stopped police cars. I tuned out the muttered comments from the back seat; they were irrelevant. Police cars were not the only ones that could slow us down. Ahead of us, as vehicles entered my range of effect, I steered them so that we would not be endangered.

Assume positive control.

Assume positive control.

Assume positive control.

We travelled within a bubble of my effect; nothing entered it that I did not allow. Victor drove very fast indeed, pushing the capabilities of the vehicle we were riding in. Peter's truck mimicked his every move; I utilised the suspension system to shift its weight and take corners as tightly as Victor did.

Vehicle carrying Empire allies falling behind.

Assume positive control. Allies may be necessary.

<><>​

"Oh, man, I needed this." Amy Dallon took a bite from her ice cream cone. The rich, thick chocolate taste filled her mouth.

"Did I tell you or did I tell you?" Vicky seemed to be brimming with barely-concealed amusement. "You were going stir crazy in that damn hospital."

Amy swallowed the mouthful of ice cream. "No, it's normally not that bad," she explained hastily. "But these last couple of days've been crazy."

Vicky rolled her eyes. "Gonna have to narrow it down a bit, Ames. We live in Brockton Bay."

"Yeah, well." Amy leaned her elbows on the railing and looked out to sea. The sun had set behind Captain's Hill not so long ago. Purplish shadows were gathering to the east, highlighted by the shimmering rainbow colours of the Protectorate headquarters' force field. She thought it looked beautiful, like something from fairyland. Which was a pity, because she was stuck in the real world. "Stupid fucking gang conflicts. Bunch of Asian kids, our age or less. They've been coming in to the hospital over the last few days."

Her sister leaned on the rail with her elbows, looking over at Amy. "ABB, you think?"

Amy snorted, darkly amused. "'Think'? I'm damn certain of it. But they're patients at the hospital, so I heal 'em. Night before last, it was a whole lot of knife wounds, and a pair that'd been run down by a car or something. They were pretty busted up. Last night, it was a bunch of kids that the Empire just grabbed and beat the shit out of. No reason given, except for a name one of the kids kept mumbling."

"A name?" Vicky tilted her head.

"Yeah." Amy sighed, the memory of the kid's bloodied and bruised face coming back to her. He'd been concussed all to fuck, but at least he was alive. "'Taylor Hebert. Stay away from Taylor Hebert.' That's what he kept saying."

Vicky blinked. "Hebert, you say? Not Herbert?"

Amy looked at her, a little puzzled. "No, it was definitely 'Hebert'. Why, do you know someone with that name?"

"Well, yes and no." Vicky bit her lip. "There's something I overheard in the Wards base awhile ago, while I was waiting for Dean. The name Hebert came up."

Amy waited for a moment or two, but Vicky didn't say any more. "Well, what was it?"

Vicky grimaced. "You know the Dock Workers Association?"

It took Amy a few seconds of frowning with concentration to place the name, but she managed to get it in the end. "Yeah, I've heard of them. They're pretty well down the drain, aren't they? No real dock work and all."

"Something like that," Vicky agreed. "Well, the head of hiring is a guy called Danny Hebert. And he's got a daughter called Taylor. She goes to Winslow."

It was Amy's turn to make a face. "I've heard of that place. They say it makes a shithole look clean and pretty."

Vicky nodded. "And it's where the gangs do a lot of their recruiting. ABB, Eighty-Eight, Merchants, whatever. Apparently, the teachers just look the other way. Well, it's that or get shanked."

"Okay, I get the picture. If an Endbringer showed up, it'd be an improvement. But what about Taylor Hebert?" However, Amy was starting to get an idea.

"Well, apparently Shadow Stalker goes to Winslow. And she was talking about how not only was Danny Hebert well in with the Empire Eighty-Eight, but his daughter Taylor's dating the top shit of the Empire inside Winslow. One big happy family."

Amy felt a little ill. "So these ABB guys got cut up, run down, and beat up, just to send a message? Don't go near the almighty Taylor Hebert?"

Vicky nodded. "That's about the size of it. Shadow Stalker wasn't too clear on whether this Taylor's actually been initiated into the Empire or she's still just a hanger-on, but she sits at their table and eats with them. Probably tells horrible racist jokes with the best of them."

"Well, shit, if her Dad's in Kaiser's pocket, she probably grew up with them. And she probably doesn't even see anything wrong with it."

Vicky looked pensive for a moment. "I don't really like Shadow Stalker. She's a raging bitch most of the time, but the way she was talking, this Taylor Hebert was like the spawn of Satan. Kind of puts things into perspective, doesn't it?"

Amy shook her head. "Fucking Empire Eighty-Eight. I am so over this shit."

"Yeah. Me too." Vicky looked around. "What the hell …?"

<><>​

Vehicle engine exceeding safe limits of performance. Assume positive control. Increase flow of coolant and lubricant.

Yet another car veered out of our way into a parking spot as Victor drove down alongside the Boardwalk at a relatively unsafe speed. "They're along here somewhere," he said.

Tone indicates tension. Target 'Panacea' may escape notice.

I stared at the Boardwalk and the people on it.

Cease searching for target 'Panacea'. Target 'Glory Girl' more high profile.

"Look for Glory Girl," I said. "Easier to spot."

"Shit, you're right." His lips tightened. "Good thinking."

I did not waste time answering. My eyes selected one target after another evaluating, discarding.

Too tall. Too short. Too old. Overweight. Too young. With a boy, no Panacea. Hair too short. Too old.

When I saw her, I felt the factors coincide with an almost audible click. Blonde, tall, with companion short, female, brunette. "There," I said, pointing.

Apply brakes. Pull to side of road.

Victor made an exclamation of some sort as the car abruptly slowed, but I was not listening. I tracked Panacea with my eyes. With the car at a halt, I unfastened my seat belt and dropped my powers.

<><>​

As I climbed from the car, I felt the emotions come back … all of them. They crashed into my mind with an impact that nearly dropped me to my knees. Somehow, I pushed through them, staggered on. My pain, my grief, my fear, all swirled together in my head. I wanted to throw up. Somehow, I didn't.

"PANACEA!" I screamed, so loudly that even the sea-birds momentarily ceased calling. The two teenage girls looked around as I stumbled toward them. With every step, I found more strength, until I was running across the grass that bordered the Boardwalk proper. "Please, you've got to help me! You've got to save my father!"

"What the hell?" It was Glory Girl, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Victoria Dallon, my brain threw up randomly. She stepped forward; Panacea, similarly garbed but with a jacket as well, peered at me past her shoulder. "Seriously, we're off duty here. And Ames doesn't do personal requests. Have your father see a …" She stopped talking, staring. "Fuck me, that's Victor."

"Yes, I know, he's not here to fight you, he drove me here, my father's dying, you've got to help me, please!" I knew that I was babbling, but I could barely restrain myself from grabbing Panacea by the wrist and dragging her to Peter's truck.

"Victor … you came in a car with Victor." Glory Girl eyed me askance. "You're Empire Eighty-Eight."

A friend of the Empire, sure, I thought frantically, but I didn't want to waste the seconds explaining the difference between that and actual membership. "Look, does it matter? My Dad, my boyfriend and my best friend were shot by the ABB! Othala's trying to keep them alive, but she can only help one person regenerate at a time! Please! I'm begging you here!"

Panacea glanced at Glory Girl. "Vicky, maybe I'd better …"

"Wait." Glory Girl frowned. "Your father? What's his name?"

"Danny Hebert!" I blurted. "He's the head of hiring for the Dock Workers! Come on!" I was in tears by this point. Why couldn't they just stop talking and do the right thing?

"And you're Taylor Hebert. The new big Empire name in Winslow. Makes sense." Glory Girl had her arms folded by now. "So the ABB was just retaliating for what you had the Empire guys do over the last few days, huh?"

"What?" I had no idea what she was talking about. "No! They just came out of nowhere and started chasing us! They shot Dad and Peter and Jenna! Lung and Oni Lee were gonna kill us! Please, they were bleeding pretty badly! Come on!" I grabbed Panacea's jacket sleeve and yanked on it. She stumbled a couple of steps toward me, then stopped as Glory Girl's hand closed over my wrist. Despite her slender build, I couldn't move my arm, no matter how hard I pulled.

"No." Her voice was calm. "I don't think so. It's time you Empire jerks learned what it's like for the rest of us. You started this shit with the ABB. You can live with the consequences." Her fingers, feeling like iron bars, closed on my wrist a little more tightly, forcing me to release her sister. She leaned closer to me, her tone hard and cold. "Besides, Amy's a superhero. She heals for free. That means she can say no any any time and walk away. And she's saying no, right now."

Working to calm myself down. I tried unsuccessfully to free my arm again. "I don't hear her saying anything. All I hear is you saying what she's going to do." I stared challengingly at Glory Girl, then glanced at her sister.

Panacea looked back at me, uncertainty on her face. "Uh …"

The shot was startlingly loud, shocking the sea-birds into the air. All three of us turned and looked. Victor stood by Peter's truck, a pistol in his hand, pointing into the air. Smoke wafted from the muzzle. But that wasn't what made Glory Girl swear under her breath. There had been eight men and women with Victor and Othala; they had spread out, each grabbing a passer-by and menacing them with a gun or knife.

"Panacea," he called. "Tell your sister to let Taylor go, then come and perform your healing. While you've been withholding it, one of our wounded has died. There are two more. Unless you come here right now, there will be more dead people. You have twenty seconds to do as you're asked, or there will be blood."

My mind went blank. Someone died? Who died? I wanted to rage at Glory Girl. If Panacea had gone there straight away, maybe they could've been saved. Dimly, I became aware that my wrist had been released, but there was a low-voiced argument going on beside me.

"Fifteen seconds," Victor called, a hard edge to his voice. "Heal these people and nobody will be harmed. You have my word. Ten seconds."

" … could be a kidnap!" That was Glory Girl's voice, low and intense.

"People are filming us! If I let these people die …" Panacea's voice trailed off.

"Five seconds! Four! Three!"

On 'two', Panacea pulled free of her sister's grasp. "I'm coming, I'm coming," she called. She hurried over the expanse of grass toward Peter's truck. Glory Girl rose into the air and followed; I stumbled along behind.

Victor waved Panacea toward one of the side doors of the truck; she climbed inside. I heard Othala's voice, but I couldn't make out what either of them was saying. I could, however, hear what Glory Girl was saying to Victor.

"You're the skill guy, right? Well, you do know that if I wanted to, skill or otherwise, I could punch your head into next week, right?" I felt a wave of fear pass through me; my knees wobbled, and I thought that I might fall over.

"I'm aware." Even from where I was, I could see a sheen of sweat on his forehead, though he didn't step back from her. The fear intensified. He stood his ground.

I let my powers roll over me once more. The fear vanished, along with all other emotion. Logic reigned supreme.

Vehicles in vicinity: forty-one. Firearms in vicinity: twelve.

I walked forward until I was standing alongside Victor. "Who died?"

Both Glory Girl and Victor looked at me, but he was the one who spoke. "Jenna Parsons. I'm sorry, kid."

Ally 'Jenna' deceased. Sub-optimal.

I looked at Glory Girl. "Your delay may have led to her death. Why did you do that?"

"Because Ames and me were off duty, and we don't jump when Empire Eighty-Eight says jump! Even if you are queen bitch of Winslow!"

Expression: contorted. Voice: raised. Conclusion: anger.

"You are mistaken on two counts. I asked politely. And I am not 'queen bitch' of Winslow."

She began to say something, then stopped herself. At that moment, Panacea climbed out of Peter's truck. "I'm done."

I dropped my powers, turning to her. The grief at my knowledge of Jenna's death hit me hard, but I had to ask. "How are they?"

She gave me a hard glance. "Stable. Your boyfriend had a bullet wound, a broken nose and a depressed fracture of the cheekbone. Your father had a bullet wound, multiple broken bones and serious spinal injuries, as well as internal damage. Plus a depressed skull fracture and brain damage. I healed it all except the brain damage."

"What?" The word burst out of me. "No! Get back there and heal the brain damage!"

"I don't do brains." Her words were almost tired, like she had said them many times before.

I stepped up and leaned down until I was eye to eye with her. "Fucking start." I wasn't very good at fist-fighting, but I was willing to see if she could heal her own broken nose. Glory Girl or no fucking Glory Girl.

"Taylor." It was Othala's voice, as she wearily climbed from the truck. "She really can't affect brains. We looked into it once. She's never healed a brain injury, ever."

"Oh." I stepped back slightly, straightened up. "I never asked before. Can you …"

"Heal a brain injury of that type?" Othala shrugged. "My regeneration doesn't work very fast for really complicated things. The human brain is really complicated. The best I can say is that it might work, and it couldn't hurt. But I can try."

"Good." I hadn't taken my eyes off of Panacea. "And Peter?"

"Oh, he'll definitely recover. Soon, I think."

Finally, I turned away from the New Wave girl. A shuddering sigh let some of the tension out of my shoulders. "Fine. Okay. We're done here." I considered thanking Panacea, but I was pretty sure that she'd throw it in my face.

Besides, things were far from fine or okay. Jenna was dead, Dad had brain damage. But Peter was alive, and that counted for a lot. One and a half out of three is kind of a win, isn't it?

"I agree." Victor snapped his fingers twice; his minions released their hostages and stepped back. "Very sorry for the inconvenience. We'll be on our way now."

"The. Hell. You. Will."

I felt the wave of fear before I heard the words. Turning, I saw Glory Girl. She hung there in midair, fists clenched at her sides.

My grief at Jenna's death and at Dad's injuries morphed into rage, overriding the fear I felt in her presence. "What the hell?" I screamed it at her. "We let the fucking hostages go! Nobody got hurt! We're fucking leaving! That's what you want, isn't it?"

"You committed a crime right in fucking front of me!" Glory Girl retorted hotly. "In case you didn't know, hostage-taking is actually a crime, even if nobody got hurt!"

"Victor only did that because you were being a fucking bitch about healing people! After you let my best friend die because you wouldn't get off your fucking high horse!" I wanted to punch her in the face. Really badly. Intellectually, I knew that I'd only break my knuckles, but it was still a nice thought.

"I'm not to blame for what the ABB did," she snapped. "They killed her, not me. Now, you're all under arrest. You're gonna wait right here until the PRT and the BBPD get here. If you try to escape, I'm just gonna have to break some bones. Which Ames is most definitely not gonna be healing. You get me?"

Victor stepped away from Othala and walked toward Glory Girl. "Miss Dallon," he said sadly, "I wish to apologise."

Glory Girl's brow creased in confusion. "You think an apology is gonna fix this?"

"Not exactly." Victor sighed. "You see, I wasn't talking to you."

He drew his pistol. Panacea had moved away from Peter's truck during the shouting match I'd had with her sister; she stood about twenty feet away by now. Victor shot her in the leg; she screamed and fell over, blood staining the grass.

"You motherfucker!" The intensity of Glory Girl's shriek, as much as the wave of solid fear that followed it, knocked me to the ground. She hit Victor at chest level, grabbing him by the costume and dragging him skyward. When they were about fifty feet up, she tossed him into the air and punched him straight down; I felt the impact of her fist from where I was. He smashed into the ground like a meteorite. She hovered over him for a moment, but he just lay there, unmoving.

Swooping down, she scooped up her sister and flew off; in seconds, she was out of sight. Shaken, I climbed to my feet. The minions were also just getting up; two of them had thrown up. Stumbling over to Othala, I helped her to her feet. "Are you okay?" I asked her. Then I remembered what had just happened. "Oh, god. Victor."

We turned, to see him getting to his feet. Looking down at the indentation in the ground, he pulled a wry grin. "It looks like I leave an impression wherever I go."

I gaped. "But how …?" And then I understood. "Invincibility, right?"

"Give the lady a prize." Victor limped over to us.

"I can't believe you shot Panacea." I was still slightly in shock at the rapid-fire sequence of events. "Is she gonna be all right?"

"Calf muscle, no large veins or arteries. Easily bandaged. She'll need crutches or a wheelchair for a few weeks." Victor winced. "She'll get off more lightly than I would have, with what Glory Girl tried to do to me. I think she strained the invincibility, though. Or maybe I just landed wrong." He turned toward Othala. "I might need a massage tonight, love."

"You'll get it, dear." She kissed him tenderly. "But for now, I think we're going to have to leave before anyone else shows up."

I didn't argue, though I did glance over at the bloody patch on the grass. We faked out Glory Girl this time. What happens when we meet her next?

That, I decided, we would have to find out. As Victor started the car, I slipped into the embrace of my powers once more.

Assume positive control: Peter's truck.



End of Part Ten

Part Eleven

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Eleven: Reports and Conclusions


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


Once we were away from the Boardwalk, Victor clipped his cell-phone into a socket on the dashboard. While I was ready to take over steering the car if his attention wandered, my precautions were not necessary.

Conclusion: Ally 'Victor' is skilled at this.

"Call: Kaiser," he ordered.

"Calling Kaiser," the phone responded in a computer-generated voice.

The convoy kept moving, through the dark streets of Brockton Bay. Victor seemed to be guiding us into the less-travelled back streets.

"Kaiser here. Situation?"

Voice is familiar. Conclusion: Kaiser has been encountered before.

"Young Ferguson will recover fully. Mr Hebert has suffered a brain injury and is in a coma. Miss Parsons died before Panacea reached her. The encounter did not go well. We are all safe and away from there. I have Taylor with me at the moment."

Kaiser's voice sharpened. "Define 'did not go well'."

"Glory Girl would not permit Panacea to heal our people. I was forced to take hostages. Once the healing was done and they were released, Glory Girl stated her intention to hold us under arrest. When argument failed to move her, I shot Panacea in the leg. Glory Girl tried to kill me, then flew Panacea away, presumably to the hospital."

There was a long silence. "New Wave will be livid."

"I'm aware of that, sir. I didn't see any other choice."

"You're sure that Panacea will not suffer lasting injury?"

"I put the round through the outer part of the gastrocnemius muscle, missing the bone. She'll be on crutches for a while. At worst, a wheelchair."

"I see. You do realise that Glory Girl in particular will be after your blood, once she realises that you're still alive."

"I understand that too, sir. I'll keep my head down. In the meantime, we have need of an Angel of Mercy and a Hide and Seek. Location six."

"Consider it done. Also, do you have numbers for me?"

Victor did not hesitate. "Five and five, sir."

"You're certain about this."

"Yes, sir."

"Understood. When you get back, I want to see you immediately."

"Yes, sir."

The phone call ended. I had not heard anything of note to me, so I said nothing.

We rolled on through the night.

<><>

We were moving through an area of run-down warehouses when my powers noted something unusual. "Victor."

"Yes?"

Ahead of us, parked at the side of the road, was a large delivery van.

Lights off; attempting to avoid notice.

Engine idling.

Machinery in rear bay; some unusual, some unidentifiable.

Three pistols, presumably carried by people. Two in back, one in front.

Conclusion: suspicious.

"That vehicle. The engine is running and there are three armed people in it." Assuming positive control of the delivery van, I locked the doors. "They are now locked in."

Expression: smile. Conclusion: amused?

"Well done, Taylor, but they're with us. You can let them out now." He chuckled, then muttered, "Boy, are their faces gonna be red."

Conclusion reinforced: ally 'Victor' amused.

As we came level with the delivery van, I noticed something else, parked farther up the road. It was another vehicle, this one appearing to be a transport truck of some sort.

Engine idling.

No detectable machinery in rear bay. Rear door is a ramp, hydraulically activated.

Two pistols, presumably carried. Two in front.

Vehicle has ramp.

"Victor. That vehicle there is also with us?"

He looked toward the transport truck as he pulled the car over to the side of the road. I parked Peter's truck behind us. "Yes. That one's for Peter's truck. It's a little too obvious, especially with all that damage."

"And the vehicle behind us?"

Expression: smile. "That's for Peter and your dad."

He opened his door and got out. I did the same. Two of the men from the rear vehicle approached us, pushing wheeled stretchers. I noted that the front vehicle had began to lower its ramp; once I was out of the car, the whine of the hydraulic pistons was quite audible.

Victor nodded to the two men from the van. One of them said, "Casualties?"

The side door to Peter's truck opened, and Victor helped Othala out. "Yeah," he said. "Teenage boy and mid-forties male. Most of their problems have been dealt with, but we need to make sure they get to the clinic alive."

"We can definitely do that," one of the men said. "Who's she?"

Victor turned to look at him. "Not your concern."

The man stepped back slightly. "Right, sorry, forget I said anything."

I watched as the men efficiently loaded Peter and my father on to the stretchers. As they wheeled them toward the rear vehicle, Victor tapped me on the shoulder.

I turned to him. "What?"

He indicated Peter's truck. "Can you drive that up into the truck?"

"Yes."

Assume positive control: Peter's truck.

The doors of Peter's truck closed with a muted clunk, then I manoeuvred the damaged vehicle around Victor's car and up the ramp. Once it was inside, I locked the parking brake and dropped my power.

"Damn, nicely done," Victor commented. "Doubt I could've done better." He gestured to the car. "Well, let's go. The boss is gonna want to talk to you once he's done ripping me a new asshole."

I stared at him. "What for? Taking hostages or shooting Panacea?"

"Well, both," he admitted. "Neither one really showed the Empire in a good light."

"But Glory Girl was being a bitch about it, and Dad and Peter were going to die," I protested.

"Still doesn't excuse shooting Panacea," he pointed out, sounding more than a little amused.

I rolled my eyes. "Well, I wish it hadn't happened too, but if she'd just let Panacea heal Dad, we wouldn't have broken the damn law in the first place."

He clapped me on the shoulder. "Well said. I just hope Kaiser sees it your way. Otherwise, my life's gonna suck for a while."

"I'm sorry for putting you into that position," I said, then started moving toward the fake delivery van.

"Where are you going?" he asked. "Car's this way."

"I'm riding with Dad and Peter," I said over my shoulder.

"But they're just -"

I looked at the van, as it pulled away from the curb. Drawing on my power was almost second nature by now. Still walking, I waited for the few moments it took for the van to come level with me.

Assume positive control of vehicle. Apply brakes.

The van's brakes squealed slightly as it stopped. Without breaking stride, I walked around to the back of the van.

Doors locked. Unlock doors. Open doors.

As the double doors at the back of the van swung open, I climbed in. The two men tending to Peter and my father turned toward me. One opened his mouth but did not speak.

"What are you -" began the other one, then stopped.

Query regarding intentions.

"I am riding with Peter and my father." Behind me, the doors shut and locked once more. There was a pull-down seat at the side of the vehicle. It snapped open; I sat down on it and fastened the safety belt.

Release brakes. I did not look at the men. "Drive."

As the vehicle moved off, I let my powers drop away once more. Leaning over, trying to make sure that I didn't get in their way, I took Dad's hand. Normally, with this sort of thing, I would've asked permission. But from the way that Victor had been acting, I suspected that I was now a lot more important to the Empire than I had been that morning.

I was done with asking permission.

<><>

Amy looked up when Vicky stomped into the hospital room. "Excuse me," she said to the female police officer who was standing at her bedside. "Glory Girl, I'm just giving a statement. They'll want one off you too."

"Fine," grumped Vicky, dragging a chair off to the side of the room. She turned it around and sat down with her arms crossed over the back, chin resting on her arms. Her expression could have curdled milk in Boston. Amy winced; she hadn't seen Vicky this pissed in years.

For her part, it was kind of odd to be in this situation, and somewhat of a wake-up call. Every time she moved, she felt the tug of IVs in her arms, not to mention the sticky patches that supplied data to the machines at her bedside. She was used to being on the other side of the situation, the person standing by the bed, able to walk out the door at any time.

Being in the bed, with a bandage on her leg, brought home to her a very real fact: I can get hurt. It was simultaneously a rather frightening and humbling thought. While she had been intellectually aware that this could happen – stubbed toes happen to everyone, after all – nobody had ever deliberately targeted her in a super-battle before.

If this even counted as a super-battle. I was shot. With a gun. As a distraction. To be honest, as someone who considered herself a serious superhero, it was a little insulting.

Clearing her throat, she turned back to the officer. "Where were we?" she asked politely.

The woman asked the routine questions, and she answered them as best she could.

"No, I've never met her before, but I've heard her name."

"In connection with the Empire Eighty-Eight at her school, to be honest."

"No, I don't attend her school, but I know someone who does."

"I'm sorry, that's a secret identity issue. I can't answer that."

"No, she did not try to stop Victor from shooting me."

"Yes, I would definitely be able to identify her in a lineup."

"Yes, I would be willing to testify against them in court."

The questions eventually petered out; she looked around and realised that the rest of New Wave had made an appearance while she was distracted. Mark was the first to her bedside, followed by Crystal. Amy shared a smile with her cousin; they had always gotten along fairly well.

Flashbang took her hand and gave it a light squeeze. Oh, good. He's taken his meds.

"Amy girl. How are you feeling?" he asked

"Like I got shot," she replied with a wry grin, squeezing back. "Not an experience I recommend to anyone. Except maybe the Empire Eighty-Eight. I recommend they get shot as often as possible."

Crystal managed to giggle and look horrified all at the same time. "Amy!" she exclaimed. "That's terrible!"

Amy rolled her eyes at Crystal. "Tell you what. You get shot sometime, and tell me if you're fine with it. News flash. You won't be."

"So, how bad was it?" butted in Eric. He wasn't as irritating as she had known Clockblocker to be on occasion, but being both a teenager and the youngest member of New Wave, sometimes it seemed as though Eric was trying to live up to a certain image. Such as his habit of dyeing his hair blue. "They gonna cut your leg off? We'll get Armsmaster to make you a prosthetic. With a pop-out halberd."

"You're a pop-out halberd," Crystal retorted. Roughly half a second later, her expression changed as she obviously regretted her words, but it was too late.

Eric grinned and waggled his eyebrows, also bright blue. "So I've been told."

Amy shook her head, smiling despite herself at the silly banter. "They're not going to amputate, you doofus. The bullet went straight through. It missed the bone, and anything else that was important. They're just keeping me in here overnight for observation."

"So are you at least gonna have a wicked scar?" he pressed. "A battle wound. In years to come, you can point at it and say, Victor shot me there. And people will say, who?"

"Come on, kids, give Amy some space." That was Lady Photon with Manpower flanking her, her tone tolerant but firm. She stepped up to Amy's bedside and captured her other hand.

Slightly concerned. Probably over me. Pleased that I'm okay.

"I'm fine, Aunt Sarah," Amy insisted. "I'll be home tomorrow, and back at school in a week. It's not a huge deal." She looked over to where Vicky was giving her statement to the police officer; this seemed to involve a great deal of hand waving. "Well, to some people anyway." Looked around, she frowned. "Where's Carol?"

Mark's face fell slightly. His touch communicated a certain amount of embarrassment. "She's talking to the police about what happened. Then she'll be heading back to the office. There's a big case she's working on."

Mostly true, but she could've come in and said hi anyway. "Oh." Conflicting emotions warred within Amy; she would at least have appreciated some sympathy from Carol for her injury, but she wasn't so sure that the woman wouldn't find some way to blame it on her.

It's probably for the best.

But she could have at least given Mark a message to pass on!

She slumped a little. I'd say this was par for the course, but it's pretty shitty, even for her.

"Amy?"

She blinked, turning her attention outward again. "Sorry. I got distracted."

Sarah smiled indulgently, brushing Amy's hair back from her forehead. "I was just asking why you even got shot. What happened? I'm afraid Victoria's phone call was somewhat brief."

"And why's she so unhappy?" asked Neil, over his wife's shoulder. "I mean, I know she's upset over you being shot, but this is a whole new level."

Amy rolled her eyes. "Well to answer the second question first, as soon as she got me here, she took off like a bat out of hell to get those Empire guys and kick their asses up between their shoulder-blades. I'm guessing she didn't find them."

"And the first question?" That was her aunt.

Amy grimaced. "Um … well, the Empire wanted me to heal a couple of their guys. They were pretty badly hurt. There was a girl there, who died before I could get to her."

Victor's voice came back to her. While you've been withholding it, one of our wounded has died.

"So what happened?" Neil's voice was a soft rumble.

She took a deep breath. "Well, um, that girl, I think her name's Taylor, more or less demanded that I heal them. Her father and her boyfriend and her best friend, she said."

"Demanded?" Sarah sounded disapproving. "A bit arrogant, was she?"

Amy closed her eyes for a moment, seeing the pleading eyes in front of her once more. "Well, um, begged would be more like it. She was kind of distraught. When Vicky said no -"

Neil frowned. "Why did she do that? She's usually all about how you can heal people."

"Yeah, but then we realised who Taylor was. Some sort of big noise in the Empire junior league." Amy opened her eyes. "We could see Victor and the Empire guys and everything. She said the ABB just attacked them out of the blue, but that's not exactly a likely scenario, right? I figure they'd just come from a firefight against the ABB, spotted me, and decided to score some free healing. Which was basically why Vicky said no."

"Then what happened?" That was Sarah.

"We looked around and Victor had told his men to take hostages. Gave me twenty seconds to start healing or people were going to start dying." Amy heard the bitterness in her own voice. "I don't mind healing people in the hospital. I mean, that's what I'm there for. But being forced to do it?" She sighed. "Anyway, by then people were filming. Seriously, only in Brockton Bay. A hostage situation, and people are filming. So I did it. Healed the major stuff, left the minor stuff for Othala to do her regeneration thing on."

"And then Victor shot you?" Neil frowned. "That sounds counter-productive."

"Well, not at first, no," Amy admitted. "They were just going to go. They released all the hostages and everything. But then Vicky decided to arrest them. Taylor argued with her for a bit, then Victor shot me."

"Just like that?" Sarah's hand squeezed Amy's slightly. Her other hand, resting on the bed, was squeezed into a fist, with a glow dancing around it. "I think I might go and find him and see how he likes it."

"Well, um, he kind of said sorry first? And Vicky really wasn't going to let them go?" Amy hated sounding so unsure of herself, but it sounded like she was undermining Vicky's decision when she wasn't, not really.

"But shooting you." Neil's voice had gone from a rumble to a growl. "You're a non-combatant. He had no business attacking you. You could have died -"

"No." Amy's voice cut him off. "I've had time to think about it. Victor's really, really good at shooting, right? He's really good at everything. He couldn't shoot Vicky. He had to know that Vicky would drop everything to protect me. So he shot me in the meat of the calf. I've fixed injuries like that. It bleeds, sure, but any sort of pressure on the wound will stop the bleeding. There's nowhere else he could've hit me that had less chance of being life-threatening or impairing me long-term, while still looking dangerous."

"Amy girl." It was Mark, looking confused. "Are you … defending him?"

She shook her head definitively. "No. Hell, no. I'm not any less pissed at him. And I could've gone the rest of my life without finding out what it's like to be shot, thanks heaps. But really, he was just trying to decoy Vicky away without hurting me too badly, and he succeeded."

"Right," noted Neil. "So I only break one arm, not both of them. Got it."

"Wait." Amy looked at Sarah; she had an expression on her face suggesting that she'd just bitten into something sour. "So, if you'd been there and Victoria hadn't, you would have still healed them?"

"Um, yes?" Amy wasn't sure where this was going. "They were threatening civilians -"

Sarah cut her off. "That's not what I was concerned about." She glanced across the room. Amy followed her gaze, to where Vicky was still giving her statement. "After you did the healing, did they threaten you in any way?"

"Apart from shooting me in the leg, you mean?" Amy tried to make a joke of it, but Sarah's lowering eyebrows told her that it had fallen flat. "Um, no. As far as I could tell, they just wanted to go."

"And nobody else was hurt?" Sarah's gaze was intent.

"A bit shaken, I guess. Why?" But Amy thought she knew what was coming next.

"So if Victoria hadn't been there, Victor would not have found it necessary to shoot you."

As braced as she thought she was, it still hit her like a hammer blow. "Wait, you're saying it's Vicky's fault I was shot? That's -"

"No." Sarah's voice was flat. "That's not what I'm saying. Victor chose to shoot you. Nobody forced him to do that. But it was a precarious situation, and Victoria should really have waited until you were under cover before pushing the issue." She raised her eyes to look at Flashbang. "Mark?"

Amy looked at him. He hesitated, then nodded. " … yeah. She's kind of impetuous like that. I'll talk to Carol, and we'll both talk to her. Things could've gone a lot worse."

"And make sure you tell Mom that Victor really wasn't trying to murder me," Amy interjected. "I know it sounds really weird saying this, and I won't mind at all if Uncle Neil does break Victor's arm, but I'm pretty sure he was trying for the least bad of some really shitty options."

"Of which shooting you should not have been on the list at all," growled Neil. He cracked his knuckles, evoking a sound not unlike distant gunfire. "And when I do get my hands on him, I'll be sure to explain that. With illustrations."

"As for achieving that," Mark said, "how do we handle this? Do we go after just Victor, or the whole Empire?"

Sarah looked thoughtful. "Taking down the whole Empire at one fell swoop is not something I'm optimistic about. Even if we got the Protectorate as backup. Which is very unlikely to happen."

"What?" Neil didn't sound happy. "Why not? Amy's healed about every one of them at one time or another. Except that Aegis kid. But he cheats."

Sarah's voice was patient. "Because even with the Protectorate, the Empire outnumbers us."

"If you include the Wards -" began Neil.

"I am not going to advocate sending kids up against Hookwolf, or Cricket, or Night, or Fog." Sarah's voice was low, but her tone was steel-hard. "If I were Kaiser, I'd do one of two things. Either I'd hand over Victor as soon as possible to keep the peace. Tonight, even."

"Or?" prompted Mark.

"Or I'd hide him away inside the Empire somewhere. Ignore the fact that this ever happened. Stress that Victoria pushed it as far as it went, if anyone brings it up."

"And in the meantime, Victor gets away with this." Neil sounded even less happy about this.

"I don't know any capes in the Empire who haven't hurt or killed someone," Sarah pointed out. "There's more than one murderer in that bunch. But we can't do anything about them, yet. They're just too strong. On the upside, I doubt that it was anything personal against Amy, so we shouldn't have to worry about a follow-up attack."

"That doesn't fill me with joy," Mark said. "One of us should stay with Amy at all times until she gets out. Just to make sure that nobody else does anything stupid."

Nobody argued with that.

<><>

I was still holding Dad's hand, looking into his face for some sign of awakening, when the ad hoc ambulance came to a halt and the engine died. The guy who'd been tending to Dad looked over at me. "We're there, uh, miss," he said awkwardly. "I hope your dad gets better."

"Me too," I told him. "And thanks."

The rear doors opened; I climbed out first so as to get out of their way. Looking around, I saw I was in a covered drive-through area, like they have in hospitals for ambulances. Almost immediately, I saw Peter's father, as well as several other adults who had been at the Augustus Country Club. This included, not very much to my surprise, Max Anders.

Looking around, I didn't see Victor or Othala, or the car they had been travelling in. I supposed that they would meet us inside the building. I moved to meet them, suddenly hyper-aware that I was bruised, dishevelled and dirty, with dried blood crusted on me here and there.

"Taylor," Mr Ferguson said, worry and relief mixing in his voice. "We heard that Peter was hurt. How is he?"

I took a deep breath, then felt the tears beginning to threaten. I knew I had to keep it short, or I'd break down crying. "He'll be fine. Othala said so." Thinking of Peter reminded me of Dad, and Jenna, and Bronson, and I felt my lip start to quiver. "I – they – I'm sorry – I -"

"Hey." His arms went around me, and he held me gently. "You did your best, baby girl. You saved his life." Lowering his voice, he murmured, "Is it true that you blew Lung's arm off?"

Not trusting myself to speak, I nodded, biting my lip.

"Taylor, a moment, if you will? Excuse me, please, Ed." It was Max Anders. His voice was smooth and firm; after a final squeeze, Mr Ferguson let me go and stepped back. Mr Anders took my arm and gently moved me aside.

"I'm sorry, Mr Anders," I choked out. "Bronson – Jenna -"

"Did their duty and they'll be recognised for it," he assured me. "We've retrieved Bronson's body. I understand that your father is badly hurt?"

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. "P-Panacea couldn't fix -"

"I know." He spoke softly, but with reassurance. Tilting my chin up with one finger, he looked me in the eye. "I promise you, he will get the best treatment that I can afford."

Tears filled my eyes; I couldn't speak at all. Mr Anders somehow understood this; in the next moment, I felt him put his arms around me, just as Mr Ferguson had done. He wasn't Dad, or even Peter, but I needed as many hugs as I could get right then. Clinging to him, I felt the floodgates burst, as the tears came.

<><>

Lung towered over me, standing taller than the nearby buildings. Silvery scales covered his draconic body, glinting in the flames that wreathed their way around him.

"Look out, Taylor!" shouted Peter, pushing me out of the way. I sprawled to the ground, looking up in horror as a massive hand, fingers tipped with yard-long talons, scooped him up like a child's toy.

"Peter!" I shouted. "No!"

"Yes," roared Lung. He flexed his hand; I saw blood well around the wounds as his claws pierced the body of the boy I loved. Bringing his other monstrous hand up, he dug those into Peter as well, then flexed his metal-clad muscles. My scream echoed Peter's, as Lung slowly and agonisingly tore him apart.

I woke up with the echo of my voice in my ears, the nightmare still playing behind my eyelids. It took me a long moment to realise that was all it was. An extremely vivid nightmare, one that had left me sweating amidst bunched-up sheets, but a nightmare all the same.

I sat up; my eyes were aching, my sinuses felt clogged, and I didn't know where I was. My blurry vision picked out what looked like a box of tissues on the nightstand – this isn't my nightstand. It's not even my bed – and I grabbed one, then blew my nose.

That helped a lot. Locating my glasses, I put them on. Then I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and stood up, only to promptly sit down again as the door to the bedroom burst open. Othala stood there, currently wearing a long blue dressing-gown, with a teenage girl peering past her at me. The girl had blonde hair and wore flannel pyjamas with teddy-bears all over them; this tiny cutesy detail went a long way toward reassuring me.

"We heard you calling out," Othala told me; belatedly, I realised that my throat was a little sore.

"Most of the building heard you calling out," the girl interjected with a snort.

Othala sighed. "Tammi, that was insensitive. Taylor, I'd like you to meet Tammi."

Tammi winced slightly. "Sorry, Taylor. Didn't meant to hurt your feelings. I hear you owned Lung and Oni Lee like a boss last night."

"Tammi!" Othala glared at the girl. "If you can't control your mouth, I suggest you keep it shut."

I barely heard her words. Leaning forward, I raked my hands through my hair until my forehead was braced against the heels of my hands. "They're not going to stop, are they?"

I felt the mattress beside me compress as Othala sat down. A comforting arm wrapped around my shoulders and Othala pulled me into a warm hug. "I'm afraid not, honey. But we are going to be holding a meeting after breakfast, to discuss the situation. Would you like to attend?"

I blinked, barely grasping that I was important enough to both be granted a place at the big kids' table and to be asked if I wanted to show up instead of being told to be there. "I, uh, yes." Memories slotted into place. "How's Dad? And Peter?"

Tammi grinned. "Pete's awake. Right now, he's inhaling enough breakfast for three." She shut her mouth, obviously unwilling to say more.

Othala opened her mouth to take over, but I could already see where this was going. "He hasn't woken up, has he?"

"No." Othala shook her head. "I'm currently using my power on him, since Peter woke up this morning." I noticed, this close, that she had fatigue lines around her eyes.

"Thank you … I … thank you." I hugged her back. "You look tired. Is that on my account?"

With a smile, she shook her head. "Not really. I was up very late last night. Another matter."

"Oh." I felt somewhat relieved. "Well, I really don't know what I'd do without you guys."

"Be a lot less cool?" That was Tammi; I could hear the grin in her voice. I didn't see the funny side of it.

"I was never cool." I leaned away from Othala so I could get a better look at her. With the thoughts that were still running through my head, I needed the distraction. Given that they were both unmasked, I found their features oddly familiar. "Weren't you both at the Augustus Country Club in January?"

Tammi smirked. "Yup. I was hanging with Melissa while you were keeping an eye on Helen. I heard about that thing with Julie."

I looked at Othala. "And you're the one who fixed up my face, after." It wasn't quite a question.

She smiled warmly. "I wondered at the time if you'd figured it out."

"Well, I couldn't quite be sure," I said. "And I didn't have my glasses on, so I never got a good look at you. But even if I'd been sure, who would I have told? Everyone there probably knew you anyway."

"Not everyone," she said self-deprecatingly. "But yes, most of the people there knew who I was."

"Talking about knowing who you are," I ventured, "should you be unmasked in front of me?"

"Well, don't tell anyone that I told you this," Othala confided, "but Kaiser will be personally inviting you to join the Empire at the meeting. And if you choose to accept, we all unmask to you anyway."

I thought about that for a moment. "And if I don't? What happens then?"

Othala looked at me oddly, and I felt the need to explain myself further. "I'm not saying I won't. I'm just wondering what the other options are."

She shrugged lightly. "No-one's forcing you to do anything. If you want to remain a Friend of the Empire, then you can." She winked. "I just hope for my sake that you can keep my secret."

"Oh. Okay." That sounded reasonable to me. In fact, it sounded more than reasonable. Except … "Wait. The meeting's gonna be just capes?"

"All the current roster of Empire capes, yes." Othala looked at me. "Is that a problem?"

I tried not to hyperventilate. "Wow. No. Not really." I didn't really succeed. "It's just that … well, you and Victor are the only capes I've met, you know, in costume. Meeting the rest of them … they're some pretty big names. Are they even going to accept me?"

Tammi began to laugh. I felt a little hurt. Othala, I could see, was having a hard time not following suit, but she controlled herself. "Oh, honey. You beat up Lung and Oni Lee single-handed. That makes you a big name, too."

"Oh. Right." I looked at Tammi; she was laughing so hard that she had to sit down on the floor. "Got it." I looked down at my hands. It makes me a big target, too.

Lucky me.

<><>

Having showered and dressed in clothes borrowed from Tammi, I was feeling somewhat more human when I entered the small dining room. Peter and his father were sitting side by side at the table. My boyfriend looked around and saw me, and I saw his face light up like a beacon. "Taylor!" I jumped at the crash as his chair went over backward, and then he was right in front of me. A moment later, I had my arms wrapped tightly around him. I never wanted to let him go again. For a moment, he hesitated, then his arms went around me and he spun me in a circle.

"Peter," I said softly. "You're all right. You're really all right." Burying my face in his shoulder, I inhaled deeply, savouring his scent.

"So are you," he said. "Better than all right. You saved my life. You saved your father's life." I could hear the frown in his voice. "You chased off Oni Lee and blew Lung's arm off?" I got the idea that he was dying to ask for the details, but didn't know how to.

I pulled back a little and looked at him. "I'm a cape!"

"I know, sweetheart. I'd just love to know how you did it." He leaned in to kiss me, then hesitated for a second.

I frowned. "Peter, why don't you want to kiss me? Is it because I didn't save Jenna?"

"What? No." He pulled back very slightly, so he could look at my face. "Taylor, I know you did everything you could. I know this, because I know you. You saved me, and you saved your father. Yes, Jenna died, but it wasn't your fault."

I leaned into him again, absorbing the warmth of his body. "Then why?"

His sigh vibrated through his body. "I thought that things might be different now that you're a cape."

"Different?" I didn't get it. Well, of course things are different.

"Between us."

He didn't have to elaborate any more. "Oh, jeez. Peter." I rolled my eyes and pushed back away from him.

"What?" He looked apprehensive, but not for long.

Grabbing him by the head, I pulled him to me and kissed him, hard. We held it until my head started to swim, then I ended it. He looked a little stunned himself. Wow, that was kind of nice. I got a grip on myself. "When things are different between us, Peter Ferguson, I will tell you. Until then, you're my boyfriend and you will kiss me when and if I need it. Got it?"

He grinned, a little goofily. "Ma'am, yes, ma'am."

"Good." I smiled at him. "Now, could you please find me some breakfast? I'm kind of starved."

"Yes, ma'am." He gave me some kind of half-assed salute then turned and headed toward what looked like a food counter.

I pulled out a chair and sat down. Looking over at Mr Ferguson, I found that he was watching me with a speculative eye. Recalling abruptly that I had just kissed his son in front of him, I flushed a little and cleared my throat. "I, uh, good morning, Mr Ferguson."

"Good morning, Taylor," he replied blandly. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than I was when I woke up," I said honestly. "I'm glad Peter's okay."

"So am I," he said. His smile matched the warmth in his tone. "Thank you for that."

"I, um …" I paused, not sure how to lead into this. "You're not mad that I just …"

He chuckled. "Baby girl, when I first met you, I decided that Peter had chosen well. Last night proved that he chose extremely well. And quite apart from that, you're a cape. There are those in the Empire who can tell you what to do and not do. I'm not one of them."

"Oh. Wow." This was going to take some serious getting used to, I decided. When an adult like Peter's father, someone I seriously respected, deferred to me … Wow. Just wow.

Peter, laden down with breakfast foodstuffs, returned to the table. "I'm pretty sure you like this stuff. It's kind of what you eat at Winslow, right?"

I looked at it, and found my mouth literally watering. "Oh, yeah. Kind of, except that this is actual food."

He grinned. "Well, dig in. I've already eaten."

I didn't wait for a second invitation.

<><>

Emily Piggot eyed her computer screen balefully. Turning from it, she gave Armsmaster the benefit of the same glare. "So, I understand that the Empire Eighty-Eight and the ABB got quite … frisky, last night."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "But -"

"I wasn't finished," she said, a faintly reproachful tone in her voice. "So, in the first incident, there were approximately one hundred and fifty rounds fired, all from pistols. Strong evidence that Lung and Oni Lee were involved, as well as upward of twenty-four people. Of whom, fifteen ABB members did not survive the experience, and three are still in intensive care. In the second incident, which involved two cars and a four-by-four tearing through Brockton Bay accompanied by a mysterious force that moved cars to the side of the road to let them through. No casualties, thankfully. And the third incident, which involved the same three vehicles, as well as Victor and Othala of the Empire, and Panacea and Glory Girl of New Wave in a hostage situation. Which ended up with Panacea taking a round to the left leg. Have I left anything important out?"

"No, ma'am," he replied carefully. "You've summed it up quite succinctly."

She nodded. "Very well. Give me the details. I want to know what happened, why it happened, and if it's likely that this is going to happen again any time soon."

"The report -" he began, but was cut off by an impatient wave.

"I will read the report in my own time, Armsmaster," she said. "I can't question a report for extra details. Start from the beginning. What was the firefight on Ronan Street all about? There are no Empire or ABB interests in that area, are there?"

Armsmaster shook his head. "Not that I know of. There were a lot of damaged vehicles in that section of street, some of them listed as stolen. But one was very interesting indeed."

She tilted her head. "Define 'interesting'."

His tone was matter-of-fact. "Interesting as in, it had been involved in a high-speed chase, had several bullet-holes in it, as well as a fair amount of blood, and had rolled over several times to land on its roof."

She blinked. "That fits with 'interesting'. Was it also stolen?"

"No. The registration came back as belonging to a Daniel Hebert."

"Hebert, Hebert," she muttered. "Where do I know that name from?"

"Winslow," he said helpfully. "The Shadow Stalker locker incident. The girl who was put into the locker is called Taylor Hebert. She's his daughter."

"Ah, right. The Empire Eighty-Eight girl," she said, recalling at last. "You mentioned blood. Were either of them at the scene when you got there?"

"No." His lips compressed together. "But the quantity of blood was worrying. If it had come from her, I doubt that she would have survived."

She nodded, picking up his meaning from context. "It was from him?"

"Given later information, yes."

"So, the ABB were chasing her and her father, and the Empire got involved? Is there any other evidence of Empire Eighty-Eight involvement, particularly Empire cape involvement?"

"Only circumstantially," he said. "The third incident definitely involved the Empire, but as for the first, there are no overt signs of any Empire capes." She detected an air of slight puzzlement from the man. "However, the evidence we have indicates that a cape of some sort was involved. We just don't know who."

"Great," she groaned. "A new trigger, in the middle of a gang firefight. And given that the vast majority of casualties are ABB, I'm guessing that it's Empire. As if they needed any more." She raised her chin. "What are your estimates of the power categories?"

He fell silent then, and she didn't push him. His was not the most agile mind, but once he had his teeth in a problem, he did not let go until he had beaten it.

"Shaker or Blaster," he ventured at last. "Some sort of small-scale telekinesis, possibly. Eleven of the ABB casualties had wounds consistent with their pistols being fired, repeatedly, while still tucked down their pants."

Emily grimaced. She had seen the effect of a single shot on a grunt who'd tucked his gun into his pants. Idiot. He'd washed out of basic training and never come back. "Anything else?"

"A wider range effect, capable of pushing vehicles out of the way and disabling engines. The first responders reported that their cars were physically moved to the side and spark-plug leads disconnected, just as three vehicles passed by. They fit the description of the vehicles from the second and third incidents."

"Hm." She scribbled a note to herself to look into that. "And what about the ABB capes on scene? Neither Lung nor Oni Lee have a habit of being chased away easily, especially if there aren't any capes to oppose them. And why were they there in the first place?"

"I have no idea why they were there," confessed the armoured hero. "The injured ABB members that were retrieved from the scene have yet to answer any questions. However, the cars on scene all show signs of repeated front-end impacts with Lung's enlarged form. There's evidence of both heat and claw marks on the vehicles. Several were involved with quite a substantial explosion. And a human arm was found nearby; it was covered in tattoos. Dragon tattoos."

"So whoever it was blew Lung's arm off …?" Emily shook her head. "How the hell did they do that?"

"We found eight grenade pins all in one spot, quite a distance from the explosion site. The explosion itself was consistent with said grenades all going off at once."

"Oni Lee," she said, almost to herself. "But why …?"

"I don't know." His voice was matter of fact. "But it looks like a serious ambush of ABB forces. Lung was hit by multiple cars, probably driven by Empire guys, then blown up with Oni Lee's own grenades. We don't know what happened to Lee, except that there are several piles of ash in the area, including quite a lot inside one particular car. And no, I don't know how they got hold of his grenades."

"So, no Empire casualties on site." She decided to go over the facts that she knew.

"None."

"And ABB casualties, both dead and alive."

"Correct. Some injuries consistent with being hit by vehicles, some by gunfire."

"Have any witnesses come forward to help inquiries?"

He snorted. "In that area? Nobody saw anything. Or heard anything, even when the explosion broke their windows."

"I see." It wasn't much of a surprise. "I'm presuming the second incident is similar to what the police reported from the first. Vehicles being shoved aside."

"Correct."

"And the third?"

He grimaced. "This is where it gets problematic."

"Only for the Empire, surely. One of theirs shot Panacea."

"There was a sequence of events that led up to that," he said carefully. "Quite a few videos have been posted online, and I've been over the police interviews."

She groaned internally. I'm not liking the sound of this. "Go ahead."

"Panacea and Glory Girl, both in civilian attire, were on the Boardwalk. Three vehicles, matching previous descriptions, were driving at high speed down Lord Street. They pulled over and a girl matching the physical description of Taylor Hebert called out to Panacea, then ran over to her. She repeatedly begged and pleaded for Panacea to heal ..." He paused, possibly reading from his helmet HUD. "Her father, her boyfriend and her best friend."

"That is, Daniel Hebert and two members of the Empire Eighty-Eight, I presume."

"Correct. Glory Girl intervened and informed Ms Hebert that Panacea was not available for healing duties. Ms Hebert became more agitated and repeated her request."

Emily frowned. "Did she become threatening or aggressive?"

Armsmaster shook his head. "Witnesses say no. The aggression happened when Victor, who had also exited the vehicle, fired a shot into the air. This alerted Glory Girl and Panacea to the fact that eight of the Empire's people had each taken a hostage. Victor instructed Panacea to perform the requested healing at once, or people would die. He also told her that while she had been withholding her healing, one of the Empire people had died."

"Christ." Emily winced. That's not gonna look good online. "So she did it?"

"She healed them, yes," he said. "Othala was there, attempting to keep them alive. Her statement indicated that a teenage girl was unresponsive to her healing, while a teenage boy and an older male responded well. The boy had taken a bullet to the chest, while the older male had suffered broken bones, a skull fracture, multiple contusions and a bullet wound."

"I'm guessing the older male was Daniel Hebert."

He nodded. "He fitted the description closely enough. We don't know the identities of the other two."

"So …" She paused. "Why was Panacea shot? In retaliation for letting the girl die?"

"It appears not." He took a breath. "The hostages were released unharmed. Panacea was allowed to leave the vehicle. But then, as the Empire contingent were preparing to leave, Glory Girl attempted to place them under arrest."

Emily put her hand over her eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake. That girl is a fucking menace."

Armsmaster did not comment on her observation. "Ms Hebert tried to talk Glory Girl out of her decision, but did not succeed."

"So Victor shot Panacea." Emily grimaced. "Taking a hostage would have been kidnapping, thus complicating the whole situation, while not preventing Glory Girl from shadowing them anyway. Shooting another hostage would have left Panacea free to heal them while Glory Girl attacked the Empire people. Brutal but elegant. It was the only way to get Glory Girl off their backs."

"Glory Girl did go back after getting Panacea to the hospital, but she could find no trace of those three vehicles," Armsmaster reported. "Especially the four-by-four with the damaged front end."

"Of course she didn't," Emily muttered. "The Empire isn't as stupid as that."

"So how are we going to respond to this?" Armsmaster didn't have to explain what he meant by 'this'.

Emily compressed her lips together. "Officially, we decry the attack on our most valuable healer. If the hospital hasn't done so already, we pick up all medical expenses." She paused. "I'll see if San Diego can't loan us Scapegoat to get her back on her feet." An automatic wince as the accidental pun registered on her.

"It's a good idea." Armsmaster didn't seem to have noticed.

"We also need to update the warrant on Victor, and make it known that Taylor and Daniel Hebert are wanted for questioning in relation to both incidents. Also, we'll be seeking further confirmation on this new cape."

She drew a breath and let it go again. It didn't help. "Unofficially, we're not going to do anything stupid, or condone anything stupid, in relation to the Empire. We're not going seek a kill order, or any other punitive action, for Victor. I am going to send a totally deniable back-channel message to Kaiser, indicating that if this ever happens again, I will hold him, and Victor, personally responsible. As for Victor, if Kaiser wants to hand him over for trial, I will cheerfully accept. If Victor happens to walk down the street and you arrest him, I'll accept that too. And in the absence of either of those two happy situations, we're going to do our best to make sure that New Wave doesn't do anything stupid either."

"I could probably find him -" began Armsmaster, but stopped when she leaned forward, fixing him with a penetrating stare.

"If you found him, it would be because Kaiser wanted you to find him," she snapped. "If we don't get him handed over to us on a silver platter, it'll be because Kaiser doesn't want us getting him. And if we pushed, they could push back. If there are as many videos as you say, public opinion of Glory Girl escalating matters would not be very high."

"Still, legally speaking, they committed the crime. They're responsible for her injury."

"Yes. Victor is legally, morally, and physically responsible for her injury." She placed her hands flat on her desk and heaved herself to her feet. "It. Doesn't. Matter. Public image is all that matters, and right now the public image is that Panacea got hurt because Glory Girl couldn't pick her fights. If we back her up, then we buy into that image." Slowly, she sat down again. "Tell me; faced with that situation, what would you have done?"

He paused for less than a second. "I would have let them go, then followed and apprehended them away from innocent bystanders."

"Precisely." She let the word hang in the air.

He nodded slowly; she could tell she had gotten her point across. "I'll brief New Wave and let them know what you've decided."

"Thank you." She indicated the computer screen. "Let me know the instant any new information develops."

"Will do, ma'am."

The office doors closed behind him. With a sigh, she called up the first video and began to watch it. Let's see if there's anything that the report left out.

Two minutes and thirty seconds later, she sprayed coffee over the computer screen. Not even bothering to wipe it off, she grabbed the phone. Frozen on the screen, in between the trickles of coffee, was the image of Victor crumpled on the ground. "Get. Me. New. Wave."

<><>

"Hi, Dad."

I pulled a chair up alongside the bed. He lay with his hands on top of the coverlet, as though he was just dozing. But there were machines on the other side of the bed, beeping softly and regularly, and he didn't stir when I took his hand. Even though I knew he wasn't just going to wake up – I didn't like Panacea very much, but I trusted her diagnosis of brain damage – I still searched his face for any signs of rousing.

Nothing.

I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the prickling at the back of my eyes, and clasped his hand in mine. "They say that some people in comas can actually hear what's going on, so I'll fill you in, okay?" Despite my brave tone, I could feel the tears coming on. Peter, standing beside me, put a hand on my shoulder. I reached up with my free hand and held his tightly; he squeezed back, giving me some much-needed strength.

"Okay," I said, once I had my voice under control once more. "Okay." I cleared my throat. "We were in a car crash. The ABB were chasing us and shot you. They were going to do something pretty nasty to me, but Peter showed up with Jenna and Bronson and stopped them. But more ABB showed up, and they shot Peter and Jenna. Oni Lee threw a grenade, and Bronson …"

I clenched my eyes shut, a sob wrenching out of my throat. Hot tears squeezed between my eyelids. Bronson loomed large in my memory, making horrible jokes, standing between me and Sophia, being a good and reliable friend. Throwing himself on the grenade, giving his life for Peter and Jenna and Dad and me.

Peter knelt beside me and I put my arms around him. Burying my face in his chest, never letting Dad's hand go, I cried. Peter said nothing; I felt his hands stroke my hair.

After a while, I felt better. Peter handed me a tissue, and I blew my nose. "Sorry about that," I said quietly. "Bronson was a good friend. He died saving us. Then Lung threw me in a car trunk, and I … I got powers."

I drew a deep breath. "I'm a cape, Dad. I'm about to go and see if they'll let me join the Empire Eighty-Eight as one of them. Yes, I know how you feel about the Empire." I paused, knowing what he would say to that. "But things have changed. I've changed. I had to do some pretty nasty things to save us from Lung and Oni Lee. People died. Then we had to do some more bad stuff to save your life, and Peter's. I'm pretty sure I can't go home again. Even if the ABB wasn't hunting us. Which I'm pretty sure they still are."

Standing up, I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "I've got to take care of both of us now, Dad. Until you get better, anyway. After then, we'll talk. I love you, Dad. I'll be back later."

Giving his hand one last squeeze, I put it back on the coverlet. Taking Peter's hand in mine, I turned toward the doorway. Othala stood there in full costume. "Ready?" she asked.

I wasn't, not really, but I nodded anyway. "Let's do this."


End of Part Eleven

Part Twelve

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Twelve: Meetings and Conferences



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



Peter and I walked hand in hand, following Othala. Her costume was bright red, with some sort of utility belt around her waist. It would have been eye-catching even if it wasn't form-fitting. Peter had his head half-turned to look at me; I wasn't sure if this was because he found me fascinating, or because he didn't want to get caught staring at Othala's butt. For a moment, I found myself wondering how some cape teams dealt with the problem that they were all standing around in what was essentially skin-tight underwear.

That line of thought would take me nowhere good. I cleared my throat. "Othala, the symbol on your costume …?" I let my words trail off, not sure how to ask the question.

Fortunately, she guessed my meaning. "It's a rune called Odal or Othala, so yes, it's my cape name. It means 'heritage'."

"Huh." That made a certain kind of sense. "Sort of like people can 'inherit' powers from you."

"Basically, yes," she agreed. "It also means 'family', in a way. In the Empire, we're very big on family ties."

"I can see that." It was obvious to me that Peter had a good relationship with his father, and even though he had pretended annoyance with his youngest sister, he had been very quick to come to her assistance at the country club. And to mine, for which I would forever be grateful. I wish Dad could see this side of the Empire.

Othala stopped and turned to face Peter and myself. "We're here." We were standing in front of a large set of double doors. In keeping with the lush carpet and the subtle (but very expensive looking) wallpaper, they were made of some kind of highly polished wood with a gorgeous grain. The handles gleamed like gold, but were probably something like brass.

I looked from Peter to Othala. Some kind of communication passed between them, and he nodded, looking resigned.

"What's going on?" I asked uncertainly.

"This is as far as I go," Peter said softly. "When Kaiser's holding a meeting of this kind, the only people who get to attend are capes. That's you."

"Peter …" I felt suddenly lost. He had been my rock for so long. It was due to him that I had become a Friend to the Empire. He had become my boyfriend, and his friends had become my friends. When I had made my decision to join the Empire, I imagined that we would basically do everything together. Never had I even considered that I might surpass him in such a bizarre fashion.

"Hey, it's okay," he said reassuringly. "You'll be fine."

"No, I won't," I protested. "I figured that once I joined, I'd get to meet Kaiser sometime. I just thought you'd be there, too." It was true. Peter steadied me emotionally, and made me realise my own worth. After the months of bullying from Emma and her friends, my self-esteem had been a battered and broken thing, but Peter's steady admiration had done wonders for it. I knew, intellectually, that I could do things without him. I just didn't want to.

"It's all right, honey," Othala assured me. "I'll be there, right beside you. And Kaiser specifically asked for you at this meeting. He's not going to yell at you. If anything, he's going to try to make you look as good as possible."

I bit my lip. "But what if he expects more of me than I can deliver?"

Othala chuckled and hugged me. "Taylor, you triggered last night. He's not going to expect the world of you." She delved into one of her pouches and came out with a folded piece of white cloth. Unfolded, it turned out to be a bandanna with cog-wheels inked on to it. The artwork was quite nice. "Though you're going to need a mask, just for form's sake. Until you're a member, of course. Then we all unmask. It's a solidarity thing."

I took it from her and spread it out, admiring the artwork. In the back of my mind, I knew that I was delaying the inevitable, but I didn't care. "It's amazing. Where did you get it from?"

"Victor drew it last night, after he finished talking with Kaiser," she said. "He thought you might like it."

"I do." I ran it through my hands. "I'm just not sure if it's going to fit with whatever I end up using as a costume."

She smiled indulgently and ruffled my hair. "That's up to you. For now, it will do as a temporary mask."

"Okay, thanks." I handed it to Peter. "Mask me up?"

"What am I now, a henchman?" he asked with a grin, but he stepped around behind me anyway. I shivered as his hands brushed the back of my neck, pushing my hair out of the way.

"Nope," I told him, doing my best to keep my voice level when all I wanted to do was fall backward into his embrace. "You're a minion. You're going to have to work harder than that to make henchman."

"And we hadn't even worked out my pay details yet," he said jokingly.

"I'm sure we could work out something," I replied, trying to sound suggestive. I wasn't exactly great at this. Othala looked amused, but cleared her throat anyway. Peter got back to tying the mask.

"Well there's definitely worse people to minion for, I'll grant you that," he said cheerfully. Fastening the last knot, he let my hair fall back into place. "How's that?"

I pulled the bandanna up so that it covered my nose and mouth, and turned to face him. "The fit's pretty good. How do I look?"

He tilted his head. "Pretty good, actually. As a cape, I mean. As my girlfriend, you look awesome."

I rolled my eyes. "I bet you say that to all the people you minion for." I took his hand and squeezed it; he squeezed back. "As soon as we're finished, I'll come and find you. Okay?"

"Okay." He couldn't kiss me without disarranging the bandanna, but he leaned forward until our foreheads gently bumped. "I'll see you then. Knock 'em dead."

"I guess I'll try?" Taking a deep breath, I turned toward Othala. Don't screw this up, don't screw this up, don't screw this up …

She studied me, then nodded. "Yes, this is a big step," she said, apparently in reply to my innermost thoughts. "Don't stress it, though. We're on your side. You've already passed any conceivable test that we could set for you."

While that didn't calm me all the way down, it did help a bit. Still, my heart was hammering away at a mile a minute. They'll see how nervous I am, and just see me as a kid from now on. I knew all too well how damning a bad first impression could be, Othala's reassurance notwithstanding.

If I was using my powers, I wouldn't be feeling any of this …

The realisation hit me. I could use my powers!

Without further ado, I submerged myself in the powers, leaving useless emotion behind. Every action became logical, calculated.

My awareness expanded, cataloguing the machines to be found all around me. I was on the fifth floor of a tall office building; I could detect cars driving by on the street below, more cars in the parking garage five storeys beneath my feet, and quite a few firearms being carried about the building.

Conclusion: this building is an Empire front. Chances of Azn Bad Boyz attack: minimal to zero.

All of this had taken less than a second. Othala was reaching for the door handles.

Assume positive control: doors.

The handles rotated at my command, then the hinges swung the doors soundlessly outward. Othala hesitated, then dropped her hand. She stepped forward into the room. I followed, my power fully aware of certain hidden items.

Within the room was a large table, oval in shape. Eleven of the thirteen chairs surrounding it were occupied. The occupants turned to look at us as we entered.

Male, encased in interlocked armour with crown of blades. Armour registers as machine. Identification: Kaiser. Category: Provisional ally.

Male, militaristic costume. Identification: Krieg. Category: Provisional ally.

Females, wearing jointed armour, carrying sword, shield, spear. Armour registers as machine. Identification: Fenja and Menja. Category: Provisional allies.

Male, shirtless, metal wolf mask. Long hair, tattoos. Metal spikes protruding from skin. Identification: Hookwolf. Category: Provisional ally.

Female, scarred, short blonde hair, simple costume. Metal cage around head registers as machine. Identification: Cricket. Category: Provisional ally.

Male, shirtless, white tiger mask. Chains over shoulders. Identification: Stormtiger. Category: Provisional ally.

Male, black breastplate over red shirt, short cropped blond hair. Identification: Victor. Category: Proven ally.

Female, juvenile, red and black robe. Long blonde hair. Identification: Rune. Category: Provisional ally.

Male, jointed metal armour, long spear. Armour registers as machine. Identification: Crusader. Category: Provisional ally.

Male, white costume with black gloves and mask. White skin and hair, white eyes. Identification: Alabaster. Category: Provisional ally.

Firearm, loaded. Location: drawer next to Kaiser.

Toy car, metal. Registers as machine. Location: drawer next to Kaiser.

Analysis: items are oddly specific. Conclusion: test.

"Welcome," Kaiser said as we entered. Chairs scraped back as everyone stood. "Please, have a seat."

The two empty seats were situated between Victor and Rune. Othala moved toward them.

Observation: Allies 'Othala' and 'Victor' are partners.

Conclusion: She will sit next to him.

As I had calculated, Othala took the chair next to Victor. I pulled out the seat between Othala and Rune. Rune leaned over and whispered, "Hey."

Expression: smile. Conclusion: friendly. Voice: familiar. Height, eyes, build, hair all congruent with ally 'Tammi'.

Conclusion: Rune is Tammi. Tammi is proven ally.

Conclusion: Rune is proven ally.

I gave Rune a single deliberate nod and turned my attention to Kaiser.

"Please be seated," he said, his voice smooth and powerful.

Kaiser's voice is familiar. Max Anders was wearing platinum pin. Max Anders holds position of power in Empire Eighty-Eight.

Conclusion: Kaiser is Max Anders. Max Anders is proven ally.

Conclusion: Kaiser is proven ally.

I sat, my eyes on Kaiser.

<><>

Carol Dallon climbed out of her car and locked it. Briefcase in hand – because a good lawyer always has her briefcase to hand – she crossed the street toward the PRT building. At the doors, she encountered Manpower, in his civilian identity of Neil Pelham. Even though not in costume, Neil was as imposing as ever, looming more than a foot over Carol.

"Hey," he greeted her. "Any idea what this is about?"

She grimaced. "The Director didn't tell me a thing. Just informed me that not showing up was a non-option."

"Yeah, I kinda got the same message." Neil shrugged. "I already called Sarah and the kids. They should be on the way. Where's Mark and Vicky?"

"Mark's at the hospital with Amy," Carol said shortly. "Victoria said that she would join up with Sarah and your children."

Neil pointed. "That'll be them, right there."

Shading her eyes, Carol looked up into the sky. He was correct. A scattering of dots in the sky soon resolved itself into a group of four people; namely, one adult and three teens.

Unlike Carol and Neil, the four newcomers were costumed up, and Eric – Shielder – had his customary blue hair dye in. They came in for a smooth, fast landing. Vicky chose to land normally on her feet, rather than in that ridiculously overblown three-point landing that a lot of the wanna-be Alexandria packages were showing off with these days.

"Carol," her sister greeted her.

"Sarah," she said in turn. "Do you know what's going on here?"

"Only that the Director told me that the future of New Wave was on the line. No, I'm not sure what she might have meant by that, either."

"How about we just go in and find out," suggested Neil.

"How about we do that," Carol agreed. She didn't have court for another two hours. With any luck, we'll be done here by then.

<><>

Medhall Building

Justin lounged back in his chair, wondering what all the hoo-hah was about. There'd been something on TV about a fight between the Empire and the ABB last night, but he hadn't been involved, so it was none of his beeswax.

Nobody's got any burns on them, so either Othala got to them, or Lung didn't get too close. That big-ass chink was way too powerful for Justin to want to tangle with. Sure, he had his ghosts, but Lung was just too tough for them to hurt in any meaningful way, even if they dogpiled him. And if Lung ever actually got his hands on Justin, it would be lights out in a big way. No fucking thank you.

So the meeting wasn't about the fight, which was good. It meant that he didn't have to worry so much about paying attention. Except that there was this new kid, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Kinda cute, if you liked the tall skinny librarian look. Nice hair; she obviously took care of it.

She was obviously new to the game if she didn't even have a costume yet. Though he wasn't too sure what the bandanna with the cog-wheels on it was all about. Are we actually getting a Tinker? That thought alone made him sit up just a little. It was so totally unfair that the Merchants had a fucking Tinker, while the Empire, with three times as many capes, didn't.

"Ladies and gentlemen."

Whoops, Kaiser's talking. Better look like I'm paying attention.

"You may have heard of the altercation with Lung and Oni Lee last night. You will be glad to hear that both Asian capes had to retreat from the battlefield in disorder, leaving more than a dozen of their dead behind."

Justin's eyes widened behind his metal mask. Holy shit. Someone chased off Lung and Oni Lee? I am seriously fucking impressed.

Kaiser was still talking. "I regret to say, that victory cost us the lives of two of our more promising junior members, Bronson diAngelo and Jenna Parsons. Their sacrifice will be remembered in a service later next week. Also present was Peter Ferguson, who will be recognised for his bravery at the same time." He paused dramatically.

Wait a second. Ed Ferguson's kid? Didn't he have a new girlfriend at the last Gathering? Justin took another look at the new kid. He hadn't been paying too much attention at the time, but he seemed to recall that Pete's arm-candy had been tall and skinny with glasses, just like this one.

"However, these lives were not lost in vain, for they paved the way for our newest member to join our ranks."

Kaiser was good at this. Justin found himself sitting forward expectantly.

Pausing, Kaiser turned his head toward the teenage girl. "That is, I understand that you were intending to join the Empire Eighty-Eight. Is that still your wish?"

The girl's expression never changed, but her tone was definite. "Yes."

Justin couldn't see Kaiser's face behind the helmet, but the smile came through in his voice. "Excellent. Normally, we wait until prospective members have passed the initiation process, but given last night's events, I'm going to declare the initiation well and truly passed. Now for the issue of sponsorship. Do you have a sponsor here?"

Well and truly passed? Justin blinked. Wait – was she the one who chased off the chinks and killed a dozen of them?

The girl's question was almost free of inflection. "Sponsor?"

"Well, yes." Kaiser's voice was patient as he explained. "Your original sponsor is no longer valid. To join our number, you need a sponsor who is both a cape and a member in good standing."

Justin had little trouble in deciphering that. She didn't have powers till really recently. Her original sponsor doesn't have powers. If she's the girl I think she is, he would be the Ferguson kid. Man, oh, man. His little bit of fluff just got powers and hit the big leagues. Sucks to be him.

Othala raised her hand. "I will stand as sponsor."

Before Kaiser could acknowledge her words, Victor's hand had joined hers. "We will stand as sponsors."

Kaiser nodded. "Acceptable. Let's have a show of hands. All in favour?"

Victor and Othala already had their hands up. Rune's hand went up a moment later. Justin shrugged and raised his hand as well, looking at the girl with interest. If she's a Tinker, we need her.

One by one, around the table, hands went up. With a scrape of metal on metal, Kaiser raised his hand, followed an instant later by Fenja and Menja. The only ones left were Hookwolf and Cricket.

Kaiser looked at them, tilting his head slightly to the side. "We have a clear majority here, but may I ask why you're holding out?"

Hookwolf lifted his chin. "I haven't seen what she can do yet. All we've got is word of mouth and a fancy mask. Gonna need something more than that." His tone was harsh, as close to an actual challenge as Kaiser usually allowed.

Kaiser paused. "You would like to see a demonstration of her power?" Leaning forward slightly, he turned his helmeted head toward the girl in the bandanna. "Are you willing to do this?"

She did not hesitate. "Yes."

"Very well, then. A demonstration it will be." Kaiser pulled open a drawer at his end of the table and produced what looked like a toy car, about four inches long. He placed this on the table. "Well?"

The girl did not react visibly, but the car began to roll forward along the table. The sound of the rubber tyre treads on the highly-polished tabletop was only just audible. However, it was barely crawling along; Justin began to wonder what all the fuss was about.

When the car reached the centre of the table, it rolled to a stop. Nothing happened for a few seconds.

"That's it?" scoffed Hookwolf. "I could put a rubber band in it and -"

The back tyres began to spin, while the front ones stayed still. Under the impetus of the spinning wheels, the car crept forward, the rear end wobbling from side to side. Hookwolf shut up, watching. The whole car was vibrating now, showing far more energy than it had before.

Abruptly, the back end of the car swung around to the right in a complete three-sixty, back tyres still howling against the tabletop. Someone's gonna have a job, buffing that rubber off the finish.

When it had finished the first circle, the car reversed direction just as suddenly, pulling another complete circle to the left. Then, leaving a tiny trail of scorched rubber, it shot off down the table like a startled rabbit. Justin watched it whip past him in the general direction of Alabaster.

The white-skinned Brute barely reacted to the car's approach. However, before the toy could launch itself from the table, it turned its headlong rush into a curving turn, swinging perilously close to the table's edge as it completed its reversal of direction. All eyes followed it as it headed toward Kaiser.

With a grinding of metal, obstacles arose from the table top; walls and poles, scaled to the car. The girl did not seem to react, aside from a very slight narrowing of her eyes behind her glasses. She didn't know about this bit, then. The car swerved wildly, clipped the first obstacle, then bounced off the second one and stopped.

However, a few seconds later, it took off again. Pulling a long drift around both the obstacles that it had just hit, it then proceeded to complete the ad hoc course by swerving around each subsequent barrier in turn until it pulled to a halt in front of Kaiser. It did not, Justin noted, hit any more obstacles, although it came close a few times.

Into the silence that fell over the table, Victor remarked, "Now, imagine that's a dozen full-sized cars."

Justin turned his head toward the skill thief. "What, all at once?" he blurted.

"That's what I saw," Victor affirmed, a slight smile on his face. "She beat the living fuck out of Lung with them."

"Very impressive," Kaiser stated, in the tone of voice that says but of course that's not all. "However, how would you deal with something like … this?"

From the same drawer, he took a pistol, and aimed it directly at the new girl's face. In the silence that filled the room, he thumbed back the hammer with a distinct click-click-click.

She didn't respond at all. Justin saw Kaiser's trigger finger move. The silence was so complete that he actually heard the tiny click as the trigger stopped its rearward travel. Nothing else happened.

The girl spoke for the first time since Kaiser had initiated the demonstration. "Safety's on."

Okay, she's got style. Justin had to admit, that was an absolutely classic line. He chuckled very slightly, and heard a couple of the others doing the same. Kaiser turned the pistol slightly, flicked the safety off, then aimed it at her again.

This time, when he squeezed the trigger, the gun … fell apart. One second, Kaiser was holding what Justin presumed to be a fully functional nine-millimetre pistol. The next, he was holding the frame. Metal parts bounced off the table; Justin was pretty sure that some of the screws fell on the floor. After all the clattering had finished, the only sound left was a few of the pieces rolling back and forth on the polished surface.

Hookwolf broke the silence first. "So … she can control cars and fuck up guns? Kind of specific, isn't it?"

The girl turned to face him and spoke, her voice as expressionless as her face. "Anything with metal moving parts."

Justin jolted. "Wait, wait. Like, armour? Like my armour?"

Her gaze swung toward him. "Yes."

That flat voice is creepy as fuck. Almost as creepy as Night and Fog. It's like her body's a puppet and she's pulling the strings, just like she controlled that car.

"So you could move me around because I'm wearing this armour?" It seemed important to get this straight. For the first time, he began to regret the concept of wearing full plate like one of those badasses from the Crusading days.

Again, that flat stare. "Yes."

"Actually," broke in Othala, "it's not that bad. You're not thinking about the upside."

Menja and Fenja were murmuring to each other now; the twins' Valkyrie armour wasn't styled like his, but the pieces were still connected together.

"Upside?" he asked. "What upside?"

"Battlefield rescue," Victor said. "Even if you're injured or unconscious, she can walk you back to Othala to get healed, without ever risking herself. Or, for that matter, stopping what she's doing."

Justin blinked. "I … wait, really? She can do that?"

"Yes," said the girl.

"And what I want to see," Othala added with a particularly vicious grin, "is the meltdown on the PHO boards after she makes Armsmaster do the Macarena on streaming video."

"Oh … oh, shit," whispered Justin as the realisation burst upon him like a newborn sun. His voice strengthened as he went on. "I thought you were a Tinker. But you're not. You're every Tinker's worst nightmare. Aren't you?"

The girl nodded once. "If it has metal moving parts, then I can control it."

Rune began giggling uncontrollably. Justin frowned; he hadn't thought the girl's comment had been all that funny. But then the teenager managed to get out one word, and he got the joke as well. He began to chuckle, then to laugh himself.

Squealer.

Oh, man. She's going to shit so many bricks she could build the chinks their own Great Wall of Fail.

I really want to see that. It might even be funnier than watching Armsmaster doing the chicken dance.

"Question." That was Stormtiger.

The girl looked over at him. "Yes?"

"What about plastic guns? Can you screw with those, too?"

Kaiser fielded that one with a chuckle. "No such thing. Not a truly plastic gun, anyway. Except for Tinker tech, because they follow their own rules. But mundane guns need metal working parts, even if they have plastic frames."

"Actually, talking about Tinker tech," said Alabaster unexpectedly, "can you affect it?"

"I don't know." She said it with no hint of apology or other emotion in her voice. "I haven't tried. But if it has metal parts? Probably."

"One more thing," Hookwolf said bluntly. "What about range? Sure, the thing with the car and the gun were cute, but three yards isn't a great range for stuff like that."

Smoothly, she turned to face him. At the same time, she held up her hand. Three fingers were extended.

"Three?" He sounded confused. "Three what? Miles?"

She folded one finger down. Justin got it. "It's a countdown."

"What the fuck?" Brad sounded even more perplexed now. "A countdown to what?"

The second finger folded down.

Kaiser leaned forward. Oh, shit, Justin realised. He's got no idea what she's doing.

"My dear," the leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight said smoothly. "I do hope that what you're doing is neither impetuous nor reckless."

The last finger folded down. Justin found himself holding his breath. For an instant, nothing happened. She played us -

Someone banged on the door. This was not a polite 'may we please disturb you' knock. This was a 'you need to open the damn door NOW' sort of knock.

Kaiser looked at the girl, then at the door. "Is that …?"

She gestured, not bothering to speak. Go ahead, answer the door.

With a single glance back at her, he stood and opened the door.

"I trust that this interruption will be entirely justified?" he asked coldly.

"Uh, yes, sir." Justin could see past Kaiser to the security man he was talking to. The guy was solid, well-trained, and competent enough that he knew at least some of the true identities of the people in the room. He had earned his place in Medhall. And yet, he was sweating. "Sir, it's the cars in the underground garage."

"What about them?"

Yeah, what about them? Justin had a beauty of a sports car, bright red with a Confederate-flag license plate, that was parked down there. Gloria, honey, if someone's so much as scratched your paintwork, I'm gonna string 'em up by the nuts.

"They've all started. All the vehicles. Including your limo, sir." Which, Justin just happened to know, had a top of the line engine immobiliser built into it. With the keys physically separated from the car, it should be literally impossible to make the motor turn over. "It's got to be a cape doing it, sir."

Oh. I see. Justin nodded to himself, looking at the new girl. The parking garage is sixty feet straight down. Range? We got it.

"Indeed." Kaiser may well have been commenting on the weather. He turned his head toward the girl wearing the bandanna. She nodded once at the unspoken question. With her left hand, she made a horizontal slicing motion.

Kaiser turned back to the man at the door. "Check again."

"Sir." The man took hold of his shoulder microphone. "Charlie Delta calling Golf Whiskey. Report on vehicle situation. Has it changed? Over."

There was a long pause. Justin somehow knew the answer; he wondered how many of the others were absolutely certain in the same way he was.

"Golf Whiskey, here. The vehicles all turned off their engines just now. I say again, the engines are off. Over."

Kaiser nodded. "Good. This was a test. Your response time was adequate. Return to your regular duties."

Closing the door before the guard had a chance to reply, he made his way back to the table. Instead of sitting, he stood beside his chair for a moment, looking at the girl in the bandanna. "Are any of the vehicles damaged?"

"No." Her tone was matter of fact. "There is ongoing wear and tear to most of the vehicles that will eventually require repair, but that's a pre-existing condition."

Justin made a mental note to have a quiet chat with the girl about whatever needed to be done to Gloria, just as soon as possible.

"I see." Kaiser sat down. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, I believe that to be an adequate test of our prospective member's powers. If I may have a show of hands?"

Justin's hand went up immediately. By the time he looked around, nearly every other person had a hand in the air as well. Hookwolf and Cricket were the last two, but that was more a matter of timing than reluctance.

"Well, then," Kaiser noted, putting his hand down again. "It's unanimous. Welcome to the Empire."

"Thank you," the girl said. Justin blinked; he could've sworn he'd just heard emotion in her voice. "It's good to be here."

<><>

PRT Building

Well, at least they knew we were coming, mused Neil as they travelled upward in the elevator. Between him, Sarah, Carol and the three kids, the confined space was already cramped; adding a PRT soldier into the mix made it even more so. "What's the big deal?" he had to ask. "We've been to Piggot's office before, and we didn't need a babysitter."

"We're not going to her office, sir," the soldier said.

"Where, then?" asked Sarah.

The answer turned out to be 'a conference room'. The PRT soldier got to the door first and opened it, holding it so that the others could come through. Reflexively ducking under the door frame, Neil looked around at the room. Neil hadn't been in this particular conference room before, but there tended to be a sameness about them. Piggot sat at one end of a long table, facing the wall-sized screen at the far end of the room. Standing in a corner of the room was another PRT soldier.

"Come in," Piggot said bluntly. "Sit down. We have something serious to talk about."

Neil made sure that he was the last one in; the door swung closed behind him. Carol took a seat at one side of the table, with Vicky beside her. Crystal chose to sit next to Vicky. Neil sat across from Carol, with Sarah facing Glory Girl and Eric looking across at Crystal.

As soon as they were all seated, Piggot took out her cell phone. She dialled a number, then placed the device on the table in front of her. A few moments later, Neil heard a familiar voice. "Hello, Director. Mark Dallon here. Are they there?"

"They are," she replied. "Are you with Panacea?"

"I'm here," Neil's other niece said.

"Good. I'm about to replay the footage. I'll let you know when I've paused it."

Picking up a remote, she clicked a button. The screen bloomed to life, showing a jittery image of the Boardwalk in the late evening. Zooming in and out slightly, the footage focused in on two figures; the shorter one was eating an ice-cream. If Neil squinted slightly, he could recognise both of his nieces.

"This is us yesterday, on the Boardwalk," Vicky said. "So?"

Piggot gestured at the screen. "Keep watching."

They were too far away for any dialogue, but the image was clear enough. Neil watched as Vicky's image on the screen turned, then the camera swung toward three vehicles parked haphazardly at the side of the road. It followed a single figure stumbling and then running toward Vicky and Amy. He couldn't hear any of the words, but the body language was abundantly clear; she was desperate for Amy to come back with her.

But Amy didn't. Vicky stood in the way and argued with the newcomer, a tall skinny girl with dark curly hair. At one point, the girl grabbed Amy by the sleeve, but Vicky intervened, forcing her to let go again.

When the shot sounded, it made Neil jump slightly. What the hell? The person holding the camera must have thought so as well, because the picture swung crazily for a second. It angled back toward the vehicles, where Victor stood with a smoking gun.

Director Piggot paused the footage there. She ran her eyes over the members of New Wave who were present. "So, you were faced with a civilian clearly in some distress, pleading for assistance from New Wave, and you withheld it. Why?"

"We were off duty," Victoria said at once. "I explained that."

The look on the Director's face as she shook her head made Neil wince. Wrong answer. "The unmasking that your parents went through ten years ago means that while you have far more freedom in the use of your powers than your masked peers, you also have much less of a dichotomy between your cape and civilian lives. You were recognised as Glory Girl and Panacea; to identify you as such broke none of the unspoken rules. You were specifically approached as superheroes and asked to save lives. Why didn't you?"

Neil glanced at Vicky, who was looking stubborn. Don't dig yourself in any deeper.

"Are you trying to assert that Victoria and Amy broke the law?" Carol said sharply. "May I remind you that there are no laws specifically requiring Amy to assist anyone -"

Piggot held up her hand. "I am doing no such thing," she stated flatly, raising her voice slightly. "Believe me, I've looked at it. On the one hand, she's the world's number one healer. She's got a one hundred percent success rate and she's a publicly known superhero for whom healing someone is apparently next to effortless. On the other hand, she's a minor, she has no actual medical credentials, and she's only ever volunteered her healing duties. All of that adds up to a massive grey area, a legal morass, that lawmakers could argue over for a century without coming to an agreement. In fact, I would be thoroughly unsurprised if this very topic is being discussed right now at the highest level of government. And that they're getting nowhere." A dry smile crossed her lips. "Fortunately, that problem is not one that I am required to solve."

"Uh, if Amy isn't required by law to do anything, what's the problem?" asked Flashbang. Neil had been wondering exactly the same thing. He had a feeling that he would find out, very soon.

"Because official laws or otherwise, this promises to subject you to a judgement far more arbitrary and vicious than any you would find in a courtroom," the Director said. Her eyes found Carol's. "I'm referring, of course, to what's commonly called the Court of Public Opinion. Especially given that someone apparently died while you argued with that girl."

Carol's lips thinned, which was enough to make Neil worry. "Are you going to fan the flames here?" asked the lawyer tightly. "Make it worse for us?"

"On the contrary," Director Piggot said. "I've sent a high priority request for Scapegoat to be flown in from San Diego. The PRT is going to make every attempt to assist New Wave in this trying time, and the public is going to know it. The message that I'm sending is that you have the full weight of our support."

"Scapegoat?" Sarah frowned. "I've heard the name, but not what he can do. Healer, I presume?"

"Not really, Mom," Crystal said. "He can take wounds away, but he gets them instead. Then he passes them on to the bad guys."

Oh. Okay, that is bizarre. Mentally, Neil shrugged. When you think you've heard it all …

"We're getting off the topic here," the Director said. "Glory Girl, why did you refuse the Hebert girl's request? Panacea, why did you let her?"

"Because she's Empire," Victoria explained.

Director Piggot waited for the teenager to continue, then cleared her throat when no more was forthcoming. "I'm going to need more than that," she prompted.

Victoria rolled her eyes. "Okay then. Ames was talking about how there's been a whole truckload of ABB in the hospital from Empire guys beating on them, and the latest ones were repeating a message not to mess with Taylor Hebert. And I heard from one of your Wards that Taylor Hebert's a big wheel in the Empire junior ranks, and that she's the queen bitch of Winslow. She's teflon, or that's what she thinks anyway. So when cars pull over and she comes running up, it's kinda obvious that they've been in a firefight and that she thinks she can just start sh, uh, stuff with the ABB and then just snap her fingers and get Ames to heal up her guys for the second round. So I said no."

"I see," was all Piggot said, although Neil heard a whole world of meaning behind those two words. "Panacea?"

"Basically, what Vicky said," the healer replied. She paused, then burst out, "I don't see why I should reward them for hurting other people!"

"Please, stop," said Piggot. Slowly, she raised one hand, closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Now, Panacea, think very carefully. Did you know that the injured people were the instigators of any conflict?"

"Vicky said that the girl's father, the Hebert guy, was well in with the Empire -"

"Stop!" The Director was on her feet, the whip-crack of her voice bringing Amy's voice to a halt. She turned to look at Vicky and, despite the fact that the girl was an Alexandria package in her own right, Neil wasn't surprised to see her leaning back from the almost palpable waves of Piggot's anger. Normally it's Glory Girl doing it to other people. I wonder if she'll realise that this is how other people feel around her?

"Glory Girl." The Director's voice would have caused helium to freeze solid. "Which of my Wards did you hear this from? And where in the hell did you hear about her father having Empire ties?"

Victoria blinked. "Um, Shadow Stalker, both times. She was pretty emphatic about it."

Piggot's fist crashed on to the table, making Neil jump. Everyone else looked a little startled as well; the phone and remote both clattered a little on the table top. He stared at her as she stood with her clenched fist still resting on the table, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, and her head lowered. For a long moment, she stayed like that, before raising her head and opening her eyes.

"Let me make one thing exceedingly clear," she growled. "Shadow Stalker is in no way a credible witness, especially when it comes to Taylor Hebert. She is currently under investigation for activities unbecoming a Ward, specifically to do with crimes involving Taylor Hebert. In which the Hebert girl was not the instigator. Is that understood?"

<><>

Carol observed the Director, possibilities turning over in her mind. If Victoria and Amy were working off of false information, then they may have just stepped into a legal minefield. She hadn't forgotten Piggot's earlier mention of the 'court of public opinion', and she knew full well how that sort of thing could twist a matter that was otherwise cut and dried, legally speaking.

"I'm sure they both understand it," she said carefully. "Now, if I understand you, what you're saying is that neither Taylor nor Daniel Hebert are as enmeshed in the Empire Eighty-Eight as Shadow Stalker was alleging?"

Piggot's face cleared somewhat. Carol tagged that as her at last, someone sane! expression, flavoured with a certain level of irritation. "Daniel Hebert," the Director said, "is the head of hiring for the Dock Workers. He's also the union rep. And he's specifically the reason that no gangs have managed to get their hooks into the Dock Workers in the last ten years. And yes, that does include the Empire Eighty-Eight."

Carol frowned, thinking through her next words. "I'm not disputing your statement. However, it seems to me that there must be some kind of reason that they were travelling with Empire personnel."

The sour look was back on Piggot's face. "I can think of several, none good." She slowly sat down. "Panacea."

"Uh, yes?"

"What was Daniel Hebert's physical state before and after you treated him?"

"Unconscious," Amy said promptly. "He had a gunshot wound, broken bones, and brain damage."

"How severe was the brain damage?"

Where is she going with this? From the pause, Carol wondered if Amy was thinking the same thing.

"Uh, unless Othala can do some pretty serious brain repair work, he's going to be in a coma for a long time, if he ever wakes up at all," Amy said slowly. "I don't know exactly what happened to him, but he'd suffered major trauma. Over and above the gunshot wound, that is."

"Such as a car accident?" asked Piggot.

"I … yes, that would probably fit," Amy said. "I can't be certain, of course, and there was no bruising consistent with a seatbelt or an airbag, but I would rate that as a high probability."

Carol nodded slightly. Her personal feelings about Amy aside, the girl had obviously learned to avoid committing herself on matters before she had learned all the facts. Well done.

"And you healed them to the best of your abilities?" That was Piggot. The woman could have been a fair prosecuting attorney, if she could learn to control her biases.

"Understanding that I can't do brains … yes. The boy was fully healthy once I finished, apart from a minor concussion, and the girl didn't respond to my power at all."

The Director did not let up. "In your opinion, had the girl been dead for long?"

"I honestly can't say." Carol controlled an internal wince. That was usually code for "no, but you can't prove otherwise". However, Amy went on almost immediately. "Her skin wasn't any cooler than normal, but that could mean she'd been dead for one minute or fifteen. All I know for certain is that when I got to her, I couldn't register her with my power at all."

Carol leaned forward. "Director, I must protest. You're badgering her, asking the same question over and over. If the girl was dead, the girl was dead. Panacea being there changed nothing."

"I'm merely asking the same questions that others will be, in time," Piggot said. "If nobody can prove that the girl died after Panacea could have gotten to her, then when someone asks me, I can point that out."

"I see." Carol sat back again. "Was that all?"

"Not exactly." Director Piggot picked up the remote again. "I'm going to play some more of the footage."

Carol turned to watch the screen. The action rolled on; Empire thugs holding hostages, Victor making his demands. Carol winced inwardly as she saw Victoria continuing to argue, then Amy pushing past her to carry out the demands of the villain.

That, right there, is a very dangerous precedent. We should never let villains know that we can be coerced into using our powers to their benefit.

A moment later, she came to the conclusion that this possibility had always existed; it was only now that it was being realised. We're going to have to ensure that nobody can exploit it in future.

Still not sure exactly how that was to be accomplished, she watched as Victoria faced off both Victor and the girl called Taylor Hebert. She was mildly impressed at how the teenager managed to withstand the fear-aura that her daughter had to be emanating at this point.

On the screen, Amy climbed down out of the truck, the hostages were released, and the Empire contingent prepared to leave. Which was when Victoria pulled her play.

To her mild surprise, Piggot did not pause the footage at that point. Glory Girl posed, Victor shot Panacea, Glory Girl grabbed him and flew him into the sky. When she punched him straight down, Carol winced.

The screen paused once more. Victoria had gathered Amy into her arms and was flying into the distance. Othala and the Hebert girl were on their knees. Victor was crumpled in a heap on the grass.

"So, tell me." The Director's voice was like ice. "What happened here?"

<><>

Vicky's lips were suddenly dry. She licked them. "Uh, I tried to stop them from leaving?"

"Wrong."

Director Piggot's steel-grey eyes bored into her. She doesn't have powers. Does she? Right now, Vicky could not swear to that. "Um … I'm pretty sure that I did."

The Director shook her head. "What you did was exacerbate an already-precarious situation to the point where someone got hurt. This was irresponsible in the extreme."

"But … but … they were criminals. Victor and Othala were villains! They'd just committed a crime, right in front of me. I couldn't just let them go."

Mom and Aunt Sarah had spoken to her the previous night about this, and while Vicky had to admit that they had made some good points, in her heart of hearts, she still believed that she had done the right thing. Maybe if I'd punched out Victor first …?

Anyway, she was going to find Victor soon, and then she was going to explain to him in detail why you do not shoot my little sister.

"Yes." Piggot's voice broke into her thoughts. "You could have. And you should have. There were many better options that you had, but you took none of them. Instead, you pushed matters to the point where Victor shot your sister, so you did what? Tried to kill him?"

"He deserved it!" she burst out. "He shot Amy!"

"Do you believe that Victor tried to kill Panacea?" asked Piggot, almost gently. Vicky saw her mother open her mouth; the Director shook her head fractionally, and Carol closed her mouth again.

"He, uh, he could have been?" Vicky hedged.

"Come now, Miss Dallon," Director Piggot told her firmly. "We both know what his power lets him do. He's a skill thief. One of the best there is at virtually any field of endeavour, which includes pistol shooting. If Victor shot your sister in the leg, it's a given that he intended to shoot her in the leg. Add in the apology which he offered before shooting her, and it's more or less a guarantee that he did not mean her any lasting harm."

"But he still shot her," Vicky said doggedly.

"For which you tried to kill him?" Piggot's tone was uncompromising. "Knowing that you were being recorded?"

Mom cleared her throat. "It was in the heat of the moment, Director. Remember that."

"Which pushes it from attempted second-degree murder down to attempted manslaughter," the Director said.

"But he was invincible anyway, from Othala," Vicky muttered sulkily. "I didn't hurt him at all."

Director Piggot shook her head. "That doesn't matter. What matters is that there is a great body of footage, taken from several different angles, showing you grabbing Victor and retaliating in a vastly disproportionate fashion to a bullet wound to the leg. Disarming him, perhaps dislocating his wrist, that would have been appropriate. Maybe even breaking a leg or arm. But spiking him into the ground like that? No, that was a clear attempt to kill him."

Vicky felt a chill go down her back. She wasn't sure where this was going, but she didn't like it at all.

"But she didn't, right?" That was Amy. "He's fine. He got up and walked away."

"Yes. He did. Which still means that there's a possibility that New Wave might just find itself being sued by the Empire Eighty-Eight for excessive brutality," Piggot said heavily. "What you did goes against the unspoken rules, Glory Girl. And while they don't have the force of law, you won't find many capes standing in your corner on this one." She grimaced. "And that's not even counting the people who've been asking about the possibility of you being tried for attempted murder."

Wait, there's people who want to try me for attempted murder?

"Manslaughter," Mom reminded her. "Not murder. Heat of the moment."

"If they get a conviction, I doubt it will matter to the public," the Director said.

"Sued?" Vicky burst out. "By Kaiser and his bunch of racist jerks? Could that even happen?"

"Even if they try and fail, it will still be a matter of public record that they tried." Piggot's voice was implacable. "And there's a chance that they won't be shot down."

"But -" Vicky's voice was higher this time. I could be in real trouble. She didn't get any farther than that, as her mother raised a hand. She shut up.

"But you've got another idea in mind, don't you?" asked Mom. "Something that is likely to benefit you and the PRT, and wipe out the problem, all in one fell swoop." Suspicion was strong in her voice.

Director Piggot smiled slightly; as far as Vicky could tell, there was no humour in the expression at all. "I believe that I do."

<><>

Medhall Building

"Traditionally, the next step is to unmask to each other," Kaiser went on. He did something to his helmet; the faceplate split and slid away to reveal the face of Max Anders. "Do you have a problem with this?"

"I thought that was you," the girl said almost breathlessly. Justin hadn't been mistaken; moments ago, she had been showing all the animation and emotion of a robot, and now she was talking in an excited tone. "But knowing it's true is so much cooler." Reaching up, she pulled the bandanna down, revealing a wide mouth currently wearing a shy smile. "Hi, everyone. I'm Taylor Hebert. I'm pleased to meet you all."

Justin raised the visor of his helmet. "Hi, Taylor. I'm Justin. Pretty sure we met at the last Gathering. You were Peter's plus one, right?"

She nodded quickly, her smile widening. "Yeah. I remember you, too." She looked from face to face as the rest of the Empire capes unmasked and offered her their names. "Wow, no wonder Peter looked so pleased with himself. He was introducing me to most of you guys, and I never realised it for a moment."

"Young Ferguson is one of our rising stars," Krieg said. "We were, of course, interested in his choice for a companion. I'm pleased to say that he's managed to impress us all this time."

Justin saw a flush spread over the girl's cheeks. "Well, I'll try not to disappoint you," she said hastily.

Victor chuckled. "After what I saw last night,Taylor, disappointing us is about the last thing you're likely to do."

Okay, now I wish I'd been there. Victor doesn't throw praise around like that without good reason.

"Which brings us to our next topic," Kaiser said with a smile. "Taylor needs a cape name. Does anyone have a suggestion, or should we just go with the most obvious one?"

"Obvious one?" Taylor sounded puzzled. "Which one's that?"

"'Panzer', of course," Krieg supplied. "It's perfect."

A murmur of appreciation went around the table. Justin pulled his mind away from the puzzle of Taylor's robot act – if act it was – to consider it a moment. Krieg's right. It is perfect.

"I'll vote for it," he said out loud.

"Wait, wait," Taylor said, looking concerned. "Is this how it works? You guys vote on the name, and I don't get a say?"

"Well, of course you get a say," Kaiser assured her. "You're free to choose whatever name you want. We'll just offer suggestions."

"Uh, sure, okay," she said. "But why Panzer, anyway?"

<><>

As far as I could tell, Mr Fleischer didn't seem to understand my question. "Why not Panzer?" he asked. "It's a strong name. It suits you, and it suits the Empire Eighty-Eight."

I shook my head in mild frustration. "No, what I mean is, why does it even have to be a German name? I'm not German. I don't speak the language. Who in the Empire Eighty-Eight even does?"

"I do," Krieg pointed out. "I am, in fact, German."

"Well, okay, yeah," I said, trying not to flush with embarrassment. "But everyone else here's American, right? I'm American. The Empire Eighty-Eight is an American organisation. Most of your names are in English. Crusader. Hookwolf. Cricket. Alabaster. Victor. Why do I have to give myself a German name?"

"Most of us here have German heritage," Mr Anders said. "We're paying homage to that."

"You're paying homage to a specific part of German history," I said, trying to sound respectful. "Nazi Germany, right? Eighty-Eight stands for H-H. Heil Hitler."

"Well, yes," Justin said. "And what's wrong with that?"

"Um, apart from the fact that Nazi Germany lasted just twelve years, until Hitler took poison and shot himself?" I spread my hands. "Guys. The Empire Eighty-Eight has already lasted longer than that. Why should we blindly follow a legacy that ended so badly? Why don't we make our own legacy? We're American. From what I've been told, the Empire's mainly about supporting our brothers and sisters, and making sure that the blacks and the Asians don't push us down. Why don't we keep doing that? Look forward instead of looking back?"

In the silence that fell over the table, I felt my face heating up. In future, talk something like this over with Peter in private before bringing it to the big table.

"Taylor …" Kaiser's voice was careful. "Do you no longer want to be in the Empire Eighty-Eight?"

"What? No!" I shook my head. "Of course I want to be one of you guys. All the shit I've been through over the last few months, the only people to take my side have been Empire Eighty-Eight. Peter was my only friend for the longest time, even when I kept rejecting him. And when I accepted your Friendship, your people stood by me, even when it meant getting into trouble themselves. You've been there for me, over and over. Some of you have even -" I stopped and swallowed a lump in my throat. "Even died for me. I can't, I can't -" I began to sniffle.

Wordlessly, Othala handed me a handkerchief. I wiped my eyes, then blew my nose. "Thanks. Uh, what I was saying, I can't just walk away from that. That'd make me an even worse bitch than the bitches were to me."

I drew a deep breath. "That black bitch Sophia Hess shoved me into a locker full of shit. Peter Ferguson pulled me out again. Jenna stood up for me, over and over again. George took on a dozen ABB for me, and nearly died. Bronson threw himself on a grenade for me, and did die. Victor and Othala helped save my dad's life. I owe you all a debt I can never repay. I'm committed to the Empire, to helping you guys, and everyone like you and me, against race traitors and niggers and chinks who want to push us down and make us less than they are."

I was vaguely aware of the hateful terms that I was saying. I didn't mean them, not really, but I knew that the capes around me would listen more closely if I said it the way they wanted to hear it. "And that's what I see the legacy of the Empire as being."

"Well spoken, Taylor. Well spoken, indeed." Kaiser didn't applaud – it would have sounded weird, with the metal gauntlets he was wearing – but the warmth in his voice worked just as well. "I suppose that's what we are all about, when you come down to it. Supporting each other, and making sure the lesser races don't push us down."

"Well, that's the way I understood it, anyway." I gave him an anxious look. "So it's okay if I pick a name that's not German?"

He chuckled indulgently. "You were very articulate on the subject, and made a few good points. I can hardly deny you your logic. Did you have one in mind?"

"Yes," I said slowly. "I think I do."

<><>

PRT Building

"Well, what is it?" asked Vicky nervously.

The Director of PRT ENE looked directly at her. "You join the Wards."

<><>

Medhall Building

"Well, don't keep us in suspense," Victor said. "What is it?"

I took a deep breath. Well, here goes. "You can call me Remote."



End of Part Twelve

Part Thirteen

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Thirteen: Analyses and Revelations



[A/N: This chapter beta-read, and much improved on, by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



Kaiser slowly nodded. "I can see it," he agreed. "Although, it's a little … undramatic, isn't it?"

Hookwolf snorted. "Yeah, that's one way to describe it. A 'remote' is what some suburban couch potato uses to turn on his damn TV. How the hell are you gonna get any respect with a name like that?"

I felt a thrill of … not quite fear, but definitely concern. Hookwolf was one of the more dangerous members of the Empire. I doubted that he'd attack me, but if he decided that I wasn't due any more respect than my name was, I could see an uphill battle toward being accepted as a true member by the rest. All too well I knew from my experiences at Winslow that you were never a part of anything until those already a part of it accepted you as one of them.

Othala's hand rested on my shoulder before I could answer. Victor's voice rang across the room; deep, firm, commanding. "If you'd been there last night, Bradley, you would not be asking that question. The answer is simple: she earns it. As she already has with me, and Othala."

I cleared my throat. "I could've taken a more impressive name. One that was threatening, even. But there was another reason that I didn't." I looked from face to face around the table. "I'm not as dangerous, up front, as most of you guys. I want people to underestimate me, right up until they learn why they shouldn't have. They tried to kill me last night. They hurt my father. They did kill my best friend. They thought I was weak." I let my lips skin back from my teeth. "For a lot of them, that was their last fucking mistake."

That actually got me some applause. Crusader clapped, as did Rune and Victor. Othala squeezed my shoulder briefly. Hookwolf gave me a brief glance; it may have been my imagination, but I thought I saw him nod.

"Unless anyone has any further business, this meeting is concluded," Kaiser stated. "Anyone? No? Good. Victor, Remote, Rune, I'd like you to remain behind. Everyone else, you're dismissed."

I decided to let my powers deal with the shakes from being criticised by Hookwolf. As chairs scraped back and people walked out, I focused on the toy car, still on the table. Threading it between the barriers that Kaiser had grown, I brought it over to me. It had no inherent steering system, but I had improvised a crude method that involved braking with one front wheel and accelerating with the opposite side rear tyre.

Beside me, Victor and Othala conversed in quiet tones. I did not listen in. At my other elbow, Rune observed the movements of the car.

"Does your control over it break if I use my power on it?" she asked.

Observation: Ally 'Rune' proposes experiment yielding potentially useful information.

"I don't know," I said. The car rolled to within easy reach of her. "Try it and we will find out."

Reaching out, she touched the car. My control over it did not waver. I rolled it a short distance without difficulty.

"Okay," she said. The car lifted into the air. I still had control of it, but lack of traction prevented me from doing more than spinning the wheels.

"It appears that our powers do not interfere with each other." I released control of the car. "You can make it fly, while I cannot."

"But you don't need to touch it, which is totally unfair."

Observation: Ally 'Rune' is employing tone of dissatisfaction.

Observation: Ally 'Rune' is showing facial expression 'smile'.

Analysis: Tone does not match expression.

Conclusion: Ally 'Rune' is not serious about dissatisfaction.

We both turned our heads as Kaiser cleared his throat. I dropped my powers, feeling the emotions flowing into my every perception once more. It was a weird experience, but one that I was getting used to.

"As a matter of interest," he said, "whose power is stronger?"

My eyes went to Tammi, then to Kaiser. "Uh, I don't know. She can hold the car still while I spin the wheels, but that's a traction issue."

Kaiser nodded. "True." He stood up. "Everyone, follow me."

We rose from our chairs and followed as he led the way to the end of the room away from the door. There was an elevator there, behind what looked like a blank wall. I had noted it, as well as the hidden controls to reach it, while my powers were active. Kaiser swung open the concealed panel and pressed the button; panels slid aside and the elevator doors opened. Nobody else seemed to be surprised by this; then again, secret elevators were almost required for a villain's hidden base.

"I'll go and sit with your father," Othala said softly.

I hugged her, more grateful than I could express with words. "Thanks," I managed awkwardly.

She smiled, shared a brief kiss with Victor, and left the room. Along with Victor, I stepped into the elevator to join Tammi and Kaiser.

This was my first time in a secret elevator; I gazed around with interest while Kaiser pressed the very lowest button. The numbering on the panel confirmed my suspicion that the building had levels extending below the parking garage.

The doors closed; we began to descend toward our destination. Beside me, Victor cleared his throat. "Taylor, just out of curiosity, does your power extend to elevators?"

"I believe so," I said, recalling my previous awareness of the mechanisms to be found throughout the structure of the building. While it didn't let me see the building itself, I had been able to trace its outline with a fair degree of accuracy. "When I was using them, this whole setup stood out to me pretty clearly."

"Wait," Kaiser said. "When you're using them? As in, you're not using them all the time?" The tone of his voice gave me the distinct impression that he wouldn't hesitate to use every chance he had to control the world around him.

I shook my head. I'm not like that. "I'm not using them right now. It's no effort to drop into them, but there's a complete lock on all emotional response while I'm doing that. I think totally logically. Achieve the goal, help the allies." And while that can be useful, it's not always the greatest thing.

"So that's what was going on!" Victor shook his head, a wondering grin on his face. "It was doing my head in, trying to get a consistent read on you. Last night you were all robot girl and today you kept flicking back and forwards between robot girl and normal girl." He seemed more relieved than annoyed at me. Maybe he's just glad that his skills haven't deserted him.

My grin was just a little forced as I recalled how crappy I'd felt when I woke up. "I was normal girl when I got up, trust me."

"So why don't you just stay robot girl all the time?" asked Tammi, tilting her head. "Doesn't seem too much of a price to pay. I could do without being scared sometimes." Her eyes dared me to say anything about even a passing reference to being scared. I suspected that it happened more often than anyone was going to admit; there had been a lot of male ego flexing at that meeting.

"Because I think the emotions kind of bank up. When I dropped my powers last night, I fell apart totally." I took hold of my left elbow with my right hand, as sort of a half-assed self-hug. "I'd rather not spend all of my downtime curled up in a ball crying, thanks." I didn't add the other part. Plus, there's places and times I want to feel emotion, like with Dad and Peter.

The elevator came to a halt; the doors hissed open. Kaiser strode forth into what appeared to be some kind of workshop or laboratory, or some weird cross between the two. There were workbenches and strange-looking electronic devices, as well as drill presses, overhead hoists, and other stuff that I wasn't really sure I could name.

Kaiser made his way over to a wide work table, with a whiteboard at the end. He gestured toward the latter. "Victor, you've got more scientific expertise than the rest of us put together. Are you able to devise a way to determine the strength that Remote can bring to the team? I'd rather not put demands on her that she can't meet."

Victor nodded. "I believe I can. I'll just need some items made of metal … hmm." He fell silent then, rubbing his chin with forefinger and thumb and staring through the whiteboard. I glanced sideways at Tammi, who gave me a tiny shrug. This meant, I supposed, that she had as little idea about what Victor was thinking as I did.

Abruptly, Victor dropped his hand and went to the whiteboard. Several markers were available, and he uncapped one with a flourish. I watched as he sketched with quick, confident strokes. It seemed to be a flat plate, several inches thick, with a narrow cylinder rising from the middle. "I'll need that to start with," he said. "Three feet across, two inches thick. The axle needs to be one inch in diameter and four inches long."

So that's what that is … wait, what? Axle? What for?

"Doable," Kaiser said, his tone confident. "Anything else?"

Victor uncapped another marker. "Yes. A series of discs that can fit over that axle. A selection of diameters and thicknesses, I think. Just to cover all the bases." Swiftly, he wrote a series of numbers; 1"x 3', 1"x 2', 1"x 1', 1"x 6", 2"x 3', and so forth.

Kaiser watched the growing list with a slightly bemused air. He arched his eyebrow sharply. "How certain are you that we need all these?"

Victor turned toward him. "Sir, I'm not even certain what the rules behind her power are. 'Metal moving parts' is a very broad generalisation. If we can narrow it down, we should be able to improve the efficiency of her power use, probably by quite a lot."

"I see," Kaiser said. I wasn't totally sure, but I got the impression that he didn't see exactly. I thought I did, but I wasn't about to open my mouth and prove myself wrong. "Then let's get this done."

Victor held up his hand. "Before you create all this at once, we'd better make sure that it actually works with Remote's power." He turned back to the whiteboard and circled one one of the sets of numbers. "Just the baseplate, and … say, the one foot by one inch disc to begin with, I think."

For a moment, Kaiser didn't react. Instead, he eyed the sketch. "Victor."

"Sir?" The skill thief turned away from the whiteboard, where he had begun to scribble down some more numbers.

Kaiser took a step toward him. "This is all necessary, yes?"

I wasn't great at reading tone or body language, but then, Kaiser wasn't being very subtle. Translated, I guessed what he was saying was, I know you're trying to put Remote at her ease, but a practical joke on the boss is not the way to go.

It appeared that Victor had come to the same conclusion as me. "Absolutely," he said, conviction filling his voice. "Without it, we'll get nowhere."

Kaiser smiled. "Very well." He held out his hand over the worktable. While Kaiser's powers had been known and documented for more than a decade, I had never actually seen them in action, especially not this close up. I leaned forward, intrigued. This is all kinds of awesome.

With a metallic groan, the flat plate from Victor's diagram grew out of the table; I estimated it to be about a yard across. A secondary creaking introduced the cylindrical 'axle'. At least an inch in diameter, it wasn't going to break in a hurry.

The disc formed itself beside the plate. Victor lifted it, grunting slightly with the effort, and let it slide down over the axle. It seemed to be a neat fit, anyway. The clang as he dropped it the last inch or so resounded through the cavernous room.

"Remote." He looked at me, then gestured toward the construction, which seemed for all the world like a vague representation of a child's toy, only wrought in solid steel. "Does your power work on this?"

I dipped into my powers. Device constructed by ally 'Victor' registers as machine. "Yes." To demonstrate, I turned the disc one-quarter of a full rotation, then brought it to a halt.

"Very good indeed." Victor favoured the circled numbers with a broad tick, then turned to Kaiser. "Sir, if we could have the rest of those discs, please? Then we can start testing in earnest."

"Very well." Without further ado, Kaiser began forming metal discs of varying sizes on the table. Victor had specified nine sets of numbers; it seemed that when Kaiser wanted to make something quickly, it happened. After the ninth was completed, he turned to Victor. "How long is this testing likely to take?"

"I don't know, sir," Victor said frankly. "With all due respect, that's why it's called 'testing'. We might narrow down all the particulars in five minutes, or we could spend the next five hours working it out."

Gesture: nod. Expression: uncertain.

Conclusion: Ally 'Kaiser' does not fully understand the details.

"Do you require any more parts?" asked the leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight.

Conclusion: Ally 'Kaiser' is impatient for data. Does not fully understand how data is generated. Is used to demanding results and getting them.

Pause before answering. Conclusion: Ally 'Victor' is examining options.

"No, sir, I don't think so. I'll let you know the results when I have them." Victor motioned toward the discs, then gestured at the equipment around us. "I'm reasonably sure I can get what I need from all this."

"Good. I have business to attend to. Let me know how you get along."

Voice and expression match. Expression of relief. Ally 'Kaiser' does not wish to remain for testing.

Conclusion: Ally 'Kaiser' does not understand scientific method. Wants immediate results. Has not demanded such results.

Conclusion: Ally 'Kaiser' trusts ally 'Victor' despite lack of understanding.

Kaiser turned and left the laboratory, striding back toward the elevator. I watched as the doors slid shut behind him and the elevator began to ascend. It was all clear to my power, from the pistol in Victor's holster to the safe in Kaiser's office.

"Rune." Victor's voice drew my attention, and I turned to watch as he indicated the device. "Touch both of these items. Your job is to hold the disc still while Remote attempts to turn it."

Concern: Ally 'Rune' may react negatively if her power is seen as inadequate to the task.

I moved closer to the table. "Rune, I will not think any differently of you if my power beats yours."

She turned toward me. Expression: smile. "I'm sorry, but I can move tons with my power."

Tone: regretful.

Conclusion: ally 'Rune' does not wish to cause embarrassment.

"Don't worry," I said. "No matter who wins, this will be useful knowledge." It was true; science was the surest way to determine the truth.

Observation: ally 'Kaiser' is a proven ally. To disappoint him would be sub-optimal.

Rune walked over to where the device sat on the table. Carefully, she touched the disc and the plate upon which it sat, then stood back. "Done. That ain't moving."

Victor also moved back. "Good. Remote, kindly rotate the disc clockwise. Rune, stop the disc from moving."

Assume positive control of item tagged 'test machine'. Apply minimum force necessary to rotate disc around axle.

Initial movement stalled. Ally 'Rune' has strong power.

Increase motive force.

No movement.

Increase motive force.

I applied more and more force; by the time the disc should have been spinning fast enough to send sparks flying across the room from the friction, it began to scrape around in a turn. I heard Victor mutter something, but I ignored him.

"Jesus fuck," Rune swore. "I can't fucking stop it."

I increased the force, accelerating the disc around the axle. By the time it was spinning at a rate of approximately one revolution per second, I had no more force to apply. Rune's power was preventing it from revolving any faster.

"I am at my limit," I said. "Rune, I will cease applying force in three … two … one … now."

As I said 'now', I dropped my power; the disc ground to a halt in seconds.

Tammi turned to me; to my surprise, her face was slick with sweat. "Holy shit," she said. "How the fuck did you do that?"

I wasn't quite sure what she was talking about. "I turned my power off, and it stopped?"

"That's not what I meant!" Her voice rose, and I realised that she was angrier than I had first supposed. "How did you beat my power?"

I shrugged, as if it was obvious. Well, it was, to me. "I kept on putting power in until it started turning?"

That clearly wasn't what she wanted to hear. "But I can lift more than two tons," she insisted.

"Which means that Remote can move more than two tons," Victor interjected. This did not seem to help either, as her face went redder than Othala's costume.

"Hey, you can make 'em fly through the air," I reminded her in an effort to calm her down. "I've got to have metal moving parts, or my power's got nothing." Tammi didn't look overly mollified by this. I guess she's used to being the heavy mover of the group.

"Okay, that's established a baseline," Victor said, jotting down notations on the board. "Remote, would I be correct in assuming that Rune's power hampered yours significantly?"

"Yeah," I said, thinking it through. Measuring the output of my power wasn't exact, but I was able to make a rough guesstimate of how much force I'd been using. Compared, of course, to my maximum. I had no idea of how many foot-pounds, or newtons, or whatever, I'd been generating. "Maybe two-thirds to three-quarters of my power just went toward overcoming hers. At a rough guess. More than half, anyway."

Too late, I realised that this could have been taken as a boast, or even a taunt.

"Wow, gee, I'm glad that my power's more than half as strong as yours." Tammi's voice was heavily sarcastic; I guessed she was feeling a little butt-hurt.

Victor ignored her comment and noted that down as well. 2/3 to 3/4 of Remote's power = Rune's power? Investigate.

"What, really?" If my power beating hers had upset her, Victor's casual recording of it didn't help in the slightest. "Think maybe you could write Rune is yesterday's news too? In big fat letters so everyone can read it?" She snatched a duster off the end of the whiteboard and let it dangle in the air in front of her, as though she couldn't figure out who to launch it at.

"Don't be ridiculous, Rune." Victor's voice was calm as he turned toward her. "You're not yesterday's news. You're still an extremely valuable team member. So what if one test shows that under certain circumstances, Remote's power can generate more pushing force than yours? Can she fly? No. Is your power any weaker for her being around? No." He stepped closer, his gaze fixed on hers. "And most importantly, can your power work in concert with hers? Yes." He raised his hands, as if conducting an unseen orchestra. "I can see it now; Remote doing the ground assault while you run air support. Like Othala and myself, you would make an amazing team."

" … huh." Tammi seemed to deflate slightly. The whiteboard duster floated back to its little shelf. A little sheepishly, she turned toward me. "I … uh, sorry. Didn't mean to fly off the handle there. I just thought you were kinda trying to overshadow me."

I smiled and hugged her. After a long hesitant moment, she hugged me back. "Hey, it's all right," I assured her. "I've been pushed aside by the best. I wouldn't blame anyone for feeling bad about something like that." I stepped back, holding my hands on her shoulders. "And I can't wait to help you kick ass and take names. Rune and Remote, the best in the business, right?"

Her eyes lit up and she nodded ferociously. "Damn right," she agreed.

"And between the two of you, you could bring a whole new meaning to the term R&R," Victor said cheerfully. He ignored our dirty looks. "Now to make some hypotheses and try to falsify them." He didn't actually crack his knuckles, but I got the impression that he wanted to anyway.

I frowned. While I had done some science classes at school, he'd kind of lost me at 'hypotheses'. "Uh … I'm not totally sure what that means," I confessed.

"It's simple," he assured me, turning back to the whiteboard and beginning to sketch. "You were able to overcome Tammi's power on the disc." A quick circle was drawn, with the notation T>2 t next to it. "That's a data point. However, as you yourself said, you were unable to pull the pins on Oni Lee's grenades with your power." He drew a quick but surprisingly recognisable grenade, with the notation T<10 lb alongside. "This is our second data point. Which means that your power scales upward and downward according to one or more variables. What I want to do is find those variables and use that to leverage the maximum use out of your power's potential."

I blinked. 'Simple' apparently meant something else to Victor. I'd understood him, but 'simple' was not the word I would have used. "Okay, so how do we do that?"

He smiled. "Science."

<><>

Director Piggot's Office

Glory Girl blinked. "Uh, the Wards?" She looked hard at Director Piggot. Is she joking with me? I don't see a smile.

"It's that bad?" asked Mom, apparently at random.

"It has the potential to be very bad indeed," Piggot confirmed. "As the regional Director of the PRT, once this news breaks, I am required to do something about it. I can hold off for a little while, but not forever; nor am I inclined to try. A hero doing something that's almost guaranteed to kill a non-Brute villain -"

"He shot Amy!" Vicky blurted it out before she realised she was going to speak.

"He was invincible!" That was Amy's contribution, almost at the same second.

"Yes, he did, and yes he was," Piggot allowed. "However, even a cursory examination of the footage shows him putting the gun away again and facing you with empty hands before you hit him. For that matter, you had several options for disabling and subduing him. As a hero and an affiliate of the PRT, you're more or less required to go with the less lethal options first."

She turned her head toward the screen and addressed Amy. "And as for him being invincible, if your sister had realised that at the time, then she would have known that smashing him fifty feet straight down would have exactly the same effect as a punch to the jaw. That is, nothing. Any competent prosecutor would tear that apart in seconds. Which is why I'm doing my best to ensure that this never reaches a courtroom."

"And you can do this by inducting her into the Wards … how, exactly?" asked Aunt Sarah.

Piggot's expression then might have been defined as a smile by someone who didn't know her. Vicky decided that it more resembled a shark which had decided not to eat her right at that second.

"We have mechanisms in place that allow for villainous capes, as well as independents who end up on the wrong side of the law, to walk straight into a probationary membership of the Protectorate in return for not actually ending up behind bars."

Eric stared. "You're sh-, uh, kidding me. That happens?"

"Not so that the public knows, of course," the Director said bluntly. "And if anyone says anything about it, we deny everything. But the Protectorate needs every hero it can get, either in its ranks or in affiliate teams, so we have a lot of strings we can pull when needed."

Mom made notes on a pad. "Will she have to change her cape name or wear a mask?"

That would suck. Both those things would suck. Vicky had often wondered how her fellow heroes in the Wards ever tolerated having to wear masks.

Piggot shook her head. "I spoke with Richardson, our PR man. He's of the opinion that Glory Girl's prior record of long-standing heroism will work in our favour here. We present a narrative where she's recognising that she overstepped the mark and so she's voluntarily signing up for the Wards where she will receive the training and oversight she needs, under the watchful eye of the PRT. On the other hand, the PRT notes the fact that she's truly remorseful and that she's under probation; we don't want to commit such a promising young hero to the juvenile detention system, so we're putting her through the super-powered equivalent of community service. And so on, and so forth."

Mom narrowed her eyes. "So, a con game."

"Not as such." The Director had lost all semblance of a smile. "Every step about it is legal. Letting her face trial would also be legal, but could have much less pleasant consequences. That's the outcome I'm trying to avoid, here."

"We could still win in court," Mom said flatly.

"You could," Piggot agreed. "And we would support you every step of the way. But if you lose, she goes to juvey. And even if you win, there's likely to be a backlash directed at New Wave. If you lost public confidence, the team may well go under."

Vicky realised that she was the focus of Aunt Sarah's attention. "What?"

"When it comes down to it, this is your choice, Victoria." Sarah tilted her head slightly. "Which way do you want to go? Trial or Wards?"

This was a big step. This was a really big step. The irony was that she'd been thinking about leaving New Wave for the Wards anyway; this just forced her hand. And she hated being forced into anything.

On the other hand, she'd take the Wards, even involuntarily, over being the cause of New Wave falling apart. And hey, me and Dean will be on the same team.

She took a deep breath. "Wards."

Aunt Sarah seemed to relax slightly, while Mom slumped just a little. Piggot nodded curtly. "Understood. I'll set things in motion. There'll be a hearing -"

"I thought you said that you could bypass the trial!" Aunt Sarah's voice was sharp.

"I did." The Director raised her head from what she was writing, to look Sarah in the face. "There will be a hearing. The charges will be presented. Glory Girl will agree that she is guilty, and will express her remorse. I will then present the option of service in the Wards. As you are sixteen, Glory Girl, you may accept in your own right. Then it's all over bar the paperwork."

"It all seems a little too easy." Mom's voice was dubious.

Vicky couldn't blame her; she'd been thinking the same thing.

"This is because we're trying to make it easy." Piggot's voice was patient. "Too many young capes commit an idiotic crime and end up behind bars. Then they're labelled a villain, and they can never escape that. This way, Glory Girl is seen as someone who made a mistake and is atoning for it, rather than a reckless out-of-control teenager with too much power for her own good."

Vicky winced; the Director had given the latter description a pitch and spin that stung. Is that what she thinks of me? She knew that Piggot didn't give the Wards much in the way of slack; to be in that group, to be under that level of discipline …

Her decision to join the Wards was starting to look very impulsive indeed. But she couldn't see a better way out of the current situation.

The Director's phone beeped. Piggot picked it up and read something off the screen. "Ah," she said. "Good."

"Is this something we need to know about?" asked Uncle Neil.

"Certainly. Flashbang, Pancea. Are you still there?"

"Yes," came Dad's voice. "We're still here. Why?"

"You may recall that I mentioned Scapegoat. The message I just got informed me that his transport just entered Brockton Bay's airspace. It should be landing in ten to fifteen minutes." She looked at the members of New Wave. "If you hurry, you might get there in time."

Vicky levitated out of her chair. If this Scapegoat guy can heal Ames, I might just give him a big wet kiss.

"Wait." It was Mom; alone in the New Wave contingent, she hadn't moved from her seat.

"Yes?" The Director sat almost serenely, hands folded.

"Is there any obligation owing to the PRT from New Wave, for bringing Scapegoat in like this?"

Piggot did not so much as twitch. "None whatsoever."

"And you'll make the procedures for this hearing available, so that Victoria and I can familiarise ourselves with them?"

A fractional nod from the Director of the PRT. "Of course."

"Thank you." Mom didn't smile, but at least she relaxed a little as she stood up. After a long moment, she added, "And I appreciate you calling us in on this -"

Vicky didn't hear the rest. She was already out the door.

<><>

Brockton Bay General Hospital

How long now? Amy fought the urge to look at the clock. Don't be impatient, she chided herself. Crystal and Eric and the others only just got in themselves.

"So what have you heard about this Scapegoat?" That was Mark, addressing Crystal.

"Only what's on PHO," her cousin said. "He's a Ward, and he somehow takes on the injuries that he heals. Which has got to suck."

Amy shuddered in agreement, recalling the complaints and maladies that she had dealt with, over just the last six months. Though if she was being honest with herself, she barely remembered most of them; one broken bone was much the same as another. Sucking chest wound? Join the queue. Stomach cancer? Been there, done that. It just never ended.

Ironically, the only thing stopping her from climbing out of bed and tending to the patients in the hospital was that she herself was now a victim of gang violence. Growing up in a family of superheroes meant that she didn't have to worry all that much about bullies, or even random street violence. And as much as she made light of it, being shot hurt. So much so that she felt a sudden pang of regret for every time she'd been a little less than sympathetic toward a gunshot victim.

On the other hand, it was kind of restful to lie here and know for a fact that she had a perfectly reasonable excuse to not get up and start healing people. (Not that Carol would criticise her for not doing so. But she'd think about it, and Amy would see it in her face.) She lay back, stretching out a little, enjoying the comfort. Boy, she mused. These are some fantastic painkillers. I haven't had a twinge out of my leg since last night.

Not that she was considering getting out of bed just yet. The last time she'd thought the painkillers had kicked in, she had incautiously moved her leg the wrong way, and the pain had brought tears to her eyes. So nope, not moving it till the doctor says I can.

"- weird. Just saying." That was a new voice, one Amy didn't know. Male, teenage, with a sarcastic edge to his tone. Outside the door, coming closer.

"Just be nice, okay?" A different voice, also male, around the same age, but with a long-suffering vibe to it. "We're guests here."

"Yeah, and we get rousted at oh-dark-thirty and flown right across the country to -" His voice broke off and when it came back, the tone was much sharper. "What?"

"This is the room. Now be polite, okay?"

Amy hid a grin. Whoever this was obviously had no idea just how little sound insulation went into these doors. The hospital went with the lowest bid there. What a surprise. A moment later she heard a sharp knock on the door.

"Come in," she called out. Everyone else had heard the conversation, of course, so by the time the door opened, every eye was on it.

The first one in was a teenage boy, so she gauged, wearing white robes, less like hers than like Myrddin's. He had a goat's face for a mask, attached to a metal headband. There were little horns attached to the sides of the band. Repeating the theme, he had a goat's head for a belt buckle as well.

At a rough guess, this is Scapegoat.

"Hey," he said as he entered. "The name's – gah!"

Amy knew she shouldn't laugh. The poor guy obviously hadn't expected to find a room full of capes, all staring at him. Sternly, she fought down the impulse to giggle madly as he staggered back a step.

"Christ," he complained, putting his hand on his chest. "Don't do that to me. Seriously. Just don't."

Another costumed figure stepped through the door behind him, hands up and containing a volume of oddly behaving space. "S.G., you okay?"

"Yeah," the goat-masked boy replied. "Apart from having a heart attack and a stroke all at once. I was told I was fixing up one person. Didn't expect a whole team to turn out to meet me."

That would have been ironic. I would've had to heal the guy who came to heal me.

Obviously deciding that New Wave wasn't about to attack, the unnamed newcomer dropped his hands to his side, allowing the twisted space to dissipate. His costume was designed with angled points going upward, in grey and brown. "Sorry about that. I'm Spire. This is Scapegoat." Then his eyes widened. "Crap, sorry. S.G., eyes down!" He shaded his own eyes as his teammate looked down and away.

Aunt Sarah and Mom shared a puzzled glance. "What's going on?" asked Lady Photon. "What's wrong?"

"You're unmasked," Spire explained, still shading his eyes. "Didn't mean to look. Sorry."

"Spire. Dude. You need to get out more." Scapegoat turned toward them again. "I mean, who's not gonna recognise Glory Girl? And that makes you guys New Wave."

"New Wave?" Spire cautiously unshaded his eyes as Vicky preened. "Oh. Right. New Wave. Sorry. I wasn't even looking at the costumes. My bad."

Huh. They weren't told who they were healing? That's as far under the table as it gets.

"That's all right." Aunt Sarah smiled as she offered her hand to the older teen. "You're team leader of the San Diego Wards?"

"That's right," Spire replied, drawing himself up a little. "So who's the patient? And why didn't you just get Panacea to … oh."

"'Oh' is right," Amy told him dryly, as Scapegoat facepalmed – or mask-palmed – behind him. She gave him a little wave, careful not to yank on the lines she had leading into her wrist. "Hi, pleased to meet you. I'm Panacea."

<><>

Vicky had expected Scapegoat to just ask for permission, do his wound-swap thing, and be on his way. It hadn't worked out like that.

"Really?" asked Scapegoat. "Your power doesn't work on you at all?" He sounded as though he couldn't believe it. "Not even a little bit?"

Vicky leaned over toward Spire and murmured, "He doesn't seem to get it, does he?"

Spire shrugged. "He has a unique outlook."

Whatever that means, decided Vicky.

"My power's not like yours," Amy told Scapegoat. "If I touch someone, I can see what's wrong and fix it." Vicky could attest to this, having seen it happen more often than she could count.

"Anything?" Scapegoat rolled his eyes. "Sorry, got it. I have read your PHO bio, just by the way. But that just seems unfair. I don't even know what's wrong with someone before I start doing my thing. I just … I guess I just tell it to go to work. Anyway, what you've got is a basic leg wound, yeah? Calf muscle, through and through?"

"Basically. Hurt like hell, though." Amy's voice was wry. "I kind of fell over and screamed a lot."

"Right. Chair." Scapegoat looked around and pulled the plastic chair over to where he was standing. "And … dressings."

Wordlessly, Spire reached into his utility belt and produced a rolled bandage.

"Let me guess," murmured Vicky. "You've done this before?" More than once, she guessed.

Spire rolled his eyes behind the tinted visor that he wore. "Oh, you have no idea. And he bitches every single time." She thought she heard echoes of Dean's voice when talking about Triumph's hassles in dealing with Brockton Bay's Wards. Especially Clockblocker and Shadow Stalker.

"Shut up," Scapegoat told them. "I'm allowed to bitch. It freaking hurts." He pulled his robe up, showing a pair of white knee-high boots. Putting the left boot up on the seat, he undid the laces and worked the boot off. "Don't want to suddenly start bleeding everywhere."

Amy carefully pulled herself into a semi-seated position. From the cautious way she moved her leg, Vicky guessed that it had been giving her problems. "I'll heal you," Amy told Scapegoat. "You'll have the wound for all of two seconds."

"It might not work like that," he said. "See, the way this works, the wound's still linked to you for a few hours." He pointed his finger at where her legs would be under the covers, then drew an imaginary line to his own leg, making stretching-rubber-band noises with his mouth. "You take a hit, or you move too far away from me, it rebounds." His finger flicked back in the other direction, along with a 'Twang!' sound effect. "You've got it back, worse than ever. So if it's linked to you, it's still technically 'your' wound. And you can't heal yourself."

Setting her jaw stubbornly, Amy shook her head. "But it shouldn't work like that." She gestured to where the wound would be. "On me, I can't do a thing to it. On you, it's your leg. I fix it. It's still swapped, so even if it swaps back, we exchange healthy me for healthy you, I guess?"

Scapegoat shrugged. "Might be a loophole that works. Might not. It'll be interesting to see." A grimace crossed his face. "And painful. Did I say I hate my power? I hate my power." The words were trite; nearly every cape sitcom had some variation of the phrase. But to Vicky, Scapegoat actually sounded like he meant it.

Vicky had no idea how to take that. If Amy hated her power like that, would we still expect her to heal everyone?

"Wait, so do you heal fast or something?" Crystal leaned across from the other side of the bed. "How do you get rid of injuries you take away from people?"

Vicky couldn't see Scapegoat's face, but the smile came through in his voice. "The normal way. I touch a bad guy and pass it on to him. It's even more satisfying if it's a battle injury."

"So you don't usually heal people out of combat," Dad observed.

"Well, no. Especially given that what I do isn't healing," Scapegoat said. "I'm doing a patch job. But I'm not actually doing any healing." He sat on the chair and took the bandage from Spire. Quickly and efficiently, he wrapped the length of cloth around his leg until the area that the wound would appear in was covered.

Not healing? "I guess I'm confused," Vicky said slowly. "If it's not healing, then what is it?"

"Swapping healthy body parts for injured body parts," Scapegoat said. "The injury goes from you to me, and the healthy body part goes from me to you. It's no more healing than putting a new tyre on your car is the same as fixing the punctured tyre."

Huh. That sounded almost rehearsed. Like he's said it more than once before. I wonder how many times he's explained his power using that very same phrase?

Scapegoat took a deep breath. "Okay, enough stalling. Hang on." Reaching out, he took Amy's hand.

What the fuck? Vicky stared. "Wait, aren't you supposed to ask permission?"

He shrugged. "Never bothered to before." Without being able to see his face, she heard a puzzled note enter his voice. "Panacea, are you getting anything?"

"Uh, I had a weird shivery feeling for a second," Amy said. "But that's gone too."

"No, that's not right," muttered Scapegoat. "There should be more to it than that." Deliberately, he poked the bandage on his leg, automatically wincing as he did so. A moment later, he did it again, this time without the wince. "Nope, no injury. Here, let me try again."

Amy was looking as confused as Vicky was feeling. "What's supposed to be happening?" asked Amy. "And by the way, you should lay off the fast food."

Pshh, yeah, as if. Vicky knew that Amy would yell at her as well if she knew that Vicky secretly indulged in less than healthy food from time to time. So I'll never tell her. Problem solved. There was something about floating through the McDonalds drive-through and freaking out the attendants that never got old.

"Screw that," Scapegoat retorted, turning his attention away from his bandaged leg at last. "I'm a teenager. We eat junk food. It's a thing." Letting go of her hand, he leaned back in the chair and absently crossed his unbooted foot over his other leg. "What I'm worried about is the fact that your power seems to be blocking mine totally. Like you're not even injured."

"Well, there was more to it than the bullet wound," Amy pointed out. "I had scraped hands too, from when I fell over." Vicky felt a pang of guilt. She hadn't even known about that bit. But then, scraped hands are not a threat to life. Being shot in the leg is. Especially if you're the guy who shot my sister in the leg.

"They're fine now. Was that you?" Amy leaned back in the bed again, showing both of her palms to him. They were, as she said, unmarred.

With an almost comical tone of surprise in his voice, Scapegoat examined his own palms. "Nope. Nothing. You didn't heal me?"

Amy's look of confusion intensified, which didn't surprise Vicky. She was trying to figure out what was going on as well. "No. I was gonna wait until we were finished."

"Uh …" Every eye turned toward Vicky, but she ploughed on. Why hasn't anyone else suggested this? "Maybe we should, you know, check the injury. If your powers are acting up over it, we need to know why."

Amy turned to Scapegoat, who shrugged. "Well, my power keeps insisting that you are fully healthy," he admitted, spreading his hands. "If it's your power jamming it, then it's something I'll have to keep in mind."

There was a moment of silence, then Eric started chuckling. Crystal stared at him. "What's the matter with you, dork?"

Eric snorted with amusement. "Here we are, a room full of superheroes, all wondering who's supposed to take Amy's bandage off. And Amy's the most qualified one to do it." He barely managed to finish what he was saying before his laughter got the better of him. He doubled over, leaning against the bed, tears of mirth running down his face.

Uncle Neil, who had chosen to loom in the background up until then, also chuckled. "He's right, you know. I'll go find a doctor." Manoeuvring around the bed, he nodded to Spire – the San Diego Ward wasn't short, but Manpower still towered over him – and left the room.

"So, uh, what's it like as a Ward in San Diego?" asked Vicky, wanting to avoid another awkward silence. Not that this was much of a danger; Eric was now sitting on the floor, still laughing.

"Oh, pretty good," Spire said cheerfully. "We've more than a dozen on the roster at the moment. Alexandria keeps trying to poach some for Los Angeles, but the Director's pretty good at telling her no." Vicky was a little taken aback; both at the idea of someone telling Alexandria 'no' over anything, and the fact that Spire was so matter of fact about it.

"It gets a bit boring," Scapegoat put in, still leaning back in his chair. He had taken to wriggling his toes, apparently at random. "We get to accompany the Protectorate proper on patrols, but I haven't faced off against an actual cape in, oh, months. Do you get to do anything like that here?"

Vicky's eyes widened and she met Crystal's gaze. "Umm …" She was almost certain that neither of the visiting Wards was aware of what had gone down on the Boardwalk last night. "Well, the guy who shot Amy is a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight. You've heard of them?"

"Kaiser's gang, right?" Spire looked thoughtful. "They're the white supremacists? They sound pretty nasty." He gestured toward Amy as an illustration of his point. "If one of our villains shot S.G., I'm reasonably sure we'd round 'em up pretty damn quick. So, this guy in custody yet?"

Aunt Sarah compressed her lips together. "No. And he's not likely to be, any time soon."

"What?" Scapegoat stared up at her, his voice filled with astonishment. He even stopped wiggling his toes. "But guys like that have gotta go down."

"And if the gang you're trying to take down outnumbers the capes you're able to muster against them?" Vicky tried not to let her anger show in her voice – it wasn't these guys' fault, after all – but it wasn't easy.

"What, all the villains in town? They're all standing up for this guy?" Spire sounded disbelieving, as if this was a situation that he'd never encountered before. Vicky felt a certain amount of sympathy for him. Not much, but some. He doesn't know any better.

"No." Aunt Sarah's voice was as clipped as Mom's got on occasion. It was obvious that she was still deeply unhappy about the whole situation. "One gang."

The largest gang in town, but yeah. Just one gang.

Scapegoat spoke in the tones of someone who has solved the problem, and can't believe that nobody else has worked it out first. "So call in the Protectorate if this gang outnumbers you. They should be happy to give New Wave a hand."

Aunt Sarah gave him a measured look. Her tone was no less firm than before. "That's counting the Protectorate."

Vicky knew full well that true telepathy was impossible for the human brain to handle. Her college-level Parahumans 101 class had been clear on that. So she was pretty sure that she was imagining the rueful thoughts of oh, shit and well, fuck from the two out-of-town Wards.

At that moment, saving the newcomers from what may have been terminal embarrassment, the door opened. Manpower entered, ducking his head under the door frame. He was followed by a doctor, who looked more than a little taken aback at the sheer preponderance of costumes in the room.

Unlike Scapegoat, however, the doctor neither recoiled nor freaked out. Stepping forward, he moved to Amy's bedside. "I'm told you need my assistance, Panacea. How can I help?"

Amy pulled back the covers, revealing the bandage on her left calf. "I need to check the injury. We're trying to remove it, but it seems to be resisting the treatment, and we need to know why."

The doctor blinked, apparently taken aback by her frank statement. "You're trying to … remove … the injury? By that, do you mean … heal?" He looked from cape to cape as if seeking a coherent explanation. Finally, his eyes lit on Scapegoat. "And why is your leg bandaged in the same place? Have you been attended to yet?"

Aunt Sarah cleared her throat. "It's difficult to explain." Vicky resisted the urge to roll her eyes at such a blatant understatement. "But we just need to remove the bandage from Amy's leg, and we'd be happier if an actual medical professional was here to do the job."

The doctor frowned. "Well, ordinarily, the wound wouldn't have really commenced the healing process, but I suppose if you need the bandage removed, I'll have it removed. In any case, it's a good idea to change the dressing before we discharge you. Let me call a nurse -" He took two steps toward the door, before finding Uncle Neil in the way. "Uh -"

"You don't understand," the seven-foot tall man explained almost confidentially. He pointed at Amy's leg. "You need to remove that bandage. Nothing more. If it turns out that it needs a new dressing, you can arrange that then. But for now, just the bandage. Please."

As if in a daze, the doctor turned around. "Well, why not. I can certainly do that. Be aware, however, that it's not a good idea to leave open wounds exposed to the air." He moved to Amy's bedside; pulling a pair of gloves from a box on the nightstand, he put them on and deftly began to remove the bandage.

Vicky watched as layer after layer of elastic cloth was unwound from Amy's calf. Finally, it was down to the absorbent pad that had been laid over the entry and exit wounds. Carefully, the doctor peeled this off. And stared. "Okay, fine. No new dressing. You win. Miss Dallon, you may see the duty nurse for the discharge paperwork." Muttering something to himself about 'goddamn capes and their stupid practical jokes', the doctor turned toward the door, peeling off his gloves as he went.

Vicky wasn't paying too much attention, given what she was seeing. "Uh, Mom?"

"Yes, Victoria?" Mom leaned forward and looked more closely. "I see no wound. You were shot." It was more a statement than a question.

"Yes, Carol. I was shot." Vicky grinned internally as Amy gave way to her inner snark. "In the leg. It hurt, rather a lot. I'm pretty sure that there's a dozen videos online that show the blood." Also, Vicky knew, the medical records that described the injury in detail. Not to mention the fact that she'd been there and seen it herself.

"But you've got no injury there." Scapegoat began pulling the bandage off his leg. "I thought you couldn't heal yourself."

"I can't." Amy sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Systematically, she began to pull the lines out of her wrist, and unpeeling the sticky patches from her skin. She was wearing a nightgown that Vicky had fetched her, in lieu of the usual hospital gown. The machines that the lines were attached to began to beep mournfully, until she reached over and switched them off.

"Maybe you second-triggered when you were shot, but didn't know it?" That was Spire. Vicky shook her head; the guy had no idea how second triggers went. To be honest, she didn't have much of an idea herself, but she knew how they didn't go, and 'not knowing that you triggered' was definitely not how that sort of thing went.

"No, and I can prove it." Amy pointed at the small puncture marks where she had pulled out the IV lines. She touched her wrist; when she took her fingers away, the marks remained. "See? Still doesn't work on me."

"Oh, okay." Scapegoat wadded the bandage up and held it out to Spire, who took it with an air of resignation. "Thanks, dude. Okay then. So you were shot, but now you don't have an injury. And you can't heal yourself. Which means what? Someone, who wasn't as dashing and handsome as me, came in and healed you, depriving me of the cachet of saying that I healed Panacea once upon a time?" He even managed to sound disappointed as he pulled his boot on once more.

"That's what it looks like." Amy stood up, heading for the cupboard where Vicky had stashed what she had dubbed Amy's 'going-home' clothes. "The trouble is, we just don't have any capes in Brockton Bay capable of healing someone. Aside from a villain or two, of course." Grabbing the backpack full of clothes, she entered the tiny bathroom. The door clicked shut behind her.

Aunt Sarah caught Mom's eye. Mom's return gaze was grim. "Something is definitely up," Brandish said. "We need to know what happened, as soon as possible."

Sarah nodded. "I tend to agree." She eyed the empty bed, then her gaze quartered the room as she turned slowly. When she stopped, she was looking up into the corner of the room. "And I know exactly where to go to get answers."

Puzzled, Vicky followed her line of sight. When she saw the security camera, she smiled.

<><>

Medhall Building

The metal disc, one inch thick and six in diameter, lay on the baseplate. Rune reached across and touched it, then stood back.

Assume positive control: test device.

Victor stood at the whiteboard, which was half-covered in notations by now. Four graphs, each bearing a series of marks, vied for space amid the equations which he had scribbled here and there. "When you're ready," he called.

Rune eyed me over the device, her teeth bared. "You're going down this time."

Observation: ally 'Rune' does not believe statement. Attempting to present brave front. Antagonism pretended, rather than real.

Conclusion: success will not result in interpersonal difficulties.

Apply motive force to device.

The disc began to rotate, then stopped. Rune gripped the edge of the table. "No, you don't. Not this time."

Increase motive force to device.

Rune's power is maintaining stasis.

Increase motive force.

Increase motive force.

Full force being applied. No result.

The disc was quivering very slightly, but not rotating, when I raised my hand. "I can not apply any more force."

"What?" For an instant, Rune's control slipped; the disc moved an inch, then stopped again. "No shit? You mean I win?"

"You can apply more force to the disc than I can," I confirmed. I reduced the force being applied to the disc, and felt her do the same.

Observation: ally 'Rune' rather excited. Potential for hug in near future.

"Woo!" she shouted. Rounding the table, she flung her arms around me. I dropped my powers and hugged her back. "Holy shit, I didn't think I could do it -" Pausing, she adopted a deeper tone of voice. "- I mean, I always knew I had it in me."

I laughed and gave her an extra squeeze. "You're an idiot," I told her fondly. "But yeah, you beat me fair and square."

Laughing, she grabbed me in a mock headlock and gave me a light noogie. "Of course I did. I always knew I could beat you."

"In your dreams," I mocked her, pulling free of her grasp and putting my arm around her shoulders. With my extra reach, I was able to push her downward slightly. As she had done, I put on a fake dramatic voice as I gestured to the ceiling with my other arm. "The power of Rune is nothing next to the power of … mmph!" Flailing around, she had managed to slap her hand over my mouth. I licked her palm.

"Excellent!" Victor turned to us from the whiteboard, interrupting our horseplay. "Now, Rune, you try to turn it while Remote holds it still." He looked almost as excited as Rune, but possibly for different reasons. "We're getting all sorts of useful data here."

Slightly flushed, we pulled apart. I pushed my hair back out of my eyes and straightened my skewed glasses while Tammi wiped her hand on her jeans. Taking a deep breath, I submerged myself in my powers once more.

Vocal expression: giggle. "So, you ready to feel the pain?"

Observation: ally 'Rune' believes she is prepared.

Assume positive control: test device. "Yes. Are you?"

Apply motive force. Maintain current position of disc.

The disc began to rotate. "All-righty!" crowed Rune. "Let's do this!"

Increase motive force.

Increase motive force.

Increase motive force.

Motive force insufficient for task.

Conclusion: ally 'Rune' can apply more power in this instance.

The disc was rotating at a steady rate. Rune was concentrating on it, expression intent.

Conclusion: ally 'Rune' suspects that she will still lose.

I raised my hand. "I cannot apply any more force. Rune, you win." As an expression of surrender, I ceased applying force to the disc and let my powers lapse. It began to spin much faster before she brought it to a halt.

"That's marvellous!" Victor drew lines, extending the graphs downward below their bottom edges. "Rune, how much force do you think you needed to beat Remote that time?"

She tilted her head. "Oh, about ninety to ninety-five percent. It wasn't easy, but I got there. I owned that puppy." She gave the disc a look of intense satisfaction; I wouldn't have been overly surprised if she'd picked it up and cuddled it. Turning to me, she added, "Uh, no hard feelings, Taylor?"

I smiled. "We're here to test my powers, not make you look bad. It's good that you actually beat me this time, right, Victor?" My eyes went to the whiteboard, where Victor was still scribbling.

It wasn't surprising that Tammi was so elated at beating me with the six-inch disc; our trials with the two and three foot diameter discs had been utterly, even hilariously, weighted in my favour. She had barely even been able to slow the latter down, causing Victor to frown and bite the end of his marker in thought.

"Oh, of course, of course," he agreed. For a non-Tinker, he certainly seemed to be enthusiastic about science, once he had a problem he could sink his teeth into. "This gives me a really good set of data points. Rough ones, of course, but now it's time to firm up the numbers." He shot a mildly irritated glance at the whiteboard. "Because those curves just don't make sense."

I had a feeling that I would regret the question, but I asked it anyway. "How are we going to do that?"

He grinned. This time, he did crack his knuckles. "You know how."

Well, duh. 'Science'.

<><>

Brockton Bay General Hospital

Amy stood next to Vicky in the hospital's security room. It wasn't a large room, made less so by chairs, tables, consoles and refrigerator-size servers humming away in the corner. When all interested parties had tried to crowd inside at once, Carol had put her foot down.

The hospital administrator was there, along with the head nurse. Seated in the chair between them was a nervous-looking security guard. Amy could understand his point of view; his job was to keep things secure and stay in the background. When people started noticing him, that was actually a bad thing.

Carol was there, of course; she was the one who had set this whole thing in motion. Everyone in Brockton Bay knew that Brandish of New Wave was also Carol Dallon, lawyer. Nobody wanted to be on the wrong side of a lawsuit brought by that firm. This was why, Amy figured, the administrator wasn't putting up much of a protest.

Amy had made the case that she needed to be there because whatever had happened, had happened to her. Carol had accepted this, but had frowned when Vicky had refused to be moved from her sister's side. In the end, she had let it slide, but she had drawn the line at Eric and Crystal trying to play the cousin card.

Manpower had accepted his eviction in good grace, although Aunt Sarah got in on the strength of the fact that she was team leader. Neither Scapegoat nor Spire got a look-in, though Vicky promised to share pertinent details with them later. Mark hadn't wanted to go, given that he had spent the latter half of the night in Amy's hospital room, but he was too tired to make a good case of it.

"All right," announced Carol. "We left at ten. Glory Girl volunteered to stay on until two AM, when she was relieved by Flashbang, who was there until this morning. I think we can safely assume that nothing untoward happened before we left." Her expression matched her tone; she was quite obviously less than impressed by the level of security in the hospital.

The hospital administrator, a distinguished-looking older man by the name of Friedrich, nodded. He looked more than a little frazzled by the morning's events. And so you should be, thought Amy sardonically. Having ninja healers sneak in and help your patients out can't be good for your image.

"Do you have the correct footage?" Friedrich asked the security guard. The man, more than a little overweight but apparently not unskilled with the console, looked up and nodded. "Good. Play it forward at ten times speed."

"Uh, I can't do ten times," the security guard said. "Sorry. It's powers of two. I can do eight times or sixteen times, but not ten." He sounded less happy all the time; whether that was from the fact that he couldn't carry out the required instruction or because he'd just contradicted his boss, Amy could not tell.

"Sixteen, then," Carol snapped, not bothering to moderate her tone. "Just so long as you play it."

"Yes, ma'am." The guard tapped buttons and clicked a mouse. On the screen, the image flickered forward at speed. Vicky wandered jerkily around the hospital room while Amy twitched and occasionally moved on the bed. Finally, Vicky sat down and turned the pages of a magazine so fast that they were a blur.

The door opened, and a nurse flickered into the room. She was all the way over to the bed before Carol blurted out, "Stop."

The security guard must have already been reaching for the console, because he stopped the footage almost as she spoke. Carol leaned closer to the screen. "Mr Friedrich, do you recognise that nurse?"

Friedrich frowned, adjusting his bifocals. "I believe that I do, though I couldn't put a name to her. Do you know her, Nurse Kelly?"

Head Nurse Kelly nodded firmly. "I know her. That's Henderson. She was assigned to Panacea's room." She leaned in to look at the screen as well. "Thirty seconds late, but that's well within standards."

"Good." Carol tapped the console with one fingernail. "Keep going."

The security guard didn't hesitate; he clicked the mouse again. The picture jerked into motion; after what seemed an absurdly short time, the nurse vanished out through the door once more. Amy found herself watching the image of her on the bed. Do I really look like that? Weird.

At the bottom corner of the screen, the timestamp numbers scrolled almost faster than Amy could follow them. One minute passed in just under four seconds; an hour went by in somewhat less than four minutes. Nurse Henderson flickered in and out of the room a few more times; by now, the guard only needed to pause the image for them to identify her. Amy began to feel hungry. Maybe Vicky and I could stop by the Boardwalk for something to eat on the way home?

"Stop!" snapped Carol, making Amy jump. "Who's that?"

Amy blinked; she'd been woolgathering, and nearly hadn't noticed the nurse entering the room. The guard tapped the button, freezing the frame.

Friedrich frowned. "I don't know her. I can't see her face properly." He turned to the head nurse, who was already leaning forward. "Nurse Kelly?"

"That's not one of my nurses." But the head nurse's voice was unsure. "I think. Can you run it through at normal speed?"

"Sure, I can do that." The security guard did something to the console, and the picture reversed, the nurse strolling backward out of the room, closing the door in her own face. The mouse clicked and the door opened again, allowing the nurse entry once more. "Let me know when you need it paused."

"Just let it run." Carol's voice was tense, her gaze fixed on the screen. "Come on," she murmured. "Look at the camera …"

Amy looked at the time stamp. "That was about a quarter after one," she noted. "I was asleep by then, I think." She nudged Vicky. "I think you were too."

Vicky rolled her eyes, the light from the screen reflecting from her eyeballs. "I was still awake. You were snoring like a rhinoceros."

"Girls." It took just one word from Carol to quiet them. "Victoria, do you recall this nurse?"

"Um … maybe?" Vicky peered at the screen, frowning in concentration. "I wasn't really paying attention. A nurse is a nurse. I remember she tidied up a bit before she left. But she didn't try to stab Ames or anything."

On the screen, the faux nurse wandered over to the far corner of the room, apparently straightening the covers of the empty bed there. At no time, Amy noticed, did she look even peripherally at the camera. When she walked away from the bed, there was a dark spot on it.

"What's that?" Amy asked. Without being prompted, the guard paused the footage. "That spot, right there." She frowned; there hadn't been any such spot on the bed when she woke up in the morning.

Vicky leaned in. "I don't remember that. What is it?" She sounded more than a little worried; even as her image spoke with the 'nurse' on the screen, that spot remained accusingly on the bed.

Carol's lips thinned. "I think I know. Keep it rolling." She didn't say any more, and Amy didn't want to ask. Besides, she had suspicions of her own.

The 'nurse' ended up at Amy's bedside and fiddled with her chart. After that, she took Amy's pulse, peering at her watch for what seemed a very long time. Then she put her hand on Amy's forehead for another fifteen seconds or so.

"That's not correct procedure," Nurse Kelly stated flatly. "Her watch was on her wrist instead of being pinned to her uniform, and if she wanted Panacea's temperature, she should have used a thermometer." She crossed her arms, the very image of offended sensibilities. "Whoever that was, she's no nurse." Not in my hospital, she didn't have to say.

"I think we get that," murmured Friedrich. "But who is she?" He looked around at the capes assembled in the security room. "And what's she doing, exactly?" He sounded as puzzled as Amy had been earlier.

I think I know. I think we've just been royally had. From the expression on Carol's face, she was coming to the same conclusion.

Amy watched as the 'nurse' meandered around the room once more, still managing to not look toward the camera. After she passed by the bed in the far corner, the dark spot was gone. But then she was approaching the security camera, on the way to the door. Unless she twisted her head around at an awkward angle, it would get a perfect image of her face.

"Slow it down," Carol ordered tightly. "Half speed. I want to see this." She gripped the edge of the table. Amy was glad that Vicky wasn't doing the same thing. They might need a new table.

"Yes, ma'am." The security guard clicked the mouse and scrolled the button, slowing the footage down to a crawl. Every eye was fixed on the screen; just before the moment of truth, the 'nurse' brought her hand up, palm out, obscuring her face. Amy caught fleeting glimpses of an eye and her nose, but she wasn't looking at that. She was looking at what was written on the woman's palm.

In thick black marker, she could clearly see the notation 'E88'.

And then the moment was past, and the woman was out the door.

In the silence that followed, Vicky expressed what was on everyone's minds. "Fucking Othala."

<><>

Medhall Building

Max Anders leaned back in his chair as the capes on his computer screen dispersed from the Brockton Bay General Hospital's security office. He allowed himself a self-satisfied smile. It had taken Victor some time and effort to get access to this feed, but the looks of pure frustration on their faces gave him a warm feeling deep inside. Always two steps ahead, dear Brandish. He had no idea why she hated being addressed like that, but she did, so he made sure to do it as often as possible.

There was a knock on his office door. He raised his voice slightly. "Come in."

The door opened; Victor entered, dressed in civilian clothing and carrying two folders. Approaching the desk, he placed the first one down, keeping the second one. "Test results for Remote's power, sir."

Max took the folder and opened it, scanning the graphed results. Flipping through the pages, he located the summary and held it up. His eyebrows rose as he took in the contents. "Really?"

Victor nodded, looking quite satisfied with himself. "Yes, sir. Any device we construct for her will be limited only by the material strength of the metal we build it with. Put in robust enough joints, and the devices will break before she runs out of power."

"Well, that is good news." Max placed the folder on the desk and spread out the pages, looking at them with interest. Something caught his eye and he looked more closely. "Wait; it's not based on surface area?"

Victor nodded. "I made that assumption, too. But the data points refused to line up properly." His voice echoed the frustration he must have been feeling. "Right up until I tried using the square root of the surface area, rather than the area itself. Then everything fell into place."

Max tapped one of the sheets. "Seven hundred pounds of force per inch? You're sure of that?" His mind whirled at the possibilities. If all she needs is metal moving parts …

"Absolutely certain, sir." Victor put his finger on another sheet. "Here are the test results between her and Rune. And then I repeated them, using a friction brake. They all pan out." He stood back, hands on his hips. "And as far as I can tell, it all scales up."

"I see." Max Anders allowed himself to smile. It felt good. "So, have you been able to apply this to armour designs for her?"

Victor dropped the second folder on the desk. "I thought you'd never ask."

Kaiser's smile widened.

<><>

Director Piggot's Office, PRT Building

"Othala." Emily Piggot spat the word out like a rotten piece of fruit.

"We're reasonably sure that it was her, yes." Lady Photon stood before Piggot's desk, with the rest of New Wave in attendance behind her. Foremost was Panacea, back in costume. The girl was standing strongly on both feet, obviously uninjured.

Emily took a deep breath. "So if I'm to understand this, Othala infiltrated the Brockton Bay General Hospital specifically to heal Panacea of the injury caused her by Victor." She felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. I do not need days like this. On the one hand, Panacea was on her feet again. On the other … "Is there any way they can prove that they did this?"

Lady Photon's expression was not a happy one. "We think so." She indicated the folder of photos in front of Piggot. "Those are screenshots from the hospital's security cameras. Othala managed to evade most of them, and covered her face from the rest. But look at that one." It showed a hospital bed, with a black spot on it.

Piggot picked up the photo and peered at it. The image had already been enlarged beyond the capability of getting any more detail. "I can't make it out."

"We're of the consensus that she left a small camera on the bed, then retrieved it before she left," Lady Photon informed her. "It would have been out of Glory Girl's sight, but would have recorded everything that Othala said and did in that room." She didn't have to say any more; Emily could easily connect the dots from there.

"Which means that if we try to press the Empire on this, they can turn it around on us with zero effort," the Director noted. She gritted her teeth; it was a bold move, infuriatingly clever. While it wouldn't save Victor from the consequences of his crime, when and if he was ever brought to trial, the public relations bonanza for the Empire Eighty-Eight would be immense. Which brought the next question to mind. "Have they released this yet?"

Lady Photon shook her head. "Not that we know of, yet." Which meant, of course, that they still could do it, at any time. As blackmail currency went, it would decrease in value with time, but the embarrassment to the PRT and to New Wave would be considerable, even if they waited some time to reveal it.

Not that Emily Piggot would let it stop her doing what she considered to be the right thing. However, she decided, it's probably a good idea not to press too hard on the Empire right at this very second.

Looking at Lady Photon, she could see the same conclusion in the other woman's eyes. They shared a nod of understanding. If the Empire Eighty-Eight did something egregious, then the PRT and New Wave would descend upon them with all the force at their disposal. But if they kept things quiet, it was better to let sleeping dogs lie.

For the time being, anyway.


End of Part Thirteen

Part Fourteen

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Fourteen: Families and Foreshadowing



[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: The interludes occur just before the end of the last chapter.]

[A/N 3: The book 'The Wind in the Willows' was written by Kenneth Grahame, and I make no claim to any part of it.]



Friday, February 3, 2011
Interlude One: Medhall Building

"Oh, hey," said Peter as I went to meet him. "I thought you were going to be in there all day." His tone was teasing and his eyes were amused at his joke. He also looked pleased to see me. Well, that was all right. I was pleased to see him, too.

"Sorry it took so long," I said. "I learned a bit about my powers. And Victor says he's going to teach me how to make stuff with the manufacturing lab, so I can build my own machines." As we came together, I laced my fingers with his, then leaned against him. He put his free arm around my shoulders.

"I would be extremely interested in hearing all about it," he informed me solemnly. "But I think there's someone here that you might want to say hi to first." The teasing tone was more evident now, and I realised that it had to be more than just about me spending time away from him.

"Oh?" I asked, blinking at him curiously. "Who is it?" I couldn't think of anyone, except -

"Hey, Taylor. You're looking good." Excitement bloomed through me and I spun around at the familiar voice. Despite the bandages and the crutch that he was leaning on, I had no trouble recognising the guy who had saved my ass.

"George!" I squealed. Pulling free from Peter, I dashed across the distance between us and flung my arms around his neck. "Omigod, it's so good to see you!"

One strong arm wrapped around my waist. I had last felt that strength when it was pulling me free from a bunch of ABB and sending me on my way. Saving my life. I hugged him back, fervently.

He chuckled. "Oof, wow. Are you sure you didn't trigger with super-strength as well?" His tone was amused, but not teasing; from the sound of it, he was in the loop when it came to knowing about my powers. To be honest, that wasn't very surprising. Peter had already trusted him with my well-being; the fight and its aftermath had basically set that in stone.

"I'm just glad to see you." Stepping back, I let him catch his balance while I looked him over. His dressings were nowhere near as numerous as they had been in the beginning. It looked like he was only suffering from a few distinct injuries, and … "Oh. Your eye. Othala couldn't fix that?"

He shrugged. "It is what it is. Eyes are very complicated. She says that she'll keep working with me to bring it all the way back, but it will take a while." A grin split his broad face. "And in the meantime, I get to wear a bitchin' eyepatch."

I had to laugh as I reached backward. Peter's hand slipped into mine as if we had rehearsed it. He stepped forward to stand beside me as I smiled at George. "Well, all I can say is, I'm totally grateful for what you did for me. And I'm glad you know about my powers. And … well, I'm just glad you're alive."

George's eyes fell. "Yeah, I heard about Jenna and Bronson. That really bites. Those slanty-eyed fucks. I just wish I'd been there to help." His free hand clenched, the skin whitening around his knuckles.

Peter shook his head. "You'd be dead for real, then. Fucking Oni Lee took us out in seconds. Taylor's dad and I only survived by the skin of our teeth, and the fact that Taylor's a total badass. Even with Othala giving us round-robin with her regeneration to keep us alive, Jenna still died." He reached forward and patted George on the shoulder. "You did your bit, man. And I'm going to make sure people know about it."

"When's the service for Bronson and Jenna?" I asked. "I'm going to want to get something appropriate to wear for it. All my stuff was in the car when it crashed." I remembered the terror of the seconds before the crash, and wondered if I could've done something different that would have prevented it.

"Friday evening," Peter said quietly. He put his arm around me. "You won't need to worry about a nice dress. For this sort of thing, capes show up in costume, as a sign of respect." It made a certain amount of sense. The Empire put a lot of stock in symbolism and gestures, after all.

I turned to him and held him close. "I think that's a good idea. But for right now, could I ask a huge favour of you?" There was something I wanted to do, and I didn't have what I needed to do it with.

He put his arms around me. "Anything at all. Just ask me." His voice was soft in my ear.

So I told him what I needed.

He pulled back and looked at me, his brow wrinkled. "Seriously?"

"Yes," I said. "Seriously." I pulled him close again. "It would mean so much to me."

"Then I'll get it." There was no compromise, no uncertainty. He meant every word.

I smiled, then gave him the lightest of kisses. "Thank you."

<><>​

Interlude Two: Brockton Bay General Hospital

"Holy crap!" Vicky's voice echoed from the hospital room into the tiny bathroom where Amy was packing the last of her toiletries.

Amy looked up enquiringly at the outrage in her sister's voice. Grabbing the toiletry bag, she exited the bathroom. "What's the matter?" she asked. "And where's everyone else?"

Only the two Wards and the other junior members of New Wave were present; Scapegoat and Spire had been chatting with Eric and Crystal. Now, they were looking over with interest to where Vicky stood next to the bed, the clipboard in her hand.

Vicky turned to her. "Mom and Dad and Aunt Sarah and Uncle Neil are dealing with your checkout papers." She held the clipboard out accusingly. "Have you seen this?"

Amy frowned, not sure where she was going with this. "My chart? No, I wasn't really interested. I can't heal myself. You know this."

"Not unless you have a devastatingly handsome Ward who can pull your injuries on to himself so that you can heal them," Scapegoat broke in. Amy couldn't see his face due to the goat mask, but she could imagine a Clockblocker-esque grin lurking there. Scapegoat seemed to have that sense of humour.

"We still haven't settled that, one way or the other," Amy reminded him. "So what's with the chart, anyway? I'm pretty sure that Othala fixed my leg up." It was a pretty good job, too, she had to admit. There wasn't even a scar, and she could walk without a twinge.

Vicky rolled her eyes. "I'm not talking about your chart. I'm talking about this." She gestured with the clipboard, and Amy noticed that she had all but the last sheet folded back. "On the tape, Othala was fiddling with this, right? I thought she might've written something down. But there was nothing there from that time. So I started looking." Her expression became sour. "And look what I found."

Amy looked closer. The last sheet wasn't a hospital chart at all. It was a letter, written in flawless copperplate.

My dear Panacea,

I wish once more to express my deepest regrets and disquiet at having to employ violence against you. You provide a wonderful beacon of humanity and hope against the all too regular cape violence in the city. If there had been any other way to effect our escape, I would have utilized it; unfortunately, being all too human, I could see no alternative.

Therefore, by way of reparations, my dear Othala is entering the hospital with the purest of motives; specifically, to heal your wound and ensure that you are once more fit and healthy. We ask no payment for this, nor hold any leverage over your head for it. I just want you to remain safe and healthy. All of us here at the Empire Eighty-Eight do.

Until we meet again, hopefully under happier circumstances,

Victor

PS: In case you are worried that Othala has exposed her face to the security cameras, and that unscrupulous persons may overlook the unspoken rules in order to unmask her, fear not. My skills in the arts of disguise are considerable, and I will have personally ensured that any cameras in the hospital that got a good look at her are now missing that footage.

PPS: Kindly give your sister my regards, and inform her that rushing in blindly is not necessarily the best strategy for all situations. Also, please assure her that there are no hard feelings for the murder attempt. I did rather ask for it.

PPPS: In case the authorities do ask, Daniel Hebert is alive, although unconscious, and under our care. His daughter Taylor has asked for sanctuary with us. Given that the ABB has attempted to abduct or kill her on two separate occasions, and that the authorities have rather sadly let her down in many regards, we've decided to let her stay.

Amy finished reading and looked up. By this time, Crystal had crowded in on one side, while Eric was on the other. "Wow," Eric said. "That's the first time I've ever seen an apology letter from a villain for hurting someone."

"Yeah," Amy said. "Kinda wish he needed to apologise to someone else, though. Anyone else, by preference." Even though the injury had been healed, she still recalled how much it had hurt. It had not been a pleasant evening or night.

"I think Mom and Dad need to see this, right now." Vicky headed for the door, still holding the clipboard. Crystal followed, with Eric and Spire trailing after. Amy didn't feel like getting into the middle of that, so she grabbed the plastic chair and sat down in it. A moment later, she sighed. The day's only just started, and already I want it to be over.

"Wow, that sounded deep," Scapegoat commented from where he was holding up the wall. "Life hassles, huh? Want to talk about it?"

She looked over at him, not sure if he was being sincere or sarcastic; with the lack of facial cues, it wasn't easy to tell from his tone. Still, he'd at least said the words, which was more than most people did these days. "Nothing much," she mumbled. "Just one more thing I have to deal with, that's all."

"Hey," he said quietly, heading over to where she was sitting, and perching on the edge of the bed. "We're capes. Shit happens to us. I mean, I hate my powers, but at least yours don't inflict the damage on you, right? You just tell the injury to fuck off and it does?"

"No, mine doesn't do that," she agreed. "But …" She hesitated for a long moment, then took the plunge. "Do you ever get tired of healing people?" About one second later, she realised what she'd said, and wished she could take the whole thing back.

"Uh, yeah," he said. "Like, about every ten minutes. I take a bullet-wound away from someone, I've gotta carry that thing around until I can pass it on. I take away someone's allergy to cats, I'm sneezing non-stop around the little furballs until I can give it away to some deserving villain or other. And don't talk to me about phobias." From the sound of his voice, he was rolling his eyes.

"Phobias?" Amy frowned. "You can … affect the brain?" This was new information, and she wanted to be certain she had it right.

"Well, yeah," he said, as if surprised at her words. "Any condition that's a deviation from baseline. Scratches, bruises, injuries, mental problems, physical problems. Scared of cats? I can fix that, so long as I can find someone else to pass it on to." His voice was matter of fact, as if he was reciting from a brochure.

"And this isn't a problem for you?" She was still having trouble getting her head around it.

"What, you mean do I like it?" He shook his head violently. "Hell, no. I literally take other peoples' problems on myself until I can hand them over to someone else. Which means I experience them first-hand till I can pass them on. No fun. Trust me, you've got it easy." His voice was confident and certain of his facts.

"Well, that's where you're wrong," Amy assured him. "It's not that easy being Panacea. I mean, I ..." Her voice trailed off. Up until now, she'd been running on automatic, but as she reached into the familiar pit of resentment and unhappiness, she found … nothing. No reason to be unhappy. In fact, she felt pretty good. I must be tired. Normally I can be well into self-loathing by now. " … anyway, never mind," she finished lamely.

He flopped backward on to the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Fine by me. I'm totally over this shit, anyway. I can't even imagine why I let Spire talk me into this. Talk about a wasted trip. This fucking sucks."

"Actually," Amy said, an idea occurring to her, "would you be okay with doing me a favour?"

"What, in return for totally failing to heal your leg?" Scapegoat sounded more sour than ever. "I suck as a healer. My powers suck." He rolled over on to one elbow; Amy presumed that he was looking at her. "Ask me and I'll think about it."

<><>​

Interlude One, Part Two: Medhall Building

I slipped into the room with Peter at my side. Othala sat at Dad's bedside, his hand in hers. She had a radio tuned to classical music, turned down low.

The room itself was quite nice. Apart from the medical monitor discreetly tucked in at the side of the bed, it bore little to no resemblance to a hospital room. The carpet was nice, the room was airy and the brightly-coloured curtains were pulled partly aside to admit sunlight and a gentle breeze. There was an ensuite bathroom, a more than adequate kitchenette, and a second bed on the other side of the room. All in all, it looked like a very classy motel room.

"How is he?" I asked, a shade of hope in my voice. I knew that he would not be awake yet, or any time soon, but I could always ask.

"Better than he was," Othala said encouragingly. She pointed at the monitor. "See those two top lines? Those are his brainwave readings. Currently, as you can see, they're fairly depressed. But the regeneration is gradually putting the pieces back where they're supposed to be, and they're showing more improvement."

I looked at the monitor, but the lines she was pointing at looked no different from what I might see on monitors in a thousand different TV shows. "Okay," I said uncertainly. "So, is he still, uh, in there?"

She smiled sadly. "I'd have to be a medical Tinker, or maybe Panacea, to know that one for sure," she said, her voice compassionate. "But I think he is. If he's not fully aware, then he may be drifting in and out. Sitting with him and talking to him or playing music, is a good idea."

"That's what I thought," I said, showing her the book I held. "This was one of my Mom's favourites. He used to read it himself, from time to time." Not that the copy in my hand had actually come from home; that had been packed in my luggage, which was probably now being held as evidence by the BBPD or the PRT. This was what I'd asked Peter for, and he'd delivered. How he had located a copy of The Wind in the Willows at such short notice in the Medhall building, I would never know. But then, my boyfriend was very resourceful; I wasn't about to argue.

Pulling up a comfortable chair alongside the bed, I took Dad's hand in one of mine and opened the book on my lap with the other. Before I commenced reading, I squeezed his hand, and fancied that I felt a return squeeze.

Peter perched on the armrest and reached over, helping to hold the book steady. I smiled at him, then turned to the book and began to read.

"Chapter One," I began. "The River." Taking a deep breath, I leaned against Peter. He put his arm around me, giving me a warm feeling deep inside. I began to read. "The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters …"

<><>​

Interlude Two, Part Two: Brockton Bay General Hospital

Mark stared at Amy. "Are you sure about this?" he asked. "I mean, really sure?" His whole attitude seemed to waver between hope and uncertainty. "I mean, you can't do it, right?"

Amy shook her head. "No. I don't do brains. But Scapegoat doesn't have that problem. From what he says, he can take your depression clean away. Like it never existed." She stopped, hoping she wasn't coming on too strong for his comfort. This was something that she'd known about for years, especially given that he sometimes forgot to take his medication. Unfortunately, it also landed square in the middle of her self-imposed restriction. I don't do brains. So she'd done nothing about it, even while she could have. But it was a line she'd sworn she would never cross.

"Has this even been properly tested for side-effects and drawbacks?" That was Carol, of course. She would be focused on the legal side of things. "I don't know much about medicine, but I know you don't just take away depression. There are underlying causes …"

"Yeah, Mrs Dallon, there are," Scapegoat said, perhaps a little sharply. "But my power doesn't care about that sort of thing. It swaps mental problems out, and puts things back the way they would've been if you'd never had them." He shrugged, obviously not particularly concerned over her worries. "Done it to dozens of people. Nobody's had a problem. Except the villains I've given shit to, of course, but they don't count."

"But how does it work?" That was Aunt Sarah. "I can see you swapping a leg wound from one person to the other – sort of. A leg is a leg. There's not a huge difference between one and another. But swapping bits of the mind? Are you going to end up with some of Mark's personality, and him with yours? Because let me tell you, that's kind of terrifying." She folded her arms, her body language showing just how little she liked the idea.

"Jesus, talk about swapping one little mental problem over, and people get all antsy." Scapegoat was becoming more impatient by the second. "Look, bits of me don't get swapped around. No DNA changes place, no body mass. It's more like it's the idea of the wound, or the mental problem, that gets moved from person to person. Like it's a template that was applied to one person, and now it's applied to another. Take away that template, and what's underneath is pure vanilla Joe Normal."

"Huh," grunted Manpower. "Do you need to know what you're getting?" He scratched his chin. "Or can you see it when you touch them?" Amy could see why he asked that; those were good questions. "And what can you change about someone?"

"Actually, no and no," Scapegoat told the towering cape. "I can't modify someone's body, but I put them back to baseline just by touching them. Diseases, yeah. Body size and shape, no. Gender, hell no. Physical and mental problems, yes." He still sounded mildly irritated, Amy would not have been surprised to find that he recited this sort of thing several times a day.

"Hmm," Aunt Sarah murmured. "Okay, then. I'll be your test case. When I was fourteen, I was kidnapped and held captive for months. I believe that I might still be suffering PTSD from that. Can you help me with that?" She looked him unflinchingly in the … well, in the mask eyeholes.

"Mom?" Crystal stared at her. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to improve my quality of life, sweetheart," Aunt Sarah told her, and held out her hand. "Well?"

Scapegoat nodded. "Sure. One case of PTSD, to go." He reached out and clasped Sarah's hand in his. Sarah blinked, her eyes going unfocused for a few moments.

"Okay, whew, that was weird," she said, letting go his hand. "Whoa." She reached up and touched her temple.

"What? What is it?" Manpower had his arm around her, supporting her, in an instant. "What's the matter, honey?"

She smiled up at him, and pulled his face down for a kiss. "Nothing, darling," she told him fondly. "Goodness me, I didn't think I had that much baggage going on. I feel like my feet aren't even touching the ground."

Amy looked down. "That's because you're flying, Aunt Sarah," she said dryly. "Your feet really aren't touching the ground." It was true; Sarah's toes were a good inch off the hospital linoleum.

"Whoo, ha ha," Lady Photon sounded more than a little euphoric as she slowly lowered herself to ground level again. "I feel like … I've been wearing dark sunglasses and I've just taken them off for the first time in forever. This is wonderful."

"Yeah, yeah, enjoy," grunted Scapegoat. "You've been lugging this around with you all the time? I can't wait to pass it on to someone who really deserves it." He rubbed at his arm. "Any more? I'm still not totally mentally fucked up yet."

"Carol, you have got to do this," Sarah said, her face alight with emotion. "You have no idea how good it feels to be me, right now."

"No!" Carol's voice was sharp. Apparently realising that she was the focus of all eyes, she moderated her tone. "Uh, no, not at the moment. We need to make sure that there are no deleterious side-effects."

Sarah shook her head. "You have no idea what you're missing."

"Mark?" prompted Amy. He was the reason she'd brought it up with Scapegoat, after all.

Mark grimaced with indecision, then looked at Sarah. "It's that easy?"

"For you, yeah," Scapegoat told him bluntly. "For me, I've got your mental problems stashed away in my head until I can find a deserving recipient." He shrugged, somehow managing to put across the concept that he really didn't care one way or the other what Mark chose.

"Screw it," Mark said abruptly. "Let's do this." He stepped forward, toward Scapegoat.

"Mark – no!" shouted Carol. "You can't just let him mess with your brain! We don't know that it's safe!" Amy heard echoes of her own thoughts in those words, and a sudden suspicion arose. Did I pick that resolution, or was it picked for me?

Slowly, Mark turned toward his wife. "Carol," he said slowly. "I love you. You and the girls mean more to me than anything in the world. But I'm tired of the world being grey all the time." Taking a deep breath, he held out his hand toward Scapegoat. "In your own time, son."

"Yeah, why do I get the sudden idea that this is gonna suck?" Scapegoat visibly hesitated once, twice, then darted his hand out and took a firm grip of Mark's. Amy watched her foster father's face carefully. It was twitching, flickering through expressions faster than she could follow.

Abruptly, the contact was broken; Mark stepped back, panting, leaning over with his hands on his knees. Scapegoat was swaying slightly.

The goat-masked Ward recovered first. "Holy shit, how have you even been functioning with this?" he asked. "I just want to go lie down somewhere and write bad poetry about death and gloom and Endbringers." He rubbed hard at his temples with the fingertips of both hands. "Yeah, I think I'm done for the day. The week. The whole damn month."

For his part, Mark's eyes were open wide. "Whoa ..." he murmured. He blinked, looking around the room as if he were seeing it for the first time. His gaze fell on Carol, and he took a step toward her.

"Mark!" she said sharply. "Talk to me! Are you all right?" She eyed him almost suspiciously.

"Yeah," he replied. "Oh, hell yes. I feel great." Amy watched him smile, broad and genuine. "Damn. I do not know why I didn't do this before."

"Maybe because I've only been doing this for a few years?" suggested Scapegoat. "Damn, you guys were seriously -" He broke off when Spire nudged him hard in the ribs. "Hey! Dude, what the hell?"

"I think it's time you stopped talking, S.G.," his team leader said firmly. "Now, folks, there's one detail that Scapegoat didn't make totally clear to you, which he should have. There's a cooldown period between him taking on your problems, and you being able to walk away from him." He paused, apparently aware that all eyes were on him. "Specifically, between one and six hours. During that time, you've got to stay within fifty yards of him, and not give your bodies any kind of shock; exertion, damage, stuff like that. Now, given that his fixes were all mental, I'd guess about one or two hours, tops."

"What about you having to return to San Diego?" asked Amy. "Surely you've got a deadline there." Then she realised where she was going wrong. "Oh, wait. You'd have the cooldown period if you'd healed me anyway."

Spire nodded. "That's correct," he agreed. "We've got till this evening, then we've got to get back to the PRT building." He spread his hands and looked at the assembled capes. "What do you guys do for fun around here that doesn't involve punching mooks?"

Mark smiled again. He looked like a new man, Amy decided. Already, he was standing straighter and showing more energy. "What do you say, kids?" he asked. "Should we take 'em to Fugly Bob's?"

Eric and Crystal shared a high-five. "Oh, heck yes!" they chorused. Amy grinned; she liked Fugly Bob's.

"I'm gonna try for the Challenger!" Vicky stated, as if daring anyone to stop her.

Aunt Sarah grinned suddenly. "Why the heck not? I'll join you."

Manpower stared at her. Amy could understand why; Aunt Sarah had never done something this crazy before. "Uh, honey? Are you sure about this?"

"Hey, why not? You only live once," Sarah pointed out. She linked arms with her niece. "To Fugly Bob's!"

"To Fugly Bob's!" Crystal and Eric echoed, then burst out laughing. Amy joined in, feeling more light-hearted than she had in … oh, years.

"Uh … what's Fugly Bob's?" asked Spire cautiously, as if worried that a prank of some sort was being played on them.

Amy took pity on him. "It's a burger place on the Boardwalk," she explained. "More cholesterol than you can poke a stick at. Really popular."

"Sure, why not?" Scapegoat said. "May as well." His voice lacked a certain amount of animation; Amy got the impression that if she'd said they were going home to stare at the wall, he would have agreed just as readily. Wow, Mark's depression has really hit him hard. I hope he can get rid of it soon.

And if that wasn't one of the weirdest notions to pass through her head in the last few days, she didn't know what was.

<><>​

Later

I have to do it, Amy told herself firmly. I have to ask Scapegoat if he can do it.

With the possible exception of Carol, they had all indulged a little too much on fast food, and had enjoyed themselves immensely. Mark had been the life of the party, telling jokes so bad that even Uncle Neil had disavowed him. Scapegoat had eaten only fries, but Spire had gotten into an eating contest with Eric, which the out-of-towner had won. While Vicky hadn't quite finished her Challenger, Aunt Sarah had devoured hers in style, to general applause. Amy, despite the question she was itching to ask Scapegoat, had actually had a lot of fun.

Now they were all walking back to the cars; Aunt Sarah had decided that the incident at the hospital needed to be reported to the PRT. Vicky, Eric and Crystal were flying overhead with Aunt Sarah, while Spire walked ahead with Mark, Uncle Neil and Carol. Amy found herself trailing at the back with Scapegoat; this was due to indolence on his part and intent on hers.

"I've got a question for you," she said in a low voice, hoping no-one else heard her.

"That's a coincidence, because I've got one for you," he said, equally quietly. He glanced around. "Uh, you go first."

"Um …" She paused, blushing. "Can … can you, uh … make-me-not-a-lesbian?"

He stared at her, apparently not sure what she'd said. Not surprising, really. "Uh … can you run that past me again? Not at warp twelve, this time?"

Gritting her teeth, she glanced around. Nobody was listening, that she could tell. "Can you make me not a, uh, lesbian?"

"What?" It seemed that she'd managed to break through his depression-acquired lethargy. "Panacea, I can't do that. Sexual orientation isn't a mental disease. It's how you are."

"Oh." Great, I'm stuck this way, then. Pining after my sister and hoping nobody finds out. "Please don't tell anyone I asked, okay?"

He shrugged. "Wouldn't be the weirdest request I ever got." After a moment, he tilted his head. "Anyway, you can do me a solid and we're square."

She couldn't have cared less at the moment. "Sure, what is it?"

He turned his head, and she realised that he was sneaking a look at the flyers overhead. "Uh, get me your sister's phone number?"

At that moment, several large pennies dropped, all at once.

He's seriously attracted to Vicky. She'd thought he was stealing glances at her sister when they were at Fugly Bob's, but she hadn't been sure. Now, she was.

The next realisation burst on her like a bombshell. I'm not feeling jealous that he's stuck on Vicky. In fact, I'm not feeling stressed about, well, anything right now.

I actually like myself and my powers.

She had actually forgotten the fact that he'd touched her earlier, in an attempt to heal her leg. That hadn't happened – due to Othala's actions – but she had felt a weird disorientation. He didn't get the injury, but he did get all my mental issues.

Holy crap. And I didn't even notice at the time. Talk about oblivious.

Shading her hand, she looked up at Vicky. Her sister, spiralling through the air in a complicated game of tag, was beautiful. Anyone could see that. Amy liked Vicky; the blonde was fun, vivacious, chirpy and endlessly enthusiastic. But am I in love with her?

There was always the acid test. She briefly envisioned Vicky hugging and kissing Dean and waited for the accompanying stab of jealousy.

Nothing.

Wow, really?

Holy crap.

With a broad smile, she turned to Scapegoat. "Sure. Got a pen and paper?"

Wait till he finds out she's going into the Wards.

<><>​

Director Piggot's Office
Later that Day

"Shadow Stalker. You needn't sit down. This won't take long."

Sophia glared across the desk at the fat bloated whale that dared sit in judgement of her – her! Piggy didn't even have powers! She had no idea of how harsh it was out there, how far out of control the gangs would go if there wasn't someone in their face, all the time.

This whole thing was stupid. She was worth more as a hero to the Protectorate than the PR hit of a few schoolyard pranks. And anyway, Hebert needed to be shown who was boss, and why she shouldn't hang around with those racist Empire fucks.

She had no idea why Emma had suddenly just turned on her, after everything they'd been through together. After everything Sophia had taught her about how to be strong. You didn't fold like a wet paper towel at the first sign of trouble. You toughed it out and laughed in their faces. Dared them to do their worst. They always folded first, because when you're a goddamn bonafide fucking hero who goes out there and gets the job done, that's what happens.

Anyway, while Emma didn't have powers, she had the next best thing. A rich dad who was also a lawyer. Sophia had seen how it worked; the teachers were happy to let the popular girl with the lawyer dad skate by, because nobody wanted to be on the wrong side of a lawsuit. And she was pretty sure that they were told not to mess with her too, because being a Ward meant that pretty well anything slid off your back.

Oh, the school had still punished her for messing up, but it was never bad. It was never more than Sophia had really, actually deserved. Never enough to keep her from her sacred duties as a superhero. She got to run track (which was about the one thing she really enjoyed about school, apart from the never-ending sport called Fucking with Hebert) and pretty well rule her year alongside Emma. Life had been good.

Until now.

She still wasn't sure what the fuck had actually happened. How things had fucked up so badly. All Emma had to do was stand firm; sure, the locker looked bad, but Hebert was a fucking racist Empire slag cunt, and once everyone understood that, then nobody would really have given a shit.

But … they did. And Emma had folded. She'd sold Sophia out. Sophia hadn't believed her ears at first, when she heard Emma talking about the things that they'd done. She'd even told them about the guy who had died when she went out on patrol with Sophia that one time. How could I have not seen the weakness in her? I thought she was stronger than that!

The last month hadn't been great, but she'd had worse. When she recovered from the stun-gun hit – and once she got out of this, she was gonna track down the bitch who'd zapped her and arrange a little 'accident' – she'd found herself in the local precinct station. Like a fucking criminal. The worst bit was being shoved in a holding cell like she was someone who belonged there, instead of being one of the people who beat shit out of them and left them tied up for the cops.

Beating up Emma had been cathartic, but only to a certain degree. It didn't answer the question why. And it didn't fix the bigger matter. Marched in front of Piggy, she had found the boom being lowered on her. She wasn't going on patrol, and she had to wear a fucking tracking bracelet until her fucking court date. Where they'd probably sling her straight back into fucking juvey. Since the thing with Emma and Alan Barnes back in October, she'd thought she was past all that.

And now … now she was standing in Piggy's office, wearing the electrical fucking cuffs that Assmaster or someone had built for her, being told that she needn't sit down by the fat fuck herself. The Halbeard was standing to one side, and Try-hard on the other, with two PRT guards at the door. Right beside her was the lawyer they'd dredged up for her. Sophia despised him even more than she hated everyone else in the office; he wasn't a hero, he didn't have powers or a costume. He didn't know what it was like, out there on the streets. He had no fucking idea what it was like for her. Defend me, will you? Bet you've never had to 'defend' anything real in your life.

"What's this about?" she asked, sullenly. "I haven't gone over the fence. I've worn your fu … your tracking bracelet. Haven't done anything wrong." That wasn't to say that she hadn't planned anything, but she hadn't actually been caught in her preparations. Which was basically the same as not doing anything wrong; if they couldn't prove it, it wasn't true.

Piggy looked pissed. That was to say, she looked the same as she ever did. Except today, Sophia could have sworn she looked even more pissed than ever. She looked like she wanted to flip the desk over on top of Sophia and then dance on top of it. Waddle, really. But, same thing. Who shat in her feed trough?

"I just thought that I'd fill you in on a few new aspects of your case," Piggy grunted. "Just so that you weren't caught unawares." There was a gleam in the fat woman's eyes that Sophia didn't like in the fucking slightest. "It needs to be a fair trial, after all."

The ambulance-chaser cleared his throat. "Uh, Director Piggot, is Shadow Stalker being charged with anything new? Because I'll need time to go over the paperwork." He sounded nervous; Sophia was caught between disgust for his wimpiness and being vaguely happy that someone seemed to be on her side. Even if he was being paid to be there.

"Not precisely," the Director said. "There's been a development in the Taylor Hebert situation. You recall that name, don't you, Shadow Stalker?" Her piggy little gaze was directed straight at Sophia.

Sophia didn't answer at first. If she said no, then everyone would know she was lying her ass off. But she didn't want to answer yes straight away, because that would be doing what Piggot wanted. And she was fucked if she'd do anything that bloated fucking bitch ever told her to do again.

After what she considered to be a reasonable pause, she nodded. "Yeah. What about her?" The contempt in her tone, she figured, would convey what she actually thought of the racist cow.

Piggy narrowed her eyes, which made her look even more piggy. "Well, it turns out that your campaign of lies against her finally bore fruit. Congratulations."

The wimp in the suit broke in again. "Uh, Director, until that accusation's been proven in a court of law, you can't state it outright, or my client will have a case for slander." Sophia was mildly surprised. He was almost acting as if he had a spine. If I saw him being mugged in a dark alley, I might even rescue him.

"Very well," Piggy grunted. "Your alleged campaign of lies. Which saw the ABB take up the fight against her after you were removed from the school. And also poisoned Glory Girl against the girl, due to what she allegedly overheard you saying in the Wards base not so long ago." She fixed Sophia with a glare. "Which, I suspect, she'll be happy to testify about, if and when it comes down to it."

"Wait, what?" Sophia shook her head. "What's Glory Girl got to do with all of this?" She barely knew the girl. There were rumours that New Wave's golden child had kicked the shit out of more thugs than people knew about, for which Sophia gave her props, but that whole 'bright and shining hero' thing just wasn't Sophia's cup of whatever. As for what she'd said in the Wards base, she had said any amount of shit there, especially since her arrest. If she wasn't allowed to go out on patrol, she had to blow off steam somehow.

"We'll get to that," Piggy said. She steepled her flabby fingers in front of her. "Let's start with the fact that there was a gang fight out at the front of Winslow High, just the other day. At the time, I thought nothing of it. But evidence has since come to light that it may have been an abduction attempt by the ABB, on Taylor Hebert. She was rescued, it seems, by the Empire Eighty-Eight."

"I had nothing to do with that!" protested Sophia; the funny thing was, it was true. "And anyway, this just proves my point. Hebert's a fu … a racist. She's Empire."

"You might wish to be careful making unsubstantiated claims like that," Piggy said. "There are slander laws, after all." The gleam in her eyes told Sophia that yes, she was enjoying throwing this back in Sophia's face.

"She hangs around with skinheads all the time!" Sophia snapped. "How does that not prove that she's Empire?" Or at least fucking them, she amended. Ew. That's even worse.

"I associate with capes all day," Piggy reminded her freezingly. "That doesn't make me one, thank God. However." She tapped a file on her desk. "According to this, her father also disliked the idea of her associating with the Empire. So he planned a move out of town. They tried to leave last night. The ABB had other ideas, and it turned into a chase. They crashed their car, and Daniel Hebert was badly injured."

That would be a Hebert, all right. Run away from your problems instead of standing up for yourself and beating them. "So what's that got to do with me?" asked Sophia blankly. "I'm guessing Hebert and her father are dead, or the ABB's got them?" Which means that she can't testify against me. Even if she had the guts to do it. An image came to her of Taylor Hebert, covered in crap, standing in front of Principal Blackwell's desk, demanding that Sophia and Emma be arrested. And Blackwell backing down. Well, maybe she might.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Piggy's voice was dry. Something not dissimilar to a smile crossed her face. "But no. It seems that there was a trigger event, that night. Lung and Oni Lee were on site; apparently this new cape was strong enough drive them off before the Empire showed up in force."

Sophia blinked. This was a twist that she hadn't been expecting. "A new cape? You mean …" Oh, no way. No way fucking Hebert triggered. No way she drove off Lung and Oni Lee. She shook her head. "No way," she said out loud, without really meaning to.

"On the contrary, it's a very strong possibility," Piggot said, apparently reading her mind. "Later, Taylor Hebert was seen in the company of Victor and Othala by none other than Glory Girl and Panacea. Panacea healed Daniel Hebert of serious injuries. When they left, she accompanied them of her own free will." She put her hands flat on the desk. "Which means that there is now a very real possibility that Taylor Hebert is now a cape, strong enough to go toe to toe with Lung and Oni Lee, and she's working with the Empire." She let the silence linger for a few moments; when she spoke again, her voice was heavily laden with sarcasm. "Congratulations, Shadow Stalker. Your little vendetta against Taylor Hebert drove her straight into the Empire's arms. But you couldn't be satisfied with that, could you? You had to push it. And now it looks like you've made them stronger by one very powerful cape."

Sophia felt the icy knife twist, deep in her guts. Her rock-solid view of the world wobbled on its axis. She had always been able to depend on things being a certain way, and this wasn't it. Dimly, she heard her lawyer protesting that Sophia could not be blamed for something a gang did, but she knew, deep down, that it was her doing. It had all been her doing. Without her pushing matters, the ABB would've just let things slide.

But no. This can't be right. Hebert's a wimp. She can't be strong. I'd have known if she could be strong.

"Shadow Stalker." It was Piggy's voice; sharp, demanding.

Shaking her head, Sophia came back to herself. It was one of her strengths; no matter how hard the hit, she was always able to recover, to get back up and come in swinging. She focused on the fat woman across the desk from her. "What?"

"You will discuss this with nobody," Piggot stated. Her eyes bored into Sophia's, in a way that made the unspoken or else seem like more than a casual threat.

Sophia did her best to muster a sneer. "As if I'd tell anyone."

"Good. Get out of my office. Armsmaster, Triumph, stay." Piggot's attention dropped away from Sophia as if she had ceased to exist.

As the PRT guards flanked Sophia and escorted her from the Director's office, Sophia felt her head start to whirl again. How the fuck did Hebert get strong?

There was only one possible answer, only one way that this could fit with her personal worldview. Piggy's wrong. Hebert's faking it. And I'm the only one who can prove otherwise.

They're all scared to act.

It looks like it's up to me.



End of Part Fourteen

Part Fifteen

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Fifteen: Farewells and Continuations



[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: The book The Wind in the Willows was written by Kenneth Grahame, and I own no part of it.]



Medhall Building
Friday Evening, 11 February 2011

"The Mole struck a match, and by its light the Rat saw that they were standing in an open space, neatly swept and sanded underfoot, and directly facing them was Mole's little front door, with 'Mole End' painted, in Gothic lettering, over the bell-pull at the side."

I paused in my reading as I heard a knock on the door. "Excuse me, Dad," I murmured. He didn't respond, of course, but I was almost certain that he returned the squeeze that I gave his hand. Placing it on the covers, I let my powers wrap around me.

Assume positive control: door.

Immediately, the lock clicked open and the door swung wide at my command.

Assume positive control: book stand.

On the second day, Victor had instructed me through the process of creating an articulated book-stand with lockable joints. This was a useful and logical thing to do, as the device allowed me to practice with my powers. Now, I used it to close the book, keeping a slim piece of metal in place as a bookmark. With the book clasped in its metal jaws, the book-stand moved to the corner of the room and locked itself in place.

Peter entered the room, with my father's regular nurse beside him.

Ally 'Peter' wearing high-quality clothing. Ceremony imminent.

Dropping my powers, I stood up from the chair. "Hi, Peter. You've been busy."

He nodded at the book-stand. "So have you. You've got it moving a lot more smoothly than the last time I was here." We moved together, and he took my hands in his. "Victor sent me to get you. He says your armour's ready."

"Oh, excellent," I said. "Just give me a moment?" Turning back to Dad's bed, I took his hand in mine and squeezed it. "I've got to go, Dad. I'll be back later." Leaning down, I kissed him on the forehead. "Love you," I whispered.

The nurse who'd been brought in to take care of him had insisted from the first that I call her Mary. She was middle-aged, sharp-eyed, and didn't let much get past her. Broad-shouldered, dark-haired, white (of course), she cared for Dad's every need, bathing and feeding him, taking better care of him than I would have been able to.

It did help, of course, that Othala's ministrations had borne some fruit; while he hadn't opened his eyes or responded to my voice yet, he would chew and swallow food if put in his mouth, and (with some coaxing) sip on water through a straw. I didn't want to ask about bathroom matters. Mary said she had it handled, so I didn't argue.

"I'll give him his bath while you are out, ma'am," she said deferentially. "And I'll also give him his supper, if you'd like." I didn't know what orders had been given her from above, but she was absolutely determined to anticipate my every need when it came to Dad.

"That would be excellent," I said gratefully. "I don't even know how long this is going to be." Turning back to my boyfriend, I looked at him inquiringly. "Peter?"

He slid his arm over my shoulders; I stepped in close, taking comfort in his nearness. "A couple of hours," he decided. "It's been a while since we had one like this, but it won't be a quick thing. There'll be a service, and we'll give our respects, then George and I will get recognition for what we've done for the Empire, then you'll get your official introduction to the rank and file."

"I'm glad you'll be getting recognised," I said sincerely. "Both of you. You guys went above and beyond." Unbidden, my thoughts called up the memory, still engraved into my brain.

<><> ​

Peter walked toward where two ABB thugs were holding me between them. His eyes were utterly focused as he brought the pistol out from behind his back. I had already started to drop at this point, my arms jerking above my head. His left forearm came across, fist clenched, acting as a brace for his right wrist. The shot thundered loud, the pistol muzzle flaring, as the thug to the left of me was punched backward into the car, releasing my arm and sliding to the ground. Even as the thug to my right began to react, Peter brought the pistol across, his eyes still full of deadly intent. The second shot went off, sounding nowhere near as loud to my abused eardrums. As the second thug fell, Peter strode across to help me up. Looking into his eyes, I could see that the lethal intent was gone; all that they held was love and tenderness toward me.

<><> ​

"Hey, I only shot a few guys," Peter protested with mock modesty, snapping me out of my swirling thoughts. "Not like the way George took on all those guys with just a switchblade, or how you went after Lung with just a pistol." His mouth quirked and he lowered his voice slightly. "Uncle Max was very impressed when he found out."

I flushed slightly as I closed the door behind us. "I forgot how tough he was. Or maybe I remembered, but I couldn't think of what else to do. I wish I'd shot Oni Lee," I added bitterly. "He was the one who killed Bronson and Jenna, and nearly killed you."

"A lot of people want to erase that ass-tard," Peter agreed. "He's one of those guys who doesn't know what restraint means." He turned to me as we walked along. "Him and Lung both. They're animals. It shows in how they operate. They don't care about innocents or collateral damage. I mean, what other cape in Brockton Bay uses grenades?"

I could see his point; while I didn't like to think of other races as being inferior, I had a very low opinion of Asians at the moment. It wasn't just Lung and Oni Lee; the gang members themselves had shown themselves to be nothing more than rapists and murderers, barely worthy of even being called human. I had set off their pistols while in the insulating embrace of my powers, but even after letting emotion rule me once more, the event had failed to affect me. While I regretted their deaths in an intellectual fashion, of actual remorse there was none. They didn't deserve remorse. For nearly killing Dad, for what they wanted to do to me … they had earned everything I did to them.

"I'm going to kill them all," I murmured under my breath.

"Kill who?" asked Peter curiously as we entered the conference room and headed for the lift.

I looked at him, realising that I'd said that aloud. "Um … nobody?"

Peter was a little young to be giving me an old-fashioned look, but he was still pretty good at it. "Come again?"

"Um, nothing?" I looked away, not really wanting to have this discussion.

He didn't particularly seem to care. Stepping in front of me with no apparent regard as to who was the actual cape in the room, he took my jaw in a firm grip, using his thumb and forefinger to bring my face around toward his. "Try that again, this time looking right here," he said, pointing at his own eyes with two fingers.

I didn't want to, but it appeared I had no choice. "Maybe … Lung? Oni Lee? Every member of the ABB dumb enough to get in my way?" It wasn't a boast to make myself look tough, like I had used in the meeting. The ABB was a danger to myself and my Dad, so I had to remove that danger.

"No." His voice brooked no argument.

I began to wilt. If even Peter is against me …

"Not without backup." His firm statement surprised me.

I blinked, staring at him. "What?" Did I just hear …

"You heard me." His grip on my jaw softened, then his hand moved up to cup my cheek. "I'm not going to let you run headlong into danger and get yourself killed. If you're going to do this, you'll do it with backup, or I'll tell Uncle Max myself. Neither of us wants that."

No. Definitely not. I had immense respect for Kaiser, and he apparently held me in some regard, but I had no desire to make the man angry with me. I looked into Peter's eyes. He's only trying to protect me. And he's not going to stop me. Just make sure I have backup.

"Deal?" he asked quietly, and I realised that I hadn't answered him.

"Deal," I agreed, and put my arms around him. "And thanks." For being smart when I would've been stupid.

He held me close. "Any time."

<><> ​

Peter and I stepped out of the lift together. Victor was standing next to a large drill press, carefully examining what looked like a set of pseudo-medieval armour secured to a rack. He looked around as we entered the room. "Taylor, good," he called out. "Come and see how this fits. I used the measurements Othala got from you, and added a little wiggle room."

"Sure, okay." I walked closer, sliding my hand from Peter's. Pulling my powers up, I analysed the armour.

Sliding plates designed for quick entry and exit of armour.

Over-engineered joints designed to supply as much motive power as possible.

Adjustable dimensions on arms, legs and torso.

Telescoping rods on forearms, designed to extend reach in melee combat.

Metal-link chain coiled in drum on back. Sixty feet.

There were other components, but I decided that it would be more efficient to put on the armour and determine their use by seeing what they did.

Assume positive control over stand.

Assume positive control over armour.

Release clamps holding armour.

Move armour closer.

The clamps came loose with a clack-clack. I stepped the armour forward, then made it walk in a circle. It moved fluidly, although it stumbled and nearly fell twice.

"Nice." Peter moved up alongside me. "Can you make it do a dance routine?"

"Not yet." I drew the chain from the drum on the armour's back, sliding it down guides on the underside of the arm. "I do not know how to do a dance routine." The chain extended from below where the left hand of the armour would be. I let out a fifteen-foot length, then turned the armour so that it was facing one of the metal pillars which supported the ceiling. Moving the arm in a throwing motion, I transferred the kinetic energy into the chain; it lashed out, striking the pillar and wrapping around it. Between the armour and the pillar, the chain made a solid horizontal bar.

Peter whistled. "Okay, before? I was kind of impressed. Now? I'm really impressed." He pointed at the chain. "May I?"

"Yes." I observed the inner workings of the chain; it was composed of two different types of links. One could rotate around the axis of the chain, while the other swivelled against that axis. Together, they allowed the chain to be as flexible as possible while maintaining significant metal-to-metal contact. The links were secured together with spring-loaded clamps that fit together like a handshake. If the chain was damaged, I could release the faulty links and join the chain together again without them.

Peter took hold of the chain and attempted to move it. He was unable to exert anywhere near the force necessary, of course. I disconnected the chain from near the wrist of the armour, leaving it standing straight out from the pillar. The armour I guided around to face me while Peter attempted once more to make the chain move.

The plates slid aside, exposing the interior of the armour to me, while the helmet split in two down the middle and opened to each side. It was padded with silicon gel for both comfort and insulation. This was only logical; the first question for anyone wearing metal armour should be 'does it conduct electricity?'.

Turning, I stepped back on to the 'feet' of the armour. It moved forward under my control, fitting itself to me. I paused, adjusting the size slightly, then leaned back fully into the armour. It closed around me, the plates sliding smoothly into place. The arms extended outward slightly then retracted, sliding silicon-gel gloves on to my hands. Only the backs of my hands and fingers had metal attached. This allowed me to use my hands for delicate tasks. I clenched my fist; metal plates slid into place and locked together, protecting my hand in its entirety.

As the two halves of the helmet came together, I found that my hair was being gathered together by an oddly intricate mechanism at the back of my neck. Activating it, I observed as my hair was wound into a tight bun and secured behind my head.

Carefully, I took a step forward, then another. At first, my movement was tentative, but as I adapted to the new situation, I found my power guiding the armour more and more smoothly. Peter had ceased attempting to move the chain and was watching me. Holding out my arm, I extended the chain once more and reconnected the ends to make it whole once more. Releasing the pillar, the chain retracted, sliding through the guides until it was safely stored in the drum.

"How does it fit?" asked Victor. He walked around me, observing the armour from all sides.

"It fits well," I said. "The design is good. My range of movement is adequate. What attachments do you have for the chain?" I extended a yard of it and ran it through various shapes, testing the flexibility.

Victor put his hand to his chin. Gesture: ally 'Victor' is considering options. "Well, I was thinking maybe a grappling hook and a spearhead. Do you have any requests?"

I brought the end of the chain up before my eyes and studied it as I replied. "A grasping claw. A drill. A circular-saw blade. A knife blade." I paused. "Would it be possible to make a sword of some type?"

"You want to put a sword on the end of the chain?" Ally 'Victor' does not sound certain about this.

"Not on the end of the chain." I raised my hand and closed the fist, locking the armour into place around it. "On the arm. Retractable, or flexible for easier storage, like the chain."

"Or both." Victor and I both looked at Peter. He continued to speak rapidly. "In one arm, you've got a pair of blades that sit side by side. Serrated. They can be extended or retracted. Once they're out, you can make them move back and forward really fast, and literally saw through whatever they're cutting."

Ally 'Victor' expression: smile.

Conclusion: Ally 'Victor' approves of concept.

"I like it," said Victor. "And in the other arm?" He picked up a notepad and began to write.

"I'm not thinking so much 'in' as 'on'," Peter said. "Think of a flexible metal strap, like a watchband, but bigger. About four feet long. When it's pulled in tight, it's rigid, like that chain was. Give it edges and a point, and it's a sword. But when it's stretched, it can be wrapped around her arm like a leather strap."

The links of the chain were relatively small, allowing considerable flexibility. I examined them closely. "Could devices be incorporated into the chain itself?" I asked.

Victor tilted his head. Gesture: interest and thoughtfulness. "They could, yes," he said. "Did you have anything in mind?"

"Blades," I said. "Spinning blades. Graspers. Joints to allow a network." The logic was inescapable. Why settle for a simple length of chain when it was possible to have so much more? "The ability to pass electricity along the chain."

Expression: excitement. "Electricity generation," Victor said. "Not on the chain, but a series of magnets … we could make that chain into a homing taser." That sounded very useful.

"Good," I said. "How long will that take?"

"Longer than we've got right now," Victor replied. "We've got that service to go to, remember?"

I remembered.

Analysis: failure to attend will disappoint/anger Kaiser. Sub-optimal situation.

In addition: defunct allies 'Bronson' and 'Jenna' require a show of respect to maintain solidarity.

Conclusion: Armour can be upgraded at any time. Attending service is more important.

"Let's go," I said, turning and walking toward the elevator. Peter flanked me on one side, with Victor on the other.

<><> ​

The chapel seating was arranged in three distinct blocks; the largest section was directly in front of the altar, with two smaller sections facing the altar from the left and right. In front of the altar there was a podium; before that, two coffins had been set up, lids open, so that Bronson and Jenna were lying in state. As I entered alongside Victor, I saw that the majority of the seating was already filled with rank-and-file members of the Empire Eighty-Eight. The front half, closest to the two coffins, held the people I had seen wearing gold pins at the Gathering. All wore black clothing, or at least dark clothing with black ribbons around their arms. The back half of the central seating held the street grunts. It was obvious that they had made some effort to clean themselves up; their clothing was neat, and beards were combed and trimmed. Nearly all the men in this section had freshly shaven heads.

I had not known that Medhall even had a chapel, but it was a logical move. If and when the Empire needed to hold such a memorial as this, it was much more sensible than hiring out a chapel where anyone could see. Music was playing softly as I went with Victor to where the Empire capes were sitting on the left-hand side of the chapel. Peter, following us in, made his way to the right-hand side, where his friends from Winslow were waiting for him. I saw George sitting at one end, his crutch at his side.

There were two spaces free in the front row of the cape seats; Victor took one, next to Othala, and gestured me toward the other, between Othala and Rune. The teen cape turned to watch me approach; I thought her eyes widened a little behind her mask.

Expression: surprised, perhaps impressed.

I lowered myself on to the seat beside her, trying to ensure that my armour did not damage it. This did not happen, quite possibly because the seats were designed to take such burdens. As I sat down, Kaiser rose from his seat and made his way to the podium before the altar. Once I was sure that my seating was stable, I dropped my powers.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mr Anders said smoothly. The speakers reached every corner of the room easily, so he toned his voice down a little. "Thank you for attending this memorial service today. We are gathered here today to remind ourselves that sometimes it's not the adults who fall in service to the Empire. Sometimes, just sometimes, it's the children who are tested too early. It is the children, who we endeavour to train as well as we can, that are called upon all too soon to test what we have taught them. And sometimes … the test is too great for them."

He took a deep breath, audible on the microphone, and gestured at the two open coffins before him. "I will not say this about the two young heroes who lie here before me. Let none say that they failed their test." His voice increased in intensity. "Let none say that Bronson diAngelo faced his test and failed, or that Jenna Parsons was not equal to the task. For if any say that, then they have no idea what happened that night."

He paused then; the only sound was the faintest crackle from the speakers. For my part, I was filled with admiration for the man who stood before us. With just a few powerful words, he had captivated us all.

"Yes, they fell," he said, his tone more gentle. "But they did not die because they were abandoned by their fellows. Nor did they die because they showed cowardice or weakness against their enemies. They were attacked by capes, by Lung and Oni Lee, and they stood and died against impossible odds because that is who we are." By the end, his voice was a blade, carving away at the last of my self-doubts. Kaiser's words had me spellbound. They wove a story of an Empire that I wanted to be a part of – needed to be a part of. Peter's words came back to me; The Empire looks out for its own.

"Bronson diAngelo was a true member of the Empire Eighty-Eight," he said, gesturing down at the left-hand coffin. "He was just sixteen years old, a sophomore at Winslow High. He was so devoted to his friends that he was forced to go into hiding from the police after he 'repaid' a black bitch for attacking one of our sisters." A sob came from the front row of seats; I saw an older man comforting a crying woman. Kaiser waited for a moment, then went on. "When Oni Lee saw fit to toss a grenade into the middle of a group of Bronson's friends, he threw himself upon it. In dying, he selflessly saved the lives of four other people."

A murmur passed through the rank and file; I heard comments like that's the way, boy and balls of pure steel. Tears were trickling down my cheeks inside the helmet. I sniffled, trying to keep it quiet, but Tammi's hand crept into mine anyway and I squeezed it. I was a part of the Empire now, and I could feel the solidarity, taste the loyalty that each and every one of us held for one another, and for the man who led it.

"Jenna Parsons," Kaiser said, gesturing at the right-hand coffin, "was a high school senior at Winslow High. She was fearless in defending her friends and facing her enemies. She died standing alone, giving her all to defend an unarmed Friend of the Empire, when Oni Lee performed his usual cowardly trick and shot her twice in the back. The Friend of the Empire, let it be known, survives to this day, due to Jenna's heroic actions."

Well, I didn't exactly think that Jenna's actions had really saved my life, but that didn't matter. She'd been there for me when I needed her. I was the one who had failed her; I could not help but think that if I'd done things a little differently, been a little smarter, then maybe she'd still be alive. By now I was sobbing quietly, the tears streaming down my face. But I did my best to keep it quiet; I had an image to uphold, after all. The last thing I wanted was for the Empire to think that any of their capes were soft or weak. Tammi squeezed my hand harder, and Othala took my hand from the other side. It helped, a little.

Kaiser was speaking again. "I would like you to hold in your thoughts David and Judith diAngelo, and Paul and Kathryn Parsons." He looked down toward the people in the front row, most of whom seemed to be either crying or trying hard not to. Stepping out from behind the podium, he walked around the coffins and leaned over toward the people I presumed were the grieving parents. He spoke softly to them; part of what he said was drowned out by the music, but I thought I heard the phrases in your trying time and will be remembered. I tried to get my crying under control, with only a little success.

Straightening up, Kaiser went back to the podium. "Now we will hear from someone who knew Bronson and Jenna on a personal level."

For a moment, I thought that he meant me, and panic threatened overwhelm my grief. What do I say? I don't know what to say!

But then Peter got up and moved toward the podium. I could see the strain around his eyes, the glint of the unshed tears within. His self-control was far better than mine, but I could tell from the way his nails were biting into his palms that it wasn't easy for him, either.

"I've known Bronson and Jenna for years," he began. "Jenna was two years older than me, and she always impressed me with how tough she was. She was the one who first taught me how to throw a punch. I will admit, when I was younger I had quite a crush on her. I'm pretty sure she knew, but she never let on. At least, she never let it stop her from kicking my ass when we sparred." He managed a smile at that; more than a few people in the chapel returned it. "I grew out of the crush, eventually, but I never lost my admiration for her."

For a long moment, he stood there, hands on the podium, as if steadying himself to continue. I was still trying to get over that startling revelation – not that Peter had had a crush on Jenna, but that he'd stopped crushing on her. He picked me over her? I wasn't even factoring Julie into this.

Taking a deep breath, he let it out, then started speaking again. "Bronson was … my right hand. He was there for me, through thick and thin, no matter what happened. Before I was transferred to Winslow, he was my eyes and ears there. Afterward, if I needed something done, I'd usually find out that he was already doing it by the time I got around to asking. When I met … when I met a girl there, he was there for her just as much as he was for me. He went above and beyond. I'll never forget him. I'll never forget either of them." He paused for just a moment. "Jenna … Bronson … rest in peace."

Subdued applause broke out then, as he stepped down from the dais and went back toward where his friends were sitting. In the second row of the central seats, I saw Mr Ferguson clapping harder than most. Peter's sisters were not in attendance, for which I was glad. They shouldn't have to go through something like this. I saw Kelly put his arm over Peter's shoulders; I couldn't be certain but I thought that there might have been tears on Peter's face. They certainly were on Kelly's.

Kaiser stepped up to the microphone again. "Thank you, Peter. We will always remember Bronson and Jenna. Their names will be carved with pride on the roll of those who have stood fast for the Empire. They will serve as an inspiration for us all as we move forward." He stepped down from the podium and walked to Bronson's coffin. Laying his hand on the open lid, he seemed to say a few words, but I couldn't hear them. He moved on to Jenna's coffin and did the same.

As the music swelled, I tried to hold my sobbing in check, but it was just too difficult. I knew that if I drew on my powers, I would be able to repress my emotions and bring myself back under control, but I didn't want to do that. I needed to feel this, to say goodbye to Jenna and Bronson with my true emotions.

As Othala moved closer to me and put her arm around my shoulders – not that I could feel it, but the sentiment was appreciated – people started getting up and moving forward. One by one, they passed by the coffins; one by one, they touched the wood or said something quietly. I couldn't hear them and I wasn't sure that I wanted to; what they were saying was for them, and them alone.

More than a few people had noticed me by now, and I was aware that more than one person was looking curiously in my direction. But nobody approached us or said a word about my presence; this was kind of understandable, given that I was wearing armour and sitting with the other capes. I was grateful all the same.

By the time the last of the non-capes had paid their respects and filed from the room, I had stopped crying, but I was still sniffling from time to time. I really, really needed to blow my nose, but the only free cloth I possessed right then was the cog bandanna that Victor had made for me, and I wasn't about to use that.

The trouble was, even if I was willing, it would still have been inaccessible inside my armour. I resolved to mention this problem to Victor at the first opportunity; it seemed like something that needed to be addressed.

In the meantime, I turned to Othala. "Can I borrow a tissue or something? Please?"

"Of course," she said at once. Reaching into one of the pouches on her belt, she pulled out not one but two tissues and handed them to me.

"Oh, thank you, thank you," I babbled, then drew on my powers for just a moment to retract the metal plates protecting my face. Just for that moment, all the emotions went away, then came back twice as bad when I dropped the powers once more.

Crying does not look good on me; I was pretty sure my face was all blotchy, and I knew that my nose was running. I couldn't do anything about the blotchiness, but I could blow my nose, repeatedly. Then I used the other tissue (because the first wasn't much good for anything any more) to wipe the tears (and other stuff) from my face.

"How are you holding up?" asked Othala, even though the answer should have been painfully clear.

"Shittily," I said in a low voice. "About the only good thing about crying inside a metal helmet is that nobody can really see you. Not being able to wipe my nose was horrible."

"We know," Tammi broke in from my other side. "We could hear you sniffling. You sounded like a Merchant trying to snort a whole key at once."

"Seriously, Rune?" Othala sounded vaguely disappointed. "These people were Remote's friends. Bronson saved her life. Have just a little respect here."

"Dammit," muttered Rune. "Sorry. I hate funerals. They suck so hard, is all. I keep wanting to say something weird to make people laugh." She offered me a half-hearted smile and a shrug. "No hard feelings?"

"No hard feelings," I agreed. "Here, take care of this for me?" Before she knew what I was doing, I had tucked the thoroughly used tissues into her hand. "Thank you, much appreciated."

"Oh, what the? Ew. Ewww. Eugh." Rune looked down at the tissues. "Oh, god. This is disgusting."

"So find a trash can," Othala advised cheerfully. "And if you even think of dropping them in one of the coffins, I will personally tell Kaiser." She stood up and offered her hand to me. "Do you feel up to viewing the bodies, Remote?"

"No, but I will in a second." I brought my powers up, allowing pure logic to flush useless emotion from my thoughts. Assume positive control: armour.

Gesture: hand-holding. Non-romantic. Supportive.

Analysis: support not needed due to zero emotional requirement.

Secondary analysis: ally 'Othala' is aware of this.

Conclusion: ally 'Othala' requires emotional support.

Taking Othala's hand, I stood up; while I considered it a good idea to practice moving in the armour without my power moving it, this was not an ideal time or place for experimentation. We stepped forward to the coffins. Kaiser was off to the side, conversing in low tones with Krieg and Hookwolf. The latter glanced at me and then said something to Kaiser, which I didn't catch.

Flanked by Justin and Rune, Othala and I stepped up to the side of Bronson's coffin. He looked as though he were asleep, although I knew that this was not the case.

"He was a good ally," I said quietly to Othala. "They both were. I liked them. They did not question Peter's decisions where I could hear them. They treated me well."

Allowing ABB to kill allies is sub-optimal.

ABB believes that killing Empire allies is acceptable.

ABB must be apprised of error in a timely fashion.

"They were good people, honey," she said softly. I felt her hand squeeze mine. "But I don't want you doing anything stupid, like going out alone to get revenge."

"Peter has already spoken to me about that," I replied. "I will not go out alone. When I do go against Lung and the ABB, I will take appropriate backup with me." I would need better armour, of course. Lung was quite powerful, and Oni Lee was scarcely less so. While I did not feel fear when using my powers, a certain amount of pragmatic caution was always a good idea.

"Good," she said, and squeezed my hand again.

I moved over to Jenna's coffin, with Othala beside me. Again, Jenna looked as though she was simply asleep. I recalled the stickiness and warmth of her blood on my hand as I attempted to stop her bleeding. It was likely, with my ignorance of such training, that I had not helped very much, if at all. I turned to Othala. "If I had known first aid, would she be alive?"

Expression: grimace. Conclusion: Unpleasant topic.

"I doubt it, honey." Othala looked down at Jenna. "She was shot before you gained your powers. Aside from the blood loss, I'm pretty sure that something vital was hit. If I'd had the chance to give her uninterrupted regeneration, she probably would have pulled through. Anything less than that, though …" She trailed off.

Vocalisation: sigh. Conclusion: sadness.

Option: Provide emotional support.

I squeezed her hand. "You did all you could. It's not your fault."

She squeezed back. "So did you. Never forget that."

Analysis: non-zero chance that she is lying for the purposes of emotional support.

I did not dwell on the possibility. What had happened, had happened.

Projection: Preparation for future endeavours is an optimal course of action.

"I need to learn first aid," I said. "In case there is a situation where giving first aid will save a life. Also, I need to learn how to fight. Jenna was going to teach me." I looked down at the dead girl again. Analysis: she would have been a good teacher.

Othala took her hand from mine and put her arm around my shoulders. As before, I felt nothing from the contact, but I believed that I understood her purpose.

Analysis: attempting to provide emotional support.

"Of course you can," she said, using her free hand to wipe at her eyes. "I'll talk to Victor."

"Thank you," I said. Observation: Positive reinforcement between allies helps maintain an optimal working environment.

Kaiser was leaving the chapel, along with Krieg and Hookwolf. Victor moved toward us. "We're needed in the main area," he said.

Othala took her arm away from my shoulders and turned toward him. "Can we have a moment?"

"Sure," Victor said. "But Kaiser wants to make the announcements."

"Only when Taylor's ready," Othala said.

Tone: serious. Ally 'Othala' concerned about emotional distress.

Conclusion: Ally 'Othala' has forgotten about emotional disconnect.

"I'm fine," I said. I was feeling no emotions at the moment. They would return, of course, once I released my powers. However, if I made certain that I was in private when I did this, I would not make the team look bad. "Let's go."

"All right then, honey." Othala wiped her eyes again, and blew her nose. "This is never easy."

Analysis: Ally 'Othala' feels responsibility for loss of Jenna.

Option: Provide emotional support.

I placed my arm around her shoulders. Even without the armour, I was taller than her; with it, I was definitely so. She leaned against me.

"We should go." I spoke quietly.

Vocalisation: sigh. "All right." She looked down into Jenna's coffin one last time, then trailed her fingers along the wood at the edge.

Taking my arm from her shoulders, I closed my faceplate and turned toward the door into the other room. Victor took up position on Othala's left; with me at her right, and Rune and Crusader behind us, we went into the other room.

The people from the chapel were standing here and there in small groups. I noted that the higher-ranking members of the Empire were separate from the lower ranks. It was not immediately apparent as to whether this was deliberate or by chance. Two long tables held refreshments.

At the far end of the room was another podium; this one was somewhat more substantial than the one in the chapel. Kaiser was standing at it, talking once more to Krieg. Hookwolf was not with them this time; looking around, I saw him standing with some of the lower-ranked Empire members, along with Cricket.

As we entered, Kaiser turned toward the microphone and switched it on. Krieg stepped back and to the side. "Ladies and gentlemen," Kaiser said, his voice booming from the speakers. "We have paid our respects to our fallen. Now, let us show our appreciation to those who survived to tell the tale."

By the time he finished speaking, all eyes were on him. The low-voiced conversations throughout the room had ceased. He paused for a moment, then spoke clearly. "I call upon George Alfred and Peter Ferguson."

Peter moved away from where he had been standing with his father, while George limped forward from a group of the Winslow crowd. When they got to the bottom of the steps, Peter paused to assist George; together, they climbed up on to the podium, George's crutch clunking on each step.

Kaiser waited until they were standing alongside him before he began speaking once more. "George Alfred was assigned to protect a Friend of the Empire who had pledged to join our ranks. The ABB decided that this was not to be, and attempted to kidnap or kill her."

He paused; I heard mutters such as fucking chinks and motherfucking assholes pass through the crowd. These voices quieted, and he kept talking. "Thanks to George's dedication to duty, this did not happen. Alone, he took arms against a dozen ABB, sending the potential recruit to safety while he stood rearguard. With just a switchblade, he killed at least one of them and wounded many more, suffering grievous injuries in the process. When the recruit returned with help, he was near death, but they got him to medical attention and he is recovering well." He put his hand on George's shoulder. "Well done, Mr Alfred. You are a pride and a credit to us all."

Applause broke out through the crowd; it was much louder than it had been in the chapel, and some added whistles and shouts of congratulation to the din. George ducked his head a little. I saw Peter lean over toward him; he may have said something, but I could not hear it. Whatever it was, it caused George to raise his head again, tears glinting in his eyes.

Kaiser let the clapping go on for a few moments before he cleared his throat. Silence fell quickly, and he spoke into the microphone. "Peter Ferguson was there when Bronson diAngelo and Jenna Parsons were killed. He was attempting to defend a family member of the Friend of the Empire whom Jenna was protecting, when Oni Lee shot him in the chest. Even wounded, he was defiant to the end. He never gave up and never surrendered." He placed his hand on Peter's shoulder. "Peter, you are a pride and a credit to us all."

Once more, the applause arose. I attempted to clap, but the silicon-gel gloves made an odd sound, so I stopped.

At some unseen signal, Peter bowed to the crowd. Beside him, George did the same, albeit somewhat more clumsily, and then they descended from the podium. I watched as George rejoined his friends, while Peter went to his father. The older man put his arm around Peter's shoulders and squeezed.

Analysis: Peter and his father respect one another.

"And finally," Kaiser's voice boomed from the speakers, "we have one last person to recognise. Our newest cape recruit. Remote, if you can come up here, please?"

I recognised that as an order rather than a request. Not that I would have rejected it as a request, but I could see that it was a good thing to respond immediately. Leaving Victor and Othala, I moved forward as the crowd made way for me. The stares were more intense now that I had been given a name.

Analysis: they are curious. Strange cape, no information. Armour gives little clue to age or gender.

Conclusion: this is deliberate.

I mounted the steps to stand beside Kaiser. Within the armour, I was perhaps a little taller than him, though I could not be sure. Without any other cues, I adopted the same stance as Peter had; standing foursquare, facing the audience, hands clasped behind my back.

"Our newest cape," Kaiser said, "is called Remote. It is due to her actions that Peter is alive today, as she was the Friend and pledged recruit whom Jenna was protecting. During that battle, she triggered with powers, and proceeded to wipe the battlefield with both Lung and Oni Lee. She has since joined us as a full member. As you can see, she has a costume and a name, and I expect great things of her in the future."

The applause was not entirely unexpected. Had I been in possession of my emotions, I would likely have been flustered or even embarrassed, but that was a non-issue. I had already seen that the Empire held its capes in great regard, and no doubt considered my defeat of the ABB capes to be a significant feat. I disagreed; driving Lung off had been relatively easy, considering my powerset and the number of cars, that had been available. Procuring the grenades from Oni Lee had simply made the job that much simpler.

Waiting for the applause to die down, I inclined my head in the same sort of bow that Peter had used. However, before I could step down, someone called out "Speech!" Others took up the cry; within seconds, it was resounding throughout the room.

I turned to look at Kaiser; while I could not see his face behind the metal faceplate – any more than he could see mine – he stepped back from the microphone.

Gesture: shrug. Analysis: Tentative approval.

Conclusion: do not say anything controversial or inflammatory.

Secondary conclusion: Keep it short.

I stepped up to the microphone. "Hello." There was more clapping, but it quickly died down. "I am Remote. I want to thank Peter, Bronson, Jenna, Victor, Othala and Kaiser for all having faith in me. If it were not for them, then I wouldn't be here." It was the simple truth, but they applauded anyway. I suspected that they would have applauded anything I said. "I will not let you down. Thank you all."

Bowing again, I stepped away from the microphone. Kaiser did not move or speak to stop me, so I stepped down from the podium. However, Crusader met me at the bottom of the steps with his hand outstretched to shake. I shook it; he stepped aside, and I found myself facing Peter's father. He also shook my hand, then leaned in toward me. "You've done well, baby girl," he said very quietly.

"Thank you, sir," I said. He stepped aside, and I shook hands with another member of the Empire. Then it was Rune, grinning broadly. She crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out, which I noted but did not react to.

Before long, a line had formed before me and a pattern was emerging. I would get my hand shaken, the person would say something brief and I would respond. Then the next person would step in and shake my hand. I learned to turn my hand so that the metal backing on my gloves took the force of the handshake, but even so my hand was sore before it was over.

Not everyone stepped up to shake my hand – Hookwolf and Cricket didn't, although most of the skinheads did – and Krieg had left the room on some errand before I finished my speech. However, enough did that it was some time before the line petered out. Toasts were called for; I was given a glass by Othala and raised it, but did not drink as that would have required me to open my faceplate.

After we had toasted the fallen heroes, the living heroes, and the Empire itself, there was a pause in the announcements.

Othala took this opportunity to pull me aside. "Is your hand all right? I notice you're holding your glass in your left hand."

"It is a little sore," I admitted. "Some of those men do not know their own strength." Or perhaps they had been trying to prove their worth to a cape of the Empire; I neither knew nor cared.

Othala nodded. "Men."

Gesture: rolling of eyes. Tone: displeased.

Conclusion: Ally 'Othala' believes that Empire members were squeezing harder than necessary.

"It will be all right," I said. "I just need to soak it for a while."

"Well, nobody's going to object if you leave the proceedings now," she pointed out. "I'll fix your hand, and you can get back to your dad."

I nodded. "That would be a good thing."

"Excellent. I'll just go and tell Victor." She looked around for her husband.

I spotted him first and pointed. "Over there."

"Oh, thank you." Expression: smile. Analysis: ally 'Othala' pleased. She moved off toward him.

"Hey, there." The voice was Peter's. I turned around to find him standing near me. "Nice speech."

"Thank you. You didn't shake hands with me." I was reasonably sure that I knew why, but I made the observation anyway.

"Hey, you already know I think you're awesome." This was true, whether or not the belief itself was accurate. It also matched my earlier conclusion.

"Othala and I will be leaving the gathering," I said. "Should I tell Kaiser?" It seemed to be a sensible question, as I did not wish to offend the man.

"No need," Peter said. "He already knows." A tilt of his head showed me which way to look. He was correct, of course; Victor and Kaiser were in the same group, so that Kaiser could hear what Othala was saying.

Othala came back over to us. "Hello, Peter. Has Remote told you that we're leaving?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said. Tone: respectful. "Would you mind if I met you where you're going to?"

"Well, that depends on Remote." Othala turned to me. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all." While my powers were on, I could not fathom the emotional attachment between myself and Peter, but Peter was a confirmed ally, and thus his good opinion of me was worth preserving.

"Good." She took my hand in hers. "Let's go."

<><> ​

It didn't take long for us to travel down in the elevator and leave the armour on its stand. This iteration had served its purpose, but Victor had said that he wanted to improve on it before I took it into the field. "Don't drop your powers," Othala warned me as I stepped out of the armour. "Not yet. I'll tell you when."

I didn't understand why, but I accepted her judgement. All the way up in the elevator, I continued to observe the secret workings of the building around us. Every door, every elevator, every gun. Every other machine, large or small.

The apartment that I shared with my father was on a different floor to the wake being held for Bronson and Jenna, so we did not have to worry about being seen. I followed her to my front door, where Peter was waiting for us. The key to the apartment was in my pocket, but I simply took control of the door and the lock and manipulated them to let us in.

Within was the front room, set out like a combination lounge/dining area. I waited until Othala and Peter had entered, then locked the door once more. Othala pointed me at the sofa. "Sit there. Peter, you sit on that side of her, and I'll sit this side."

I wasn't sure what she was attempting to achieve, but I did as I was told. Peter sat beside me. "Uh, Othala, what …?"

"Peter, shh." She did not raise her voice but he stopped talking anyway. "All right, Taylor. You can drop your powers now."

Just for an instant after I did so, nothing happened, then a tidal wave of emotional backlash hit me and carried me away. I began to cry again, bawling my eyes out, as the pain and loss and grief of the farewell service hit me all at once. Peter held me in his arms, soothing me, his voice soft and gentle in my ear.

I became aware that Othala was also talking to me, her hand rubbing gentle circles on my back. Her power was also flooding through me; my sore hand had stopped aching, and all the other little itches and pains had gone away. I also realised that my face was pressed into Peter's chest; not that I particularly minded this, but my streaming eyes and runny nose had wiped themselves all over his good shirt.

Slowly, I pulled away from Peter a little. Not so much that he let go of me – I never wanted him to let go of me – but just so that I wasn't making a mess of his shirt any more. Although it was a little late in that regard, I noted with just a smidge of embarrassment.

"Sorry," I mumbled, then sniffled. Entirely without surprise, I felt a tissue being pushed into my hand. I wiped my eyes and blew my nose, and felt somewhat better.

"What for?" asked Peter gently. His fingers ran up the back of my neck and slid through my hair. I felt a shivery sensation run down my spine, but it was a nice shivery sensation, so I didn't object in the slightest.

"Being a blubbery mess," I said, indicating where my tears and snot were soaking into his shirt. "Falling apart at the first provocation."

"One, you're my girlfriend, so you're allowed to be a blubbery mess on every single one of my shirts if you like," he said, smiling fondly at me. Pulling me close, he kissed me gently on the forehead; I closed my eyes and smiled a little damply. "Two, we both know damn well that your powers bottle up your emotions. So if you've been through an emotionally-charged experience, of course you're going to fall apart. If you didn't, it would mean that you're some kind of sociopath, and I'd hate to fall head over heels for a sociopath."

He loves me. He really does. The warm feeling started in my chest and spread out in all directions, flushing from my face through to my toes and out to my fingertips. I snuggled into him, feeling his arm strong around me, and lifted my face to his. His lips lowered to meet mine, and I kissed him.

The last time we had kissed, I had been in charge. This time, it was all him. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the feeling, letting myself be swept away again; this time, by a good emotion. Awash in happiness, I floated, feeling the last of the pain and suffering fade away.

When I came to myself once more, Othala was across the room, carefully studying a watercolour landscape on the wall. I was grateful for her discretion, and slightly embarrassed that she had been there while Peter and I kissed. After a moment of hesitation, I cleared my throat.

"Oh, sorry," she said as she turned. "I was just looking at this painting. How are you feeling now?" I caught the twinkle in her eye as she smiled.

Did she arrange this with Peter to make me feel better? No, I don't want to know. "I, uh, good," I mumbled. "Thanks." A flush started to mount in my cheeks. "Thanks for … well, for being here for me."

"That's okay," she said quietly. "You're one of us. We take care of our own." Crossing the room, she held out her hand. "I'm going to go sit with your father. Do you want to read to him while I do it?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah. Definitely." I felt a stab of guilt that I hadn't remembered that for myself, but then, I'd been through a trying evening. Accepting her help, I got up from the sofa. My legs had been folded under me, and I hobbled on pins and needles. Peter, the rat, got up with no problems at all.

We went through into the back room of the apartment, where Dad lay in bed. He was wearing different pyjamas and Mary had combed his hair; beside the bed, the monitors showed their reassuring readouts. I settled into my favourite chair and Peter perched on the arm, while Othala sat across the bed from us.

Taking up my powers, I assumed direct control of the book-stand. It walked over to us and adjusted itself to be at a comfortable reading height. Once it was locked into place, I dropped my powers again; while it was useful on occasion to be unaffected by emotion, the evening's events had shown how bad it could be for me.

Reaching out, I took Peter's hand in my right and Dad's in my left. "Hi, Dad," I said cheerfully. "How have you been? You should see the armour that Victor made me. It's pretty badass, but he says he can improve on it. Othala says you're improving a little more each day, which is awesome." I squeezed his hand, and fancied that I felt his fingers tighten in return. "Anyway, I suppose you're waiting to see what happens next in the book." Settling back, I glanced up at Peter and shared a smile with him. Then I turned my eyes to the waiting page.

"Mole reached down a lantern from a nail on the wail and lit it, and the Rat, looking round him, saw that they were in a sort of fore-court …"


End of Part Fifteen

Part Sixteen

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Sixteen: Montage



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



Medhall Building
Saturday, 12 February 2011

I followed Peter into the conference room. It was spacious, somewhat longer than it was wide, with picture windows down one side showing a view of the Brockton Bay skyline. A thick padded mat had been laid down over the expensive carpet, turning it into an impromptu dojo. The long table which I guessed normally made up the centrepiece of the room was now down at the far end, with a few guys stacking its ergonomically adjustable chairs against it.

Peter dropped the duffel bag he was holding and clapped his hands once. "Okay, that's fine. You can go." He was wearing light sweats and was barefoot, but he still looked and sounded like a leader to me. Maybe I was biased, but I didn't care.

I was also wearing sweats, with the cog bandanna tied around my face as a mask. While Othala had gone shopping to get me clothes, she hadn't gotten the memo that I was supposed to be learning self-defence, so she hadn't picked up any exercise clothing for me. So Tammi had donated a set of her sweats to the cause until I could get my own. The trouble was that the outfit was a couple of years old, so that while the top fitted me well enough across the shoulders, Tammi wasn't very tall even now, so the trousers were about six inches too short. It looked like I was wearing the exercise equivalent of capri pants.

As the workers filed past us, each man gave Peter a respectful nod, as befitted the boss' nephew (and whatever else he was to them). When they got to me, I tried not to cringe. I looked ridiculous, and I knew it. But they didn't seem to care; instead, they practically bowed. "Ma'am," they murmured as each one passed me. I was still blinking as the door closed behind the last one.

"What was that all about?" I asked Peter. "Did you set that up to make me feel good?" To be honest, if he had, then he'd succeeded. Having a bunch of tough-looking guys show me obvious deference was definitely a boost to my ego.

"Not in the slightest," he said, with a gesture at my mask. "They don't know your real name, or that I'm your boyfriend. But they do know that the cog mask or armour means that you're Remote, who is an Empire cape." He winked. "Which means that so long as you're wearing that mask, you could run around in a bikini and they'd still bow to you." Grinning roguishly, he waggled his eyebrows. "I know that I'd be paying close and personal attention to you."

"Peter!" I punched him in the arm, but I couldn't stop grinning under the mask. Or blushing. "You can't mean that. About them bowing to me, I mean," I added hastily. I knew him too well to challenge the other bit.

Still smirking, he draped his arm over my shoulders. "Sure I mean it. You outrank me, and you definitely outrank them. So they're showing you the appropriate respect." It was surreal, the way he made it sound so matter-of-fact. And then he had to spoil it. "I'll have to see Victor about getting you a cog-patterned bikini."

This time, I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow. "Don't you dare!"

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Is that an official order?"

I blinked. "Wait … I can actually give orders? Is that even a thing?" I had to be hearing wrong.

He shrugged. "Well, yes. If you'd, say, told one of those guys to go and get you a soda, you can be damn sure he'd be getting you a soda right now." Peter captured my hands, then leaned over and kissed me briefly through the bandanna-mask. "You're someone important now. And not just to me."

I shook my head. "You have no idea how weird it is to be someone special for the first time in my life. I mean, it was one thing to have you guys say hi to me at Winslow, and another to be sitting in with the Empire capes, but this is … wow." I squeezed his hands, then let go and pulled him into a hug. "I'm just so glad you're here."

"I'm kinda glad you're here too, Taylor," he said with a chuckle. "Even if you weren't a cape, you'd still be really special to me." I felt his head rest against mine.

"You're special to me all the time," I murmured. "It's so good to have you to lean on, in every sense of the word." Suiting action to word, I leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his arms around me.

"Well, you can lean on me all you like," he assured me. "But right now, 'leaning on me' is going to have to be redefined as 'learning self-defence'." He kissed the side of my neck; I shivered as the touch of his lips on my sensitive skin sent a thrill through my body.

"What if I ordered you not to?" I asked, more to see what he would say than from any intent to do it.

Peter chuckled. "Prior orders would supersede yours. Uncle Max wants you to be able to take care of yourself."

I pulled back a little and lifted the mask so that he could see me stick my tongue out at him. "As my boyfriend, you suck at anticipating my needs. What if I don't want to do this training?"

For some reason, this seemed to amuse him even more. "Well, as it happens, I think you need to learn how to defend yourself. So whether Uncle Max said so or not, I'd still be pushing you to do it."

I gave him my best puppy-dog eyes. "I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

"No," he said, then cupped my cheek with his hand. "But if it makes you feel any better, if I wasn't already in the Empire, that look you just gave me would have made me want to join."

I giggled, then kissed the palm of his hand. "It actually does make me feel a bit better, to be honest. But I suppose that we've wasted enough time. If Kaiser wants me to learn how to not get my ass kicked, then I guess I should learn that." Although I wasn't quite sure how much this training would help me if I happened to find myself in a place where I didn't have anything to work with. Not that I expected that to happen, but recent history had made me a master of pessimism.

Still, I was now a member of the most amazing cape team in the city. They were kind, supportive, willing to help me out with armour and equipment, and my boyfriend was going to teach me how to kick ass and take names. Or rather, how to avoid having my ass kicked. And with Victor improving my armour, I was really looking forward to what he could make of it.

"We should definitely do that," he agreed, walking out into the middle of the mat. "Come on out here. I need to see what you already know."

"Easy," I said, following him. "Nothing. It's kind of depressing."

"What is?" He turned to face me.

I sighed. "In the movies, when you get your ass kicked a dozen times by the same bully, you end up learning how to defend yourself. In real life, when I spend a year being pushed around by the same black bitch and her suck-up friends, all I get is depression and bad grades."

He tilted his head with an evil grin. "About that … would you like some incentive? For learning to defend yourself … offensively?"

I looked at him, wondering where he was going with this. "You gonna massage my feet afterward?" The idea made me melt inside, just a little bit. Seriously, the guy had magic hands. "And my calves?"

"Well, I was gonna do that anyway, but …" The abrupt 'but' caused me to snap out of my fantasy involving him, me, and a bottle of lemon-scented massage oil. Lemon … mmm …

"But? But what?" I asked, not sure where his serious expression had come from.

"But … Uncle Max told me not to tell you this before you had joined the Empire and proven yourself." He put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes. "I need your word that you won't pass this on to anyone else, unless Uncle Max says it's okay."

"Wow. Serious, much?" I tried to chuckle, but it didn't come out right. All this hush-hush business was making me a little nervous. "Sure, Peter. If you think this needs to be kept secret, then I'll keep it a secret. But what's this about an incentive?"

"Well, it's like this." He took a deep breath. "Remember Sophia Hess? Numero uno in your bully brigade? Now, imagine if she was, say … Shadow Stalker, of the Wards."

It took me a second or so to get it, then my eyes opened wide and I forgot to breathe for a moment. That black bitch is … a Ward? She got away with everything because she's a fucking superhero? It made sense. It made so much sense. Which made all of the Protectorate … "They're on her side," I whispered. "All of them. Protectorate. Wards. PRT. Everyone. They must have talked to the school. That's why nothing ever happened to her. Because they were on her fucking side." For the first time, I understood what 'race traitor' truly meant.

I recalled screaming at Blackwell to have her arrested. She hadn't been able to wriggle out of it, not after the locker incident. But I was willing to bet that the moment she was out of sight, the PRT had snapped Sophia up and spirited her away to safety, because they considered a psychotic black Ward to be more important than her unpowered white bullying victim.

"Probably," Peter agreed. "It did answer a few questions I had. Though she hasn't been back to school, and Shadow Stalker hasn't been out and about recently."

"They probably gave her a nice cushy vacation with pay or something," I said bitterly. "'Oh, you got caught doing something naughty? Here, have a slap on the wrist.'" I put on a snooty voice and mimicked a limp-wristed slap at my own hand as I said this. Peter's appreciative chuckle didn't help my temper. "Meanwhile, if we'd done that to her, we'd all be in jail right now."

He stopped laughing abruptly as the truth of what I was saying smacked him in the face. "Sonuvabitch."

"Yeah. What you just said." My own anger ebbing, I looked at him curiously. "How do you know that about her, anyway?"

He tried to assume an innocent expression, which I saw through straight away. "Well, you know that little chat I had with Emma at the time?"

I frowned, trying to think back. "Uh, maybe?"

"Well, I did." He smiled. "I spoke with her about … let's say … atoning for her sins. She decided to roll over on Sophia. In the process, she told me about the Shadow Stalker side of things." His smile widened until he resembled the cat with the canary.

"Wait, so you knew since the locker thing, and you didn't tell me?" Feeling a little betrayed, I shoved him lightly. "What part of 'girlfriend' do you not understand?"

"Like I said, Uncle Max said not to tell you until you were a full member of the Empire," he reminded me. "Information security and all that. But now you're definitely a full member, so I'm telling you. You just can't use the information unless Uncle Max says so." He took hold of my shoulders once more and stared into my eyes. "This is important, Taylor. I'm trusting you with this."

I nodded. "Okay, yeah, I got it. I can't tell anyone, and I can't use it, unless Kaiser says so." I didn't like not being able to shout it from the rooftops, but I could see the logic there.

He smiled. "Excellent. So, are you motivated to learn how to kick ass?"

"Oh, hell yes. Next time I see Shadow Stalker, I'm going to wreck her sorry butt." Stepping away from him a little, I tried to stand like he was. "What do I do first?"

"First off, you need to put your weight on the balls of your feet," he instructed me. As I tried to comply, he glanced down and shook his head. "No, no, the front of your feet." Lifting his right leg, he showed me the sole of his bare foot and pointed at the section just behind his toes. "There. Not the heel."

"But the heel's more like a ball than that," I protested, even as I obeyed his direction. "Why do they call that the balls of your feet? It doesn't make sense."

"I have no idea." He moved back in front of me, making the light sweats he wore look kind of awesome. I just looked like I was wearing hand-me-downs, which I guess I was. "I guess it's better than calling it 'the lumpy bit just behind your toes'. Now concentrate. We're not going to be doing kicks for a bit, if ever, but you do need to know how to throw a punch and defend from one."

I nodded and held up my hands, doing my best to emulate his stance. "What am I doing first?"

The corner of his mouth quirked wryly. "Well, to begin with, I'm going to smack you around a lot until you learn to recognise the beginning of a hostile move. I'll show you what I'm doing, and then we're going to do it over and over again. Once you show that you've got some idea of what's happening, then we'll move into more advanced territory."

"Yay." I made my voice utterly deadpan. "Some boyfriend you are."

He stopped and dropped his hands, then stepped toward me. "Taylor, I'm sorry." Gone was the bantering tone. Putting his hands on my shoulders, he went on. "I wasn't even supposed to be doing this. I asked – we were – Jenna was supposed to do this with you. I should have been sitting on the sideline, offering unhelpful advice and making this fun." His voice broke, and he wrapped his arms around me, pressing his face into my shoulder. I held him tightly, feeling warm tears soaking into my top.

"Hey," I said, rubbing his back in circles. "Hey, Peter. Anything I do with you is fun. I'm sorry, too. I wish Jenna was here to smack me around, so you could tell me what I was doing wrong." Turning my head, I kissed him behind the ear. At the touch of my lips, I felt him shiver. I could have had fun with that, but instead I just held him more tightly. "I miss her too."

Somehow, we found ourselves on our knees, still in one another's arms. I held Peter tightly as, for the first time since I had known him, he broke down and cried.

<><> ​

Coil's Base

In one timeline, Thomas Calvert was enjoying the weekend at home; at this particular moment in time, he was mowing the lawn. In the other, the lawn was going unmowed and he was in costume, sitting in the overpriced yet ergonomically comfortable chair in the office that he had set up in his underground base.

In an idle moment, he had wondered if he wasn't pandering to stereotypes by setting up the base, complete with explosives buried in the walls, in an underground lair. The number of hoops he'd had to jump through in order to build the base without coming to official notice was astounding, though he'd managed to avoid most of the bribery involved by indulging in a little blackmail here and some murder there. But that was so time-consuming.

Why not simply build an office block and keep ownership of the top five storeys or so? There's no rule to say that a secret base actually has to be hidden. It would be simplicity itself to put his mercenaries on the books as regular employees and rig up daily operational stats for the faux business … ah, who am I kidding? It's more fun this way.

So he sat in his costume in his underground base and picked up the phone. Two quick stabs of his finger and the call went through.

"Unit One." It was a low voice, masculine. "No sign of targets. Unit One, out."

Tapping the disconnect button, he speed-dialled Unit Two, and so on through the spotting units that he had placed throughout the city. The main target he sought was a teenage girl called Taylor Hebert; the evidence that had been gathered so far suggested that she had undergone a trigger event nine days previously. Since the brief encounter on the Boardwalk, she had dropped out of sight altogether. However, the smart money had her with the Empire Eighty-Eight, either willingly or otherwise, along with her father.

If, as it seemed, she had been involved with the massacre of ABB goons that left Lung missing an arm, then she would appear to be a cape of some power and capability. Exactly what she could do was still not quite ascertained; the PRT analysts had narrowed it down to a Shaker effect of some sort, possibly telekinetic in nature.

Fresh trigger, powerful cape. Better she work for me than end up with the already-overflowing Empire lineup. And of course, her father makes the perfect 'bargaining' chip.

His secondary target was Peter Ferguson, known to associate with her at Winslow High School. The third was unlikely to show, but Coil rarely left things to chance; if Daniel Hebert popped up in any of his normal haunts, Calvert would get a head start on the bargaining.

The day wore on. In one timeline, Thomas Calvert finished mowing his lawn and started in on trimming the edges. In the other, Coil checked in once more with his spotters. The day wouldn't be a total waste even if none of the targets popped up; after all, the yard work had needed to be done anyway. But he would much rather his other goals be advanced.

Such was not to be. As darkness fell, he dropped the timeline where he'd kept the mercenaries on alert all day. In the reality where he had been cutting the grass, they had been resting and relaxing, performing basic equipment maintenance, and in general having a quiet day. He would pay them all the same, of course; there was no sense in alienating a reliable source of useful manpower.

Without good reason, anyway.

<><> ​

Sunday, 13 February, 2011

With my powers activated, opening the meeting-room doors was simplicity itself. Kaiser, Victor and Othala turned to look as I entered, the doors swinging shut gently behind me. This time, I was wearing the armour that Victor had made. The Empire Eighty-Eight was a powerful group; it only made sense to project power and confidence of my own.

Kaiser afforded me a nod of greeting, then turned to Krieg and began a low-voiced conversation. I moved around the table and pulled out my chair. As I sat down, Rune turned from where she had been speaking to Crusader and whispered, "Hey."

Sliding back the retractable plates from my face, I whispered, "Hey," in return.

Politeness when dealing with allies maintains group cohesion.

On my other side, Victor leaned forward to speak past Othala. "You should see the armour I'm putting together for you now. It'll knock your socks off."

Expression: smile.

Conclusion: pleased with himself.

"I look forward to seeing it." It was true. The armour I was wearing right now was quite impressive. Any improvements would only serve to enhance my utility within the team.

"Well, with the amount of work you're putting into it, buddy, she should be able to kick Alexandria's ass with it," Crusader commented. "I've never seen you work so hard on an engineering project before."

Expression: grin.

Analysis: humour, truthful.

Secondary analysis: Victor must not perform much engineering work in general.

Observation: Victor is very enthusiastic about working on armour.

Conclusion: Victor may wish to use engineering skill more often than he normally gets the chance to.

It was an interesting hypothesis.

Othala took my hand. "I hear you've been training with Peter. I hope he hasn't been too hard on you?"

Tone: concerned.

Conclusion: Does not want personal training to cause dissatisfaction between self and Empire.

"Peter has been teaching me adequately," I replied. "We only started yesterday, and he says he is pleased with my progress. I am choosing to believe him."

Again, this was the truth. I had learned, after several repetitions, to recognise when a hostile move was being made. Occasionally, I'd managed to block a punch. True, it was after Peter had given me warning, but I still managed it. For one day's work, Peter had professed to be quite satisfied.

"You want to learn to fight?" asked Hookwolf from further down the table. "Come to me, I'll teach you to kick ass and take names."

Expression: sneer.

Conclusion: does not believe Peter's training is adequate.

"Not the best idea, Brad," said Victor. "She's a teenage girl, not an aspiring cage fighter."

Gesture: headshake.

Conclusion: negatory.

Hookwolf may have intended to say more but at that moment, Kaiser finished the low conversation he'd been having with Krieg and turned to face the table.

Vocalisation: clearing of throat.

Intent: to get attention.

"Thank you all for attending," he said smoothly. "I'm going to keep this relatively short. As we all know, Remote has debuted in the Empire, but has yet to show her capabilities in the field." His voice was firm and commanding, the cadence regular. It was very easy to listen to him.

"Well, apart from where she kicked Oni Lee's ass and blew Lung's arm off." I had not expected Crusader to say anything. He leaned back in his chair, visor open.

Expression: grin.

Conclusion: pleased with himself.

Kaiser's expression changed slightly.

Expression: Lips curled in smile. Eyes cold. Mixed messages.

Intent: unsure.

"True," he said, "but for that she wore no costume, had no cape name, and was not publicly affiliated with us." He gestured toward me with one metal-clad hand. "Remote is a powerful cape. For the public to truly respect her, she needs to be seen out and about, proving how effective she is."

Othala leaned forward. "Kaiser, I hope you're not talking about throwing her in at the deep end."

Tone: concerned. She cares.

"Indeed I am not," Kaiser replied easily. "Despite the fact that she's already defeated Lung and Oni Lee once, I wouldn't put her up against them again so soon. Then, she had the element of surprise. On a second pass, unprepared, she may not be so lucky. This time, we're going to be handing out a beating to the Merchants."

Observation: allies 'Othala' and 'Victor' relaxing slightly.

Conclusion: danger minimal.

"Well, that's all right then," Crusader said.

Expression: broad grin.

Analysis: very pleased about something.

"Oh, man," said Victor. "That's perfect. The closest they've got to a big hitter is Squealer. They are not gonna know what happened."

Vocalisation: laughter.

Analysis: highly amused.

"Correct," Kaiser said. "Remote will have backup, of course, but with the armour that Victor is building for her, I do not foresee a problem."

Tone: firm.

Conclusion: believes what he is saying.

"So, are we actually taking their territory?" Hookwolf leaned forward on the table "Or just kicking the shit out of the druggies to show 'em who's boss?"

Tone: arrogant, dismissive.

Analysis: believes this is a waste of time.

Secondary analysis: combative, obstructive.

"We may take a block or two," Kaiser allowed. "As you say, just to show them who's boss. But their greater loss will be watching their leaders humbled by just one cape. Once word of that gets around, the Merchants will start to fragment from the inside. When the time comes to take their territory, we will brush them aside with ease."

Tone: pleased.

"That's if the kid can handle her end." Hookwolf was looking at me, his lip curled upward.

Expression: derision.

"Well, Remote?" asked Kaiser. "Do you believe that you can pull it off?"

Tone: encouraging.

Situational analysis: a simple statement of fact will not suffice. An expression of humour is required.

Secondary analysis: a pun playing on the word 'merchant' would be ideal.

…

…

Pun achieved.

Assume expression: smile.

"By the time I'm finished with them, sir, the Merchants will be demanding a refund."

Vocal expression from allies 'Victor', 'Othala', 'Rune', 'Crusader': laughter.

Facial expression from allies 'Kaiser', 'Alabaster', 'Menja', 'Fenja': smile.

"Well spoken, Remote." Kaiser steepled his fingers together. "That's settled then. Does anyone have any other business they want to bring up?"

<><> ​

"So you're really going after the Merchants?" Peter closed and feinted at my face; I ducked out of the way, only to catch his foot in my stomach. He pulled the blow as much as he could, but it still kind of knocked the wind out of me, and I sat down hard on the mat.

"Whoof, yeah," I said, rubbing my solar plexus gently. "No fair, you said we weren't going to be doing any kicking." I tried not to let a complaining note enter my voice, but I did feel a little put upon.

"No, what I said was that you weren't going to be learning how to kick," he corrected me, leaning down and offering his hand. I accepted, and he pulled me easily to my feet. "Kicking's not the easiest thing in the world to learn, and it's one of the fastest ways to find yourself on your ass. I will be teaching you how to recognise a kick before it comes at you, though."

"Now you tell me," I said, wrinkling my nose at him. "Peter, I love you dearly, but you're way too intense when it comes to teaching me how to fight."

"Taylor." He put his hands on my shoulders. I looked into his piercing blue eyes, and sighed internally. When he gave me 'that' look, I was powerless to disagree with him.

I looked at the floor. "I said something stupid again, didn't I?" I might be a cape, and technically his superior in the Empire, but he knew a lot more about how it ran than I did, so I was definitely willing to listen to him about what was going on. And besides, I knew Peter would never get angry with me; he'd had too many chances before now. But it was fun to pretend that I thought he was angry; him being extra nice to me was … well, really nice. Even though I couldn't help but suspect that he knew exactly what I was doing anyway.

"Not stupid. Never stupid." He sighed, and used one hand to tilt my chin up to look at him. "Taylor, you're the exact opposite of stupid. But there's no sense in being anything other than totally dedicated about learning how to fight. If you're not paying attention, then you're going to get hurt a little now or a lot later on, when the fight's for real. You get what I'm saying?" His voice was patient and loving while managing to avoid being patronising.

Slowly, I nodded. "Yeah, I get it. If I'm gonna do this, I've gotta learn to do it right. And 'dedicated' is the right way to learn how to fight." I stepped forward and put my arms around him. He reciprocated, embracing me warmly. I thought about kissing him, but there was a strong chance that if I did that, we'd never get back to training. So instead I held him tightly, shutting my eyes and enjoying the closeness.

"Besides," he murmured into my ear, "if you think my training is intense, you don't ever want to train under Hookwolf." His breath tickled, and I felt shivers down my spine. I wriggled and pressed a little more closely to him.

"Yeah, he offered," I said softly. "Pass, thanks." I was pretty sure that I wouldn't get hugs and kind words from the greasy-haired Changer; nor did I want them from him. Ew. Just ew.

"Okay," he decided after a few more moments of just standing there, "time to get back to training."

He loosened his grip on me, but I refused to do the same. "Do we have to?" I was trying not to sound like I was complaining, but I had been enjoying just being with Peter.

"Well," he murmured with a grin in his voice, "I could always start tickling you." I thought I felt his fingers start to ghost along my ribs …

"Eep!" I yelped, breaking my grip and leaping backward. "Hands off, buster!" While I enjoyed most forms of physical contact with Peter – those that I'd tried, that is, which didn't include any sort of adults-only activity, thank you very much – we had found that Peter was extremely adept at finding my ticklish spots, whereas I was only mediocre at finding his. So he had an unfair advantage in any tickle war.

"Make me," he suggested, advancing on me with intent. I backed away for a few steps, then realised that was what Peter wanted me to do. Once you have your opponent backing up, it's not long before they retreat or surrender.

So I stopped and shaped up; when Peter got close enough, I threw a punch which hit him in the shoulder. He reached for me again, so I punched him in the chest. This time, he backed up a little. "Perfect," he said cheerfully. "If someone's coming at you, you stand your ground and stop 'em hard. Rock them back on their heels and make them wonder if it's really worth coming at you again."

That had seemed a little too easy. "You let me hit you, didn't you?" I accused him.

He smirked. "I plead the Fifth. But, if it's any consolation, pretty soon I won't have to. You're starting to show a little bit of form, which is good." He smiled broadly as he tapped his shoulder and chest. "Good solid hits. I felt them both."

I felt a surge of pride at his praise. Peter didn't lie about this sort of thing.

"So now let's see if you can do it again," he went on. "But this time I'll be defending." He brought up his hands in the now-familiar posture that he had been patiently teaching me.

Oh boy. This, I knew, was going to be a whole lot harder.

<><> ​

That Evening
Coil's Base

"Unit Six here. I have eyes on primary and secondary targets. On Boardwalk, just passing McKendrick Street, over." The voice on the phone tried to sound detached, but Calvert could hear the suppressed excitement.

He sat up straight in his chair. "This is Coil. Any other Empire personnel on site, over?"

Unit Six did not take long to reply. "Affirmative. There's a loose cordon around them, not wearing colours. I count ten. Not drawing attention, over."

"Trail and observe. Do not intercept. I say again, do not intercept, over." Adrenaline washed through his body. Two days of searching almost everywhere, and the targets were spotted walking on the Boardwalk of all places.

"Trail and observe, do not intercept, roger. Unit Six, out." The call ended, and Coil began checking the map to see where his other units were. He didn't intend to use half-measures here.

This was, of course, only half of what he was doing. In another line of reality, he had proceeded downtown and was watching a play. A pretentious piece of crap in his opinion, but it was something to pass the time and to keep his options open. And nobody would notice, or even mind, if he seemed to be zoned out while the play was going on.

Carefully, methodically, he began calling in his other units, the farthest ones first. By the time he finished, he intended to have that area of the Boardwalk saturated with his men. It would not be quiet or subtle by any stretch of the imagination, but he would be fine with dropping even a successful operation if he could get the information he wanted from it first.

One by one, his men began to call in, reporting that they were in place. Some had eyes on the couple, others had eyes on the obvious and not so obvious Empire members scattered around, and a few of his men were hanging back in case someone tried to make a run for it. The young couple seemed to be oblivious to it all, strolling hand in hand along the Boardwalk. If they were talking, nobody could hear what they were saying.

After half an hour that seemed to stretch into eternity, the last man was in place. There was now a cordon around Ferguson and the Hebert girl that was three men deep; four, in some places. His men knew their business; nobody crowded too close or gathered in groups. He spoke in a measured voice, detailing targets to each of his men. For him to capture the young couple, each of the Empire thugs would have to be neutralised first. Dialling in a conference call, he waited until the connections went through, then spoke a single word. "Go."

Each of his men was wearing a body cam, combined with GPS technology, he was able to place them on the boardwalk, and see what was happening in front of them. From the moment he spoke, suppressed shots dropped nearly all the Empire goons in approximately two seconds. The last few survivors got off shots that killed two of his men and wounded three more, before they were cut down.

By this time, Ferguson and Hebert were running toward the oncoming cordon. The boy had a pistol out; the girl was unarmed but she seemed unafraid. Coil frowned. There was something wrong here. Is this a suicide play? "Arm and leg shots," he ordered. "Take them alive."

The boy fired at the nearest of Coil's men, dropping him. Damn. He's good. In the time it took for Coil to think that, another two men went down. The girl was bending over one of the dead goons, rummaging at his waist. But Coil's men were taking aim now; they had not been able to bring their rifles on to the Boardwalk, due to concealability issues, but they were trained in pistol combat as well. Their targets were stationary; basically, they were asking to be shot. But no shots were fired, except by Ferguson, who was calmly picking off the men as they came running at him.

"Shoot, I said," snapped Coil. He began to suspect that this situation was starting to go out of control.

"Unit four here. We're trying. Our guns aren't firing." On Four's body-cam, Taylor Hebert straightened up with a pistol in each hand. Pointing her arms straight out in two different directions, she began to fire both pistols as fast as the actions would cycle. Coil leaned back in his chair. There's no way she can hit anything without even … He blinked, and looked again at the screen. One after another, his men were falling like ninepins. More than half of his assault force mowed down by two teenagers! How the fuck is she doing that?

"Reserve force, you're up," he ordered. "Rifles from long range. Tranq rounds. Keep firing until we know they're down." He hadn't wanted to use tranq rounds before now because the formulation had different effects on targets of different body mass, and Ferguson was a totally different kettle of fish to his skinny girlfriend. A shot that would drop the boy might well kill the girl; alternatively, something that would put her into dreamland might only make him woozy.

However, he had also entertained the possibility that some unforeseen circumstance might cause problems with the main force, so he had set up the reserve force with rifles, concealed in cars parked across the road from the Boardwalk. It was a long shot for tranq rounds, but it was a very useful hole card to be able to play.

"Reserve force, roger. Readying tranq rounds now. We have eyes on, we have eyes on. Do we have a green light, over?" At last, something that was going to go right. Behind the cloth of his mask, Coil smiled.

"Green light. I say again, green light. Over." He clicked the mouse button to select the camera attached to the spotter scope looking out through the car window. On it, he saw the Hebert girl shoot one of his men in the head, allowing Ferguson to scoop up his fallen pistol and shoot two more.

"Green light, roger. Firing now." Coil leaned forward to watch. Torturing her for information was going to be fun. He waited for the shot.

"Weapon jam, I say again, weapon jam. Applying immediate action." The spotter scope was jostled slightly, but on it, Coil saw the Hebert girl turn to look directly into the camera. Her lips moved, saying something. He wasn't great at lip-reading, but it seemed to be 'go away'. Abruptly, the viewpoint was moving sideways. "Hey, what …?"

"Reserve force, reserve force. Report status, over." He tried not to clutch the phone too tightly in his hand. I need to upgrade her threat status immediately.

The voice that came through was the spotter. "Reserve force reporting. Status is that we are moving. Nobody is driving, but the car is definitely moving. Over." There was a hint of concern in the man's voice, but he wasn't panicking, yet.

"Abandon vehicle," Coil ordered. "Reserve force, abandon vehicle asap. I say again, abandon vehicle. Over." This timeline was lost, Coil knew, but he had to find out the limits of the Hebert girl's powers. Everything he learned in this timeline was something he could use the next time around.

"Abandoning vehicle, roger." The spotter scope was dropped, to point at one of the doors. A hand came into view, yanking at the door handle to no good effect. "Unable to abandon vehicle. I say again, unable to abandon vehicle. Over." Now the man was definitely afraid. The vehicle must have swerved, because the camera rolled over and fell on the floor of the car.

"Oh shiii -!" That came from the sniper, but Coil could not see why he was screaming. There was a booming crash, and the camera rattled around so fast that he felt queasy watching the image. When it stilled, he could not make sense of the image at first, until he tilted his head sideways. The camera seemed to be stuck under the car seat, pointing at the left ear of one of his men. How the man ended up in that position, he had no idea.

There was little more that he could glean from that timeline, so he dropped it. The play droned on; checking the program, he decided that he hadn't missed much, even when he'd been distracted. And he would continue to be distracted, until he had figured out both what her abilities were and how to overcome them. As he pondered, he split the timelines again. In one line, he stayed to watch the rest of the play. In the other, he went back to his car, to return to his base. Once the play was over, that version of him would go home. Time for Plan B. If I can't get control of her, she's too dangerous to leave alive.

<><> ​

Boardwalk

Leaning on the rail, I smiled as Peter gallantly draped his jacket over my shoulders. "Thank you," I murmured, leaning up against him. Truth be told, it wasn't that cold, but I did enjoy the little extra warmth, and I especially enjoyed the tiny gestures of attentiveness that he paid me. As his arm went around me, I snuggled into him.

"You're welcome, Taylor," he replied. His voice held amusement as he went on. "So, was I right or was I wrong?" I could feel the smugness coming off of him. But if I was to be honest with myself, he had kind of earned it.

"You were right," I conceded. "Yes, I expected someone to point me out and make a scene. But it's like nothing even happened here. No superheroes, no PRT. Not even a traffic cop." It was kind of weird. The image that the PRT and Protectorate tried to project was that of incorruptible, relentless vigilance; I had been apprehensive about going out, on the grounds that I would be recognised and challenged before we walked ten yards. So far, the outing had been kind of anticlimactic. Which I didn't mind in the slightest.

When I came to think about it, though, it kind of made sense. The PRT only had so many people. So did the Protectorate. And if they were covering areas known for their crime rates, they weren't covering other areas. Which, right then, I was kind of grateful for. While the rooms that I shared with Dad weren't precisely a rat-infested dungeon, and I had all the companionship that I wanted (especially with Peter) it was still nice to get out and about. I had missed the open air.

Unfortunately, until I managed to clear up the misunderstanding about Dad and Panacea and Victor and Glory Girl, I was almost certainly wanted as an accessory or for aiding and abetting or something similar. I didn't know the exact term, but I was sure that the PRT or even the ordinary police wanted to have words with me, probably with the phrase 'under arrest' in there somewhere.

And it wasn't even my fault. Nor was it Victor's fault. Glory Girl had made it perfectly clear that she wasn't listening to reason, so while violence against her was doomed to failure, giving her something else to worry about (such as a lightly injured Panacea) was a perfectly valid tactic. Not that I had wanted the healer to get hurt, especially after saving Dad's life, but every other solution to the situation risked either too much collateral damage or capture at Glory Girl's hands. Or, of course, both.

"Well, the Boardwalk is more or less the last place that anyone would expect to find someone the police want to talk to," he observed. "It's a really public place, but at the same time it's extremely private, if only because there's such a lot of it. You can't really surveil a place like this without either being obvious about it, or leaving gaps in the coverage." He spoke with authority, but I thought I heard familiar phrasing in what he was saying.

"Is that you, or are you quoting someone?" I asked, reaching up to take his hand. His fingers immediately closed over mine, and I leaned my head on his shoulder.

"Uncle Max, mainly," he confessed. "A lot of people in his position let the power go to their heads, and lean on their powers for everything. He's always careful, thinking about mundane ways to deal with problems. I admire that a lot in him." His voice was meditative as he continued. "He once told Father, when neither of them knew I was listening, that I was his choice to lead the Empire, if and when I gained powers, and once I was old enough. Ever since then, I've done my best to learn how to be a good leader. Now I'm wondering if that accidental slip was so accidental after all."

I had to chuckle; turning, I kissed him fondly, my lips only partly meeting his, but not caring. "Peter, your uncle is one of the smartest men I know. He had to have seen the potential in you from the beginning. I see it every day. I see his influence in you all the time."

He sighed and turned his hand so that his fingers laced through mine. "I don't think he'd be so confident in me if he saw the way I doubt myself all the time. I'm constantly second-guessing myself. What if I'd brought more people to rescue you? What if I hadn't brought Jenna? Did I kill my friends through my stupidity? Did I nearly get you killed by being your boyfriend?" His cheek rubbed against my hair. "You're the only person I can even say this sort of thing to any more. I need a reality check. If I'm screwing up, please tell me." His voice, low enough to not be heard by the surrounding bodyguards, was almost pleading at the end.

I felt awed and humbled that Peter, whom I admired above almost all else and wanted to spend my life with, was opening his heart and unveiling his secret fears to me. Letting go his hand, I turned and wrapped my arms around him, holding him close. I wanted to give him the sort of kiss that my grandfather had once referred to as 'requirin' an engagement ring' but I didn't quite have the nerve to do that in front of the men who stood around at odd distances, ostensibly enjoying the night air.

Instead, I whispered to him as intensely as I could. "Peter. Jenna was my best friend. I liked Bronson almost as much as I love you. Yes, they're both dead, and Dad's still in a coma, but it's not your fucking fault. You did the best you could with what you had, and as a result, we're both still alive, George is still alive, and you've proven that you're as good a leader as the Empire is ever likely to get." He went to speak, but I rushed on. "Your uncle isn't stupid. He's seen what sort of a leader you are. If he'd thought you'd failed, you would know it. Tell me that isn't true."

Peter stood silent for the space of two long breaths. Then he kissed me. I closed my eyes as fireworks flashed in my brain and I was sure that my toes were curling. By the time it ended, I was kind of breathless, but my heart was as calm as it had ever been. He held me tightly, and I returned the gesture. He had given me his answer, and shown his gratitude, in that one kiss.

"Taylor." His voice was a whisper, his eyes searching out mine in the moonlit dimness. "I have two things to tell you. I'm pretty sure that I'm not cleared to tell you either one, but I can't do this any more. I can't lie to you. If we're going to be a couple, if you're going to be my wife when we're old enough, then I want it to be because you know and accept the truth, not because we've been lying to you all this time."

His words sent a chill down my spine, even as my mind exulted, he wants me to be his wife! "Peter, what are you saying? Are we in danger?"

He grimaced. "No, but I'd prefer you hate me and leave me now rather than you hate me and leave me because you found out after years of living a lie with me." I felt his fists clench as they rested at my back. "Just please understand, I never wanted to hurt you. Not ever."

"Okay, now you're scaring me," I said softly. "If you think what what you have to say will make me hate you, then never say it. I don't want to hear it." I tried to convince myself that was true, even though a sharp, suspicious part of me wondered what he was talking about.

He took a deep breath, then let it out. His voice was sad. "I can't just drop it. One thing I learned from Uncle Max is that you can betray your enemies, but you can never betray your allies. Taylor … I first approached you because I wanted to get you close to the Empire, not because I was interested in you, personally." He paused, as if expecting me to punch him or something.

I raised my chin. "Let me stop you right there. You wanted to present a fait accompli to Dad, that you and the Empire were protecting me from the bullies, and maybe he would look more favourably on the Empire? Maybe let them form closer ties with the Dockworkers?" It was one of three scenarios that I had worked out. Unworkable of course, but looking back, I could see how they might have thought it possible. "You do realise that Dad would have shot any idea like that down in a heartbeat."

"Yeah, I know that now," he agreed ruefully. "I can see where you get your stubbornness from. But … you aren't pissed at me?" He looked puzzled.

"Oh, yeah, I'm pissed." I rolled my eyes. "I'm so goddamn pissed that the idiot who was supposed to be manipulating me to influence my father went and fell in love with me, and saved me from the bullies anyway." My voice was as flat as I could make it. "You maybe didn't stop to think that I'm even more insecure than you are, and I've already been through every possible scenario in my mind as to why someone like you was choosing to spend time with someone like me? And that I just might have figured that one out and decided that even if it was true, it was no longer valid, and having you in my life is fucking worth it?"

He winced at the cutting sarcasm in my voice. "Um … no?"

I pushed back away from him, and prodded him in the chest with my knuckle, hard enough to hurt. To his credit, he didn't step back, although he did wince. I was pretty sure I'd gotten him on a bruise. Good. "So how stupid do you think I am anyway, Mister Ferguson?"

That was a huge, yawning pit trap, right there. Fortunately for Peter's future well-being, he didn't step into it. "I don't think you're stupid. I've just been a monumental idiot. I've been telling Uncle Max how smart you were, and all the while I've been forgetting that you are actually that smart."

I chuckled hollowly and shook my head. "Peter, seriously? You're lucky I'm here now to bail you out of shit like this. You're handsome, you're smart, you're charismatic, your family's loaded as fuck, and you've got the makings of a great leader … but your timing sucks." Grabbing him by the shoulders, I shook him a little.

"My … timing?" He sounded as bewildered as if he'd just wandered on to a movie set and been handed a script and told to get on with it.

"My Dad, you idiot." I shook him some more, hoping it would jolt his brain into gear. "Currently under care in your uncle's own medical facility? Remember him? The only thing that's letting him get better is Kaiser's goodwill and Othala's power?"

"Oh. Fuck." The sound of belated realisation in his voice was almost worth the irritation. "Shit. I'm sorry."

I rolled my eyes again. "If I'd decided just now that I couldn't work with the Empire any more because oh, the betrayal," I essayed a theatrical groan and put the back of my hand to my forehead, "where exactly would I take him where he could get anything like competent care while making sure that the PRT wouldn't be on my ass twenty-four hours of the day? The fucking PRT, that's where. And the very last people I want to be beholden to is that hot mess of assholes and race traitors. So if you really wanted me to have a fair choice, you could have at least waited until Dad was up and around again."

He lowered his eyes, his shoulders slumping. "Taylor. I am so sorry. I never meant to put you through all that.." He sounded … defeated. Like all of his pride had just been dragged out of him and stomped flat.

"Hey." My voice was quiet. "It's all right." He glanced up at me as if to see whether I meant it, and I lifted one corner of my mouth in a half-smile. "I'm still here, I still love you for some unfathomable reason, and yes, you big dope, I do want to marry you someday. No matter how much you fuck up, I will support you every day of your life. So long as you admit it when you do fuck up. And trust me, I'll be there to point it out to you because I love you." And I did. Despite all the twists and turns in our relationship, that was one constant. Once he fell in love with me, he was there for me, no matter what. Just as I would be there for him.

"Wow, Taylor, holy shit." He sounded like a condemned man pardoned at the eleventh hour. Moving a few steps to a seat, he slid down into it, as if his knees would no longer support him. Although there was plenty of room beside him, I chose to seat myself across his lap.

"Yes?" I asked sweetly. Watching Peter flail like this was kind of entertaining. I put my arms around his neck. Well trained, he put his arms around my waist. Good boy.

He shook his head. "Uncle Max has one thing wrong. He thinks I'm the one in charge of this relationship. Please don't ever tell him differently?"

I giggled. "I respect the man immensely, but he is kind of patriarchal. Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me." Well, it was our secret, but much the same thing. I kicked my legs gently back and forth. "So, there was a second thing you wanted to tell me?"

He drew a deep breath. "After you hauled me over the coals for the first one, I'm not sure if I should tell you."

"Peter." I fixed him with a steady gaze. "Will it make me want to leave?" I devoutly hoped that it would not be a second secret like the first one.

He frowned in concentration. "I don't think so. In fact, if anything, it will make you more likely to want to stay."

"So tell me." I gazed at him expectantly.

"I'm not sure …"

I had rarely seen him so indecisive. This was not the time for indecision. "Peter. Yes or no. Tell me what it is, or ask me to forget that you told me it existed."

"Right." He drew a deep breath and made a high sign; all the Empire guys faded back until they were definitely out of earshot. "You know how Uncle Max has two lieutenants?" It was his turn to give me an expectant look.

"Krieg and Hookwolf, yes. Purity used to be one, before she left." I had spoken with Krieg, very briefly. He struck me as someone with a lot of reserve. Hookwolf, on the other hand, was a savage in civilised clothing. He made no secret of who or what he was. Which was someone I didn't like and didn't want to know. But at least he didn't try to bully me. "What about it?"

To his credit, he didn't hesitate. "He approached me yesterday, and asked me about you. It was meant to be casual conversation, but Uncle Max never does casual conversation. I figured out afterward that he might have been sounding me out about the possibility of making you into his third lieutenant."

"Me?" To my mortification, I was so stunned that my voice squeaked. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Me? Why me? I'm the newest member, for fuck's sake!"

"My guess? Because you're the most powerful new member," he said, quite accurately. "Also, you're young, and any new members we get after you are also likely to be young. So it makes sense that he'd want someone in a position of command who can relate to the new members. And, like I said before, he was really impressed about how you went after Lung with a pistol." He grinned at the expression on my face.

I finally managed to pick up my jaw again. "But … but …"

"But wait, there's more," he announced, mock-portentously. "As a brand new trigger, you were faced with Lung and Oni Lee. You not only survived, but you managed to think on your feet and beat the crap out of both of them. You think fast, and you make the right decisions. Uncle Max likes that a lot." He hugged me to him, and kissed my earlobe. "I am so goddamn proud of you."

"Great." I managed to fake anger well enough to make him pull back and stare at me. "Thanks a bunch, you monumental idiot." His jaw to dropped in turn, and it was all I could do not to snicker out loud at the look on his face.

"What?" he asked plaintively. "It's a good thing, isn't it?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, but now I've got to pretend to be surprised when he springs this on me. Do you have any idea how hard that's gonna be?" A moment later, I burst out laughing at the look on his face.

"You totally had me going." His expression was rueful. "I really believed you were pissed at me."

I let myself snicker out loud, then I kissed him. "I know. It was fun."

"You are an evil, evil woman." This did not stop him from kissing me back, something that I had been counting on.

"Well, duh." I snuggled with him. Interestingly enough, now that the air had been somewhat cleared, I felt more at ease with him than ever. Sometimes, knowing that your idol had feet of clay took away the unreasonable expectations. I wasn't going to argue with that.

A cold breeze swept in, and I shivered, even inside the coat. "Wow, there's a bit of a nip in the air."

"Nah, that's just what they said when you blew Lung's arm off," he countered with a grin, miming a ballistic arc with one hand, and making the sound of something whistling through the air then hitting the ground.

The joke was terrible, but I couldn't help laughing. "You've been listening to your dad again, haven't you?" One thing was for sure; that wasn't one of Kaiser's. Kaiser didn't do jokes. Especially 'Dad' jokes.

"Guilty as charged," he replied with a smirk. "Want to head back to the car? I mean, I'm good to keep going if you are, but it is getting a bit cold." He would go with whatever I chose, I knew for a fact. Peter would hobble on bloody stumps before he would admit to not being able to keep up.

"That's a good idea, actually," I said. "I think I've had enough fresh air for tonight. And you proved your point. Nothing ever happens down at the Boardwalk." I got up off his lap and took his hand once he got up. His presence made me feel safe and secure.

"Can I quote you on that?" he asked ingenuously. I saw a grin spreading across his face.

"What? Nothing ever happens on the Boardwalk?" I raised my eyebrows. "Why would you want to quote that?"

"No." He chuckled. "That I proved my point. You're about the only one of my girlfriends who ever let me have the last word on something." His tone was light, but his eyes said much more.

I could have made a comment about a stopped clock or a blind squirrel, but I didn't. I just smiled and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

"Let's go home," he said quietly.

"Let's," I agreed.



End of Part Sixteen

Part Seventeen

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Seventeen: Behind the Scenes



[A/N: This chapter beta-read, and definitely improved, by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



Monday, February 14, 2011
Coil

He stood atop the tallest building in Brockton Bay, surveying all that he ruled. Absolute power was his, now and forever. "Bring me the head of Emily Piggot!" he commanded.

"At once, Director!" exclaimed Armsmaster in an appropriately servile tone, and scurried off to do his bidding.

Rolling over in bed, Thomas Calvert smiled. In the other timeline, Coil could see the inconsistencies in the dreamscape, but chose not to bother his sleeping self with them. It was a very nice dream after all. A dream which, in one form or another, he intended to bring to fruition. Which was why he was up before dawn on this day, managing his troops. Plan B was simple. Acquire secondary target. Interrogate secondary target for information about primary target.

There were three places that Calvert could get hold of Peter Ferguson. The first was at home, the second was in transit to Winslow High, and the third was of course at Winslow itself.

He rejected the idea of grabbing the boy at the school, due to the high likelihood of unforeseen factors coming into play. While Shadow Stalker was no longer at Winslow, there were members of the Empire there who would most certainly object. They probably wouldn't succeed in driving off his men, but the chance of Peter being cut down in the crossfire was very much a non-zero factor.

In transit was also problematic; Ferguson drove himself to and from school in a four-by-four, and there was a good chance that he varied his routes and timing so that it would be hard for anyone to pinpoint him for an assassination or abduction attempt. It was what Calvert himself would have done.

So, a home grab was best. In addition, that ensured the presence of Ferguson's father and sisters; sometimes, the best torture was applied to someone the target loved. Thinking ahead, Calvert had placed Creep on the home invasion team. Some of his soldiers might balk at being ordered to brutalise children. Others … would not.

One timeline had Thomas Calvert asleep in bed, dreaming of universal conquest. In the other, he reached forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. "Go," he ordered. The van's engine roared, as did those of the two other vehicles full of his men. The entrance to the Willow Heights gated community was directly ahead; there was a sliding gate, locked with a passcode. He hadn't bothered taking the time to acquire the passcode, reasoning that this was a disposable timeline after all. Smash their way in, hit the family while they were still asleep and get the information out of the boy. It was a plan.

As the van leaped forward, Coil sent an impulse to his other self to wake up and grab a notepad. He would need this information later on, after all. Bracing himself, he waited for the impact with the sliding gate. It was harsher than he had expected; the members of the gated community had obviously paid top dollar for their security precautions. Pity it won't do them any good.

The ram-bar on the front of the van did its job, smashing the gate off its runners and flinging it aside. He already knew which address they were heading for; it would only take a minute to get there, long before any police response could be arranged. Likewise, he had the layout of the house, acquired after hours of digging through old files online. Barring unforeseen circumstances, this should be a snap.

That was when all four tyres blew.

Fortunately, he was still bracing himself; as the van screeched and swerved to a halt, he wasn't flung forward. One of his soldiers was caught off guard; losing his grip, he cannoned into Coil, crunching him up against the framework behind the driver's seat. Calvert was reasonably sure he felt a rib go, but there was no time to shoot the man, or even reprimand him. They were on the clock. I'll torture him later.

"Out!" he shouted, trying to ignore the stab of pain every time he inhaled. "We're on foot now! Go, go, go!"

The side door was wrenched open and the men tumbled out, spreading out to form a perimeter. He climbed painfully out after them, favouring his left side. Something in there grated when he turned the wrong way, and the stab of agony nearly put him on the ground. Feels like a broken rib, all right. Calvert had suffered many broken bones, nearly all in discarded timelines, and he was reasonably good at identifying them. Just because it had never happened didn't mean he couldn't remember it.

All three vans had been stopped, skewed here and there on the road, tyres flattened. Looking back, it wasn't hard to determine the cause; a series of spikes had popped up from the roadway just inside the gate at the moment that the barrier had been breached. Fucking top of the line security precautions. God damn it. It was a good thing that this was a disposable timeline, because it was starting to exhibit all the signs of a classic clusterfuck.

Still, the overall objective was achievable if they hustled. "Move out," he ordered. "You know the address. We need to secure it ASAP." He gestured to Creep. "You're with me. The rest of you, go!" He watched them move off; in the predawn dusk, their urban camouflage let them blend in almost flawlessly with their surroundings. Despite their weapon loadouts and equipment webbing, they loped along tirelessly, justifying the money he spent on keeping them trained and fit.

"What do I do, sir?" Creep stayed alongside him as he hobbled along, trying not to wince at the pain in his side. The man was loyal to a fault, but he wasn't overly bright.

"You stick with me," Coil told him. "Just in case one of these homeowners decides to defend his property with extreme prejudice." He smiled under his mask. "Feel free to shoot to kill." He hoped it wouldn't come to that – after all, he was wearing no body armour – but right now, he didn't want anything else going wrong.

Creep's face was hidden behind the visor to his helmet, but his voice suggested a cheerful smile. "Yes, sir."

Calvert hobbled on a few more steps before he realised that something was wrong. All around him, in every house he could see, lights were coming on. Up and down the street, as far as the eye could see. This wasn't just one householder waking up and wondering what the noise was; it was everyone getting up, even those who couldn't possibly have heard it. Everyone in the gated community. Even the Fergusons. Fuck. They'll know something's wrong.

Still, the street was quiet. There was no rapid-response force bearing down on them right now. Which meant that there was still a possibility of success. Gritting his teeth, he hobbled on. The pain in his side was worse now, but he did his best to ignore it. He would hold on to this timeline until the very last moment, and get everything he could out of it.

It took ten long minutes to cover the distance that his men had covered in two. By the time he got there, with Creep still at his side, the man called Fish was standing out at the front, waiting for him. He eyed the house; the front door looked intact, and the men he could see were surrounding the house, not kicking their way in. And then he noticed that, while the surrounding houses were still lit up, the windows in the Ferguson residence were dark. What's going on?

"Report," he husked. There was a coppery taste in the back of his throat now; whatever internal injuries he had were being exacerbated by the exertion. Not that he cared, right at this moment. As soon as he dropped the timeline, he'd be just fine. In the other timeline, he was still sitting on the bed with a pencil and pad in hand. Details of the Willow Heights gated community security setup were being noted down for future reference.

Fish gestured at the high fence that surrounded the property, and the gate that had apparently been forced open. "As soon as we crossed the perimeter, lights came up and shutters dropped over the windows. We dealt with the lights, but there's no easy ingress to be had. Even the front door is wood veneer over steel, as far as we can tell. We can get through the shutters easily enough," he added, tapping the laser undermount on his rifle, "but we were waiting on you for authorisation."

Coil nodded. Even though he had been hoping that they'd have the place secure by the time he arrived, it was a sensible move to wait for the okay before using the Tinkertech lasers. Nobody knew his men had them, after all. Of course, this being a disposable timeline, nobody would know even after this, so the point was moot. Not that Fish would know this. "Understood. You have a green light. Go."

Keying his lapel mic, Fish gave the order. Coil watched as the men around the house employed their undermount lasers to carve holes in the windows and doors. The weird subsonic screech put his teeth on edge, but it was worth it to see the steel plates fall away, carved through like soft butter up against a hot knife. A moment later, the barriers were kicked out and the men were in the house. He started forward, through the gate, with Creep and Fish flanking him. Over the radio, he could hear steady reports as the men cleared the house, room by room.

By the time he reached the front door, the radio had mostly fallen silent. Nobody had been shot; in fact, there was nobody to be found in the house at all. Bedrooms had been located, the beds recently slept in, but they were empty. At his order, the men began to search the house more thoroughly, checking cupboards and closets, but he was starting to get a sinking feeling.

"You were covering the rear of the house as well?" It wasn't quite a question, but he strongly suspected that he knew the answer. His men might be mercenaries, but they were well trained.

"Well, of course." Fish's tone was almost offended. "First place I sent them."

"And you've secured the garage?" He had to cover that base as well. The last thing he wanted was for Ferguson to come roaring out of that garage in his truck when they had no means of keeping up.

"Yes, sir. Garage is secure and the vehicles have been disabled." Which answered that. There would be no last-minute escapes for the Fergusons.

"Sir. Sirens." That was Creep. He had turned and was looking toward the entrance to Willow Heights. That entrance was blocked, but there was another one, which the police would certainly know about. From the sound of the sirens, they were coming closer.

Fuck. He tried to think. How would I pull off a disappearing act like that? Option one was a panic room. That was a distinct possibility; it was a big house, after all. It wouldn't be hard to conceal a reasonably-sized bolt-hole in all that. And if the entrance was camouflaged, which seemed likely, then they could search the house forever until they found it. However, there was another option. What if the Ferguson boy is a parahuman? It was not beyond the realms of possibility, after all. For all he knew, the kid's father was Kaiser himself. It had been known for years that kids of parahumans tended to get powers.

I need more information. Which I'm not going to have time to collect right now. Fuck.

The sirens were much closer now. He estimated that it was only a few minutes before they got there. Looking around, he saw that the sun was just starting to rise. I'm done here. He dropped the timeline.

<><>

Medhall Building

Max Anders was watching the sun rise through the floor-to-ceiling window of his office, a glass of exquisitely expensive bourbon in his hand, when he heard the tap on the door. "Come in," he called over his shoulder, but didn't turn. He knew who it would be; James knocked the same way, every time.

The door opened, then closed again. He heard the soft footfalls as James crossed to the small table that held the glass that Max had left for him. There was the faintest of scrapes as his lieutenant took up the glass, then James joined him in admiring the sunrise. As the light became brighter, the glass – actually, an expensive polycarbonate – automatically polarised, becoming darker to match.

"Good morning," Max greeted him, then took a sip of his drink. It was perfect, as was everything else he arranged in his life. If things weren't perfect, then he made sure that they became perfect. He didn't believe that he was quite as obsessive over it as Accord, but the man did have a point; everything had its place, and if force occasionally had to be applied to make sure that things went where they were supposed to go, then that was just the way things were.

"Good morning, Max." James also sipped. To Max's approval, he took a moment to savour the alcohol. "Is there a problem?"

James Fleischer was a good lieutenant. Correct and punctilious, he had initiative and drive. Max was fully aware that the man's loyalties were more with Gesellschaft than with the Empire, but so long as the two organisations had goals that ran in tandem, it would not cause him to lose sleep. If a problem should arise, he knew James would give him adequate warning of any impending clash of interests.

"A minor one, at the moment. But it may become more serious," Max said. "Remote's father – Daniel Hebert. I find myself unsure as to which direction to go with him." He took another drink. It really was very good bourbon.

"What options are you considering?" asked James. Short, and to the point. Also, he had not yet asked what Max thought of the options, so as to offer an unbiased opinion.

"Three options, really." Max sighed. He hated being pushed into a corner. "One; he is allowed to recover under Othala's ministrations. She reports that he is improving a little every day. Two; she ceases to treat him, but pretends otherwise, thus keeping him in a sustained vegetative state. Three; he dies." He half-turned his head toward his second in command. "As you can see, all three options have their pros and cons. I've been holding off on making this decision for several reasons, but the point of no return is rapidly approaching."

James nodded. "The crux, of course, is to maintain the goodwill and loyalty of Remote." He took a sip of his drink. "She's loyal to a fault. And powerful. Very powerful, under the right circumstances. She would be a great asset to the Empire. Except that her father, once recovered, would oppose this directly."

"Yes." Max rubbed his chin. As always, James could cut to the meat of the matter. "He would. There is one favourable outcome. One which I've already enhanced by priming Peter with hints concerning her future in the Empire. If we play our cards just right, she'll choose to remain with us after his recovery."

"Hmm." James finished his drink. Moving aside, he placed the glass on the same small table that he had taken it from. "Could he be paid off?"

Now Max chuckled, amused. "It is said that every man has his price. Daniel Hebert's cannot be measured in money; or at least, not in amounts that it would be feasible to pay him. He is fixed in his loyalties and his duties; if he is half as devoted to his daughter as she is to him, he would find any amount you could offer him to be a direct insult." He finished his drink off, as well. "Why do you think we've never been able to get a foothold in the Dock Workers, with him in place as head of hiring?"

"Well, then." James sounded a little irritated. Max could understand why; the Empire rarely encountered people who could not be moved by the twin inducements of fear and greed. "He doesn't wake up. Othala simply ceases to lend him the capability to regenerate. He lives on, but never recovers fully."

Max pursed his lips. He didn't shy away from doing what was necessary, but that didn't mean he enjoyed screwing over a teenager who thought the sun shone out of his ass. "That's possible." Max moved toward the sitting area in the far corner of the office, and lowered himself into a comfortable leather-covered armchair. "Of course, it involves bringing Othala into this, and having her waste her time pretending to heal him for the foreseeable future. That's two points of failure." He held up two fingers away from his glass to emphasise this.

James sat down opposite Max and crossed one leg over the other, observing him intently. "Was this your intention? To have me agree with the decision that you've already made?"

Max chuckled, but there was little humour in it. "Far from it. As it stands, I'm reluctant to commit to any course of action which could put Remote at odds with us. She has a history of being let down or outright betrayed by friends and authority figures. To be seen to harm her father would place us squarely in the category of 'enemy' for her. I'm good at talking to people, but I doubt that she would allow herself to be persuaded back around from that." Quite the opposite, he suspected.

"So what then?" James was beginning to sound frustrated. Max felt a certain amount of schadenfreude-fuelled amusement; he had been through all this before. "Something mimicking a viral infection, perhaps? A slow decline, a gentle slide into death. Poison would do it, administered in subtle quantities. Call it an 'unexpected complication'. Real medicine has enough of those."

This was why Max had called James in on this. He hadn't actually thought of poison. "It's a possibility," he conceded. "But it would have to be a poison that's not noticeable by outward symptoms. Peter would have to be kept out of the loop, along with Othala. The nurse would have to do the dosing."

James sat forward, sounding almost excited for the first time. "This is actually possible to do. We have access to any number of rare and exotic poisons here, and any we don't have, we could probably synthesise."

"We could," Max agreed. "The problem here is that the girl is quite intelligent. Peter's no slouch, and he freely admits that she's smarter than him. She's capable of thinking well outside the box, and while she is currently fiercely loyal to us, she's also the type to question suspicious circumstances. I doubt we could pull off 'unexpected complications' as a cause of death without causing her to harbour unpleasant suspicions. Panacea left him in the peak of health, after all."

"Verdammt." James grimaced. This was a sign of tension; he rarely relapsed into his native German without an excellent reason. "And you're sure that Othala and Peter would side with her?"

"Not under ordinary circumstances, no." Max knew this for certain. "Peter and Othala are both as loyal as they come. But while Peter wasn't quite as hopelessly smitten with Taylor as she with him in the beginning, his feelings for her have become quite genuine. I've taken advantage of their budding romance to ensure that she sees him as her white knight and the Empire as her real family, including Othala in the role of a surrogate mother. However, because I've encouraged this to happen, that bond now goes both ways and it's likely that they'll become conflicted if they find out that we're actively doing something to harm her father – or that we've already done it." Oh, hello, Law of Unintended Consequences. I didn't see you there.

"She does seem to have engaged quite effectively with Victor, Crusader and Rune as well," James mused, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. "If they decided that she was being treated badly, and chose to turn against the Empire, we face the distinct possibility of losing not just one very powerful cape, but four moderately powerful ones as well. A good third of our strength."

"Which is something that we want to avoid," Max agreed, with admirable understatement. "I would also like very much to not have to waste all the effort we've already put into bringing her into the fold." He was shading the truth just a little; they'd done very little to gain Taylor Hebert's loyalty. On the contrary, she had more or less fallen into their laps, only needing a few minor nudges to be set on the right path. The fact that she had then triggered as a powerful cape merely served to justify their work in bringing her on board. "Or to fight her, if it came to that."

James' gaze sharpened; a lesser man might have looked startled. "You believe her to be so formidable, without her armour?"

"You don't?" Max riposted. "Imagine if she decided to turn against us without warning, today. Right at this very moment. Her range encompasses the entire building, and beyond. Do you know how many things there are in this building that she can manipulate to her advantage, against us? No? I don't either. But she does. No lock is capable of holding her out; every step that we took would be contested against us." He permitted himself a shudder at the thought. To attempt to carry on a conflict in a landscape where every machine worth the name was a weapon for the enemy … it was a sobering thought.

"There is another option." James's voice broke into Max's thoughts. His tone was light, but with an undertone of seriousness. "I could take her for … re-education. When she returns, she will be unshakeably loyal to you, and will care little about her father, or anyone else except whom you tell her to care about."

Re-education. This, Max knew, meant 'brainwashing'. Gesellschaft did this on occasion, to turn enemy capes into allies or to turn those capes whose loyalty was suspect into fanatics to the cause. It also, if Max chose to use the profanity, totally fucked with their heads. Max was a pragmatist. Getting things done his way was how he ticked. But not like this. Not when – if he read his nephew correctly – he would soon be calling Taylor niece. He recalled Geoff and Dorothy, and how the couple had not a single shred of non-synthetic personality between them. Nor did they possess much in the way of imagination and creativity, save that which had been programmed into them.

"No," he decided at length, if only to pretend to give it a full measure of thought.. "I don't think so." Getting up, he went to the wet bar and set about pouring himself another drink.

"But why not?" James went and retrieved his own glass and brought it over. "I would think it solves your problems neatly."

"To be honest," Max said, "I doubt she'd agree to go, even if she just thought it was a field trip of sorts." Recalling her comments about the Empire being an American group and not German, it wasn't just a doubt. He already knew of her stance on the matter.

James shrugged, sipping at his new drink. "So we don't give her a choice in the matter."

Max huffed out a dry laugh. "Causing her to decide that we're turning on her, and treating us in the same way as she treated Lung and Oni Lee. Only, they never pretended to be her friends first." He recalled Peter's description of the girls bullying Taylor. "I'm reasonably certain that if she tried hard enough, with no regard for her own life, she could bring this whole building tumbling down into the sub-basement, and us with it. I don't ever want to bring her to that state. Not while I'm within range of her power." And that wasn't even factoring Peter and Othala into the situation.

"So we lie to her." James' voice was impatient. "Tell her we're taking her somewhere else." He raised an eyebrow. "Surely you haven't forgotten how to lie, Max."

"Indeed I have not, James." Max let a little impatience into his tone. "But what happens once she's gone? Peter is her boyfriend. He'll want to know where she is, and why she can't contact him. Once he decides he doesn't like what he's hearing, he will start to ask questions. That alerts Victor, Othala, and Ferguson senior – who has, by the way, met Taylor, and quite likes her. So then he raises a fuss. In short? If she goes, we can't keep it a secret."

"I refuse to believe that," James returned. "First, we prime them both with a story that she will accept – perhaps a retreat involving the higher echelons of the Empire, or tell her that she's going for 'advanced power testing'. Your nephew understands information security; he won't be unduly surprised that she's being given special treatment, or that she'll be out of contact for a while." He gestured with his glass for emphasis. "On the day, she is sedated before she knows what's going on. That shouldn't be hard to achieve. We spirit her away. She undergoes re-education. Her powers are not all-encompassing; it would not be impossible to set up a situation where she has nothing to work with. Once she's been remoulded into a soldier totally loyal to the Empire, she is returned. In the meantime, her father has declined and died. She doesn't care. And we have what we want." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if daring Max to pull apart his scenario.

Max took a sip of the new drink, in lieu of counting to ten. "And then what? She's a bright, caring, vivacious girl; someone who was once brutalised emotionally and is only now starting to re-emerge from her shell. Re-education destroys all that; you know this. They will never be able to put back anything more than a caricature of what she once was. You and I might not care, but Peter will certainly care when his girlfriend goes away and is replaced by a stuffed dummy with no more real emotion than a wind-up toy." And contrary to that thought, I most certainly will care. I do not want my nephew's children raised by a Night or a Fog. He also had serious doubts as to how much of her instinctive tactical awareness would survive the process. Or whether Gesellschaft would even return her after the so-called re-education; after all, a powerful cape in Germany was worth two in America (to them, anyway).

"So we ensure that she is amenable to his advances," James sounded as though he could not quite understand why Max was objecting to this. "He's a teenage boy; having been one once, I would imagine that this would nullify most of his objections."

"My nephew is more than just a teenage boy," Max interjected coldly. "He is also in line to inherit the Empire, once he gains powers and I am ready to hand over the legacy. He has been groomed for this ever since I recognised the potential in him. If he were to fall for that, then I would no longer consider him worthy for the role." He finished his second drink and put the glass down. "Re-education is not an option."

"So what do you want from me?" James put his own glass down a little sharply; the alcohol remaining within slopped up the sides a little but did not spill. "You call me in here, present the problem, then shoot down every idea I come up with. What use has this been?"

What use, indeed. "It has assisted me in clearing my head, and considering the options that are still valid," Max informed him. "While your suggestions have merit, we are more tightly hemmed about with limitations than would normally be the case. Thank you for your assistance in this matter." He went back toward the windows overlooking Brockton Bay, turning his attention to the cityscape beyond.

James obviously took this as his cue to leave; he paused at the door. "So what will you be doing?" Or are you still lacking an answer? he didn't quite ask.

"I will be cementing her loyalty and dedication to the cause," Max replied without turning. "The Merchants are a suitably despicable opponent. Giving her a good solid win against scum like that will give her a rush that she will not quickly forget. It will prove to her that the victory against Lung was not an accident, and that she can do real good in the Empire. I know I can count on Peter, Othala and Victor to provide her with adequate positive reinforcement in this matter. By the time her father wakes, she will be ours."

"And if he objects to this state of affairs?" asked James. "Do we kill him?" Is your solution so elegant as you think?

"We will handle that aspect when we come to it," Max decided. "The PRT will assuredly have linked her face and name to Remote by the time this happens. There will almost certainly be a warrant out for her arrest. He will not want her to go to jail. I believe that we should be able to reach an arrangement."

"I hope so, for all of our sakes." James waited for a moment, but when Max did not reply, he opened the door and exited. The door closed quietly behind him.

Max refused to allow himself to doubt. It would work. He would make it work. More than just the Empire was at stake, here. His family depended on it.

He resumed his study of the Brockton Bay skyline.

<><>

Winslow High School

Peter took a moment to step into a quiet corridor and pulled out his phone. Taylor should have found them by now. He pressed speed-dial and '1', then waited for the phone to be answered. This did not take long.

"Hi, Peter!"

"Good morning, beautiful." Peter smiled at the sound of his girlfriend's voice. The sheer joy she exhibited when talking to him, even over the phone, awoke an answering warmth in his heart. She loves me for me. Not for my family, not for my prospects. Just me. It made him want to be better for her, to prove to her that he was the sort of person she saw him to be. "Happy Valentine's day, sweetheart. Wish I could be there with you, but school, right?" He looked around at the grimy off-white paint of the corridor wall. Oh, I could so be with Taylor right now.

"School. Bleh." Then she giggled. "I got your present. You really didn't have to." He had suspected as much; she sounded slightly giddier than normal. A chocolate high will do that.

"Oh, okay," he pretended to agree. "So I should send the whole box back, then?" A smirk spread across his face as he waited for her reply. A triple-decker box of the most expensive chocolates he could find? Explosion in three … two … one …

"Don't you dare," she laughed. "I love them. Nobody's given me chocolate for ages. And besides, I've eaten half of them already." In fact, her voice sounded slightly sticky. He was pretty sure she was eating one right at that moment.

"Wow, that many?" It was fun to tease; something Julie didn't understand. She wanted everything to go her way. With Taylor, it's a two way street. "You realise they'll go straight to your hips."

"Well, Tammi might have helped a little," she admitted. "But so what if they go to my hips? I could do with having hips." This was something that she might have said when they first met, but now her voice was filled with cheerful self-mockery rather than depression or unhappiness.

"Hey, I like your hips just fine," he replied, and he did. Just because Taylor didn't have the extravagant curves of other women didn't mean that she had no curves at all. "They're just … tastefully understated."

"So you have been checking me out," she mused. "I thought so." She spoiled the whole outraged act by breaking into a fit of giggles. "So, should I go shopping for more skinny jeans?"

"I wouldn't object in the slightest," he replied with an answering chuckle. "We could go shopping together, if you wanted. You can model them for me before you buy them." He actually kind of liked that idea. Shopping with the girlfriend was supposed to be the most deadly boring of impositions, but watching Taylor's face light up with happiness was always worth it. And Taylor in skinny jeans was very nice to look at, too.

"Aren't you supposed to hand in your man card for even suggesting such a thing?" Ooh, she was on fire today. "Mind you, I'm kind of lacking in money for fun shopping, but I guess I can still try them on for you." And there was the old Taylor, the one who persisted in looking at the grim side of life. Except that he wasn't sure where she was coming from with this.

"So use your pay. Unless you're trying to save up." It wasn't exactly a secret that Empire capes got paid. Costumes cost a lot to maintain, and so did other equipment.

" … I get paid?" That took him off guard. From the tone of her voice, either she had just managed to lie perfectly to him for the first time ever, or she simply hadn't known about it.

"Wait, you didn't know?" Wow, way to be obvious about it. Why hadn't someone told her?

"Well, no. I guess I didn't think about it, so I didn't ask." Which made a weird kind of sense, now that he came to think about it.

"And nobody thought to tell you, because they thought you already knew." He shook his head in bemusement. "Yes, to clear this up, you do get paid." He cupped his hand over the phone. "Did you think Hookwolf had a day job?"

"Um, no. I just … wow. Okay." She giggled, sounding a little self-conscious. "I just didn't make the connection. Um, how do I access the money?"

"That part I don't know," he confessed, trying to recall what he'd been told of it. "Card, maybe?"

"Oh, wait." Taylor's voice held tones of deepest realisation. "Othala gave me an envelope just before. I was going to open it, then you called." There was the muted sound of ripping paper. "And it's a charge card. Wow. Awesome." Her voice became much more cheerful. "So, shopping sometime this week?"

"I look forward to it." He raised his head as the bell went off. "Uh, oh. Home room beckons. Love you, babe." It was so nice to have someone to say that to, and mean it. "And happy Valentine's Day again."

The giddy tone was back. "I love you too, Peter. I'll see you this afternoon?"

"Definitely." Even though he was now hustling to class, he didn't want to end the call. But of course, he had to. "Bye, sweetie."

"Bye, love." He could hear the smile in her voice, the one that went with the look of adoration in her eyes that made him feel ten feet tall and able to take on the world in her defence. Even though she could kick more ass than he would ever be capable of. Oh, yeah. Best girlfriend ever.

Ending the call, he slid his phone into his pocket and increased his pace. Kelly, walking alongside him, tilted his head. "Taylor?"

"What gave it away, the silly grin or the 'I love you'?" Peter replied with a chuckle. "Yeah, that was Taylor. I am so glad I met her." Which was the understatement of the century.

"Yeah, me too. She's a lot better for you than that bitch Julie," Kelly said bluntly. Taylor had been accepted by Peter's in-group long before she had chosen to officially join the Empire. That act had merely served to cement her status with them. Despite the fact that there was nobody nearby, Kelly lowered his voice. "So what was that about Hookwolf?"

So he caught that. Peter shrugged. "Oh, someone screwed up. Or rather, we all screwed up. Nobody actually thought to tell her she gets paid. For, well, you know." Being a cape, he didn't have to say.

That got him a blink and a look of surprise. "Wait, what? How come nobody told her?"

Peter shrugged again. "Because everyone thought she already knew. And she didn't know because …" He didn't need to finish the statement.

"Huh. Oh, man." Kelly shook his head, a look of bemusement on his face. "Gotta love communication. Mind you, she's a real smart cookie. She woulda figured it out."

"Yeah, Taylor's smart as they come," Peter agreed, letting the pride show in his voice. "Smarter than me, that's for sure."

"Well, duh," agreed Kelly. "Oh, hey, got one for you. What do you say if you wake up in the middle of the night and see your TV floating out the window?" He grinned, looking pleased with himself.

"I dunno," Peter said. "What do you say?" He thought he knew where this one was going, but he decided to let Kelly have it.

Kelly's grin widened, and he put on a ridiculously dramatic voice. "'Drop it, Skidmark!'"

"Hah, good one." Peter held up his hand, and Kelly high-fived it. Laughing, they headed off to class.

<><>

Arcadia High School
Lunchtime

"Ames! You'll never guess what happened!" A blonde-haired whirlwind of happiness attacked Amy Dallon, picking her up and spinning her around. Set back on her feet, she wobbled a bit until her inner ears stopped sloshing around, then gave her sister a mock glare.

"Seriously, Vicky? Do you mind not doing that to me?" She had to admit, Victoria looked positively vibrant. Hovering in the air, the blonde was a good two inches off the ground. A feeling of happiness threatened to overwhelm her. "Ugh. Aura."

"Sorry, Ames. I was just so excited. I had to tell you the good news." Vicky managed to sound contrite, at least briefly, as the unnatural elation melted away.

"Yeah, well. Next time I might puke on your shoes. Just to explain why you shouldn't do it." Amy wasn't sure that she would actually throw up on Vicky, but the threat should do the trick. "Good news? Oh, the hearing?" This close to Vicky, especially with the aura involved, Amy would normally be doing her best to ignore her sister's proximity. Now, it was barely an effort. No unnatural longings raised themselves in her mind. Scapegoat, when I see you next, I'm going to give you a big kiss. Totally platonic, of course.

"Yup!" Vicky bounced on her toes, having to drop down a couple of inches to accomplish this. "What's stunningly beautiful, has blonde hair, and is the newest member of the Wards?"

Amy pretended to consider this seriously. "Hmm. If I'd known you were going to be asking me riddles … that's a difficult one. Can I have some time to think it over?" She put on a solemn expression and rubbed her chin, trying hard not to grin.

"Me, duh!" Vicky rolled her eyes. "I can see you smiling there. The people holding the hearing said they were satisfied that I was remorseful, and they listened to Mom speak, but it was your written deposition that really got their attention, I think."

"I'm sorry that I couldn't come along," Amy said immediately, and meant it. "I wanted to, but Carol decided that I should be in school. But they let me do a deposition, so I did that. You think it helped?" She brightened slightly at that news. Vicky was still her sister, and Amy still loved her. Just not in that way.

"Oh, yeah," Vicky said happily. "I mean, you were pretty up-front with what you said about me, and Mom was a little pissed when she saw what you wrote, but they said that it was the most honest thing that had been said about me, and that the fact that you still advocated for my placement in the Wards meant a lot." She grabbed Amy in another hug. "So thanks for that."

Amy hugged her sister back. "Hey, if anyone can tell the straight truth about you, it's gotta be me. So, how are the Wards taking having you on the team?"

"Eh, we're still working out the kinks." Vicky waggled her hand in midair. "I've worked with them before, of course, but I spoke to Triumph and apparently it's different now that I'm a part of the team. He actually expects me to follow orders." The face she made defined exactly how she felt about that.

"That's actually probably a good idea," Amy pointed out. "You've got a habit of breaking things." And people, she thought but did not say. Vicky caught the inference anyway, if her expression was any indication. "And hey, this way you get the Wards trust fund. So, win-win." Vicky poked her tongue out at Amy; Amy giggled. I wonder when I should tell her about the Valentine's card that came in the mail today, from San Diego?

<><>

Commander Thomas Calvert
PRT Building

Sitting in his office, Calvert split the timeline into two. In one, he continued to deal with the minutiae of running a strike team. Fitness reports, budgetary requirements and training schedules, all to be checked through and initialled. In the other, he pushed the paperwork aside and picked up the phone. The call he intended to make was relatively innocuous on the surface, but he didn't want anyone knowing about it anyway.

He dialled the number and waited. After three rings, it was picked up. A teenage girl, giggling over some joke or other. "Hello, Amy speaking. Who is this?"

"Good afternoon, Panacea," Calvert said, putting on his best 'commander' voice. "This is Commander Calvert, Parahuman Response Teams. I need a few moments of your time, if I may."

"Oh, uh, okay," she replied, not sounding as intimidated as he'd hoped. "What's this about? Do I need to find someplace private?" He heard a girl's voice in the background, but not what was being said.

"Not necessarily," he replied. "Is there someone there with you?" Not that it mattered, but he had to keep up appearances.

"Just Glory Girl. I can ask her to go away, if you want." Panacea sounded uncertain.

"No, that's fine." He straightened the sheet of paper in front of him. "I just need to ask you a few questions. All you need to do is answer yes or no."

"Oh. Well, sure, I can do that. What's this about, anyway?" She was certainly inquisitive, but he didn't mind answering. He'd been about to tell her this exact information, after all.

"It's about the incident on the Boardwalk on February the second, with Victor and the people that you healed. Do you remember many details about it?" He hoped that she did, otherwise this call would be an utter waste of time. Of course, she'd never know that the call had ever happened.

"Uh, yeah. I remember about everything that happened. It's not every day that I get shot, you know?" Her voice was rueful, but at least she was engaging the question. "That kind of focuses the attention."

"That it does," he agreed. "Now, you're able to detect the presence of an active corona pollentia in people, right?" This wasn't a given, but from his understanding of Panacea's power, she was able to map out the body in detail. The corona pollentia was a defined brain structure, so she should be able to tell that it was there.

"I haven't been deliberately checking to see if people have powers!" she said hastily. He rolled his eyes. So much for 'yes or no' answers.

"I never said you have," he said soothingly. "I was just wondering if you were able to detect it at all." If she wasn't, he would have to find out some other way, but she could save him so much time.

"This is official PRT business?" she asked; not quite suspiciously, but definitely a little warily.

"Certainly," he lied. "Come in this afternoon and I'll have all the documents lined up for you to check out." Which ranked with every other assurance he had given someone in a discarded timeline; somewhere between 'when hell freezes over' and 'you have to be kidding'.

"Oh, okay. Commander Calvert, was it?" She seemed to be waiting for his assurance.

"That's me. Thomas Calvert, Commander." He rattled off his identification number just to confuse her a little farther. "Ask Glory Girl about the takedown she helped my team with. She assisted two of my team out of a tight corner."

There was some mumbling that he couldn't catch, then Panacea came back on the line. "Okay, that checks out. So yeah, I can tell you that yes, I can tell if someone has a corona pollentia and if it's active or not."

He felt the tension ease out of his chest. "Excellent. Marvellous. Now, here's the big question. Do you recall if any of the people you treated at the Boardwalk had an active corona pollentia?"

The wariness was back. "Why do you want to know? The unspoken rules …"

"I'm not looking to unmask anyone," he hastened to say. And for once, it was actually the truth. "It's just that there are some irregularities with this case that would be easier to explain if I knew whether the Ferguson boy had powers or not." Again the truth, but set up to mislead.

"Oh, okay. Well …" She paused for a long moment. "The boy I healed had no corona pollentia, active or otherwise. Is that what you wanted to know?"

Okay, so it must have been a panic room after all. "Yes, that's precisely what I wanted to know. Thank you very much, Panacea. You've been a great help." He wondered if there might be some way he could induce her to work for him; she would be an utterly invaluable asset. But no. It would be far too difficult to arrange.

He dropped the timeline; picking up the sheet of paper, he fed it into the shredder by his desk. Then he turned his chair and sat there, staring out the window. A lesser man might have felt doubt or worry about the task which he had set himself. Calvert felt no such emotion.

Taylor Hebert was a new cape in Brockton Bay, and she had proven herself to be both powerful and resourceful. Virtually every other powerful cape in the city was entrenched in one organisation or another; in a very real way, they were already part of the system. They did not effect significant change, because checks and balances were already in place to keep them in line.

However, the Hebert girl was a new piece on the board. Wherever she went, she would upset the balance; in the case of the Empire Eighty-Eight, she would increase the effective power of an already strong team to a level that nobody wanted to face. Just her ability to neutralise firearms and control vehicles made the PRT effectively useless against her, and it was possible that Tinkertech weapons and vehicles were equally vulnerable. For someone whose ability to project force lay in mercenaries carrying rifles, this state of affairs was intolerable. She had to be either co-opted or removed from the board.

He had yet to come down solidly on the idea of having her killed off; at the moment, he was still intrigued by the idea of having her working for him. The possibilities inherent in such an arrangement were endless. Of course, to get her to work for him at all, he would first have to rescue her father from wherever the Empire had him stashed, whereupon the man could then be used as either carrot or stick, whichever was most appropriate. The Empire Eighty-Eight would lose, Coil would win, and all would be right with the world.

Smiling, Thomas Calvert got back to work.



End of Part Seventeen

Part Eighteen

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Eighteen: Try, Try Again



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



February 14, 2011
Medhall Building
4:56 PM

I checked my watch again, then put my hands behind my back to forestall temptation. Peter was due to pick me up in the Medhall drive-through at five; not wanting to keep him waiting, I had been ready for the last fifteen minutes. Tammi had loaned me one of her nicer dresses and helped me do my hair, all the while teasing me about Peter. But now I was the one waiting, and he wasn't here.

I doubted that he would stand me up; the idea was slightly less likely than the entirety of Brockton Bay sliding into the ocean, so I wasn't worried. But time was passing so slowly. I wanted to be out with Peter, to do whatever he had planned for our first Valentine's Day together. That was how he had described it; like a bonus piece of chocolate discovered at the bottom of the box, that one extra word had made the phrase so much better. 'Our first Valentine's Day together'. Like he had taken it for granted that we would be together for many more. I was more than all right with that idea.

"Taylor." I knew that voice; nobody else in the Empire had quite those smooth, rich cadences. It was my boss, Peter's uncle. The man to whom I owed so much. I turned to greet him with a smile, automatically smoothing down Tammi's dress with my hands as I did so.

"Mr Anders," I said in reply. "How are you, sir?" I bobbed my head in respect. He was well-dressed as always in a suit and tie, the shoes shined to a mirror finish. I wasn't sure how he always managed to pull off that look, but he carried it very well indeed.

"I'm well," he said. "I trust that you are settling in comfortably?" The look in his eye indicated to me that he wasn't just asking an idle question. He really wanted me to be settled in comfortably. A warm feeling spread through my chest.

"Oh, yes," I told him. "Everyone's been so good to me." I didn't need to mention Peter. If everyone in the Empire didn't know about me and Peter, then it was because they weren't cleared to know. "Thank you for asking."

"That's entirely all right." He paused, and his gaze became much more intense. "Tell me, do you know how many firearms there are within fifty feet of us right now?"

"Oh, uh -" I dipped into my power, absorbed the information, then dropped them again. "- seventeen, sir. Two assault rifles, fifteen pistols."

"Indeed." I began to feel a little uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "One more question. Did you know that before I asked?"

Oh. Oh. I flushed, feeling like an idiot. "No, sir," I mumbled, dropping my head. "I wasn't checking."

He raised one immaculate eyebrow. "And just because you're going on a date with my nephew, do you perhaps think that anyone harbouring ill intentions toward the Empire is going to lay off on you?" His tone was as smooth as ever, but the words cut deeply. It was a real wake-up call.

"Uh, no. No, sir." Before he walked up, I'd been on top of the world. Now I felt about one inch tall. "I'll do better, sir."

"I know you will, Taylor." He smiled briefly and squeezed my shoulder. "You're new to this, but I have great expectations for you. Enjoy your evening." Turning, he walked back into the building, leaving me in a turmoil of emotions.

Holy crap. Max Anders was the sort of boss that I'd never known I wanted. He could have been a lot nastier about it, but once he pointed out my mistake and I acknowledged where I had gone wrong, it was as if a switch had been flipped. He'd said he had great expectations for me. I wanted to dance in a circle, or squee to the rooftops that Mr Anders – Kaiser himself – had said nice things about me, to my face.

Taking a deep breath, I composed myself. Then I called on my powers in an attempt to get a complete picture of the surrounding area as quickly as I could before dropping them again. I didn't spot anything untoward, but I did detect a familiar-looking truck as it approached the building. Peter's here! Yay! I was glad that they'd repaired the truck for him rather than simply scrapping it and buying a new one; during the battle with Lung and afterward, it had served us well.

When he pulled up in the drive-through, I was waiting at the curb. He set the handbrake and got out of the vehicle so that he could open the door for me, although we both knew perfectly well that I was more capable of doing that – or, for that matter, driving the truck itself – than he was. However, he wanted to do that for me, and I wanted to let him, so that's what we were going to do.

"Hi, Taylor." He smiled and kissed me, almost but not quite on the cheek. "You look lovely tonight."

I hugged him and returned the kiss as the blush started to mount in my cheeks. He had a way of doing that with his compliments; it made them seem fresh and new every time. Maybe it was the fact that he meant it, and I knew that he did. Whatever the reason, I wasn't about to complain. Besides, he looked extremely sharp in slacks and a button-down shirt. "You look nice too," I murmured as I held him close.

"Thank you, Taylor. I'll definitely take that from you." Letting me go, he captured my right hand with his left and with a flourish, opened up the passenger side door. "Your carriage awaits, my dear."

With a giggle, I let him hand me in, careful to settle my skirt so that the door would not close on it. "Thank you, sir." Reminded of his uncle's words, I pulled up my powers for an instant and checked for nearby threats. There were none; before he got back around to his side of the truck, I had dropped my powers once more.

"So where are we going?" I asked as he climbed in. "I'm still not sure that the police won't get involved if I'm recognised."

"I've got a place in mind," he said; from the look and sound of it, he was rather pleased with himself.

"Oh? Where?" He didn't answer, so I looked at him sideways. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

Putting the truck in gear, he started it moving. "What good is a surprise if it isn't surprising?" he asked cheerfully.

Although curious, I knew Peter well enough by now to understand that he wouldn't give me any hints if he didn't want to. And while pretending to badger him for answers would be fun for both of us, I decided not to do that. Reaching out to put my hand on his where it rested on the wheel, I decided to just relax and enjoy the evening.

<><> ​

Coil

Thomas Calvert had decided to change things up. In the one timeline, he was at home with the TV on, ostensibly catching up on his favourite shows. However, he had his laptop open in front of him, with the best secure connection that money could buy linked into his base computer system. His men were out and about on their latest mission, which was to trail Peter Ferguson whenever the boy left the Willow Heights gated community.

In the other timeline, he was in the base, digging deep into all of the online resources that he could locate in order to create a more complete picture of his foe. In this particular case, the foe was the Empire Eighty-Eight and Taylor Hebert in no particular order; together, they posed a far greater problem for him than they did apart. His first order of business was to figure out a way to separate them permanently from one other. Second was to work out a way to acquire Taylor's father, so as to bind the Hebert girl permanently into his service.

The men following Peter reported that he had just gone through the Medhall building drive-through, and now there seemed to be a second person in the truck. Positive identification had not yet been made, but there was a distinct possibility that it was the Hebert girl. This raised a whole string of possibilities in Calvert's mind; if it was indeed her, then she was staying at the Medhall building. Which meant that the Empire had an interest in the Medhall corporation.

Calvert followed the thought to its logical conclusion. In the other timeline, his counterpart feverishly pulled up all the information that he had been able to glean about the Empire's activities, then he matched it to what he knew about Max Anders, head of Medhall. If Calvert turned his head and squinted slightly, Kaiser could easily be Max Anders in a suit of armour. Purity, his second in command, had recently split from the Empire … and around the same time, Kayden Anders had separated from her husband of a year.

It fits. It all fits.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned back in his chair in both realities at once. All too well, he knew the dangers of allowing wish-fulfilment to colour his perceptions of how the facts fit together. Coincidences happened, and just because something looked right didn't mean that it was right. In the reality where his mercenaries were following the Ferguson kid's truck, he picked up a notepad and scribbled a memo to himself. Then he adjusted his headset microphone. "Alpha Squad, move in. I want imagery. Get closer, but do not engage, over."

The reply was swift in coming. "Alpha Squad, moving in for imagery. Acknowledging do not engage, over."

The mission consisted of three squads, each made up of three cars. As the initial group, the men and women of Alpha Squad were intended to determine if Taylor Hebert could detect electronic chatter with her powers. Calvert had given them very specific orders before sending them out; while they were to get close to the target vehicle, they were not to bring any weapons along or perform any hostile activity. Bravo and Charlie Squads were well-armed, but only Bravo was intended to do anything with their weapons.

Each car was equipped with a dash-cam. Calvert watched the split-screen closely as the vehicles of Alpha Squad eased into position. One of the pictures swivelled sideways as the mercenary moved the dash-cam so that it was pointed at an angle. Just a moment later, the rear end of Peter Ferguson's truck came into view; as the car moved up, the rear window passed by the camera, and then the front window. Calvert stared at the image, unable to make it out for a second. And then the girl in the front seat turned her head, and Thomas Calvert was looking at Taylor Hebert.

"Yes," he muttered to himself in the other reality, then glanced around to make sure nobody had heard him. He usually didn't carry over behaviour from one reality to the other, but sometimes his excitement got the better of him. In this particular instance, there was nobody nearby, which was good; he had yet to decide which timeline to drop, and he preferred it be the one where he wasn't seen acting oddly.

Alpha Squad still held its position near Peter Ferguson's truck; for a moment, he considered giving the order to run the vehicle off the road and capture both of them. Then he thought better of the idea; while the girl probably didn't go armed, the Ferguson boy certainly did. In any case, she didn't need a weapon if she could control vehicles as well as Calvert suspected that she could. It was better to stick with the information gathering and let the capture happen in its own time.

"Alpha Squad, remain in position," he ordered. "I say again, Alpha Squad is to remain in position. Bravo Squad, move in. Do not engage target until ordered. Charlie Squad, maintain relative separation from target, over."

"Alpha Squad copies. Maintaining position, over."

"Bravo Squad, that's a roger. Moving in, over."

"Charlie Squad, roger. Maintaining separation from target."

Sitting in his living room chair, Calvert re-adjusted his headset mic and carefully eyed the images he had of Ferguson's truck. It only took about ten seconds for Taylor Hebert to turn her head and speak to Ferguson. The truck moved ahead, its indicator coming on before it swung into the turning lane. For all his youth, Ferguson judged it to a nicety; as if he had set it up that way, they came up on the intersection just as the light turned green and he swung around to the left. Calvert's lips thinned as he saw two of the three cameras lose their picture of the truck.

"Alpha lead, Alpha lead, I'm out of position. Alpha Two, Alpha Three, say location, over?"

"Alpha Three, I'm on his six, following, over."

"Alpha Two, I've got nothing. Moving to reacquire, over."

"Charlie Squad, we've just lost line of sight, over."

"Bravo Squad, still closing, over."

He keyed the mic. "Charlie Squad, take the next left, over. Alpha Lead, Alpha Two, reacquire as soon as possible, over."

Leaning back, he sighed. Ferguson's manoeuvre had scraped off two of the Alpha chase cars, but that was an accidental byproduct. His guess was that the Hebert girl had detected the cars full of heavily armed men and women closing on her position and told her companion. Ferguson had made the turn so as to determine if the cars were really following them, which they were; Calvert wanted to see what happened next.

He tapped keys and enlarged the scrolling map so that it covered half the screen; here and there on the map, highlighted dots indicated the positions of the cars. A click of the mouse centred the map on Alpha Three, the one car that had been able to maintain its proximity to Ferguson's truck. Bravo Squad had made the turn and were in the process of manoeuvring through traffic to get close to the target. Charlie Squad, on the other hand, were about one and a half blocks removed from the action. This was intentional; among other things, he wanted to see how she reacted to non-threatening but potential danger. Also, getting a better idea of her overall range would be a good idea in any scenario where he was to attempt capture of her.

"Alpha Three. Target is turning right right right. Sticking with him, but he's accelerating. Orders, over?"

This was not good. Ferguson's second turn had just put Charlie Squad out of position and ruined the attempt of Alpha Lead and Alpha Two to reacquire as they shot past on the wrong side of the road. As the truck powered away, Charlie Squad's separation increased to two blocks. "Alpha Three, maintain relative position. Charlie Squad, take an immediate right. Bravo Squad, acquire and engage. I say again, acquire and engage. Do you copy, over?"

"Alpha Three copies maintain position, over."

"Charlie Squad, taking the turn now, over."

"Bravo Squad, moving to acquire and engage, over."

Over the radio, he heard the clicks and clacks as the team members pulled bolts and worked slides to ready their weapons. Approximately two seconds later, the view from Alpha Three of the rear of Ferguson's truck began to recede. "Alpha Three. Move up, you're losing ground, over."

"Alpha Three, here. That's not us. The car engine just cut out. We've got no power, over."

He had just enough time to register that she had made Alpha Three when shouts, screams and shots echoed through his headset. By the time he looked at the camera views, all three Bravo Squad vehicles were out of action. It seemed that one had rear-ended a passing police car, another had veered into an alley and rammed a dumpster, and the third had simply … pulled over?

No, not just pulled over, he realised a few seconds later, when they reported that the car doors had refused to open. Nor would the engine turn over. They're being held. "Bravo Squad, open your windows and get out that way!" he ordered.

The decision came far too late for the mercenaries in the car. A nondescript SUV swung in to a halt in front of the Bravo Squad vehicle, in full view of the dash cam. Several large men with shaven heads got out and headed toward the mercenaries in a purposeful manner. They went out of sight of the camera; over the radio, Calvert heard the sound of glass shattering. If that wasn't bad enough, he then had to listen to the shouts and screams from his men as they were dragged from the car one by one to be beaten to a pulp on the sidewalk. Or so he presumed, from the screams and ugly sounds that he could hear over the still-operating radio link. His men were tough, but they were still only human. Even the stubbornest soldiers of fortune could have only so many bones broken before they themselves snapped. So Kaiser does still have her tailed, just in case. Good to know.

He keyed his mic. "Charlie Squad, report status, over."

There was a long silence. Then finally, just as he began to wonder what had happened to them, an answer came back. "This is Charlie Lead. Our cars have just … stopped. Engines are dead. Over."

Well, that answered that. Her range is more than two and a half blocks. And she's more situationally aware than she was the last time I tried this. This is now officially a problem. And I'm almost done here.

Checking the note he'd written to himself, he thought about what to say, then dialled a number on his phone. It rang exactly once. "Yes, boss?" Tattletale's voice was as irritatingly chirpy as ever.

"One question. Answer yes or no." His voice was crisp, in command. There was no hint of the irritation of the last few minutes; that had been shunted off to the version of himself that was sitting in the base. "Is Max Anders Kaiser?"

"Give me a second," Tattletale replied almost immediately. He heard computer keys rattling, then a pause. "Okay ... huh, so he is. What are you going to do with that information – holy shit, you're going to unmask -"

He dropped that timeline, leaving the one where he was at his computer in the base. No need for Tattletale to know what she's just told me. It was a rather successful ploy that he made regular use of. Sometimes, as in this instance, he didn't even need to use torture to get the information that he needed. Of course, once in a while torture was the point of the exercise.

He split the timeline again. One instance of him got up and prepared to leave the base. The other stayed exactly where it was. He would have a good night's sleep while at the same time he gathered information and planned his next move against Taylor Hebert and the Empire.

I can't help but win. Really, she doesn't stand a chance.

<><> ​

Taylor

"So … what do you think?" If I didn't know Peter so well, I would have missed the anxious tone in his voice. As it was, I recognised it, but I was too busy blinking to take a well-deserved chance to tease him.

"I … wow." I stared at the folding table and chairs which had been set up for us on the lookout area atop Captain's Hill. There was a tablecloth, and plates that looked like china, and food in a massive picnic basket, and candles. In a silver holder, even. Still slightly stunned, I watched as a burly leather-jacketed man with a buzz-cut finished lighting the candles with his Zippo. He gave me a nod of respect then backed off to join his buddies.

Reminded of my meeting with Kaiser, I flexed my power for a second; to my relief, the only guns within my range were the ones worn by Peter and the Empire men. The latter were now spreading out to form some sort of perimeter; it was kind of cute how they tried hard to look like tourists admiring the view while they watched the road and the other sight-seers. We weren't the only people up here, of course, but the other couples seemed to understand that we wanted to be left alone.

"How long did it take for you to arrange this?" I asked as he pulled my chair out for me. He knew how to do it properly, too; unlike some, he pushed the chair in just right so that I sat down comfortably. "I mean, wow. I heard nothing about this. Just that you wanted to take me on a date."

"Since yesterday," he admitted, with a smile that was just slightly self-conscious. "I asked Uncle Max if I could borrow the guys again, and he asked a few questions. Then the next thing I knew, I had Othala on the line, planning the whole thing out for me. Even the candles." He glanced at them as they burned steadily in the cool evening air. "I wasn't sure about them, but I'm kinda convinced now. You don't think they're over the top?"

I reached across the table and took his hands. His skin was warm against mine as I squeezed his fingers. "They're perfect, Peter. Everything's perfect." Careful not to knock the candles, I let go his left hand and waved toward the purple western sky, where the last remnants of sunset still lingered. "You take me to the most beautiful places in Brockton Bay. How can I not love everything about this? About the only way it could be more romantic would be if you were planning to get down on one knee and …" At the look on his face, I trailed off. My heart lurched in my chest. "Oh my god," I whispered. "Are you going to … do you want to … I mean …"

"Taylor." His hand squeezed mine. "Breathe." His smile, although a little strained, settled my racing pulse slightly. Gently, he reached across the table and took hold of my right hand. "It's all right."

I took in a breath of cool air, slightly flavoured by the scented candles. I don't know how to handle this. I want to marry him, I really do, but I'm too young! "All … right?" I managed.

"I love you, Taylor." His words were balm to my racing mind. "I did actually think of proposing tonight, but Othala talked me out of it." Now his smile had a distinctly sardonic quirk to it. "She said something about not freaking you out by moving too fast."

At first, I felt a little upset that Othala had intruded into my private affairs, but then I took another breath and felt my pulse slow down a little more. "I … think she was right." My return smile was more than a little sheepish. "I was kinda freaking out just a little there. I'm … well, you know I'm not sixteen yet."

He squeezed my fingers and gave me that special smile; I felt tingles go all the way down to my toes. "It's okay. I'm only sixteen myself. Father says that we shouldn't rush into adulthood. It's not going anywhere, after all."

I felt my heart swelling in my chest, and with good reason; his words were just what I needed to hear. "Thanks. I love you too. So very much. How did I end up deserving someone like you?" A tear overflowed my eyelid and ran down my cheek.

His smile widened into a grin. "I seem to recall this girl who kept angrily telling me to go away, when all I wanted to do was help her with a little bullying problem." Letting go my left hand, he reached into his pocket and passed me a handkerchief.

Carefully I wiped the tear away, then blew my nose. "Stupid allergies," I muttered, although I knew I wasn't fooling either one of us with my act. "I notice you didn't go away," I said. "So how did we get from there to here, anyway?"

He shrugged, though his expression became more serious. "I started out just wanting to help, and ended up wanting to take you in my arms and protect you forever."

I hadn't thought I could fall any more in love with Peter, but at that moment my heart proved me wrong; once more, I found myself sniffling again, with more treacherous tears on my cheeks. "God dammit," I mumbled. "That line should have been cheesier than … than Mouse Protector's Big Book of Bad Puns. How can you say it like you mean it so much?"

"Because I do," he said, before his eyes lit up with mischief. "Wait, you had that book?"

Right up until then, I had been totally proud of myself for not blushing even once, but that broke me even more thoroughly than if he had started quoting love poetry at me. I felt the flush start at my neckline and start moving upward at speed. "I, uh, it was a birthday present?" Which I had kept under my pillow for a solid two weeks, but he didn't need to know that.

"Uh huh." From the way he had his eyebrows raised, he didn't believe me. That wasn't a surprise; between the flush and the limp-noodle excuse, I wouldn't have believed me, either. "Somehow I'm not altogether convinced. You strike me as someone who read it from cover to cover. More than once."

I was guilty as charged, of course, but he didn't need to know that, either. "Uh, I might have glanced at it once or twice."

"Really." His grin was back in full strength as he leaned across the table. "I'm betting there's more to it than that. Am I in the presence of a … Lil' Mousey?"

How is he even doing this? My flush betrayed me; I was reasonably certain that I was glowing harder than the candles. "Uh, maybe?" I mumbled.

He cleared his throat, and in that moment I knew he was going to say something that would complete my transition into the uncontested winner of World's Most Embarrassed Girlfriend. A lifetime title, even. That, or I would spontaneously combust through sheer mortification.

"Oh, come all ye Mouse-fans, wherever ye may be," he sang, in a voice so clear and rich I almost missed the lyrics themselves.

My first thought – of course he's a great singer – was quickly drowned out with astonishment at what he was actually singing. Almost by habit, I joined in on the second line, although I stumbled a little over the words. By the fourth line, I had caught up, though I had a suspicion that he had slowed down a little to make it easier for me. Whatever; I didn't mind.

Together, we sang the entirety of the anthem for the Lil' Mousey Club, which also doubled – mostly – as the theme song for the Mouse Protector show. " … just look around, Mouse Protector will be there!" I finished triumphantly, then paused to catch my breath. Peter's eyes were alight, there was more colour in his cheeks than before, and his grin was as broad as mine. I stared at him. "How do you even know that song?" I asked.

Now it was his turn to lie badly. "I, uh, watched the show a few times?" The smile on his lips twitched a few times as he waited for me to catch him out. He was enjoying this, I could tell.

I made a rude noise with my lips. "Bull. You knew the secret verse that only gets sung by Lil' Mouseys." All of a sudden, the dots connected themselves behind my eyes. "You – you were a Lil' Mousey too!"

"Maybe?" He was bad at being shy about it, and the grin that hovered on his lips didn't help in the slightest. Then he sighed. "Yeah. For a couple of years, then … well, life got in the way. But it was fun while it lasted. I even got an autographed photo of Mouse Protector kicking Ravager's ass. I mean, literally kicking Ravager in the ass."

I tried to suppress the smirk but it wasn't easy. "I'd love to see that. I got one of her after she stopped Doc Iridium from blowing up the Sears Tower. I'm still not sure how she managed to get the rope over the lamp-post, or dangle him from it by his ankles, but she did it."

Peter's laughter was infectious; I joined in without a care about my previous embarrassment, quite probably startling the other Valentine's sightseers, but I didn't care. It felt good to laugh, to let my cares just drain away. They would come back once we went back down to the real world, but right now, I was on a date with my boyfriend.

Reflexively, I checked with my power – all clear – then grinned broadly at Peter. "Oh, man. I needed that."

"Me too." He snickered. "By his ankles, huh?" Leaning down to open the picnic basket, he pulled out a bowl of chicken pieces, then another of potato salad.

"Yeah. Mmm, thanks." I accepted plastic cutlery, then dropped chicken and potato on my plate. "And yeah, I read the Big Book so many times, Mom and Dad used to wince every time I opened my mouth. She must've had a ball writing it." It was one of the few things Emma didn't use against me, mainly because she had been into it just as much as I had.

"I don't think she wrote it, so much as authorised it," Peter suggested as he took a long-necked bottle and a couple of glasses from the basket. "I think they just took the funniest things she said on camera and put them in a book. Would you like some sparkling apple juice? I know it's not champagne, but I'm pretty sure you don't drink, and I'm driving."

"Well, no, I don't," I agreed. "And you're probably right about the book. Though I hope they gave her adequate royalties. Being an independent has got to be expensive. Ooh, gravy, thanks." I tasted the gravy, my brow wrinkling. "Wait, this tastes familiar."

He nodded earnestly. "It's the same recipe they use in the Augustus Country Club. I remember how much you liked it."

For just a moment, I was rendered speechless all over again. He had remembered that? I'd totally forgotten about the delicious gravy – though, reminded about it, my tastebuds were currently jumping up and down – given that my most prominent memory of that Gathering was being beaten up by Peter's ex. Of course, at this moment I was being almost literally wined and dined by Peter, with the same delicious gravy, overlooking the tapestry of lights that was Brockton Bay by night. A candlelight dinner on top of Captain's Hill. Who else even was even lucky enough for something like this?

After I tried and failed to think of an adequate answer that didn't sound like well duh, now gimme the gravy, I gave up and just started spooning gravy over the chicken. "Wow," I mused. "That was only last month. It feels like longer."

"Well, a lot has happened," he pointed out, then suddenly chuckled.

"What?" I asked suspiciously, my fork halted halfway to my mouth with some chicken on it.

He chuckled again. "If someone happened to tell Julie that you're a cape now, I think she'd jump at the option of grovelling for photos rather than face you in your armour."

He was almost certainly right. I took a bite of the – exquisitely cooked, as it turned out – chicken, savouring the taste of the gravy, then wiped my chin with Peter's handkerchief. "I dunno," I mused. "That feels a little like cheating." Then I tilted my head. "On the other hand, screw it. If you're gonna tell her I'm a cape, I want to be there and see her face when you do."

Peter's eyes were alight with mischief once more. "Oh hell yes. Imagine telling her that she's going to be introduced to our latest cape. She's all excited, right up until you open the faceplate and say hi."

I snorted with laughter, smothered only a little by the potato salad I was eating. "If I'm gonna do that, I need to get Victor to build a camera into the armour."

"Definitely." Peter nodded. "Moments like that need to be preserved for posterity."

"Yeah," I agreed, then a thought occurred to me. "Um, about that. This is gonna sound a little silly, but … do you have a camera on you?" I hoped that what I was about to say didn't sound too ridiculous or needy.

"Actually, yes," he said. "My phone's got one. Why?" As he spoke, he dug it out of his pocket.

I took a deep breath. "Because tomorrow I'll never believe that tonight's been so utterly awesome unless I've got a photo to remember it by. Because this sort of romance just plain doesn't happen in my life. Until I met you, anyway." I stared into his eyes, silently willing him to understand.

"Well, yeah," he agreed. "I was going to suggest one myself. And if it turns out well, we can get it framed." He nodded at the candles. "We'll need to put those out. They'll glare out the city lights if we try to take the picture with them lit."

"Two photos," I suggested. "One with the candles, one without." I really, really wanted a picture of me at a candlelight dinner. It would be my first ever.

"Okay," he agreed. "We'll take the second one just before we start packing up. Wanna help me take the first one now?" He held the phone up so that I could help steady it, then with our free hands we toasted the lens with apple juice. After a brief pause so that we could link pinkies, I held the camera steady and he clicked the shutter button.

He took another one just in case, then we checked the results. I looked like such a romantic idiot, but my God I wanted a copy. Or two. And Peter looked almost as good on the screen as he did across the table from me. With idiotic grins on our faces, we kept eating. Periodically, I checked my power, but nobody seemed interested in sneaking up on us.

The Lil' Mousey episode had cleared away the initial embarrassment, and I found that I was thoroughly enjoying the romantic dinner without being overwhelmed by the strength of my feelings for Peter. We chatted about the latest improvements Victor had put into my armour, what little I knew of the upcoming raid on the Merchants, and how Peter's family was getting along. Helen's birthday wasn't far away, and I was looking forward to taking her to the Boardwalk with Peter so that we could carry out our promise of stuffing her with all the ice-cream she could eat. Of course, I intended to eat my share as well. Ice-cream was ice-cream, after all.

We also covered more serious topics, such as Dad's ongoing recovery. Peter held my hand as I told him how Dad was able to squeeze my hand just a little harder and a little longer each day that Othala treated him. In return, I held his as he talked about how George just refused to give up when doing his physical therapy. The fact that we could talk about things like that and still enjoy the dinner so much, convinced me all over again that Peter was the one for me. He didn't sugar-coat things; he told it like it was. But he still made me feel special every moment he was with me.

Eventually, it was time to go. I didn't want to, but I hadn't dressed for the cold, and it was even chillier at this altitude than it was down on the Boardwalk. Before we got up, Peter put out the candles and had one of the men take a photo of us holding hands with the backdrop of Brockton Bay behind us. I wasn't too sure how it would turn out, but at least we had the candlelight dinner one.

We left the men to pack up the table and chairs and made our way to where Peter had parked his truck. Even though he gave me his jacket, I was shivering by the time I got there. We climbed in and he started the engine and the heater in quick succession. But I noticed that he wasn't putting it in gear. "Peter?" I asked.

"I think it would be nice to just sit here awhile," he murmured. "The men aren't going to bother us. We can just enjoy our date a while longer." I felt his arm slither across behind me; with very little in the way of reluctance, I let him gather me into his embrace. Of course, the steering wheel was going to be a little bit of a problem, unless …

I exerted my power. No new firearms within range. Empire allies acting normally. Assume positive control of vehicle: "Peter's Truck". Run front seats as far back as possible. Recline front seats.

I had managed to surprise Peter; as I let the powers drop away, he made a startled noise. "Taylor? That's you, right?"

"Uh huh." A smile curved on my mouth as I removed my glasses and tossed them on to the passenger seat. I could find them at any time with my power, of course. The feeling of taking charge sent a deep-seated thrill through my body, and I liked it. Between the coat, Peter's proximity and the truck's extremely robust heater, I was no longer cold; I shrugged off the coat and snuggled even closer into his arms.

A few kisses later, I was starting to warm up even more; Peter didn't resist as I pushed him back and climbed up to lie astride him. Again, I felt the heady awareness of being in control, and I wanted to see how far I could take it. "So," I murmured, "have you ever …" I moved my hips in that certain way and felt him stiffen slightly. This wasn't a spur of the moment thing; while I had never felt this way with anyone before, I definitely felt it with Peter, and right at that moment I wanted to explore it fully with him. The ultimate expression of our love.

His strangled grunt served only to drive me on, and I took the opportunity to unfasten the top two buttons of his shirt. His skin felt hot against my lips. "Taylor," he groaned. "Please …" Two words that I wanted to hear. Unfortunately, the next one wasn't so agreeable. "Stop." He caught my hands, pushing me back to arm's length. "We can't."

I wasn't quite able to believe what I was hearing or what he was doing. "Peter, don't you love me? Don't you want this?" Hurt flooded through my heart. How could he reject me, reject what I wanted to share with him?

"Taylor, of course I want it. This is me. If I wanted it any more, then I'd be the one pinning you to the seat." He ground his teeth together and shook his head. "But I can't do this with you. Not won't. Can't." There was a finality to his voice.

I took one deep breath, then another. Then I climbed off of Peter and tapped into my power. All clear. After retrieving my glasses, I brought the seats back up to their normal position and dropped my powers again. When my emotions came back, they were still high, but while I was still a little pissed at Peter for shutting down my overtures so hard, I knew that he wouldn't have done it for no reason at all. "So talk."

"Taylor." It was a sigh more than anything else. "I'd love nothing more than to be doing this with you, but shortly before I came to Winslow, I got the absolute snot beaten out of me because of a pregnancy scare."

"I …" I started to speak before I fully took in what he'd said, which brought me to a screeching halt. "Wait, what?" He obviously knew me well enough to not say anything, letting me process his words. Once I'd taken it on board, there was an obvious question to ask. "Who … oh." Not only was the question obvious, but so was the answer, now that I thought about it. "Julie. Am I correct?"

"Julie." His confirmation was firm, unapologetic. "It was my mistake. In more ways than one."

I thought back to what I recalled of Julie. "No wonder she acted like you belonged to her." A thought occurred to me. "Wait, who beat you up? Does she have a big brother?"

"No." He shook his head, barely visible in the dimness. "My father is … a very strict man. Since we lost Mother, he's been extremely protective of the women in the family."

"Okay," I replied, to show that I was listening. "You told me how much he cares for your sisters."

He put his hand on mine. "It's more than that. He likes you. Once he knew that we were serious, you were included in the family. So he warned me to treat you well. Which means … well, to not to do this before we're officially engaged and absolutely certain that you want to be a part of my life."

I frowned as I tried to fit the jigsaw puzzle together. "So … you slept with Julie, and he found out about it, and disciplined you?"

"Actually, he never did take well to Julie," Peter said, a trace of humour creeping into his tone. "No, that happened because she got me into bed exactly once, then went to her father and told him that she was pregnant to me after I turned her down for a second showing. Her father came to mine, demanding that I do the honourable thing. I managed to prove she wasn't pregnant, so -"

"Wait, wait," I protested. "Hold up. How did you pull that off?" I had to admire Peter; in a situation where many boys might have resorted to bluster or grovelling, he was simply telling it like it was. Knowing that he'd slept with Julie gave me a slight pang, but that was a judgement error on his part; one that he had certainly since corrected.

"Oh, it involved Jenna, some strong-arm tactics, a pee cup, and a pregnancy test," he explained succinctly. "When the test came up negative, I told Father. He wasted no time in telling Julie's father that the wedding was off. Then he made me get in the boxing ring and put on the gloves. Did I ever tell you that he was the one who taught me to box? We only went for three rounds, but he sure as hell took it out of my hide." His voice was matter-of-fact, as if describing a movie he'd watched once.

"But you were the one who found out that she was lying!" I was horrified. "Why did he beat you for that?" It didn't make sense; at least, not to me.

"That's not what he did it for," Peter explained. "He did it because I let myself get suckered into that situation in the first place. Because I believed her when she said she was on the pill. She was trying to get pregnant, to trap me into marriage. And I didn't see it coming." His shrug was more felt than seen in the semi-darkness. "My fault."

"But … I'm not trying to do that!" I protested. "I just wanted … I mean, you're the only boy I've ever even thought that way about, and tonight was so wonderful, and we were together, and …" I let my head thump back against the headrest. "I wasn't trying to trap you," I said softly.

"I know that, sweetheart." His voice was as gentle and loving as the hand he reached out to caress my hair with. "It's for your protection, remember? I'm to treat you well. Which means nothing untoward until I've put at least an engagement ring on your finger."

His words sent a thrill through me, but I did my best to speak teasingly. "So when were you thinking of asking me, anyway? Sometime this century?" My hand crept up and captured his.

He squeezed my fingers; when he spoke, there was laughter in his voice. "Not sure. Maybe when I'm sure you won't freak out about it."

It was a pity that he couldn't see me roll my eyes, but I did it anyway. "That was one time. But yeah, I think fifteen's a bit young to be getting engaged." Leaning over, I pressed my lips to his, then whispered, "But you know, my birthday's only four months away …"

My lips were so close to his that I could tell when he smiled. "I'll keep it in mind," he murmured. After a quick kiss, he added, "Thanks for not freaking out about Julie."

"So long as you don't ever think about going back to her, we're good," I said. Grabbing him by the shirt front, I forced him to kiss me again. He didn't struggle very hard to avoid his fate. "So, is she why you were at Winslow?"

"Yeah," he said. "After the pregnancy thing, Father decided that it would be best if we were separated for a while. I happened to agree." He turned his head to glance at the dashboard clock. "Uh, as much as I'd like to stay here all night, I've got school tomorrow, so we might want to get going."

"Crap." I kissed him one more time, then flopped back into my seat. Reaching up, I flipped on the internal light so he could see my smile. "I had a wonderful time tonight, Peter. I really did."

He nodded seriously, then smiled back in a way that made my heart lurch. "So did I. Remind me to thank Othala for the planning advice." He switched off the light, then fastened his seat belt.

I giggled. "Sure. I'll be thanking her too." I clicked my own belt into place as he put the vehicle in gear, a dreamy smile on my face. Tonight had been about as perfect as it could get, a few minor hiccups aside.

Of course, I still had Julie to deal with. From the stunt she had pulled at the Gathering, she obviously hadn't learned her lesson. But, for the time being, she could wait.

"Peter," I said as we started on the downgrade, "thanks for telling me all of that. It can't have been easy."

He shot me a quick smile. "Yeah, well. I've got to own the space."

"Own the space?" I was puzzled.

Taking one hand off the wheel, he waved it expressively. "It's from my favourite fantasy series. It means to accept your mistakes, to step up and take the punishment. Take responsibility for your own actions. The main character in the first book spends most of his time having to do just that."

" … huh." I considered that. "Can I borrow it? I think that's a book I'd like to read."

"Sure. I think you'll like it, too. He's got two daughters, and they're totally unalike. One's a little terror, and the other one's a real sweetie …" His tone was teasing.

"Ackh! No spoilers!" I slapped my hands over my ears, but I was laughing as I did so.

He laughed too, as we continued down the hill.

<><> ​

Coil
The Next Morning
Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Sitting at ease in his base, Calvert took a long drink from the large cup of coffee beside him. The bitter taste stung his throat, but it kept him awake. He had been up for almost twenty-four hours straight, but with caffeine and other stimulants blasting through his bloodstream, his alertness levels were still optimal. He keyed the radio headset. "All squads report status, over."

"Alpha Squad, on site at east entrance, over."

"Bravo Squad, on site at south entrance, over."

"Charlie Squad at holding point, ready to assist, over."

A tired smile crossed Calvert's face under the mask. The previous day's debacle had shown him what a bad idea it was to attempt to invade that particular gated community without adequate preparation. All it meant, however, was that he got to try again, without anyone in Willow Heights having an idea of what had happened previously.

"Bravo Lead here." The man's voice held repressed excitement. "We have a vehicle of the correct type leaving the south entrance. Visual identification matches the target, over."

Calvert keyed the mic. "Understood. Trail him for one block. Coordinate with Charlie Squad to block the road. Be aware; he is armed and dangerous. I want him alive and able to talk. Beyond that, I don't care. Coil, out."

"Roger that, sir. Bravo Lead, out."

<><> ​

Thirty minutes later, a bloodied and battered figure with a bag over its head was dumped on the floor in front of Coil. The boy's arms and legs had been bound, and he bore a crudely-bandaged bullet wound to his left forearm. Moreover, the fingers of his right hand seemed to have been broken. Looks like he put up a fight. Good. Coil shut the office door, then pulled the bag off his prisoner's head.

Peter Ferguson stared back defiantly, blood running from what looked like a broken nose. "What the hell do you want from me?" he demanded. "Whatever it is, you've bitten off more than you can chew. My father will find out who's taken me, and then all the shit in the world will come down on your head."

Coil chuckled. "Oh, yes. But it will take them a day or two to find me. And in that time, I will find out everything that I want to know." Crouching beside Ferguson, he unfolded a large clasp knife. "Feel free to scream. Everyone does, you know."

<><> ​

As the screaming began, Thomas Calvert sat in his office in the PRT building and diligently typed away at his word-processor. Soon, Peter Ferguson would break. Everyone did, in the end. And when he did, Calvert would learn everything that Ferguson knew about Taylor Hebert.

Everything.



End of Part Eighteen

Part Nineteen

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Nineteen: Means to an End



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

[A/N 2: Celestial Wars is a novel in the process of being written by my beta. Text from it included with her kind permission.]



Commander Thomas Calvert
PRT Building
Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Deputy Director Renick tapped the white-board with his pointer. "As you can see, the Empire Eighty-Eight has actually been keeping their heads down since the Panacea incident. Race-related crimes are down across the board, and they haven't tried capitalising on the hit that the ABB took in their last clash."

Calvert took notes, but his mind wasn't entirely focused on the briefing. While the Ferguson brat was responding to the regime of pain and psychotropic drugs, getting answers out of him was like pulling teeth. Harder, actually; most of the boy's teeth had already been extracted without the benefit of anaesthetic, and it hadn't improved the quality of his answers much.

The Director cleared her throat. "Where are we on locating the Heberts, or even ascertaining their status?"

"Not very far, I'm afraid." Renick shook his head. "There's no unusual traffic to or from any of the Empire's suspected safe houses, and none of the hospitals or private clinics have reported a patient of Daniel Hebert's description being dropped off anonymously."

That's because they're in the damn Medhall building, Calvert wanted to say, but could not. Not least because there was no way he could justify having that knowledge. Medhall had a private clinic on the ground floor; they did treat members of the public but charged more than most, so their patient list was generally fairly short. Which would make it an ideal cover for treating their wounded soldiers. Using medical equipment obtained by Kaiser's own company. If he didn't know it for a fact, he wouldn't have believed it; as one of Brockton Bay's richest men, Max Anders regularly rubbed shoulders with all manner of high society. He was as high-profile as they came. But then, who would have expected a millionaire entrepreneur to be the leader of a white-supremacist gang? It was the perfect cover.

"The ABB's also been quiet, thank God," Renick reported. "Rumour has it that Lung's regrowing his arm, and nobody's seen Oni Lee since the fight." He grimaced. "It's too much to hope that he's dead, but even if he's injured, that's a good thing."

More notes went on to Calvert's pad, but the majority of his attention was on the other timeline. So far, Coil had been told about the Hebert girl's middle name, her flowing hair, her food preferences and how ticklish she was. Ferguson had admitted that she had powers and had alluded to their general capabilities, but was remaining remarkably tight-lipped about her actual limits and ranges.

He tried a different tack, demanding to know about the Empire's future plans as far as she was concerned. Despite all of his efforts to resist, Ferguson let slip two words: 'Friday' and 'Merchants'.

That was interesting data, but Coil wanted to know more. He directed that more drugs be administered; while these lowered his victim's mental defences, they also made it harder to focus on the answers which Coil needed. That was where the pain came in. Inflicting pain was a very effective way to force someone to focus, as well as being quite cathartic in its own right.

"And what about the Merchants?" Calvert asked Renick, just in case there was something he had missed. "I can't imagine that with all this going on, they're sitting on their thumbs."

Piggot glanced around at him with an appraising stare, which he returned blandly. At the whiteboard, Renick nodded. "You've got a point," he said. "The Merchants have moved people into a couple of areas where ABB used to be stronger. There's been no fighting yet; they're just taking advantage of the ABB being on the back foot. As soon as the ABB are back up to speed, no doubt they'll kick the Merchants in the teeth again."

"Is there any indication that the Empire Eighty-Eight is doing the same?" asked Piggot. "They've got the numbers, and they're not the ones who suffered a humiliating defeat recently." She tapped her pen on her pad. "In fact, given that they've recently acquired a powerful new cape, I'm surprised they haven't already gone out to put on a show for the rest of us."

That must be what 'Friday' and 'Merchants' means. Calvert suppressed the savage grin of triumph. Her official debut. He restrained himself to a polite nod and smile. "I think you might have something there, Director."

In the other timeline, he demanded two things from the Ferguson boy; the first was 'when', the second 'where'. Given the amount of drugs in the teenager's system, it was impossible not to answer; however, the trouble lay in picking out the useful answer from the meandering.

And then everything went wrong at once. Gunfire erupted throughout the base, audible even through his closed office door. With it came screams, but both were swiftly drowned out by three different alarms going off at once. Not that he paying attention when the heavy clasp-knife he was holding suddenly and inexplicably snapped shut on his fingers, neatly severing them. He stared at his right hand as the knife, unheeded, dropped to the floor.

Even as he tried to make sense of what had just happened – Is Taylor Hebert here? How did she find me? How did she make my knife shut on my fingers like that? - there was a sharp pain to the back of his head, followed by another in his sinuses. After a second or so, he realised that he had just been stabbed ... through ... the ... brain ...

"Commander Calvert, are you all right?" He became aware that the others in the room were looking at him oddly. Normally he didn't react to anything that happened in the other timeline, but the sheer brutal surprise of the assault must have wrung some sort of sound out of him, even as that timeline was wrenched away from him.

He immediately split the timeline once more. With a shake of his head, he composed his expression and answered Renick's question. "Sorry, a touch of indigestion, I think. I'm fine now." In the other one, he put a hand to his stomach and claimed illness. This allowed him to get up and leave the room while remaining for the rest of the briefing.

Well, that was relatively fucking terrifying, he admitted to himself as he reached his office/listened to Renick drone on. Nobody said anything about her being able to teleport. And it's not just guns and cars she can affect, but knives as well. What do they have in common? Moving parts? Closing his office door behind him, he gave himself over to the shakes. Okay, note to self. Until I know exactly how to neutralise her power, I don't kidnap the Ferguson boy for real.

He had died many times since he got his power. Usually he dropped the timeline before the moment of truth, but sometimes he had let it run out from morbid curiosity. His many deaths had been bloody, sometimes quite painful, and occasionally surprising. But he had to admit, to have a metal spike punched through the brain from behind was new, especially since he'd had no idea that it was coming. It was very much a once in a lifetime experience.

Seating himself at his desk, he opened his laptop and booted it up. Once it was up and running, he opened a file and conscientiously transcribed the notes for the briefing into a text file. Then he went into the encrypted file where he kept his notes on the Hebert girl, and began to enter what he'd learned about her. When he got the chance, he'd transfer the file to his base computer, but he didn't want to chance forgetting anything.

And in the meantime, he'd be very careful about making any sort of contact with Taylor Hebert.

<><> ​

Medhall Building

"Hey, Dad." I squeezed my father's hand as I settled myself into the chair. "How are you feeling today?" I felt the faint squeeze in return and blinked back the tears in my eyes. Soon, Dad. Soon. "Hey, guess what. Peter loaned me a book I've never read before. It's the first part of a fantasy trilogy. I think you'll like it."

I had actually fallen asleep the previous night reading it, which I hadn't done in years. It was obvious that a lot of work had gone into it; each of the characters was fully realised, even the more-than-a-little-bratty Cora. They were more than just background characters; even this early in the plot, I felt certain that I would be learning more about them as I read on. However, I couldn't just read it to myself. That wouldn't be fair to Dad.

As per Kaiser's suggestion, I was still dipping into my power every few minutes. My mental map of the building was fairly comprehensive, but it was a good idea to keep it updated. On the next go-around, I made the book-stand walk over to where I was sitting. I removed the volume of Wind in the Willows and set it aside, making sure that a bookmark was in place. Then I put the copy of Right of Blood in its place and dropped the powers once more.

"All right, then. Celestial Wars. Part One: Right of Blood. Chapter One." I took a deep breath and began to read.

"I am not dead–because I cannot die.

"These eight words churned through Avis' mind as the veil of darkness parted to allow some remnants of his recent history to seep into his pain-numbed consciousness.

"There was a time, when he had considered that to be a blessing. To live, regardless of circumstance. But, as all who would consider themselves above such things learn sooner or later, there are prices to be paid, and masters to answer to. The pain of his twisted frame along with the agony of what once was, caused his mouth to open and filled his still tortured mind and body with silent screams."

Click to shrink...

I paused at a knock on the door that connected with the outer room of the apartment. "'Scuse me a moment, Dad," I murmured, then raised my voice. "Yes?"

"It's us." I recognised Victor's voice. "May we come in?"

"Of course," I said, using my power to turn the handle and open the door. "Come on in."

Victor strolled on in, with Othala on his arm. I stood up from the chair and shared a hug with Othala. "Hi, how are you guys? I didn't see you at breakfast." Tammi had been there, but she'd had to go off to school. I didn't envy her the school aspect, but it sucked not being able to hang with my friends all day.

"We had it before you woke up." Othala raised a quizzical eyebrow. "You don't normally sleep in. Stay out a little later than normal last night?"

"More to the point," Victor put in, "are we going to have to have a word with Ed Ferguson about what his son's been up to with our newest cape?" He mimed throwing a punch into his palm. I was reasonably sure that he was only joking, but I shook my head anyway.

"No, no, Peter dropped me off on time," I told them hurriedly. "But he loaned me a book and I lost track of time, reading it. It was way late before I fell asleep. He was a …" I paused, rethinking my words. While I would've liked to say that he was a perfect gentleman, those words didn't quite fit all of what we'd done. And my behaviour hadn't been ladylike at all; at the memory, I found myself blushing. "Uh, he didn't do anything he shouldn't," I temporised rapidly.

"Your voice says one thing, but your face says another," Victor murmured, sounding somewhat amused. "I'm inclined to suspect that something went on that you're not telling us."

"Honey, you're embarrassing her," Othala chided, throwing an elbow into his ribs. "I'm sure everything was totally above board. And even if it wasn't, she's not about to talk about it in front of you. Or her father." She bent a beaming smile upon me. "Though I do expect details later. Lots of details."

"Sure," I agreed, though I privately decided that certain details were not going to be aired, ever. The only ones who needed to know them were Peter and myself. "Have you come to sit with us? This book's pretty good."

Victor looked interested. "Yeah? What's it about?" He leaned over to glance at where the book sat in the stand.

I tried to think of a concise way to describe the plot, and came up short. "Uh … well, it's about a god who's sentenced to Hell for mistreating the Lord of Hell's daughter, and what he does once he gets let out again. But that's not all of it. Not by a long, long way."

"Sounds intense," he said. "I might borrow it, once you've finished it. Any kickass fight scenes?"

I refrained from rolling my eyes. Typical guy. "Well, there's a scene where this demonic thing called Innis decides to attack Avis – that's the main character – because Avis got let out of Hell before Innis had his turn at torturing him. Innis slashes Avis' face. But Avis is a mind bender, see? Like the Simurgh, only times a hundred."

Victor nodded. "So what's he do? Mind control him?"

"Heh, no." I grinned. "He's a lot nastier. He wipes out the last ten years of Innis's memory. Bam, amnesia central." I had to admit, I had grinned with satisfaction when I read that bit. That power had so many potential uses.

Othala got it first. "So this Innis guy wouldn't even remember why he was upset with Avis?" She grinned. "I like it. You could screw with peoples' heads so hard with that ability."

"So what happens next -" Victor's words were brought up short by Othala's nudge. "Oh. Yeah."

"Yeah." Othala shrugged. "We actually did come in here for a reason. Victor wants your opinion on the new armour he's been working on. I'll sit with your father while you're out. And I might sneak a peek at your book too, if you don't mind." Her grin turned impish.

"Sure thing," I said at once. "Just don't lose my place. If you wanted to read out loud, I'm sure Dad wouldn't mind."

"Hey!" protested Victor. "She always tells me spoilers." He turned to his wife. "No spoilers."

She gave him an angelic smile and batted her eyes. "No promises."

I hugged her again. "Thank you for this. I really, seriously appreciate it. And thanks for the dating advice that you gave to Peter. It was the best night ever. Seriously." I couldn't wait for Peter to get the photos printed out. I was going to have the candlelit one framed.

Her eyes lit with mischief. "Now I really want to know the details. But you have to go to Victor's lab first, or he'll go all sadface on me, and I can't handle Victor being sad. He's like the world's biggest disappointed puppy."

"Hey!"

I couldn't resist. "What sort of puppy?"

"Beagle or basset or something like that." She waved her hands vaguely. "Something soft and fluffy and helpless."

"Hey!"

I was snickering now. "Okay, when I get back I'll tell you most of what happened."

She smirked. "Ooh, 'most'? I sense juicy gossip." She patted Dad's hand as it lay on the sheet. "I'll see you when you get back."

<><> ​

I was still grinning as Victor led the way to the elevator. He was armed, as were quite a few other people in the building; while I couldn't see them directly, the guns bobbing along at hip level were a dead giveaway.

As he pressed the button to fetch the elevator, he muttered something under his breath. "Sorry," I said, dropping my powers so I could concentrate on him. "I didn't get that."

"Why couldn't she say it was a Dobermann or Rottweiler puppy?" he grumped. "At least those are badass." I couldn't quite tell if he was upset or just playing along.

"But still cute," I pointed out. "She was complimenting you." But I had to draw on my powers again to prevent the grin from stealing across my face. Just to see if I could, I concentrated on the lab, and the armour within it. Even at this range, I could make out quite a few details. More, I suspected, than if I had been looking at it without my powers over the same distance.

He didn't say anything reply to my observation. A few moments later, the doors opened. As I stepped in, I looked at him. "The armour's very impressive."

Observation: sincere compliments improve relations with allies.

He glanced sharply at me. "You can tell from this distance?"

Tone and expression: surprise.

"I can detect it from a much greater distance," I told him truthfully. "Some details are still too small to make out, but I can understand most of it, I believe." All around us, business in the Medhall building went on as we descended via the hidden elevator shaft.

"I think you'll like it," he said as I dropped my powers once more. "It'll make you look taller and more imposing. And I've been working on the chain."

"Excellent." I grinned, eager to see what he'd done.

The Merchants had never done anything to me personally, although they'd hurt a lot of people with their drugs, and probably killed a few as well. It was long since time that they got cleaned out once and for all. I was actually at a loss as to why the PRT hadn't done it. Or the Protectorate. From what I knew of the Wards, they could do it on a lazy Sunday afternoon. For God's sake, New Wave could put them all behind bars with a minimum of effort. The fact that none of the heroes in Brockton Bay had ever bothered to exert themselves to clean up a gang that actually revolved around selling drugs said more about them, and about Brockton Bay, than it did about the Merchants.

Which made our upcoming raid all the more satisfying; on the one hand, I'd be breaking in the armour and finding out what needed to be improved. On the other, I would be ridding the city of a legitimate problem that didn't even have the dubious cover of racial unity to hide behind. Though I supposed that someone should fill Lung in on the historical relationships between Korea, Japan and China. And ask him exactly what a 'typical Asian' looked like. I snorted with laughter.

"What's funny?" asked Victor as we stepped into the lab. Ahead was the armour; trying to keep my eagerness from showing too much, I made toward it.

"I was just thinking about Lung," I said as I circled the armour, admiring it. It was certainly taller, standing about seven and a half feet tall. Imposing, it could do. I was also willing to bet on 'terrifying'. "You know how he basically pulls everyone with Asian heritage into the ABB?"

"Yeah?" he asked, leaning against a pillar and crossing his arms. "What's funny about that?"

I smirked at him. "What if he just calls them all 'Asian' because he can't tell them apart?" Drawing on my power, I looked at the deeper details of the armour. There were layered metal plates, as well as extendible rods on the forearms. The latter looked like they could telescope out, with needle-sharp spikes right at the core. And on the back were two separate drums, each holding a mechanism involving magnets and copper windings …

I looked over to where Victor was leaning against the pillar, shaking with laughter. "You built electricity generators. They look good."

" … can't tell them apart … oh, god. I'm gonna have to tell Othala that one." He straightened up and faced me, though I noted a persistent amused expression on his face. "Yeah, it looks good on the drawing board, but I'll be interested to see how it goes in the field."

"I could test it now," I suggested.

Assume positive control: armour.

Open armour front.

Turning around, I stepped backward on to the foot-plates inside the armour, a good twelve inches above the ground. However, while my legs fit into the armour's legs, there was no place for my arms to go inside the armour's limbs. There was space inside the torso for them, of course, as well as a pair of grab-bars I could hold on to. This allowed the arms to be longer than my own, and the hands to be much larger than any kind of gauntlet that I'd be able to use. They still looked realistic, but now they supplied serious levels of crushing power, if I ever needed to pop someone's skull like a grape. The layout led to the armour's thighs being proportionately shorter than normal, having to accommodate to my real femur length, but while this could have been a problem, Victor had obviously designed the armour to draw attention away from this aspect.

I had already noted that my head would not protrude into the armour's helmet, which had been designed to look like the helmet of a medieval knight. As the armour closed, a pair of goggles slid over my face; a few seconds later, I realised that it was the bottom end of a periscope that had its viewpoint within the helmet itself. The mirrors were made of some sort of polished metal, and I was able to turn the helmet to attain the same field of view that I would have had normally.

"How's the fit?" At Victor's question, I turned to look at him. When I tilted my head forward, the helmet inclined as well, bringing him into view.

"Comfortable," I stated. I took a step, then another. The 'boots' were wide and had soles of jointed metal that could be flexed for extra traction. "It is … intuitive. And very stable." All the internal surfaces seemed to be lined with silicone gel. "Insulated?"

"Of course." He drew himself up stiffly. "I'm not about to let you electrocute yourself, after all."

Posture: offended.

Expression: smile.

Analysis: offended posture is exaggerated for humorous effect.

"That's appreciated," I said, then my attention moved on to something else of interest. "You've stored the chain within the forearms."

"Correct," he said. "Have you figured out how to use it?"

By way of answer, I snapped my left forearm out straight and raised the palm to face the far wall. Under my direction, an aperture opened at the base of the palm and the chain emerged at speed, unwinding from the reel within the forearm. I halted the outrush when thirty feet had come out, then turned and lashed the chain at a pillar. It hummed through the air and smashed into the concrete before wrapping around the barrier with almost unstoppable force.

"Christ." Victor hadn't moved. "You'll terrify those drug-dealing fuckers."

"That is the idea." I unwound the chain and retracted it. "Do you have a broom?"

"Storage closet, just over there." He gestured, but I had already detected the closet. "Want me to get it?"

"No need." Assume positive control: closet door. The door swung open, and the chain darted past Victor to enter the closet. He jumped back out of the way, even though I had calculated the necessary clearances. I wrapped the end of the chain around the broom handle and brought it back out of the closet. Then I brought the chain out from the right forearm of the suit. The rotary blades within the links were turned so that they would not cut anything or be dulled while in storage; with no effort at all, I brought them to bear and spun them up.

Wrapping the chain with the spinning blades around the top few inches of the broom handle caused that section of wood to disintegrate into a shower of sawdust. I tried again, more carefully, and found that even a casual brush of the chain against the broomstick would slice it through in seconds. By the time I ceased experimenting, the broom handle was two feet shorter, and several short sections of broomstick were lying on the floor.

"Well," Victor remarked as I fetched a dustpan from the closet – still using the chains, but without the blades – and cleaned up the mess I had made. "They're effective, I'll give them that."

"What are they made of?" I asked. While using them, I had determined that they were composed of a denser, heavier metal than the steel used in the links, but I didn't know what it was.

"Tungsten carbide," he informed me. "It's not cheap, but it's heavier than lead and a lot harder. I talked to Kaiser and we think it should be able to cut guns in half."

"That shouldn't be too much of a problem to find out," I said practically. "There is a damaged firearm on the workbench over there. May I use it to test the blades?" I had little doubt that I would be allowed to do just that, but I decided to wait for permission, so as to maintain good relations with my allies.

Victor glanced at the non-functioning pistol, as if he had forgotten that it was there. "Oh, uh, sure," he said. "Just let me get some protective gear first. I want to observe this."

It took him only a few moments to do so; while he was thus occupied, I positioned the frame of the pistol in a vice so that we could observe the effect of the blade on the metal of the gun. By the time he came over, I was experimenting with running up the blades in a ripple effect. This required me to concentrate more closely on using my powers, which I understood to be quite important.

"Okay," he said, aiming a camera at the gun. "Do your thing."

Spinning up the blades once more, I swiped the chain across the gun. The noise was quite distressing, far louder than when I had been subdividing the broomstick. Nor was I prepared for the shower of sparks, although I should have been. When we examined the gun, it had not been cut in half, although a sliver had been taken off the end of the barrel and the rest of the gun had sustained several deep slices, most of which would have rendered the weapon useless for any purpose more meaningful than a paperweight.

"Impressive," Victor decided. He gestured at the gun, careful to keep his hands clear of my chains, despite the fact that the blades were no longer spinning. "Can you wreck it faster by wrapping the chain around it?"

"I believe so." I waited until he had stepped back, then brought the chain in again. As it wrapped around the vice-trapped gun, the sparks flew everywhere in counterpoint to the screeching of tungsten carbide on steel. It took only a few seconds to destroy the gun this time; by the time I withdrew the chains, the only part of the pistol not in pieces on the bench or floor was the section enclosed by the jaws of the vice.

"Well, that's not scary as fuck at all," Victor declared.

Tone: sarcasm.

Analysis: opposite of statement is what is actually meant.

Conclusion: chainblades will frighten Merchants.

"Do you believe that Kaiser will approve?" I asked, fetching the dustpan and brush to sweep up the remains of the pistol. I had destroyed it so thoroughly that it was no longer registering as a machine on my senses.

Sound: laughter.

Analysis: amused.

"Taylor, I can guarantee that Kaiser will be thrilled by the results of the testing. Your power, backed by appropriate engineering, makes you one of our most formidable and versatile capes. And that's not even counting your area-denial capability." He slapped my armour on the shoulder as I retracted the chains back into the suit's forearms. "I am so looking forward to watching you kick ass on Friday night."

"It will be a good preliminary test for the armour," I admitted, locking the joints into place and opening the front of the armour. Stepping out of it, I dropped my powers as I stretched my arms and worked my shoulders. "Oh, that's better. It gets a bit cramped in there. Sorry."

He chuckled and shook his head in wry amusement. "The next model will have more room in it, but this one should be adequate for dealing with the Merchants." Then he paused. "Wait, 'preliminary' test?"

"Well, I do want to take Lung all the way down for what he did to Peter and Dad. And Oni Lee, for Bronson and Jenna," I explained. "In fact, so long as the ABB is around, they're a constant threat to my life. I had no beef with them before all this, but they had to keep pushing." I lowered my eyes and rubbed my knuckles, pushing my thumb down between each joint. "Am I a bad person for wanting to see Lung dead? Or wanting to hurt the ABB?"

"Hey. Taylor." I looked up, just in time for Victor to hug me. His arms were strong, although he didn't hold me as closely as Peter did. He smelled of grease and oil and burned metal. "No, you're not a bad person. All you want to do is protect your friends and loved ones. It's not pointless revenge if it sends the right message. If someone hurt Othala, I'd be getting pretty medieval on their asses too."

I smiled into his shoulder. "Thanks. I really appreciate your help. Othala, too. Everyone's, really."

"Hey, that's okay." A little awkwardly, he patted me on the back then let me go. "We're all behind you on this, you know. You're our new rising star. Kaiser's incredibly proud of you. We all are."

The flush rose in my face to match the warm feeling in my chest, and I turned away to pretend to inspect the armour before Victor could see my confusion. I admired and respected him a lot, and I desperately wanted to live up to the praise and not be seen as just another silly teenage girl. If only I knew how to do that.

For a few moments, he didn't say anything; the silence stretched on, becoming more awkward by the second. "Oh, hey," he said suddenly. "Check this out. Something I was working on. Auxiliary units."

His words broke the spell; almost before I knew I was doing it, I had turned to see what he was talking about. He was over at another workbench, talking over his shoulder as he fiddled with a bunch of parts that I had only gotten the most basic of machine readings from.

"Auxiliary units?" I stepped up beside him, embarrassment forgotten for the moment, though the warmth in my chest lingered. Mr Anders is proud of me! But now I was distracting myself; a deep breath and a quick dip into my powers dispelled most of the surplus emotions, and I was able to observe with a level head. "How does that work?"

He had almost finished assembling one item; to an uncharitable observer, it would have resembled a toy helicopter with most of the important bits missing. Which, I figured, it kind of was. There was no engine and no control mechanism, just the rotors and stuff. Which is all I need. A smile spread across my face. "Is that what I think it is?"

"If you think it's a drone that nobody can hijack or jam the controls of, you're absolutely correct." He tightened the last screw and put the drone on the bench. "Go ahead, see how well you can control it."

I pulled up my powers and let them loose on the device before me. Its capabilities unfolded in my mind.

Assume positive control: 'auxiliary unit'.

Set rotor-blades to deliver downward thrust.

Spin up rotor-blades.

Problem: Torque is causing 'auxiliary unit' to revolve on the spot.

Solution: Spin up tail-rotor to counter torque.

Adjust rotor-blades to deliver positive lift.

Balancing the turning speed of the main rotor and the tail rotor, I piloted the auxiliary unit from the benchtop. Carefully at first, then with greater and greater ease, I piloted it about the workshop, getting a feel for its reactions and manoeuvring capability.

"Damn." Victor watched as I brought it in for a landing on the bench. "You picked that up almost as fast as I would've, and I know how to fly choppers."

"My power makes it almost intuitive," I said. "Are these intended to deliver payloads to the enemy?" I had taken note that there seemed to be an empty space beneath the 'body' of the drone, but I wasn't sure what was supposed to go there.

"Well, it could actually do that," he said. "Huh. Gonna have to explore that one. But the main idea is to put a camera there with a wireless link to a heads-up display inside your armour. This would let you scout out places where your armour can't go."

I dropped my powers. "Could it carry a gun?" I asked. Picking up the device, I looked it over. It didn't look very sturdy. "Or would that be too heavy?"

He grinned, looking remarkably pleased with himself. "Not a gun. But something that's even better. Check this out." Leading the way to the bench closest to the door, he pointed out a tray holding an aluminum bar and what looked like a pile of dull-grey darts of some sort. I picked up one of the 'darts' and looked it over with interest. Pointed at one end, it had three short silvery fins at the other. I figured it to be two inches long and maybe a sixteenth of an inch in diameter, though I could've been wrong about that last number.

"Okay," I confessed. "I give up. What is it?" As I asked the question, I noticed something else weird; if I wasn't totally mistaken, it felt heavier than it really should have.

"Tungsten flechette, with aluminum fins," Victor said cheerfully, answering the question that I probably would've asked next. "It goes in here." He picked up the aluminum bar; at a guess, it was about four inches by two by one.

Now that I was looking properly at it, I could see a lot of tiny holes in a lattice pattern in the four-by-one side. Each hole was circular, but had three tiny slots radiating out from it. After a long moment, my brain went duh! and I inserted the 'flechette' point-first into one of the holes. It fitted perfectly, the fins fitting into the slots as if they'd been designed that way. Which, of course, they had. Dipping into my powers for a second confirmed that yes, the dart – or rather, flechette – inside the block now counted as a machine. Specifically, a machine that would allow me to launch the flechette from the block at a very high speed. That is, a gun.

Which, I realised a second later, had a backplate, meaning that the only way to launch the flechette I'd just put into it was backwards. I rolled my eyes at my own idiocy and exerted my power to make the offending projectile pop out of the hole again. Turning it around, I pushed it into place, feeling the point against my fingertip as I did so.

This was more than just a gun. Judging from the very large number of holes in the block, it consisted of lots and lots of one-shot guns. For a few seconds, I tried to count them by eye, then gave up. "Okay, fine. How many can this shoot at once? And how are we supposed to load these things before the end of the week?"

He grinned smugly at me. "To answer your first question, that block can shoot a hundred and fifty flechettes before reloading. As for the other question, I've got a machine to do it for me." He took the bar from me and tapped the backing plate. "And it doesn't even put them in backward."

I stuck my tongue out at him as he tried to extract the flechette once more; after a few seconds, I exerted my power and pushed it out an inch. Pulling it the rest of the way, he dropped it into the hopper of a device attached to the same bench. I'd ignored it before, because I didn't know what it did. Now I was getting an idea.

I watched as he picked up the tray of flechettes and dumped them into the hopper. Flicking a switch on the side of the machine, he observed it carefully as it started shuddering from side to side. There was a slot underneath that he slid the aluminum bar into, making sure it was solidly in place with the holes uppermost. A few moments later, the machine shut off by itself; when Victor removed the bar from the slot, every hole had the pointed tip of a flechette visible within. Keeping it so that the flechettes pointed upward, he handed it to me. I took it, noting the extra weight of the projectiles; together, they made the lightweight bar feel as heavy as steel.

"Care to try it out?" he asked lightly. "Use the corkboard as a target if you want. It won't be hurt by a few more holes." He indicated the battered board, twenty feet away. It had several pieces of paper tacked in place.

"Sure." I held the bar in both hands, being extra careful not to have any part of my fingers in front of those holes, then drew on my power.

Assume positive control: flechette launcher.

Aim at target.

Launch single flechette.

With a startling crack and a solid jolt, one of the flechettes left the bar; at the same time, I saw a tiny puff of dust from the corkboard. I looked at Victor. "Do you want me to shoot more?"

"No, that'll be good for now. Let's go see what we did." Locating a pair of pliers, he hurried over to the corkboard. I put the bar on the bench and released my powers, then followed him.

"Did that flechette just break the sound barrier?" I asked as we inspected the board for the projectile. It wasn't sticking out, which made me wonder where it had gotten to; while it had been travelling very fast, the wall behind was made of concrete. While I believed that I had seen a puff of dust, it may have been my imagination. I began to wonder if I'd even hit the board. Had the flechette simply disintegrated on launch?

"You know, I think it did," he said happily. "The Merchants are going to be pissed as hell on Friday night. I can almost guarantee it." He paused and dug at a spot on the board with a screwdriver. "Damn," he muttered. "I thought I saw it."

"I think it might have gone in there," I said, pointing at a dimple in the board. It was where I thought I'd seen the puff.

"Okay, let's check it out." He dug away at the cork with the screwdriver, but came up empty, the tip scraping against the wooden backboard. "Nope." He paused, and dug deeper. "Wait."

"What?" I asked, leaning closer.

"Supersonic tungsten darts are more armour-piercing than I'd thought." He dug a little more, then showed me what he'd found; a neat hole in the backboard as well.

In the end, we had to remove the corkboard. As we did so, small pieces of concrete from the wall behind fell to the floor. Now it was easy to see the impact point; the hole was a couple of inches across and an inch deep. Within, it was just possible to see the dull grey metal of the base of the flechette. It looked like the fins had been stripped off when they hit the concrete.

"Well." Victor eyed the tiny grey spot in the middle of the small crater. "That's gonna be a cast-iron son of a bitch to get out." Using the screwdriver, he dug a small pit around the shaft of the flechette, then got a grip on it with the pliers.

Which did absolutely nothing. No matter how he grunted, heaved, twisted and did his best not to swear, the tiny dart remained stubbornly in the wall. An incautious jerk pulled the pliers free and he yelped in pain as he skinned his knuckles. I hastily dipped into my powers to avoid laughing. Suspiciously, he looked at me; dropping my powers again, I gazed back innocently.

"Look, why don't you go back upstairs again?" he said. Quite plainly, I heard go back upstairs so I can swear and kick things. "The armour's definitely workable, and so are the drones and the flechette-guns. I'll let you know when I've got something else for you to test."

That made sense. "Okay," I said. "Do you want me to send Othala down?" As impersonally as I could, I nodded toward his hand, where blood oozed from the scrape.

His lips tightened. "If you could, yes, please." An appreciation of the humour of the situation crept into his eyes. "Thanks for not laughing."

"Laugh?" I asked as I did my best to hold back a smile. "Me? I'd never do such a thing." Heading for the lift, I turned my head away so that he couldn't see the broad grin now on my face.

At least, I thought he hadn't seen the grin; as the lift doors began to shut behind me, a screwed-up paper ball bounced off the back of my head. "Nothing wrong with my aim either, wiseass," I heard him say as the lift doors finished closing. On the way up, I let myself giggle a little, but composed my expression as I came to the top. Victor was my friend, after all.

<><> ​

"Hi." I waved to Othala as I opened the door into the apartment. "How's he doing?"

She looked up from the book. "Oh, hi, Taylor. You're back already?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I've been down there for a little bit. I destroyed a broomstick and a gun, after all. What page are you up to?"

She looked down at the book again. "Oh. Wow. I just got carried away. I love the way the gods are portrayed. For an angel, Uriel's a real asshole, isn't he?"

I had to chuckle. "Hello? He is the crown prince of Hell. And the archangel of Vengeance, as well."

"Oh. Right. Good point." She got up and placed the book back in the book-stand. "So do they meet any other gods? I mean, so far it's only been Hell and a mention of Heaven, or at least angels."

I nodded as I sat down. "Yeah, they meet a few. I've gotten as far as where they have a bit of a standoff with the Norse gods. Loki and Thor are very unhappy with them." Taking Dad's hand, I squeezed it. It may have been my imagination, but the return squeeze felt a fraction stronger.

"Because of what Avis has been up to," she guessed. "I can't wait to read that bit." She touched the page. "I'd just got to there when you came in, where Uriel's making Avis crawl."

I took her hand and squeezed it as well. "Thanks again. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help in all this."

Leaning over, she kissed me on the forehead. "You're one of us. We help each other because that's what we do."

When Peter first told me about that, I thought he was full of shit. Boy, was I wrong. I couldn't stop the smile from spreading across my face. Not that I really wanted to. "Oh, yeah. Talking about helping. Victor's skinned his knuckles, trying to pull a supersonic tungsten dart out of a concrete wall with a pair of pliers. He might need you to go and kiss it better." One corner of my mouth twitched as I tried not to laugh at that image.

She snorted. "Okay, now this I have to see. Talk to you later, Taylor." With a beaming smile and a wave, she left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

My sigh of contentment was heartfelt. I had love and support from all sides. Peter and Tammi, Victor and Othala, and even Kaiser himself; they were all there for me. Even Dad was still alive, and getting better every day. Once he woke up, my life would be complete again.

Raising my eyes to the book, I began to read out loud.

"Uriel's expression darkened as he approached and he made a grand gesture with one hand for Avis to keep going.

Click to shrink...

"With a heartfelt moan, Avis rolled back to his stomach and turned towards the arctic wastelands before him. On his naked stomach, this was going to hurt—a lot. And by forcing him to do this without laying a finger on him, Uriel would be keeping his word of not personally causing him any further harm. To everyone else, it would appear as if Avis had decided to push himself through the punishment of The Ninth Level one last time to prove his sincere regret at his treatment of Clarise; something Uriel could never be held accountable for. Rot his shining hide. Heaven's influence or not, there was still a big part of that bastard that was a sneaky, manipulative demon."

Click to shrink...

<><> ​

Later That Afternoon
ABB Territory

The nondescript vehicle stopped near the ABB drug house. As the guards took notice, three men climbed from the car. They were armed, but their hands were empty. Their clothing was identical; dark jackets over dark clothing. They may have been wearing body armour, or they might just have been that bulky. While their hair was cut close to the scalp, they didn't have the look of Empire skinheads. Two stayed by the car, while the third approached the front steps of the drug house. The two guards raised their guns and aimed them at him. "Hold it, white boy," snapped one of them. "Turn around and walk away, right the fuck now."

The man stopped. "Got a message for your boss," he said plainly. "Something he'll want to hear."

After sharing a glance with his partner, the guard stared at the newcomer. "What, Jin?" he asked blankly.

"No, your boss," the man said patiently. "The guy who's in charge of the ABB. You know. Lung."

"Oh." The guard blinked a couple of times. "You want to talk to him? Because he probably doesn't want to talk to you."

"No. I've got a letter for him to read." Moving carefully, the newcomer held his jacket open to show the letter in question, in an inside pocket. "I'm gonna take it out now."

Both guns were trained on him now, fingers on triggers. "You be real careful about that."

Ignoring the admonition, the man hooked the letter out with two fingers, then let it fall to the asphalt at his feet. He nodded to them, then turned and began to walk away.

"Wait!" called the guard. "Who are you working for?"

"He'll figure it out." The man was back at the car by now. All three of them climbed back in; moments later, the vehicle was out of sight.

After looking around carefully, the guard trotted down the steps and retrieved the letter, holding it carefully. On the front was written Lung in careful script. "It's for him, all right" he said.

"What do we do with it?" asked his colleague.

The answer was obvious. "We make fucking sure he gets it."

Neither one even considered opening the letter.

<><> ​

PRT Building
Wards Base
That Night

Sophia stared at the rectangular white object on her bed. It hadn't been there when she went out to go to the cafeteria, but now it was. Someone had come into her personal, private area – about the only private area she had any more – and left a letter on her fucking bed. Snatching it up, she prepared to storm into the common area and find out whoever had left it there, so she could shove it up their ass … then stopped.

Wait. Mail doesn't get delivered here.

That one fact got her attention. The other thing that caused her to stop and think was the fact that there was something small and bulky inside the envelope. Ripping open the letter, she tipped it, and a small key fell into her palm. The type of key, to be precise, that could be used to remove and deactivate her ankle bracelet without setting off alarms.

What. The. Fuck.

There was a note in the envelope; grabbing it, she unfolded it and read the careful writing.

Taylor and Daniel Hebert are living in the Medhall building.

Click to shrink...

Taylor Hebert is a cape of some power.

Taylor and the rest of the Empire will be busy on Friday night.

Certain interests are willing to pay quite a large amount for Daniel Hebert.

If you are interested, send a text to the following number within 48 hours.

Click to shrink...

There was a number appended. Carefully, Sophia tore that number away from the rest of the letter. For the next five minutes, she ripped the letter and envelope into small pieces; later, she would visit the bathroom and flush them all away.

In the meantime, she was content to sit on her bed and plan out her revenge. At fucking last. Things are going my way.

She couldn't wait.



End of Part Nineteen

Part Twenty

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Twenty: The Gathering Storm



[A/N: This chapter has been beta-read, and considerably improved upon, by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



Wednesday
February 16, 2011

I relaxed in the anteroom to the little apartment I shared with Dad, a bowl of ice cream in my hand. Othala lounged in the armchair next to me, holding a similar bowl. Within the apartment, Dad was being bathed by Mary; as this would necessarily take some time, Othala and I had retired to the anteroom for ice cream.

"Dad opened his eyes today," I told her, trying to keep my voice casual. I'd been holding on to the news all morning, but I had to tell someone.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "He woke up? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

I shook my head. "I don't think he actually woke up. You know when someone's asleep and they open their eyes, look around then go back to sleep but never remember it later on? That's what happened. He just opened his eyes, blinked a few times, then closed them again." I'd been wildly excited at the time, of course. For about the next ten minutes, I'd tried to wake him up again, but all I got was a few squeezes of the hand.

"Well, that's really good news anyway." She reached over and took my hand for a moment. "I'm so pleased for you. I know how much your dad means to you."

"Until I met you guys, he was my only family." I stared at the watercolour on the opposite wall, trying to think of the right words. "I mean, you and Victor and Tammi mean a lot to me, and Peter's just wonderful, but Dad's my dad, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," she said, her tone as gentle as her expression. "And I'm gonna keep giving him my healing. It's a slow process, but it's really working. To be honest, I wasn't really sure if it would."

I put my bowl down and got up to give her a hug. "I owe you guys so much. I don't even know where I'd be if I hadn't met Peter."

"Hey," she said, putting one arm around my back. "Friends support friends, yeah? You're a sister. You're one of us."

"Yeah." I smiled as I sat down again. "And you have no idea how good that makes me feel." I took another spoonful of ice cream. "Though it sucks that I can only see Peter in the evenings, once he drives over here from school."

She smiled slyly. "Well, you know that I've got my driving license. And I've got my own car."

It took me a few seconds to get it. "You'd take me to meet him at school?"

"Well, duh." She rolled her eyes. "You and Peter remind me so much of me and Victor. You're so goddamn happy when he's around."

"Well, are you surprised?" I chuckled. "He's Peter."

"Which reminds me," she said. "You never filled me in on how your date went. Details, girlfriend."

I smiled to myself, recalling that wonderful evening. There were some details, of course, that were going to stay between me and Peter. But Othala had done her bit to make sure the evening was a success, so I guess I owed her something. "Well, he managed to totally take me by surprise with the candlelight dinner …"

As I talked, Othala ignored her melting ice-cream and listened with rapt attention.

<><> ​

Later, Outside Winslow High

"Thank you so much for this," I said feelingly. "It's nice to get out, and even nicer to go see Peter."

Othala reached across from the driver's seat and squeezed my shoulder. "Well, you go have fun. And hey, how about we go down to the Boardwalk on the weekend, after we've dealt with the Merchants? We'll make it a double date. You, me, Victor and Peter. We can go to Fugly Bob's."

"Sure thing," I replied with a grin. "But only if you make me invulnerable so I can try out the Challenger."

"I dunno." She looked doubtful. "My power's good, but it won't work miracles."

I smirked. "So you can give me kickass powers, but you can't give me the ability to eat that heart-stopping mass of grease and salt?"

"Be real, Taylor." She pushed down her sunglasses and looked at me over them. "You weigh about the same as a Challenger as it is."

I had to admit that she wasn't far wrong. "Fine," I agreed, wrinkling my nose. "We'll hit the Market and make the boys carry what they buy for us."

"Now that's more like it," she said with a laugh. "Sisterhood forever!" She held up her hand; I high-fived her, then got out of the car.

As I did so, I flashed my powers on and off again, getting a count of firearms and vehicles moving in suspicious patterns. There was a bunch of Jeeps in a nearby side-street, with armed men inside, but nothing closer that I could spot. Moving casually, I leaned back into the car. "Does the boss have anyone watching the school? An emergency team or something like that?"

"Not that I know of," she said.

Knuckles tightening on the gear shift. Sign of tension.

"Why?" she asked. "Do you see something?"

At that moment, all six vehicles started up and began to move. "There's a group of four wheel drive vehicles with men in them. They just started moving. If they come this way, should I immobilise them, or let them get close enough so we can capture one?"

"Let them get close," she said immediately. "If there's someone making a move on us, the boss will want to know who and how."

"Understood." I closed the door and took a few steps away from the car. The four wheel drive vehicles exited the side street and turned left. Away from the school. I turned to catch Othala's eye through the windshield, and shook my head slightly. She nodded just as minutely, and started the car. I moved toward the front steps of the school, still intermittently watching the unknown vehicles.

This was the first time I had been back to Winslow since the ABB had nearly killed George. So much had happened over the last … two weeks? Three? Whatever; my life had changed utterly beyond recognition in that time. While Winslow still wasn't a place I really wanted to be, it had gone from an institution of slow torture to a place where I could see Peter and my Empire friends and be relatively safe. Now, it meant virtually nothing to me. It was a building, a collection of meaningless nobodies. Not one of them had done a thing to help me while I was Taylor Hebert, bullied loner. They probably didn't know or care that Bronson had died saving my life, or that Jenna's last act had been to try to put me out of the way of danger.

The last of the contingent of vehicles moved out of the range of my power, but I didn't relax. I had learned the hard way that enemies would attack at the worst possible time, from the worst possible angle. Every car within my range only needed my will to become a weapon of war. Idly, I wondered if Victor could design me an exoskeleton light enough to be worn under clothing without using my power. To appear to be powerless, yet be able to jump on top of a building or punch someone's heart out through their back could be very useful in a pinch.

I was aware that my thoughts were darker than normal, and I wondered why. Then I realised that I was looking at the patch of concrete where I'd been standing when the ABB guys had jumped out at me. Barely even thinking, I moved sideways to peer around toward the corner where we had found George. I wondered what the police had thought of the body we had left behind. Not that I cared. Just another fucking Asian criminal. I barely even noticed how I ran the last three words together in my head.

"Taylor? Is that you?" I spun around, my hands coming up in a defensive stance, ready to kick, punch or bring a car into action … then relaxed slightly as I recognised the boy who had come up behind me. My sudden action startled him, so that he stumbled backward and tripped, landing on his butt.

"Greg? What the hell are you doing out of class?" I demanded. Dipping into my powers, I checked my watch – Peter had given me a mechanical one, which meant that I could read the hands without looking – and noted that it was still two minutes short of the bell.

"I've got gym class," he mumbled, scrambling to his feet. "They always play dodge-ball in the last period, and they always pick on me, and they throw the ball hard."

I could almost sympathise, but that sort of thing wasn't my problem any more. On the other hand, Greg Veder was kind of my problem. "Greg, you didn't see me here."

"Uh …" His brain seemed to kick into gear. "Taylor, you've changed. Where've you been? I heard the ABB killed the guy you were with, and chased you off down the street. I heard they killed you, too, for being … uhhh …" All too late, he stumbled to a halt.

"In the Empire?" I raised my eyebrows. "Is that what you meant to ask? You can say it, you know. As you can see, I'm alive and well. Answer your question?"

If human brains had silicon chips in them, I would've been able to smell his frying from where I was. The look on his face could have gone into the dictionary, under 'confusion'. Or perhaps 'befuddlement'. "Uh, but … I … were you actually in the Empire?"

"It's a little late to be asking that, isn't it?" I asked, just a shade sarcastically. "But to answer your question, yeah. I joined the Empire. Mainly because they were the only ones to offer the slightest bit of help against the bitches and assholes who thought I was Winslow's punching-bag. Got a problem with that?"

He swallowed convulsively. "Uh, no … I just … well, I wanted to help, but … uh …"

"But you were too piss-scared that they'd turn on you as well?" I tilted my head slightly. "Actually, I gotta say you were probably right. Still doesn't make it any better that you never even tried, though."

He wilted in on himself. I was reminded of a spider I saw in the bathtub once when I turned the water on. It had rolled on its back and pulled all its legs in as it drowned. "I'm sorry, Taylor. I … we were friends, weren't we?"

"Well, in your favour, you never actually joined in," I conceded. "Though you sometimes made things worse from sheer stupidity, so there's that." I raised my chin slightly as a thought occurred to me. "You get beaten up much?"

"Now and then," he mumbled, looking down and away. Which meant at least once a week, if I was translating 'boy' correctly. "Probably get it tomorrow for skipping out on gym class today."

"What if I told you I could fix all that?" I asked. "Make sure you never got beaten up by the assholes at Winslow ever again?"

His eyes widened. "What, you'd tell the Empire guys to ease off on me?"

"Not … exactly." Though it didn't surprise me that they'd been smacking Greg around. The boy did manage to almost invite it on a regular basis. I'd wanted to smack him more than once myself. "I was thinking you could join."

"Wh-what?" He stared at me as though I'd just pulled a gun on him. "The Empire? But they're a bunch of racist pricks!"

Well, his foot is still lodged firmly in his mouth. I didn't say a word, but my stare finally got through to him; when he eventually realised what he'd said to me, he nearly fell over again in his hurry to get out of my arm's reach. If I wanted to hurt you, you'd already be on the ground. While I wasn't yet a match for Peter, I was pretty sure I could put a world of hurt on Greg Veder.

"Shit – I'm sorry, I didn't mean, uh, I know you're not a racist, uh, I didn't mean to call you that," he babbled.

"Racism is just another name for a particular point of view," I told him firmly. I'd been doing a lot of thinking about this. "Is it racist to point out that the ABB targets everyone, including their own kind, for their violent crimes? Which include kidnapping teenage girls for their brothels? Or that the leader of the Merchants is a black man?" I put my hands to my face and made my voice high-pitched. "Oh, no, a drug-dealing African-American! How goddamn stereotypical!" When I took a step forward, he cringed back from me. "You don't have to hate other races to join the Empire. All you've gotta do is be ready to back your brothers and sisters up. Because they'll be backing you up. No matter what."

Greg stared at me, possibly wondering at the certainty in my voice. "But … they'd take me? And I wouldn't get beaten up any more?"

I wasn't so sure about the latter. The stories I'd heard from Bronson did mention a certain amount of 'attitude adjustment' amongst the lower ranks now and again, but that was mainly for those recruits who mouthed off in the hearing of the wrong person. Of course, Greg wasn't the type to mouth off … on purpose, anyway. But they'd certainly toughen him up, and maybe give him a crash course in how to associate with people. God knows he needs it.

I tilted my head, just as the bell rang. "Sure they'd take you. You just gotta be dedicated. Be loyal to them, they'll be loyal to you." He didn't seem to notice that I'd left off any mention of being beaten up. If he decided to join, they'd get to that part eventually. And nobody else would be beating on him, which had to be a bonus. "Now, you never saw me. You never talked to me. Got it?"

"I, uh, yeah, got it," he said. "If I, uh, joined, would we …"

I didn't show him the smile I felt like showing, as it might have given him entirely the wrong idea. "Oh, you'd see me around." Turning my back on him, I strode toward the steps just as the doors opened. A flood of students stampeded out; just to be careful, I dipped into my power and tracked all the switchblades and pistols on the move. Peter's pistol was a bit different to the ones I usually saw, which let me track his movements through the school. All this time, and I never knew he was carrying at Winslow.

Nobody seemed to recognise me as the school emptied out. I stood with my hands in my jacket pockets, watching the students stream past me; while I did attract a few glances, they seemed to be of the who are you? variety rather than hey, I know you. To be fair, I didn't have much in common with the hoodie-wearing shoulder-slumped bullying victim who'd walked out of Winslow three weeks previously. Now I stood straight and tall, wearing a leather jacket that had spent a couple years languishing at the back of the closet before Peter gave it to me. I didn't care that it was old, or that it was second-hand. I did care that it was something that Peter had owned and cherished, and now he was passing it on to me. Under the jacket was a black t-shirt and skinny jeans that Tammi had picked out. I supposed it wasn't that much of a surprise that Greg had seemed more than usually intimidated by me.

"Taylor!" Peter's eyes lit up, though he sounded surprised to see me.

I grinned at him and slid my arm around his waist before planting a peck on his lips. "Hey, good looking," I greeted him. Then I turned to the Empire guys who had accompanied Peter down the stairs. "Hey, guys. Gonna steal Peter now. Sorry." My tone indicated that I wasn't sorry at all, but they already knew that.

Except one who stared at me, then turned to Kelly. "Who the hell does she think -?" I didn't recognise his face; he might've been new, or just someone I hadn't met before.

Kelly silenced him with four words: "Shut. The fuck. Up." Then he nodded to me. "Taylor, nice to see you again." His posture and tone were both deferential; either he knew I was Remote, or he was just showing respect to me as Peter's girlfriend. Either way was good with me.

"Nice to see you again, Kelly," I said, affording him a smile. "How've you been?"

"Oh, you know. So-so." He tilted his head. "Sucks what happened to Bronson and Jenna."

"I know." I lowered my voice slightly. "I was -" I paused minutely as I changed my mind on what I was going to say. I was there might be saying too much in front of the others. "- at the service," I concluded.

"Yeah, I was too," he said. "I didn't …" As his voice trailed off, I saw the understanding cross his face. The look in his eyes went from respect to something not far from worship. "I, uh, thought it was very moving," he ad-libbed, just a little clumsily. I was willing to forgive him for that. He just figured it out. I caught the look he shot the guy who had mouthed off, and mentally winced. There'll probably be some attitude adjustment later on. Oh well, not my problem.

"It was," I agreed. I tilted my head toward Peter. "But we gotta run now. See you around, Kelly." Just because I was now a cape, and technically outranked even Peter, didn't mean I had to be impolite to Kelly. He'd always been nice to me while I was a Friend of the Empire, and had stood between me and Sophia more than once.

I had gone for far too long without any friends at all. Now that I had some, I wasn't going to be discarding any of them just because I found my situation changed.

"See you around," he replied, then paused. Relief showed in his face as I nodded very slightly. "...uh, Taylor."

Peter said his goodbyes, then headed across the carpark with me; as we walked, I held his hand. Dipping into my powers, I noted Othala's car heading for the carpark exit. She probably thought that I hadn't noted her hanging about until Peter came out, but I figured I'd let her think she'd gotten away with it. Besides, I was pleased that she had chosen to stay. As I'd told Greg, the Empire backed one another up. It was what we did.

"I didn't know you'd be coming in to meet me at school," Peter observed. "Not that I'm unhappy, mind. But please tell me that you didn't take the bus here." His hand tightened slightly on mine; I could tell that he didn't like that idea. Then again, I didn't much like it myself..

"Nope." I squeezed back. "Got a lift." With my free hand, I indicated Othala's car, just now turning on to the road. I grinned as I saw a hand raised in a wave from the driver's side window. Othala can be such a sweetie sometimes.

"Ah, of course." He smiled. "So, did you get the chance to dissect our date with her?" His tone was more curious than apprehensive. I was pretty sure that he knew I wouldn't tell her anything really juicy. Well, not without swearing her to secrecy.

"Oh, once or twice." I grinned back at him. "She said good things about it. Oh, and we're going on a double date with her and Victor on Saturday. To Fugly Bob's." Moving a little closer to him, I hugged his arm with mine. Even through the jacket, I thought I could feel the warmth of his arm. It might have just been my imagination, but I still enjoyed the closeness.

"Really?" His tone was intrigued. "So when was I going to be informed of this?" He eyed me with a certain level of curiosity, but I refused to feel self-conscious.

"You just were," I pointed out. "By me." I treated him to a cheeky grin that morphed of its own accord to a smirk. It was fun playing this game with him. He knew how to lose so gracefully.

"This wasn't something I was going to win, was it?" But his voice was more amused than otherwise as he pulled out the electronic fob. We both knew that if he chose to dig in his heels, I'd get nowhere. He was just complaining for the sake of appearances.

I tilted my head. "Did you want to do something else on Saturday?" Now I was curious; if he had a better idea, I'd be happy to change my mind.

"Well … no." He opened my door and handed me in. "I'd just thought we'd be just hanging out, not going anywhere in particular." Which had been my idea before Othala had made her suggestion, but I liked the double date better.

I pulled the door closed and waited for him to get around to his side. "But this way's more fun. We get to look forward to doing stuff." I did my best to look sly, though I was pretty sure I wasn't pulling it off. "Like browsing the Market." With a grin, I waited to see how he responded to my springing the clever trap. Such as it was.

"Oh, now I see your nefarious plan," he remarked in tones of great revelation as he climbed in. "You want to go shopping." My grin widened at his tone; he'd managed to put a pitch and spin on the word 'shopping' that I would personally put on the name 'Winslow High'.

"Well, duh," I said with a smirk. "Have you seen how many zeroes I've got on my card these days? I wanna see how many of those I can make go away before Dad wakes up and makes me save for college." With growing amusement, I waited to see what he would say to this.

He pretended to heave a long-suffering sigh. "I don't have a choice in that either, do I?" Ah; immediate surrender. A wise decision. This worked for me.

I put on a faux-thoughtful look. "Mmm … nope. I'm playing the girlfriend card. Of course, there is the upside." Bait is trailed. Let's see how quickly he bites.

"Upside?" He started the truck. I was impressed; he hadn't taken any time at all to zero in on the important aspect.

I batted my eyes at him. Now to sink the hook. "We'll be trying on clothes. Like those skinny jeans you like on me so much." Three … two … one ...

He brightened so much that it must have been an act from the beginning. "Well why didn't you say so in the first place? To the Market we shall go!" He pumped his fist in the air before putting the truck into drive.

I burst into giggles as we moved off. Peter could be such an idiot, but he was my idiot. And it didn't matter that we were going there today; after all, there would be more stuff to buy on Saturday.

<><> ​

Coil's Base

The screams of dying men filled the headphones. Calvert clenched his fists at the sides of his head. Two dozen men, and she eliminated them just like that. She was either watching them from the beginning, or she keeps checking to see what's happening. This is getting aggravating.

"Sir, is everything all right?" One of his mercenaries approached him cautiously. "Is there anything that we can do?"

Irritably, he pulled his pistol and shot the man three times in the chest and once in the head. Before the stricken mercenary had crumpled all the way to the floor, he dropped that timeline. In the other, he was also sitting in his base, with the singular difference that there was no dead mercenary on the floor. Nor were twenty-four of his men dead, dying, or captured by the Empire's latest cape.

With a sigh, he stood up from the chair and stretched. If I don't get some good news soon, I'm going to be seriously annoyed.

As if on cue, there was a ping from his computer, indicating an incoming email. Twisting to the side, he felt the vertebrae pop then did it again the other way. He didn't know what the email portended, but there was only one way to find out. Reaching out, he took hold of the mouse and clicked the mail open.

<><> ​

PRT Building
Shadow Stalker

"Aegis, you've got a bogey to your two o'clock. Rooftop. Yeah, you got him." Chris leaned back in the chair as he casually manipulated the joystick to zoom in the security camera feed. It was kind of grainy, but there was no mistaking Aegis' armoured form as he closed in on the ABB thug. The resultant fight was very short and to the point; seconds later, Aegis descended to street level once more, holding the thug by his collar. Chris grinned under his visor. "Damn, I love this job."

Sophia wanted to punch him. No, she reconsidered. She wanted to grab him by the back of the head and smash his head through the monitor screen. See if he loved the job that much then. In her opinion, monitor duty was hellishly boring and painful to sit through. If it wasn't bad enough watching the Wards prance through every encounter without ever inflicting enough pain to leave an impression, she also had to endure Chris' faltering attempts at conversation, which basically began and ended with Tinkering.

"Gotta hit the head." Chris got up from the chair. "Watch the screens for me, Stalker?"

"Where else am I gonna be?" she sneered. My name is Shadow Stalker, dammit.

"Oh, yeah, good point." As far as she could tell, he had taken it as a joke rather than an expression of pure frustration. "Back in a bit."

Off he sauntered, humming some tune off-key, leaving her to nurse her anger. And who says 'hit the head' anyway? Just say 'going to the bathroom' like a normal person.

Nothing else was happening by the time he got back; almost immediately, she stood up. "Gonna go hit the gym."

"What?" He stared up at her. "You're supposed to be on monitor duty with me."

"Screw monitor duty and screw you." Sophia headed for the door. "What are they gonna do, put me on suspended duty while a goddamn court case hangs over my head? Oh, wait. They already did."

Ignoring his sputtered protests, she hit the button beside the doors; a moment later, they hissed aside, allowing her out into the metal-lined hallway. She knew that her ankle-bracelet allowed her access to various areas of the PRT building, and that the gym was one of these areas. Fortunately, it wasn't so sophisticated as to have timers for certain areas, so she was able to go to the gym at any time. Such as now.

She made it up four floors and along the corridor without the bracelet screaming at her; despite her confidence, she still felt a surge of relief when she pushed open the doors to the gym proper. At the time, she had argued that if she couldn't go out and keep her fitness up the old-fashioned way, she needed access to the exercise facilities. And as the Wards' 'gym' consisted of a decrepit treadmill and a few sets of barbells for Aegis, Piggot had granted her leave to use the upstairs gym. Piggot might have lost a step or three, but Sophia had to grudgingly admit the old hag understood the importance of keeping fit and strong. Even if she'd let herself balloon out since she landed behind that desk.

Sophia went into the changing rooms and came out wearing sweats and a domino mask. Picking a treadmill in the far corner, she set it to medium speed and started to jog, gradually clicking the speed upward as she warmed up. With a glance to either side, she made sure that nobody was watching her. Then she took her phone from the pocket of her sweats. They had confiscated her Wards phone, but she'd managed to hide the presence of this one from them for the time being.

Keeping up the steady jog, she turned the phone on and dialled in the number from the scrap of paper that she had saved from the previous night. One more double-check and she popped the paper into her mouth; a few seconds of chewing reduced it to pulp. Then she tapped in a message. I'm in.

As soon as she got the 'message sent' notification, she shut the phone down and pulled the battery out, dropping each into a pocket of her sweats. With a grimace, she swallowed the rough fibrous pulp of the scrap of paper, then clicked the treadmill all the way up to running speed. She didn't know if they were tracking all texts in and out of the building, but she didn't intend to make it easy for them.

<><> ​

Coil's Base

Hi, read the email.

Just got a text from you-know-who. Says she's in.

Send the instructions?

C

He smiled under his mask. At last. Something's going right.

Flexing his fingers, he savoured the moment, then split the timelines. In both worlds, he began to type. The message only consisted of two words, but he took great pleasure in clicking the 'send' icon.

In one world, the words were Affirmative. Proceed.

In the other, they were Negative. Abort.

<><> ​

Thursday Morning
Winslow High

"Hey, Veder."

Greg looked around from where he was changing into his gym clothes. "Uh, hi, Kelly," he said nervously. He didn't like the smile on Kelly's face. It promised bruises in his near future.

"Heard you skipped out on gym yesterday," Kelly said conversationally. "We were lookin' for you in dodge-ball. You make comments about the Empire, you gotta pay. You know that, right?"

Greg gulped. "Um, I didn't mean it, not really?" He could see he wasn't being very convincing.

"So you ran your mouth without really meaning it, huh?" Kelly shook his head. "Ain't gonna fly."

Panic almost overcame Greg's brain, but then he recalled his conversation with Taylor the day before. "Uh, um, I wanted to talk to you anyway."

Now Kelly's expression became a frown. "What the fuck do you want to talk to me about? The exact size and shape of your bruises? 'Cause we can talk about that."

"N-no." Greg shook his head. "About – about joining. The Empire."

Kelly took a step closer. "The fuck?"

Greg took a deep breath and faced him. "If I join you guys, you'll stop everyone else from beating on me, right?"

After a long moment, Kelly's eyebrows rose toward his hairline. "You want to join the Empire?"

"Y-yeah." Greg tried not to let his voice shake. "I – I was talking to Taylor, and she said I should."

Kelly's expression changed utterly. "Taylor told you to join." The flat contempt was gone; he was now regarding Greg with a certain amount of curiosity.

Greg nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Huh. You know it's not a club you can just join then leave again? There's a commitment, yeah?"

"I – I can commit." Greg tried to make his voice stronger. "I can. I promise."

"Hm." Kelly looked him over thoughtfully. "I'll get back to you on that."

Abruptly, he turned and left. Greg leaned against his locker, shaking.

I really, really hope this works.

<><> ​

Late Thursday Night
PRT Building

Sophia's phone buzzed next to her head. Groggily, she opened her eyes and picked it up to focus on the screen. It showed the time as 11:30 PM. Time to move. Pulling the covers off, she sat up, revealing the fact that she was already dressed to leave. Because of the damn ankle-bracelet, she'd had to wear sneakers instead of her boots for the last few weeks, but tonight was going to be different. Getting off the bed, she lifted the closest leg and worked off the rubber cap on the end. Nestling in the cap was the key she'd gotten in the letter. Putting the cap back on the leg – no sense in showing the morons how she'd done it – she put her foot up on the bed and regarded the key.

This was the moment of truth. She hadn't even tried the key in the cuff yet. It either worked or it didn't. If it worked, she was out of there. If it didn't, if the PRT was just waiting outside her door to burst in and entrap her in even more bullshit … well, that would happen too. All she had to do was find out was use the actual key. Whatever happens, I tried.

Despite her internal bravado, she hesitated before inserting the tiny piece of metal. If this was a trap, they could add 'attempted escape' on to whatever sentence they finally hung on her. That would mean even more possibility of her juvey sentence rolling over into an adult sentence. Her lawyer was generally a piece of useless crap, but he'd impressed that on her. Attempting to escape lawful custody made things so much worse.

I pull this off, I'm back here and in bed by the time they even think to look. Fuck 'em. If the key was genuine, she could deal with the assholes who were piling up their bogus charges, and just walk when the trial date came. Starting with Hebert. Couldn't stand on her own two feet, so she ran to the fucking racists when push came to shove.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned over her leg and gently pushed the key into the lock. It fitted perfectly, and no alarms broke out. Then she tried to turn it. It didn't move. Even when she applied more force than she really thought she should, nothing happened. Fuck, it's a bogus key. This was all one big hoax. Her heart-rate quickened. All this for fucking nothing … wait. She forced herself to calm down and reversed her grip on the key.

All her life she'd been conditioned to turn things left to right, which was why she'd automatically tried to turn the key that way. But now she turned it the other way … and it moved smoothly. With an almost inaudible click, the ankle-bracelet unlocked, the green light on it still pulsing strongly. She watched it fall off on to the bed with something approaching disbelief. Holy shit, it came off.

After a moment, she spurred herself into action. The bracelet went under the covers; she made no attempt to make an approximation of herself in the bed, because if they came into her room, they'd be checking everything anyway. The key went into her bra; she did not want to lose that. Her clothing consisted of dark-coloured sweats and a domino mask, such as she'd been wearing to exercise over the last couple of weeks. Not her ideal ass-kicking outfit, but she wasn't going out to kick ass. Not tonight, anyway.

Triumph was at the monitor console when she eased out of her room. It would've made things easier if he'd been wearing his helmet – did he have any idea how much that thing screwed with his peripheral vision? - but apparently he'd decided that late nights didn't count. She made the snap decision to bluff it out, and stepped into the main area.

He turned his head toward her. "Oh, hey, Stalker. Didn't know you were up."

"Can't sleep. Gonna hit the gym." She made her voice as non-committal as possible. "Might be an hour or so."

One corner of his mouth quirked. "Okay. Don't hurt yourself by pushing too hard."

"Try not to." Already pissed at herself – should've brought the bracelet, what if they check where it is when Rory says I'm in the gym – Sophia stepped forward, knowing that the absolute only way of getting through this was pretending that everything was absolutely normal. Fortuitously, she'd already built up the reputation of being a gym rat over the last few weeks. Rory wouldn't think twice about her going to the gym at this hour. She hoped.

The doors opened at her touch and she exited the Wards area. Now she was on borrowed time. She dashed down the corridor and hit the button for the elevator. As soon as the doors interleaved open, she hit the button for the gym floor. It zipped upward at its usual pace, but to Sophia it wasn't fast enough. The next bit of the plan depended on two factors. Either one going wrong could screw her.

It stopped on the correct floor and the doors opened. There was nobody waiting for the lift, which was the first danger averted. Slapping the panel for a lower floor, she stepped out before the doors could close again. A flicker of movement to her left alerted her, and she jammed herself back into the lift alcove again. The doors were set back into the wall a little, which was a bonus; sucking in a breath, she kept her back pressed to them.

Now she could hear voices; to her trained ear, it sounded like two of the guards, faceplates open, chatting about some TV show. On the upside, neither one seemed to have seen her. On the downside, they were coming her way, and the lift alcove was only so deep. While she'd used her mask on the elevator doors more than once, confirming that they had no electricity moving through them, she would have much preferred to step through them forwards. Unfortunately, turning around to do so would expose her to the oncoming guards. Fuck it. Taking a deep breath, she cleared her mind and turned to shadow, falling backward through the doors.

She hadn't anticipated that the lift shaft would be so dark. If there was any light anywhere, she couldn't see it. For a long moment, she nearly lost herself to panic, but then she clamped down on it. I'm stronger than this! Waving her immaterial arms out to the side, she felt a brief discontinuity with her left one; snapping back to solidity, she lunged both arms in that direction. Her left hand brushed something, and her right hand grabbed it. It was the cable; but she'd already started falling, and the jerk nearly dislocated her shoulder. However, she had enough experience in climbing in the dark and quickly brought her left hand around. Next, her booted feet closed on the cable, stopping her downward slide.

Grimacing at the feel of the caked-on grease, she wiped her hand on her pants as best she could and dug out her phone. It took all her concentration to turn it on without dropping it, but she managed it, and waved the weak light around her surroundings. Ladder. There. The rungs disappeared upward and downward, away from her sphere of illumination. Fixing the location in her head, she tucked the phone away again, turned shadow, and leaped. A moment later, she turned solid once more, gripping the rungs. Satisfaction twisted her lips into a feral grin. I don't lose.

She couldn't recall if she'd had a more tiresome climb before, but it was just the tedium talking. In reality, only a few minutes had passed before she encountered the hatch opening out on to the upper surface of the lift enclosure. Going to shadow, she ghosted through it, then turned solid again in the cool night air. She crouched there for a few seconds, just breathing deeply, enjoying air that hadn't been recycled and conditioned a thousand times over. Then she skulked to the edge of the roof and launched herself into the air, turning to shadow a moment later.

<><> ​

Nineteen minutes later, she was several blocks away, waiting in the shadow of an air-conditioning unit. It had taken her a few extra minutes to get there, as she had stopped by one of her illicit caches, but she'd spent the time wisely. Again she scanned the city skyline, then checked the time on her phone. Irritably, she tapped out a text. S here. Where r u?

"Right here," murmured a voice from behind her. She didn't hesitated for a moment; throwing herself to the side, she brought a crossbow up, the razor-edged arrow trained on the figure crouched atop the boxy metal structure. For a long moment, her finger trembled on the trigger, then she relaxed as the person raised their hands.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, only just barely remembering to keep her voice down.

"Relax, honey," the girl – the pose was feminine, as was the tone – replied, not seeming at all concerned that she was looking at a quick death if Sophia decided to pull the trigger. "I'm your contact. The letter you got? It had the key to your ankle-bracelet in it."

"Contact?" Sophia got to her feet, keeping the crossbow on target. "Who's your boss?"

Moving as fluidly as anyone Sophia had ever seen, the girl – maybe five or six years older than Sophia – leaped down from the unit, landing without a sound on the rough gravel. "The boss prefers to stay under the radar for the moment, hon. But trust me when I tell you that he wants to see Taylor Hebert out of the picture just as badly as you do."

Sophia blinked; now she could see the girl better, she could make out details of the costume. It seemed to be a subdued harlequin's outfit, in non-reflective blacks and dark reds; while there were bells attached, a tiny red ribbon tied around each one rendered them silent. There was only one cape in Brockton Bay who used the jester motif …. "You're Circus."

Circus' hand came up in a mime's exaggerated movement, her eyes going wide and the fingertips pressing against her pursed lips. "Guilty as charged, hon. You got a problem with that?" Her voice was smooth and sweet, like maple syrup.

For a moment, Sophia wondered if she was being deliberately mocked. Circus, she recalled, made a habit of doing her best to puncture the ego of every hero she faced. Had this encounter happened before all the shit with Hebert, she would almost certainly be loosing an arrow into this smug bitch's face right about now. But the situation had changed. How much more it was likely to change was something she'd have to discover for herself. "Not right now," she conceded grudgingly. Lowering the crossbow, she took her finger off the trigger. "So, what's the plan?"

Circus had somehow acquired a knife from somewhere and was flicking it through her fingers, the city lights glinting off of the blade. "You know about the Empire's little planned jaunt on Friday night?"

"Just that they'd be busy," Sophia answered cautiously.

Another knife joined the first one. Without looking, Circus was spinning both of them around the fingers of the same hand, the two pieces of glittering metal seeming to almost intersect on occasion. "Word is that they're going to stomp the Merchants but good. The Hebert girl's their new big hitter, so I guess she's going out to prove it by stepping on some cockroaches. So in the meantime, their home base is low on protection."

"The Medhall building." Sophia couldn't really figure that part out. "You're saying Medhall is being used as a safehouse by the Empire?"

Circus chuckled. One of the knives disappeared, and reappeared in her other hand. Sophia could've sworn that it hadn't crossed the gap. "Honey, they are the goddamn Empire. Who do you think Max Anders is? Big hint: he's never been seen in the same room as Kaiser."

Despite herself, Sophia's eyes opened wide. "You're shitting me. No way is Max Anders Kaiser."

"Wanna put money on it?" Circus' teeth were very white in the darkness. "I'll bet you half your pay from the job."

Sophia could tell a sucker bet when she saw one. "No dice. Okay, so Anders is Kaiser. Medhall is Empire. So Hebert and her father are in that building?"

"Correct." Both the knives disappeared at once. "She goes out with the other capes. We go in. We find her dad, and we extract him."

This was the other part that she'd been having trouble with. "The letter said that certain interests wanted to get their hands on the father. Who?"

Circus shrugged, and a small ball appeared in her hand. It was black with a red skull and crossbones on it, with a tiny sputtering fuse appended to the top. Casually, she began to toss it into the air and catch it. "People with deep pockets. I don't ask questions. That way, I get paid more. You wanna ask questions or get paid?"

After a moment of reflection, Sophia decided names weren't all that important. "But this'll screw up Hebert?"

With a snap of the fingers, Circus was holding a second ball, with identical markings and fuse. This joined the other one in the air as she fell into an obviously rehearsed juggling routine. "Count on it, honey. She wants her dad alive and well, she'll have to dance to their tune."

It wasn't precisely what Sophia wanted – preferably, the chance to put an arrow through the back of Hebert's racist skull from about ten feet away – but she decided that it would do. "Like telling her to take a dive at my trial?"

"That's definitely something we can work into the agreement," Circus said cheerfully. Somehow, a third ball had joined the other two, merrily sparking fuse and all. "Any other questions?"

"What's the deal with the father, anyway?" asked Sophia. "Why hasn't he come out and made a statement telling everyone how great the Empire is?"

"He's in a coma," Circus told her. "Brain damage. Panacea couldn't heal it, but Othala might be able to. Last I heard, he was still doing a damn good imitation of a store dummy."

"Ah." Sophia considered this. It would make the extraction both easier and harder. "Are we gonna be having backup for this?"

"Only once we're outside," Circus informed her. "The boss doesn't want Kaiser figuring out who pulled this stunt on him. So while we're inside, we're on our own."

"Right." For a moment, Sophia had a mental image of Circus careening down the swastika-encrusted hallways of the Nazi stronghold, pushing a comatose guy in a chair while Sophia laid down covering fire. "Okay, do we know what floor he's on?"

"Not exactly, but we know what floors he's not on, so that'll cut down the search time." Circus's voice was bright and chirpy. "Or we can just find some asshole and ask him a few pointed questions."

On the word 'pointed', one of the 'bombs' disappeared, to be replaced by a knife arcing through the air from Circus' hand.

"We can definitely do that," agreed Sophia. She reflexively checked her phone. "Shit, I should be getting back. So, what time Friday night?"

"I'll text you when we're ready to roll," Circus told her. "Be ready to go after dark. It'll basically be once the Empire goes out after the Merchants."

"Gotcha. See you -" One of the 'bombs' hit the ground and cracked open, spewing thick smoke everywhere. Sophia backed up rapidly, crossbow coming up and aiming, but by the time the smoke cleared, Circus was nowhere to be seen. "- then," she finished lamely. Bitch. They really were smoke bombs.

She held herself back from any more irritation. Gotta get back before Triumph comes looking. Taking a running leap, she dived off the roof and turned to shadow.

<><> ​

PRT Building
Wards Base

The 'mask-up' buzzer sounded, and Rory reflexively put his helmet on. A click of the mouse showed the view just outside the door; it was Shadow Stalker, back from the gym. When the door hissed open, she strode in like she owned the place, ignoring him utterly as she walked past. He thought of asking her something like did you enjoy the gym but decided not to; not only was it a remarkably stupid question, but Shadow Stalker wasn't the easiest person to get along with at the best of times.

Pulling his helmet off, he sniffed curiously at the air. The scent of soap that she'd left behind was pretty powerful. She must've been really working up a sweat in there. Though he didn't think an hour-long exercise regimen really needed that much soap to wash off all the sweat.

Her door closed behind her, cutting off his window for starting any conversations. With a shrug, he turned back to the console and reactivated his game of Solitaire. Monitor duty only had to be boring if you let it be boring.

<><> ​

Sophia eased the rubber cap back on to the leg of the bed, concealing the key once more. On her ankle, the bracelet flashed its signal to the world, telling everyone that she was still in her quarters. With a sigh of pent-up tension, she collapsed on to the bed. She'd had to spend far too long scrubbing the grease off of her skin and clothing; if Rory had taken too much of an interest, he might've noticed that she wasn't wearing the ankle-bracelet. The damp sweats, wrung out as best she could, hung over the end of her bed.

But she'd proved it could be done; she'd snuck out, right under their noses, then gotten back in without anyone being the wiser. The return had been, ironically, much easier than the exit. There'd been no reason to climb all the way to the top of the building; a running leap from a nearby building had allowed her to glide straight in through the window of the gym. Mentally, she gave herself a slap upside the head for making the whole thing more complicated than it needed to be. I could've just walked past those damn troopers. For all they knew, I was allowed to be there.

Flopping back on to the pillow, she focused on the positives. Tomorrow night, I go out and fuck up Hebert's life once and for all.

It was a good thought. She went to sleep with a smile on her face.



End of Part Twenty

Part Twenty-One

 

[Ack]

Slippery Slope

Part Twenty-One: Point of No Return



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

[A/N 2: Due to the recent political unrest in the United States, I feel it necessary to explain that this fic is not intended to glorify Nazism or white supremacy in any way. It is, and always has been, an exploration of how ordinary people can fall victim to the ideology and be sucked into it.]



Thursday Evening
February 17, 2011
Lung

Kenta leaned back in the chair, wondering if it would rob him of his dignity to get a more comfortable one. He'd seen an advertisement for a La-Z-Boy that looked downright luxurious, but if word got out about it, there would almost certainly be jokes. He would hold off for now, he decided.

Jin, one of his more reliable men, entered the office with an envelope in his hand. "Sir," he said. "This … came for you."

"A letter?" Kenta sat up again, with a frown. "Who is it from?" The number of people who would resort to an actual letter in the mail in order to contact him was vanishingly small. Within the ABB, people came and spoke to him directly, while everyone else relied on electronic communications. It struck him that if all electronics within Brockton Bay were wiped out, gang activity would grind to a halt.

Jin stopped on the other side of the desk. "It doesn't say," he replied. "The men it was handed to say that a bunch of white men gave it to them. They would have gotten it to you sooner, but they were guarding a safe-house, and they wanted to make sure it wasn't a ploy to lure them away."

Kenta nodded slowly. While he would've preferred to get the letter sooner, the explanation made sense. After all, his operations were more important than the whim of some guy with a letter. "Have you read it?"

"No, sir." Jin shook his head. "It's still sealed. Nobody's opened it yet." He placed it on the desk and slid it across.

"Good." For a moment, Kenta wondered if this were some kind of elaborate assassination plot, perhaps with a powdered disease vector in the letter. He'd heard of things like this before, but mainly as the storyline of a spy movie. In any case, he was Lung. If there was any such powder, he would burn it to ash. He took up the envelope and tore off the end, then reached inside for the letter itself. The paper was folded once, and looked cheap, as if it had been torn from a notepad.

Lung, he read. The Empire will be making a move on the Merchants on Friday night.

He paused and read that line through again. This was interesting on several levels. Someone had more information about the Empire than they really should, and they were sharing it with him, almost certainly so he would do something about it. He read on.

Taylor Hebert will be with them, as their newest cape. She can control machinery. This will be a test of her capabilities, so they will be standing back and letting her do her thing.

Which meant that she'd be alone, exposed. Kenta smiled, letting his lips draw back from his teeth. There was no signature, but he didn't expect one. It had been two weeks since the humiliating defeat and loss of his arm. Oni Lee was still injured from the beating the Hebert girl had handed him within the car. He himself had only finished growing back his arm a few days ago. Every single day of those two weeks, he had vowed and declared bloody vengeance on the teenage girl who had so thoroughly bested him.

And now she was being handed to him on a platter. He didn't know for a fact who had sent the letter, but he could hazard a guess. It was almost certainly not Kaiser, unless the whole letter was a trick to draw him out. No, he decided. They know that an open challenge would do the same thing. It's not the Empire. Which only left Coil. What does that snake want with the girl? Nothing good, he imagined, but that wasn't his problem. His problem was the hit that his image had taken from the loss he had taken at Taylor Hebert's hands. She'd gone into that fight without powers, without any sort of leverage at all. But she'd walked away after having faced both him and Oni Lee, while Lung had to crawl away with his upper chest and shoulder blasted to ruin.

He still remembered the way the car had reversed up to him. He'd been angry, ripping into the other vehicles and on the verge of turning the tide. The explosion had taken him by surprise, thrown him across the street and torn his arm off almost as an afterthought. Had they gone after him then, they could have ended him, and that thought was intolerable.

Taylor Hebert had to die.

<><> ​

Friday, 18 February
Medhall Building

"An exoskeleton light enough to go under your clothes, huh?" Victor rubbed his chin, stubble rasping under his fingertips. "That'll be an interesting balance. Light enough to be hidden, strong enough to be worth it." He looked speculatively at me, then at his own forearm. "You wouldn't be able to punch any harder because it'll be your knuckles on the line. You don't want to be breaking your hand."

"Not necessarily," I said, holding up my own forearm. "Say there's an extending piece back here under my sleeve. I extend it, and a metal plate flips forward over my knuckles. If I've already got one on my elbow, and a bar down the outside of my forearm, I'll be able to use it in close combat. With the exoskeleton giving me extra power, I'll be the equivalent of a Brute. Definitely enough to break free and run like hell if anyone tries to grab me."

If anyone had suggested such a scenario to me before February, I would've laughed in their faces. Even in Winslow, I'd been there as a punching bag, an object of ridicule. Not someone to be grabbed off the street. But now I had powers, which made me valuable to a great many people. This also gave me a certain amount of flexibility in how I responded. The last people who had tried were the ABB gangsters who had caused Dad's injuries, and Lung himself.

Of course, the gangsters were now dead, and Lung had learned why he shouldn't try to fuck with me. A lesson I'd be willing to repeat, with added extras, once Victor designed sufficiently tough armour for the purpose. I'd had dealings with that sort of person before; rightly or wrongly, they never gave up. The only way to stop them from trying to get at me was to put them down once and for all. It was the only way Dad would be safe.

"Well, it's something I can certainly work on," he said. "But in the meantime, I figure I've made all the adjustments on your armour that I can." He gestured toward the imposing metal figure supported on the rack in the middle of the workshop. "Care to put it on and see how it runs?"

I submerged myself in my power and absorbed the details of the armour before me. "You've increased the flexibility of the joints."

Assume positive control: armour.

He nodded as I stepped up to the armour and turned around. "Yes. It was a tradeoff between that and more power, but you're already able to bench-press a Mack truck, so I figured you could probably do with more agility."

Behind me, the front plates of the armour slid apart. I stepped back into it, then closed the armour up once more. The periscope eyepieces dropped into place and I could see once more, from a viewpoint two feet higher. Flexible metal straps hung limp inside the armour; at a thought, I brought them around myself and clicked them into place. Finally, I took note of an electronic panel in front of me, which included a screen the size of a paperback book. "What does the panel do?"

Victor's voice came through speakers attached to the periscope eyepieces. "I've got cameras set up to be transported via your auxiliary units. They'll feed to the screen. I've adapted as many of the controls for your power as I can, but some things you'll have to use your hands for."

"Understood. That could be useful." The exterior microphones picked up the sound of my voice; or rather, what Victor's voice modulator had done to my voice. It now had a lot more bass, and was unrecognisable as my own. However, it still sounded natural and not electronic. Any foes we faced would almost certainly assume that it was a grown man and not a teenage girl within the armour.

I turned my attention to the 'shoulder-pads'. As the armour was the size of a (very) large man and I wasn't, there was quite a bit of spare volume that Victor had made use of. Part of it was taken up with the auxiliary units. As far as I could tell via my power, the only alteration he'd made was to make the rotors foldable, so that more could fit in the same space. In a separate compartment, he had stacked blocks of aluminium complete with embedded tungsten darts. With one of these, I could turn any of the auxiliary units into a tiny gunship able to shred human targets at will.

The armour had more weaponry to play with, of course. Victor had not been idle. I was familiar with nearly all of it, and what little I hadn't seen before was easy enough to figure out with my power. The chains were especially impressive, or would have been if I were capable of being impressed. However, I had not come down to Victor's workshop to merely admire the armour. Today was the day I was going to take it out for the first time.

I stepped down from the rack, the armour moving smoothly and easily. "I have a suggestion."

Victor picked up something from a workbench; at first glance, it looked like a folded metal umbrella. "I'm listening."

"With remote visual capability, I could pilot this armour from a distance in perfect safety. Is that worth working on?" I turned my power on to the item he was holding. It only took a few seconds to figure out what it was and how it was supposed to work. "Is that for this armour?"

"What?" He looked down at the thing he was holding. "Oh … right, yes. It should snap into the socket on your back. Um, remote sets of armour? Like Dragon uses? That could work, but how many screens can you pay close attention to at once? With your eyes, I mean."

His point was valid. While my power let me control virtually all machines in my range simultaneously, I only had one pair of eyes. Flying several drones at once was one thing; so long as there was nothing in their way, I could manoeuvre them all over the map. But if I wasn't in the armour, it could easily trip over or stumble into allies. One would be awkward, while the other could be catastrophic. Worse, if the armour tripped over while I was remotely controlling it, I wasn't sure if I'd have the same ease of getting up.

Taking the item from him, I reached over behind the suit's back—my arms weren't inside the armour's arms, of course—and clicked it into place. "The extra flexibility is very useful."

"Thank you," he said. I read his slight smile and bow as an expression of courtesy. "Shall we go? After all, the Merchants aren't going to beat themselves up."

I stepped into the elevator. "I understand that's a joke, but they may very well be doing exactly that. After all, these are the Merchants."

Stepping in as well, he pressed the button for the upper floor. "And the sad thing is, you're totally serious … and possibly correct." With a smile on his face that I could not decipher, he looked up at me. "Just do me a favour. Be careful and don't get hurt. Quite apart from you being our brand new cape, Tammi's getting pretty attached to you."

I suspected there was more to his statement than he was saying. He had not mentioned Peter, with whom I held a much more significant relationship than Tammi, which meant he was understating the situation deliberately. However, while I was wearing the armour, I could not relax out of my power in order to analyse his words properly. "Thank you," I said. "I do not intend to get hurt."

"Well, good." I heard a faint thump against my side. "You've got at least an inch of steel plate around you in all directions. It's actually difficult for you to get hurt. Don't make it easy for them."

I looked down at him; he was rubbing his elbow.

Supposition: Victor elbowed me in the side.

Analysis: An expression of camaraderie.

"I will not make it easy for anyone to hurt me," I assured him. "You have built safeguards into this armour to counteract anything that the Merchants could do to harm it. And their heaviest hitter is a Tinker specialising in heavy vehicles." Which meant that, once one of Squealer's creations came within my ambit, I would not be the one in danger from it.

The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. I allowed Victor to precede me, so that I knew where he was. Accidentally stepping on his foot at this juncture would be both embarrassing—once I dropped my powers—and a detriment to the entire team.

Kaiser was awaiting us along with the Biermann sisters—I had gotten to know them a little, but not too well—and the other members of the Empire who were coming along. Everyone but Kaiser and Othala leaned backward slightly as I stepped forward. This was not unexpected, as I towered over everyone present by a good two feet. While Menja and Fenja would easily overtop me in their fully-grown forms, this was not the case at the moment.

Crusader was the first to speak; or rather, whistle. I judged the sound to be one of admiration. "Well, damn," he said, in tones that I decided were respectful. "You guys said it was impressive. But you left out scary as fuck. Now I feel just a little inadequate."

"You have capabilities that I do not," I assured him. "We are all members of the same team. I will support you, and I know that you will support me." This was the simple truth. Justin and I had spent an afternoon tearing down his car and repairing all the minor problems I had spotted in it. He had decided to call me 'T-bird' after that, so I retaliated with 'Jaybird'. I liked him, in a 'smartass older brother' way. His car was also very nice, if a little garish.

When I spoke, their eyes widened slightly. Of course. The voice modulator. It appeared to be a success, gauging from their reactions.

"Well stated," Kaiser said. His face was uncovered so that I could see his smile. It was the one that I judged to mean I am pleased with what is going on. "So, Remote. Are you ready to do this?"

Even with my emotions suppressed, I understood his meaning. This was a rhetorical question, intended to elicit a specific answer. In response, I had the armour make a fist, which I pumped once in the air. "I'm ready. Let's do this thing."

Crusader whooped. "Oh, man. Those assholes are not gonna know what hit 'em." He moved forward, holding his hand up. "High-five, T-bird!" Carefully, I slapped his upraised palm.

"High-five, Jaybird," I replied, recalling the nickname which I had devised for him. Our armoured hands met with a clang of metal and he stepped back again.

Expression: grin.

Analysis: self-satisfaction.

I did not have time to dwell on it. Rune came up to me with her hood pushed back. She stared up at my armour. "Taylor? Is that really you in there?"

Moving easily—Victor had really done a good job with my armour joints—I dropped to one knee next to her and switched off the voice modulator. "It's me, Rune," I said in my ordinary voice.

"Oh, right. Cool." She tried to put her arms around me, but I knew that they would barely make it halfway. I kept my arms where they were; with insufficient sensory feedback, I could accidentally crush her in a hug. "Good luck."

Luck was merely a matter of rearranging the odds so that they suited a particular endeavour, but I did not say that to Rune. "Good luck," I repeated. When she released me, I carefully stood up again and looked at Kaiser. "I'm ready. Let's go."

He nodded to me, once. "Let's go take out the trash."

<><> ​

The truck needed heavier suspension. As I sat in the back, I could both feel and 'see' it wallowing under the weight of my armour while one of Kaiser's minions drove it down the road. It could have been claustrophobic but it really wasn't. Inside the armour, it wasn't very cramped; in addition, I had an awareness of what was around me that mere human senses could not encompass.

"Victor, I have an idea." I spoke quietly, knowing that Victor would be able to hear me perfectly clearly, with the radio link established.

"I'm listening," he replied immediately. "What's on your mind?"

"If each of my allies wore an item which was mechanical in nature on each arm and leg, and something on or near the head, I would be able to keep track of them in a combat situation." I paused. "Crusader and Kaiser are, of course, already covered."

For some reason, he chuckled. "Heh, covered, yeah. Good point. That should be easy to do. And you'd be able to keep track of everyone?"

"As easily as you are able to keep track of your own hands and feet," I said simply. "I was concerned about crushing Rune, earlier. If I am near an ally in combat, such a system should keep them safe from accidental injury."

"I'm totally on board with not being accidentally stepped on in combat," Victor replied. "It's a little late for it right now, but you're not going to have any friendlies nearby anyway. I will definitely start work on it as soon as we get back. Your own personal IFF system. I like it."

"Thank you." I was careful to say the words. While I felt no emotional attachment toward Victor when my powers were engaged, I was fully aware of his importance to me as an ally. Thus, I had no issue with expending a few polite words to maintain team cohesion.

"No problem. It's a workable idea." He paused. "Heads up. We're nearly there. Any last-minute doubts?"

"I have no doubts." It was true. While my powers were active, it was impossible to feel doubt, or any other emotion. Everything was laid starkly out to me in black and white. I knew my own capabilities, and I knew the capabilities of the armour that Victor had made for me. The exercise required me to engage with the Merchants without direct assistance, this did not mean that I would be going in alone or without backup. This was a test and a training run, as much for the armour as for myself; in order for it to serve its purpose, my actions had to be observed and judged.

With Peter's assistance, I had studied the known capabilities of the Merchants. I was confident that between my powers and my armour, I faced no untoward danger from any of their capes. Against the rank and file, I faced even less in the way of peril; not that I expected any but the most drug-addled to attempt to physically assault my armoured form.

"Good. It's go time." With his words, the rear doors of the truck opened. I took control of the clamps holding my armour in place and popped them open, then carefully climbed out on to broken concrete. The driver shut the doors, gave me a nod that was probably somewhere between respectful and terrified, then climbed back into the truck. I watched as he started it moving, steering between the potholes that seemed to make up the majority of the street.

I looked around. Deserted buildings lined the street, some with gaping windows, others with boards over them. I saw none with intact glass. Graffiti, some of it so overlayered that it was hard to read, coated every available surface. However, I did not see any of my Empire allies. "Where are you?"

"Your seven o'clock high." Thus clued in, I turned to my left and looked up, to see the ten foot wide metal plate that Victor had prepared for the occasion. It sported a safety rail around the edge, which was a good idea for something that was currently floating about fifty feet in the air. Rune stood at the front, her hands gripping the rail. She'd told me that once she had something 'marked' with her power, she didn't need to touch it to maintain her control, but it was a good habit to have. Standing beside her, his armour impressive in the scattered light from streetlamps, Kaiser looked impassively down at me. Also on the plate were Victor, Othala, Crusader and Fenja—I thought. I could never tell which of the Biermann sisters was which. This was the one with the spear.

"I see you," I said, and waved to make it more obvious. Turning my attention from the hovering plate, I looked up and down the street. No clue immediately presented itself for which way to go. "Should I go left or right?"

"Try left," Victor suggested. "I'm pretty sure they've got a flophouse or three in that direction. Make enough noise and their capes will come out to play. Or not, and we try again tomorrow night."

"Maybe I should have had you install a spraypaint dispenser in the armour," I said. "I understand that the Merchants take their tagging very seriously." I heard a snort over the radio. Analysis: amusement. Victor believes that to be a joke.

"We might have to do that," he agreed, then chuckled. "Tonight, you're just going to have to make do with what you have."

"I believe I can do that." I ran the armour and all of its accessories through a brief self-test, more to assure myself that all joints and pivot points were in full working order. They were. I set off down the street, the sound of my heavy tread echoing off of nearby buildings. It was time for me to prove my worth to the Empire.

<><> ​

Sophia

The vibration of Sophia's phone alerted her to an incoming text. There was no noise, however, so Clockblocker remained in his natural state of cluelessness. Pushing back her chair from the console, Sophia spun it in a circle. "I am so fucking bored," she pretended to groan. "There's nothing happening anywhere. Even the Empire's not out causing problems."

"Well, that's actually a good thing," Clockblocker pointed out. "I'm actually a fan of nobody being beaten up or killed because of the colour of their skin, you know?" He shrugged. "I mean, there's a rumour getting around PHO that something's gonna go down in Merchant territory tonight but nobody knows what, so it's probably nothing."

"Well, good luck finding out what it is," Sophia said as she stood up. "I'm gonna go hit the gym for an hour or two." She stretched elaborately, knowing without looking that Clockblocker was watching her. Part of her wanted to smack him for ogling her body, but the time for that would be later. Right now, she needed to not have him object too strenuously to her leaving him alone on console.

"You know we're supposed to be two-up except for when someone's in the bathroom, right?" His objection sounded weak, and she rolled her eyes behind her mask.

"Yeah, like you've never covered for Kid Win even once when he wandered off to do some Tinkering while you two were on console duty together." Her voice was sharply sarcastic. "And he's never covered for you when you decided to do some console gaming because you were bored." If he'd been wearing the full helmet, she would never have seen the shift in his gaze, but the white domino mask let her see his downcast expression perfectly. "Yeah, I thought so." She tilted her head toward her room. "Gonna go get changed. Unless you've got any other problems with me hitting the gym?"

"No," he mumbled.

"Damn right," she said, and headed off to her room. As soon as she had the door closed behind her, she yanked her phone out of its belt-pouch and turned it on.

T minus thirty minutes, the text said. Same place. C.

OK, she sent in reply, then shut her phone down again. She'd delete both texts from her phone once she got back, but she didn't have time to figure out how to do that right now. Sitting down on her bed she pulled the key out of her bra and removed the cuff so she could take her boots off more easily. Her costume followed, all but the body-stocking she wore under the armour. And the underwear beneath that, of course. The costume went into a gym bag she kept under her bed. On top of the costume went a towel, with one end artistically hanging out of the zipper. Then the mask went back on, because not even the Wards got to see her uncovered face. Especially not the Wards. Lastly, she pulled on sneakers.

"What's the bag for?" Clockblocker asked as she came out into the main living area, obviously having grown back some of his smartassery. "It's not like you're moving out any time soon."

"Unlike some people I know," she said bluntly, "I actually sweat when I go to the gym. And I'm going to have a shower after I finish exercising. And I don't like wearing sweaty clothes around once I've had a shower. So I've got fresh clothes to change into. In other words: fuck you."

"I was just …" He trailed off as she stomped past him toward the exit door. " … asking," he ended lamely as she slapped the button.

For a second, she considered telling him to think before he asked anything in future, but she was pretty sure Clockblocker considered thinking to be strenuous exercise. The door slid open and she exited, then headed straight down the corridor toward the lift. Checking her phone told her that she was five minutes into the thirty that Circus had specified. Gonna need to hustle.

Of course, this time she wasn't going to have to pull the elaborate escape-from-Alacatraz bullshit she'd put herself through the last time. The lift went to the floor with the gym on it and she marched down the corridor as if she owned the place, barely even bothering to step aside for a pair of PRT troopers who lumbered past.

As soon as she was in the gym, she glanced around and grinned. Everyone was either on shift or in bed, just as she'd planned. The lights weren't even on. Darting into the minuscule locker room, she rapidly began to change back into her costume. The ankle-monitor came off and she stashed it under one of the changing benches. She hid the bag itself, with the towel and sweats, in an empty locker. If anyone asked Clockblocker where she was, he'd say the gym, and if they checked the whereabouts of the electronic bracelet it would say the same thing. Only if they specifically came looking for her would they discover her absence. And to be honest, if she managed to fuck up Hebert's entire year, it would still be worth it.

Stepping out of the locker room, she glanced around. The gym was still deserted, so she headed for the windows. Breaking into a run, she dived at the armour-glass barrier, going to shadow just before she made impact. In her shadow state it barely impeded her at all; a moment later, she was gliding through the cool night air.

She touched down on a rooftop across the street and started running. It had taken her nineteen minutes to reach the rendezvous point the last time, and she was determined not to hold this operation up by even one minute. So she pushed herself, jumping farther and gliding longer between buildings to reach her goal faster. She could've gotten there faster by passing up her stash of broadhead arrows, but that wasn't something she was willing to do. Fortunately, the detour wasn't too far out of the way, and she didn't bother thinking too hard about how many to take; she just grabbed all she could carry.

Still, this took more time than she liked. As she closed in on the anonymous street corner and the rooftop above it, she couldn't be sure that she wasn't late. Angering or disappointing Circus and her mysterious boss was less concerning to her than than losing the chance to strike a blow against that weak, wimpy racist whore Hebert.

There was nobody there. She stopped and looked around, suddenly unsure. This is the right place, isn't it? It seemed to be familiar, but at night things could get confused. Fuck. I'm late.

And then her phone vibrated in its pouch. She grabbed it out, fumbling at it in her haste to check the message. Finally, she got it turned on and open to the right screen. The message simply read: Took your time.

At the same time as she scanned the words, an amused voice came from the air-conditioning unit above her. "Took your time."

Her head jerked up and she saw Circus lounging on the unit as if she had all day, a phone in her hand. "Bitch!" she whispered. "You did that on purpose!"

"No, not Bitch. Circus. Learn your supervillain identifications." Circus smirked. Today's costume was another red-and-black harlequin outfit, but this time she was going with a playing-card motif, with hearts, spades, diamonds and clubs here and there. Her domino mask had a heart to the left and a diamond to the right, while her face—covered in theatrical whiteface makeup—bore a spade down on one side of her jaw and a club on the other. She flipped lithely off of the air-conditioning unit and landed on her feet with barely a sound. Somewhere along the way, the phone vanished from her hand. "So if you're done fiddling with your phone, we can maybe get this mission started."

Clenching her teeth behind the mask, Sophia shut her phone down and shoved it back in the belt pouch. "Fuck you. Let's get this done."

"Oh, no, honey. I do enjoy hate-sex with heroes, but you're far too young for me. Come back in a few years and I'll think about it." With a mocking smile, Circus let her fingertips trail across Sophia's mask, then she took a run-up and leaped over to the next rooftop.

Did she just fucking make a pass at me, or did she reject me for making a pass at her? Sophia wasn't sure which it was, but either way she was sure she'd been insulted. That's it. When this is over, me and this bitch are going to have words. And by 'words', she meant she was gonna beat the living goddamn shit out of Circus. Seething with anger, she leaped off the rooftop and glided after the supervillain.

<><> ​

Taylor

"I have not seen anything yet," I reported. "I am going to send up an auxiliary unit with a camera."

"Sure thing," Victor replied. "I've been interested in seeing how those things work, anyway."

I assumed positive control over one of the several auxiliary units I had stored in the armour, then reached out with its graspers and locked on to a remote camera, also stored in the same location. The controls for the cameras were simple enough for me to operate. As I powered it up, I switched on the screen in front of me. Connectivity only took a few seconds to establish, and then I was looking through the screen at the darkened interior of the storage module. I opened the top and activated the auxiliary unit, sending it in a high-speed climb into the night air. I knew exactly where the unit was, of course, but the view on the screen gave me a chance of seeing anything non-mechanical approaching it. Briefly, I considered sending up a second unit with an attack payload, but I wanted to see how well I could handle one on its own first. Besides, I didn't want to kill any Merchants we encountered, whether they were capes or normals. The entire aim of this mission was to demoralise and humiliate them so that when we walked into what they called their territory and took it over, they wouldn't even consider fighting back.

The auxiliary unit buzzed up to where Rune was still piloting the metal platform five storeys up, and made a quick circuit of my fellow Empire capes. I found that I could maintain reasonable control of the unit even when it was flying sideways or backward. This was useful data; it meant I could get footage of something without needing to head directly toward it or hover in place. Crusader gave the camera a broad grin and a thumbs-up gesture, which I interpreted to mean that he was pleased with my progress. Victor did neither, but he studied the unit's progress intently as it flew by.

As I continued down the street, I sent the unit zipping ahead of me. There were alleyways where the armour would have issues travelling quickly or quietly, but for which the auxiliary units were perfectly suited. Of course, the light level in these places was far below acceptable, but the cameras were designed to flip over to low-light when necessary.

Up ahead, I saw the first proper Merchant tag of the area. A good three feet high, it actually boasted a certain amount of artistry, given that it symbolised a degenerate herd of drug-addicted subhumans. Sending the auxiliary unit scouting through the nearest alleyway, I extended the chain from my left arm then lashed it against the wall, scraping down to remove the paint. The first pass didn't do much good, but on the next try I activated the tungsten carbide cutting blades. These screeched against the brickwork, but tore the tag clean off the wall in a matter of seconds. I stepped back out of the cloud of brick dust and studied my handiwork as I retracted the chain. A quarter of an inch of brick had been gouged off of the outer surface, looking almost as if someone had dragged a giant grater down it.

"Huh. Nicely done," Victor said. "A little loud, but it's not like that armour's built—heads up! People coming out of the building!"

"On it," I said, turning toward the front entrance of the building. Sure enough, two men and a woman—as far as I could tell—were standing in the doorway, staring across at me. Neither wore recognisable gang colours, but they had the unmistakable air of long-term drug users. One of the men had a phone to his ear. I brought the auxiliary unit up out of the alley and moved it to scan the rear and sides of the building.

"Hey!" yelled one of the men, pointing at me. "Who the fuck're you? Fuck off, asshole!"

His absolute lack of any self-preservation instinct indicated to me that he was almost certainly under the influence of some mind-altering substance or other. This was underlined when he reached into his waistband and pulled out a pistol. Even taking into account that it was dark out, his aim was execrable, to the point that I was mildly concerned for the well-being of the other two. The pistol went off three times. Two shots pinged off the wall, nowhere near me, and I had no idea where the last one went.

Assume positive control: chain.

Extending my arm, I sent the chain whipping out toward the idiot with the gun. He yelled out in shock as the flexible links wrapped around the barrel of the weapon and wrenched it from his grip. Hoisting it several yards into the air, I activated the cutting blades. Sparks flew, amid the screeching of metal on metal. This time I was more successful than I had been in the lab, and the pistol dropped to the ground in several pieces. As the Merchants stared in stunned disbelief—or perhaps a drug-addled daze—I retracted the chain back into the armour. Then I started walking toward them.

Victor had coached me in how to do a menacing stride, and the armour made it easy. Cutting the gun into pieces had probably raised my intimidation factor considerably, so it was no surprise at all when the two guys lurched back inside the building and slammed the door behind them. The woman yelled profanities at them and beat on the door with her fists, then took one look at me and ran off down the street.

"Well, that was kind of impressive," Victor observed. "I have to say, I'm less impressed by the way they look out for each other." He paused. "Kaiser wants to see how you go with clearing the building out. It's your choice. I know we haven't done building clearing techniques yet."

"I cannot see a difficulty," I replied. I walked the armour up to the front door and pushed at it. It gave a little, then stopped. Drawing back my fist, I punched it in the same way that Peter had trained me. The door shattered into a great many pieces, and the sofa that had been pushed against it skidded away across the floor. "Entry achieved."

"Nicely done. For the record, Menja is jealous."

I did not know what to say to that. Menja could probably achieve greater strength than my armour while fully-grown, but I was stronger than her at this height. Of course, my strength was due to Victor's engineering interacting with my power, but I did not want to make her feel inadequate. It was as I had said to Rune: we all had our strengths and our parts to play. We were all Empire.

Ducking the head of the armour, I stepped through the doorway into the building. When I straightened up, I found I was facing five men, all holding firearms. Three had pistols, one a double-barreled shotgun and the last was pointing an assault rifle at me.

<><> ​

Lung

Kenta stood on the rooftop, looking out over the street. Oni Lee appeared beside him, the fearsome appearance of the Kabuki mask somewhat undermined by the fact that his arm was in a sling. Lee wanted a piece of Taylor Hebert just as badly as Lung did, but two weeks had not been nearly enough time to recover from the damage she'd done to him with that fucking car. As it was, he still couldn't use his left arm at all, and his right wrist was still painful to bend. The first few days after the fight, he'd barely been able to walk, given that he had a broken kneecap and severe abdominal bruising. He would probably have had fewer problems if he'd been in an actual car accident.

"That way." Lee pointed as he spoke. "Kaiser and some others on a large flying metal plate. The girl is in an armour suit, attacking a Merchant building."

"An … armour suit?" Kenta frowned. Was she a Tinker as well as a controller of cars? That made for a level of power that would be frightening to anyone else. But he was Lung. He feared nobody and nothing.

"It's very tall and very strong, and has some sort of tentacle coming out of the arm. I didn't get a good look." Lee shrugged, carefully. "It's no match for you at full strength, of course."

"Well, of course." That went without saying. Lung had gone up against an Endbringer. The number of capes that could equal him in sheer strength and ferocity could be counted on the fingers of one hand. "How high up are the other Empire capes? Can you bring them down?"

"I would have trouble fighting them," admitted Lee. "But fortunately, I do not need to fight to bring them down."

"Good," said Kenta, drawing back his lips from his teeth in a smile that owed nothing to pleasantry and everything to cruelty. "Lead me to them. The Empire loses its head tonight, and then I will have my revenge on Taylor Hebert."

As Oni Lee teleported to the next roof and Lung moved to follow, he began to grow. The superiority of his dragon form notwithstanding, he knew he was going to need all the strength he could muster for the fight ahead. Fortunately, his power was able to oblige.

<><> ​

Skidmark

"So what the sweaty camel nutsack are we facing this time?" Adam Mustain yelled over the noise of the racing engine. "Tell me it's not that flying glowstick!" Purity was as vulnerable to damage as anyone, but she could hand it out in city-block amounts.

"No idea!" Squealer yelled back at him, while she did incomprehensible adjustments to the control panel of her latest monstrosity. "They just said it's some guy in a big-ass suit of powered armour!" Despite the seriousness of the situation, she flashed him puppy-dog eyes. "Can I have it once we're done? I never get to look at anyone else's Tinkertech!"

"Once we've got the crotch-sniffing dingleberry out of the control seat, you can do what you want with it!" he assured her. "Fuckin' marry it, for all I give a shit!"

"You say the nicest things!" she shouted into sudden silence.

Adam realised that the tank had fallen silent and was rolling to a halt. "Hey, the fuck?" he blurted. "Did you forget to feed the hamster, or whatever it is you got running this thing?"

Sherrel shook her head, an expression of confusion crossing her face. "Cold fusion plant, and no. It should have fuel for the next year or so." She scanned the makeshift dials and gauges that made up most of the control panel. "No, it's running at full capacity. But nothing's getting through to the drivetrain."

"How the diseased anal pusbag is that happening?" he demanded. "Something break?"

"No!" she denied hotly. "I'm not L33t, for fuck's sake! It's just stopped, and until I get a chance to pull it apart I won't know why." She looked out through the minimal windshield. "Or you could ask that guy out there."

Adam stared out through the thick glass at the eight foot tall armoured suit striding toward the stalled tank. "What the …? Fuckin' shoot that testicular tumour!"

"I'm trying!" Squealer jabbed buttons and pulled levers, but exactly nothing happened. "I keep telling you, we're shut down!"

"Well, I'm not shut down." Adam unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up. "Time to go out there and give that asshole the royal butt-fucking he's begging for."



End of Part Twenty-One

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Twenty-Two: Everything Goes Sideways


[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: Warning: Empire character dialogue may contain racist terms and views. These views are not shared by the author.]

[A/N 3: As it's been three years since I posted to this story, here's the basic layout of the plot to date:

1: Taylor, backed into a corner by the bullies, has accepted membership in the Empire. Her boyfriend, Peter Ferguson, is Max Anders' nephew. He's been teaching her how to fight.

2: Shadow Stalker was caught red-handed with the locker stunt, and handed over to the cops by the Empire kids. This has caused Director Piggot no end of aggravation.

3: When Taylor and her father were attacked by Lung and the ABB, she triggered with the ability to detect and control machines at a distance. Activating her powers suppresses all emotion. Danny suffered brain damage and went into a coma. Victor also managed to piss off Glory Girl around this time.

4: She has formed ties with most of the team; Crusader, Victor, Othala and Rune especially. Victor has been working with Taylor to build her a set of armour to wear out and about.

5: Coil has been trying (and failing) repeatedly to get a handle on Taylor. He's since hired Circus to recruit Shadow Stalker, had a key to Sophia's ankle cuff smuggled into the PRT building, and used his moles in the Empire to determine where Taylor and the majority of the Empire will be at a particular time.

6: Lung has been informed (by Coil's men) of Taylor's upcoming armour test run through Merchant territory. Circus and Shadow Stalker will be at the same time infiltrating the Medhall building to abduct Danny, who is just recently starting to show signs of recovering from his brain injury, assisted by Othala's regeneration.

7: Lung and Oni Lee hate Taylor because the last time they encountered her, she blew Lung's arm off and beat the snot out of Oni Lee.

8: Skidmark and Squealer are reacting to the incursion by bringing her latest creation out to play. It's basically the worst possible thing they could've done.]

Now, onto the story …


Glory Girl

Vicky got up from where she'd been trying to decipher the chicken-scratches of her math homework and checked her alarm clock. Silently she donned her costume, rehearsing in her mind the excuses she would use if she were to be caught.

"I got bored and decided to go on patrol."

"It's only Friday night ... I've got plenty of time to finish my homework."

"I just heard somewhere that something was going to go down in Merchant territory on Friday night."

('Somewhere' happened to be a casual mention by Dean, but she would never admit that.)

"I'm just going to see what's going on, promise."

And she fully intended to keep that promise in the moment it was made. In Vicky's own mind, she was even-tempered and entirely rational at all times. It was everyone else who caused problems.

Slipping out her bedroom window, she took to the air and set out across the city.

<><>​

Taylor

When the Merchants tank came rumbling down the road, I was ready for it. There was a cloaking field to prevent people from seeing or hearing it, but my power ignored that altogether. Thus, I was able to assume positive control and disengage the power source—some Tinkertech affair that I neither understood nor tried to—from the drivetrain, bringing it to an abrupt halt. Likewise, when the driver attempted to attack me with any of the several guns mounted on the vehicle, I found it simple enough to prevent the mechanisms from working.

"Remote to Kaiser. I have a Merchants tank here. I believe there are Merchant capes inside. What should I do with them?"

Over the radio, I heard a very brief consultation. It ended just as the hatch on top of the tank began to open.

"Kaiser to Remote. Feel free to get rid of them."

"Understood. Lethal or non-lethal?" I hadn't intended to kill anyone tonight, but they did bring a tank to the party.

"If you can do it non-lethally, feel free. Otherwise … your choice."

Accordingly, I allowed the hatch to open all the way. A costumed figure started to climb out but when he was halfway out, I slammed the hatch into his back with all the force the hinge could muster. Then I swung the hatch back and did it again. He slid down into the tank limply.

As that was most likely Skidmark, it meant Squealer was in the driver's seat. Someone was still attempting to make the tank move, after all. I noted that there was a second hatch over her seat, as well as ejection mechanisms for both seats. I ensured the hatch would open, then triggered the ejection mechanisms. After they rocketed skyward, I closed and locked the hatches. Skidmark might have a rough landing, possibly fatal, but that would not be my problem.

That was when I 'saw' the new weapons appear in the midst of my allies, on the flying disc of metal. Grenades in a bandolier, as well as a pistol. Had I been capable of it, I would have gasped in horror. Instead, I powered up the Merchant tank's drivetrain, since it could move much faster than the armour I was wearing. As it thundered past, I leaped upward and grabbed the barrel of one of the guns.

In the meantime, I was also concentrating on the grenades and pistol. The latter was easy to prevent from working, but the grenades were trickier. Victor had explained to me that once the pin was pulled and the spoon released, a striker would be propelled down a metal tube by a powerful spring until it hit the percussion cap and start the time fuse burning. My power had no effect on springs, or on burning fuses. My only chance was to try to ensure the spoon didn't fly off or the striker didn't hit the percussion cap hard enough to set it off.

I knew who this was, of course. Oni Lee had once attempted to attack me while I was sitting in a car. I'd used the interior of the car to pummel him fairly convincingly, but now he was back for another attempt. And this time he was attacking my allies.

Decision: Oni Lee is too dangerous to allow to live. Kill him at first opportunity.

I still had more auxiliary units; as I sent the first one swooping back toward the disc, I took positive control of the second and had it latch onto one of the pre-prepared blocks of aluminum. The hatch in my 'shoulder-pad' opened, and the auxiliary unit took to the air. This one had no way of seeing where it was going, so I had it rise above the level of all the buildings in the area and move directly toward the other unit.

In that time, the number of enemy weapons in the area had doubled; I took this to mean that Oni Lee had teleported to beside himself, so that both versions could fight. As I 'watched', one of the Oni Lees began a ballistic arc to the ground below, while the one left behind on the disc activated a grenade. The spring was working hard to push the striker down the little tube (I still had no idea what it was called) to the percussion cap. I couldn't stop it, but I could slow it down. Fortunately, the force of the spring became weaker as it pushed farther down, so I was able to prevent it from striking with full force.

The grenade did not explode, but everyone on the disc began falling out of the sky anyway; not all at once, but in fits and starts. I 'saw' the armour that I identified as Crusader's lift into the air. The radio was alive with confused shouts, but the only one I could make out was Victor's voice: "Othala!"

Assumption: Something has disturbed Rune's concentration.

Assumption: Crusader is being supported by his ghosts.

Conclusions: Oni Lee has injured Rune. Something has happened to Othala.

I could not feel anger in that state, but the notion that Rune (and possibly Othala) had been hurt redoubled my intent to end his life. They were my allies and (when I was able to feel emotions) my friends. Also, they were not direct combatants. Attacking them with lethal force (I suspected Oni Lee knew of no other way to attack) was objectively wrong.

Then the camera unit arrived back at their location and I saw what was happening. The disc was now in free-fall, but nobody was on it. Crusader's ghosts were supporting himself, Kaiser and Rune (who hung loosely in their grasp). Menja, now on the ground, was thirty feet tall and still growing, while Victor was parkouring his way down the side of a nearby building.

"Where is Othala?" I asked. The disc hit the ground and bounced, but I paid no attention to that. There was a metal spike sticking out of the middle of it that hadn't been there before.

"Oni Lee teleported into the middle of us, stabbed Rune, then grabbed Othala and jumped off the disc with her," Kaiser reported. His voice was hard and clipped.

Conclusion: Anger. I could understand that. I suspected I would also feel angry, once I let my powers recede. I swooped the camera drone down toward where Othala lay in the street. It had no way of helping her, but I wished to gain an idea of her condition.

Observation: blood staining white part of costume.

Conclusion: injuries are severe.

Reinforced conclusion: Oni Lee has earned sentence of death.

"Where is Oni Lee now?" My voice was as level as ever. I would not get angry, for I was incapable of it. I would merely deliver justice.

"Motherfucker booked it." Crusader was panting as he had his ghosts lower himself and the others to the ground. "Hit and run. Fucking gook coward."

Observation: inflammatory wording, strained tone of voice.

Conclusion: anger.

I came around the corner and jumped off the tank as Kaiser landed on the ground and moved toward Othala. Victor was already bending over her. "Keep a lookout around!" shouted the leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight. "He might come back for a second try!"

"Lung!" yelled Menja, her size-magnified voice shaking the screen I was watching. I swivelled the camera unit to look at her, then turned it again to see where she was pointing. It was indeed Lung, larger than I had seen him before, with flames flickering around him. He was leaping from one building to the next, coming in for the attack.

Observation: This was not a random encounter from Oni Lee. He and Lung are in this area on purpose. This is a planned ambush.

Conclusion: They knew we would be here.

Further conclusion: We have been betrayed. This was a trap.

<><>​

Shadow Stalker

Fucking hell, I hope this isn't a trap.

Sophia stuck close behind Circus, her crossbow loaded and ready, just in case. They'd snuck in through the loading dock after Circus had pulled some chicanery with an electronic lockpick. Sophia had wanted to just phase through and open it from the inside, but Circus had vetoed that idea flat. "This is a supervillain base, remember. They know how to deal with power bullshit."

Your power is bullshit, Sophia had wanted to say but not quite been willing to voice out loud. The way Circus wore a skin-tight outfit without any pockets, yet could produce basically anything she wanted with a flip of the wrist was really, really aggravating. It wasn't like she had the stuff stored in her sleeves, which were also skin-tight.

But Sophia didn't want to get into an argument with Circus for several reasons, the main one not being that the smartass cape could make her feel stupid with a single raised eyebrow; at least, that was what she told herself. So she followed along behind, all the while wondering if she could get away with 'accidentally' shooting Circus once the job was done. Several times. Right in her smugly irritating face.

They moved on through the building, Circus consulting some kind of building plan on her phone as they went. This only served to raise Sophia's aggravation level. How did Circus know how to get a building plan? Why hadn't Sophia been given one as well? What if they got separated?

Still, the main aim here was to fuck up Hebert's entire life. Now that the worthless little queef had shown her true racist colours, it proved she'd been entirely justified the whole time she'd been pushing Hebert's face into the dirt, where she belonged. Hebert had been a neo-Nazi criminal all along, and criminals deserved punishment.

Circus stopped just short of a corner, and held up her hand in a fist. Sophia had seen enough war movies to know that meant 'stop', so she came to a halt and reflexively checked behind them. 'Six', or something, it was supposed to be called, wasn't it? She didn't know; she wasn't a soldier. Stupid war movies.

And then Circus was gone, around the corner, almost faster than Sophia could see. There was the sound of a scuffle, and she leaned around the corner herself. Circus had a security guard flat on the floor, with her knee in the middle of his back and his arms twisted up behind him. Shit, I never even heard him coming!

"Hi, there," Circus said in a conversational tone. "You can try yelling for help, but I've got your radio and there's nobody else on this floor, is there? So let's have a nice civilised conversation, where I ask the questions and you give the answers, and nobody gets hurt. Then I cuff you up—with your own cuffs, thank you very much—and we go on our merry way. You've clearly been overpowered by a cape, and you get drinks off your buddies for a few weeks for being tied up by a hot sexy supervillain. I might even get my colleague here to take a picture of us on your phone as a souvenir. How's that sound to you?"

He was a big man, brawny, with short-cut blond hair. Basically, the perfect Aryan type as far as Sophia understood things. But his size and muscle did him no good at all against the hold Circus had him in. Sophia knew how to apply a basic arm-bar, but this was a whole other level of painful-looking. He struggled briefly, then subsided.

"Fuck off, bitch," he grunted, one side of his face pressed flat to the linoleum. It looked smooth and clean, but Sophia knew he had to be finding every little bump and groove, every piece of lint and grit that the cleaners had missed, with his cheek. "Do what you want. You'll get nothing out of me."

"You know," mused Circus. "It's people who say things like that who break the fastest. It's like they think they're throwing an unbeatable bluff. But the funny thing about torture? Everyone breaks. Everyone. The stoic secret agent who endures a hundred volts running from his nuts to his nipples, and comes back with a sarcastic quip about how that was a shocking experience? Doesn't exist. Because he's too busy shitting and pissing himself, and trying to remember how to breathe again. And don't even talk to me about waterboarding. Trained CIA agents have volunteered for that one, to see how long they could go without breaking. Took 'em less than a minute to cry uncle."

The guard didn't even seem to be breathing anymore. Certainly he wasn't offering words of defiance. Sophia couldn't blame him; Circus had a way of speaking that caught the attention and ran away with it.

"I know what you're thinking to yourself," purred Circus. "You're thinking 'She doesn't have a car battery and a set of alligator clips', right? Well, you might be right and you might be wrong. I sometimes lose track of what I'm carrying around with me. Could I waterboard you? Sure, it only takes a handkerchief and a water bottle. But what if I don't have those, either? Whatever could I do?" She leaned close down to his ear, and the knife that was suddenly in her hand tickled his skin just beside his eye. From his violent twitch, he was fully aware of what she was holding. "Well, then," she breathed. "I suppose I'd have to get … creative."

Sophia caught the harsh reek of urine at about the same point as he started babbling, asking Circus what she wanted, literally begging her to ask him something, anything. It wasn't surprising; just the way she said 'creative' put chills down Sophia's back.

"Sh-sh-sh-shhh," Circus murmured, stroking the side of the knife over the bridge of the man's nose, where his eyes frantically crossed in an effort to follow it. "I just want to know one thing. Then you can just lie here and relax and wait to be found. Okay? Okay. So, here's what I want to know. Where are they keeping Hebert? The skinny guy, in a coma? What floor is he on?"

Sophia grinned behind her mask as she watched the guy's eye follow the wickedly sharp tip of the knife while Circus wove it in tiny figure-eights. As much as she disliked Circus, she hated the Empire even more, and watching one of those assholes crumble to pieces was fuckin' amazing.

The guy talked, of course.

<><>​

Medhall Building

Peter Ferguson

The worst part about dating a cape, Peter decided, wasn't the power imbalance. Any two people were imbalanced in some way; one would always be stronger than the other, one would always be smarter, and so on. The imbalance would never come up if neither one wanted it to.

No, what he really hated about this was the fact that Taylor would be going out with the rest of the Empire capes and facing danger without him at her side. He knew why it had to be this way; without powers, he would be at best vulnerable and at worst an actual liability as people (specifically, Taylor) put themselves in danger to save him. Even when her powers were active and she claimed to feel no emotions, he knew she would go the extra mile just to ensure his safety.

He was convinced Uncle Max and the others wouldn't let her get hurt—Victor had assured him the armour she was walking around in would withstand anything short of anti-tank ordnance—but still, the idea of her facing off against hostile capes who only had to get lucky once had him tasting bile at the back of his throat. To work off some of his tension, he'd been punishing the bag in the gym for awhile, but that was starting to lose its novelty. There were only so many ways he could hit it and pretend he was smashing in Skidmark's face, after all.

I know what I can do. Taylor read out loud to her father when she got the chance. The book series Peter had loaned her for the purpose wasn't to the taste of most of the Empire, except where it came to Thor and Odin being badasses, but he enjoyed the characterisation and sheer breadth and depth that had gone into the narrative. He'd already read the current one from cover to cover, but that didn't mean he couldn't go visit Mr. Hebert and read some more to him. Besides, Taylor could never get Avis' voice deep enough. In his opinion, anyway.

He took the time to shower off the sweat—just because Mr. Hebert wasn't able to respond didn't mean he couldn't smell body odour—and change into T-shirt and jeans. As an afterthought, he tucked the .380 P3AT in its low-profile holster into the back of his waistband, because it had been drummed into him: no matter how secure you think you are, your safety is ultimately your own responsibility.

This had been emphasized by the ABB attacks on Taylor, before she powered up. Once he got powers of his own (if he ever did) he would probably be able to leave it off. Until then, he'd been told to get used to wearing it.

Humming a tune that had gotten stuck in his head from the heavy metal music Hookwolf preferred to meditate to, he took the elevator to the level where Mr. Hebert had been installed. He wasn't sure whose idea it was to decorate the rooms with some of Hitler's paintings but they gave it a home-like air, even if the man had been more adept at politics than the visual arts.

The whimsical tone of his thoughts came to a screeching halt when he reached the open doorway of the anteroom to hear muffled voices up ahead. Neither of them belonged to Mary, the nurse who'd been charged with Mr. Hebert's care and feeding. And in fact, if he wasn't much mistaken, the foot protruding from beyond the doorframe was wearing the same style of sensible flat-soled shoe that Mary preferred.

"No, lift him from that side. Watch that cord, you'll get it tangled!"

"Fuck the cords, let's just get the old geezer into the chair and fuck off out of here!"

There was a sigh of aggravation. "No, if we just disconnect them, alarms will go off from here 'til Wednesday. I would've thought someone like you understood the concept of 'silent in, silent out'?"

"Well, I'm not a fuckin' nurse. How'm I supposed to know that shit?"

"Perhaps if you hadn't shot the actual nurse, I might've been able to get her to tell us which ones he needs."

"Yeah, and give her every chance in the world to set off the alarm herself. That'd work. Anyway, she's a fuckin' Nazi; what's it to you?"

"News flash, sunshine. Not everyone employed by a white supremacist organisation is going to be a Nazi, or even a racist. Okay, I think that's done it. Now get ready to lift from that side while I get the chair ready."

Reaching behind his back, Peter drew the .380 and backed up alongside the doorframe. Like any other teen, he was able to activate his phone one-handed, but the trouble was, this was happening right now, and God only knew what these people (who had potentially murdered Mary) were going to do with Mr. Hebert if they were left to their own devices. From the sounds of it, at least one of the pair didn't care about his well-being.

At least one of the voices sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. He couldn't stop to think about it right now.

And who would he call, anyway? Uncle Max was out on a mission, and even if Kaiser had his phone on him, there was no way he'd be able to get it out from under the armour. Mr. Fleischer hadn't gone along, which meant he was hopefully in the building, along with Bradley, Melody and maybe Jessica. But if he backed off far enough to call for help without being heard, the intruders would have a head start, with a hostage.

Fuck it. It's up to me. Leading with the pistol, he glanced around the doorframe, just in time to see a stern-woman mask looking back at him. Fuck! It's Shadow Stalker! It's fucking Sophia Hess!

"Fuck! It's the boyfriend!"

He dropped into the Weaver stance, lining up with her centre mass. "Stalker! Show me your hands! Tell your friend to come out right now, or I will—"

She brought up a crossbow from behind her cloak. He fired twice, each flat crack assaulting his eardrums; the string twanged at the same instant, and he felt a burning line across the outside of his calf. Shadow Stalker fell backward out of sight, but in the instant before she vanished he saw red blossoming on the shoulder of her costume.

Green smoke billowed across the doorway, cutting off his line of sight. He backed off, pistol still lined at the doorway. Warm liquid ran down his ankle and soaked into his sneaker. Yanking his phone out of his pocket, he woke it up via muscle memory and hit Krieg's number.

"What the fuck?" Over the ringing in his ears, he vaguely heard Shadow Stalker's voice from inside the smoke cloud. "Fucker shot me!"

"Did he shoot you in the legs?" The other voice sounded remarkably unsympathetic.

"No, just the shoulder! Fuck, that hurts!"

"Then you can run. This is a wash. We have to get out of here."

"Not if we kill that little fucker!" Shadow Stalker sounded positively murderous.

Mr. Fleischer's abrupt tones came through over the phone. "Mister Ferguson. I hope you've got a good reason for disturbing me."

"Couple of people trying to kidnap Taylor's dad," Peter gasped. "One of them's Shadow Stalker. Dunno about the other one. I shot Stalker. And they know about the Empire!"

Krieg's voice went from annoyed to disbelieving. "What? What's happening now?"

"They've got smoke bombs. Green smoke. Other one's a woman. Dunno who." Aware he was leaving bloody footprints, Peter eased around the corner of the corridor, leaving just his gun and one eye covering the doorway to the anteroom. "I've backed off a bit. Dunno what—"

At that moment, two black spheres about the size of baseballs bounced out of the green fog. Peter instinctively ducked back around the corner, just before the balls exploded violently. He would forever swear that he felt shrapnel hum past him to embed in the wall opposite, and his ears stopped working altogether. He thought he screamed the word, "FUCK!" but he couldn't even hear that much.

Glancing back around the doorframe, he saw that the green smoke cloud was dissipating, and that the section of the corridor leading up to the anteroom had been utterly trashed. Acrid smoke, of the non-coloured variety, was starting to drift toward the ceiling, but he didn't think anything was on fire. That clearly didn't matter to the fire system, because at that point the sprinklers chose to kick into action.

His leg was really starting to hurt now, but he didn't care. Gun up and ready, he limped back around the corner and headed toward Mr. Hebert's room. He knew what Mr. Hebert looked like, and if anyone else came out of there, he was going to shoot the living shit out of them.

Just as the green smoke thinned enough to allow visibility, there was a thump and purple smoke started to billow in the anteroom. Instead of backing off again, he moved up, keeping off to the side. He couldn't overhear any more talking, but that didn't mean anything. The way his ears were ringing, they could've been playing the 1812 Overture complete with real cannons and he wouldn't have heard a thing.

As he reached the doorframe, there was a stirring in the purple smoke and a woman in a harlequin costume came out in a diving roll. He snapped a shot by reflex, missing high. Steel glinted as knives flew from her hand—where did she get those from?—and he was too busy dodging to improve his aim. One grazed his arm, and the other smacked into the doorframe right about eye level; he fired back twice, but she'd dropped another smoke bomb—blue, this time—and had vanished into the resultant cloud.

He didn't know if she was coming back, but from what she'd been saying before, he didn't think so. In any case, Shadow Stalker was still in there, as was Mr. Hebert, and he didn't trust her not to do something vindictive just to fuck with the Empire. He wasn't sure how many rounds he had left, but a quick check showed there was one in the chamber and that was good enough for him. All he needed was a clear line on her centre mass, and there would be no loss to Brockton Bay at all.

Taking a deep breath, he plunged into the cloud of purple smoke and out the other side. Stalker was in there alright, the shoulder of her costume shiny with blood, leaning over Mr. Hebert with a razor-sharp arrowhead just touching his throat. He couldn't tell if she was saying something or not, but she seemed the type to enjoy gloating over a helpless victim. I'll never understand why they ever considered her a hero.

He fired, the small pistol jolting back into his palm, but she saw him first and went to her shadow form. The bullet whipped through and punched a hole in the wall, but he wasn't watching that. He was watching the cloud of shadow. Mr Hebert seemed to be unharmed at the moment, but he knew that could change at any moment.

Going under the bed in the blink of an eye, Shadow Stalker reformed more or less in his face with the arrow still in her hand, stabbing upward toward his stomach. He couldn't fire because she was between him and the bed, and if she went to shadow, he'd hit Mr. Hebert. So he threw himself backward and sideways, straightarming the pistol and squeezing the trigger as fast as he could.

Bang. She flickered to shadow and back again. The wall above her head acquired a new hole.

Click.

He assumed her hearing hadn't been as compromised as his was, because the speed at which she reacted to the sound implied she'd heard it as easily as he felt it through his hand. In a motion that she had to have practiced, she whipped out a crossbow and slotted the arrow into place. Time seemed to stretch as Peter looked for an option, some way to get out of this. His gun was empty, and the way he'd fallen, only his wounded leg had leverage. Right beside him was Mary's body, the bloody hole in her chest all that remained of the arrow Shadow Stalker had shot her with. Slowly, almost teasingly, the crossbow came up to point at his face.

"Well, you're a fuckin' Nazi at least." She seemed gleeful at the idea. "I'm gonna kill you, and then I'm gonna kill Hebert's dad. So when your bitch Nazi girlfriend Hebert gets back, she'll see how you totally failed to protect him."

He stared at her unflinchingly. Fergusons didn't back down, and they didn't show fear to their enemies. "I passed on word that you were here. Whether you kill me or not, you're fucked."

"Bullshit." She chuckled grimly. "I've been in the PRT building all this time. You have no idea who I am. You can't fuckin' touch me."

His grin stretched across his face, all the more feral for the pain in his leg. "Emma came to me and told me exactly who you are, Sophia. She sold your sorry ass down the river, just to keep her family safe. The PRT might be able to protect you, but how are you going to tell them to protect your family? Your mom? Your brother? Your sister?"

Even through the eyeholes of the full-face mask, he saw her eyes widen, and realized he'd pushed her too hard. Her hand clenched on the crossbow.

His last thought before she pulled the trigger was to hope that he'd delayed Stalker long enough for his reinforcements to prevent her from murdering Danny Hebert.

The arrow came off the crossbow like a hunting falcon, launching itself toward his left eye. He flinched involuntarily, but after a few seconds with no impact he opened his eyes.

The arrow hung in the air between them, slowly inching its way toward him.

Oh, thank God.

<><>​

Circus

Getting out was a lot easier than getting in. Circus had palmed the security guard's swipe card, which dealt with the major problem of passing through locked doors without a lot of fiddling with an electronic device. Ducking into a storage closet, she pulled out an appropriate change of clothing and made the switch from 'hot sexy supervillain' to 'nerdy male computer programmer', complete with glasses and pocket protector.

It was the glasses, he decided as he waved to the security guards on the way out the front door. Nobody ever thought a supervillain would need to wear glasses. That, and they were looking for a woman in makeup and skintight bodysuit. Discreet shoulder padding and loose trousers gave him a totally different look.

Once he was free and clear, he pulled out his phone and texted Shadow Stalker.

Hey.

Nothing.

Hey. You clear?

A long pause, then a message popped up.

Yeah. Where can we meet?

A smirk curled his lip. That wasn't Shadow Stalker. He typed in his reply.

Same place as the first time. Fugly's, remember?

The answer was a lot quicker this time.

Yeah, I remember. I'll be there in half an hour.

He shook his head. They had Shadow Stalker, or she'd dropped her phone; probably the former. Either way, she was burned as an asset. Oh, well. Sucks to be her. Time to give the boss the bad news.

<><>​

Coil

Calvert's phone buzzed and he picked it up. It was a text from Circus. Moving unhurriedly, he opened it. With any luck, Hebert senior would've been acquired or killed, but that was a secondary priority to Lung seriously weakening the Empire to the point that Remote could be brought in or killed; whichever was easiest.

Mission went bad. We nearly got the guy, but some asshole interfered.

Hebert was fine, last I saw. SS is probably captive.

Imma go dark for a bit til they forget my involvement.

C

Under his mask, his lips pressed together in a tight grimace. Losing Circus' services for awhile would sting, although he had other resources to call upon. He'd been careful to ensure Shadow Stalker never got the slightest hint as to who was behind her extracurricular recruitment, so the Empire wouldn't think to come harassing his men for payback. It could definitely have been worse.

He hadn't actually given Circus orders to abandon Shadow Stalker in the Medhall building, but that was also a bonus for him. If they decided to go public with her having invaded their space, it would prove a huge PR backlash for the Wards and PRT in general. In fact, the more paranoid minds among them were likely to suspect PRT involvement anyway. And if they simply murdered her and got rid of her body in an unmarked grave, the PRT would be forever wondering what happened to her and the Empire would be focusing more on the PRT than on his own operations.

Whichever way it fell out, he was in the clear.

Life, he decided, was looking good.

<><>​

Taylor

Analysis: This is bad.

Observation: Lung is increasing in size.

Conclusion: This is very bad indeed.

Without pausing at the edge of the rooftop, covered in metal scales and wreathed in flames, Lung took a running leap and plunged into the middle of my Empire comrades. Menja sought to intercept him with her spear, but at the last moment, Oni Lee was literally in her face, blocking her view. I saw her lurch backward while I tried to line up a shot with the armed auxiliary unit. My power noted that he'd activated a grenade and shoved it down the front of her armour, so I set about preventing it from exploding.

For a split second, Crusader's ghosts converged on Lung to hold him in one place, but a burst of fire sent him stumbling backward, his concentration destroyed as he tried to beat out the flames on his costume. I strode forward; as the most armoured of all Empire capes there, I was the logical choice to combat Lung. But before I got there, Lung broke free of the wavering ghosts and pounced on Kaiser.

Menja seized Oni Lee and threw him away from her, giving my armed unit the chance to open fire. Five shots hit the tumbling demonic cape, but then he puffed into ash, leaving me to believe he was no longer—

My armour swayed as a weight landed on my back and my helmet. A black-gloved hand clawed at the armoured glass covering where my face would be if I were three feet taller, then a knife came into view, hacking at the clear covering. I swung my arm up and back, attempting to throw him off, but again his weaponry vanished in what I knew would be a puff of ash.

Kaiser screamed, his voice audible even within my armour, as Lung clawed away metal plates from his back. The Asian cape was now over ten feet tall, his flames lighting up the area all around. I took another step forward to put me in reach, then activated the chain. It whipped out across the distance that separated us and wrapped around Lung's arm. Setting myself—despite the disparity in size, I suspected we were much the same weight—I heaved, hauling Lung away from my commander.

Analysis: Based on previous actions, Oni Lee will focus on trying to neutralize or kill me.

Conclusion: He will be back.

Even as Lung tore at the chain, trying to loosen it or pull me off balance, the weight on my shoulders returned. My left arm snapped up, aligning in accordance with what my camera unit was showing me, and I triggered the telescoping spike up past the helmet of my armour. It lashed out, punching through Oni Lee's breastbone and out his back. Acting upon the assumption this was the original Oni Lee and not a teleport-clone, I continued the movement, flinging the man up and forward so that he flew off the spike and collided with Lung then flopped to the ground.

Lung looked around and down, at the feebly twitching Oni Lee. His features at this size were no longer human, and I thought I could feel the heat radiating from him where I was. I watched as his expression changed to one I could not decipher.

Analysis: Either anger or fear.

Further analysis: Fear very unlikely.

Conclusion: Killing Oni Lee has made him extremely angry.

Decision: This is a good thing. Anger leads to poor decisions.

Lung ceased trying to lever the chain loose at that point. Turning fully toward me and away from Kaiser, he started in my direction, attempting to use the chain to reel me in. I pretended to let that work, as Menja moved toward Kaiser behind his back.

Letting out a roar that I heard clear through the armour, he washed flame over me. I started feeling unpleasantly warm, but not painfully hot. Metal, as I knew well, was a good conductor of heat.

Mental note: speak to Victor about better heat insulation.

I pretended to resist being pulled in, right up until he gave a heave that should have dragged me into his grasp. At that moment, I lunged with my right arm outward, fist clenched. Just before I would have made contact, I triggered the telescoping spike from that arm. It met considerably more resistance when punching through his breastbone than it had with Oni Lee, but this time it had all the weight of my armour behind it. He staggered as I stabbed him through the body, but did not go down.

Analysis: Lung's regeneration allows him to survive potentially fatal wounds.

Conclusion: I will have to try harder.

At this range, the air inside the armour was getting unpleasantly hot, and I was beginning to sweat. I attempted to stab him again, with the spike from my left arm, but the angle was wrong and it skidded off his metal scales. He took hold of my armour's helmet with one hand and my right wrist with the other, and started to squeeze. His strength was considerable; I could feel the metal beginning to deform, the carefully machined moving parts losing touch with one another.

Analysis: Danger level increasing.

Conclusion: Disengaging would be optimum.

My camera-equipped auxiliary unit could see that my comrades were making use of my distraction, carrying Kaiser, Othala and Rune from the field. That was good, but now I needed a distraction of my own.

My armed auxiliary swooped down, lined up on Lung's body, and triggered a burst of tungsten darts. He grunted as they struck him, but his grip didn't loosen enough. It fired again, enough to shred an ordinary man from head to toe. Wounds opened in his flesh, but closed again almost immediately. He was now almost twice my height, with wings sprouting from his back.

Observation: Tungsten darts ineffective.

Suggestion: Use chain as an offensive weapon.

The heat within the armour was such that I was having trouble thinking. I took the chain, dropping links where they had been crushed in his fist, and reconnecting them to make a single length once more. Then I wrapped it around his neck and body, turned the tungsten blades, and activated them. Metal screeched and sparks flew, but Lung seemed more durable than a broomstick or a pistol. His regeneration was healing him faster than I could damage him. I attempted to spin up the back-mounted electrical generators, but something was wrong with them, and they could not get up to speed.

The silicone layer inside the armour was beginning to soften and ooze downward. I prepared myself for an all-out attack to get free from Lung. If this continued much longer, he would cook me in my own armour without ever laying a hand on me.

And then, suddenly, with a tremendous impact, he was gone. I found myself skidding sideways, my armour throwing up sparks from the asphalt. Swivelling my camera-equipped auxiliary unit, I managed to get a view of a hovering person on the heat-warped screen within the armour.

Observation: Glory Girl has attacked Lung.

Analysis: She does not know who I am inside the armour.

Conclusion: She believes me to be a fellow hero.

Lung surged to his feet, roaring something incoherent. I suspected that if I recorded it and played it back, it might be possible to decipher it as swearing. The armour remained uncomfortably hot and the right wrist was not responding properly, but I was still able to function. I made the chain leap off Lung and writhe back to me, where it reconnected to the end protruding from the arm port.

Glory Girl said something to Lung that I didn't hear.

Supposition: She's told him to leave or be beaten up.

Analysis: A display of solidarity will help back the threat up.

Stepping forward, I assumed the basic posture of readiness that Peter had shown me. In addition, I had the tank rumble up behind me and aim its guns at Lung as well.

Temptation: Open fire now, before he attacks.

Negation: That might trigger an attack. The armour needs to be improved and upgraded before facing him again.

Conclusion: Forcing him to leave now is the best option. Increase intimidation presence.

I took another step forward and caused the chains to whip around my armour threateningly. Both my auxiliary units took up station above me, aiming their respective cargoes at Lung. The tank moved six feet closer.

Abruptly, Lung turned and leaped to the top of the nearest building, clearing three storeys with ease. His wings spread and helped him glide at the top of the jump, though I could not tell if he was able to fly as yet. I stayed on guard in case this was a feint, but it did not seem to be the case.

Analysis: Lung is leaving.

Proposition: Glory Girl may be open to persuasion to ask Panacea to heal Othala, Rune and Kaiser, as their wounds were caused by ABB ambush.

Glory Girl turned to me. "Well, that was fun. Glad I got here in time to help you …" Her voice trailed off, then changed in tone. "You."

Observation: Eyes narrowing.

Analysis: She is looking past me, toward Victor.

Further analysis: anger.

Conclusion: She still holds a grudge against him for shooting Panacea.

Final conclusion: This fight is not yet over.



End of Part Twenty-Two

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Twenty-Three: Harsh Measures

[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: To repeat what I have said in previous chapters: I do not adhere to the white supremacist ideology. This fic is a thought experiment to see how someone could get dragged into it when faced with their recruitment techniques, especially when aided and abetted by a black girl repeatedly and maliciously (and unwittingly) pushing the victim toward such ideology.]

[A/N 3: If you're unsure about what went before, I've provided a synopsis at the beginning of the previous chapter.]

[A/N 4: Members of the Empire Eighty-Eight may express racist slurs and sentiments in this chapter. You have been warned.]

Clockblocker

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Hey."

Dennis barely looked around as the entrance to the Wards base slid aside and Triumph entered, along with Gallant. His casual wave was returned by the other two; Dean split off to head toward Kid Win's lab, where his armour was stored (he was wearing civvies and a domino mask at the moment) while Rory came over to the console desk. Dennis slid aside on the swivel chair so his team leader could look over the screens.

"Where's Shadow Stalker?" asked Rory as he leaned over to flick a trackball and scroll across one of the city maps. "Isn't she supposed to be backing you up on console duty?"

"Gym," Dennis replied idly. "No big. She's got a lot on her mind, because duh, and I'm good with her working out her tensions against the punching bag rather than being a big steaming heap of angst right here in the room. Besides, it's been totally quiet. Aegis and Vista have intercepted a grand total of two muggings down near the Boardwalk tonight. It's like the ABB and Empire have both decided to tell their guys to take the night off."

"Hmm." Rory didn't sound convinced. "You ever seen one of those movies where someone says, "it's quiet" and someone else says, "too quiet", just before all hell breaks loose?"

"Seen 'em? I love those type of movies." A moment later, the penny dropped, and Dennis realised what Rory was angling at. "Wait, you don't think—"

"I don't know." Rory rubbed his jaw. "With all the stuff that's been going down, I'd expect the Empire and the ABB to be puffing their chests out and putting on a show to prove they're both still in the game. Going silent like this doesn't sound like them. I'd be a lot happier if I knew what they were doing."

Dennis glanced at the alert button. Currently caged under a transparent plastic cover, hitting it would sound alarms at all levels of the PRT building. It was to be used only if the Ward on duty saw something that absolutely definitely required all hands on deck, no questions asked. He'd never actually seen it used, though he'd always harboured a sneaking desire to press it, just to see what would happen.

Or better yet, to have someone else press it, so he could enjoy the show without suffering the consequences.

"In a pressing-emergency sort of way?" he asked hopefully.

"Pfft, no," Rory replied. "Though I'd like to have everyone who's supposed to be here, actually here. You know, in case the Director decides to have someone audit our readiness or something. I'll watch the console; you go fetch Shadow Stalker."

This was something Dennis knew how to counter. "Ah, nope, sorry. I'm rostered on to the console, and here I stay. Besides, if I went up there and she decided to pull the whole 'you don't give me orders' crap on me, there's no way in hell I'd be able to actually force her to go anywhere."

Rory might have frowned, but it was difficult to tell behind the lion-face helmet. "Are you trying to wuss out of having to go up to the gym and tell her she's got to come back down here and pretend to do her job?"

If Dennis had been wearing the helmet that belonged with the rest of his costume instead of just a domino mask, Rory wouldn't have been able to see his smirk, but he didn't care. "Imma go with my version."

"Fine." Dennis would've bet his allowance Rory had just rolled his eyes. "I'll go up and get her. How long's she been up there, anyway?"

"Um …" Dennis shrugged. He hadn't taken notes. What do I look like, her personal secretary?

"For a guy with clocks all over your costume, you're not very good with time management, are you?"

Dennis tried to think of a comeback as Rory headed for the door, but all he could come up with was, "That's not what they're there for." Worse, the door closed again halfway through his witty reply.

Rolling his own eyes, he turned back to the console. When Rory brought Stalker down, she was going to assume he'd snitched on her from the very beginning, and the level of fuck-you in the room was going to rise by about a thousand percent. But there was literally no way he was going to be able to convey to her that he really, honestly, absolutely didn't give a fuck if she kept herself to herself all night without her either disbelieving him or taking it as an insult.

Which meant the night was due to take a sudden downturn in quality. Yay.

Dean strolled out of Chris' lab, now wearing his armour. "Where'd Rory go?"

"Up to the gym, to get Shadow Stalker." Dennis knew damn well Dean could see how he felt, so there was no point in hiding it. "She's gonna think I'm deliberately getting her into trouble, but he asked! How's that fair?"

"Hey, now." Dean patted the air placatingly. "She might not."

Dennis gave him a level stare and didn't even bother answering, at least not in words.

"Okay, yeah." Dean sighed. "I can maybe say something to her about it."

"Don't bother, man." Dennis shook his head. "She'll believe what it suits her to believe."

Dean nodded. "True. Though it would probably help if you didn't stare at her ass every chance you got."

Dennis spread his hands. "What can I say? She's got an amazing ass, and it doesn't help that Image stuffed her into the tightest costume they could find."

"Just because it's there doesn't automatically give you a license to stare at it," Dean said reprovingly. "She's a human being, not a piece of meat. Do you want to end up in another sensitivity course?"

"God, no," Dennis replied with a theatrical shudder. "I—"

"Triumph to console," his headphones suddenly crackled. "Which gym was Shadow Stalker supposed to be in, again?"

Holding up his finger in a 'wait one' gesture, Dennis spun his chair back around to the console. Selecting Triumph's radio channel so he didn't broadcast to the entire PRT network, he checked the screen and keyed the mic. "She's in the usual one, on level four. Her ankle-bracelet signal's loud and clear."

"Copy that." Triumph went silent again.

Dean pointed at the screen, indicating what Dennis had already seen; specifically, the locator in Rory's Wards phone. "He's in the level four gym." It was quite close to Shadow Stalker's ankle bracelet.

The difference between the ankle bracelet and the phones was that the individual Wards had the capability (bestowed after a gruelling legal clash with Youth Guard, years ago) to turn off the tracker function in the phones. Triumph usually left his on, while Shadow Stalker had always turned hers off.

"She's probably in the female locker rooms," Dennis decided. "At least, her bracelet isn't moving. Maybe taking a shower?"

"She's certainly dedicated to taking a long shower with plenty of soap after her gym sessions," Dean noted. "I wonder how long she's going to make him wait?"

Dennis snorted with laughter. "Until the water runs cold. Or he goes to find a female PRT trooper to go in there and roust her out for him. I guess it's one way to duck out of monitor duty."

"Heh, yeah." Dean idly reached out for the trackball attached to one of the screens Dennis wasn't using, and scrolled it sideways.

"Hey!" Dennis' rebuke was half-hearted at best. "How about you leave my settings alone until it's your turn for monitor duty?" Then he paused, looking at what had just rolled onto the screen, unsure of what he was seeing. "Hey, was Glory Girl rostered on for a patrol tonight?"

"Vicky? No. She said she was on tomorrow night." Dean was leaning in to stare at the screen as well. When he reached out to zoom the map image larger, Dennis didn't object. "That's … wow, that's up near the no-man's-land between the Empire and the ABB. Where the Merchants do their business, because they can. What's she doing up there?"

The icon denoting Glory Girl's Wards phone tracker was clear and bright on the screen, literally miles away from anywhere she should've been. Dennis shook his head. "I have zero ideas on that score, man. Maybe she took a fly around the city to clear her head?"

"Yeah, maybe." Dean frowned. "But I—"

"Triumph to console. I just found the ankle bracelet. Stalker's not here."

"What?" Dennis struggled to make sense of the words. "How did she—she can't slip an ankle bracelet, can she? I thought she had trouble with electricity."

"She does." Rory's voice held disbelief and anger. "It's been unlocked. She's escaped."

"Or she's loose in the building. With a grudge." Dennis knew exactly what he had to do. Reaching out, he flipped up the transparent cover.

"Clock—" But Dean was too late. Serious shit was going down. The time had come for all good men to stand up and be counted.

He hit the big red button.

<><>​

Remote

"Glory Girl, you need to stand down right now." I put all the assurance I could muster into those nine words. Translated through the voice modulator into a deep masculine tone, they held the best chance of making her back off.

If she didn't, if she grabbed Victor now, all indications were that she would utterly ignore Othala's gesture of sneaking into the hospital to heal Panacea. The least she would do was fly him off to be arrested and charged. I very strongly suspected that she intended to physically harm him in retribution for shooting her sister; given how she had reacted at the Boardwalk, a lethal outcome was not something I could rule out.

Victor is a valued ally. Allowing superhero 'Glory Girl' to kill him is extremely sub-optimal.

He couldn't run, and he couldn't fight her. Othala was critically injured, and Rune and Kaiser weren't doing much better, which reduced our options considerably. Crusader and Menja were attempting to sneak the wounded away, leaving my armour the only protection that Victor had. It was damaged from fighting Lung, but still mostly operational.

"No." Superhero 'Glory Girl's tone harsh. Fists clenching. Preparing for physical altercation. Conclusion: she intends to fight. "He doesn't get to walk away again. Amy's not here. There's no innocents he can threaten. He gets what's coming to him."

I tried again. "Othala healed Panacea. Now, Othala needs Panacea's healing. Can you put aside your enmity for the moment?" Use of emotional appeal may tip balance. "Please?"

Glory Girl shook her head. Gesture indicating firm negation, not confusion. Attempts to dissuade her are failing. Combat imminent. "Ain't gonna happen. Step out of the way, or I'll take your Tinker toy apart like a sardine can. Victor's mine, and nobody's going to stop me from getting to him."

She began to fly toward me, then jinked up and around, out of my arms' reach. Fortunately, I had my auxiliary units watching, so that I could see where she was. I whipped my chain upward, wrapping around her legs and binding her tightly, in an attempt to bring her to a halt. The sudden wrench to the rear unbalanced the armour, so that I was forced to take a step back and swing around, but at least the chain held firm.

"Hey!" she yelled, slowing dramatically but forcing herself onward, swinging back and forth at the end of the chain, not unlike a large and very angry balloon.

The chain was dragged out of the storage-drum on my back, link by reluctant link. I slowed her down as much as I could without risking the chain itself separating into its component parts. At the same time, it did not seem to be harming her in any way—what I had heard of her invulnerability appeared to be true—so I increased the pressure to the maximum I could exert, to ensure that she couldn't wriggle out of it.

"I will not let you hurt him," I intoned, while wrapping more lengths of the chain around her legs. To release herself, I reasoned, she would have to bend over and pull at the chain, and while she was doing that, she would not be flying toward Victor. "You have already tried to murder him once."

"Fuck you!" she screamed, and doubled back toward me. The release of the tension took me by surprise, and I had no time to react as she drew her fist back and punched the armour squarely in the middle of the faceplate.

Three things happened in very quick succession. The first was that she punched the 'helmet' clear off the armour with a screech of tearing metal; I jerked my own head out of the way just before the lower end of the periscope would have done me a serious injury. Second, the blow lifted the armour off its feet and sent it skidding backward. I was left relatively unscathed; the padding and safety belt within the armour protected me from more than the sensation of having been shaken up like a box of dice.

The third thing that happened was more dramatic than the other two. On the screen (still barely functional) in front of me, I saw blood blossom all over Glory Girl's legs as the chains cut into her. Before I could slacken off their grip, the wounds were so deep that the chains were out of sight.

The reason for this was obvious after a moment or so of thought: even though the cutting blades had not been spinning, they had still been pressing against her skin when I wrapped the chain around her. When her invulnerability cut out (I still did not understand why that might be) the blades cut into her legs and the chains tightened even more.

In an instant, the tide of battle had turned. Glory Girl crash-landed alongside the armour, apparently unconscious, blood pooling around her legs. I had no desire to harm her any further, no more than I'd had to begin with. My only intent had been to dissuade her from harming my allies.

Analysis: Superhero 'Glory Girl' has suffered severe injury, and has gone into shock.

Additional information: Allies 'Othala', 'Rune' and 'Kaiser' are also in stringent need of medical attention.

Conclusion: get all four to superhero 'Panacea' immediately.

The armour was barely functional by now, so I had it sit up and open its front. As I climbed out, I detached two sections of chain to wrap around Glory Girl's legs (without presenting the cutting blades, this time) and act as tourniquets. If we were to obtain healing services from Panacea, we needed Glory Girl alive. I did not know much in the way of first-aid, but I was reasonably certain that blood needed to stay inside the body to be of the most use.

"Jesus!" Victor's eyes were wide, his breathing rapid. "What the hell did you do?"

Physiological reactions of ally 'Victor' indicating high stress. Strong potential for temporary reduction in judgement.

"I accidentally injured her with the chain-blades," I said. Assume positive control of vehicle designated 'Squealer's tank'. Commence disassembly of upper chassis. "You need to contact New Wave immediately."

He looked around as two of the turrets fell off the tank with a sudden clang, then stared at me. "New Wave? Why?"

"Othala, Rune, Kaiser and Glory Girl all require immediate medical attention," I explained. It was fortunate that I was under the influence of my powers at that moment, or I may have screamed at him or tried to shake him. As it was, I merely reaffirmed my prior conclusion that his judgement was likely to be temporarily impaired. "Panacea is our best chance for their survival. I am readying Squealer's vehicle to transport everyone. You need to arrange for them to meet us on the way. Do you understand?"

He blinked, and focused on my face. "… right. Okay, yeah. Good plan. I'll get right on that."

It was not a 'good' plan. In point of fact, it was a terrible plan, with many potential points of failure, but it was also the only plan I could envisage that allowed for the possibility of Othala, Rune and Kaiser surviving the night. This was, of course, assuming that they were injured as badly as I suspected. Neither Oni Lee nor Lung had been pulling their punches, either in a metaphorical or a literal fashion.

Glory Girl would also need to survive the night, which I wasn't sure would end up being a point in our favour with New Wave. She had already shown a marked disregard for any kind of restraint when it came to her vendetta with Victor; if this were a learned behaviour from one of the adult teammates, we could easily be going into another battle. But in my estimation, the risk was worth the reward. Kaiser, Othala and Rune were all people I valued as both friends and teammates.

I had the armour stand up and move the last of the pieces of Squealer's tank off the base chassis, then rolled it forward. "Everyone, get on board," I said. It occurred to me that the people I was giving orders to had far greater seniority than I did within the Empire, but I was the person with the plan. "Crusader, have your ghosts lie down to act as a mattress for the wounded. Leave room for Glory Girl."

"What the hell?" asked Crusader, making a gesture which I interpreted as anger. "Why her? She was gonna murder Victor!"

"Because she is our only hope of securing Panacea's cooperation," I explained once more. "And Panacea is our only hope of healing Othala and Kaiser and Rune."

"This shit is so fucked," Menja complained as she climbed onboard the ad hoc transport. "How the fuck did everyone know we were going to be here?"

I had thought it was obvious. "We were betrayed," I said, using the chain to lift and move Glory Girl onto the mostly disassembled tank, depositing her carefully on the layer of supine Crusader ghosts. Under my control, the armour climbed on alongside Menja. "Someone who knew we were coming to this area informed Lung. He holds a grudge with me, just as Glory Girl does with Victor. Is everyone secure?"

"Secure as we're going to be." Victor was hovering over Othala again. "Goddamn it, her vitals are so weak."

I started the minimalistic vehicle rolling. There would be no need for engine, drivetrain, brakes or even steering, so long as I was in control. "Check on Glory Girl as well. She needs to survive this experience, or Othala will not."

"Geez, you're a cold one … ah." He gave me a glance. Expression: apologetic. Conclusion: ally 'Victor' temporarily forgot the emotional blanking that is part and parcel with my powers. "Sorry. I'll get right on that."

"Thank you." Decision: courtesy will assist in encouraging cooperation between allies. "Did you contact New Wave?"

"Yeah. Head straight down McIntosh Road. They'll meet us along the way." He drew in air between his teeth as he bent over Glory Girl. Involuntary vocalisation: concern. Conclusion: superhero 'Glory Girl' is more badly hurt than first assumed. Further conclusion: she is very badly hurt indeed.

"Understood." I slowed briefly to navigate the turn, then accelerated along the designated road.

Very shortly, we were travelling at a speed that was not only well in excess of the posted speed limit, but would have been grossly unsafe for anyone not in personal control of each individual aspect of the vehicle in question. Wind whipped past us, causing me to squint behind my glasses, but I was literally unable to care at that moment. All that mattered was getting our wounded to Panacea.

<><>​

Lady Photon

A Little Earlier

Sarah didn't recognise the number on the phone as she picked it up, but that didn't mean much. If it was a would-be con artist or snake-oil salesman with an opportunity that New Wave "just couldn't afford" to let slip away, they were in for a rude surprise.

And if it happened to be yet another Youth Guard rep looking to earn their spurs by ferreting out irregularities about how New Wave's kid capes were handled, they were due for an equally unwelcome revelation. After the last round of harassment, she'd taken her complaint up the chain to the very top echelons of the organisation, and quietly suggested that they back all the way off before she used her connections to open an equally stringent level of investigation into some of the less ethical means Youth Guard were rumoured to use. Since then there'd been only crickets, which was just the way she liked it.

Her thumb swiped the answer icon as she put the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hello, Lady Photon. Please do not hang up. Glory Girl is badly hurt, and urgently needs the assistance of Panacea."

She sat upright on the sofa, gripping the phone so hard her fingers hurt and the plastic creaked. "Who-who is this?" she managed to ask.

There was a hesitation, but before she could speak, he was talking again. "This is Victor, of the Empire Eighty-Eight. I know how it sounds, but—"

"Victor?" Rage flooded through her, reducing her voice to a venomous hiss. "If you've—"

"It wasn't my doing." The conviction in his voice brought her up short. "I swear to you on all I hold dear, this is not a trick or a trap. Glory Girl is badly injured, and so are Othala, Kaiser and Rune. All four of them require Panacea's aid as soon as possible. We are bringing Glory Girl to you right now, as a show of good faith. Will you undertake not to attack us when we meet up?"

Her eyes went out of focus as she thought rapidly. "We can meet you on the way. Where are you coming from, and who's with you?"

"We're about to leave Merchant territory, near the old Archerville cinema complex. Travelling by road. Our unwounded are myself, Menja, Crusader … and Remote."

Unconsciously, she nodded, though she wondered about the third name. "I'll be bringing Laserdream and Shielder, and Panacea of course. Come along McIntosh Road; it's quickest."

"That works for us. Hurry." Sarah heard the stress in his tone as he spoke the last word; paradoxically, this reassured her more than anything else that he was on the level. Someone as self-assured as Victor always tried to portray himself would never put on an act like that deliberately.

"On our way." She ended the call, then broke one of her own rules, levitating straight up out of the chair. "Kids! Emergency call-out! Go-go-go!"

Neil leaned through from the kitchen. "What? What's going on?"

"I'll call you and explain on the way," she said rapidly, then looked around to where Eric and Crystal were hurrying down the stairs, carrying their costumes. "No time for those. We're going in civvies. Every minute counts. Come on!"

Turning, she dashed for the door, wrenching it open and lofting into the air as soon as she was outside. "But what about Dad?" asked Crystal, following along behind.

"And how come it's so important we don't even have time to suit up?" chimed in Eric.

"Victoria's been hurt," Sarah said, dropping back a little so she could put a force field around all three of them, then accelerating as hard as she could toward the Dallon house. "Call Amy and tell her to come outside right now. We're on the clock, and we have zero time to waste stopping and explaining it to everyone."

Crystal nodded and started dialling, but Eric wasn't so easily shut up. "But what about Dad? Couldn't he help too?"

"Villains are bringing her to us," Sarah said crisply. "They don't want an ambush. I'd prefer to have fliers, in case they try an ambush. And I don't want people along who might start a fight when there's no need for one."

"Huh?" Eric looked puzzled for a second. "Oh, you mean Aunt Carol."

Sarah nodded. "Yes, but you didn't hear that from me."

Crystal put her hand over her ear as she kept talking. "Okay, yeah, just come straight outside. No, don't bother robing up. Mom's in a tearing hurry. She'll laser the hinges off the front door if you're not outside when we get there. Okay, good. Good. See you shortly." She ended the call. "Amy's got the message."

"Good. Did you tell her about her sister?" The last thing Sarah wanted was Amy passing that little tidbit on to anyone. Sarah loved Carol dearly, but she did not need her sister going off the deep end.

"Nope. Figured I'd leave it up to you to tell her." Crystal's tone held a distinct flavour of 'better you than me'. It still suited Sarah nicely.

"Excellent." Sarah peered ahead at a familiar-looking house. "We're nearly there. Eric, I'm going to drop the bubble. You fly down and grab Amy, then we'll keep going."

"Roger that." Eric tossed off a salute of some kind, then dived for the Dallon house as soon as Sarah released her force field. The front door opened as he descended; he barely had to slow down as he activated a bubble around her, then reversed course again.

Sarah started off with Crystal in tow, but a little more slowly than Eric's top speed. He caught up soon enough, and she put a force-field bubble around them all. Then she reshaped it with comfortable seating for all four of them, and made it much more aerodynamic.

"Okay, what the heck is going on here?" Amy, currently clad in pyjamas, looked a little more dishevelled than normal. "Crystal wouldn't tell me anything over the phone."

Sarah's phone rang; when she saw it was Carol's number, she declined the call. That's an argument I'm having later, not right now. "Okay, so I got a phone call just now from Victor …"

As the force-field construct raced on through the night sky, she told them what she knew, and they formulated a plan of action.

<><>​

Remote

I held to the centreline of the road, swerving neither to left nor right. The heavy tyres with which Squealer had outfitted her mechanical monstrosity (caterpillar tracks had apparently been too complex for her this time) thrummed over the potholed asphalt; I adjusted the suspension on the fly, smoothing out every last jolt and bump so that our progress was silk-smooth despite our headlong rush.

Menja sat at the back of the tank chassis, anchoring the makeshift mattress of Crusader ghosts, which clung to each other, as well as me and Justin at the front. Victor knelt next to the four wounded capes, checking on each in turn. While I could understand his lingering a little longer over Othala on an intellectual level, pure pragmatism indicated that Glory Girl should be getting most of his attention, for the very good reason that she was the ticket to getting the others healed at all.

But just as I was opening my mouth to mention this to him, Menja pointed. "There!"

Perhaps half a second later, Victor cried out desperately, "We're losing Othala!"

I couldn't help him—not that I had the expertise—so I concentrated on bringing the vehicle to a safe and steady halt. The most I could do apart from that was to move several lengths of my chain into place under her for support before she sank too far into the 'mattress' of Crusader ghosts.

The spearhead-shaped force field that Menja had spotted came swooping down as she waved her spear wildly. Two fliers detached from it and took up an orbit above us; I figured these were Laserdream and Shielder. The last flier would then be Lady Photon, carrying Panacea. It was a good solid defensive array, which suggested to me that they did not intend to attack without provocation. Still, I remained alert.

"Othala is dying!" I announced as the force field opened. "Please stabilise her first!"

Intent: commanding tone to get attention and pass on vital information. Use of courtesy more likely to engender cooperation from nominal enemies.

Unlike the previous time I had engaged with New Wave, I could not afford to stop using my powers. This was a high-danger scenario, and I might need to go on the offensive or defensive at any time. Fortunately, the fliers were not attacking. I remained cautious.

<><>​

Panacea

Amy had occasionally wondered what her reaction would be when she saw Taylor Hebert again. She'd been more or less railroaded into healing people, then been shot in the leg for her pains. (Yes, she knew it was Vicky's fault she got shot, but it still hurt, and it never would've happened without Taylor's intrusion into her life). Would she thank the other girl for the new insights she had into her life? Punch her in the face? Or should she try to extricate her from the Empire Eighty-Eight?

Dragged out on this sudden mission—still in her pyjamas, no less—the last person she'd expected to see was the Hebert girl. Certainly, she'd wondered who the new member was; 'Remote' didn't offer much in the way of hints as to what their powers were. Eric had jokingly suggested that they could probably change TV channels at a distance. But as Aunt Sarah let Amy down onto the odd vehicle—a chassis frame, wheels, and not much else—there she was.

The immediate impression Amy got was of someone who had aged years in the short time since their last meeting. There was no trace of apprehension or fear, just a supreme self-confidence. Someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

"Othala is dying!" Taylor Hebert announced. "Please stabilise her first!"

Abruptly reminded that she was there to save lives, Amy turned her attention to the wounded. They were resting on an ad hoc mattress of Crusader ghosts, and yes, Othala was sinking into it, while Vicky (despite her legs being covered with what looked like fresh blood) was still being supported by it. She recalled from her briefings on the Empire Eighty-Eight that the spectral minions created and controlled by the Empire cape could only interact with living beings. This meant that armour and force fields were irrelevant to them … but it did mean that Vicky was still alive.

Without hesitation, fully aware that she was surrounded by villains who could kill her with relative ease, Amy knelt beside Othala and put her hand to the woman's exposed neck. She exerted her power, trying to reach some spark of life, but there was nothing. Rolling Othala onto her back, Amy went through a dozen chest compressions, then pinched her nostrils shut and exhaled air into her lungs.

If I can restart something …

Nothing. Her body remained blank to Amy's power.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking at Victor. Rumour had it that the two were in some sort of relationship. "I can't help her. She's gone."

An instant later, she was looking into the muzzle of Victor's pistol. "Try. Harder," he grated.

Lady Photon, still hovering above the vehicle, tensed, but it was Taylor Hebert who spoke. "Victor, stop. She tried. Allow her to assist the others."

Amy hesitated, glancing sideways at the Hebert girl, who hadn't moved. How's she going to stop him?

"She barely did anything!" protested Victor. "She has to try again!" There was real pain in his voice.

"No." Taylor Hebert shook her head. "She tried. Panacea, he will not harm you. Please assist the others."

"What are you doing?" shouted Victor, as he moved his pistol away from Amy's face. "Remote, stop that, or by God I'll—"

Holy shit, is she Mastering him? Amy began to wonder exactly what powers Taylor Hebert could bring to bear.

"Nobody interferes." The two words may as well have been carved into stone. "That was the deal. Panacea, please see to the others."

Jolted into action, Amy scrambled over to see to Vicky. To her profound relief, her sister was still alive, but any longer would've made it touch and go. Her blood pressure was so low it was terrifying; Amy closed her wounds, noting the chains acting as ad hoc tourniquets, then started ruthlessly breaking down body tissues to replenish her blood supply. Vicky's brain cells showed a worrying amount of oxygen starvation, along with what looked like a concussion and bruising down one side, but she could only deal with some of that.

Her sister was alive. Everything after that was a bonus.

Once she was sure Vicky was stable, with plenty of oxygen-rich blood circulating through her brain, Amy gave Aunt Sarah a thumb's up and moved toward Rune. The girl had apparently been stabbed—Amy pondered the wisdom of wearing a costume so heavy on the reds and blacks that it was hard to see where wounds were—but she'd only suffered moderate internal bleeding, and might have even survived to reach a hospital. Amy fixed the damage and scavenged the blood, but left her unconscious for the moment. The fewer awake villains I have to face, especially after I couldn't save one, the better.

"Full recovery," she said out loud. "She'll be fine."

That seemed to get a relieved reaction from Menja—Amy wasn't entirely sure what the naming convention was with that—but Amy was already moving on to Kaiser. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aunt Sarah's force field scooping Vicky up (more importantly, none of the villains were objecting to this) and then she placed her hand on one of the few parts of Kaiser's back that hadn't been shredded or seared.

This was absolutely the work of Lung. She'd seen it before. Kaiser's back armour had been clawed away with brute force, then Lung had tried his best to rip the Empire Eighty-Eight leader's internal organs out through his spine. Fortunately for the man before her, the ABB villain had clearly been interrupted before he could get too far, but the spinal damage was extensive, and she could see burn marks extending from first degree all the way through to third.

The first thing she did was get rid of the damage to his internals, and flatten out the system shock he was currently experiencing. Then she healed the burned tissue, regenerating it into healthy cells once more. A few more touches, then she renewed the skin on his back.

"He'll live," she said, kneeling up. "Lung more or less severed his spine, and inflicted internal injuries and serious burns. I healed the burns, fixed his internals, and reconnected enough nerves so he won't be incontinent, and he'll maintain sensation and circulation in his lower extremities. But he'll never walk again, sorry."

"What?" That was Crusader. "No! Fix him!"

"Yeah." Menja chimed in. "You can heal him all the way. Do it!"

Amy felt her heart thundering in her chest. "You called me in to save him. This isn't a charity thing. Kaiser will live a long and healthy life. He'll just have to do it in a wheelchair. I didn't damage his spine; I just chose not to fix it all the way."

"And Othala? Did you choose to let her die because she's our healer?" Victor's voice was full of pain.

"No." Amy shook her head, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks. "She was already gone before I got here. I would never just let someone die. It's not who I am."

"But you'll let Kaiser be a cripple?" Crusader's tone was full of anger. "What is this, payback for hurting your sister? For Victor shooting you that time?"

"I believe so," agreed Taylor, her voice deadpan. "She would consider it justified. This would be a viable way of taking Kaiser off the board while still adhering to the terms of the agreement."

"Fuck the agreement!" snarled Menja, readying her spear. The tip looked very sharp indeed. Amy swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

In the next instant, lasers lashed down, slicing the haft of the weapon in half. At the same time, a force field snapped into place around Amy and yanked her upward. She looked around at her aunt's face as they ascended rapidly. "I think that was as good a time as any to pull you out," Sarah noted.

Amy nodded shakily. "Totally."

Eric and Crystal, shields both active, moved in close to Aunt Sarah's bubble. "We can totally take them," Eric said. "What do you say? Go for all the marbles?"

Amy shook her head. "No. We agreed not to attack them, and I want to stick to that, at least. Let's just go."

"I agree," Aunt Sarah said, and opened a portal in the bubble. "Come on in, kids."

Within moments, the Empire contingent was left far behind. Eric and Crystal stared with unabashed curiosity at Vicky as she lay on the force-field bed Aunt Sarah had made for her. "Is she going to be okay?" asked Eric.

"I … I don't know," Amy confessed. "There's some brain damage. She may come out of the coma today, or next week, or never. But she's breathing on her own, and I'm pretty sure the eating reflex is still intact. So … we'll just have to wait and see."

"And those Empire assholes did this to her?" Crystal, normally the peacemaker of the pair, clenched her fists in anger. "We should go back and—"

Amy shook her head tiredly. "It wouldn't solve a damn thing. I love her as much as you guys do, but they've lost people as well. Othala's dead, and Kaiser's going to be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. This isn't a contest. Everyone loses."

In the back of her mind, she was vaguely aware that there'd been a time when Vicky suffering an injury like this would've had her seething with rage and pursuing the Empire Eighty-Eight until they were all appropriately punished. However, since her encounter with Scapegoat, she'd gone over her old worldview with a fine-tooth comb, and found much of it to simply not matter anymore. In fact, she was so chill these days that she'd actually taken up singing in the shower, to Vicky's (and Mark's) amusement and Carol's annoyance.

Long story short: wreaking disproportionate vengeance in Vicky's name just didn't hold the same appeal as it had before.

We're even. For now.

<><>​

Remote

Less than a minute after the New Wave heroes had flown out of sight, Rune coughed and stirred. "Ugh …" she mumbled. "What happened?" Slowly, she sat up and looked around.

"Lots of stuff," Menja said before I could think of something suitably comforting to say. "We got ambushed by the ABB, you got stabbed by Oni Lee, then shit really went sideways. How do you feel?"

Rune patted her torso. "Uh … not bad, actually. No pain, no bruising that I can feel. Why do I feel so good?"

"Because Panacea healed you," Crusader cut in. Analysis: Ally 'Crusader' speaking in harsh tone. Conclusion: Angry with me. "But—"

"Panacea?" That was Kaiser's voice. We all turned his way—I glanced, then got my eyes back on the road—to see that he was moving his head, looking around. "Two questions: if Panacea healed me, why don't my legs work? And how did you get her to heal me at all? Also, a third question: if it was Panacea who healed me, what is Othala's status?"

Victor, who was cradling Othala's body across his lap, lifted his head without speaking. Tears were tracking down his face. Expression: sadness.

Kaiser paused for a long moment. "Oh, no." Tone: unhappiness.

Crusader moved in alongside Kaiser. "Oni Lee killed her, then Remote killed Oni Lee."

"And Panacea?" asked Kaiser.

Menja took up the tale. "Glory Girl came in just before we chased Lung off, and went for Victor. Remote stopped her. Somehow she got through Glory Girl's invulnerability, and hurt her really bad. So we called New Wave in, and traded Glory Girl for Panacea's healing." She looked over at Victor. "Othala didn't make it to the exchange."

"And my legs?" asked Kaiser pointedly, leaning on one arm so he could slap his unmoving lower limbs with the other hand.

I spoke up. "We did not specify the bargain closely enough. All that was on my mind was saving your lives. Panacea carried out the terms as agreed, but refused to repair your spine all the way."

"We could've forced her—" Crusader snarled. He looked sideways at me.

Expression: anger. Conclusion: Believes I let him down by not insisting that Panacea complete the healing.

"No," I said. "We could not have. She carried out the letter of the agreement. If we had attempted to harm her, Lady Photon and the other two would have killed us all with minimal effort."

Kaiser looked from Crusader to me. "Lady Photon? The other two?"

"Yeah," Crusader said. "Laserdream and Shielder. It's like Remote says. They could've carved us up like Christmas turkeys if they'd wanted." Tone: reluctant agreement.

"I see. And Oni Lee is dead now?" Tone: optimistic.

"Sure as hell." Menja nodded toward me. "Remote shish-kebabed him, and threw him in Lung's face. No ash in sight."

"Good." Tone: satisfaction. "Let's get back to base. We have retribution to plan."

"Who against?" asked Crusader, as I made the vehicle pick up speed. "Panacea, for fucking up your legs?"

"No." Kaiser shook his head. "From the sounds of it, she did exactly as asked, and not an inch more. I can respect that. No, we will be going after Lung, and whoever told him where we were going to be." He pushed himself to a more upright stance. "I can survive without working legs, but betrayal that costs us one of our own is something I will not countenance."

Victor nodded, and spoke up for the first time since Kaiser had regained consciousness. "Damn right."



End of Part Twenty-Three

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Twenty-Four: Regrouping

[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: To repeat what I have said in previous chapters: I do not adhere to the white supremacist ideology. This fic is a thought experiment to see how someone could get dragged into it when faced with their recruitment techniques, especially when aided and abetted by a black girl repeatedly and maliciously (and unwittingly) pushing the victim toward such ideology.]

[A/N 3: If you're unsure about what went before, I've provided a synopsis at the beginning of Part 22.]

[A/N 4: Members of the Empire Eighty-Eight may express racist slurs and sentiments in this chapter. You have been warned.]

Remote

We were only a few minutes into our journey back toward the Medhall building when Kaiser asked the obvious question. "Has anyone contacted the others about this situation?"

"No," I said. "We were busy. My armour's electronics were severely damaged by Lung. Menja and Crusader do not carry phones in their armour. Victor was tending to the wounded."

At the mention of his name, Victor looked up from where he was holding Othala's body. Even behind the identity-concealing helmet, I could see tears welling from his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was ragged. "Can I just have one goddamn minute to mourn my wife?"

Analysis: extreme grief.

Prediction: I will feel the same when I drop my power.

Observation: Othala was a valued teammate and a good friend.

Conclusion: Lung needs to die for his part in this, as does whoever betrayed us.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Kaiser said more quietly. "Please pass me your phone. Mine's been destroyed. I need to alert those back at home base about the situation." He did not mention the name 'Medhall', for obvious reasons.

With quick, jerky motions, Victor took his phone out and handed it to Kaiser. I heard the soft beeps as Kaiser unlocked it—he knew Victor's PIN, along with everyone else's, for situations such as this—and made the call.

"This is Kaiser," he said once the call went through. "The exercise went bad. We—" He paused for a long moment. "What? What happened? Was it the ABB?"

<><>​

Medhall Building

Krieg

"No, it wasn't the verdammt ABB," snarled James. "We were attacked by Circus and Shadow Stalker. They killed Hebert's nurse, and damn near got him too. Young Ferguson wounded Stalker, and raised the alarm, but Circus got away. I managed to subdue Stalker. We've got her in electrified restraints right now, as per the information about her vulnerabilities. What's happened with you? Why are you calling on Victor's phone?"

Over the phone, Kaiser sighed. "It's as I feared. We've been played for fools. They knew when and where we were going, and arranged for a two-pronged attack. We were ambushed by Lung and Oni Lee. I'm sorry to say Othala is dead and I was … badly injured. If it weren't for Remote, we would've been a lot worse off."

"What do you mean, 'badly injured'?" demanded James.

"He tore my spine up and inflicted serious burns. Glory Girl showed up and helped chase him off, but then attacked us as well, focusing on Victor. Remote stopped her, but accidentally inflicted grave injuries on her. We managed to parlay that into treatment from Panacea, by bringing Glory Girl to her. Unfortunately, Oni Lee had inflicted mortal wounds on Othala before Remote killed him, and she passed before we reached Panacea's position. Rune was also injured, but is fully healed. Panacea saved my life, but nobody thought to require me to be whole and hearty, and so I was left paralysed from the waist down."

Reaching out James found a chair and sagged into it. "Scheiße," he muttered. "What a clusterfuck. You're right, of course. This had to be planned. But by whom? Shadow Stalker is a Ward, for fuck's sake. Circus is a mercenary, working for the highest bidder." The Empire had never retained Circus' services, mainly because nobody could tell if the queer little freak was a man or a woman, but that was beyond the point right then.

"True. I could maybe see Circus working for Lung if the money was good enough, but Stalker? What's in it for her? Wait, are you sure Stalker didn't just chase Circus into the building or something?" It was a cogent question; unfortunately, it was also one that James had looked into.

"One hundred percent. Stalker killed the nurse with an arrow, like she used to carry back before she was in the Wards. Young Ferguson overheard them talking about loading Remote's father into a wheelchair. From the references she made, she was fully aware that this is the home base of the Empire. And if she couldn't abscond with Hebert, she was going to kill him, specifically to mess with Remote's head."

"Okay, okay, that actually tracks. Shadow Stalker used to bully Remote. Hates her with a passion, more so since Remote joined us and ended up out of her reach. Any idea if she knows Remote triggered and is now one of our capes?"

James shrugged. "Fifty-fifty on that. But even if she learned about Medhall being the Empire home base on her own, which I sincerely doubt, how could she bring Circus in on this? There's no way in hell she could afford Circus' rates, and I can't see Circus hitting us just on principle. Mercenaries can't afford principles."

"I hear you. Also, where does the ABB come into this? I can see them acting on a tip-off, but who has the pure tungsten carbide cojones to tip Lung off about us, hire Circus and feed Stalker enough information to make her break the law this hard when she's already on thin ice?"

"Someone who already knew who we are and where we are," James said slowly. "Someone who wanted to weaken us by attacking from the shadows, so to speak. I don't know if it was their idea or Lung's to go after Othala, but losing her hurts us badly. And a successful abduction of Hebert would have given Remote a serious case of divided loyalties at best, once they began blackmailing her with his well-being."

"Has anyone tried questioning her yet?" There was no doubt as to who the 'her' referred to.

"Not seriously. She tried to claim that the PRT would be kicking the door down any second now, but she wasn't carrying anything that was set up to send a homing signal. Just an ordinary phone, that I've since removed the battery from, after getting photos of recent text messages."

"And Ferguson and Hebert?"

"Unharmed. Well, mostly. Ferguson took an arrow-graze to the leg, but he'll be fine. Hebert was untouched, entirely due to Ferguson engaging Stalker personally until I got there."

"Well, that's one good thing. How badly injured is Stalker?"

"Ferguson got her in the shoulder with a .380, a through-and-through. It's been bandaged to halt the bleeding. I don't think any bones were broken. It certainly won't kill her."

"Good. Lock the whole building down until we get there. I have some questions to ask, and I will be expecting answers." A world of malice was sunk into that statement.

James nodded. "Count on it."

<><>​

PRT Building

Deputy Director Renick

Paul Renick liked to think he was a reasonable man. Ten years older than Emily Piggot, he'd been a forensic accountant before being tapped as the Deputy Director of the ENE department of the PRT. Later, he'd fallen into the role of the ad hoc supervisor for the Wards. Everyone had their side to the story, and often just having an authority figure lend a sympathetic ear was all that a troublesome teenager needed.

There had been occasions when he'd had reason to doubt that attitude, but never more so than right now. He paced back and forth in the Wards part of the PRT building, staring down at the two items that lay on the coffee table between the couch and the gaming console. First was a gym bag, open, with a towel and regular exercise gear within. Second, and much more damning, was an ankle monitor, unlocked and open. Still flashing its 'secure' light, despite being unlocked and open.

"Can anyone explain to me how this could have happened?" he asked, pointing at the ankle cuff. "I thought those things broadcast an alert if they were unlocked, or at least stopped broadcasting the all-clear signal."

Henderson, the PRT head of security, cleared his throat while still standing at attention. His visor was closed, but his whole attitude made it clear he was sweating bullets. "Uh, sir, there's two different keys for that make of monitor. One shuts off the signal if it's unlocked. The other doesn't, and only gets used for very specific circumstances. Nobody outside law enforcement's even supposed to know about the second type."

"Yes." Paul didn't raise his voice, but Henderson flinched anyway. "Well, given that somebody does, I want a list of names for people in this building who do. We need to find out who did what, and that person in a cell, before we lift lockdown."

"Sir, yes, sir," responded Henderson. Paul heard him mumbling inside his helmet. Leaving him to it, Paul turned to Henderson's second in command. "What about her phone? Isn't there a tracker in that?"

"Her phone was confiscated as part of her suspension," Aegis offered.

"Wait." That was Vista. She winced as Paul swung his attention to her. "Shadow Stalker had two phones. I saw her handling a different one, once. And there wasn't one in her room."

"Two phones." Paul looked at Aegis and Kid Win, then at the PRT personnel he'd called down to the Wards section. "Did anyone else know about this? Do we have a number for it?"

Henderson's 2i/C turned to the rest of the security detail, silently interrogating them. One by one, each shrugged or shook their heads. "No, sir," he replied. "It's news to us."

"Well, I suggest you begin by figuring out how to track down that phone's location. Dismissed." Paul nodded to Vista. "Thank you." Turning, he started to leave the room in the wake of the security detail.

"Wait, sir." Aegis stepped forward. "What's happening now? Will we be going after Shadow Stalker? What's going to happen to her?"

Paul stopped and turned back to address the Wards, while the security detail kept going. "Nothing's going to happen to her until we find out what's already happened. Once we know where she's gone and what she's done, then we'll know the exact size of the hammer we need to drop on her. You all need to sit tight while the lockdown is in place. Once it's lifted, you carry out your duties as normal. If you, or any of the others who aren't here, see her while you're out on patrol, call it in immediately, then follow instructions as given. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." Aegis nodded firmly. "Understood."

Paul paused, wanting to get upstairs and start the search running properly, but knowing there was more to be said. "None of this is your fault, son. Not one of you is to blame, here. You all chose to follow the rules. She did not. You will not be penalised for her misdeeds. You're all damn fine Wards, and my report to Director Piggot will reflect as such."

With that said, he swivelled on his heel and headed for the door. One of his Wards had gone off the reservation in a big way, and it was the PRT's responsibility to locate her and bring her back in.

Shadow Stalker, where the hell are you?

<><>​

Dallon Household

Lady Photon

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about this!" shouted Carol.

Sarah didn't look around as she concentrated on moving Victoria upstairs via a force field without bumping into anything. "I didn't tell you, because I knew you'd react exactly like this."

"You could've brought me along! Those Empire monsters have to pay for what they've done to my daughter!"

Amy had to have picked up on Carol's wording, but she didn't even react. Sarah still noted it, though. "We were under truce. They swore they didn't mean to harm her, and they had wounded as well. Othala is dead, and Kaiser's a paraplegic."

"The word of a villain." Carol's voice was bitter. "They deserve whatever happened to them, and more."

"Victoria shouldn't even have been there." Sarah stated the truth flatly. "I have it on good authority that she was given orders not to engage with any Empire capes—especially Victor—without direct permission from a senior Ward, Protectorate member or PRT officer. Fighting Lung, she might have skated on. Turning on the Empire, with Victor there, after chasing Lung off? That went against everything she was told to do."

Carol's jaw jutted out stubbornly. "She's a hero. Heroes fight villains."

Mark put his oar in at this moment. "Hon, I hate to say this, but a truce is a truce. They contacted us, and Vicky is at least alive because of that."

His wife stared at him, probably because she still wasn't used to his new active attitude. "Why are you taking her side? Vicky nearly died because of those monsters! She's still in a coma!"

"I'm not taking her side," Mark reminded her patiently. "I'm reminding you of the facts, because you're not listening to Sarah. In case you forgot in the heat of the moment, Vicky's not a member of New Wave anymore. She's a Ward. In fact, she's a Ward because she already went over the line with the Empire. With Victor, even. And Wards are supposed to follow orders."

Carol pressed her lips together. They all knew it was true. "So, what happens now?"

Sarah cleared her throat. "I've already tried to contact the PRT, but there's some sort of crisis going on and the building is locked down. Only the highest-priority calls are getting through, and New Wave apparently doesn't command a high enough priority." Sarah manoeuvred Victoria in through her bedroom door and deposited her on the bed. Eyes shut, breathing regularly, she looked like she was simply asleep.

"But if you'd told them it was about Vicky—" Carol stopped. "Oh."

"Yes. Oh." Sarah was absolutely certain Carol would have encountered the concept of 'slow-walking' critical information so it arrived too late to be of use, especially in the legal world. Not that she suspected her sister of such perfidious practices, but stories abounded of less-than-ethical prosecutors suppressing exculpatory evidence to enhance their conviction rate. This wasn't quite in the same ballpark, but it was similar enough.

"Okay. Okay, okay, okay." Carol ran her hands through her hair, then stepped back out of the room, leaving the door open. "We can get out ahead of this. If Vicky wakes up before the PRT comes out of lockdown, do they even need to know that this happened? I mean, are the Empire likely to complain to them about Vicky?"

Some small part of Sarah's mind wanted to giggle about the idea of the Empire Eighty-Eight submitting a formal complaint about the conduct of a Ward. But it wasn't even remotely funny; if they'd chosen to sue New Wave over Victoria's attempt to outright murder Victor, it could have gone very badly. "In this case … no, I don't think so," she said slowly. "She ended up just as badly injured as they did, and they're more likely to be focusing on Lung, for his part in crippling Kaiser. I personally suspect they're just going to want to walk away and lick their wounds, Othala's death notwithstanding."

"But we can't just let them get away with …" Carol paused. "Fuck."

Sarah nodded soberly. Carol had just figured out the catch-22 in all this. If New Wave publicly announced that the Empire had put Victoria in a coma, this would also highlight the fact that she'd engaged them against orders. She was already on thin ice; even if she recovered completely from the coma (something Sarah still didn't know enough about to judge) she would likely be sent on to juvey as punishment for breaking her probation.

"But … what if she doesn't wake up on her own?" Carol suddenly looked twenty years older.

Sarah put her arm around her sister's shoulders and pulled her into a hug. "Then we'll deal with that problem as it comes."

<><>​

Remote

Now that we were in contact with Medhall, Krieg sent a truck to retrieve us. We rendezvoused with it in a dimly lit side street, and I helped get Kaiser on board the vehicle. Once we were on the way, I figured out how to climb out of the (somewhat damaged) armour, and took a seat of my own.

The discussion about how we were going to deal with Lung had run to its end, but another topic had been raised; specifically, the situation with Circus and Shadow Stalker invading the Medhall building in search of my father. Even approaching the subject from an objective point of view, it seemed remarkably unlikely that the two attacks were unrelated. I could see Skidmark and Squealer turning up as a natural consequence arising from our attack on their drug-infested area, but not a mercenary villain and a disgraced so-called hero joining forces to abduct an injured civilian from a heretofore hidden location.

Unfortunately, this led onto the next conclusion. Shadow Stalker was known to be violent and impulsive, so it was exceedingly unlikely for her to be the brains of this operation, or even to have taken any serious part in the planning for it. From the way Circus had abandoned her, she was at best a disposable patsy with zero useful knowledge.

Proposition: Whoever tipped Lung off is the person who betrayed us.

Situational analysis: Without Oni Lee as backup, he is still powerful but much more vulnerable.

Conclusion: If we can capture Lung and force him to talk, we can then kill him afterward.

Of course, such planning was contingent on successfully capturing Lung. Until then, we had to be content with the conspirator we actually had on hand.

Given Shadow Stalker's involvement in the whole situation, I was quite ready to find out exactly what she did know.

Whether she was willing to talk or not.

<><>​

Deputy Director Renick

The number of people in the loop about the secondary key system of the ankle monitors was dismayingly large. Paul himself had only been unaware of it because he'd never been personally involved in that side of things; it was noted in the Standard Operating Procedures manual, in an appendix he hadn't had reason to peruse up to that point. Well, now I know.

And so did most of the senior officers, the strike squad commanders, and so forth. Paul scrolled through the list, hoping against hope that a name would jump out at him, but no such thing happened. He hated being in charge during dynamic situations like this; lacking an instinctive understanding of where to push hard and where to ease off, he worried constantly about chasing the wrong rabbit down the wrong hole. He was far more at ease with a page full of numbers, and time to analyse them to the last decimal place.

His phone rang, and he snatched it off the desk. In passing, he recognised the name of the man he'd set to chasing down Shadow Stalker's number. "Yes?"

"Sir, we may have something. Shadow Stalker had outside contacts in her civilian identity. If she texted or called those people, their phones will have her number in them. Permission to go offsite and retrieve a phone for analysis."

He caught his breath. That could actually work. "Uh … do you have names? Locations?"

"Emma Barnes is the name we have on record. Daughter of Alan Barnes, who represented Shadow Stalker at the hearing that placed her in the Wards."

"Good. Do it. Uh, wait. We're going to need a search warrant … hmm. Hold for the moment. Send me Alan Barnes' phone number."

"Yes, sir."

A moment later, his phone beeped with an incoming text message. When he opened it, it was the phone number he'd requested. "Okay, I'm going to hang up now. I'll keep you in the loop."

Now, this was something he could do. He wasn't a hard-ass like Emily, but he was actually pretty good with people, or so he liked to think. Tapping on the number, he made the phone call.

It rang a few times, which didn't help the growing tension in his guts, but eventually it was picked up. A drowsy voice mumbled, "This is Alan Barnes. Can it wait until morning?"

"Mr Barnes, this is Deputy Director Renick of the PRT." Paul made his voice crisp without being officious or overbearing. "I have an important question for you, which might just save someone's life."

He could hear the extra wakefulness in Alan Barnes' voice when the man answered next. "Question? Whose life? What's going on?"

Paul took a moment to compose what he was going to say next. One wrong word, and they'd be doing this the long way. "Your daughter Emma is friends with Shadow Stalker in her civilian identity. We're both aware of that identity."

"Um." He seemed to be searching for words. "Emma said somethin' 'bout cuttin' ties. Since th' thing at Winslow. Hasn' been near her since."

"Understood." Honestly, Paul could not blame the girl. With the amount of trouble looming over Shadow Stalker right now, she was so radioactive she'd set off Geiger counters from halfway across the city. "Emma's not in trouble from this, I can guarantee it. We just need Shadow Stalker's personal phone number."

"Her number?" Alan Barnes seemed to be still waking up. "Why do you need that?"

Now he had to word things carefully. "We believe she's been in contact with dangerous individuals, and we need that number to find out more."

Barnes hesitated. "Send me a text promising that you're not going to use anything on that phone against Emma, and we can talk."

"Absolutely." Paul had no interest in anything but the whereabouts of Shadow Stalker. Quickly, he dashed off a text declaring that Emma Barnes would not be prosecuted for any information found on Sophia Hess' personal phone.

"Thanks. One second." There was some disjointed mumbling, then finally a text popped up on Paul's phone. It was the cell-phone number of Sophia Hess, as forwarded from the phone of Alan Barnes.

"Thank you, Mr Barnes," Paul said sincerely, but the call had already ended. He shrugged, then texted the number onward.

With any luck, it would give them a solid lead on Shadow Stalker's location. He was no field officer, but he could still contribute in his own way.

<><>​

Kaiser

"So, was it hard to crack her phone?" Max was still getting used to the wheelchair, but he had enough upper-body and core strength to be able to sit like he was merely resting for a moment instead of being unable to rise.

"Funny enough, no." Krieg held up the cell-phone, which was an older model, scuffed and well-used. "Stupid child never put a password on it."

"Probably couldn't figure out how to spell 'duh'," Hookwolf grunted from where he leaned against the wall, arms folded. He hadn't said much since they'd gotten back, and nothing at all about Remote's role in the night's losses, but Max had seen the expression in his eyes when he glanced at her. Unless they unearthed the architect of their betrayal soon, harsh words (or worse) would likely be forthcoming, and he'd only be able to protect her so much.

"I took photos of recent texts before I pulled the battery," Krieg began to scroll through his own phone, a somewhat newer model. "They're remarkably devoid of useful information. Two nights ago, she sends a text to a new number, just saying 'I'm in'. Thirty seconds later, she gets a text back from the same number, to be on a particular rooftop at midnight last night. Just after midnight ticks over, she sends 'S here. Where r u?'. And then tonight, at around the same time you were prepping to go out, she gets another text. 'T minus thirty minutes. Same place. C'. Thirty minutes later, she gets one last text. 'Took your time.' Then nothing until after we got hit. That's when I got the phone and tried to set up a rendezvous. 'C' said Fugly's and I agreed."

"Circus," Max said at once. "It has to be." He felt a dull surge of anger toward the mercenary cape, but a necessarily greater one toward whoever had steered Lung and Oni Lee toward Remote's debut. "Did anyone show up at Fugly's?"

Krieg shook his head. "The men I sent say no. They stayed some distance away, but nobody even came close to the place. Velocity zipped past once, but that was probably unrelated. I didn't realise until I went through the messages that they already had a different meeting spot arranged."

Max nodded. It had been worth a try, but he hadn't held great hopes for the ruse. "Was there anything else on her?"

"Yeah." Victor held up a small key. His eyes were red-rimmed and his voice cracked from time to time, but he was entirely focused on the moment. "Taylor found this in her bra." The girl had searched Shadow Stalker under Victor's instruction. Stalker had objected strenuously, to the point they'd had to gag her. The search had proceeded anyway; despite Remote's ongoing lack of emotion, she had been extremely thorough. Max got the impression Victor had nominated Remote for the role of searching Shadow Stalker because if he got the chance to put his hands around the little black bitch's throat, he would not be able to stop squeezing until she was dead, and they needed her alive for the moment.

Crusader leaned forward and peered at it. "What's that supposed to open?"

There was a pause, then Remote spoke, her voice entirely free of inflection. "When I searched Shadow Stalker, I saw the impression of a band around her left ankle, but not around the right ankle. I wondered if it was significant."

"Ankle monitor," Victor said. "Taylor, you're a fucking genius. She was in deep shit from the Winslow incident, to the point that they had an ankle monitor on her. They were probably working on lining up all the ducks so they could finally do what they should've done years ago and punt her into juvey."

Max nodded. "That makes a great deal of sense. It also explains why she was approached; with the level of animosity I understand she holds toward Remote, a feral animal like that wouldn't need any encouragement at all to break her boundaries and come after Remote's father."

Crusader sat back again. "I'm just surprised that they're actually going so far as to punish her. Don't poor defenceless 'minorities' automatically get a pass with that sort of thing?" He added the air quotes with his fingers, because he was annoying like that.

Max smiled grimly. "That was our doing. Or rather Taylor's and young Ferguson's. When they caught Stalker red-handed like that, and the Empire was the one to hand the black criminal over to the police, we embarrassed them immensely. So they've undoubtedly decided to make an example of her, to keep the other token minorities in line." It was what he'd do, after all.

"Makes sense." Victor tapped the key against the table. "I'm seeing the shape of what happened here. Tell me if anything sounds off to you. Shadow Stalker is sitting in the PRT building and someone smuggles in the key for her ankle cuff. This also includes a note with a phone number and an offer to get back at Taylor for her imagined transgressions. She texts back an acknowledgement, and they reply with instructions to meet. The meet with Circus goes through, she gets instructions face to face, goes back. Comes out tonight, meets up with Circus again, and hits Medhall."

"Yes, but who ordered it?" asked Max reasonably. "Who's paying Circus for all this? And how did they manage to smuggle the key and note into the middle of the PRT building? If she was in a cell, they wouldn't have had the ankle monitor on her, so she was probably in the Wards area, which is two basement levels underground. Someone had to have serious clearance within the building to pull that off."

Remote cleared her throat. "I have been thinking about that. It requires three significant assumptions to be made, but there is only one logical contender. Coil."

Hookwolf blinked. "What, really? The snake costume dude?"

"What are the assumptions that need to be made?" asked Max thoughtfully. He noted that Victor wasn't objecting, and in fact seemed to be seriously considering the idea.

"First assumption," Remote said, in that eerie robotic voice. "That there is not some entirely hidden player within the Brockton Bay underworld, working undetected by everyone. Second assumption. Coil has a Thinker power, or access to some other resource, that has allowed him to uncover the inner secrets of the Empire Eighty-Eight without anyone finding out until now. Third assumption. Coil either is, or can give orders to, a moderately high-ranking member of the PRT."

There was silence in the room after she finished speaking. Max glanced at Victor, then at Krieg. Both looked a little stunned, which wasn't surprising after that particular bombshell. Crusader just looked like he'd kicked a puppy and it had bitten his leg off.

"Jesus Christ, girl, you know how to hand out the big hits." Victor ran his hands over his face.

"That's if it's true," scoffed Hookwolf. "Sounds like a whole lot of nothing to me." He gave Remote a challenging stare. "You got anything to back that up?"

"Wait, wait," interjected Victor. "Let's not go off half-cocked. I can accept the first assumption right now. The other two, if they're true, would explain so fucking much."

Max made another connection in his mind. "Coil uses regular mercenaries, doesn't he? It wouldn't be a huge stretch for him to have Circus on his payroll too."

Victor nodded. "Okay, so if what Remote is surmising is true, Coil's the man whose throat I need to get my hands around. How do we go about verifying it before we go all-out after the man?"

Max knew what he meant. Coil had a reputation for being slippery as hell; even more so than that irritating little gang of smash and grab artists, the Undersiders. And if he was behind this, he'd be taking more precautions than normal.

Remote spoke up again. "As I see it, Shadow Stalker will know little to nothing. She will only have met Circus. We need to lay our hands on either Circus or Lung and question them, and I doubt very much that Circus will be doing anything visible for the time being."

"Yeah, the little freak would've gone underground, all right." Victor steepled his fingers. "Finding Lung won't be hard. Capturing him, more difficult. Questioning him … yeah, that won't be fun at all."

Remote shrugged. "Build me the correct armour, and I will capture and question him. Then, once he is out of the way, we target Coil."

"Whoa, whoa, dial it back a bit there, T-bird," Crusader objected. "Lung's way too tough. He tore up your armour before, he'll do it again."

"And that is what he thinks, too." Remote's tone never shifted. "But I have fought him twice. I know which tactics work against him, and which ones do not. In addition, he now faces two huge disadvantages. First, he is used to having Oni Lee at his side to harass his opponents, but I killed Oni Lee. Second, the armour he faced tonight was not optimised to take him down. I hurt him with what I had, but I can do much more than that. With the right equipment, I can destroy him."

"Hah!" Hookwolf bellowed a bark of laughter. "Shit, girl, you don't think much of yourself, do you? Even ramped up as hard as I can go, I still gotta back off from Lung when he gets too big. He'll melt your armour to a puddle, and fry you inside it. Go back to the little leagues, where you belong."

Victor shook his head. "Brad, you weren't there. You didn't see her going up against him. Even as distracted as she was, she could've won if things had gone just a little differently. In fact, she was doing so well that when Glory Girl showed up, he decided to pull back rather than keep fighting. And then when Glory Girl turned on us, Taylor won, even in damaged armour."

"I concur," Max said. "Remote, Victor, build that armour. The ABB and Coil have hit us hard. It's time to hit back."

"Hell, yes!" Crusader pumped his fist in the air. "Remember fucking Pearl Harbor! Let's nuke those slanty-eyed fuckers!"

Max smiled coldly. That particular instance hadn't been in his mind, but it would do. However, there was just one more matter to take care of, and he was the wrong man for the task. "Remote."

"Yes, sir?"

"Go to Peter. He will need to see you."

"Yes, sir."

"And while you're there ... turn your power off."

This time, there was a slight but noticeable hesitation. "... yes, sir."

Back straight, she left the room.

<><>​

Remote

As I entered the room where Peter awaited, he looked up from the book he was reading. "Oh, thank God!" he gasped, putting his book to one side and levering himself to his feet.

I looked at the bandage on his calf and the way he favoured that leg. "How badly are you injured?" I asked. "Krieg did not seem to consider it very serious."

"Just a nick," he tried to claim, though I could see it was more than that. "Shadow Stalker's arrow got me on the way past. It only started really hurting once it was all over. How about you? Are you okay?"

"A few bruises and minor first-degree burns," I admitted. "I need to speak to Victor about a more heat-resistant insulator within the armour. Nothing that requires medical attention. How is my father?"

"Oh, he wasn't harmed at all, thankfully." He put his arms around me and gave me a hug. "Though for a few moments there, I really thought my number was up. Stalker shot an arrow at my head, but Mr Fliescher got there just in time and slowed everything down. Including her. Then he shot her with a taser, and we rigged up electrified restraints before she came to."

"That's good." I stood there for a moment. "Peter, I need to warn you that I will be dropping my power in a few seconds."

"Oh." His arms tightened around me. "Was it really bad?"

"Othala died. Kaiser and Rune and Glory Girl nearly died. I fought Lung and killed Oni Lee. I suspect that I might become hysterical and irrational."

"Okay, okay, right. Come on, I'm going to sit back in this armchair, and you're going to sit on my lap."

"That sounds uncomfortable and awkward, for you. You will not be able to get away from me."

"Doesn't matter." He led me back to the chair, lowered himself into it, then guided me onto his lap. I suspected that it was indeed somewhat awkward for him, but he showed no signs of wishing to evict me. "Okay, I'm ready."

I considered briefly going to my room and locking the door so that I might weather the storm of my emotions where nobody could see, but it was too late. His arms were locking me in, and it would be rude of me to push him away. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath …

… and let it all go.

Taylor

While I was comfortably numb behind the protective walls of my power, I could intellectually ponder the loss of a good friend such as Othala without the slightest discomfort. But once I dropped the power, allowing the daggers of loss and grief to stab deep into the soft underbelly of my emotions, all the pain in the universe roared down upon me. I let out the breath I had taken in a long wail, howling my anger and agony to the four winds.

Peter held me tightly, even as I struggled and flailed against his grasp. I beat on his chest with my fists, my eyes flooding with tears and my screams tearing my throat ragged. Every last emotion that had banked up within me over the last few hours came out at once; the anger, the fear and the sorrow. He absorbed the impact of them all, murmuring words of comfort into my uncaring ears while he stroked my hair.

The storm eventually passed, as storms do, leaving waterlogged wreckage in its wake. Peter's shirt was a total mess, soaked with my tears and smeared with my snot, but he was still holding me steadfastly as I cried myself out. As I came around to myself again, I realised that he was still comforting me with his voice, as he had been the whole way through. It hadn't mattered much to me then, but it certainly did now.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, feeling his arms around me as a comforting refuge rather than a prison for my anguish. "I've got to be the absolute worst girlfriend ever. No reactions, then all the reactions."

He chuckled warmly. "Trust me, Taylor, I'll take you over every other girl I know. With you, I know exactly what I'm getting."

Now, how could I argue with something like that?

<><>​

Saturday Morning, February 19, 2011
PRT Building

Director Emily Piggot's Office

"You had a busy night last night, I see." Emily sat down, pulling her chair in carefully. "Give me the highlights."

Renick took a deep breath. "Someone slipped Shadow Stalker a key to her ankle monitor, and she made a run for it."

"Shit." Emily contained her reaction past that first word. "Do we have a lead on her location?"

"No." Renick looked even unhappier. "We got a line on her second phone, but its last cell-tower ping was in the Downtown district. No GPS, because it was shut all the way down before we started looking. But we found texts that indicated collusion with an outside person. She got the key two nights ago and sneaked out twice on successive nights. A couple of the texts were signed with the initial 'C'."

Emily frowned, thinking. "Could be something, could be nothing. Not many cape names in this city start with C." Somehow, she doubted it was Clockblocker.

Renick nodded. "We're looking into that, and into who knew about keys that unlock ankle cuffs without setting off an alert."

"Well, I did," Emily informed him. "Most PRT officers do." She paused. "Wait, are you saying it was someone in this damn building who passed it to her?"

"That's what it's looking like," he confessed. "None of the security footage we've got of her show contact with any non-PRT affiliated personnel."

"God dammit," she growled. "Moles in my goddamn building. Do we have anything else?"

"We pulled a phone number off the texts, and checked those records," Renick informed her. "It's also shut down, so probably a burner. Tower pings indicate it was only used in the Downtown area. It was used to send texts to and from two phones; Stalker's and one other."

"Which is also a goddamn burner, no doubt," Emily predicted. "Did you get anything useful?"

"Not 'crack the case' useful, but definitely 'build a picture' useful." Renick paused, apparently to gather his thoughts. "The exchanges between the other phone and 'C' read as someone getting a go-ahead from the boss to carry out a pre-planned action. 'C''s texts read like they're recruiting Stalker for ... well, for whatever it is. The other phone also pinged only in that same area. However, the last exchange between 'C' and Stalker was interesting. 'C' tried to contact Stalker a couple of times, then when she answered they set up a meet, which 'C' described as the last place they'd met, being Fugly's. Except neither phone was anywhere near there, and the one meeting place described in the texts was only a couple of blocks from this building."

"Any idea what Stalker was being recruited for, or why she'd be so stupid as to accept?" Emily shook her head in disbelief. "She had to know we'd find out sooner or later."

"If there's anything the last ten years has taught me," Renick said somberly, "it's that teenagers consider themselves infallible and immortal. And that's before you factor powers into the mix."

"I wish I could prove you wrong." Emily leaned back in her chair. "What do you think that last exchange was about? A coded message, or someone else got hold of Stalker's phone?"

"I tend to favour the latter," Renick decided. "Which means she either dropped it, or she was captured by whoever she was needed as muscle to hit."

"She used to carry razor-sharp arrows for those crossbows of hers," Emily reminded him. "I would be totally unsurprised to find out that she still had caches of the damn things all over the city. As soon as we get a report of someone with an arrow wound, we'll know who she hit, which will probably be also who's got her. What else is there?"

"There was a big fight up at the Trainyards, just like the rumour said. What the Merchants call their territory. Lung was involved. Lots of rubble and scorch-marks and blood on the ground." Renick took a deep breath. "Word on the street is that Oni Lee is dead, and Lung is pissed. Also, Skidmark and Squealer got caught up in it, Squealer's latest tank was trashed, and Skidmark's dead. Coroner says extreme blunt force trauma to the back and head. Squealer's apparently in hiding, or building a new tank. One of the two."

"Jesus." Cape battles were a fact of life in Brockton Bay, but fatalities were uncommon. "Skidmark and Squealer killed Oni Lee?"

"What witnesses we have, who swear they were miles away at the time but heard it from a friend of a friend, claim there was a giant robot on site as well."

"Of course there was." Emily wanted to curse. "Were any of Stalker's arrows found on site? Any evidence she was there at all?"

Renick shook his head. "None so far."

"Good." Emily's lips thinned in an approximation of a smile. "So it's probably entirely unrelated."

"That's what I was thinking, yes."

"Fine. I'll take it from here. Go home and get some sleep."

"Yes, ma'am."

<><>​

Dallon Household

Panacea

Amy sat at Vicky's bedside. Her sister lay still, breathing steadily. She was as healthy as Amy could make her ...

... almost.

While Amy had ensured that Vicky's brain was once more receiving a healthy supply of blood, and that there were no more ongoing problems within her skull, the damage had been done. Between the initial blood loss and the other injuries she'd taken, her brain had been deprived of sufficient oxygen for a dangerous amount of time. Her body twitched when prodded, and flinched when Amy nipped skin between her fingernails, but she remained unconscious no matter what stimuli were applied.

The trouble was, Amy could see where the damage was, and she knew exactly how to fix it. It would be easy. Too easy, in fact.

Years ago, when Amy had first gotten her powers, Carol's admonitions had led her to set herself a rule that she'd never broken. I will not do brains. Not because they were hard to understand, or to affect, but because everything in there was so interconnected that changing one small part would risk changing the whole; turning the person into someone else.

At that time, she'd still been buying into the bullshit notion that if she did absolutely everything by The Book (being the set of rules that Carol had established for her, yet hadn't actually told her about) then at some point she would gain her mother's approval and they would be One Happy Family. Since then, she'd become more and more cynical about the whole thing, while being unable to break away from the habits she had set for herself, such as walking to the hospital in the middle of the night. And of course she had pined hopelessly after Vicky, while at the same time hating herself for being such a fucking pervert.

All that had changed, the day after Victor shot her in the leg.

She'd always 'known' she was entirely free to use (or not use) her power any way she felt like. But now, she knew it. Gone were the midnight walks to the hospital; instead, she got a good night's sleep, and awoke refreshed and ready to roll. Yes, she still dropped in occasionally after school, but she didn't feel obligated to do so. It was just a thing she did because she felt like it. As for kowtowing to every last whim of Carol's, that was definitely a thing of the past. Best of all, Mark was actually being a proper dad these days, and backed her up when Carol tried to push her.

But now, as she sat over Vicky, she found herself wrestling with that one last rule. No brains. Never brains.

There was a step at the bedroom door; as Amy looked up, Carol entered. She didn't pull another chair over to sit next to Amy. Instead, she stood there, looming over the both of them.

"Why?" she asked, almost harshly.

"I'm sorry," Amy said, knowing the question was intended to make her feel guilty, but refusing to let it happen. I've done nothing wrong. "What exactly are you asking about? Why did my sister go out and take on the Empire when she knew she shouldn't have? I'd say Vicky's motivations are a closed book to me, but that bit's easy. She hates the Empire, and she really hates Victor, for shooting me. Why did the Empire bring her back to us when she was the one who attacked them? Because they had injured too, and they actually lost Othala on the way. Why did I heal them? Because that was the deal. Or were you asking about a more esoteric aspect of the universe?"

Truly, not being constantly worried about what Carol might think of her was intensely liberating.

As Carol stood there, fists clenched, Amy fancied she could hear the tendons creaking from the strain they were under. "No. I was asking why you have not. Healed. Her. Brain. Injury. Yet." The last word landed in the conversation like an anvil.

"Oh, that bit's easy." Amy looked up at Carol. "Free will, mainly."

Tension twanged in the room as Carol stared at her with growing outrage. "Free will? Free will? You're a healer! It's what you do! And she's your sister! Why, in God's name—"

"Not my free will, or at least, not entirely," Amy interrupted. "Though I have to say, 'it's what you do' kinda robs me of my agency. Can we not say that anymore? Thanks."

Carol glared at her with enough ferocity that Amy was kind of glad she didn't have eye lasers. "If not your free will, then whose?"

"Vicky's." Amy considered adding a duh, but refrained on account of wanting to maintain the moral high ground. "If I fix her brain, I will almost certainly make changes that alter the way she sees the world, or even the way she thinks. The Vicky we get after the fact will not be the exact same Vicky we had yesterday. Are you willing to go there?"

"She'll still be my daughter, in every way that counts." Carol glowered down at Amy. "Make what changes you need to. Just fix her."

"Sure, in a second." Amy stood up to face her. "But before I do, answer me this. Why did you yell at Mark and Aunt Sarah for literally having mental problems removed when at the same time you're okay with Vicky not being precisely the same if I just fix her at all?"

Carol stared at her, as though entirely unable to comprehend the question. "Mark and Sarah were alive and well before. Vicky is in a coma. There's no comparison."

"You're half right," Amy countered. "Mark and Aunt Sarah were alive, but they certainly weren't well. Aunt Sarah's been living with PTSD for the last twenty-plus years. Mark's been a chronic depressive for longer than I've been around. Now they're not only alive, but they're happy to be that way, for the first time in literally decades. And yet, you're still pissed at them, while at the same time urging me to do something that's got a non-zero chance of turning Vicky into someone who's not Vicky. Can't you see the hypocrisy in that?"

"You don't understand." Carol's anger seemed to have gone beyond shouting to a frozen rage. "Scapegoat changed them. They're not like they used to be. I don't recognise them anymore."

You should. I do. But Amy knew that was because she always tried to see the best in Mark and Sarah, while Carol was apparently content with seeing the worst. "And you don't care if that happens to Vicky, just so long as you get her back?" She kept her voice even, trying to get her point through to Carol.

"No!" The shouting was back. "I don't!"

Slowly, Amy nodded. "Well, so long as we all know where your priorities lie."

Leaning over Vicky, she cupped her sister's face in her hands. Vicky's biology became crystal clear to her once more, and she went to work. Working as carefully as she knew how, she rejuvenated the damaged brain matter and slotted it back together so as to allow the spark of consciousness. Vicky's personality would've been likewise fragmented, but all the pieces were there, so Amy reassembled those as well. And if a hypothetical observer had remarked that she introduced just a shade more caution to her sister's future thought processes, she would have told them to mind their own damn business.

After all, Carol didn't care if Vicky wasn't exactly the same as before, so it was all good, right?

All in all, it took less time than she expected and more time than she hoped. Stepping back, she dusted her hands off theatrically. "Done," she announced. "And just by the way, you're welcome."

Vicky's eyelids fluttered and she opened her eyes. Next, she yawned and stretched, then looked around. "Huh," she said with a thoughtful frown. "What did I miss?"

"Not a lot," Amy said. "Imma get breakfast. Want some?"

"Uh, sure!" Vicky bounced up from the bed, and landed on her feet. "Wow, I'm totes hungry. That robot really did a number on me."

"Come on, you can tell me all about it." Amy grabbed her by the hand and towed her from the room, leaving Carol staring after them.

She'd still get yelled at later for her 'attitude', but it wasn't like she cared anymore.



End of Part Twenty-Four

 

[Ack]

The Slippery Slope

Part Twenty-Five: Backlash

[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: Reminder for the reader that Taylor is a member of the Empire Eighty-Eight in this fic, and may express racist views that the author does not share.]



Saturday Morning, February 19, 2011

Remote

I walked the damaged suit into Victor's workshop. He was already there, machining parts for later use, his movements sharp and precise. Glancing around at me, he nodded briefly, then went back to his work.

There was none of the banter from when we'd been assembling this suit the first time around, which I understood. While my power was down, I had wept for Othala as a dear friend, but she had meant even more to him. He did not have the capability of cutting off all emotion as I did, so he was working through it in his own way.

As he put the angle-grinder down and raised his goggles, I saw the dark circles under his eyes but I said nothing. It was not my place to raise a concern in this matter. If I believed he was pushing himself to the point that he would incur self-harm, then I would inform Kaiser of this conclusion so that the matter could be addressed on the proper level, but I would not attempt to correct Victor's behaviour myself.

Mourning, after all, was an important element of dealing with loss, and everyone mourned in their own way.

As I began to disassemble the suit, he came over to observe and assist me. "You said something about stopping Lung from melting the suit. I'd be interested in hearing your ideas on the subject."

It had been a thorny problem. Though we weren't making a point of saying so, this iteration of the suit was being designed with the specific aim of permanently removing Lung from consideration. However, in order to achieve this, we first had to prevent him from immobilising the suit and killing me inside from the sheer heat. Practically speaking, I would die long before he melted it into a puddle (in Hookwolf's ignorant terminology) and I wanted to prevent that.

"Would it be possible to run water in ductwork throughout the suit and pull heat away, like the radiator system in a car?" I asked. "The suit is fairly robust as designed, so it doesn't need to be kept cool, just cool enough. If this is combined with improved heat insulation, I believe I would be able to continue to act long enough to disable and kill him."

He frowned, an expression I associated with deep thought. "That should be possible, yes," he agreed. "It'll mean a little more bulk, which would normally require re-engineering the power system, but luckily we don't have that problem here." A sharp nod toward me seemed to denote approval, but then he paused. "At some point, you're going to have a tank full of boiling water, because Lung never runs out of heat. How were you going to radiate it away fast enough?"

I'd had ideas about that too, so I told him.

For the first time, he smiled.

<><>​

Lung

Last night was a disaster.

Kenta sat alone in his chair, built of fire-resistant materials and reinforced to take the weight for when he sometimes bulked out. Taking up a bottle of sake—one of his few indulgences—he drank from it, then put it down again. As proud as he was, he could not force the events of the previous night into any shape that equalled 'victory'.

The ambush had been perfect. Lee and he had come upon the Empire Eighty-Eight contingent and taken them by surprise. The first strike, on the Trump called Othala, had worked perfectly. Far too many times, she had caused him problems by healing the various members of the Empire.

But then Hebert, the machine controller, had appeared and turned the tide of the battle. She had dealt Oni Lee a fatal wound, and actually injured Kenta a couple of times. Her interference had prevented him from finishing off Kaiser once and for all; even with the damage to the power armour, she was a formidable enough foe that he had not wanted to face her and Glory Girl simultaneously.

At the time, he'd felt that he had done enough damage to the Empire Eighty-Eight. Kaiser had been badly hurt, perhaps enough to kill him. Othala had been stabbed and dropped to fall to her doom. Rune had also been stabbed, but Lung didn't know exactly where Oni Lee had gotten her.

If Othala was dead (and as skilled in medical issues as Victor could be, he surely could not work miracles) then the Empire was now severely hampered, with Rune still suffering a stab wound and Kaiser dead or dying. But all that did not match the fact that with Oni Lee, the ABB had lost half its cape roster. And if Othala had (against all odds) survived, then Rune and Kaiser might well be hale and hearty by now.

And Oni Lee would still be dead.

Kenta's anger seethed within him, aimed partly at the Empire Eighty-Eight (particularly Taylor Hebert, who had driven him off twice now) and partly at Coil, for thinking to use him as a catspaw while suffering none of the consequences. The Empire was still his target of choice; he had the measure of the Hebert girl's suit now, and was sure he could destroy it (and her) at their next meeting, especially with Kaiser and Rune out of commission. But once he had rendered them harmless, then there would be a reckoning with Coil.

Nobody uses me as a playing piece.

He took another long drink from the bottle before the heat radiating from him set the alcohol on fire. This didn't matter to him; he just kept drinking until the bottle was empty, then he hurled it across the room to smash against the wall.

Tonight, he decided, he would go into Empire territory and destroy them once and for all, starting with Taylor Hebert.

<><>​

PRT Building, Director's Office

Director Emily Piggot

"You wanted to see me, Director?"

Glory Girl stood in front of Emily's desk, not quite at attention but fairly radiating good intentions all the same. She was neat and tidy, hair brushed and costume freshly ironed, every inch of her giving the impression of an earnest young superhero.

Emily didn't trust it for an instant.

"Why, yes." She hit a couple of keys on her laptop to bring up the windows she wanted, then looked up at the girl. "I would just like to clarify a few matters, such as your whereabouts last night from about eight PM onward."

"I wasn't on duty last night …" Glory Girl ventured.

"I'm aware." Emily allowed a little acid into her tone. "However, as part of your probationary membership in the Wards, you're not supposed to go on patrol without having another Protectorate or Wards cape along as your supervisor."

Glory Girl blinked. "I thought that probationary status thing was all just a formality."

"Formalities still have to be observed." Emily gave her a level stare. "Now, with the understanding that your phone tracker was active last night, kindly give me a run-down on your movements last night."

She already had Glory Girl's movements up on the screen. What she wanted was the girl's explanation for them. Given her knowledge of certain other things that had happened the previous night, this promised to be an interesting interview.

Glory Girl had what might have been deemed a reasonable poker face in most situations; the 'oh shit' expression was there and gone almost too fast to register. But Emily had been playing the game longer than Glory Girl had been alive, and for much higher stakes than the girl was used to. To put it bluntly, she was done with this shit. "In your own time," she invited, in a tone that meant stop stalling.

"Uh … I'd heard somewhere there was going to be something going on with the Merchants, up near the Trainyards." Glory Girl paused, then went on. "I wasn't going to do anything, just check it out, and call it in if necessary."

Heard somewhere. Right. Emily would've bet a large chunk of her pay that the 'somewhere' was the Wards common room, and she'd probably heard it from one of her fellow Wards. At a guess … "Gallant told you, didn't he?"

For Glory Girl's sake, Emily hoped that she never sat down to play poker for money with any of the hard-bitten troopers in the building. With tells like that, they'd skin her alive inside of ten minutes. "Uh, no! I mean … maybe?"

Emily sighed at the look of concern on Glory Girl's face. "Don't worry. He's not going to be in trouble over this. Wards are supposed to share information … and act on it wisely." She waited until she saw the barb sink in before she continued. "So, walk me through what actually happened when you got there."

Glory Girl took a deep breath. "Well, I didn't see the Merchants, but I did see Lung fighting some guy in a power-suit. It looked like there'd been a battle. Members of the Empire Eighty-Eight were there, some were down, and so was Oni Lee."

Emily made a go-on gesture. "So, what did you do?" The 'guy in a power-suit' sounded like the report of a giant robot, which was an interesting correlation.

"What could I do?" Glory Girl spread her hands apart, palm upward. "Lung was ramped up pretty hard, and it looked like the power-suit guy was going up against him and the Empire. His armour looked pretty beat up, too. So I body-checked Lung, to give him the message to back off." She paused, then her shoulders slumped. "Lung left, then … well, I found out the hard way that the power-suit guy was actually with the Empire. We got into it, and he cleaned my clock. Somehow, I found my way home afterward."

"You got into it, and he cleaned your clock." Emily leaned forward in her chair. "That sounds remarkably devoid of details. Who started the fight, you or him? I only ask because if the Empire had injured as you said, they'd be unlikely to initiate hostilities with a new arrival."

"I don't remember who started it." Which, in teenage-speak, meant 'I started it, but I'm not going to admit it'. "I was fighting him, and he grabbed my legs with some kind of mechanical tentacle and I punched him in the helmet … and the next thing I remember, I'm waking up this morning and heading down to breakfast with Ames. So, I'm guessing he got in a good hit on me, they all backed off while I was loopy, and I made it home on autopilot."

"Autopilot. Right." Emily turned her laptop part-way around. "You see that? Your phone tracker shows you moving directly along McIntosh Street at about five miles per hour faster than your best flight speed. We have reports of a strange low-slung multi-wheeled vehicle with capes on top, including a giant robot, moving at very high speed along McIntosh in the exact same time-frame. Do you have any kind of explanation for that?"

Glory Girl blinked, long and slow. At Emily's best guess, this was a sign of genuine confusion rather than an attempt at evasion. "I honestly have no idea, Director. Like you said, I just can't fly that fast." She leaned across the desk, eyeing the line on the map. "And it stops there, then heads straight back to my house."

"It does. And you have no memory of what happened?"

"After I went to punch the power-suit guy in the head, none at all."

Emily turned her laptop until the screen faced her again, then leaned back in her chair. In her personal opinion, the Dallon girl was telling the truth about not recalling the anomalous trip along McIntosh Street. "Very well. What I want you to do is write up a complete report of everything you saw and heard and did last night, from the moment you left home to the point you woke up in bed. Everything. Put enough detail in, and I might be able to overlook your unauthorised activities." She paused, thinking. "Actually, one more thing. You didn't happen to see Shadow Stalker while you were out and about, did you?" It was a long shot, but long shots had paid off before today.

Glory Girl shook her head, frowning. "No. I didn't see her at all. Isn't she supposed to be confined to base?"

"Yes," Emily said heavily. "She was. Now, go write your report. Hand it in to Triumph when it's done. All the detail you can remember. Who was down, who was injured, all of that. Also, what you recall of the power armour. If the Empire has a proper Tinker, then this can only mean trouble."

"Yes, ma'am." Glory Girl nodded hastily, then scuttled out of the room.

Emily sighed as the door automatically closed behind her. Even after the illuminating talk with Glory Girl, there were still mysteries to be unravelled about the previous night. Not least was, where the hell is Shadow Stalker?

<><>​

Shadow Stalker

Where the hell is the PRT?

Sophia was honestly starting to worry, though she'd never admit it even to herself. She'd never been captured before (at least not by villains) and the Empire Eighty-Eight was just about the worst possible group she could see herself being held by. The horror stories about what they'd done to black girls and women (and men) were legion; some of those, she could even verify.

So far, though her treatment had been merciless and unpleasant, it hadn't gotten as bad as it might. This was a good thing, if the barely contained rage she'd felt radiating off the Empire capes was any indication. The only person who'd been allowed to come into physical contact with Sophia was—to her personal shock at the time—Hebert herself.

But it wasn't the Hebert Sophia had known and enjoyed casually slapping around at Winslow. This was a different girl, as unalike as night and day. There had been no emotion in her eyes, even when she'd asked whose idea it was to abduct her father. It had been creepy as fuck, like talking to a robot wearing her face and programmed with her voice.

Sophia had been braced for physical torture, but although the suggestions for making her cooperate (or 'breaking her in') had been as vomit-inducing as they were plentiful, Victor himself had vetoed them. The skill-thief's burning gaze had terrified Sophia far more than it should have. He'd simply asked questions; not about the PRT or anyone's secret identities, but about whether it was Coil or someone else who had hired her to break into the Medhall building.

She'd spilled her guts, though she didn't actually have a lot to say. Circus had left her well and truly in the lurch, so she felt zero compunction in telling them everything that had happened from the moment she'd gotten the key onward. Her only pushback had been when Victor suggested that Coil was behind the whole plot, but that was only because she hated the idea of dancing to someone else's tune.

It wasn't as though she'd joined the Wards of her own free will, after all.

However, as she couldn't muster any real reason for it not to be the case, and he'd reminded her that Circus only worked for money, she'd admitted that the original note had mentioned 'certain interests' that were willing to pay a lot for Hebert's father. That had been a good incentive, but the chance to get revenge on Hebert herself had sealed the deal. So, while it may well have been Coil behind the whole thing, she didn't know and honestly barely cared.

Still, this hadn't improved her position noticeably. On the other hand, it hadn't gotten any worse. She was still locked in a ten-by-ten cell with an extremely rugged cuff wrapped around the same ankle that the tracker bracelet had been attached to. The thick electrical cord that acted as her tether also ensured that she couldn't just go to shadow form and get out of there.

A noise came from the door, and she tensed. Was this it? Have they finally come to throw me to the wolves? She grimly prepared to die before submitting to whatever they had planned for her. If I can't kill them, I'll make them kill me.

But when the door opened, it was just Hebert, still with that blank expression. When Sophia looked into her eyes, something ancient and not at all human looked back. She stepped into the cell; behind her, the door swung shut and locked firmly.

"So, you come to slap me around?" Sophia was determined to not let them see her sweat. "Ask some more questions about Coil and stuff?"

"No." Hebert may as well have been declining an invitation to go to a boring movie. "I have one question. Even though you were promised money to abduct my father, why were you preparing to kill him before you were interrupted? You know he does not follow the cause of the Empire Eighty-Eight, and never has."

Sophia managed to muster a sneer. "Because of you."

Hebert looked at her for a long moment. "Explain."

Wow, she can't even get mad at me now. "Sure. I accepted the whole deal to fuck with you, personally. I don't give two shits about your dad, but I couldn't get to you. Hurting him hurts you. So if I couldn't take him away, I was gonna make sure you couldn't have him either."

"I have a second question." Hebert continued to survey her with that eerie robot gaze. "Why? What is your reason for wanting to hurt me?"

It was weird that this was the first time this specific question had come up. She'd assumed that they already knew by now. "Everyone's got their place. Your place is below me, in the fucking dirt. You wouldn't stay down there. So, I had to teach you your place. End of."

"I see." Hebert turned to leave, then paused. "If you were not black, you would make a very effective Nazi. Your views are very similar to theirs."

"I'm nothing like you!" Her voice was harsh in her throat as she screamed the words as loudly as she could.

"Yes, you are. But I think Kaiser prefers you to be black and doing what you do. Your actions have made you a more effective recruiter for the Empire Eighty-Eight than any of us could ever be. I know I would not be here if not for you. So, thank you for that."

The monotone words struck home harder than a hundred shouted curses. Before Sophia could muster a response, the door opened and Hebert left the cell. It swung closed and locked again with another series of definitive clicks.

She'd been telling the truth. As much as Sophia wanted to deny the words, she suspected Hebert was unable to lie while in that state. The deadpan delivery just made it worse, puncturing her illusions and bringing home to her exactly how badly she'd screwed up in every possible way.

Arching her back, she let out a long and guttural scream. "FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"

<><>​

Taylor

Victor looked up as I re-entered the workshop. "So, how'd it go with Stalker? What did you want with her, anyway?"

"Better and worse than I expected." I sighed. "Thought of a question I wanted to ask her."

"And how'd that go?" He turned toward me and waited expectantly.

"Well, I asked her why she was gonna kill Dad …" I related the conversation as best I could recall it.

By the time I'd finished, he was chuckling darkly. "Well, you're not wrong. Bet she wasn't pleased. Way to knock the props out from under her."

I shrugged. "It was only the truth. What are we going to do with her, anyway? I mean, yes, she's a dangerous cape and a murderous black bitch, but I'm uncomfortable with the idea of lowering ourselves to her level and just killing her in cold blood. Not if there's another option."

Victor folded his arms. "I assume you're not suggesting we just pat her on the head and let her go. She knows far too much."

"Well, no, that's true." About the only thing that would exceed the speed of light would be how fast Sophia snitched to the PRT about the Empire being based in Medhall. "It's kind of a pity, though. She really is a great recruiter." A funny thought occurred to me, and I chuckled. "Now, if Hollywood had it right and a bop on the head could consistently induce memory loss, we could send her out to keep on pushing people our way. I'd even volunteer to be the one to smack her upside the head."

"There'd probably be a line-up for the privilege, but no." He shook his head. "A hit to the head can produce a great many effects, even amnesia, but not reliably. However …" His eyes went distant for a moment. "Wait a second. You might be on to something there."

"I am?" This was news to me; I'd just been joking around. "What am I on to?"

"A possible option. I'm going to have to think about this." He slapped me on the shoulder and gestured toward the rebuilt suit. "In the meantime, look it over. With the suggestions you made, as well as a few ideas I came up with, I think you've got a much better chance of taking down Lung."

I allowed my power to wash over me, submerging myself in its comforting embrace. Every mechanical device around me sprang into detail, and I focused on the suit. Most of its working parts were quite familiar to me, having been salvaged from the original model, but a few things were new.

Assume positive control: suit.

It came to life, stepping forward off the stand Victor had been using to work on it. I could see it, inside and out, and I catalogued the improvements and differences. "You removed the generators to make room for the water tanks."

He nodded. Analysis: agreement. "Yes. Electricity didn't seem to have much effect on him, and we don't want potential leaks and electrical short-circuits getting to you in the middle of a battle. It saved a bit of weight."

"Understood." I had one of the cutting chains extend so that I could examine it more closely. My initial impression turned out to be correct. "This is a little larger than the original version."

Another nod. "Lung's hide is pretty tough, especially when he starts growing scales. We lost a few blades due to wear and tear, so I figured fewer blades but larger would let you cut all the way through arms and legs … or necks."

I was entirely in favour of removing Lung's body parts until he gave us the information that we needed. Then, of course, I would kill him. He was an ongoing danger, not just to the Empire Eighty-Eight, but to all of Brockton Bay. Objectively speaking, and I was capable of seeing the world in no other way while using my power, his execution should count as a public service.

Open suit. At the mental command, the suit knelt down and the front opened up. I climbed in and settled myself into the padded interior. Victor had replaced the damaged tablet screen, placing it into a more robust frame and better heat insulation. Close suit. It buttoned up, encasing me in steel from all directions. The periscope came easily to my eyes, giving me a good view of the outside. "Testing. Testing." I could hear the modulated voice on the outside.

"Yeah, that works." Victor looked up at the suit. "What do you think?"

"It is responsive, and the modifications seem to be appropriate to the task." I had the suit turn in a complete circle, then worked the arms to the limits of their sockets. "The tungsten flechettes did not seem to have a great deal of effect when I used them last. Why did you keep them?" In the shoulder compartments, the attack drones waited with their aluminum blocks full of flechettes.

"You did some damage to him with them." He spread his hands. Analysis: attempting to get his point across. "I was thinking, if you mag-dumped them into him at relatively close range, you could really tear chunks out of him."

His point was valid. I had been relatively sparing with my shots, before. When facing Lung on his own, I would not have to be.

I spent the next few minutes discussing the other modifications with Victor. They worked well enough under test conditions, but only time would tell how effective they were in the field. He was optimistic, however, and I considered the engineering to be sufficient for my needs.

When I left the workshop again, I was satisfied that we were as ready as we could be.

<><>​

Taylor

"Hey, Dad!" I made sure to put a smile on my face as I entered his new room. The last thing I wanted was to make him think I didn't want to see him. "How are you feeling?"

He didn't answer, of course, but I was pretty sure I could see his eyes following me from under half-closed lids. The new nurse nodded respectfully to me, and I nodded back. I was sad that Mary had been killed by Shadow Stalker—by Sophia, for fuck's sake!—but I was also pleased that Mr Anders had found another nurse for Dad.

Mary, as far as I knew, had been a loyal follower of the Empire Eighty-Eight, unskilled in combat but willing to help the team where she could. Stella—she was wearing a nametag—was younger and more muscular than Mary had been, and a quick flash of my power revealed that she was wearing a concealed firearm in the small of her back. Peter had told me that she was ex-military, trained as a combat medic as well as all the skills she'd need to take care of Dad.

I approved of the precaution; only an idiot would continue to leave civilians unguarded in a sensitive location if the enemy had already gotten in once and shown willingness to harm or kill them. And Mr Anders was no idiot.

It was true that Sophia was the one who'd murdered Mary (and Circus had castigated her over it, according to Peter) and that we currently had Sophia in lockdown, but that did not mean we could relax. While Circus was probably going to be (unsurprisingly) keeping her head down for some time, there was no guarantee that Coil wouldn't come after Dad again with another cape (or two, or three). Which was why Dad was now in a different location, there were several extra layers of electronic security between him and the outside world, and Stella had access to an assault rifle stored behind an inconspicuous panel.

"Good morning, Miss Hebert." Stella didn't know I was Remote, but she did know I was very important to Mr Anders, so that was good enough. "Your father is resting comfortably. When I told him you were coming to see him, he seemed happy."

"Thanks. I'll call you if I need you." As she silently left the room, I drew a deep breath and looked down at Dad. This was the time I needed my power the most, to stop myself from breaking down into tears when I saw Dad every day, but I could not and would not cheat like that.

While I was growing up, he'd been one of the most important people in my life. He'd always been there (well, nearly always) and once Mom passed away, I needed him more than ever. Even when I disagreed with him, I loved and respected him, and I always looked for his approval in everything I did.

(He hadn't been thrilled when I joined the Empire Eighty-Eight, but he'd come around to accepting that as well.)

And now … I was having to be the strong one. Helpless in a hospital bed, with a hose feeding oxygen into his lungs (they'd told me that his breathing reflex had been impaired by the brain damage), he was the one who depended on me. While Othala was healing him, he'd been improving incrementally, day by day. But now with her death, even that was gone.

The world had been good. Things had been getting better. I'd had hope for the future.

But then Coil had decided to stick his nose where it didn't belong. Lung and Oni Lee had ambushed us; Kaiser was stuck in a wheelchair, and Othala was dead. Circus and Sophia had infiltrated the building and murdered Mary. It was only because of Peter that Dad was still alive.

No doubt Circus had reported back to Coil what they'd found out before vanishing into whatever hole they'd pulled in on themselves. Which meant he had an indeterminate amount of information about the Medhall building itself, but (hopefully) no proof of the identity of any given Empire Eighty-Eight cape. Sophia had been captured by Mr Fleischer as Kreig, but Circus had long since fled by then, so Coil wouldn't have that information.

Nobody thought for a second that Coil would stop coming after Dad. We didn't know what his turnaround time was to hire a new cape and brief them, or even how loud or quiet the next incursion was likely to be. Which was why Victor and I (mainly Victor, with some input from me) were building my next suit as fast as we could, so I could go after Lung.

It was, in my opinion, a bit of a long shot, but the fact remained that Lung had to die anyway. He had no doubt given the order for Oni Lee to kill Othala, and he'd personally crippled Mr Anders and tried to kill him. With Oni Lee already dead at my hands, that would leave the ABB without cape leadership and ready to be rolled up once we were in a position to do so.

If we could get answers out of Lung (I had my doubts; he seemed the stubborn type) about Coil, we could act on them. Otherwise, we'd have to fall back on plan B, which had the downside of being exceedingly tedious but was otherwise hard to beat. Fortunately, while my power was running, I was immune to tedium.

Pulling my chair to the side of the bed, I took Dad's hand and squeezed it. To my delight, there was a faint but detectable return pressure. I squeezed again; he returned it.

"So yeah," I said chattily, still holding his hand. "Circus got away, but we captured Shadow Stalker. Would you believe she's Sophia Hess? Literally a school bully, and she was pretending to be a superhero." I snorted derisively. "Diversity hire, more like. I could've told them she was a thug from the get-go. I mean, it's got to mean something when in a town this size there are at least two black villains, and the only black so-called hero is a murderous bitch who should've been shoved into juvey long ago and left to rot. But instead, they overlooked all that and paraded her around in the Wards. Well, I bet they're feeling pretty stupid now."

He squeezed even harder at that, which I took as agreement. Letting go his hand to rest on the covers, I took up the book from the nightstand and opened it to the bookmark. They hadn't moved the bookstand in here yet, but I could cope. Settling back in the chair, I cleared my throat and started reading out loud.

<><>​

Greg

The blindfold was tight around Greg's eyes, but he tried to control his nerves. He'd agreed to this. He'd asked for this. When Kelly had come back to him and said there would be a test, he'd just asked when and where.

Well, the 'when' was now, and the 'where' was … well, he didn't know where he was, because he'd been driven here with the blindfold on. Any attempt to Sherlock Holmes his location from the turns and stuff would've gone out the window in about thirty seconds flat, because he just didn't know Brockton Bay well enough to pull that shit off.

All he knew was that he was indoors, because there wasn't any bright light shining on the blindfold, and it felt cooler than normal. It was a kind of echoey space, but that didn't actually cut down on the number of places it could be. After Lord's Port got shut down, the number of empty and abandoned warehouses in the district had made it a mecca for minor villains and would-be vigilantes, or so Greg had heard.

Suddenly, the blindfold was pulled off his face. He blinked, looking around to get his bearings. The light in the building was dim, with only a couple of the overhead fluorescent lights illuminating the scene, but he could see fairly well anyway.

This was not necessarily a good thing.

Crowded around him were guys and girls, some he recognised and some he didn't. A lot of them had shaved heads and tattoos; all were looking at him with some degree of curiosity or interest. Some had sneers on their faces, which correlated fairly well with the ones he recognised.

"Everyone!" Kelly's voice rang out from a little distance away. "This is Greg Veder! Some of you know him as a bit of a dick, and that's reasonable, because he is one! But he's asked if he can join the Empire Eighty-Eight, and I've got my reasons for letting him try! So, everyone who doesn't think he should get in, line up between me and him!"

A bunch of the people, ones Greg didn't know, shuffled out of the way, but quite a few more stepped in to take their places. These ones he knew, alright. It seemed they recalled him as well, but not in a fun way.

Once everyone had ceased moving, Kelly spoke up again. "Okay, then. Greg, all these people between me and you have some sort of grudge with you. You want in, you gotta get past them. Go!"

Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Greg had never seen so much flat malevolence being projected at him at once. He seriously wanted to piss, but right now peeing himself was probably one of the few things that could make this situation actually worse than it was. He took a deep breath. "Okay, before we do this, I just want to say, I'm totally sorry for all the shit I ever said about you guys."

If he'd been expecting anyone to relax and step out of line, he was doomed to be disappointed. One boy cracked his knuckles. Another spat off to the side.

I can walk away, or I can do this. There was no third option. And if he walked away, he'd never be able to look any of these guys in the eye again. Or Taylor, for that matter.

It was the thought of Taylor being disappointed in him that galvanised him into action. Wrapping his arms around his head to protect his face, he clenched his eyes shut and lunged forward. Whether he succeeded or failed, he just wanted to be able to know at the end of the day that he'd tried.

The first punch bounced off his right forearm but then someone hooked him in the ribs, driving the air from his lungs. He stumbled onward, weathering punches and shoves, not even sure that he was going the right way anymore but unwilling to lower his arms and look.

Another shove, coinciding with a kick to his shin, tripped him; he landed on all fours, opening his eyes by instinct. They were yelling now, and he saw kicks coming from all directions. He scrambled onward as more blows found his arms and body.

Gathering his legs under him, he staggered to his feet, only to meet a fist coming the other direction that caught him in the mouth. Down he went again, landing heavily on his back. He was barely able to breathe by now, and he curled up in a foetal position to try to shield himself from the worst of it.

After a moment, the punishment abated. He fought for breath as he uncurled and looked around to see them staring down at him. Kelly was there, in full view, only a few yards away.

As he tried to come to his feet again, they closed in once more. Slaps and punches and kicks assailed him from all sides, but he lurched toward his goal. Someone tripped him, but this time he just kept going on all fours until he ran into a pair of legs that didn't move aside and didn't try to kick him.

Looking up, he saw Kelly's face, and a hand extended downward. He gingerly accepted it, and Kelly hauled him to his feet. There were bruises on his face and body, he knew, and he was wobbly on his feet, but he'd made it.

"So, you still want to join?" asked Kelly.

Greg nodded. "Yeah. I do."

Kelly had to raise his voice to be heard over the cheers and shouts of congratulation. "Good. You get a week to think about it, then next Saturday's your final initiation." He clapped Greg on the shoulder. "Well done, Veder."

He knew he didn't have to think about it. This was what he wanted. As he was repeatedly slapped on the back by the others—a far cry from the punches and kicks he'd been enduring just moments before—he knew he'd never felt more alive.

Taylor's going to be so proud of me.

<><>​

Taylor

Tammi and I were talking quietly with Peter—Dad had drifted off to sleep a while ago—when Justin opened the door and leaned into the room. "Lung's been spotted," he reported, keeping his voice down. "He's got a couple dozen of his people with him, and he's burning shop-fronts. They say he's calling out for the Tinker bitch to stop hiding and come face him."

"Oh, he is, is he?" I came to my feet. It didn't matter that I wasn't actually a Tinker, nor was I trying to hide from him. He was wrong in every possible way about me except one (that I was a girl) and I was still pissed at him.

"Taylor, you don't have to do this," Peter began. "The last time you faced him—"

"The last time I faced him, I hadn't known I was going to fight him, and I hadn't prepped for it." I leaned over Dad and adjusted his covers slightly, then kissed him gently on the forehead. It was Lung's fault that he was in that bed, so I was going out to get some payback.

Justin stepped back out of my way as I exited the room and waited for the other two to follow me out before I closed it. "We've got your back, you know that. You don't have to do this alone."

I looked him in the eye. "I appreciate it, but we both know your ghosts can barely touch him. He literally heals their stab wounds faster than they can stick him with their spears. Besides, he tore up Kaiser last time out while I was right there. I need to show Brockton Bay that that shit doesn't fly."

"You know Hookwolf's gonna want a piece of him, and Stormtiger too." Tammi was hustling along at my shoulder. "And I wouldn't mind dropping a firetruck or two on his fuckin' head."

"They've had their chance." My jaw was set. "And he's too good at dodging when he's ramped up. If we beat him by dogpiling him, we'll just look like little bitches, and there's always the chance he'll get hold of someone and tear them apart like he tried to do with Kaiser. We need him focused on me."

"But he nearly wrecked your suit, the last time," Peter protested. "I saw what it was like, afterward. It was a mess."

"A lot of that was Glory Girl," I reminded him. "Victor and I saw what worked, and what needed work, and he's reinforced the suit. Lung's the whole reason Dad's in a coma, and Othala's dead. I know how to hurt him, and I'm pretty sure I can kill him."

There was worry in Tammi's eyes as she faced me outside the elevator down to Victor's workshop. "Okay, if you're sure. But I'll have your back anyway."

"We both will," Justin added. "All the way there and back again."

"Thanks," I said, then hugged them both. Better friends, I couldn't ask for. "I appreciate it." Then I gave Peter both a hug and a kiss; just because he wasn't a cape didn't mean he couldn't support me. His love meant more to me than anything in the world.

He held me tightly for a moment. "Please, come back safe."

I squeezed him back. "Damn right I will." The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside. "Time to go kill a fucking dragon."

<><>​

Remote

Even wheelchair-bound, Mr Anders was showing that his will was unbent by his injuries. Hookwolf and Stormtiger were, as predicted by Rune, demanding that they be unleashed on Lung instead of me. He was adamant, however, which didn't do their equilibrium any good.

"You've gotta be shitting me!" Hookwolf raged over the radio link that we were all currently sharing.

I was almost alone in the back of the truck that was conveying me to where Lung was perpetrating his rampage and proving our point that he didn't deserve to live another hour longer. Outside the suit, Victor was looking his handiwork over and ensuring that he hadn't forgotten anything at the last moment. I could've put his mind at ease—my power could analyse the makeup of the suit down to the last screw, bolt and ball-bearing—but I suspected he needed this to keep his mind off the upcoming battle.

"I assure you, I am not." In contrast, Mr Anders was coldly precise. "You have not seen Remote in action. She is the only member of the Empire Eighty-Eight to have successfully driven off Lung twice, out of two encounters. Her suit survived the first encounter largely intact, and Victor assures me he's improved on its capabilities since."

"Fucking bullshit pretend Tinker tech," scoffed Stormtiger. "It's not real Tinker tech. No force fields, or brain lasers, or even real lasers. That's what you need to fight Lung. Not some kid in a puppet suit."

I keyed the radio mic. "No, what you need to beat Lung is an awareness of how to take away his strengths and get past his defenses. You've just been trying to fight him. I intend to kill him."

"Big words." Hookwolf's voice was a sneer. "There's no way you can do this on your own."

"You never laid a hand on Oni Lee, in all the time you were fighting him," I reminded him. "I broke his arm in our first encounter, and killed him in our second one. Now it's Lung's turn."

"Ooooooohhhh," Crusader broke in. "Daaaaaaamn."

"Enough," Krieg snapped. "Kaiser says this is Remote's show, so this is Remote's show. Unless you have something constructive to say, don't say anything at all."

"We're nearly there." Victor's tone was calm and measured. "Reports say Lung's on the next block."

"I will be getting out here," I said, taking control of the truck and pulling it to the side of the road. At my command, the rear doors opened and the clamps holding the suit in place disengaged. "Feel free to distract his men. Lung is mine."

"Copy that." Flying overhead on a new metal disc, Rune had a large number of pieces of metal she could use as projectiles at a moment's notice. "Go kick that overgrown lizard's scaly metal tail right up his ugly ass."

"In the figurative sense, I intend to do just that." Performing that act literally seemed a little unrealistic, but I understood the gist of what she was trying to convey.

I climbed down out of the truck, and headed in the direction of where I understood Lung to be. While the suit wasn't as fast as the truck, its legs were longer than mine so I could still maintain a reasonable speed. As I ran, I popped both auxiliary units and sent them skyward; one to give me a better picture of the situation, and the other to act as flying artillery.

The camera came online, sending its images to the tablet before my eyes. As I watched, Lung sent another gout of flame roaring into a shop-front. People burst from the open doorway, some of them on fire. I did not feel anger, because I could not, but I knew he needed to be stopped.

"This is Remote. Engaging."

I sent the armed auxiliary unit down in a steep dive toward Lung. He looked up more quickly than I had expected, but that did not help when the flechette launcher began firing on him. Wary of his speed in dodging, I did not loose every single flechette in a single shotgun blast, but instead I started shooting them at him, at a high rate of fire.

He was already ramped up, more than we had hoped but less than we feared. A few of the flechettes sparked off his tough metal scales where the angle of incidence was inconvenient, but the rest blasted chunks out of him. Lightweight they may have been, but the flechettes were hitting at extreme velocities, far higher than an assault rifle could deliver them.

As Victor had advised, I emptied the entire 'magazine' into him, blasting the armour clear off his right thigh and some of his stomach and chest. He staggered backward, blood boiling out of the injured area, though he was very clearly not out of the fight yet. A burst of flame reached out for the auxiliary unit, but I danced it out of the way and headed it back toward my suit, where a reload awaited.

"Coward!" I heard him bellow. "Fight me face to face, not with machines!"

At that moment, I came around the corner. "As you wish," I said over the suit's speakers. The auxiliary unit landed, discarded its empty block, and latched onto another one. In the meantime, I was closing with him. The flechettes had never been meant to win the battle for me, just soften him up.

Lung's followers saw me and opened fire with everything from low-calibre pistols to high-velocity assault rifles. This, then, had been his plan; to lure me out and then have his minions execute me with massed gunfire. It was as cowardly and underhanded a plan as he had accused me of. Had I been capable of feeling emotions, I might even have been offended.

Victor's handiwork showed its worth, however; although the cacophony of the ricocheting bullets was audible even through my noise-cancelling earpieces, not a single round got through, or even did any noticeable damage to the suit. I expressed my lack of concern for the bullet storm by not even reacting to it, never deviating in my path toward the man who had briefly been my nemesis before I became his. When I was just a few yards away, he opened his mouth and I saw flames billowing up out of his throat.

I turned to narrow my profile down. While the suit had its heat-reduction ductwork, it was better not to be struck by flame at all. Accordingly, I braced myself and brought up my left forearm in a classic blocking motion; unfolding from the back of it was a lightweight aluminum framework covered in the same kind of ceramic heat tiles that they'd used on the Space Shuttle, back when it was still in use.

The blast of flame hit the shield and splashed outward from it. Flimsy though it was—a thrown knife probably would have penetrated it with ease—it weathered the massive heat spike with little in the way of problems. Only a few parts of the suit were contacted by the raging inferno, and the ducted water pulled the heat away quickly.

Armed with the new block of ammunition, the auxiliary unit took to the air again. In the meantime, Lung's followers seemed to be either reloading or standing back to see what happened next. Nobody wanted to get between him and his chosen prey.

As the rush of flame died down, I stepped forward, folding the shield away. Lung came for me then, blazing with fire and steel talons spread to rend me limb from limb. I lashed out with the chain from my right arm, the reel on my back spinning as it dispensed the jointed metallic tentacle.

It wrapped around his right thigh where the first burst of flechettes had shredded away the protective scales, then I turned the blades into the correct alignment—heavier than the first iteration, they were able to support more sawteeth—and started them spinning. At first they had trouble getting a purchase on his scales, then they chewed their way through. Lung clearly didn't like the idea of this; temporarily abandoning the attempt to get at me, he grabbed the chain with both hands and yanked hard at it.

I wasn't sure whether he was trying to reel me in or break the chain, but neither one was in my plans. The blades where he was holding the chain started spinning as well; as it turned out, the scales on his palms and fingers weren't nearly as durable as those protecting his thighs. In less than a second, he was devoid of any working fingers. The chain around his thigh was also still tightening by the second, the high-speed blades tearing through his muscles and into the bone like an out-of-control chainsaw, only more so.

When the blades broke through the bone and the leg separated, he was perhaps as surprised as his minions. I was also a little surprised when I realised part of the already-cut muscle had begun to reattach, but that was easily remedied by expanding the circle of the chain again. Wrapping around the severed limb, the chain tossed it off to the side.

However, Lung was not that easy to put down, in any sense of the phrase. Balancing on one leg, aided in this by his tail and his one remaining saurian tridactyl foot, he vomited a blast of flame at me, followed up by an overhand smash with both his hands (from which the fingers were still growing back). Unfortunately for him, I saw the move coming and reacted the way Peter had trained me; grabbing his right wrist in both hands, I twisted away from his left hand and performed a reasonable shoulder throw. The flame washed over me before I'd completed the move, but the ductwork was performing its job effectively, pulling the heat out of the metal surrounding me.

Lung smashed down onto his back, and I swooped the armed auxiliary unit in for a strike. Keeping him on the ground seemed like a good idea, so I directed one burst at his left knee, the flechettes chewing through it until only muscle and sinew held it together. Paradoxically, they would have punched straight through a baseline human, but as Victor had calculated, Lung's denser flesh caused the kinetic energy in the high-velocity rounds to blast fist-sized chunks out of his body, like heavy-calibre bullets striking wood or stone.

He burst fully into flames then, but it did him no good. I walked the next burst up over his stomach and chest to his head, ripping aside scales and bones and exposing his heart and lungs. By now he had lost his mask, and the last shots in the burst tore off half his jaw and part of his skull.

Bereft of working legs and with nothing that he could really use for hands, he still did his best to get up and keep fighting. His wounds would have killed any normal man ten times over, but Lung was no quitter. Were I capable of admiring anything at that point, I may have admired his stubbornness and tenacity.

Of course, it wouldn't have changed the outcome in the slightest.

He hit me with a third blast of flame, raising the temperature of the water in my storage tanks to near boiling. It was getting uncomfortably warm within the suit, but it still wasn't as bad as it had been during my previous combat with him. Besides, I had plans for that water.

My chain flicked out and wrapped around his right arm, just above the elbow. Bright metal scales, stained with blood, flew off in all directions as the cutting blades engaged and began to tear into his arm. With the amount of damage I was doing to him, his regeneration was starting to falter, but still he fought on.

The water reservoir on my back was much more than a simple tank. Using pumps and valves, I separated out the live steam from the still-liquid water, then directed each into its own section. As he tried again to douse me with flame—it seemed he had trouble learning that his big move wasn't working so well anymore—I activated a heretofore quiescent nozzle mounted alongside my right wrist.

Steam pressure, building all the time from the heat pouring into the system, propelled high-temperature (but still liquid) water out of the nozzle in a cutting jet. Emerging with sufficient speed and energy to slice solid steel like butter, it lopped off his left arm at the shoulder with barely a pause, carving through scales, flesh and bone alike.

At the same time, the cutting chain chewed through the scales and muscle of his right arm and set to work on the bone. The blades, tough as they were, had been worn down by the stellar work they'd performed so far, so they were taking a bit more time. That was fine by me.

I knelt down alongside Lung, and reached inside his open chest to take hold of his beating heart in my mechanical grip. "Tell me one thing, and I will make this quick," I said to him. "Who betrayed us? Who sold us out?"

With his one good eye (the other had been blasted to ruin and beyond by the last burst of the auxiliary unit), he glared up at me, then a chuckle that was more akin to a death-rattle forced its way from his throat. He tried to spit at me; I would later find spatters of blood on the suit's 'visor'. "Coi … ugh …" he rasped, his speech distorted by his own power mutation and the loss of half his jaw. But it was enough. Coil.

"Thank you," I said, and released his heart. Then I sliced his head off with the water jet, leaving a three-inch channel in the roadway under his neck. It rolled free, and I picked it up.

As I rose to my feet, I looked around. The members of the ABB he'd brought along were no longer there, except for a few prisoners being held tightly by Crusader's ghosts. Others lay wounded or dead in the roadway, victims of Crusader and Rune.

I held up Lung's head for them to see. "Lung is dead," I announced. "The ABB is no more. Spread the word." Then I turned and started back toward where the rest of the Empire Eighty-Eight contingent awaited me.

I knew this was no time to be complacent. Even with Othala and Kaiser avenged, we still had to figure out how to take the fight to Coil. But I had faith in Victor to figure out something.

And someday, preferably soon …

… Coil would face me too.



End of Part Twenty-Five