Chapter Text
“This world is stupid. It is beyond stupid, and I hate it so much.”
Baxter didn’t have to look up because the contents of the lunch tray (three containers of yogurt, roast emu, and mixed vegetables) that just slammed down across from his told him who it was, but he looked up anyway, watching the speaker struggle out of the thirty-pound vest she was wearing. “You’ve been awake about five minutes, are we already at that point today?”
Perkin made an infuriated noise as the vest came off and slammed into the chair next to her, revealing a One Direction shirt under her lab coat, collapsing into the chair. “I hate yogurt. So much. I don’t think you understand how much.”
“Don’t you have, like, fifteen different bottles of supplements?” He wanted to know skeptically, though they’ve had this conversation before.
“I’ve told you! They don’t work as well, and there’s no reason why, and I hate it. The world is stupid.”
He returned to shoveling scrambled eggs onto his toast with a fork, reflecting that she was having dinner for breakfast, and he, breakfast for dinner. “You can’t deny the world into making more sense. Trust me, myself and many bottles of booze have tried.”
She pouted, considering what was left on his tray. “Still on backshift?”
“I keep telling them I can’t see jack shit in the dark. They gave me glasses that do night vision.” He scoffed, reassured a bit when she smiled.
“You’re still the only one that will sit with me in here, is all.” She poked the first container of yogurt with a spoon in disgust.
He considered that as he chewed his scrambled egg and bacon sandwich, swallowing roughly. “Look, neither of us asked for this shit, and I hate seeing the kids eating alone. Adults have problems with this, and here you are.”
“I’m not a kid.” She mumbled around her spoon.
He gave her a look because if Perkin was more than 14, he will take monster duty for a week. “You get my point. And yeah, some of the other henches get it. Some don’t. You’re scary. You scare big muscly men like me. Be proud of that tiger.”
“Don’t wanna.” She shoved the empty container away and moved along to the next.
He revised her to a tall thirteen in his head. It was a constant guessing game, she could be older and stuck like this, or likewise, younger and the same. It didn’t matter. “I am guarding the lab this week though, so if you work late I’ll say hi.”
Perkin beamed.
It was really easy to forget sometimes that she passively emitted radiation, and when upset and dehydrated, could put out enough to sterilize the room.
Some henchmen got assigned to certain beats as their career went on, some didn’t. It depended on the employer, and in Baxter’s experience, most of them operated on moon logic. He’d learned not to question the decision making of the people hopefully signing the paychecks, when they cashed. If the big bad didn’t make bank, neither did the henchmen, so it went.
At least his current gig paid consistently. Not a lot, but safe as these things went, and all inclusive. Of course, they were stuck in some godforsaken patch of the Australian GABA, hours and hours away from anything resembling society. The polished-red base probably wouldn’t have lasted a week if its creator wasn’t seemingly able to pull water out of dry air, enough to keep the water tower full and the misplaced pet sea monster happy.
See, that’s just par for the course. The superpowered asshole that has a pet sea monster also is terrified of drowning and submarines, so she brought her pet to a steadily growing artificial ocean in the middle of Oz. That no one’s complained about this activity yet probably says just how in the middle of nowhere they are. Or maybe the fine citizens of Australia were okay with their giant island (small continent?) becoming a ring archipelago.
The point here being, he tended to get assigned to guard the labs. His resume was full of praise for him from wonks, and he didn’t tend to scream and open fire when the newest lab experiment got confused and broke out and killed half the people in the room, unless screaming and opening fire was absolutely necessary. Sometimes it was.
The outer lights were dimmed to damn near nothing, the base doing its version of running silent, which meant there were endless stars above, some kind of prehistoric sea serpent asleep in the artificial sea below, and a bunch of overbuilt assholes smoking weed on the catwalk, because no one’s going to tell them no or to go back to their beat.
“Power shortage?” Was how he said hello, hefting himself up the ladder and swinging onto the catwalk, which at least had railings on the open sides.
“Hey, Gator. Fuck knows.” Came the enthusiastic reply from one of the other henches, the small group illuminated briefly in the click of a lighter.
“It’s smart. It’s not like there’s supposed to be lights out here.” Pointed out one of the younger ones. Rominsen, maybe, by the voice.
“There’s not supposed to be a giant body of water either, but here we are.” He leaned on the rail and accepted the spliff, ignoring the nickname. He never answered to Gator. They kept calling him that anyway. “Thanks. You do have a point, though. This world is covered in satellites. Sure, they aren’t prioritized to watch the GABA, but a year of dead silence is practically unheard of.”
“If you’ve jinxed us, I swear to the great asshole’s impervious red cape…” Salazar warned.
“Yeah, yeah. Tell it to the mutant cassowaries.”
That made the group shudder. Cassowaries were bad enough. Twelve-foot-tall cassowaries were prehistoric dragon birds of angst.
“You assholes are overthinking it. She’s not important enough and too far away from anything important enough to warrant a raid.” Dominique was sitting on the railing and took the spliff off him, taking a deep drag. “The fuel costs alone to get here would make most eco-conscious hero outfits balk, unless they want to ramp it up to the ones that can fly, but even then, you need big transports to pull everyone out of here, let alone deal with the monsters. It’s just not cost effective.”
“Depends who she’s working for too.” Murotovic pointed out. “Maybe she’s working terraforming tech for someone.”
“Could we not? No, seriously could we not?” Salazar wanted to know. “I know I’m superstitious as fuck but talking about this shit will bring it down on our heads. I have seen it happen in real time.”
“Okay, so if that was the case how long would we have?” Dominique scoffed.
“Well, fuck, it depends who’s coming after us okay? But when I saw it, the turnaround was literally minutes.”
There was a long silence, punctuated only by local wildlife, mutant cassowaries, and a distant whistle. They all looked at each other, listening to the whistle get louder.
“Off the catwalk, off, right fucking now!” Baxter dug in and ran down the catwalk, sprinting for the ladder, hitting his radio. “Central, we are yellow lights approaching red, threat unknown!”
“You assholes! You complete.. fucking.. assholes!” Salazar managed to scream as they slid down the ladder, diving into the lab as the first rocket slammed into the compound. “What did I say? What did I say?!”
“Oh my god shut the hell up.” He yanked everyone through and put his shoulder into the door, shoving it shut as the building rocked, an alarm wailing and the alarm lights all going red. “Okay, rockets, heavy munitions. That means someone is in fact using a fuckton of fuel to go military against this place. Who are our options?”
Murotovic got them double timing for the lab armory, yelling at the wonks to batten down as they ran. “It’s not local unless they called New Zealand and they have their own problems, so probably not government unless they called in the United States.”
“Has to be a cape.” Rominsen said. “Some capes roll like that and there’s no collateral damage here.”
Murotovic got the armory open and started tossing them rifles. “Okay so it’s a cape. What callsign?”
“Red Raider. Russian.” Dominique said.
“I thought she hung up the helmet?”
“She’s a cape! Do they ever quit?”
“Sky Sword. American.” Rominsen suggested. “He’s had a lot of traction lately what with drones up and coming.”
“Shit, if it’s Sky Sword we’re done.” Baxter growled, cringing as the building rocked again, then he paused and looked toward the impact, counting. “Wait. Did any of these impacts have explosions?”
“Duds?” Salazar asked.
“This many in a row?” Dominique was skeptical.
“Shit, okay, it’s probably Sky Sword and he isn’t alone. He’s got another cape with him at least, Crosshairs.” He moved, shouldering the rifle and going to where the wonks were, who were setting up experimental weaponry instead of taking cover of course. “Crosshairs is a strong telekinetic and can pick up and throw things. His favorite deadly weapon are needles, he can throw them at the speed of sound and castrate a fly.”
“We don’t have much here that can stop that unless he uses magnetic projectiles.” A wonk complained, chewing gum.
“Let’s hope he avoids the lab.” He looked up when the security door chimed, turning and bringing the rifle up as the other guards did, lowering it when more wonks dove through the door, all carrying bags and struggling to shut the door behind themselves. “Perkin?”
“Baxter! I think we’re safer here than in personnel quarters.” She jogged over, dragging the small group with her.
“Shit.” Rominsen moaned.
Baxter agreed. Perkin was potentially deadly, and the entire group were minors, hell the youngest looked like a very serious third grader. “Alright, how can you help us secure this place?”
“I can hotwire the door to stay shut.” One offered.
“Good, do that.” He decided, looking up as the building shook.
“The Doctor is pissed.” One of the adult wonks had a tablet computer out, staring at camera feeds. “But she’s just… shouting at the capes.”
“Is that better or worse than a fight?” Perkin asked.
“How any capes?” Salazar asked.
“At least three. The Doctor is yelling at Sky Sword, who may have brought an army because we have planes on radar approaching.” The wonk blew a bubble and popped it. “You’re right, I think that’s Crosshairs.” He turned the tablet to show them.
Baxter only had to glance. “That’s him. Curvy chick with him is Aphelion, she’s got some gravity manipulation powers. Wait, holy hell, Sky Sword is serving the Doctor with papers.”
The guards all got their phones out, logging into their bank accounts and swearing.
“Is that bad?” The lab-coated third grader asked.
“Frankly? It means there is a chance the Doctor’s assets are about to be frozen. From there they’ll look at recent account activity.” Baxter had his phone out too, tapping fast.
“Aren’t you supposed to be protecting us?” An adult wonk complained.
None of them even looked up. “A broke hench is a possibly dead or jailed one. Transferred.” Salazar replied.
“Transferred.” Baxter echoed as his local bank confirmed transfer to Switzerland. The other guards echoed this, all pulling the batteries out of their phones. “Incinerator?”
“I’ve got it.” Dominique collected all their phones, taking them to an incinerator in the lab, tossing them and making sure it started running.
“That was weird.” Perkin decided, sitting on a desk. “Was that, like, planned out?”
“No. Not exactly. It’s just things experienced henchmen do. Burn the contact list, make the phone unsearchable. If we have time when shit’s going down. We don’t always but it protects each other.” Baxter was looking back at the tablet. There was no sound but the visuals were enough. “Sky Sword has cuffs out. They came all this way to make an arrest?”
“Why are you expecting logic from capes?” Salazar put a hand to his earpiece. “Central? Lab’s secure, what is going on?”
“Nothing good. The capes actually got legal backing for once. Safety your weapons, only fire if they fire first. We are outgunned.” There was a pause, though the channel stayed open. “Shit.”
“Central?” Baxter asked after a beat.
“We’ve got stagecrew less than five minutes out. They’re taking the place over.”
“That’s not fair! We weren’t bothering anyone!” One of Perkin’s cohorts flared.
“You guys will likely keep your jobs. Well, the adults will, capes are weird about kids sometimes and it’s entirely hypocritical.” Rominsen told them.
“Yeah no, I’m here because I know what they’d do with me.” Perkin shook her head, digging in her bag and coming out with a bound stack of cash, holding it up. “Get me out of here.”
The henches all blinked.
“Shit, yeah okay fine, if the stagecrew is coming this contract is up.” Baxter decided, reaching out and taking the money stack, feathering the end of it and counting. “Ten grand. Why do you have ten grand?”
She scoffed and showed him the bag, which had a thick file, a tablet, and a jumble of pill bottles and bound cash. “I’m young not dumb. Micah’s coming with right Micah?”
The third grader nodded. “We do math together.”
“How the hell are you going to get out? We’re hundreds of miles from anything.” Salazar demanded.
“That’s officially my business. See you on the ship guys.” He saluted and swung the rifle to his back. “Come on, kids, we’re going out the back.”
The lab’s back doors led to monster containment, and he chose the sea monster, carding through the door. Perkin and Micah followed, both grabbing buckets of frozen fish when prompted.
“You can get us out of here right?” Perkin wanted to know once they had stepped outside. The desert night heat hit, made humid by the rapidly growing inland sea. Bright lights shown from the opposite side of the facility, but for now, they were in long shadow and semi-darkness.
“Depends if I can leverage an old friend. Probably.” He led them down the side of the building, walking carefully on large rocks that buffered the facility from the water. In the water, the sea monster rousted, surfacing and blowing salty mist while staring at them. “Hi Fluffy. Okay kids, dump the buckets in the water.”
“Are we bribing Fluffy?” Micah seemed uncertain even as he dumped his bucket next to Perkin’s. Fluffy hooted and swam over, munching happily.
“Yes.” Leaving the monster to its midnight snack, Baxter helped the kids navigate the rough rock, pausing and having them crouch low as big planes came in and vertical landed. “Yeah, this is a takeover, like a hostile corporate one.”
“Why?” Perkin wanted to know as they got off the rock at the edge of the beach.
“It doesn’t matter.” Night vision was completely unnecessary, the facility’s front was lit up like noon, the Doctor still in a furious talk with Sky Sword along with what might have been several lawyers. He didn’t immediately spot Aphelion, which was possibly a problem, but Crosshairs was nearby, on the ground watching the planes land. “Now that’s some luck. Micah, I need to borrow your lab coat.” He held Micah’s bag while he took it off, then traded him. “Stay right behind me, and stay quiet unless I tell you it’s okay.” That said he started walking forward before bellowing, “Hey, asshole!”
Crosshairs startled and spun to face them, gloved hands coming up and featureless cowl revealing nothing. Behind him, Sky Sword looked on curiously, and Aphelion reappeared.
Baxter waved the lab coat above his head until Crosshairs dropped his hands a bit. “What, did you get tired of throwing darts?” He shouted this as well, and it had the desired affect because Crosshairs dropped his hands and double-timed over. “I need a sundial to time that speed, you lazy fuck!”
“Wait, you know him?” Perkin hissed.
“Served in the army together, got afflicted in the same lab. He got superpowers, I got some cosmetic issues. Shh.”
“Baxter?” Crosshairs demanded once he got there. “Look, I don’t know what…”
“Stop. These are my wonks. They want nothing of what Sky Sword is selling or press ganging, and neither do I. They’ve paid me to get them out, which puts me under a one-task contract for them and they’re minors.”
“Oh god dammit.” The visible lower half of Crosshairs’ face showed disgust. “Are you seriously leveraging minors? I mean, really, contract law…”
“Hey! I really paid him for this. He’s decent.” Perkin flared. Baxter groaned internally.
“He’s a henchman!” Crosshairs snapped.
“And I’m a mad scientist! If I want a bodyguard because there’s capes here I’ll have one.”
“Look kid, there are rules because you’re a minor. We’re supposed to put you in state custody.”
“They’re lab afflicted. You know how that goes sometimes.” Baxter said quietly.
“Ugh. FINE, but only because that’s what we’ll be doing anyway. We’re offering all the techs new contracts and shipping henchmen out unless you have outstanding warrants.”
“What do you take me for?” Baxter was almost insulted.
“A criminal. Most big bads couldn’t operate at all without henchmen.”
“Fuck you too. Which plane leaves first?”
He pointed. “I can’t promise we won’t hold you in custody.”
“Oh big talk. Come on kids.” He reached side to side and they agreeably took his hands for the walk to the plane.
“This doesn’t make me a kid.” Micah frowned up at him.
“Uh huh.”
“I’m still way smarter than you are.”
“Entirely true.”
It wasn’t that easy, of course.
They’d been on the plane (luxury hoverjet, very nice) for all of two minutes when stagecrew showed up, with a tablet computer and a serious expression, to take their names, occupations and ask a dozen other questions. When it was discovered that Baxter had no legal ID on him, it was immediately arranged for him to be escorted back inside, to his quarters, to get it. And of course, the wonks refused to let him out of their sight, apparently seeing him as a magical ‘stay out of state custody’ card. So Perkin and Micah followed, stubbornly holding onto him like he’d stop the capes from whisking them away.
They’d paid him. He’d try.
“So, it’s occurring to me that I don’t know your first name.” Baxter said, packing his bag under the scrutiny of stagecrew, who seemed suspicious his boxers may contain knives. They’d already taken all his weapons and his laptop was being thoroughly molested.
“I don’t know your last name.” Perkin pointed out.
Baxter gave her a look. “Baxter isn’t my first name.”
“Wait, your callsign in Baxter?!”
“Technically it’s my middle name. I’ve gone by it since I was about Micah’s age.”
“Why?” She was blinking at him.
“Because my first and last name make me sound mobbed up. My family is Sicilian as all hell.” He zipped the bag shut and held out his hand for his laptop. “Has my Skyrim save file passed scrutiny?”
The stagecrew gave it back. “You aren’t wrong, but wouldn’t sounding mobbed up be good for a henchman?”
He groaned, shoving it into a laptop bag. “Not if the wrong mob notices. Are we done here?”
The facility was in chaos, which made being brought in and out that much less awkward. Perkin didn’t speak again until they were outside. “It’s Stacy.”
“Stacy?” He blinked down at her.
“Stacy Perkin. It’s horrid, and I hate it. I sound like an extra from Grease! I’m Stacy Perkin and this is Sandra Dee.”
“You really need to start looking on the bright side of things.”
“No! Stacy Perkin sounds like a spandex wearing cape that can fly and shoot confetti from her generous boobs, not a frizzle haired wonk that produces radiation!”
Baxter about choked on his spit laughing. “Silver spandex.” He suggested. “With, like, lightning bolts down the sides.”
“Confetti streamers, obviously.”
“Does she cry glitter?” Micah seemed intrigued.
“Oh my god she’d definitely cry glitter.”
“And be a One Direction fan.” Baxter smiled.
“Hey!”
He found an overhead bin to throw his bag into. “So, change your name or get a callsign.”
“My resume is under my real name, so if I get a callsign, I’d be the Atomic Wonder, AKA, Stacy Perkin. I’m not sure that’s better. Actually, that might be worse.”
“Well, Atomic Wonder makes you sound like a 1950s cape.”
“Yeah, with a gold cape and helmet, and an atomic symbol logo.” Micah nodded studiously, settling in a seat. “You need something generic, like ‘The Generator.’”
“That makes me sound like I generate electricity.” Perkin’s nose wrinkled.
“No, it doesn’t specify. For all anyone knows, you could generate puppies.” Baxter pointed out.
“That is horrifying.” Crosshairs’ voice said, then he appeared a moment later. “Baxter? A word.”
“Balloons!” Perkin immediately replied.
“Okay, fine, but we’re staying by the plane.” He sighed and walked to the ramp, following Crosshairs out. “This visual won’t be good for your reputation.”
Crosshairs grabbed his shirt and tugged him around until the hoverjet was between them and the facility. “There, satisfied?”
“Sure, why not. What do you want?”
“Why are you still doing this?”
“It’s a job. It pays decently, the benefits are good, the time off is generous. No one asks me stupid questions like what am I doing with my life.” He shrugged.
“You’re a criminal!”
“You’ve already said that, and its slander, I’ve never been convicted of jack shit.” Baxter scoffed. “Besides, at least I’m not a hypocrite.” Crosshairs grabbed him and slammed him to the jet, the noise a hollow thud as the armor plates in Baxter’s back hit the metal. He just grunted, barely feeling it. “What, that make you feel like a big man, Joey?”
“Don’t you dare unmask me.” Crosshairs hissed.
“You telling me that the people you’re with don’t know you?” He’s skeptical.
“Sky Sword and Aphelion know. Stagecrew doesn’t generally know identities unless we’re public, or they have upper clearances. And either way, your people don’t know me. So cut the shit.” Crosshairs was close, close enough Baxter could feel his breath, and he shifted, reaching up and finding the edge of the cowl. Crosshairs didn’t move so he pulled it off, staring at the scars and the white ruins of Crosshairs’ eyes. For his part, Crosshairs just rolled them. “Satisfied now? We both have ‘cosmetic issues’ you raging prick, but at least I still serve my country.”
“Either kiss me or get off me, jackass.” This had the desired effect, Crosshairs shoving away and letting Baxter push off the plane and roll his shoulders, feeling his back spikes settle back down. “I’ve never taken jobs that are against the States, so please, spare me the apple pie and spangled banner bullshit. It’s just work. You don’t have to try to save me so spare me your judgement.”
That got him a glare as Crosshairs tugged the cowl back into place, fidgeting with it briefly. “Serious shit’s coming. You’d do well to make sure you’re on the right side of it.”
“Well, thank you for the fortune cookie. Can I go? I’m apparently playing escort right now.” He watched the cape walk away so he also did, climbing back up the ramp and pleased to see both wonks were still there. “I’m taking my shirt off, consider yourselves warned.”
“Any particular reason why oh holy crap.” Perkin replied, staring as he did and the patchwork of umber brown-to-black armor plates embedded in his skin became visible.
“Told you. I’m lab afflicted.” He turned to show his back, which was fully covered to his shoulders including spikes down his spine.
“So that’s why they call you Gator. Huh.”
“Just so you two know, do NOT go to any wonk sites while on this plane. Assume all wifi here is monitored. Wait until we’re dropped off at Sydney.” He watched them both exit websites on their tablets, and stepped away to the jet’s bathroom.