Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

-28-

Three years.

It took three years.

Time and time again the files were banned, cut, redacted, lost, corrupted. Three years.

Heidi had been getting more and more rabid over each take down of her files over the years. She was pissed.

Mysterion had done their job well, Heidi Turner was as dead as a doornail and buried where no one would find her, how they’d managed to get such a convincing body left behind with only Heidi’s loaned teeth in its mouth Viktoria figured she’d never know.

But that didn’t mean Heidi herself had any interest in staying under the radar and Viktoria had played the devil on her shoulder, egging her on as the other woman became more and more incensed.

It all came to a head one day, after three years of failure.

So Heidi dug in her heels and this time, she started quiet.

Targeted.

Purposeful.

Meanwhile, over the years, Viktoria and her little band of misfits had become the beginning of a trend.

Villains were a thing as common as the heroes who fought them these days.

Half Brother, who had the most peculiarly personal feud with the Raccoon, there was that one escaped military war-droid who had some sort of will-they-wont-they with Fast Pass, and most recently a troublesome little minx that was a pain in Viktoria’s side.

The Red Sorceress.

Not Chaos’ best showing, when that— that damnable seductress conned the Professor out of her own damn invention. A cloaking device that now let the Sorceress get anywhere utterly unseen. It was infuriating.

A smooth talking pretty face, alluring waves of scarlet hair cascading down her back and a laugh like cackling bonfire.

She was a wild thing, like a night out in the dry woods, the thrill of embers floating into the night.

Goddamn.

Viktoria had fallen for the thrill, so familiar and yet so different.

Turns out playing with fire was too different of a beast than dancing in the rain.

One left you laughing, breathless for more.

The other left you burned.

Red’s specialty was persuasion, though Viktoria had yet to figure out if it was a Meta ability or just a skill.

The Sorceress used it to con her way out of trouble and into it. She had her hands on anything and everything she could get. She targeted shipping lines, and ransoms. She stole and sold and held captives until folks paid up all with an over sweet grin and a lipstick stain on her coffee cups.

She went after villains and civilians and heroes alike.

Then, one day as Viktoria sat up late into the night cursing over the latest shipping drop that had been derailed by that silver tongued she-devil, Heidi had come out of the dark, set a hand on Viktoria’s shoulder, took the laptop from her hands and sent her off to bed.

“I’ll handle this.” She said bitterly.

The next day, there were news headlines.

Viktoria almost wiped a proud tear as she patted a weeping Dougie’s back.

“Vigilantism!” He wailed performatively, ‘fainting’ into Viktoria’s side, “oh, where did we go wrong? I thought we raised you right!”

“I’m two years older than you, Doug.” Heidi bit back, not even looking up from the screen that was rapidly filling up with poison green code.

“So rude.” Bebé teased, turning up the volume to the television. The news was covering how the very street the Red Sorceress had attacked had come alive on its own.

Every electronic, every single construct with a promgrammable chip, had converged and fought back against the summoned demons of the red villianess.

Magic.

Another thing Viktoria could no longer deny.

Magic existed and ran rampant in the hands of the right users. The Goths had cornered the market as The Black Coven but still it managed to spread further and further.

It eluded Viktoria, despite her best efforts. It required…too much precision, too much consistency for her to properly handle.

But Heidi had a knack for it. Many nights spent up late with any Goth that took a bit of time out of their days to show her, and she blossomed with it at her fingertips.

Mage-tech she called it, interlaying her code with words of power and carving sigils into power lines. Rewriting how the world worked around her and that which came to be hers.

The poison green light of any appliance she controlled became a well known sight. The mysterious vigilante, so far unnamed, was trusted by the public.

The words projected from the code, the information given out was always good, many believed that green light was a living spirit, or even the technology itself coming alive, and Heidi reveled in it.

And then, one day, Heidi had decided to return to her original goal.

It started like this.

In the living room Viktoria was sat on the ground with Dougie’s feet set up on her bent back as she tinkered with a contraption that was proving stubborn. He was splayed out on the couch with his phone volume turned all the way up so everyone could hear Gordan Ramsey reaming out the latest Hell Kitchen’s contestants. Bebé was curled up in her chair, ostensibly reading but in practice was absolutely just listening to Dougie’s phone. Possibly scrolling through her own looking at fashion warehouse catalogs.

Everyone looked up as Heidi made her entrance, slamming the door open and carrying her laptop under her arm.

“I’m done being covert.” She announced, marching forward and shoving all of Viktoria’s tools and doohickies off the coffee table with a sweep of her arm. Dougie and Viktoria scrambled out of her way as Bebé perked up in interest and Heidi sat down on the couch, opened her laptop, and started typing.

Dougie and Bebé both watch her with some confusion but Viktoria’s face carves into her most villainous grin as Heidi’s meaning dawns on her.

“Is that so?” She drawls and Heidi sniffs. Her code blinks poisonous grin on her tar black screen, one finger hovering over the enter key.

“You have a name yet?” She asks.

Heidi pauses.

“Something like that.” She replies, and hits the enter key.

The lights flicker as the base’s personal generator takes the full load of running all the systems. They don’t syphon much off the city power line, too traceable, but Viktoria laughs to hear it anyways.

The city is plunged into darkness for two days and a half. Emergency services run, shelters and charities and hospitals are completely unaffected.

But everything else?

Blacked out.

It’s glorious. Utterly glorious.

The best minds of the city working around the clock to get the power back on and they accomplish nothing.

Viktoria, Dougie and Bebé are out on the street when the power returns. Cacophony perched on a flagpole as Chaos and Disarray lounge in the ornate windowsill of an older building near the heart of the city.

They are also in the perfect vantage point to witness nearly every digital screen, phone, computers, billboards, across the entire city go poison green.

And then the evidence starts to play.

Security footage, at first, then it descends into madness. Evidence after evidence, the horrific depths of the H.E.R.O program, outlined in red ink for all to see.

Viktoria cackles as people below rush to and fro. People are shouting, something gets set on fire, Viktoria wonders if heroes will be deployed or not.

She wonders if they’ll dare.

Executive Disconnect.

The shadowy figure that’s become the center of the media circus for days now.

(“Executive Dysfunction was right there.” Dougie teased and Heidi threw a pillow at him.)

She was a faceless terror, and utterly impossible to defend against, even when Call-Girl came against her, head to head, code to code, there was some headway.

Pushing the hacker out of some areas of the internet, but never fully into retreat.

The hero’s previous dominance across the interweb was challenged now, a push and pull, and the H.E.R.O project’s power was challenged too.

There were protests flooding the streets. A sudden wave of rage that ignited not just in the city, but throughout the country.

There was a mad scramble to contain it but, for once, the government’s pet attack dogs did not dig their teeth into the first warm body they were pointed at.

When the heroes did appear, days after the initial cyberattack, it seemed like the world stood on a precipice, unsure of how it would fall.

A hush came over the crowd at first when they spotted Toolshed, Fast Pass and Human Kite watching the riot.

Even Viktoria, half observing the news feed on a screen from the safety of her workshop, set down her blowtorch and flipped up her welding mask to turn her attention to it.

The heroes seemed…almost curious. Kite was the first to make a move.

Hovering down towards the ground where he landed.

He had never landed before, never in all of Viktoria’s memory.

He let the cameras focus on him. His too long limbs, his writhing tail and untamed mane of red tendrils that seemed to move on their own. His wings which denied all terran biology.

He knelt down to let a little girl pull off his hood and goggles. He blinked and the camera focused on his face. The obvious multiple eyelids, the scales of his face that shined under the light, mostly pale but a few were darker, giving the faint impression of freckles.

The little girl paused for a moment, then seemed to steel herself. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him, burying her face in his neck.

He paused, clearly unsure, and then gently wrapped his arms around her, the camera focusing on his heartbroken expression as he buried his face into her hair, and then it panned to his wagging tail.

Clips spread like wildfire over the internet.

Not just the mistreatment of the heroes, who had apparently been collected and trained since they were children, which was in fact news to Viktoria.

But also there came evidence from Homes for Meta Children all over the country.

Shock therapy and starvation and beatings and- and- and—

Weeks went by. Each one full of chaos and confusion, and Viktoria could hardly even revel in it.

She was walking down the street, trying to clear her whirling head.

Another riot echoing on some block or two away. The riot police were called because the heroes had finally decided to throw their weight around and refuse.

And now Viktoria was trying to shake her head free of those thoughts because even before she did know, logically, that the heroes were coerced in some fashion, that they were mistreated and threatened and captive. But she never dwelled too long on it, if she had been able to shrug off the cowardice of her youth, why couldn’t they?

But now…

Now it torments her, night and day, to look on any social feed and see video after video of kids just like her beaten and twisted into weapons. It was real now, people cared now.

Because it was their precious heroes and not some dumb little girl that no one would miss—-

Her shins slammed into something, a person who was kneeling on the sidewalk, and she went tumbling to the ground.

“Oh! Shit!” Exclaimed a voice, like summer rain, distant thunder, like corvid wings taking flight.

“Sorry, are you okay?”

Viktoria wheezed a breath, one hand covering her face against the light of the day.

“Yeah, yeah i’m fine.” She drawled as she moved to sit up. A warm, calloused hand suddenly in her own.

The touch felt like an electric shock, Viktoria barely containing her own lighting under her skin as she ripped her hand away.

“Jesus! Sorry, yeah i should’ve asked.” Said the voice and Viktoria shakes her head.

“No, no, you’re— you’re all good.” She replies, squinting up at the person she must’ve tripped over. But the sun is haloed directly above them, shining straight into Viktoria’s eyes, so all Viktoria could make out was a silhouette.

I must look so stupid. She thinks to herself thank god i remembered my scar exists for once, and thank god Bebé is magic with concealer.

Viktoria was in no mood for annoying questions today. Her mind was buzzing.

“Visiting someone?” The stranger asked and Viktoria paused.

“What?” She muttered back, finally moving to stand. Though, out of the corner of her eye, Viktoria saw the stranger point.

Viktoria turned her head to see what looked like a monument. A plain brick wall— filled with papers. Newspapers, magazines articles, photos printed on plain printer paper and family portraits. All pinned up layered like the feathers in an albatross’s wing.

“It’s…everyone who’s been lost.” The stranger said, voice strained.

“And what were you doing knelt on the ground?” Viktoria asked, tracing name after name, face after face, with a finger.

“I was giving her flowers.” The stranger replied “because i was too chicken shit to do it before. And…she deserves flowers.”

Viktoria paused. Staring.

Her own face plastered on the wall. A photograph that was printed through a printer jam, half the rest of the photo was corrupted, the ink all bleeding.

Most of it had been torn off. Leaving only little Marjorine.

Smiling into the lens of an old disposable camera. Eleven years old, with a perfectly pressed dress and perfectly curled hair, a church girl sweet as a peach on a summer’s day. Snuggled into the side of the person who was holding the camera.

They were glitched, corrupted, torn out of the photo.

“It’s funny.” Whispered the voice behind Viktoria, almost to themself. “You look…so familiar.”

“What did you say your name was again?” Viktoria asked, voice cracking as her mind buzzed and her power hissed under her skin, turning to face the stranger.

Except the street was empty.

Not another soul.

Viktoria blinked against the harsh sun, then flinched at the sudden tightness in her chest.

She clutched it, at the pain in her head.

She had forgotten something again, she knew she had. So close, so close. Just to have it ripped away again, torn off with her bloody fingernails for holding onto it at all.

The sound of shattering glass broke her from her thoughts and she looked down.

A small, baby blue vase lay broken under her foot. She stepped away, crouching down to gather the fallen flowers. Forget-me-nots, bluebells and weeping purple hyacinths.

And at the center, hidden in the shards of ceramic and the scattered petals, was the small skull of a rat.

It must’ve been inside the vase.

Carefully, Viktoria picked it up and looked into its empty eyes. A memory sparking, like a half forgotten dream.

The once pristine skull had a crack through one eye socket now and Viktoria wondered if that, too, was her own doing.

Too?

The scent of the flowers mixing with the fading smell of rain.

-29-

In hindsight, she should have known the Raccoon was suspect when he tracked her down.

A year and a half had seen the country torn apart, not quite civil war, but it was threatening to be.

The heroes too, seemed emboldened. They still acted to stop Chaos when she surfaced with some scheme or another, and opinions about the mysterious Executive were mixed, though the drained bank accounts of billionaires into charities by poison green code was all she had to say on the matter.

In public at least, in private Heidi cackled like a mad-woman at every news reel that condemned another riot, at every protest.

The Chaos Allegiance had nothing to do with her, they were very careful to keep it all seperate. But perhaps the name is what gave it away.

No matter how it came about, somehow the Raccoon came tracking down Viktoria Chaos.

She was in her lecture hall when he appeared. She’d been hired on as a professor of thermodynamics not long ago and had taken great joy in the art of lecturing.

It was like villainous monologuing, but her audience didn’t need to be physically tied up! Even if they were just as unhappy to be there, they couldn’t leave!

It was glorious.

It was about a good few months into her first year of teaching that she spotted him in the audience.

Not in the front and not in the back, but dead center. Bullseye.

As much of the center of attention as she was.

She barely stumbled over her words when she saw him, but her Dear Mystery had thrown her much bigger surprises than an unexpected face smiling out of a crowd of overtired college students.

The hero had stuffed his ears under a winter hat, his tail was probably in his coat and his scarf hid the fur that went up his neck.

That rather explained why he’d waited this long to appear, it was the dead of winter, and he wasn’t the only one in cold weather gear.

Viktoria saw him and smiled, he grinned right back, mouth full of sharp teeth.

Viktoria finished her lecture, sent the kids home early. 18, 19 and 20 year olds mostly. She watched them file out, thinking of herself when she was that age. She wonders if she would’ve been among them, had things been different.

He approached her, right up to her desk.

He was not tall, but he walked with a swagger. Like he was on top of the world.

He had a charm to him, Viktoria admitted— perhaps if he was a woman she’d find it as enthralling as it seemed so many others had. Perhaps she’d even consider to forgive the thousand things he had said about her over the years.

Moldy carpet eater, overweight electrical socket, tranny who couldn’t make up its mind, Frankenstein wannabe. And, of course, rabid fucking bitch.

Oh, but no. No of course not.

Viktoria Chaos did not forgive.

So she found the way he boldly walked right up to her irritating, perhaps insulting.

She smiled anyways. She can admit to being…intrigued.

She preferred to stand during her lectures, pacing as she spoke, the projector lighting up the screen behind her.

She did not sit now, choosing instead to lean against her desk and tilt her head.

“A transfer student?” She asked wryly “this late in the season?”

The Raccoon shrugged, grinning, all charm and teeth and scheming.

“Something like that.” He says slyly, “Professor Chaos.”

Viktoria laughs.

“Please” she says “just call me Vik! No need to get anyone confused!”

“Confused.” The Raccoon drawls, “right. Well, i have a proposal—“

“Oh, i’m flattered but no thank you.” Vik waves him off, pushing away from her desk and walking around to stand behind it. Gathering her papers.

“You’re…not exactly my type. Though—“ she pauses and looks him up and down, grinning as he bristles “you wouldn’t look half bad in heels.”

He scowls at her.

“I’d look amazing in heels.” He grumbles, then he spots something. He reaches out, a claw tipped finger brushing over the forehead of a small rat’s skull perched on her desk.

Viktoria snatched it away from him, clutching it in both hands. Her expression must be thunderous as the pair lock eyes.

Slowly, he leans back with a too-pleased grin.

“A keepsake?”

“A gift.” Viktoria replies sharply, gently tucking the rat skull into a soft handkerchief and then laying it in her bag. Swaddled in her winter coat, that she had shed for the lecture.

“A gift from that girl you’ve been searching for?” The Raccoon asks and Viktoria freezes.

“What.” She says, voice flat and sharp. Her power roiling under her skin.

The Raccoon shrugs.

“Its obvious to anyone who looks at you twice. You’ve been looking for someone. People don’t realize it because it always slips out of their minds, doesn’t it?” But you’re pretty fucking obvious when someone knows what to look for.” He chuckles though when Viktoria only glares at him he sobers. Rolling his shoulers.

“Look, you’re immune to Iron Maiden, so whatever made anyone forget whoever that girl is skipped you. At least…somewhat. Am i wrong?”

Viktoria stands to her full height, well over the Raccoon, she looms over him across the desk and lets her lightning subtly wreath around her arms.

She doesn’t want to risk any other faculty seeing the truth of her.

But the threat clearly makes the Raccoon’s fur stand on end, he glances down and swallows, but maintains himself convincingly well. Even as Viktoria smiles her most threatening cheshire grin.

“And…how’d you figure this? Why shouldn’t i just fry you here and now?” She drawls in a sickeningly sweet voice.

“Why, where i come from, we roasted rodents of all sorts when money ran short. And you’ve got some might fine meat on your bones.”

“As much as i’m sure my meat can turn any old dyke,” Raccoon tried to scoff “i’ve got a better proposal.”

“I told ya.” Viktoria snarled, pulling back and stuffing her papers into her bag before turning to leave.

“I ain’t interested.”

“Even if it could find your little girlfriend?”

Viktoria pauses, slowly, she turns back to him.

She raises an eyebrow and he smiles wide. Clearly he knows his bait has hooked the fish.

She approaches him again as he rummages through his bag and pulls out what looks like a book.

It’s made of leather, at first glance, the cover thick and old, carved with impossibly dizzying patterns.

The Raccoon flips through some pages, full of incomprehensible writing.

Though some pages had strange little notes scrawled in the margins in what looked like blue crayon. A small child’s handwriting, yet promising death and destruction, a nearly entropic contrast that made Viktoria all the more fascinated.

But as she leaned in, there was a sharp tug in the back of her head a—

“Then i’ll dream of you!”

“You’ll go mad.”

She winces.

A half memory. Slipping from her fingers just as quickly as it dug teeth into them. There and gone.

The Raccoon is talking, she clenches her hands around the edge of her desk to ground herself as she manages to tune into his annoying voice.

“—so the two are actually the same. If something isn’t dreamed of, it’s not remembered. And this book is made of dreams. Get it?”

Viktoria nods, because like hell is she going to show him any weakness.

“So if something is dreamed of, it is remembered and if it’s remembered it can be brought back.” His mouth quirks into a there and gone again smirk.

“Or changed.”

“What’re you meanin’?” Viktoria asks bluntly, her voice falling. Her accent thickening just a touch more than she would typically let it.

The Raccoon smiles sweetly.

“You remember your little girlfriend, or whoever it is you’re trying to find, so! We can bring her back!” He says brightly, holding up the book with what appears to be some sort of ritual outlined step-by-step.

Viktoria eyes him warily.

“That’s all swell and good, but you can’t expect me to believe you’re doin’ this out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Of course not.” He says, dismissively waving a hand. “I’ve got my own changes to make.”

“Changes?” She asks drily.

“Imagine it.” He says “a world with none of these troubles. No Homes for Meta Youths, no Meta Registrations, no villains, no heroes. Where the low and the beaten are given their due. With this we can remake the world!” He exclaims, holding up the book.

“Have every one who has ever wronged us kiss our feet, everything we’ve ever wanted! Every little thing, perfect, just for us.” He takes a shuddering breath and smiles at her, full of excitement.

“You said you wanted to change the world once. Well, this is how we do it.”

There’s a shine to his eyes that Viktoria can recognize. It’s…not quite the same as the madness she sees in the mirror.

It doesn’t seem to be part of him, it doesn’t seem to be fun for him.

It’s…wrong.

There’s something wrong with him.

“I’ll change the world, alright.” She tells him plainly, throwing her bag over her shoulder. “But i wont be using some old cursed book to do it.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, before the Raccoon finally sighs.

“Fine.” He mutters “suit yourself, i don’t need your help anyway.”

She nods and moves to leave, but pauses. Looking back over her shoulder.

“And that page you left for your team wasn’t one you needed?” She asks drily.

To his credit, he freezes for barely a heartbeat before scoffing.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Viktoria snorts.

“Sure you don’t.”

And she leaves.

At first she intends to send the Freedom League a message that their wayward rodent is planning something but…

She had a heist that night and the loveliest dance with her Dear Mystery, going home with the bruises kicked into her smiling jaw to prove it and—

Well, It slipped her mind.

A week later, one of the generators she’d been developing is just…gone.

None of the security measures have reacted, nothing except a patch of cold air left behind.

And a smell like rotting leaf litter, like mud and a flooded riverbed.

Fury floods her veins like nothing else.

She was, perhaps, too quick to blame Mysterion. They had never done anything so underhanded before, but at the time that knowledge had merely worsened her sense of betrayal.

“Why would i take your battery, Chaos? When have i ever done something like that?” They pointed out as Chaos fumed on the rooftop.

“It was your power signature! I’m sure of it, not another soul exists that’s like you.”

And Mysterion…Mysterion flinched at her words.

Mysterion never flinched, not from pain, not from fear, not from anything.

It shocked Chaos from her rage, if only for a moment.

Mysterion was about to reply before they were interrupted. Alarms, loud and klaxon, wailing in the distance.

“What the—“ Chaos was cut off as the ground shook with violence, throwing her off her feet and nearly straight off the rooftop if not for the strong arm suddenly around her waist, pulling her back to safety.

Mysterion had one arm holding her and the other digging through their cloak before pulling out that cursed radio.

A twisted dial had it suddenly bursting into noise as Call Girl’s voice flooded from the speakers, barking orders. Her team replying with short affirmatives as they set about their tasks.

“Whatever this is, it’s big.” Mysterion says as they pull Chaos up to stand on her own again, “shit. Alright. We’ll settle this later, i need to go.”

“Like hell.” Chaos replies.

“What?”

“What do you take me for?” She asks, gesturing to the streets shaking and crumbling below. “I’m part of this city too.”

Mysterion studies her for a moment, then they nod under their hood.

“Alright.” They say “anything you need?”

Chaos grimaces and pulls out her communicator.

“I need to make a few calls.”

“You know,” Fast Pass’ voice floats over the newly connected comm lines, “you d-don’t make a half b-bad hero.”

“Never say that to me again.” General Disarray bites back and Chaos has to fight a laugh.

She’s set herself as a power line of a sort, providing electricity that keeps Executive Disconnect a means to keep most wifi and emergency systems online as she remotely takes over most of this sector of the city.

Electric cars with green lights ferrying civilians out of high danger zones in time with the high mobility heroes— and Lieutenant Cacophony.

Chaos also knows that the Executive is keeping elevators from stalling, hospital equipment from short circuiting and all sorts of other facets of the city from giving way.

The earth continues to shake and split, strange obsidian obelisks rising out of the ground as the sky tears itself open, black water pouring into the streets.

Chaos, who lacks the high mobility of the majority of the heroes (and Cacophony), stays in place, feeding electricity into the power lines like a generator as well as maintaining a protective charged field around herself and the small group of refugees that have coalesced around her.

A number crawled out of the wreckage, a few others got dropped off by Cacophony or Disarray on the hoverboard. Heroes will come by to ferry them further from ground-0 in turns but whenever one person goes, there always seems to be another taking shelter under her lightning when she turns around.

Chaos assumes she should be a bit insulted by essentially being used as a waiting room, but she finds she doesn’t mind.

Not only because of the small children that have decided to sit at her feet, she finds herself making small gadgets for them out of scraps she has around when she’s not helping direct the evacuation effort with Call Girl and, presumably, the Iron Maiden. Though Chaos is not able to hear his communications as he still refuses to touch her mind and, according to Super Strike, he’s not permitted to have a comm link by his handler which…

Chaos chooses not to think about for now.

The parents watch her warily, but when one little child toddles up to her. Quiet but wide eyed, and reaches out tiny, chubby hands— sparking with golden static shocks, Chaos has to pause.

“Why, hello there.” She murmurs, sliding off the bit of concrete debris she’d been sitting on and kneeling.

Her own, gauntlet clad hand reaches out gently, sparking with her white lightning.

The gold and white meeting in a bright sizzling spark. The child giggles, wrapping both hands around Chaos’ one. The gold quickly overtakes the white and races up Chaos’ arms in glittering, fractaling patterns.

Fibonacci spirals twisting in on themselves like ouroboros and Chaos hums, impressed.

“Already figured that out, have you?” She asks pleasantly, “mighty fine work, darlin’, took me quite a few years of tryin’ before i was anything more than a spritely sparkplug. Well done.”

“He…was referred to a Home.” A young woman says quietly. Drawing her apparent son away from Chaos and wrapping her arms around him as he giggled in her lap. She’s sat on the ground like many of the folks under Chaos’ energy field, but she’s looking at her with a different sort of look in her eyes than before.

They all are.

“Is that so.” Chaos says, her words have a slight bite to them but the young woman doesn’t cower.

She raises her chin.

“My older brother grew goat legs.” She says “like one of those little men from the stories.”

“Satyrs.” Chaos says, at the same time a pre-teen girl a short ways away does.

Chaos looks at her with a soft smile and she buries her face in her hands with a blush before Chaos returns to the young mother.

“Yeah.” Says the mother “my parents sent him to a Home…he never came back. I…i don’t want to send him. Especially not with…with what happened to the heroes.”

Ah, Chaos thought, Heidi will be pleased.

“I went to a Home.” Chaos tells her, “my pa nearly beat me to death so i shocked him. The military came and tied me like an animal. It was one of the first Homes, most of the kids were of the—the prime generation? i hear it’s called now?”

It feels like she can’t stop now that she’s started, her voice flooding with words as they rush out of her like water from a broken dam.

“We wore collars, and they beat us. Starved. The kids who weren’t killed took matters into their own hands. The first friend i had since—“ her, Chaos’ voice chokes on her. “I walked in on him tryin’ to hang himself with his own bedsheets. The Homes were called orphanages…”

She tugs at the collar of her skintight undersuit that she wears under her armor. She sees the eyes of the civilians find it, pulling it down with a finger hooked in the fabric, and she knows that even after all these years there’s just the faintest impression still left behind.

“You’ve called them kill shelters before.” Says the man with his arm around the mother. The father then.

Chaos nods.

“Slaughterhouses.” Pipes up a boy a few feet away, teenaged. All acne and freckles. Chaos’ mind strays to the night she met Dougie. The boy looks about that same age.

Chaos chokes on a laugh.

“Yeah.” She says “somethin’ like that. I got out ‘bout twelve years ago. Never looked back.”

“I’m twleve!” Calls out the tween girl. “Tons of my classmates and friends are metas. People are calling it the Second Surge. Because its the second big wave of metas since the Prime Generation.”

Chaos blinks at her, recalling a conversation with the Goths.

The second power surge, she realized, so it was connected.

“What about…your friend?” Asks an older man in all denim, blue collar, maybe a plumber.

Chaos turns to him, thinking on how to answer, but she’s distracted.

“Chaos—“ interrupts a voice and Chaos stands.

From a crumbling building, vines come twisting, overgrowing in rapid shape and blooming into gargantuan things, forcibly holding the building, and the large hole in its side, to stay standing long enough for a familiar face to come striding through.

“Eden!” Chaos greets brightly, throwing up her arms “long time no see! I was just tellin’ these lovely folks about how we met! You remember the pranks we used to pull dont’cha? Lord almighty knew you were the strongest of us huh?”

Eden blinks at her then smiles shyly.

“Only until you broke your collar.” He shakes his head, his fluffy hair growing back blond at the roots but the rest remains black with technicolor dyed tips. He’s wearing a long black coat that might be a tad short on him. Internally, Chaos coos. She knew Oracle was soft on the inside.

“The main areas of ground-0 are emptied” he tells her, voice all business “but something’s wrong. The rest of the Black Coven are contacting the other heroes.”

“And it couldn’t be called through comms?” She asks, “i’m suffering with Call Girl’s voice jabbering in my ear for no reason?”

“Doll Witch has reason to believe that the communications aren’t secure. Or…” Eden trails off, fidgeting with his hands.

“Or there’s a traitor.” Chaos groans “ah. Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

“So! I might’a forgotten something. Didn’t really realize that it was a big deal.”

Eden sighs and she grins sheepishly at him.

“In my defense, my Dear Mystery gave me such an exhilarating run that night, chased me all through the city, i may have been a tad distracted—“

“Don’t you dare blame this on me.”

“Mysterion! Darling!” Chaos exclaims, whirling around to see Mysterion crouched on the crumbled remains of a building a few feet above.

“Chaos.” The vigilante says warningly. “Eden, you said something was wrong?”

“The power is still ramping up, exponential amounts of magic are being siphoned as well as high amounts of electricity from some sort of high powered generator.” Eden reports and Chaos feels a niggling sense of dread.

She holds up her hands.

“Minimized nuclear power?” She asked “like a reactor shrunk to about the size of a car?”

Eden looks at her.

“Chaos.” Comes Call Girl’s voice and Chaos realizes that the line has been live for a short while now.

Oops.

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do nothin’!” Chaos defends herself “my battery was stolen yesterday and i thought it was Mysterion but it wasn’t and—- oh fuck that’s why he asked to work together.”

“Riddles, Chaos.” Mysterion admonishes and the oh so familiar refrain makes her cackle.

“So!” She chirps “i know why the comms are bugged! And he’s got rings goin’ all down his tail and fluffy ears! And i’m gonna kill him for stealing my damn battery!”

About right as she says that, the ground shakes, violently. Even Mysterion is thrown from their perch as the rest of the surrounding buildings collapse.

The civillians scream, Chaos is thrown from her feet and barely has time to react as huge chunks of debris come falling.

The first few boulders are held up forcibly by the sheer amount of electricity Chaos throws into her surroundings. But her skin is buzzing and the motors and systems in her armor are overheating.

In short, it won’t last.

But then there are vines, huge and coiling, creating a thick canopy that holds the debris up. Gentle, scarred hands find their way to Chaos’ shoulders as she sits up.

“It’s alright.” Eden says quietly, “Make a roof for the ark,“ he quotes “And of every living thing of all flesh you shall bring two of every sort into the ark, to keep them alive.”

“Is that the bible?” Mutters Mosquito in Chaos’ commlines.

“Professor! what’s happened?” General Disarray calls out in fright. Cacophony’s echoing her own shock.

“Bunch of buildings collapsed.” Chaos replies, “Eden of the Black Coven saved our asses. Someone get here and get these people out, everyone else needs to go hunt down the Raccoon.”

“Are you certain?” Questions Call Girl and Chaos’ lip curls.

But before she can reply with any sort of scathing remark, a clawed glove comes out of the new darkness cast by the roof of debris and Chaos is hauled forward.

Belatedly she realizes that the strong figure holding her in Mysterion who leans near enough, head tilted against Chaos’, for them to speak into her comm in lieu of having their own.

“Chaos is insane.” They say bluntly “but she doesn’t lie, and the fact Raccoon has been absent this entire attack is suspect all on its own. Do as she says.”

It’s remarkable how the heroes listen to them, how they jumped to act at the Living Mystery’s words.

Chaos regretted it terribly as the vigilante let her go and moved away, checking amongst the few civilians.

“You can let go.” Eden says gently, “i’ve got them now.”

Chaos shudders, and lets the energy field fail out. Fizzling away. She twitches at the feeling of cutting the circuit and she quickly takes stock of herself.

She used a lot of power, more than she ever has in one sitting before.

She feels like she’s run a marathon with only half the training. Mysterion noticed.

“Chaos?” They question, but she waves them off.

“Disarray, Cacophony.” She calls out instead, hearing them both reply from the comms. “Status?”

“About ready to kick this fast bastard’s head in.” Disarray grumbles, Fast Pass’ voice laughing in the background.

“Think i can get a refill on the card soon?” Cacophony wonders “I’d love to take Cyber shopping too, he’s got great taste.”

“Lieutenant,” Chaos begins “how have you already used ten thousand dollars?”

“That’s not the point.” Cacophony responds and Chaos hears a few of the civilians choke on laughter behind her.

“Infinite money, huh?” Mysterion drawls and Chaos flashes them a bright grin.

“Would you like some? I can pay for dinner.”

Mysterion scoffs a laugh and pats Chaos’ shoulder as they stand.

“Sure,” they say disbelievingly “let’s make sure there’s someplace to pay when this is over.”

Chaos pouts as they sweep away, though she catches the looks of dawning realization on the civilians.

She scowls at them, wondering what the hell they’re ‘realizing’ but she’s interrupted by a nasally voice.

“Cavalry’s here.” Called out Super Strike, the massive blocks of debris being heaved out of the way by Eden’s vines and the hero’s own starborn strength.

A slight cheer went up, especially as he was joined by the blustering force of Wonder Storm, buzzing Mosquito, brightly glowing Cyberware and of course, the sudden appearance of Fast Pass as though he’d been there since the beginning.

But Chaos was most glad to see her General Disarray. Even with a sneer directed to the heroes, particularly the speedster as the two bickered, lowering slowly on his hoverboard. Hair completely alight in a small bonfire, shining bright under the low light.

“Right!” Cyberware called out, “one for each of you folks, pick your hero—“

“Or villain!” Disarray called out.

“Oh, accept it b-by now!” Fast Pass retorted, “you’re an anti-hero at most.”

“Over my dead body.” Disarray sniffed as he landed,  only to find himself accosted by the small child who had torn himself from his mother’s arms and ran up to Disarray, wrapping his arms around the General’s legs and looking up at him with wide eyes.

Disarray stumbled looking frantically around. If his dark glasses weren’t specifically made to stay in place, wrapped around his head, they would have flown off. His fire sputtering as he flailed, completely unsure of what to do with his arms.

Chaos laughed at him.

“You can pick him up.” Called out the father, and Disarray just stared at him for a moment before hesitantly reaching down to pick up the child who giggled. Golden sparks mixing with red fire as little pudgy hand grasped Disarray by the face.

“Well, i suppose that’s one settled.” Said Mosquito wryly, kicking up dust as he came to land, his wings buzzing to a stop.

The rest of the civilians pick their heroes, each to be finally evacuated.

And it was just Chaos, Eden and the Living Mystery.

A chirp alert Chaos to a notification and she checked it. A set of coordinates written in poison green, labeled -battery-.

“Ah, fuck, ok.” Chaos mutters, “Call Girl? Any news on the Raccoon?”

“Some traces,” she reports, “but nothing concrete.”

“Exec found my battery.” Chaos replies, “so i’ll be heading there. Keep the skies clear would ya?”

“Of course Executive Disconnect works for you.” Call Girl grumbles.

“With us, not for us.” Cacophony argues, “we go shopping together.”

“With Chaos’ card?” Asks Toolshed, flabbergasted though he sounds like he should be focusing on whatever nonsense is screeching bloody murder on his end instead of judging the inner workings of the Chaos Allegiance.

“are you their sugar mommy or something?”

Chaos ignores them all as she tries to summon her own hoverboard.

Then tries again.

There’s a beeping and she checks the function reports tucked away in her gauntlet and she sees the recall tagged as unresponsive.

“Goddamnit.” She mutters, tapping at the system.

Though she pauses when a black clawed hand gently wraps around her wrist.

She tilts her head to look deep into the pitch darkness that writhes under Mysterion’s hood.

“Send the coordinates to the League.” They say “and i’ll take you there.”

“We have to move fast, Mystery Dear.” Chaos tells them. The hood tilts as they shrug, the slightest hint of that mischief Chaos always swoons to see drawn out of the typically stoic hero.

She has the sense that they’re smiling under their hood.

“I know a shortcut.”

Chaos considered it. It was likely that whatever the Raccoon had used her battery for would be confiscated by the League, possibly to be studied or used by the government which would absolutely make so many things worse.

But—

The world was literally tearing itself apart around them. Raccoon was going to remake it.

She couldn’t let him.

“Fine.” She said and with a tap to the side of her helmet, just behind her visor, she sent out the ping.

Chaos shook herself out and then grinned, folding one arm behind her back and the other offered out.

Almost like asking a princess to dance.

Wait—-

Mysterion hesitantly took Chaos’ hand and the villain could only smile. Their cape whispered against the ground, tattered edges rustling like drumming fingers or anxious feathers.

Then, the Living Mystery grasped Chaos and pulled her close. Into the hold of those wings and into pitch, frigid darkness.

Like diving into the black glass mirror of a lake on a moonless night.

Chaos resurfaced gasping for air. Her lungs burning and her limbs near frozen solid.

“Careful.” Hissed Mysterion, pulling her close. It seems the two of them had turned up hidden behind a bit of collapsed building. Mysterion sat with their back to it, Chaos half on top of them.

“Ah, so you can teleport. I had wondered.” Chaos rasps and Mysterion shushes her.

“Not teleporting.” They reply bitterly, “just a shortcut. I call them Hallways.”

“Hallways?”

“Quiet.” Mysterion taps her nose before craning their head back to peer over the debris. Their hood falls askew, just barely revealing wispy strands of straw gold hair.

“You were right.” They tell Chaos “Raccoon’s right there.”

“I’m always right.” She whispers hautily. “Now lets go show that overgrown weasel what for—“

“Not so fast. Something’s…wrong. I can feel it.”

“Feel it?”

“Don’t you?” Mysterion asks, “pressure. There’s this…pressure in the air. Like the calm before the storm.”

Chaos grimaces. She knows exactly what they mean.

Her ears popping under her helmet, old mended breaks in her bones aching. The lightning under her skin buzzing, in a way it hadn’t since she was young.

Chaos draws herself up to look over the debris.

The machine is a horrid thing, all sleek twisting metal, somehow more alien than Kite ever was. Chaos’ battery was pulsing in the center of it, and Chaos grit her teeth to see it.

The whole machine was perched in the middle of a ritual circle. Chaos couldn’t read it, but the way it pulsed with the power from her battery made the storm forever roiling in her chest ache and burst.

The Raccoon’s there. Fiddling with something, and Chaos wants to rip his head straight off.

“Easy.” Warns Mysterion, grasping Chaos by the wrist and pulling her down. “We get one chance at this.”

“I’m getting strong seismic signals.” Call Girl warns.

“Ack! Something’s wrong,” Wonder Storm hisses “the wind’s not responding to me.”

“The air’s getting colder, there’s an energy i can’t name.” Kite murmurs and Chaos reaches up, tempted to mute the communicator— before she freezes.

This power—-

“Get down.” She snarls into the comms. “Everyone down!”

Chaos throws herself at Mysterion, tumbling them both to the ground. To the vigilante’s credit, they roll with Chaos easily enough, clutching against her and not fighting as the sky booms and breaks.

Mad laughter echoes as the earth shakes, not Chaos’ laughter, the Raccoon’s.

Chaos’ eye aches, just one, and her vision slants. Her visor is broken, a large crack running through it on side like a Lichtenberg scar, warnings crowding the inner screen.

“Chaos!” Mysterion’s voice cracks, and Chaos manages to raise her head and give them a lopsided grin.

“Don’t worry darlin—“ she slurs “you ain’t gettin’ rid o’ me that easily.”

“Professor!” Shouts Cacophony, “what’s happening?”

“Are you alright?” Calls out Disarray and there’s a garbled static of another frequency forcibly breaking into the communication line.

“If you die—“ Heidi’s voice garbles through a modifier, Executive Disconnect’s voice, hisses low and threateningly “if you die i am releasing the photos of when you cried at Wall-E.”

“Don’t you dare.” Chaos snarls back.

“Who the fuck are you?!” Rambles Mosquito, slow on the uptake, as always.

“Disconnect, i presume.” Call Girl drawls.

“Hey assholes!” Calls out Super Strike “can we please focus on the hentai nightmare that the Raccoon summoned?”

Chaos barely blinked at that as both she and Mysterion glanced at each other before desperately scrambling to peer over the debris again.

Sure enough, Raccoon’s machine (with Chaos’ battery) had carved an abyssal furrow into the concrete and earth below it. The earthquakes had ripped the ground open and slowly emerging from its depths came colossal tendrils lined with teeth and flickering eyes.

Chaos’ own teeth itched under the pressure in the air and she felt like she swallowed helium.

And the Raccoon was—

Still

laughing.

Right, ok. Time to show this madman that there was only room for one crazy fucker in this city and she had been here first.

She stood up.

“Chaos,” snapped Mysterion “Chaos, No.”

“Like hell he’s using my damn battery for this.” She bit out in reply and vaulted over the debris wall. Dropping to the shaking ground on unsteady feet. One of her eyes refused to focus, but she shook it off.

The comm in her ear was jabbering nonstop, her team and the Freedom League both. Above she glimpsed the star flicker light of what must be Super Strike high up in the air. Masked mostly by the clouds of dust and smog.

In the distance, flashes of red and gold running straight up and then down any vertical obstacles belayed Fast Pass’ approach, and Chaos was sure the rest of the League wasn’t far behind.

But she knew they wouldn’t be able to get any closer than Strike was now. The battery had a built in protective field. A mix of Chaos’ mechanics and Disconnect’s mage-tech. The barrier wasn’t impenetrable, as Mysterion clearly proved that there were work-arounds, but it would take the League too long to find their own loopholes.

So, instead of waiting around like a chump and listening to them all argue, she turned off her comm.

“Well, well well~ look who we have here.” The Raccoon drawled, turning to see her. He was dressed in his hero suit, sans mask. His fur looked unbrushed, he looked dirty and exhausted and the wrong kind of crazy.

Wild eyed, and in pain.

He smiles, all sharp teeth, that damnable book in his hand.

“Raccoon.” Chaos greets with her own feral grin “i believe you have something of mine.”

“Ah, ah, ah, you refused to work together, you can’t take it back now.” He accuses, wagging a clawed finger at her. “Me and my new friend are gonna remake the world! And you don’t get a say! No one else gets a say!”

He broke off into wild cackles again, the machine thrummed like a heartbeat, drumming in Chaos’ ears. The tentacles coalesced across the plane, wrapping around anything they could anchor themselves to and started to pull.

Something was trying to heave itself up and out.

Nope, nope, nope. Absolutely not.

Her lightning rolls over her shoulders, touching to the ground like the tentative taps of spider legs, but they leave vacuums in the air that shudder with localized thunder and they buzz in a way that Chaos has on good authority can make someone’s bones ‘feel too small’.

“Mighty friend you got there.” She drawls, “but scorpion the still stings the frog, you know.”

“The hell are you talking about?”

Raccoon demands, stepping forward, his fur bristling. Chaos feels delight well in her chest at the sight of his shadow rising from the ground, solidifying in a hood figure with cape wings.

Chaos cackles as a black clawed hand snatches the tome from the Raccoon’s hold even as the hero (ex-hero?) whirls around, violent in every tense line of his body.

“Riddles.” Mysterion hums “Chaos talks in them quite a bit. Not hard to understand…so long as you pay attention.”

“Which you’re clearly not too practiced in.” Chaos hissed, forcing Raccoon’s attention back on her as she stepped forward, looming tall over him.

“Seein’ as you went and listened to the evilest fuckin’ book i’ve ever seen.”

The Raccoon hisses.

“You’re too late, you rabid bitch.” A horrible grin drawing over his face, this close Chaos can see that his eyes are bloodshot.

The earth shakes and Chaos is almost thrown from her feet, a horrific noise rends the air, Chaos’ ears pop and she’s suddenly motion sick.

She’s close enough to grab part of the spindly machine and keep herself upright, but the vibrations shake her bones.

The Raccoon laughs.

“It’s here!” He cheers, jumping and waving his arms over his head as— as something rises from the fissure in reality.

Chaos stared in horror as the mind breaking monstrosity rose, up and up and up, looking down on the city from heavens so high. Chaos thought she heard screaming, but couldn’t tell who.

The thing blinked. Too many eyes. Colored deep black like the deepest depths of the sea. The worst sort of darkness, that strangled your lungs and never let you breathe.

The type of drowning where you knew you were dead before your body stopped fighting.

G̸̪͉̯̍́̇̂͒͑̌͘̚ơ̵̡̨̫͓̳̪̱͔̗͔̍̓̑̈́̾͌̽͒̏̿̔̕̕͝o̸͙͇͉̹̩͙̻̓̍͊̇͝ḋ̴̡̧̢̙͇̯͉̦̮̠̦̆̀̎̽͐̌̇͝ͅ

It said and Chaos’ teeth rattled.

She can’t understand the words, just garbled horror in her ears, like the deep sea echoes that haunt oceanographers, whale somg put through a meat grinder.

But The Raccoon preened as a huge tendril slowly circled around him, like a constrictor snake. Not yet striking, just in wait.

T̵̛̰ḧ̶͜i̵̝͠s̵̝͛ ̷̪͠w̸̲̃o̸̜͝r̴̪̆l̵̞̉d̵̖̒ ̶̝̎w̸͖͝i̶̝̎l̵̻͘l̶̬̓ ̶̹̈b̸̧͒e̵̫͋ ̶͍͝a̵̢̾ ̷͈̇ǧ̵͍ò̴̗ŏ̷͓d̵͓̀ ̵̓͜m̸̗̂ě̴̹a̴̓ͅl̵͜͠

“And then we remake it, right?” Raccoon says, sounding so much like a spoiled child that Chaos has to glance at him in horror.

He’s got that shine to his eyes, bright and hopeful and wrong. Chaos feels sick. This is not maddness. Not a mind making its own rules.

This is control, a lobotomy, the Raccoon’s tail wagging like a dog’s.

Y̶̡̙͚̯͖̠̝̰͔̜͚͉͒̀̆̄̆̔͝ȩ̷̯̹͕̹̟͕̪̩͆̒̀͐͛̑̂̊̐̎̒̊̓̕͠͝͝͝s̸̢͈̜̗̓͝

The thing answers, tapping just the tip of one small tendril over the Raccoon’s bushy, unwashed hair. Like petting an animal.

A̴̝̓l̶̜͝l̴͕̃ ̵͖̔t̶̡͐h̵͚͑a̴͝ͅţ̵̿ ̷̞̓y̸̻̓o̴̧͒ǘ̷̳ ̴̭̏d̸̩̏ř̵͈e̷̟̓a̵͎̔m̷̢͆ ̶̨̌o̸̘͂f̵̜̿,̶̲̉ ̸̳͂ẘ̷̗i̴̞̍l̷͖͑ḷ̷̊ ̵͍̓b̷̞̕e̷̙͐ ̵̺̆y̸̘̽o̶͉̚ŭ̸̦r̵̝̀s̸̩͗

Chaos doesn’t see the other tendril, rising behind the Raccoon as he pressed into the touch to his head. Splitting open with a wide mouth, lined with teeth and teeth and teeth, spinning like ever parched Charybdis.

But when she does see it, Chaos lurches, her cry of alarm strangled in her throat as that toothy maw lunges—

Ah, she might be no hero, but her dear Mystery was more hero than any old legend.

Mysterion slams into the Raccoon and throws him to the ground, leaving the jaws to snap uselessly into empty air—

And the feathered edges of a purple cloak.

Mysterion thrashes as the serpentine tendril drags them up into the air, dangling like a hanged man who’s run out of letters.

“Let go of me!” Mysterion shouts but the monster just hums, Chaos finally loses her footing and crumples to the ground. The Raccoon tries to crawl away but she pins him to the earth. He curls up like the animal he resembles, shaking.

He’s come a bit to his senses, at least. Or, whatever’s left of them.

Ç̷̾u̸͊ͅr̷̪͝i̸̟̅o̷̪̐ụ̶͝s̴̟̒

The monster rumbles, gently swinging Mysterion back and forth like a cat with a mouse stuck in its claws by the tail. It tilts its mountainous head down, studying them with too many eyes.

Double white pupils inset into every black sclera, they morph and mold in sickening patterns and Chaos has to tear her gaze away.

W̸̹̓ḫ̸̊a̶̤͠t̸̩͝ ̸̩͝ỉ̶̪s̶̳͘ ̴͔͐a̸̳̾ ̶̠̓d̶̝̈́r̶̳͆e̴̙͛å̸͚m̵͍̽ ̴͙̂d̷̗́ó̷̲ì̴͈n̸͍̅g̶̟̎ ̶̗̆h̵͙̾e̵͘ͅr̸̢̀e̴͖̓?̵͍̽

T̴̲̄ḧ̴͚́ẽ̴̳r̵̮͛e̷͕̒ ̷̘̎i̸͇̅s̷̼̀ ̴̬͗n̵͍̚o̷̘̕ ̷̙́ỏ̷͚ń̵̤ẽ̶͔ ̸̢̇t̷̼̑o̸̦͊ ̵̙̈́d̴̺̔r̵̛ͅȩ̵͑a̸̛̗m̵̼̒ ̶̛̥ơ̸͕f̵͎̑ ̶̛̥y̵̛̩o̵̗͐u̸̪͐—̷͖͒ ̵̞̈́s̸̹͊ì̵͉l̶̲̒l̷̩͒y̶̳͂ ̷̘̉t̵͚̓h̵̻̑i̷̞̓ń̶̗g̵̲̕

J̸̬̚ų̴͒ś̴͎t̴̛̞ ̵̱̒

̵̮̑G̸͔͆ǐ̴̱v̴̞̕e̵̟̿ ̴̪͌

̵̼́Ụ̸̀p̴̰͒

Chaos still can’t comprehend whatever the creature is saying, but clearly Mysterion can, and what ever it is—it’s no good.

“Fuck off!” Mysterion shouts back, “i don’t give up, you hentai faced piece of shit!”

Shadows writhe around them, their hood’s fallen and Chaos van barely make out a head of wild straw blonde hair tied back into a low bun.

“i wake up, every fucking morning. Curse, blessing, who cares! I won’t waste it again!”

A memory sparks in the back of Chaos’ mind. Faint like foggy glass after a shower—

“Then i’ll dream of you!”

Chaos grits her teeth.

Mysterion will be fine, she has to trust that they’ll be fine. She turns to the machine and crawls towards it, looking for any sort of control or service panel.

If she can get to her battery—- she might be able to shut off the force field.

The monster is still slowly heaving itself up and into the real world, inch by bloody inch.

D̸̼͋ȅ̸̼t̷̘̆e̴͕̍r̴̪̈m̵̝͊i̵̭̔n̸͇̾e̶̻̒d̶͎̈́ ̶̠̌t̸͔̏h̵̅ͅì̸̮ń̶̹ġ̴͍

The monster coos.

F̷̻̀ỏ̵̘o̷̔͜l̶͕̓ĭ̴̥s̵̩͝h̷͙̒ ̴͔̐ẗ̵̤́ḣ̸̥i̴̬̕n̷̙̏g̵̩̔,

À̴͍ ̵̺̌d̸͉̓r̶̟͂e̴̟̐a̸͓̚m̵̢̎ ̶͎̈́m̷͙͂a̴͔͗ď̷͎ḙ̴̽ ̸̭͆m̴̺̔ȯ̶̢r̷͎̃ẗ̸͓́ḁ̸̍ľ̷̨.̷̱̇

̶̩͐

̴͉̀Ą̸̈́r̷̘̈́ḛ̵͒n̸̞͌’̴̦̌t̴̜̕ ̸̡̊y̴͕̑ö̸̩́u̷͚̇ ̵̛̩t̸̥͒i̸̤͑r̵͕͊e̶̜͂d̷͔͆ ̷̝̒o̵̢͝f̷͍̌ ̴̰̍ś̴̢û̶̮f̸̟͂f̵̖̑ē̷̠r̷͎̚i̷̖̕n̷̢̓g̶̲͂?̵͇͠

C̴̼̏o̸̜̎m̴͖̉e̷̛̜ ̸̨̈h̵̥͠ô̶̢m̸̧̾e̴̗̓,̷͉̓ ̴͇̌c̵͘͜h̵͓́ì̷̯l̵̖̒d̵̻̒,̸̺̍

̴͇̐s̶͕̀ḽ̴͋e̵̫͝ę̸͊p̶̤̓.̷͔͝ ̴̹͛

̵͈̚W̸͍͛o̴̧̿u̸̳̽l̵̅ͅd̵͍̈́n̶̹͠’̵͙̕t̵̠̄ ̴͙̊ť̶̝h̴̩̿a̴̳͝t̸̬̑ ̵̬̏b̷̖̾e̶̟͝ ̶͛ͅs̶̹̈o̵̲̕ ̴̗̕m̶̱̾u̶̲͗c̶̮̀ẖ̵̚ ̴̙͐ṅ̸͓i̸̤̒c̵̛̰e̴̤̊r̸̭̈́?̶̺͝

̶̙͝A̵͎͛t̴͍̒ ̶͎̆t̴̞͐h̵͎̃è̵͕ ̴̨̽ḇ̶̋ò̵͉ẗ̶̟t̶͎̍o̷̿ͅm̶̦͊ ̷̣̍o̵̺͐f̷̣̅ ̷̱͛t̵̨̏ḫ̵͌ẽ̸̜ ̸̩̎s̷̋͜ť̷̳ǎ̴͔ṙ̵͓l̷̼̕ë̸͔́s̸͇̔s̷̰̅ ̵̨͆ş̴̓ë̴̤a̶͔͘?̵̘̔

Chaos gives up on any sort of finesse.

She digs deep into her chest, reaching into her very soul—

“Eat shit.” Mysterion snarls back, “i still have reasons to live. And i wont forget them again.”

Chaos’ bones turn into fire as her every tendon becomes live wires. Throwing every joule and every watt into pure, electric power.

It bends the metal and shakes the circuits, frying every inch of machinery it touches.

This time— Chaos knows she’s the one screaming.

She feels the machine, and her battery, explode and shake the ground as she tips backwards on her knees.

The world’s moving in slow motion as she falls.

She sees Mysterion take the distraction to fizzle into shadow, flipping through the air and materializing atop the very tendril that had held them.

Their shape changes.

Their cape flares like feathered bat wings and their limbs twist into grasping, bony things. They are lengthened as a shadow is lengthened under a midnight street lamp, they are twisted as a memory from a nightmare is twisted.

And they are beautiful.

Every childhood nightmare come alive, the monster under the bed that keeps you safe.

They dig knife teeth and tree branch claws into the tendril, splashes burning blue blood across the ground. Blue so dark that it’s full of galaxies.

The monster thrashes with a screech, even it seems surprised that it’s been hurt. It slams its tentacle to the ground, the others slipping just for a moment. It catches itself as Mysterion is thrown into the concrete and Chaos finally falls prone.

It may very well be that she’s used more power today than her whole life combined. Her bones feel hollow.

She watches in mute fascination as another tentacle comes down upon her. She shuts her eyes for the impact—

No, you’re not dying like this. A voice snarls in her mind.

A voice that’s not her own.

Her eyes fly open as her body moves without her say so, using energy it doesn’t have like a puppet on strings.

The tentacles barely misses her, slamming down on her cape and ripping it from her shoulders. She barks a disbelieving laugh.

“Thought you said you’d never touch my mind again, Maiden!” She calls out, her voice raw and bloodied.

Shut up. Iron Maiden snaps back as though through gritted teeth. Then he retreats, like a hand desperately throwing away a burning brand of iron, leaving Chaos collapsed on the ground like a newborn fawn.

But then Chaos sees them.

Super Strike, Wonder Storm, The ‘Human’ Kite and Mosquito sweeping down from the smog filled sky. Lasers and winds full of jagged ice and stardust flares and swarms of horrid buzzing things slashing off huge tentacles even as they swipe through the air.

There’s Toolshed carving rebar into spears that the Captain throws like javelins into the monster’s eyes.

Call Girl and Cyberware lit up bright blue and pink, shouting orders Chaos can’t hear, but she can hear Call Girl’s sound canons as they shake the barely standing buildings and she can see the blasts of power from Cyberware’s generators.

Fast Pass too, red and gold zipping in and out of tight spaces, leading the monster’s tentacles on a merry chase and getting them to tying themselves up in dizzying shapes. Prime to be cut right through like the Gordian Knot.

It’s Winged Omen who descends on these tangles, in full beastly shape, black and crimson feathers and gnashing teeth.

He’s not the only Goth either.

Vines erupt from the acid soil, digging thorns into the caustic flesh of the monster, anywhere they could reach, as Eden dances away from every strike and attack with laughter like ringing bells. Ghost Queen and Oracle not far behind.

The Queen had her own tome open, creating specters from the dust and the air, whirling dervishes of teeth and wailing pains.

Oracle, meanwhile, had skipped the middleman and come armed with what appeared to be a shotgun. The barrel was carved with runes pf power and the body of the gun had glowing charms draped off of it like the delicate jewelry of an exotic dancer, but it was still very clearly a shotgun.

One click for birdshots, two for buckshots, three for a slug.

Chaos is distracted from her humor by a familiarly overwarm hand dragging her back from the fight.

Chaos cranes her head back to see General Disarray staring down at her with worry and she grins.

“You look like shit.” He tells her.

“You ain’t all dolled up ya’self.” Chaos retorts, though her voice comes strange, like her words slide back and forth over her tongue unable to get to their feet.

She feels her gauntlet being taken off and she manages yo turn her head and sees a young woman with reddish brown hair stuffed under a blue chullo hat that is at direct odds with the rest of her clothes. Her expression is near murderous and she’s wearing an adorable homemade fabric mask over the top half of her face.

“Who are you?” Chaos asks as her gauntlet is torn off, she turns back to Disarray— “who is she?”

The young woman scoffs as Disarray attempts to shrug.

“Call me Bright Strike.” She says, and Chaos blinks.

“Strike?” She repeats, though she’s forced to bite off a gasp as the apparent Bright Strike grasps Viktoria Chaos’ now bare hand in both of her own.

Bright Strike’s arms glow like morning sun and from Chaos’ arm she feels warmth and power spreading through her body. Weakling sparks roaring back into  a vast electrical grid as Chaos feels herself come back online, so to speak.

When the young woman is finished, she leans back on her heels and casually flips Chaos off with a flat expression.

Chaos, pausing just long enough to snort with humor, shakes herself out and stretches her limbs, and with Disarray’s help she pulls up to stand.

Chaos means to say something to the little vigilante, but doesnt get the chance to as a shout distracts them both.

“Tri— i mean, Bright Strike!” The Doll Witch calls out as she races by them, “i need cover!”

Then the Doll Witch turns her attention to a notebook in her hand, still running.

Disarray reaches up and turns Chaos’ comm back on and she doesn’t even begrudge him.

Much.

“Force it down!” Call Girl is shouting, as Bright Strike races forward, brushing fingertips against huge chunks of debris before just stopping and standing still in the center of the battlefield.

But then her eyes glow and she throws her arms up, each thing she touched is tossed into the air, gravity be damned, before she makes a simple gestures and they all come crashing down.

A meteor shower.

“Brilliant.” Chaos breathes, pushing away from Disarray and managing to stand on her own as her limbs regain feeling and her lightning answers her call.

“No wonder she’s named herself after Super Strike.” Chaos hums, flexing her bare hand and watching the static jump over her fingers.

“She’s got his powers, exactly inverted” Disarray muses. “Instead of controlling her own gravity and powering herself up, she can charge others. Fascinating.”

“Hey!” Shouts Mosquito, swooping down towards them, buzzing furiously. “A little help from the friendly neighborhood villains would be appreciated.”

Chaos rolls her eyes but cracks her knuckles with a smile.

She’s still woozy, her lightning respondjng with enthusiasm that doesn’t quite match the way it keeps sparking and sputtering here and there.

The quick fix Bright Strike gave her is just that, a quick fix.

But, it’s good enough. It has to be.

She turns her head to smile at Disarray as he steps up onto his hoverboard.

He grins back at her with a bow, she laughs, letting her power wreath her in white light and throwing herself into the fight.

Inch by inch, working together, they force the monster back. Lower and lower into its pit.

The Doll Witch has her mind on some sort of banishment ritual. Bright Strike and Poet’s Quill run interference and defend her as she sets it up. The rest of them slice of arms and rain hell upon the monster’s head. But with every severed limb there seems to be a dozen more, like a hydra decapitated, again and again.

Iron Maiden is reportedly having a hell of a time, as far as Chaos can gather from the frantic updates and repositioning on the comm lines. There are armies of beasts from below that are trying to claw their way into the real world and Maiden is psychically forcing them down.

He’s holding the line, for now, but if he falters they’re all doomed.

Chaos herself is pinned under a huge tendril, one of the many mouthed ones. Horrific layered jaws snapping at her. She holds them back, barely, but her bare hand tingles where she touches its slimy skin and her grip is starting to slip.

Well, that is until a poison green blast of energy slams into the side of its ‘head’ and the whole thing recoils with a shriek.

“You’re late!” Wonder Storm snarls into the comms, and Chaos looks up to see Cacophony swooping on golden wings, shining under the light like a ray of sun given life. Riding on her back is a small shadow in a plain black cloak and blank faced mask. Disconnect. A large, black metal weapon hoisted over her shoulder, taking aim even as she clings to Cacophony.

“Fashionably late!” Cacophony responds, “and i had a friend to pick up!”

Chaos recognizes the weapon Disconnect is hoisting. The plasma gun the two of them have been working on for a few short weeks, still a prototype but this is one hell of a stress test.

Chaos sees flashes of the others, here and there amidst the fighting, the brightly colored hero suits, the occasional cape, and every once in a while the snarling visage of dear Mysterion pouncing and tearing and rending.

Chaos loses herself in the violence, cackling to the thunderous sky.

Until a shriek catches her attention.

She glimpses the right red and gold and blue of Kite as he plummets to the ground, knocked straight out of the air by a writhing tendril like a fly, and he hits the earth headfirst, collapsed in a heap.

Distantly, Chaos hears Toolshed and Call Girl scream as the alien lies motionless.

The monster makes a terrible noise, almost like laughter, as it brings another tentacle down over the crumpled hero—

Only to recoil again, the tendril sliced straight off, but this time theres a wave of blue fire that climbs up the wounded limb until other mouthed ones tear it right off. The monster shrieks again, enraged, thousands of eyes coalescing on the one who stands between it and the fallen Kite.

The newcomer is stocky and broad, with long arms and a long prehensile tail. Covered in tannish fur, with a black tuft of a mane atop the crown of their head and trails down the back of their neck, under their shirt, and down the spine of their tail. They’re dressed in a plain t-shirt and jeans, wielding a sword that Chaos recognizes as having been made from some of the Doll Witch’s expert summoning work.

Their beady eyes shine with fury and their strange wide mouth set in a thin line of determination as they stand boldly between Kite and the monster.

A̴̗͔̽n̷̕ͅd̴͙̈́ ̶̲̈́s̵̗̜͋o̶͈̪͝ ̶̝̺̆̎ṫ̴͉̜͆ḥ̸̿e̷̯̚ ̷͈̇̽f̶̤̬̄̀ö̴̢͙́ư̷̫ǹ̵̥ḏ̴͉͆̓ḻ̴̛̐i̶̺̐̽ń̴̬̽g̷̼̞̔̕ ̴̛̱̤̈c̸͓̃̏õ̶̫̋ͅm̶̜̒̓ë̸̤̰s̷̰͝ ̵͎͙̓̐h̴̛̠̐͜ö̶̡́̓m̷̪̄e̸̢̪̓̔.̸̧̮̓̈

The monster rumbles,

T̵̻͒̋e̸̬̱͝l̴̞̓̈́ľ̷͓̥̄ ̶̭͌m̶̪̀̀e̵̪͚͆͑,̶̺̰͝ ̵̢͂͊f̸̡̥̋ä̴̟̳l̸̮̰͐͛s̶̝͛͆e̶̻͕̊ ̶̬͝p̷̛͍r̶͙̂į̶̹͘n̷̤̳͑̚ć̴̯̣͋e̷̟̾ḻ̵̢̌̈́i̸̭͚̊n̸̖̍g̴͉̀͒,̶̰̬̏

̵̝́̅w̶̜͝h̶̫̝̐a̷͙͎̅͘t̸͇̐̚ ̸̩͒͑m̶͎͎͒̽a̴͙̽̓͜k̸̻̈́̚è̸̩̹̉s̷̡̙̽ ̷͍̬̊̃y̴̡͕̆̌o̶̦͂u̶͖̎̿ ̸̳͈̊t̶̰̔͠h̶̥̓̀i̶̤͐̈́ṇ̸̣̀̃k̷̗͊̇ ̴̩̯̄̕y̶͚̙̒̑o̷̭͋u̸̟̾ ̵͍̟̃c̷̥̮͆͠a̸̖̤͆ṋ̵͂̂͜ ̸̭̉͐͜d̵̗͝ỏ̴̳̼͝ ̵͇͛̀͜s̶̙͐̈́o̶͓͂m̷̨̿ḙ̵͂̀t̷̟͌ḧ̷̗͓́͠ǐ̷̲͕n̵̳͑͝g̵̨̮̕ ̵̠̊t̶̡̋h̷̛͔͍i̸͗͜s̵̺̹̉̍ ̷̘̍͝t̷̤̔į̷̋m̸̜̈̎ė̶͓̻?̷͇̔̉

W̵͈͐ḥ̸͠ỷ̶̙ ̴͙͊w̷̹͝ä̷̲i̷̮̓ṫ̷̨ ̶̫͆s̸̞̉õ̴̢ ̴̛̹l̷̡̋o̸͍̅n̵͇̈́g̴̯̒?̸̤̿

̸̰̿W̶̻̕h̷̠̓e̸͔̅ŕ̵͎e̶̩͛ ̶͚̾h̵̨͒ạ̶͌v̵͎̈ȅ̴̠ ̸̠͛y̸͚͘o̴͖̒u̶͛ͅ ̸̳̚b̴̺̈ȩ̸̃ḙ̶̿n̶͇̐?̵͈͗

Chaos, by some miracle, is close enough to hear the newcomer reply.

Spinning their sword in one hand, they speak in a firm voice.

“Looking. I’ve been looking. Ever since my brother was lost to me. I discovered xe was on this planet, and now i’ve found xim.”

Another spin of the sword, their expression is hard to read with such simple features, but the bristle of their fur, the tight grip on their blade’s handle, and the set of their shoulders is more than enough to understand as they point the tip of the sword at the great monster’s face.

“My brother saved me. Now it’s my turn.”

“Ike?” Kite’s voice rasps, barely picked up by the comms. But the newcomer’s tail twitches and they turn their head.

They murmur something with a barely there smile, too quiet for Chaos to hear and possibly not in english (or any earth language at all) but she shrugs as she stabs a pole of rebar into the nearest tendril.

The newcomer, Ike apparently, spins their sword again and crouches into a combat pose that is utterly alien.

Fitting.

“Get it down!” Doll Witch’s shrieks  “I’m ready! if you get it far enough down we can trap it out of this world!”

Chaos relays her message in to the comms and is emboldened by the instant affirmatives that pour from the heroes.

“Chaos.” Comes a familiar voice, and she turns her head to see Mysterion twisting themself out of her own shadow. Offering out a hand, their hood tilted in the way that she’s come to recognize as the same as a mischievous smile from anyone else.

“Care for a dance?”

Chaos giggles and takes their hand.

“Oh, i’d love to.”

They fight back to back, shadow leaping over white lightning. The sweep of Mysterion’s winged cape like swing of Death’s own scythe.

With an end in sight, the taste of victory on their lips, everyone is revitalized.

Reanimated, like Lazurus, come out of the cave.

Further back and back they force the monster, deeper into its pit. Slashing away at the beast’s anchoring limbs. Ike’s sword is particularly vicious of a weapon, cauterizing the wounds with azure flame so that the hydra cannot regrow its heads.

When finally the beast is scrambling for a hold, desperately screeching out for anyone who would listen, the Doll Witch raises her arms and speaks words of power.

Sigils carved across the whole battlefield lighting up—

I̴ ̴k̴n̵o̸w̶ ̸w̸h̷o̵ ̵y̸o̸u̵ ̵d̸r̵e̵a̴m̶ ̸o̵f̴

The monster says and Chaos freezes, nearly falling to her knees. She understands its words as she clutches her head.

“Chaos?” Calls Mysterion, rushing to her side.

I̷ ̸k̴n̵o̸w̸ ̶w̷h̴e̴r̵e̵ ̷s̷h̴e̴ ̶i̵s̵.̷

̸I̵ ̵c̷a̶n̷ ̵g̸i̴v̶e̴ ̵h̷e̸r̵ ̷t̶o̷ ̴y̸o̸u̴,̴

̵m̵a̷k̷e̴ ̴h̶e̸r̴ ̵y̵o̷u̶r̷s̶ ̷a̶g̴a̵i̶n̸.̵

E̷v̵e̶r̴y̵t̸h̶i̷n̵g̵ ̷y̵o̸u̸ ̶h̴a̴v̶e̶ ̸e̷v̷e̸r̶ ̶w̴a̴n̸t̸e̴d̵

A̴r̶e̴n̵’̸t̶ ̶y̴o̵u̶̷o̵w̵e̷d̸ ̷t̷h̴a̵t̸?̸

Chaos grits her teeth.

“Go fuck yourself you overdone porno!” She replies and she feels it recoil from her in disgust just as the sky lights up in a shining net, anchored to the sigils and forcing the monster back down into the ground, and back out of reality, once and for all.

Chaos laughs, her torn voice shredded raw, and then her eyes roll back in her head and she feels the last of her strength give out.

The last thing she knows is darkness sweeping over her, a worried voice, strong arms catching her and the blessed scent of rain.