Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They’re asking me to pick a name for myself—not asking, actually, demanding I choose, as any of that stuff matters. Not the first time I’ve had to name myself, but I didn’t want to back then either—I ended up just flipping to a random page in a ‘baby names’ catalogue and blindly putting my finger down on ‘Ian’. Then and now, the idea that I’m the one who has to do it offends me, and yet the idea of someone else choosing for me also offends me. Irrational, I know—it’s just a lose-lose scenario.

I’ve been thinking about how I got here, trying to make sense of it, trying to pick something that fits. It was only a month or so ago when I got that third email telling me that I was definitely for real this time on academic probation, and that I’d lose my financial aid and possibly be expelled if I failed any more credits. It certainly didn’t begin there, though; I had always been a stupid, pathetic, lazy excuse for a person. I was just… born like that, I guess. There’s something others seem to possess that I lack.

I was alone, then. I did have a roommate, but I barely saw much of him. He was in the process of officially changing rooms just to get away from me—he had some issues with my cleanliness, as he told me. I don’t particularly blame him, though—I did smell, I just didn’t notice it at the time. I was just surviving off of financial aid money and a meal plan, and only had a hundred or so dollars to spend on anything other than cafeteria food every three months, so I considered deodorant and shampoo a waste. I wasn’t spending money on haircuts, razors, or new clothes either, so my blonde, constantly oily, curly hair had grown down to my shoulders. At least my facial hair didn’t grow all the way out, it looked more like golden wires than a full-on beard.

I probably did look homeless, but I was about to be actually homeless. They only give out financial aid to students that pass their classes, and I was not one of those students. If I failed one more set of classes, I’d lose my housing and access to food, and I likely would have been kicked off to the streets. Moving in with family wasn’t an option since I have none—part of why my financial aid was so high in the first place. I had no friends to couch surf on, either—I could chalk it up to the Seattle Freeze, maybe, but the truth is I just didn’t want to put in the effort to socialize, or maybe I was actually afraid to, I don’t know. 

I was only taking easy gen-ed classes, but still just didn’t put in even the most basic effort needed to get a passing grade on what most students would consider effortless 4.0s. I just didn’t have the motivation. Maybe I was depressed, but I’m not sure. I was also in trouble for not picking a major going into my junior year, and I was pretty upset when I realized I’d never be able to pull myself through one of the majors I was actually interested in like engineering or astrophysics, so maybe that had something to do with it. If only I knew what I’d be doing now.

At some point, at a seemingly random moment, I felt it within me that I had completely failed. The feeling overwhelmed me, but I didn’t cry or despair. I felt a sort of relief, even. “Oh well,” I whispered, “One less thing to worry about, I guess.”

In that same moment, I felt the urge to go on a walk. It was a usual rainy day, far from uncommon in the Seattle winter. I put on a hoodie and shoes, walked out of my room, down the elevator, and out the door. Bereft of an umbrella, I let the chilling rain pour over me, soaking my hair and my clothes. I felt free, I felt good. I felt like I was being cleansed of the responsibility that I was casting aside. Like, who cares if I got wet? Not me, certainly. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

I walked for about an hour, and the rain dried up as dusk began. It was a picturesque moment. I wanted to get to a point where I could see it better, and found my way to a tall university building. I went inside, not knowing or caring whether or not I should be in there. In fact I still have no idea what the purpose of this building even was. Office space? Whatever the case, my university ID card gave me access to the elevator, which I rode up to the top floor. An additional set of stairs carried me to a door with a conspicuously opened padlock on its handle. I took the opportunity, and found myself on the roof.

Immediately I was greeted by the sight of a rainbowed sunset. I hadn’t seen something that beautiful in quite some time. Had I just not been looking? I stared for a few moments, before a voice startled me into a jump and a yelp, the kind of embarrassing scream you make when you think you’re alone. I turned to the source and there was a girl sitting comfortably up against the wall next to the roof exit I came from. I scratched my head out of embarrassment and sighed as I calmed down.

For some reason I felt like there was someone else there, even though I’m certain I was alone.

She giggled, “Jeez, I’m not the boogeyman, calm down.” She paused to contain her laughter, “Oh my god you are soaking. Bad day?” Her voice was soft yet gravelly. 

I stood still, trying to reason myself through her question. Is this a bad day? I guess it should have been, but I didn’t feel so bad. I sat down criss-cross on the wet floor to face her. She was pretty. She had a somewhat ashy complexion, and wore a comfortable looking coat that mimicked a dress with leggings. Most notable was the spiked choker that she wore. “Uh, not really.” I answered, “I just decided to give up, but giving up isn’t so bad, I think. I think I’m having a good day.”

She raised her eyebrow. “You’re not going to jump, are you?”

Confused for a moment, I stammered to stem the misunderstanding, “Nonono, not that kind of giving up. I’m just, taking a new lease on life, I guess. I’ve stopped caring. Caring about… stressful stuff… any stuff… As long as I can get food into my stomach and sleep at night I’m fine, right? That’s how I feel.”

“Hmm.” She responded, noncommittally. “What’s your name?”

“Ian.”

She smiled. “Well my name’s Megan. I hope we can become friends.”

I looked at her, then down to the wet roof. Then I set my gaze on the beautiful sunset on the cityscape. I didn’t expect to, but tears welled in my eyes. I stifled them by taking a pensive pose, trying to look cool and stoic. “I hope so too.” I said at a half-whisper, for some reason.

I found myself staring at the horizon until my emotions calmed down, and my meditation was broken by Megan's voice, startling me again somehow despite myself.

“You’re sort of right, but there’s more to it than that. You know Maslow’s hierarchy of needs right? People need more than just food and a roof over their heads. If you don’t do something else you’ll go insane. That’s why people make art, go to concerts, play sports. You shouldn’t just give up, Ian. You should live.”

Meeting her eyes, I put my hand on my chin, feeling my stubble as I considered that there may be more to live than what I knew. Of course I had considered this before, but decided that nice things cost money, and I’d rather just not work. But sitting up here, seeing the city, making a connection; made me appreciate the beauty in life for the first time. To mention the beauty of living? Maybe she had a point. It wouldn’t be so bad to get off my ass and get a job if it meant I could, I don’t know, go on camping trips and see the views from the mountains like this but better.

Feeling anxious for some reason, I looked at the cloudy sky reflected in the puddles around me. I craned my head to look at the city streets beneath me, with all their vain, artsy murals and decorations in full view.

"Maybe." I resolved.

I felt for some reason that I was missing something incredibly valuable. 

"Thank you." I said to nobody in particular, for no reason at all.

And then it happened.

I felt as though I had been struck by lightning, and that’s exactly what I thought had happened too, despite the lack of rain. Pain and confusion wracked my body, and I must have lost consciousness because I found myself laying down, face to the sky, with no recollection of moving. I shot up, and my head spun. The world did not look the same. I saw these… connections, couplings, I ‘felt’ numbers and values associated with objects and the air around me. I looked at my hands and intuited that my fingers could swing back and forth at a rate of about four cycles per second. It made no sense to me. I got up and started rushing with my weak legs to the door that led back into the building, tripping and crawling. That’s when I noticed Megan totally knocked unconscious next to it. I felt awful and guilty for forgetting about her somehow. How could I have been so selfish?

I found the strength to crawl towards her before stumbling to my feet and dragging her inside through the door to get her to safety. After I propped her up against the wall. She awakened, drawing a sharp breath.

“Are you ok? Are you hurt?” I asked, just relieved she’s alive.

Instead of responding, she flashed me a look of fear, eyes widening, breathing unevenly, before pushing off of the wall to her feet and immediately running away and down the stairs. I tried shouting “wait!” as she ran, but she was out of sight before I could even think about giving chase.

I stood there confused. Time crept forward around me as I regained the senses I didn’t realize were muted from the tunnel vision of stress. The frequency band of my hearing widened, and I once again listened to the squawking of crows, the gentle breezes, and the various man-made hums of this lonely city. After that, it didn’t take long to realize that I had somehow triggered while looking at the sunset.

Chapter Text

I had taken a Parahuman Studies 101 class last quarter, since it was one of those easy introductory classes that didn’t take much effort, so I had some basis to figure out what happened to me and what my power was. One thing really confused me about my situation though: trigger events are when someone spontaneously manifests a power during a really traumatic event. I didn’t think the sunset was that traumatic? The mystery bugged me, but I didn’t discount the fact that I often skipped that class, and maybe didn’t understand trigger events that well anyway. I wasn’t going to complain either way. Still, though, my recollection of the event didn’t exactly make sense—it felt as if time was stopping, starting, or skipping all throughout it. Already, I had begun to consider the possibility that my memories may have been tampered with. 

The walk back to my residence hall after triggering was harrowing. The numbers and connections that I could see and feel all around me was overwhelming, and for most of the walk I stared at my feet, occasionally venturing to look up to see where I was going just to get hit with a panging headache from the information overflow once again. Clearly my power had something to do with sound, that’s the only thing I could figure out at the time. At one point an ambulance drove past an intersection I was waiting to cross, and I intuited exactly what the doppler effect of its siren would sound like before it even passed. I thought it was so lame, and I was kind of right. Understanding sound really good? What could I have done with that?

I got to the silence of my dorm room and finally found enough peace to think with a clear mind. When I was taking that Parahuman Studies class, I would daydream about what I would do with powers if I got them. I decided—or hoped—that I would just use them to make money secretly and not attract attention, not get into violent fights, or just make normal chores a lot easier. If I only had Best Dressed’s power for instance, I’d never need to vacuum again! It just seemed stupid to me that all these parahumans used them to fight. I had always hoped that there were much more that we didn’t hear about because they just laid low, like me. 

Now that I’d become a parahuman, all that daydreaming paid off, apparently. I crystalized a goal to use my powers for: academic success. First of all, I could probably revisit those physics courses now that I had an apparently magical understanding of some of the subject. Maybe I could be an engineering major after all. That was a great idea for the long term, but didn’t help me in my more short term predicament: if I didn’t pass this quarter with good grades, I would lose my financial aid, and be kicked out. Midterms were coming up, how could I use them for those? To cheat? Did I have super-hearing? Maybe I could listen to the whispers of the other exam takers and steal their answers? 

I closed my eyes and focused on my aural senses… Nope. I could hear the humming my humidifier made, the sounds of vents blowing hot air, and snippets of activity from the street below my window. Pretty much the same as it was before my trigger, except now I could ‘see’ the waveforms they make in my mind’s eye.

My train of thought was interrupted as my roommate entered the room. Avery—he was a sort of tall, lanky, computer science guy. He set his backpack down by his desk and took his ear-buds out. I studied this event, forgetting how weird I looked just staring at him. The door made a creaking sound due to a slip-stick effect in the friction of the hinges, frequency proportional to the square root of coefficient of… No, I diverted my focus to something else. I could faintly hear the music Avery was listening to as he took his ear-buds off, and when I focused on that, I suddenly and completely understood exactly how they functioned, down to the last minute detail of the tiny speakers inside of them, the subtraction tones to reach lower frequencies—and everything wrong with them. Immediately I formulated a blueprint in my mind for the perfect ear-bud, with a full frequency range, ideal comfort, and a design that transmits the sound directly into your ear-canal with perfect impedance. Finally, I had figured it out. I’m a tinker.

“...’Sup.” Avery spoke, with a look of discomfort.

He woke me from my trance, “‘Sup.” I responded, looking away finally, pretending like I was doing something else. 

He then passive-aggressively cleaned up some fast-food scraps I’d accidentally left out for a day or two. I wasn’t paying attention to him, though—I was laser-focusing on formulating plans for using my new power to pass my classes.

I glanced at Avery once more, who eyed me suspiciously again, now from his bed. I focused my vision on his head before looking away again, allowing me to figure out the resonant frequency of his skull.

I vaguely remembered hearing about a case in political news where some diplomats were given headaches and confusion by some ultrasonic buzzing at a meeting or something. I thought I’d put that to the test. How do I make an ultrasonic sound, then?

My power supplied the answer, and it was something I could do with the supplies I had available. My humidifier had an ultrasonic transducer inside of it that vaporizes the water via cavitation. If I took that apart, tweaked it a little to match Avery’s skull resonance, made a crude amplifier with some paper and tinfoil… It would create a drone with a high enough sound power level to get some effect within a few feet.

I tried it out. My desk was positioned close to the foot of his bed, so I simply activated it with my hands right there. 

Suddenly, I ceased to think. I felt a pain in my head that rivaled what I felt during my trigger event, it was growing, quickly and steadily. The pain alone would have been enough to disable me, but the effect on my capacity of thought was apparently happening in parallel. I could only form one coherent thought, and it was “ow”. Not “I need to turn this off”, not “Help!”, just, “ouch”. With a stroke of luck it only lasted a few seconds when my finger slipped and turned the switch off. Both me and Avery groaned in pain in the aftermath. 

“What the fuck was that…!?” he moaned through his hands covering his face.

I stayed silent with my head on the desk, apart from my exclamations of pain. I didn’t want him to think it was my fault. Almost as quickly as it compounded, though, the pain subsided.

—

After a week of planning and building, I’d more or less figured out a solution. The midterms I was facing were curved, so the play was to use ultrasonic drones to make everyone else do horribly, and I’d come out with a passing grade. The prototype I tested on Avery and myself was obviously a failure. First of all, the volume was too high. I wanted to make him just a little bit confused, not render him totally catatonic. Second: human skulls have pretty similar resonances to each other, so if I was going to be in the same room as the victims, I'd need protection. With some ample time and access to the university maker spaces, I ended up making a hypersonic speaker that distributes a precise sound intensity over a wide area—something that I was sure should have been impossible without my powers because of the law of conservation of energy—and a set of tiny in-ear active noise cancelling tuned to the exact frequency of the drone. 

I had executed the plan perfectly the following midterm week. I sat down at the lecture hall, waited for the exams to be passed out, and activated the drone as I watched everyone else’s movements slow down. Just as planned, I retained my mental acuity. The only problem was that I looked down at the questions, and realized I knew absolutely none of the material. I hadn’t studied, or gone to lectures, because I was busy building my devices for cheating. Isn’t that what teachers always warn you about? That if you’re cheating, you’re not learning? It’s apparently true.

This remained true for my other two midterms that week. Some time later after they were graded, I found that it did work as intended: the averages were notably lower. But my grade was none the better. I had failed. With finals now coming up, I needed a new plan. There’s no way I was going to catch up on my classes at this rate. If I wanted to stay in school and keep up my rhythm, I needed something drastic.

I spent some time at the library to study. Not to study my course material—to study law. The university is public, so its policies are written in the Washington code of laws. I had heard that if something catastrophic happens to the campus, the students affected by it automatically pass. I’d heard this factoid in passing from other students making dark humor jokes like “-And God willing, Behemoth will finally visit so I can get the semester off.”

It was easy to verify that it was true. If the campus suffers destruction or other catastrophes that prevent the academic session to continue as normal, all affected matriculated students may pass with a non-numerical grade. It actually already happened once when Leviathan attacked four years ago.

It was a really stupid idea.

I studied the architecture of the exam hall, in person and in archives at the library. I found that its structurally necessary foundation and supports could easily be shaken loose by a precise acoustic driver. Not something I could do with sound in air, though. I made several actuators that attach to the beams of the building to vibrate them into instability. Like an earthquake, pretty much. Because this was a big, loud project, I didn’t have the capacity for a prototype. It was all or nothing.

I did some brief research on the cape scene around this time to see if they had some thinker or bullshit to catch me, and lucky for me I learned that the Protectorate is pretty incompetent—I had already heard so from rumors, but because Seattle’s cape scene is pretty uneventful, the competent ones get transferred to other cities where they’ll be useful, and the rest really do just do nothing. I learned about Memorial, a post-cog with the rogue-villain group SOPHIST, but I wasn’t worried about a criminal snitching. Again, though, it was a stupid idea—I didn’t know the half of it.

With just enough time for finals to begin, I finished what I believed to be acoustic bombs. I planted them in the span of an afternoon, and detonated them remotely in the dead of night without fanfare. The next day I came to observe the scene of the crime, just like many other students. I wasn’t very conspicuous—it was in the heart of campus after all. Classes were cancelled, but lots of students still lived in and around campus. Apparently a lot evacuated, as I overheard from the chatter as I traveled to get a good look at my handiwork.

“... you think it was terrorism?...”

“...ve been a structural iss…”

“...ill there be more?”

“...no mom I’m fine, it was at nigh…”

“...hear someone died?…”

The comments washed over me, until I heard the last one. I stopped listening after that, my senses drowned with anxiety and the fear of guilt and responsibility.

I arrived at Red Square, snaked my way through the crowd gathered at its edge, and saw the devastation.

It was worse than I pictured.

The exam hall collapsed, yes. Mission accomplished. But the entire plaza collapsed too. The hall was built on top of an artificial ground, with a parking lot underneath. Its fall apparently took that ground with it. There was a huge hole in the middle of campus. So many cars totalled. Lots of people use Red Square at night—it’s a favored hang out spot among hip-hop enthusiasts and skate-boarders because of its wide open brick layout. I believed the passerby now. I had no doubt that I’ve injured maybe tens of people. It’s entirely possible that I killed some, but I still haven’t bothered checking to confirm if I really did or not.

I stood in disbelief. Utterly still. This wasn’t at all what I wanted. I felt unbelievably stupid. All of this just so I could have a better number on my transcript? I’m scum. I don’t know why I thought I had a chance.

I turned around mechanically, and walked away. I knew my destination. I walked slowly and methodically towards the nearby police station. Someone sitting at a reception desk said something to me through the bulletproof glass, but I wasn’t listening.

“I’m turning myself in.” I announced clearly. “I’m a parahuman. I need to be restrained and deafened. I’m responsible for the attack on Kane Hall.”

Before I was even finished my admittance of guilt, an alarm was already sounded, and every door and window were shut closed with what looked like solid reinforced steel. I was given instructions through a loudspeaker to lie on the floor with my hands on my back. I did so. A few seconds of waiting later I saw the left half of a man in a pure red bodysuit appear out of nowhere instantaneously. Just the left half, as if he was sliced in two. This would be Dullahan; the cape who can teleport parts of his body independently from each other, defying physics and biology to stay alive while separated. I could see his bones, organs, brain, and muscles moving and functioning at the seam where the separation occurs. It was disgusting. I felt nauseous, compounding the nausea that I had already been feeling due to my guilt. I threw up on the ground, and moved my arms to separate my face from the bile. In the same moment, his second half appeared next to me, forcing me on the ground right back to where my vomit puddle was. He separated the four of his limbs from his body and used them to pin down my arms, my neck, and my legs incredibly efficiently, while having some fingers left over to plug my ears. After placing me in cuffs, he combined the two halves of his torso and head together, allowing it to float in place above me. He stared at me, inscrutably, without speaking or blinking. 

A minute after tasting and smelling nothing but my own vomit, the reinforced door opened, and I was given bulky noise cancelling headphones, and sprayed with containment foam. Presumably I was picked up and placed in a van after that, but I had lost most of my senses, it’s hard to tell. I only had my own thoughts for the next set of hours. A fitting punishment, to be sure.

Chapter Text

“It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Strutt,” Said a very tired looking middle-aged man as he sat down and leaned over my interrogation table. “My name is Tadashi Foote. I’m the director of the Seattle PRT branch… Let me just try to understand a little bit, first of all. You’ve caused an awful disaster, you’re turning yourself in, and you want to go to prison. Is that right?”

It had been two days—I think—since I’d been in this holding cell, talking to detectives, lawyers, doctors. I was numb to it at this point.

I looked down as I mumbled, “Yep. Take me away.”

His forehead wrinkled as he furrowed his brows. “Not many people are as eager as you are to go to jail.” He said, concerned, “I understand you feel as though you need to be punished, perhaps, but… is there a different reason? Are you hiding from something?”

“Nope. You got it right the first guess. It’s just what’s next for me.”

He paused to scratch his balding head, rub his eyes, and adjust his glasses, then slid a few sheets of paper to me across the table. 

“It doesn’t need to be… The PRT, Seattle Protectorate, and the municipal judge have generously offered you an alternative sentence. You have a choice: join the Seattle Protectorate as a probationary member, where you can advance technology safely with training and grow as a cape and an individual, or serve a life sentence in the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center.

“Nah, boss. Take me to jail.” I gave a kneejerk response without really processing the choice. 

He seemed to take it as a surprise. When he spoke, it was extraordinarily gentle, “Mr. Strutt, I don’t know what you’re dealing with in there, but the Birdcage is far from three hots and a cot. It’s full of dangerous, heartless killers and cheats. You seem, to me, like a good kid who's been down on your luck, and you made a very, very bad mistake. Don’t let that define you. If you truly want to do the right thing, punishing yourself is just… cowardice. Make up for it by living your life doing good for the world instead…” He paused, then sighed as if something was conflicting him, “But, we need you to make that choice. We need heroes who choose to be heroes. Desperately.”

I started crying. I wasn’t sure why.

Logically, I knew going to the Birdcage was the worst case scenario. It would be grueling, miserable, potentially a death sentence for me. Joining the protectorate would also be dangerous, busy, and soul-crushing. But I didn’t have a choice. The hope that I would go to a normal prison was a delusion, after all. I don’t know what I was thinking. There’s no easy option for me, no ‘path of least resistance’. There never was.

The director waited for me to work through my tears.

“Sure.” I said, croakingly cutting through the dreary silence.

—

After navigating me through nearly half an hour of paperwork and making me recite the right words to swear me into the Protectorate, Director Foote brought me into some sort of common area of the Protectorate building. Some capes live at the headquarters like I was about to, some don’t, but this room is very lived in by both groups. Everyone needs breaks after all. The room had a design that encouraged socialization: a conversation corner with couches arranged in a semicircle, an open plan kitchen and dining room, a corner with some video games and a console. An older man was sitting on the couch and reading a magazine as we entered. He stood up and gave a lighthearted salute to the Director, who introduced me.

“Swordsmith, this is Ian. He’s your new team member. Ian, this is Swordsmith. You’re both tinkers, so you should get along well.”

“Aye aye captain.” Swordsmith responded. His voice was low and wisened, and his appearance mostly normal. Had short black hair and a goatee. 

“I’ll leave him in your care, then. I’ll be checking back in a bit to see how he’s doing. Take good care of him.” Director Foote spoke as he exited the way he came. 

Swordsmith waited until the Director had closed the door completely before speaking next. “What an awesome guy, right? Always so considerate.”

“Uhm, yeah.” I responded. I was being awkward, and Swordsmith clearly took note of it. 

“Mhmm… You can call me Jack, by the way. He just uses our codenames because he doesn’t want to accidentally reveal something he shouldn't.”

“Ok… Uhm, so you make swords? I thought you were a villain?”

Jack groaned, threw his arms in the air, and walked around in a circle out of disappointment. “You’re thinking of Swordsman, the Seattle Swordsman. I’m the Swordsmith. He took my fucking name from me. Jesus, do you know anything about Seattle capes?”

I thought the question was rhetorical, so I didn’t respond right away until I realized he was waiting for my answer. “Uh, no. Not really. I know… Thunderstep, and Dullahan, those are in the PRT. I know about Best Dressed, he’s a villain. There’s some others too…”

“Well I guess it’s my job to teach you.” Jack sighed. “Sit down.”

I did so, joining him on the couch.

“Yeah I make swords. Tinkers have specialties—I’m told yours is sound. Mine is melee weapons. I can make anything that’ll slice, pierce, or bludgeon from a close range. I can then give my weapons effects like a fire blade, or extra knockback, or what have you. The one who took the name Swordsman is a career criminal gang leader. If he touches something that’s already sharp, he makes it even sharper, and he has superhuman swordsmanship. Basically the skills that took me years of training and practice to achieve, he got in a second whenever he triggered. And he has the gall to step into my city and take my name. He stole one of my swords too, the motherfucker. Anyway, we call him Fencer at the PRT to avoid confusion.”

I wondered why Swordsmith doesn’t just pick another name, but felt that he may not like that question, so I kept quiet. A good decision, as I’ve since realized.

“We’ve got Armsmaster, another tinker. We work pretty well together, and a lot of my best works are thanks to him. He’s out in San Fran right now though, they’re having some sort of a kaiju issue. Snubnose is out there with him, she’s our usual captain. I’m second in command, which is why I’m stuck here babysitting. Veil can make a one-way forcefield dome which shows an illusion to people who try to look inside of it. There’s also Dullahan who you’ve met already, and Larethian. Those two are weirdos. Word of advice: don’t try to understand them, they’re just nuts. On our side though.

“We also have our Wards, the superpowered minors. Gasconade, Fume, Agonizer, and Thunderstep. Gasconade makes whatever he touches revert back to how they were when he touched them after a set amount of time. It’s about 30 seconds, we’ve workshopped it. Fume shoots bullets that smell really bad. Agonizer shoots you with a ball of force that shoves you in whatever direction he wants, Thunderstep can shoot lightning, or move instantaneously with lightning, and he can touch people to bring them with him. He lets us move around the city real fast. You probably knew about him because of the racket he makes, right?”

Pausing to commit this all to memory, I respond, “Uh, right. Yeah, he’s really loud, everyone always complains.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Jack chuckled, “Hey you can do something about that right? Make him quieter?”

“If the sound comes from his body, maybe, but I don’t think I can remove thunder from lightning, sorry.”

“Drats.” he snapped is fingers, as if he expected as much, “What can you do then? How’d you blow that building up anyway? With sound?”

I winced at the reminder. “Yeah. Sort of. I uh… I just know how certain things resonate. I don’t see it, but I feel it as a value. Like uh… can I demonstrate?”

Jack looked at me incredulously, “Your stuff was confiscated, how can you demonstrate?”

“I can sing.”

Jack nodded, conceding the point. “Well ok then, sure. Sing for me.”

I looked at the dining table, which had an empty glass resting on it. I raised my voice and sang a sustained tone perfectly matching the frequency of the glass, and within seconds it cracked and fell apart.

Jack looked at the table, then back at me, clearly impressed. “So you’re a thinker too?”

“Uh, yeah I guess.” I responded, feeling stupid for not realizing sooner. “And I can make acoustic devices too. I uh, with Kane Hall I just vibrated the foundation until it fell.”

Jack nodded to signal that he understood, and then clapped his fist to his palm as received an idea. "Can you help me make a sword that'll vibrate? Imagine a reciprocating blade, but better. It'll be able to cut through anything like butter no matter how slowly you move it. Can you do that?"

“Easily.” I said. I didn’t even need to think about it.

Jack smiled, “Looks like we’ll get along after all.”

I forced a smile to try to return his friendliness. It didn’t fit my eyes at all.

Chapter Text

They call me the Oracle.

They think I am a seer. They are only partially right.

I don’t see the future. But one thing does set my senses apart from others: I hear the screams of the damned. I sense the psychic echoes of death in advance. My sense of touch stretches the length of the world, and all around it I feel the call of Death growing under my skin like pimples that grow larger, and larger, until they burst. One by one, collectively like little tingles of static.

Sometimes, in some places, death is more concentrated, and instant. Those feel more like a rash, or like a sting from a wasp, blistering and infecting, until the feeling… disappears.

So, I do know some things. But I’m not just a knower.

Anyone will believe anything that I say.

Not just thanks to my charm. I command it so. I am the Oracle, because I say that I’m the Oracle. And they believe me. 

Nobody knows what I’m truly capable of. Because I don’t want them to know. I knew exactly when and where the first Endbringer would first rear its head. The warning I received was indistinguishable from a natural disaster—death is death, after all—but even so, I said nothing. I thought, Let them dance. But I was being selfish—I knew this. Afterward I swallowed my pride and introduced myself to the leaders of this country. I explained to them that I could see the future. I could help them predict future catastrophes. I lied.

I amassed a cult following. It was hard not to. I donned my regalia, and performed primitive auguries. I did use oracle bones at first. Now I just use tarot cards and palm readings; it’s simpler and easier to clean up—and it’s all meaningless anyway. The only thing that matters is what I say.

The government dogs in skin suits invited me to their party, and gave me a seat at their table. I met others like me, and they were none the wiser. I’m a “blindspot”, as they call me. Their extra senses don’t function on me. Of course they don’t. The only one who suspects anything of me is the machine, I’m sure. It seems to be the only thing that is capable of doing so. But it won’t say anything. I know.

The zit that sits at the foot of Tahoma is close to popping. Good. There’s two blemishes there, actually. I should give them a warning. It would increase my credibility, and I could lull them into a sense of false security. I will then warn those that I care for about the true threat, and leave the rest to rot.

“... Oracle?” asks Accord. “Our other two precognizants have given us their answers. Will you give us yours?”

I take my wrinkled hand, and grope my deck of tarot cards. I thumb through them, feeling the subtle tactile markings I gave them. It doesn’t matter if they see me ‘cheat’. I told them my readings are authentic, so they believe me. I pull one out from the deck, and slide it slowly across the table.

Death.

Chapter Text

Getting situated into my new living arrangements was easy. It’s not dissimilar to the university—a dorm is a dorm. In terms of food, bed, and enrichment, it’s pretty much the same fare, except I don’t have a roommate now, and I’m doing weapons engineering instead of going to lectures.

I’d spent a lot of time in the PRT’s tinker lab. To compare it to the makerspaces I was using before wouldn’t be fair. There is no comparison. Because of it, I realized that my power allows me to understand waves in the fourth dimension if that tells you anything about the sort of equipment the PRT hands us tinkers. I helped Jack make that vibro-sword of his in a day, and then I was commissioned by the PRT to improve their sound system. I made wireless speakers that require no power source except for the radio waves they receive, and some in-ear implants much like the ones I made for myself at the exam hall, except I added an equally tiny microphone that attaches to it for communication. I even made an acoustic levitation chamber for the tinker lab. They were apparently very happy with these results, and gave me extra time off. I was just going to spend it playing video games, but Jack told me off and said I’d probably die if I don’t get combat ready soon, even if he had to do it himself. Given Gasconade’s power would actually allow him to do this while letting me “respawn” moments afterward, I heeded his warning. 

First, I took the ideas I used for the acoustic levitation chambers, and tried applying that to a mobile device. I ended up making a handheld dodecahedron of speakers that uses the resonance of the room and some fourth-dimensional trickery to create a standing wave with a low-pressure zone that allows the device to levitate in place. Not very useful though… I could hold it and hang from it as it levitated, but that’s about it. Even so, I made two others and attached them to a belt, so that I could levitate in place if I ever needed to.

I made an LRAD gun, something that already existed before me, typically used by cops to disperse crowds. It stands for “Long Range Acoustic Device”. My version is a speaker with a parabolic focus to shoot the sound in a straight beam, mounted on a handle that lets me control the specs of the sound I create with three triggers. I’d started to try and work on it for fourth-dimensional capabilities too, but hadn’t figured it out yet. I also made a few acoustic bombs, like the ones I used on the exam hall, but smaller, throwable, and I turned them into sticky-bombs. Most recently, I’ve started experimenting with a thick vibrating metal rod, able to be mounted to my forearm, so that I can shake big, heavy things at a close distance.

I’d also gotten integrated with the team in this time, too. Some of them, at least. Jack was right: Larethian and Dullahan were weird. Larethian just ignores me, and Dullahan… every once in a while, I’d turn my head and catch a glimpse of an eye watching me before it disappears. Sometimes I see ears at the corner of my vision, too. I think he’s tasked with surveilling me. Creeps me out. 

Veil introduced herself as Tobi to me one night as I was finishing up in the lab, and invited me to go out for drinks with her. She’s an attractive, astoundingly normal seeming woman. I’d mistake her for a usual plainclothes PRT employee if I didn’t know any better. She looked disappointed and somewhat grossed out when I explained to her that I couldn’t join her for drinks, because I was only 19, and I’m on house arrest. That’s about it for the interactions I’ve had with her. She and Jack seem to be a thing, I catch them chatting or going out together a lot.

I get along with the Wards the best, since they’re closer in age to me than the adults. The ones I share the dorm with aren’t great, though. Fume is… autistic, or something. More autistic than me at least that’s for sure. She’s a selective mute. Apparently she’s had a rough childhood. Gasconade is easier to talk to, but really struggling mentally. He’ll make small talk, and then stare off into space at some point in the conversation, and just walk away. The poor guy can’t eat, sleep, or affect the physical world in any meaningful way at all. It’s hard to relate to him. He’s also hard to look at; literally. He’s a breaker, meaning he ‘breaks’ reality in some way, and one of the ways he does so is that he appears as a collage of two-dimensional representations of himself.

Thunderstep and Agonizer have become the closest thing I have to friends, though that doesn’t say much. Their real names are Gill and Cayman, 17 and 16 years old respectively. They show me a degree of respect, and invite me to play videogames with them when our free time aligns. It helps that they’re not… struggling, psychologically, like our other peers are. Seems most capes are fucked up like that, apparently. Gill and Cay are still relatively normal high school boys, though. Gill has pale skin and medium length, greased up blonde hair, despite his Greek ethnicity. He used to be a soccer player before he had powers, he told me, but quit after because of the unfair advantage it gave him. Cayman is half-vietnamese; has messy black bedhead hair, and a thin frame. 

Sometimes the two of them join me in the lab to watch me build, shoot the shit, joke around, harass me, or otherwise bother and distract me from my work. Like right now. I’m trying to focus and run some safety tests on my actuator rod, and Cay speaks up from the table he’s sitting on.

“...So you’re going to put a dildo on that and fuck it right?” He asks, having perfected deadpan humor.

Despite having hung around these teenage boys for a few days, I’m still not used to this kind of socialization. “Uhh… no.” I say, coldly, not taking my eyes off of the rod oscillating violently behind layers of durability-enhanced polycarbonate glass.

“Dude really though, you could make a killing making the world's greatest vibrators. Women would pay top dollar to get their beans blasted by rods custom made by you. You have no idea.”

“Like you have an idea, Cay-lord” Gill butts in.

Cay shoves him in jest, and laughs, “Heyy come on, you’re not a pussy magnet either, bucko.”

Feeling a bit uncomfortable with the topic these minors are drifting towards, I attempt to change the subject. 

“Hey so, how’d you pick your names?”

They pause, separating themselves from the prior topic, and thinking about my question. I don’t speak out often, but when I do, they seem to genuinely listen to me—a major reason why I tolerate them.

Gill is the one to respond first. “Oh, yeah, Mr. Second-In-Command is nagging you about that right? Oh shit,” he checks his watch,  “You’re like, about to go on your first patrol. That was supposed to be your deadline right?”

I shrug, “Yeah… I never was into this cape stuff, so it’s not something I’ve thought about much.”

“Well,” Gill starts, “For me it was pretty easy. I step with lightning, and when I do so, thunder follows. Thunderstep. Honestly I didn’t think about it that much at all.”

While I alter the specifications for my next experiment on the rod, I glance from my work towards Cay, expecting his answer.

He smiles, holding back slight laughter. “I’m really fucking annoying. You haven’t seen me fight but I single out one guy at a time and just move him around in a triangle until I can shove him in a police van. Sometimes they get motion sick and throw up, and I keep shooting and shoving. I’m funny about it too, you’ll see. So yeah, I cause people agony, so I’m Agonizer.”

I give him a levelled stare. Does he know what he’s talking about? He just plays with people like that? I think he expects me to laugh, but I don’t find it very funny. 

He chuckles in response, and shrugs. “Dude I don’t know, just pick something. It doesn’t need to make sense. Pretty sure ‘Larethian’ isn’t even a word.”

I sigh. “I guess.”

“Did you do your homework?” Gill mentions, “About the other Seattle capes?”

At this point, I turn off the testing equipment, having both been satisfied with the safety experiments, and needing a break. I sit at a worktable, just like the other two.

“A little bit, I’ve been mostly making things, though.”

“Fuck yeah you have,” Exclaims Cay, “Dude, you build faster than Armsmaster and Swordsmith combined. You’re a goddamn prodigy.”

I smile a little bit, receiving the compliment. “It’s because my stuff is just simpler…” I bemoaned, “And Jack told me he’d kill me if I didn’t.”

Cay whistles, the two of them chuckle. “Oh yeah, your first time will be rough, but after that it gets easier.” Gill says, through the laughter.

A look of grave concern crosses my face. “Wait… he wasn’t joking?”

They look at each other, grinning wide, trying to communicate without words the funniest thing to say next.

“...Anyway… let’s talk about those villains.” Cay says, expressing fake enthusiasm, “You know the groups at least?”

My fear of death precedes my speech, but I humor the conversation anyway. Best not to take what they say too seriously. “Yeah, there’s the SOPHISTs, it’s an acronym for something, they want to end all restrictions on parahuman superpower use. They’re criminals but we aren’t supposed to engage unless they’re hurting someone. Green Party, they want to kill all humans and let nature thrive or something. Scoundrels, the local drug lords, Jack told about their leader, uh… Fencer.”

“I’m sure he did,” interrupts Cay, “They’re mortal fucking enemies, they hate the guts out of each other. You should see them go toe-to-toe, real Star Wars samurai shit.”

“You know about their powers?” Gill asks.

“Yeah, I skimmed through the gist of most of them. We also have some rogues, right? Ghost’s file interested me a bit.”

Gill nods. “Did you read about the stranger?”

I wrinkle my eyebrows, trying to recall, “No? Is that their name?”

Gill shakes his head, “No, well, it might be. Pretty much, all we know is that there’s a stranger doing something in this city and that they’re not with us. And we only know this because of the thinkers on Watchdog. Nothing else is certain. Some theories are that their power is to modify memories, or maybe even a really good time stop ability. According to our thinkers I’ve apparently fought whoever it is personally. I almost don’t believe them though.”

Cay butts in again, “Spooky stuff.”

For whatever reason, this information bugged me. My dissonance of thought is saved by the bell, though, as Jack boldly introduces himself to the lab, carrying a suit of white and black along with a helmet with an LCD display for a visor. My costume. He slaps the items on the table we’re sitting on, and looks at the three of us goofing off. “The tailors finished your suit.” He announces, “Having a powwow in here? Next to the lasers? Really? Get the hell out of here, you two. And get off your ass and stand to greet me like a real man. Jesus…”

I do as he says, standing up from my seat at the table. He waits as Gill and Cayman too obey, silently and quickly, leaving the lab.

Now that we’re alone, he silently stares down at me the way those in authority often do to flaunt their ‘talking stick’, as it were.

“Pick your name yet? PR department will choose for you if you haven’t by now. Tick tock.”

“Sure, whatever. Larsen. How’s that?”

He looks at me incredulously. “So this is just a ‘whatever’ to you? A ‘who cares’? And, ‘Larsen’? What, like Larceny? You’re supposed to be a hero, kid. Not a goddamn vandal.”

Whatever good mood I had garnered while talking to the Wards just now had vanished. I don’t like Jack. I hate him, even. Looking at him with a blasé, rebellious expression I’m sure he despises, I measure my response calmly. “No, like the scientist, Absalon Larsen. Spelled with an ‘s’, not a ‘c’. He discovered electroacoustic feedback.”

I’d learned about him while researching the history of acoustics, trying to compliment my natural tinker powers. When I think about electroacoustic feedback—the Larsen Effect—it sort of inspires me. Sound from sound, something from nothing. It’s poetic, and it resonates with me somehow. 

He considers it. “Whatever. You’re Larsen now. Congrats. Don’t know why you couldn’t have made your mind sooner.” He sighs, gesturing towards my newly minted costume. “Gear up. It’s time to shine. You’re gonna be with Veil and Larethian, they’re outside waiting, hurry up.”

Jack turns around as I put the suit on over my clothes. I chose a simple design: pure white base, with black waveform-shaped embellishments. My outfit is bulky, not skin-tight like many heroes tend to sport. For one, I don’t like the aesthetics, especially not for myself. Also for functional reasons: I want extra pocket space for my gear, and I also wanted extra armor, since I’m not exactly physically fit or any more durable than the average joe. My helmet comes equipped with some microphones of my design, paired to an LCD display visor, showing the simple waveform of whatever noise happens around me. The visor is some sort of one-way mirror, allowing me to still see through it while it shows this aesthetically frivolous screen. Don’t really know how that works.

When I’m done, Jack leads me out of the lab, only to discover Gill outside, now Thunderstep, outfitted in his chrome suit with yellow highlights, shimmering with electricity from his breaker power. “Can I come with?” he asks Jack, “You said I gotta put in extra hours anyway. Please? Sir?”

Jack looks at the boy, then to me. “Fuck it, whatever. ‘Larsen’ here will get to see more of the fruits of his labor this way.”

Thunderstep holds out his open palm for me to high five. I smile, and accept, smacking hands together in precisely the right way to cause the loudest possible clap. I felt the tingle of his power on the brief contact, but it didn’t shock. It was warm.

Chapter Text

“We sort of have one too many cooks now.” Says Veil, as we walk down First Hill, not having even travelled a hundred feet from headquarters. “This was supposed to be me just teaching Larsen the ropes while Larethian makes sure he doesn’t kill me or something.”

Are they really that afraid of me? Is this standard procedure for probationary heroes, or does the PRT really think that I’m both willing to and capable of fighting these veteran capes and winning? If I had pride I’d be flattered, but instead I’m just offended and resigned. 

It’s a normal, overcast day. Moist, cold, and not a sun in sight. This is my first time going outside in… I think it’s been a week. As a student, I’d be going outside pretty much every day to get to class, but I’ve been nose deep in the lab now. I hadn’t asked for any approved outings yet, but hope they’d allow it if I did.

Veil and her costume seem to want to rival Best Dressed for his title. She wears an elaborate silver-blue Victorian-style dress with an Elizabethan collar, complete with brilliant multicolored jewel filigrees embroidered into both garments in a checkerboard pattern. Finally, her silky white hair blends seamlessly into the fine veil that dangles over her face. All of these details, somehow, brave the windy street without so much as a flutter.

Larethian is naked. They have a changer power that lets them shapeshift without precision. To use their power, they first need to liquify their body into an amorphous slimy substance, which coalesces to make the rough shape of whatever they want to become, and then it slowly solidifies. The jiggly wobbling of the slime state ensures that whatever form they take is lopsided, lumpy, and ugly. They can get it better if they transform very slowly, and I’m told they can transform in a matter of seconds, but rarely risks doing so. Right now, Larethian’s top half is a lumpy yet ethereal, androgynous elf, complete with pointed ears and impossibly flowing long hair. Their bottom half is a white-furred horse. They are a centaur.

“Let’s just split up.” Veil continues, “People will think we’re out to do a raid or something with a group this big. Thunderstep: come with me. Larethian: teach Larsen how to do his job. We’ll meet up and switch back in a bit.” She grabs Thunderstep’s shoulder, “Zap me.”

Thunderstep shrugs apologetically in my direction, and disappears in a flash of lightning, taking Veil with him. A flash of warmth reaches me, and I hear a dull thud, instead of what should have been a roar of thunder loud enough to cause hearing damage. I programmed the ear-implants I made to selectively cancel excessively loud sounds in the interest of hearing protection. I can’t save the general public from Thunderstep’s racket, but I can save my teammates' ears at least. I’m glad to see that it works.

I turn my head upwards to meet Larethian’s eyes, which level ten feet above the ground. “Uh, hi.” I say.

“Mount me.” They reply. They speak from many voices, somehow. I guess they prefer to make their forms with an extra set of vocal chords. Every time they speak is a chorus, and it makes this command of theirs a good amount more disconcerting.

I still follow, though. I turn on my acoustic levitation belt, which lets me climb onto the body of this huge horse with ease. Once on top, I turn it off, and Larethian trots forward. 

“So… what ar-”

“Your duty is to protect order.” They speak, their humanoid half turned away from me, “Nay, you must do more than protect it. You owe a debt to order. You must pay it back. How will you do this?”

From what I had heard about Larethian before I met them, I thought I would get along well with them. I had tried to make introductions with them the first day I got here, but they literally wouldn’t talk to me. I wondered if they held a grudge towards me or something, and I guess I’d been right. I can guess why, now.

“I need to do more than protect it, so that means I need to make order?” I answer.

“Correct. Maybe you think that you have made some order already by way of your inventions. You would be incorrect. Creation is not order. In fact, it is a Pandora’s box. Your creations may get used to do good, and they may do evil. A sword has no alignment, even when wielded by a saint. Do you understand?”

With the association of swords, my thoughts gather the image of Jack—of Swordsmith. “I think so.”

“There is no thinking.” They reprimand, “You understand, or you do not understand.”

I try not to sigh. “I understand.”

“How will you make order?” Larethian presses.

I did not come prepared for this lecture in philosophy. I’ve always found stuff like this incredibly pointless and boring. How will I make order? I don’t know! What kind of an answer do they want from me?

I try to think of an answer, and Larethian waits patiently. The silence of our voices is filled by the clip-clop of Larethian’s horse hooves. A car behind us honks its horns, and the driver shouts profanities to get us to move faster or get off the road. Larethian fails to acknowledge it. Eventually, I admit defeat.

“I don’t know.” I say.

Larethian replies immediately, as if they’d canned this response in advance, “That is your problem. You do not know, because you did not try to know. People like you are doomed to chaos. Until you learn how to learn, there is nothing that I can teach you. Do you understand?”

I’m disappointed, and I let it show as I sigh. I really do wish I could have started on a better foot with Larethian. “No, I don’t understand. You’re being reductive and unfair.”

“It is good that you think this.” They quip, “And it is good that you say it with your heart. It means that your thymos is with us yet. Where there is outrage, there is courage.”

“What’s a thymos?” I ask, “And I wouldn’t really call myself courageous at all.”

“I know. But it is so, no matter what you may think about it. It is your courage that sets you apart. Let that be your first and only hint as you find your answer to my earlier question.”

“...ok.”

The conversation ends, with Larethian apparently not willing to “teach” me anything more. I would have been content with just riding this horse around town until my shift ends, but nothing is that easy, it seems. 

The both of us hear gunshots go off about a block away, loud enough to be caught even without my tinker-amplified hearing. Without warning, Larethian breaks into a gallop. Riding a horse without a saddle hurts, apparently. I buckle and shake around, and I end up needing to put my arm around their human torso to avoid falling, while I use my other hand to activate my microphone implant and alert the other group. My warning is quickly punctuated by echoing thunder. I guess Thunderstep is quicker than horseback. 

We come upon the scene. A plainclothes man was blasting an AR-15. The crowd of downtown had already begun to flee in panic, but a few weren’t quick enough. A few bodies lie bleeding and twitching. By the time Larethian and I arrive, he had started focusing his fire on Thunderstep and Veil. Thunderstep had rendered himself utterly untargetable by essentially becoming lightning. He’s ‘thunderstepping’ constantly, in an unpredictable pattern, never staying in one place for more than an instant before becoming lightning yet again and moving somewhere else. The noise would have been unbearable if not for my tech. I’m told they dealt with this before me with simple foam ear plugs. I’m beginning to get an idea of just how much my tech is valued.

Larethian rears, kicking me off their back. I activate my levitation belt just in time to not eat shit on the sidewalk, and by the time I sit back up, I see something I’d rather have missed.

Veil had been hit by the gunman. Not just once. I watch as bullets pierce her in rapid fire before she even finishes falling onto the ground. I’m horrified. Today has been my first time seeing a corpse, and now it’s my first time seeing someone die. How can I even help here? I’ve already taken cover behind a road barrier, should I just hide here?

The gunman laughs, and continues firing at Veil on the ground.

I whisper a “shit” under my breath, and tune my LRAD to work optimally in the acoustics of this street, and the acoustics of the gunman’s body. I aim, and fire from afar. I hear nothing—just as intended. You’re only supposed to hear it if I’m pointing it at you. If I did hear it, it’d be just the same as when me and Avery suffered that migraine together. I see the gunman going limp, and moaning a pathetic sound somewhere between a groan and a shout. Thunderstep shoots a blast of lightning his way, which blasts the gun far from his reach, and disarms him. Larethian charges forward, but their path is cut short from the entrance of a rent-a-van crashing into them.

Then… Veil’s corpse flickers, and its image is replaced by a perfectly fine and healthy Veil brushing off her collar, surrounded on the floor by bullets. I feel a nigh imperceptible shimmer cross over me.

…Yeah, I forgot about her power. She had used a no-entry dome around herself, but the bullets had just enough force behind them to go through, but lost their momentum after they passed. She distracted the mad gunman so that Thunderstep could stand still and get a good hit in. Their synergy work is impeccable. And I think that shimmer I felt was her making a new, larger dome, ranging the length of the street we’re on, maybe to prevent civilians from entering this dangerous battle, or to prevent any more surprises. I’ll be damned, though, her illusions look so real. I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to see through them. My thinker power was telling me information about her corpse and the blood splatter too even, maybe that’s why I was so convinced. Now I know my power isn’t infallible. Spooky.

Larethian is evidently durable enough to get T-boned by a full size van and keep standing. The van’s wheels screech as Larethian pushes back, its engine apparently not having the horsepower to move them. Clearly, Larethian is massive, literally. They’re only a little larger than a normal stallion, which should be knocked over easily by a van going fifty miles per hour or so. Are they always that heavy, in every form?

The driver pulls out another gun and starts shooting at Larethian, ultimately doing little to harm them. I guess this is the land of the free, after all. Thunderstep blasts the driver side door with his kinetically charged lightning, denting it inwards, and shattering the window. He thundersteps next to it, and blasts the driver at short range.

The fight seems to be decided at this point. If I’m right about Veil’s strategy, nobody else can enter, and the two gunmen are defeated. 

Larethian walks towards the one I stunned with my LRAD, still reeling from a headache. Their front legs kneel down, and their torso bends down to meet the man at his height. Larethian’s human hand grasps the gunman’s hair, and pulls him off the ground by it. 

“Heed what you hath wrought.” they growl, “Why?”

The gunman simply meets Larethian's eyes with a disassociated stare, and chuckles, starting from a wheeze and developing into chitter from his gut. “Fuck outa’ here, pig.”

Larethian drops him, and looks down upon him.. “The mad find no solace in reason. You are a stone wall.”

Veil finishes up her conversation with HQ, and turns to me, still behind my cover of concrete. “Hey, it’s over. Good work, kid, you did just fine. More stuff like that and you’ll get pretty far.”

I don’t feel like I did much of anything. I helped, sure, but they had it covered. I’m positive they would have done just fine if not better without me.

Thunderstep exits the van in a flash, the unconscious driver in hand. A young woman, no more than 16 years old. He grabs hold of the other attacker, and flashes away again, with both in tow. Taking them on an express trip to their jail cells, no doubt.

Veil continues, “There’s an emerging situation in the Industrial District. A huge explosion, we think Hindenburg is behind it. HQ wants all hands on deck. Thunderstep is going to ferry the others there right now, then he’ll come back for us. Ready for more action?”

I snicker at the question. Abso-fucking-lutely not. I am not ready for more action. Holy shit. 

But it’s not like I have a choice. 

“Sure.” I say through nervous laughter.

Chapter Text

A disembodied hand holding a gas mask appears before me, floating at eye level. When I hesitate to take action, it impatiently wiggles the item, goading me to take it. Another floating hand appears beside Veil, who takes the mask and wears it. I follow through. 

The Seattle Protectorate is extraordinarily mobile with the duo of Dullahan and Thunderstep. Dullahan can’t bring people with him, but he can transport small objects, and teleport through walls. Thunderstep’s mover power is not teleportation, on the other hand—he becomes lightning, so he can’t go through barriers, and can only really go short distances with each ‘step’, excepting extraordinarily ionized environments like an actual thunderstorm, or through power lines. His form of electricity is uniquely low voltage, so it doesn’t disrupt Seattle’s grid, as he explained to me.

Dullahan’s hands disappear, and Veil instructs me to get back on Larethian’s back with her to make Thunderstep’s job easier. My levitation belt can only really support my weight alone, but we manage ok to get on Larethian’s hulking horse back. Mere seconds later Thunderstep arrives in a boom, directly on Larethian’s back between Veil and myself. On contact, his breaker power extends to our entire party of four at once, and he wills his power, we cease to be solid, and become a mixture of plasma and charged particles. This is my first time traveling with him. The experience is surreal and frightening. I hear no booming of thunder, feel no pain, nor do I think any thoughts. I can tell that some time has passed, but I feel as though I experienced it in both an eternity and an instant. As I become real again, I find myself in a totally different location, having gone from downtown to the Industrial District in an instant. A small distance away, a blooming multicolored mushroom cloud towers over the factories.

Besides the four of us, I count Swordsmith, Gasconade, and Agonizer, the last of which waves at me and Thunderstep excitedly. Gasconade is his usual two-dimensional self, except for the gas mask and two pistols dual wielded in his hands. Swordsmith is wearing some sort of powered armor made of interlocking gunmetal-colored plates that seem to breathe as he breathes, nearly skin tight. On his head, he wears a similarly built morion style helmet, which makes room for the gas mask fastened to his face. He’s carrying not one, not two, but three swords in scabbards attached to his waist, along with two shortswords, possibly daggers. Five blades in total.

Agonizer makes use of a more… comedic style of costume. He has the same standard PRT kevlar bodysuit that Thunderstep uses, but Agonizer’s is colorful, decorated all over with onomatopoeia like “Blam!” and “Kapow!” spelled in a graffiti-style font. Agonizer normally wears just a banded mask around his eyes to hide his identity, but he too is outfitted in a gas mask today. 

Hindenburg is the ‘Chemistry Tinker’. That’s why we’re all kitted out against toxic gasses, and probably why Fume and Dullahan are not with us—Dullahan’s power probably leaves him extremely vulnerable to any form of harmful gasses, even with his breaker-state protecting his exposed organs; and Fume’s power creates some weird sulfurous gas, which Hindenburg has used against her to great success in the past. Hindenburg has made an absolute killing making designer drugs for Seattle and the world. He tends to lay low, and let the other members of the Scoundrels gang take care of conflicts while he cooks in his lab. He’s caused similar explosions in the past, which were apparently all accidents, gaining him the title of ‘Hindenburg’, after the fateful blimp explosion. There’s a good chance he’ll want to avoid using gasses against us if he’s with the rest of his gang, but better to need it and not use it, I suppose. 

Thunderstep suddenly disappears, and instantly returns in another flash of thunder. He must have touched Gasconade, and then reverted back to headquarters where the touch occurred. Usually people or items inflicted with Gasconade’s power sizzle with a sort of black-and-white electricity, but I guess it blended in with Thunderstep’s natural electric aura, making it not as visible. Must be annoying being Thunderstep, they use him like he’s a taxi.

“My dome is up.” Announces Veil, “No exit. We’re all stuck here, but we don’t want any gasses or debris to spread any further.” She starts backing away from the general direction of the site of the explosion, and waves before turning around, “My job here is done, I’m going to hide now, good luck. I’ll be listening to my earpiece. Oh and I put up an illusion of firefighters handling it, FYI.”

A critical flaw of Veil’s power is that she can only create one illusory forcefield dome at a time, and she has to be within the dome. I read that there’s no known limit to how big the domes can be, which is why she can create this one, seemingly the size of multiple city blocks, and tall enough that the pluming smoke isn’t a huge issue.

The rest is up to us.

Larethian leads the charge, and takes recon, since they’re the most bulletproof and chemical-proof. Already they’ve changed their body while the rest of us put on gas masks. Their unique biology renders them immune to poisons that would normally harm us humans. They didn’t have enough time for a full transformation it seems, which may be why they kept the centaur theme, keeping the horse body and humanoid torso. What they changed were their head and arms, which had become elongated, bulky, ape-like arms, capable of great reach. Their head became like that of a spider; a chitinous exoskeleton, many eyes, and huge sharp, dangerous fangs, that stuck out of their insectoid ‘mouth’. They ram the doors of the warehouse whose roof has been blasted open, breaking them down and breaching the facility. They can’t use our communications implants because of the way they shapeshift, so they shout back at us. 

“A battle erupts!” They roar with unexpected volume, still through two or three voices, “A schism! Let us put it down!”

The rest of us run to follow their lead. Thunderstep holds Agonizer’s hand, and flashes straight into the building. Swordsmith, Gasconade, and I simply run with our legs. As I arrive at the doors, I take cover behind the outer wall, while Swordsmith and Gasconade boldly enter. Swordsmith barks “Gas me!” towards Gasconade, who gently slaps him with the back of his hand, causing Swordsmith’s body to swell with the same reality-breaking energy that constantly affects Gasconade. Swordsmith charges into the fray with great speed, and Gasconade walks calmly, both now without the fear of death.

I peek into the warehouse, and see the confusing scene play out. A mutiny, just like Larethian described. On one side I see Hindenburg, appearing as an uncostumed balding man in a lab coat, taking cover behind a damaged concrete pillar, as suppressing fire ensures he stays put. There’s also Swordsman—Fencer, dressed up in all black, leather jacket and latex pants, out in the open no-man's-land, displaying inhuman feats of acrobatics and precision by blocking incoming bullets with his sword, and simultaneously on the offensive, maiming and killing opposing gunmen. This is a no-holds barred gunfight. And I don’t hear a thing. None of us heard gunshots in the moments before Larethian breached, we hear nothing now. Some power is silencing the entire warehouse.

The two parahuman criminals and a handful of unpowered gang members with guns are fighting against the Scoundrels’ third superpowered member: Snake. Possibly the scariest cape in this city. He has the power to steal a parahuman’s powers if he touches them without pause for at least 6 seconds, but he can’t use the stolen powers himself. Instead, they’re ‘stored’ in him, bulging out and coloring his skin in coils, giving him the appearance of having tattoos of fractal-patterned snakes across his whole body. He can then ‘give’ those powers to others. I remember his file marked him down as a Trump/Striker 9, we’re not supposed to get close enough to touch him at all costs.. He’s gathered an egg-nest of powers by now, even some plucked from the PRT, causing them an intense grudge, maybe justifying his steep rating. Right now he is standing out in the open, protected from bullets by some sort of jiggly bubble forcefield. He is shirtless, only wearing baggy cargo jeans and boots, which show off his coiling, moving tattoo-like markings, which gather at the tip of his bald head in a spiral. He’s laughing. He looks insane, and frightening. 

Aiding him in the fight are the recipients of the powers he’s granted. The PRT doesn’t have files on all of them, since they change so much, and besides, it was too much work to read all the notes they had on Snake’s grantees. Besides the apparent silencing power, the visibly obvious ones are one woman who seems to be able to create immobile rods of matter-destroying lasers, one who can shoot bolts of fire from his hands, one guy can turn his arms into some sort of goop and swing them, and one guy has… goat legs. Some other members have horns or reptilian scales.

At first sight, one thing is clear at least: Hindenburg and Swordsman are losing. The silence cast across their arena meant that nobody would come for them, either. Is that why Hindenburg created that explosion? Was it on purpose? Were they asking for our help?

It seems that way. Snake’s faction is the only one that opens fire on us. The rest of my team seem to get the picture too, Gasconade advises focusing the Snake faction on our comms, before opening fire with his own pistols. His bullets strike several members of Snake’s faction, killing them. I have a moment of panic, before remembering that Gasconade’s power will revert them to being alive again in about half a minute. Nothing he does is permanent. 

Swordsmith, juiced up on Gasconade’s power, slices, decapitates, and kills the enemies closest to the door without hesitation. The sword he’s using seems to use some sort of propulsion to give its strikes extra force that would normally be impossible with even the strongest wielder. At some point, one of them must have killed the one with the silencing power, because the sounds of this warehouse battle rise from nothing like a TV being un-muted, and my power finally becomes usable. At this point I’m still not sure how to help without hurting my team, though. 

From somewhere above us, a bolt of lightning strikes the bubble containing Snake, doing very little, not even moving him. Agonizer’s iridescent balls of force follow, also from above, striking the same target. The bubble… moves, with Snake still in it, making him tumble and fall. I thought Agonizer’s power could only move people? Does that mean this bubble is actually a parahuman?

Agonizer gets a few more hits on the ball, and manages to move Snake far away from the bulk of our group, before his cover in the rafter gets busted, calling bullets and firebolts to his direction. Finally, I get an idea for how to help. I manipulate my LRAD, and fire it towards the bubbled Snake. The closed bubble system is extremely conducive to resonance, and it doesn’t take much to get it started. Snake shouts in pain from inside, and the bubble vibrates violently until it pops, transforming into a human woman, who doubles over on the floor, gripping her abdomen. Looks like I injured her pretty badly. Oops. As a rule, Snake’s grantees tend to be pretty weak, nerfed versions of the powers he stole. They may even lack sub-powers that protect the users from themselves. The firebolt user seems to be burning his hands with every blast, for example.

Tightly placed bars of lasers cover Snake from the gunfire, melting the bullets that pass it, as he runs away to take more traditional cover behind a metal shipping container. I try to target him with my LRAD like I did with the street gunman earlier, but there’s too much in between me and him to do so. The bubble-shifter is shot by Gasconade, and killed. 

One of Snake’s goons, a man with enormous bulk, hurls one of his allies towards the calm and collected Gasconade. Gasconade responds simply by quickly raising his hand and shooting a bullet towards the flung combatant, but either it missed, or did no damage. They collide, and Gasconade disappears, leaving the thrown young woman to slide on the ground, where she laughs, and raises a fist triumphantly, visibly coated in the tingling aura of Gasconade’s power. Bullets quickly find their way towards her, pelting her into an unceremonious, impermanent death.

Larethian charges headlong into our enemies, faster than Swordsmith in the melee assault. With their ape-like arms spread wide, they knock over and throw several combatants, while their bulletproof body provides Swordsmith with the cover he needs to stay in the fight. While he’s ‘gassed up’ as he calls it, he’ll come back if he dies, but that may mean getting knocked out of the fight for up to 30 seconds—an eternity, considering it’s only been about 6 seconds since he touched Gasconade and entered the building. Larethian chooses to target Mr. Hulk—the one who threw the girl—who attempts, and fails, to match the centaur-monster in strength. He falls over, receiving a hoof to the face. Emerging from a nearby shipping container is Mr. Goo Hands, who twists his body, swinging his half-liquid arms, and splashes the ground in a sticky, glue-like substance, catching Larethian’s hooves and one of their long arms, before retreating back out of sight. “Coward!” Larethian growls, now stuck in place.

Something happens that disrupts our line of “friendly” armed gang members. Some of them slump down catatonic, some shout out in confusion, wondering why they were just shooting, some begin shooting each other. Some sort of stranger or master player is at work here that just blew our advantage of suppressing fire.

Those laser bars begin appearing all around Larethian and between their legs and arms, restricting their movement in concert with the gooey glue. Larethian reacts by initiating a transformation; becoming goo themselves, amorphous and able to bend around the bars that threaten to disintegrate them.

The laser bars above Larethian disappear, and Snake jumps on top of what is now a pile of slimy liquid.

I hear a variety of my teammates swearing in the comms, reacting to this worst-case scenario. Swordsmith pauses his killing spree to try and help, but his path ends up being blocked. He readies his sword, prepared to make quick work of the woman stopping him, but as soon as he makes eye contact, his sprint slows, and he stumbles. Thunderstep hurls blasts of lightning, but Snake is already engulfed in Larethian’s slime-form. Agonizer attempts to move them, but while his blasts of force make contact with Larethian, the mass-changing properties of their power seem to subvert the moving force of Agonizer’s power, only managing to move hunks of slime at a time, causing them to slough off, interrupting the natural progress of the transformation. There’s nothing I can do. I’m certain that no sound I’m currently capable of creating can move the sheer mass of Larethian. All I can do is throw a sound-grenade at the shipping container glue-hands is residing in, which hits the mark, and ‘detonates’ after sticking to its metal exterior. A humongous, bassy boom brings some semblance of order to the room, and it seems to have knocked the gunners of Fencer’s faction out of their funk. Mr. Glue Hands, if he was still in there, is now certainly deaf—at least temporarily.

Our suppressing fire resumes, which focuses on Snake. It’s all useless, though. The bullets just cushion against Larethian’s gel body, which has by now started to form into the shape of a large snake. Ironic. When Snake touches a parahuman, their power begins draining. Losing its strength until there’s nothing left. Since Larethian’s progress on a new form has crawled to a halt, their fate is all but sealed.

The slime Larethian droops, and withers. Their body spreads across the floor, now lacking any force to amalgamate the iridescent fluid together, looking more like an oil spill. More laser bars aid Snake as he crawls and rises from the muck.

Larethian is dead. They evidently needed their own power to stay alive, and Snake took it from them. They were unaffected by Gasconade’s power. They will not come back. They’re gone.

ㅤSnake attempts to run for cover yet again, but Agonizer's blasts pull him back to center stage. Fencer, who had been battling a man made of magma until now, seizes the opportunity. With some footwork and a graceful leap, he positions himself to receive the puppeted Snake in the path of a telekinetic shove, with his sword underhand, pointed backwards. With the two forces colliding, it's less that Fencer is stabbing Snake, and more like Snake is being moved onto Fencer's sword. He is skewered through the heart. Fencer then activates some secondary feature in his sword that turns the blade into a translucent, matterless state. He phases the blade out of Snake's body, positions the ghost-blade inside his neck, and switches the blade back to obey physics once again. The small explosion of force sprays blood and gore from Snake's neck, splattering Fencer's back, still turned to the traitor. In the background, Thunderstep whips around the battlefield to disable what's left of the enemy combatants.

The battle is won.

Chapter Text

I act quickly to pick up the nearest containment foam sprayer and foam up the corpses affected by Gasconade’s power before their time resets and they’re brought back to the land of the living. If they ‘respawn’ without being restrained, then the fight would just continue, undermining our sacrifices and effort. Larethian’s death is troubling, but there’s work to do. After this we’ll need to help with cleanup, arrests, make sure there’s no hazardous materials to be contained, write reports on what happened. It’ll be a headache. 

Thunderstep fetches Agonizer from the rafters above, and in the same instant, flashes down near the entrance to pick up another two foam sprayers so that the pair can help. "Shit, dude." He exclaims, "Are you ok? That was intense."

I press down firmly on the handle, spraying a large area, “Yeah, I’m fine…” I mention, not looking away from what I’m spraying. Swordsmith’s handywork. A wide, bloody pool of bodies, severed limbs, heads, guts, and gore, all shimmering in that black-and-white electricity of Gasconade’s power. He got to a few people grouped into a small area all at once. I can’t exactly tell where each person was when they died, which is why I’m just spraying the whole area. Some bodies don’t glimmer with Gasconade’s aura, shot dead by Fencer’s faction of the gang—I skip those.

“Don’t mind me.” I remind him, “You’re faster anyway. Spread out and spray the ones further away.”

He looks my way again, as if he intends to say something else. I glance at him for the first time, and he flashes away like I had recommended. Agonizer dutifully helps me spray the temporarily dead, but not without his banter.

“Good thing we have Gasconade huh?” He says, then lowers his voice to follow up, “I think ol’ Swordy would go crazy if he never got to actually use his toys. Keeps him on our side.” He giggles; I’m unsure if it’s a nervous habit, or if he genuinely finds it funny. I don’t laugh either way.

“Geez, someone’s in shock.” He returns, in poor taste. 

The sound of a slow clap turns my head. It’s Hindenburg, coming out from his hiding place finally, walking slowly. “Fantastic, fantastic!”, he speaks in some Eastern-European accent, “I knew you would come through! Thank you! You help us, we help you, we kill Snake. Bad, bad guy.” He stammers, “Erm… so we go now yes? Thank you agai-”

Swordsmith has so far been waking up from his stunned, hypnotized state. Until now he’s gotten his motor function and awareness back, it seems, though still emanating Gasconade’s power. Still dreary, he begins approaching Hindenburg—first slowly, then sprinting, interrupting the chemist, and turning his plea for safe passage into a plea for his life.

“W-wait, do not harm me! I-it will not be goo-”

Hindenburg's words are once again cut short when Swordsmith’s propulsion-sword activates, and combines with his own power-armor to launch him with incredible speed towards Hindenburg, who is sliced clean in half through his abdomen by Swordsmith’s blade. His words turn to agonal gasps after his top half falls on the floor. An instant later, a yellowish gas emits from his gore at a rapid rate, quickly engulfing Swordsmith. He attempts to flee to fresh air, but it’s apparently too late. His knees give out, sending him to the floor, and he… begins taking off his armor, violently. First his helmet, which he throws several yards away; then he tries to unlock his power armor, but after failing to successfully program the controls in his panicked state, he claws at it, and gives up. Having apparently exhausted all other options, he takes off his gas mask, revealing his bare face. Normally this would have been an incredibly short-sighted revealing of his identity to this high-profile crime group, but instead his face is mutilated, his skin has turned a pale green color, and it slides off like goop. The muscles underneath don’t get any better treatment, too. He is dissolving. I hear him scream from pain I can’t even imagine. Honestly I get a little bit of schadenfreude from it. 

Everyone else has frozen in response. Fencer remains unwaveringly stoic—he hasn’t moved an inch since he killed Snake; his sunglasses hide much of his expression, but his mouth reveals a grin, weirdly enough. His battalion of armed gang members on the other hand ready themselves in expectation of another fight, but don’t make any moves without their leader’s say so. Maybe they understand that this is a rogue action that the rest of us don’t support.

In this brief bit of time before Swordsmith ‘resets’, the last remaining members of the PRT in the building are now me, Agonizer, and Thunderstep. I’m internally facepalming, hoping that this shitty display of our leader’s arrogance doesn’t land me in a gunfight for the third time today. 

“Sheeeeesh,” Agonizer quips, “See what I mean? Just can’t help himself I guess.”

“I have no idea why he did that.” I announce, as the last remaining adult on our side. I hope that’s enough to calm the situation, because I just go right back to spraying the dead. It is really important that this job gets done still. While I do so, I speak in a much softer voice for the benefit of my microphone implant. “Veil, status report: Larethian died, Snake died, battles over. But then Swordsmith killed Hindenburg and then… I think he’s dead too actually. But both of them are Gasconaded, so they’ll come back, and…”

ㅤSwordsmith’s husk of a gooey, dissolved body disappears. Looks like it’s been 30 seconds. An alive and healthy version of himself reappears at the warehouse’s entrance, where he was touched by Gasconade, and readies to draw one of his five blades, bracing for a changed world. From his perspective, he simply time traveled 30 seconds in the future, he has no idea what could have happened in that amount of time, no idea what he did. 

Fencer breaks his stillness in response, sprinting towards the clueless Swordsmith with speed and fury. Swordsmith must have a lot of training for dealing with the repercussions of Gasconade’s power, because he steels his awareness immediately. This version of Swordsmith never unsheathed the katana-sword with flameless jet-propulsion nozzles dotted on the blunt-side of the blade; instead he chooses to draw a different sword for this situation—this one in the style of a one-handed flamberge. Once revealed, its blade and crossguard become visually interlaced with a flickering, hologram-like duplicate that lags behind the physical blade, making it almost hurt to look directly at it. It’s strikingly similar to the ghost-blade state that Fencer’s sword took when he used it to kill Snake. His left hand also draws a sword-breaker dagger with the same holographic property, and in one fell motion, he positions the holo-sword upwards to parry Fencer’s strike. 

ㅤThe two swordsmen clash. With a satisfying, laser-like sound, Fencer’s sword is knocked to his side with superficial force—possibly a special feature of this holo-sword, increased knock-back? This has Fencer's sword positioned firmly away from Swordsmith’s striking range, which would normally leave any swordsman wide-open for a counter attack, but Fencer rolls with it—literally. Where a lesser swordsman would be forced to extend his arm or let the sword spin out of his grasp, Fencer throws himself into a one-handed cartwheel, shifting his position to move along with the sword's velocity, while still keeping it at a low-guard between him and his enemy. He then leverages his extra momentum for a heavy-handed strike, which threatens to slice Swordsmith’s right arm, only to be caught firmly by the prongs of the swordbreaker dagger, which begins to transform into a loop to hold Fencer’s blade in place. He holds firmly to his compromised sword, but as Swordsmith attempts a killing strike with his other blade, Fencer removes his non-dominant hand from the hilt to grab Swordsmith’s wrist and change the trajectory of the strike to also clash with the swordbreaker just an instant before the loop is fully formed, ultimately binding all four hands that participate in the duel.

It all happens so fast, within mere seconds. By now my voice is still trailing off as I attempt to explain the situation to Veil. The melee is so close ranged too, there’s no way I could attempt to help with my ranged attacks without risking harm to Swordsmith, and no way I’m going to risk getting close enough to get sliced in half myself. I hear the metallic sounds of guns cocking, and react quickly to run for cover.

“Ey, ey! Hold your fire!” Fencer shouts, his voice hoarse like a drill sergeant,  “This is between me and him. And those pre-teens ain’t done nothin’! Show ‘em respect! Matter o’ fact file out of here! Everyone! We’re done!”

His underlings follow his commands, leaving through an exit opposite the one we breached in from. I freeze, unsure if that command is also intended for us. Thunderstep flashes in-between me and Agonizer just in case, though.

Fencer flinches from the loud thunder, “Not you! Y’all got a job to do. This don’t concern you.” 

He’s right. Some of the ‘Gasconaded’ corpses are flashing back to life, and it’s our job to wrangle them into custody. All of them so far are successfully contained by the foam, but it’s always a possibility one of these parahumans has power that lets them teleport away. Mr. Hulk from earlier could probably escape through just sheer strength, but luckily he’s one of the ones who were zapped into paralysis by Thunderstep.

 Fencer switches his blade to its translucent ghost-state, but is trapped all the same. Looks like these special swords of Jack’s were made specifically to counter Fencer’s ghost-blade—which, if I had to guess, was stolen from him in the first place. Whose idea was it to keep the sword-tinker in the same city as the sword-thinker anyway? The risk of stolen tinker gear is insanely high like this, surely Swordsmith should just be somewhere else, right?

“Feeling cocky today huh, pal?” Swordsmith growls as he struggles to maintain his control on the three blades.

Fencer seems to be struggling a lot less, somehow, despite his lack of powered armor. “Matter o’ fact I am.” He responds with an attitude, then gestures towards my group with his chin, “Tell him what happened, go ahead.”

“Uhm,” I struggle to find composure with being put on the spot like this, “So Snake betrayed the gang, the two factions were fighting, we helped Fencer’s side win. Larethian died, Snake died. You got hypnotized or something, then you killed Hindenburg for some reason, then you died somehow, then you came back.” I then lower my voice to speak directly to Veil, “Hey, they’re trying to retreat, I think we should let them, can you lower the dome?”

Fencer lets out a single chuckle, “Exactly! Killed the man unprovoked! Matter o’ fact, my man was surrendering.” He laughs more with seething facetiousness, “How many people need to die, Smith?” To accentuate his point, he tugs on the tangle of swords.

Veil speaks in my ear, “Ughhh, I’ll talk to the director. We need permission for calls like that.”

Swordsmith struggles in the tug-of-war, shouting “You fucking-!” before finally wrestling some semblance of control back from Fencer.

“Why not let go?” Fencer continues to tease, “Afraid I’ll steal more of your toys? Y’know I really ought to thank you…”

ㅤMy attention from the dramatic standstill between nemeses is drawn away when an exception finally escapes from their containment foam. It’s the girl who defeated Gasconade. Where did he even go anyway? He should have come back by now.

She was reset back to her position on the floor, mid fist-bumb, and successfully became trapped by the foam, but now the foam has simply disappeared, just like Gasconade had earlier. She stands up, then skips and gallops to her nearest foamed-up teammate while Agonizer acts quickly to blast her with his psionic energy, but when the balls of force make contact… she remains unaffected. As she touches her teammate, they too disappear, foam and all. She reaches for two more in close proximity, and they cease to be as well.

After Agonizer’s power didn’t work, Thunderstep takes the plate, and attempts a blast of lightning on her. She continues to hop and skip, removing more of her teammates from the warehouse with every touch, some incapacitated, some stuck in foam. 

“What the fuck?” Thunderstep asks, just as confused as I am.

I guess it’s on me then.  I target her with my LRAD to disable her capacity to think, and it works like a charm. She crumples on the ground, holding her head in pain and moaning. I walk over to her briskly, and I have a moment to consider what to do next. She’s some sort of striker, meaning her power relies on touch. I could maybe use my actuator rod to shake her into unconsciousness, but that would involve touching her. Or I could sit here and be very careful to keep my LRAD pointed right at her. I don’t like how vulnerable that would make me in case something else happens, and there’s a good chance she needs to be able to think to use her power, so I take the risk. I manipulate my wrist to extend the rod to peek out of my sleeve and past my hand, press it against her, and activate it at the precise frequency needed to force her into a coma. It works. She stops her moaning, slumps on the floor, and I’m still here in the warehouse. Was she teleporting those people? Maybe I should have hoped for her power to affect me after all.

Veil speaks in my ear again, now at a whisper, “They found out about the dome and I can hear them looking for me. Just got the OK from the director too. I’m allowing them to leave. Let the others know.”

“Veil’s letting the dome down-” I announce as I turn back around, expecting—or hoping—to see the duel still at a standstill. Instead, I catch a glimpse of Fencer front-flipping over Swordsmith, making just the right angle between his ghost-blade and the sword-breaker to free it from the clenched loop of prongs. 

Now that they serve no purpose, Swordsmith throws his tangle of blades far away, and draws a shortsword made of force just in time for Fencer to land on his two feet, spin around, and make a strike. Swordsmith must have correctly predicted that Fencer would make a feint with the ghost-version of his blade that normally phases through physical matter—it seems it can only affect energy, which is why this forcefield-esque shortsword was able to parry it. The ghost blade bounces off, but Fencer makes a fast followup attack, striking again with the ghost-blade, only changing to its physical state the instant before Swordsmith attempts to parry again. To avoid certain death, Swordsmith draws his fifth and final blade: a longsword, the vibro-sword that I helped make for him. Holding it underhand in his left arm, with the force-sword in his right arm, he makes a lightning-fast cut on Fencer’s own blade, catching it in its physical state. The blade is sliced in half. Its momentum carries it forward so that it clanks flat-sided against Swordsmith’s armor, then stabs itself into the ground. We’re… standing on concrete. How sharp are these things??

Fencer attempts to switch the blade’s matter-state back to being ghost-like, but finds that the ghost blade has also been cut. He switches it back and forth a few times, maybe out of amusement, while Swordsmith holds the vibro-sword straight out to threaten Fencer’s neck.

“Surrender!” he barks, shouting with full volume.

Fencer doesn’t even look at his foe, focusing on his broken sword. “Ch… man…” he relents, before he turns his back to his nemesis, and walks away.

Predictably, Swordsmith attacks. Not seeing any sign of surrender, he seizes the opening, and attempts a thrust towards Fencer's back. Fencer simply dodges by moving to the side, then smacks the sword away with the stump of a blade that remains fixed on his pommel.

“Don’t even try that shit, man.” He warns, still walking away at a comfortable pace, “Man, I was in a good mood and you just gotta put me down… goddamn…”

In a feat of perfect timing, Hindenburg resets, continuing the same sentence that Swordsmith interrupted half of a minute ago. “-od for you! My blood will create a killing gas that-... Erm?” He looks around, understanding finally that time has just skipped for him.

“Ey, we’re outta here. C’mon.” Fencer informs his ally.

“The hell you’re not!” Swordsmith roars as he runs to catch up and continue the fight. 

“Shit, Jack, just let them go!” Veil says from the other end of our comms. She must be able to hear most of the conversation through her headset. Her advice has little effect, though. Jack dismisses the rest of us, acting as if he can’t even hear anything but himself and his nemesis.

The two engage in their high-octane swordplay yet again. Fencer still holds his own with nothing but a broken sword by using its matter-state switch to make feint after feint, while Swordsmith counters both states with his dual-wielding—not using the force-sword and the vibro-sword independently of each other, but making two-handed swings and parries with both, to cover all options in case Fencer switches to using the ghost-blade or vice versa.

The nearby Hindenburg jumps back, “Oh, shit!” He exclaims, then reaches into the pockets of his lab coat, “I help, I help!”

Before he’s able to chuck a vial of something at anyone, Agonizer quickly nails a shot on the chemist, which allows him to telekinetically pull him ten feet away from the duelists. None of us are able or willing to help Jack with his grudge, but we’re not going to let it escalate with Hindenburg. Thunderstep zaps him with an arc of lightning, which forces him to drop what he was holding. A vial shatters on the floor, and a thin liquid splashes over his shoe, which eats through the concrete beneath, but leaves Hindenburg’s feet unaffected and unharmed, other than causing him to lose a bit of his balance. 

“Shit!” He exclaims once again, before Thunderstep flashes near him and begins spraying him with containment foam. He is restrained only for a moment, before he crunches down on something with his teeth, and spits. Whatever chemical he just unleashed tears through the foam in a chain reaction, freeing him with ease, before he is propelled another ten feet away by Agonizer’s power. Quicker this time, he reaches into a pocket, and throws what looks like white sand out in a circle around him. Thunderstep blasts him with lightning just a little too late to prevent this action, just as the ‘sand’ erupts into brilliant hot-pink flames, reaching far above ten feet in height. 

“You cannot be moving me around now! Haha!” Hindenburg taunts, now obstructed by light, “You don’t want to kill me, yes?”

Somehow he manages to move the circle of fire to slowly but surely inch away from us and towards the duelists. I can’t see what he’s doing but my power readily informs me anyway. He’s moving the sands with vibrations, just like a Chladni plate! Fine dust and sand will move and settle into nodes of a standing wave, and he has some sort of a sound maker that allows him to do this. I wonder how? Has he synthesized some crystal that vibrates in just the right way? Is it electromagnetic? I’ll have to do more research. Right now, all I know is that I’m uniquely equipped to render his powder unusable. I point my LRAD at the circle, and press my actuator rod on the ground, using both to create the proper form of interference needed to cancel whatever he’s doing. Not only does the circle of fire stop moving—it also gets extinguished. Does the powder need the vibrations to make the fire? Man, this is some interesting stuff.

Hindenburg had apparently donned a pair of sunglasses while we couldn’t see him, since he quickly doffs them in a panic when the brilliance of the fire fades. Agonizer uses his power to shove him into a corner, and I target him with my LRAD’s migraine-inator function.

By this point, the duel between swordsmen moves outside of the warehouse. I catch a glimpse of Fencer diving out a window and rolling, while Swordsman slices a new entrance through the wall to follow. I lose sight of both of them.

Neither Agonizer nor I let up on Hindenburg. He continues to suffer minor impacts and telekinetic shoves, cornering him with no escape, while I cause him nothing but pain and vertigo. It’s a good thing none of our powers draw blood, judging from what he said earlier. His dead-man’s switch is useless here. I still avoid knocking him out like I did to the striker girl earlier—Hindenburg is a lot scarier, I have no idea how he might retaliate if I get close enough.

Thunderstep leaves to help with transport and logistics. Now, the battle is won. Never celebrate too early, I guess.

After about a minute, Agonizer speaks up amidst the suffering we jointly cause Hindenburg. “Soo… how’d your first patrol go?” He asks, nonchalant.

I chuckle a little, despite myself. His asking such a casual question in this situation is, admittedly, funny. “Awful.” I respond. “I guess I learned a lot, though.”

Did I learn a lot? My mind drifts to Larethian. It still hasn’t really set in that they’re dead. It’s just not grabbing me, I guess. I think about what they said—’order’. Have I made order today? 

Agonizer nods.

Hindenburg tries to crawl away from the corner between a lull in the shoves as Agonizer focuses more on the conversation, groaning between deep, labored breaths in another language. Maybe Russian. Agonizer just flicks a single ball of force his way again, resetting all of the poor man’s progress. He vomits on the way, creating a gross streak of bile on the floor.

“Duuude, come on.” Agonizer complains, holding his nose, “You’re the best chemist in the world, you never gave yourself a ‘never throwing up’ drug or something? You better steel your resolve buddy, it’s a long drive from here to our jail. Try not to choke on your own vomit, please.” He turns to me, and heaves an exaggerated sigh, “A lot of death today huh? I feel bad for you. What a shitty first day, right? I mean, death is pretty normal for this team, at least the temporary kind. But Larethian? Just dead? I thought the guy was immortal! And Snake too! Killed by his own boss! Big things are happening for sure.”

I cringe a little at the mentioning of Larethian as a ‘guy’. They were always adamant about being agender. They were like a local bastion of trans rights, and I really looked up to them for that. I don’t hold much respect for the dead, usually, but I’m positive they wouldn’t appreciate the comment if they were still here. Has Agonizer only been accommodating their pronouns because he feared retaliation? I’ve never heard anyone mention it, but after meeting Larethian in person, they’re totally the kind of person that would straight up punch you for something like that. I wonder if I’ll see some truth behind the masks of my teammates now that they’re gone.

“Yeah, big things.” I agree, letting my exhaustion be heard through my voice. “Shit’s fucked.”

Chapter Text

I ended up concentrating my sonic attack on Hindenburg for about 15 minutes before a team of technicians in hazmat suits were able to cuff him and take him into custody in a special armored van. During that time he passed out, and Agonizer and I passed the time by talking about sci-fi movies and comparing the sword fights of the day with lightsaber duels from Star Wars. We took a car ride back to base, and on the way we talked about what Jack would have been if he didn’t have powers—we both agreed he’d either be a cop or a serial killer.

After we got to HQ, got changed out of our costumes, and took a special shower just in case we were contaminated with any special hazardous gasses, we were finally free from work for the day. Cay left to go home to his family, while I stayed here in the PRT dorms. This is my home, after all. For now.

Just as I kick my feet up and lay down on my twin sized bed, I hear a knock at my door. Damnit, I was so ready for a nap.

I get up and open it nonetheless. Standing on the other side is Director Foote. I’ve only ever seen him wear business-ready attire along with a forgiving, professional smile, just as he presents to me right now.

“Mr. Strutt, how are you feeling?” He asks, straight to the point, but still managing to sound kind and concerned.

“Uh, how am I feeling?” I return, somewhat shocked, somewhat annoyed, “I’m feeling tired. Why?”

“You’ve been through a lot today.” He continues, “Some very high stress situations. We did not intend for you to enter the scene like this. Anyone would be stressed out after being put through what you’ve just gone through so suddenly. Do you need anyone to talk to?”

Honestly, I’m feeling weirdly numb about this whole thing. Maybe that’s shock? Is it the beginning of PTSD? But I honestly just feel fine. How am I feeling? I don’t exactly understand it myself. What I do know is that I would loathe to talk to a therapist about it. Talking about my problems just always makes them worse. When I’m sad I tend to just distract myself.

I translate my thoughts to speech, “No thanks. Could I go on a walk, though? And maybe get a break from the all-seeing eye?” Dullahan’s surveillance has started to really creep me out. Like I’m in a goddamn panopticon. If we’re talking about mental health, some privacy would be a great start.

Director Foote furrows his brows, “You are allowed outings. You could have taken a walk at any point since you joined us. All you ever needed to do is ask.”

His speech takes a moment of pause, as do I, still hoping to hear the answer to my second request.

“As for your surveillance…” He continues, “It is a temporary measure. After a bit more time, Dullahan’s job to keep track of you will fade. He’s a busy man, after all. It’s just to make sure you’ll follow the rules, in case you try to flee the country, or in case you’re prone to violent urges, stuff like that. Already we’ve gotten to know you a lot more, and we’ve laxed your restrictions and surveillance. It will end soon, but not now. Sorry.”

I sigh.

“But… you are in your rights to know the status of your teammates as well. I can inform you that Dullahan is very busy right now, taking care of the influx of arrests you helped with today, as well as some other classified jobs. The ‘all-seeing eye’ will not bother you for at least the rest of the day.”

He smiles at me. A mischievous grin? Does he want me to think he’s on my side here? I don’t exactly buy it, if he really cared about me, he’d just let me have my basic rights to privacy—I’ll hold onto hope that he’s one of the good ones for now, though.

“Swordsmith was admitted to the hospital with minor injuries, you should also know. Nothing serious, he’ll be back to work tomorrow, he just needs the doctor’s note for book-keeping. Gasconade was found at our doorstep, he said he was teleported to the International District in the middle of your fight, and then got lost.” He chuckles, “He is a box of surprises…”

I nod. “And Larethian?”

His smile fades. “We… have pronounced Larethian dead. A funeral will be held next Sunday in their honor. I’m terribly sorry.”

Figures. I already knew that. 

Another silence lingers. Maybe he’s waiting for me to process grief, or to ask another question.

“You are welcome to take a walk.” He reminds me, smiling once again, “Go anywhere you want. The weather isn’t great for a walk today, but it never is. You can go out to eat, go bowling, you deserve some free time.” 

“Thanks.” I say, trying to sound genuine.

He gives a slight bow by nodding his head, and leaves me be.

I really was going to take a nap, but a walk does actually seem pretty appealing. The last walk I took didn’t really end so well, but there’s no way I’ll get a second trigger event this time. I get dressed for the weather in a down jacket, and head out of the headquarters, passing Director Foote on the way with a wave.

Once I get outside, I breathe in the cloudy, damp Seattle air. Still just as dreary as it was this morning when I took my first step in costume, except without the weight of being a public servant, and without the stress of random gunfights. I’m just me, now. I can go wherever, as long as I don’t ‘try to flee the country’ like the director put it. I have an ankle monitor anyway, I wouldn’t be able to get very far.

The moist air does feel nice. The PRT Headquarters here is at the top of First Hill, so I don’t have to get very far before finding a picturesque view of the parallax road diving down into the bay, framed by skyscrapers on either side. I’ve barely been to this part of the city, now that I think about it. I’ve spent pretty much all of my time here in the University District. I never had much reason to leave. Where should I go? Maybe I’ll check out Smith Tower?

I end up just wandering around without much purpose or direction. I got to Smith Tower, but figured it’s too foggy today for the $20 admission to really be worth it, so I just kept walking, eventually finding myself at the tiny little public beach next to the ferry terminal. The ground is covered in stones, so I sit down on a small boulder, and gaze upon the water and what little bits of mountains peak through the fog. I sit for a while and just zone out, eventually pacing around, I splash the water a bit. I share the beach with one other couple, but as a ferry approaches the terminal, they get up and leave. They must have been waiting for it.

I guess it’s about time I go somewhere else too. I’m getting hungry anyway, I hear that the pier nearby has some good fish and chips. I get up from crouching at the shore, turn around, and spot a face both familiar and distant, sitting on another large rock higher up on the shore. It’s Megan! Right, she was there when I triggered on the rooftop. And now I’m meeting her again? On another walk? This is either a crazy coincidence, or a freaky stalker situation.

“Hey,” She says, “Do you remember me?”

“Uh, yeah? It’s been like, a few weeks?” I do remember her, but she and the conversation we had was sort of put on hold in the back seat of my mind after I triggered. I haven’t thought about her much, bigger things have been happening.

She smiles weakly, “Uhm… how’ve you been?”

“Uh…” I can’t really answer this question honestly, can I? I committed an act of terrorism, got arrested, joined a superhero team, built some futuristic shit, and participated in three deadly fights today. “I’ve been fine…” I lie.

She breathes a sigh of disappointment, and places her fingers on her temples for a moment while she looks at the ground, “Uhh, ok, I hate doing this, but… I’m a parahuman just like you. Uh… you can talk to me normally. I already know.”

My social worries relax, but my mortal panic rises. I take a single step back, before realizing that she’s blocking my exit, unless I want to try to swim my way to safety.

“Jeez, relax.” She sighs again, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Prove it,” I demand, “Who are you? What’s your power? How do you know about me?”

“Uhm, ok, sure.” She shrugs and lamely throws her arms up, then addresses me directly, “I’m just Megan. Some people call me Cancel Culture but the name doesn’t stick because my power makes people forget about me when they stop looking at me. In a one-on-one we’re an even match. You don’t need to worry. I won’t kill you. Ok? I’m unarmed, even. Look.” She makes a show of raising her arms and revealing her pockets.

My mind is sort of blown. That’s why I just sort of forgot about our conversation on the rooftop. Would I have gone on the path I’m on now if I could have remembered? If only her advice could have swayed my actions, would I have cheated, destroyed that building, and gotten swept into where I am now? Thinking back on it, I really was going to just drop out and get a job. The butterfly effect of just one instance of memory shakes me, makes me feel like my ‘self’ is only a small portion of my brain. I don’t like it.

What’s more is that the name ‘Cancel Culture’ digs up memories that I didn’t even know I had. This is the Stranger that Gill warned me about. I had read her file. Somehow, someone had written about her in the PRT’s catalogues. At the time, when I was reading it, I think I rationalized the loss of memory by saying that I was tired, bored, and overwhelmed with all the new information I had to learn. But I did read it. I just forgot about the details immediately after. But now that I’m face-to-face with Megan—Cancel Culture, it’s like suddenly the curtain is lifted.

The files said that she’s a serial murderer. A cape-killer, even. She was responsible for the killing of some genuine assholes like Thunder 88, but also people like the beloved Phoenix Jones, Seattle’s independent do-gooder superhero, along with the Protectorate’s own Skyman. The file says she’s connected to the SOPHISTs in some way, but often acts on her own. A kill order has been placed on her.

Her best efforts of subduing my fear fails. But I do reason that if she wanted to kill me, I’d already be dead. She’s also making herself vulnerable by telling me her identity here. Maybe I could run away, but then I’d forget about her, and if she takes that as a sign of aggression, she’d be able to kill me from behind at any moment. For now, I choose to stand still.

“Ok.” I respond, after some silence to process my remembering, “Did you want to talk to me about something?”

“Yeah, a few things… ” She replies, then pauses to nervously tap her hands on her knee, “We both know that the PRT has a lot of problems. Especially in Seattle. Would you consider joining SOPHIST?”

My shoulders relax a little bit, somewhat out of disappointment. She’s just trying to recruit me. Lame. I really liked her when I first met her, I was hoping she had something better to talk to me about. But then I tense up again, remembering what kind of situation I’m in.

“If I say no, will you kill me?” I ask.

“No! Jesus… I’m not going to hurt you! I just said!” She whines, looking a little hurt herself.

Joining a cult of freedom-fighting vigilantes sounds like a lot of work. I haven’t formed an opinion on the group myself, because I just genuinely don’t care. Instead I think about the logistics. Would I need to keep working? Probably. Would my quality of life improve? It’d probably go down, honestly. Could I take the ankle-monitor off and get away? Probably not. Once a flow of water has formed a river, it becomes difficult to divert its path. 

“Then no.” I state, “Sorry…”

She furrows her brows in an expression of sadness, “Really? You really don’t need to be a cop, you know. You don’t need to hide who you are, either…”

I raise an eyebrow, “What?”

“Let me explain,” She starts, “So, we have a cape, Memorial, she can replay scenes from the past, and I told her I saw someone have a trigger event, and took her back there. We followed the you from the past, watched you make whatever that thing was that gave you and your roommate a headache; that’s how we found out that you’re a tinker, and that you use sound. We found out that you caused the building to collapse. We couldn’t follow your shadow into the police station or the PRT headquarters, but after what happened today, it’s not hard to figure out where you went from there.”

“Oh my god…” I sigh. I read about Memorial already, but I hoped this wouldn’t happen anyway. I guess the capes of this city can only pretend to have secret identities after all. “So, you think I’m not allowed to ‘be myself’ because the good guys don’t let me, I don’t know… radio my favorite song directly into everyone’s ears? What kind of stuff do you guys even do in your club anyway??”

“No!” She whines again, defensive, “Well… no! We don’t condone stuff like that. Stuff that hurts other people. We just want a world where nobody’s afraid of using their power or being who they are. If it stops being stigmatized, parahuman violence will come to an end. It’s a psychological crab-bucket we’ve trapped ourselves into. But that’s not what I meant anyway…”

Even though she’s a murderer herself? Is she putting that behind her?

“What do you mean, then?” I press.

“We saw you inject and… we know the Seattle team isn’t very accommodating… you might feel safer with us.”

“Oh my god.” I groan, and facepalm, “Go fuck yourself. You don’t know anything about me.” I’m done with this conversation. Suddenly the realization that I’ll forget about it if I just walk away feels freeing, so that’s exactly what I do.

“Wait!” She pleads, “I am too! I’m sorry, we only found out by accident.”

I ignore her.

“I’m sorry! There’s one more thing I wanted to ask you about, please!” She gets up and walks gingerly around me, keeping her distance, but making sure she remains in my field of view.

I stop to give her one last chance. I spot a hint of a tear well in her eye. 

“Why did you trigger?” She asks, her voice wavering, “What did I do to you? I-I’m sorry, whatever it is. Please.”

Her tears aren’t grabbing me. To be completely honest, I have no fucking clue why I triggered, still. None of it made sense. Without the memory of Megan, I just arrived on the roof, looked at the sunset, then bam, now I have powers. Even now that I can remember what actually happened, it still made no sense. I did genuinely appreciate her and her kind words. Maybe… is she lying about what her power really is? Maybe we don’t just forget about her when she isn’t around, maybe she alters and inserts memories too? Did she do something to me on that rooftop? How would I even know one way or the other?

She can’t be trusted. Her tears can’t be trusted either. I give her a look of disdain, then finally walk past her.

…What was I doing here again? Oh right, I was going to go to Ivar’s on the pier. I hear they have good fish and chips.

Chapter Text

As night falls, Gasconade conducts his usual patrol over the city. Unlike his teammates, he carries no fatigue from the earlier fight. He can’t feel tired, won’t ever feel tired. He can’t change—put simply—and can’t change anything. That’s why he’s suited for this job. All he can ever truly do is watch, so he keeps watch over the city, never sleeping, never eating, sometimes taking action when special circumstances arrive, like they did at the warehouse earlier. He can only ever help by putting things on pause—by putting them in the same ephemeral state that he exists in perpetually. He can relay his curse onto others, and then their actions will cease to change anything too. But the downstream effects of the curse’s hold on reality and time fade in power the farther it is obfuscated from himself. If he touches someone, and infects them with the curse, they could cause something to happen, which can cause something else to happen, which will have a permanent effect on reality. That’s why he simply acts to kill, to reduce the chance of a Rube Goldberg machine of cause and effect from happening. He doesn’t really ‘kill’, though, they only stay dead for a small amount of time. Nothing he does is permanent.

The events of the earlier battle left him in something of a good mood, strangely. He’s sad that Larethian perished, but something strange happened to him. He was affected . The girl that was thrown at him had managed to teleport him far away. It’s so rare that he manages to get affected by anything, it’s something new every time. Of course he could be moved, or trapped in a box, but his power acts independently of his own accord. If he is harmed or killed, he simply reverts back to before it happened, but it only happens when he’s physically harmed. As much as he’d have liked to have ‘reset’ back to the warehouse, he had no say in it. He grins, reminiscing. One step closer to spiting his curse.

A face emerges through a brick wall to the side of his path through the city streets. His grin widens as he recognizes it. A translucent, pale face, with very long, beautiful black hair that swings as it phases in and out of the red brick wall. It’s Ghost, or Mei, as Gasconade knows her. She’s a Case-53 like him—a parahuman cursed with some immutable change to their form. The curse she bears is to be utterly incorporeal. She is not physical, she can’t touch or be touched. Her translucent form and ability to float through walls has her mistaken as a ghost by many, which is why she has the nickname. She never chose it. She just prefers to be Mei.

“Charles! Come here! I have something to show you!” She says.

“Ok.” He responds. She’s one of few that still calls him that. He insists on the name ‘Gasconade’ to his teammates and coworkers, because he wants to feel like he can earn his real name back again, whenever he figures out how to be normal. ‘Jaager D. Charles’ just doesn’t sound right for a freak like him. He’s expressed this to Mei, but she insists otherwise. Still, though, she has trouble pronouncing his first name, and instead defaults to his surname. Despite his complex, Gasconade finds it adorably cute.

She emerges fully from the wall to reveal her full form. She’s a young lady, wearing a comfortable sweater and sweatpants. The clothes she just happened to be wearing when she received her powers. Thankfully, though her clothes are considered a part of her by whatever decides how these powers work, her modesty is retained—Gasconade simply sees her shirt, and then the brick wall behind her, instead of her body underneath.

“Over here…” She leads, floating above the sidewalk, while she pretends to walk. She takes Gasconade to a decrepit garage, decorated with layers of graffiti. She phases through the metal door, then pokes her head out once more, remembering her corporeal companion, “There’s a door to the side, it’s unlocked.”

Gasconade follows the direction, and opens the door, inadvertently extending his power to it. In just a bit of time, it would be as if he never opened it at all. Once he gets inside, someone else turns on the lights, briefly frightening him, knowing that Mei can’t normally perform this feat.

His fright is compounded when he sees the culprit: Snake. So easy to recognize, since it’s Gasconade’s second time meeting him today. But it’s not exactly Snake. Instead of wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a look of derangement as he was earlier, now he wears a baggy coat, a scarf, and a tasteful flatcap upon his bald head. The inky streaks of spiraling, snake-like fractal patterns still writhe in a coiling motion on his face, but now without his twisted grin of insanity.

Gasconade is not too frightened. He knows that Mei can ‘possess’ the deceased. Snake is still dead. His corpse is just being puppeted. Mei’s intangible body is inside of him, controlling his nervous system. She speaks, and his mouth moves to match her words, but not her voice, still small, high pitched, and innocent.

“I know I’m not supposed to do this,” She says, “But I just couldn’t give up the chance. We made a promise to help each other get normal again, and if you lose your power… you’ll be free! You can try painting like you’ve always wanted! It should work… Can I touch you?”

Gasconade is paralyzed at the notion. According to his job, he should report that Ghost has broken the agreement she made to the PRT that allows her to be an independent rogue as long as she never uses this aspect of her power. His relationship with her is tolerated by the higher ups as a means to keep an eye on her for exactly this reason. But he knows that she’s right. This may be his one and only chance.

“Ok.” He responds, “Do it.”

She puppets Snake’s body to slowly close the distance between them, and touches the cheek of Gasconade’s face. He feels… ‘something’ slipping, being drained from him. A part of him wants to flinch away, scared that his very self is being taken from him, but he fights the urge, closing his eyes to stay still and resolute.

The transfer is completed quickly. He opens his eyes, first seeing that Snake’s body now flows with the effects of his power—he and, by extension, Mei, will be reset in about half a minute. To be expected. He then looks at his hands.

Normal.

He’s used to seeing a confusing, strange collage of interlacing abstract representations of his body. Instead he sees a normal set of hands. Three dimensional. He looks at the window, which acts as a mirror in front of this dark alley. His reflection is the same. He sees clearly his blonde, short hair, his brilliant blue eyes, his square jaw… it’s been so long. He’d almost forgotten what he looks like. He looks around, excited to change the world. He picks up the first fragile object he sees—a dusty stack of papers sitting on a rotting table. He rips them in half, and observes that they do not absorb his power, they will remain shredded. He’s powerless. He’s free at last. He looks back at Snake’s body, whose mouth is curled in a joyous smile unbefitting the feared criminal overlord. Jaager laughs at the sight. He cries, then sobs. He wants to thank Mei, tell her he loves her, and swear to find a way to return the favor, but the swell of intense emotion chokes his voice. Mei’s true form exits Snake’s body, which ragdolls on the floor. Both of them still emanate the aura of Gasconade’s power. She hugs him. She doesn’t actually touch him, of course, she only acts to wrap her intangible arms around his body.

“Thank God…” She cries.

Jaager closes his eyes in tears, and pretends to hug her back.

Suddenly he feels different. He looks up to see Mei no longer wrapping him in a cold embrace, but instead inhabiting Snake’s body, arm outstretched, exactly like it was when she touched him. Snake’s head turns, accompanying Mei’s confusion.

“Oh, did I just reset? What happened?” She asks.

This would be the first time she’s ever been affected by Gasconade’s power, since normally it is extended via touch, and she’s intangible.

“Yes,” Jaager responds, “You took my powers and…”

He spots himself in the reflective window again, and sees a freak once more. No longer a handsome young man. Back to being an indescribable ocular glitch only vaguely resembling a person.

She had to touch him to take his power, and his power works on touch. Snake’s body was reset to how it was before it took his power from him, and the power was returned. Nothing changed in the end. It didn’t work after all.

“No…” He mumbles, “No… I was…”

“I did?” Asks Mei, clueless.

“No!” He shouts, then screams, “No!! I was free! I was free!”

“What?” Mei asks again, as she exits Snake’s body, “Oh no… did it not work?”

Gasconade’s screams continue, “I can’t change!”, he walks to the brick interior wall of the garage, and starts banging his head into it violently, creating smears of blood, “I can’t change! I can’t change!”

Gasconade resets. He’s done a lot of training for when this happens, and can reground himself in an instant. First he swings his head to fully realize his surroundings, then focuses on the last thing he remembered. Right. Mei failed to take his power away using Snake’s power from his dead body, then he broke down and was about to harm himself using the brick wall. In the same moment, he inherits his mental state.

“I CAN’T CHANGE!!” He continues to scream. He pulls out his pistol. 

“Wait!” Mei cries out, attempting to stop him—but all she can do is cry. She is incorporeal. She can’t act to stop him.

Gasconade places the gun to his head, and kills himself.

Gasconade resets. He’s done a lot of training for when this happens, and can reground himself in an instant. Ghost and Snake’s bodies are gone. The gunfire would attract attention, and she can’t afford to get caught with Snake’s body, so she must have ran away. He was about to kill himself with his pistol because of his psychotic break over not being able to be free of his power.

Gasconade screams. His voice no longer carries words. Just the shrill, blood-curdling sound of total despair. The howl draws out until his breath depletes. He kills himself again.

Gasconade resets. He continues howling with artificially renewed breath. He kills himself again.

Gasconade resets. This time he hears sirens approaching. He kills himself again.

Gasconade resets. The garage door has opened. Some cop cars wait outside. Agonizer is standing with them, he’s one of the few capes capable of moving or affecting him. They’re speaking to him, but he doesn’t listen. Their words all jumble together—he’s heard it all before. They can beg for him to stop, but ultimately can’t stop him. Attempts to arrest, imprison, or kill him would all be futile. He can’t be stopped, and he knows it. He knows that others would kill for this degree of freedom. He wishes he could give it to them instead.

It’s the middle of the night. He must be sleepy. Right. Other people need to sleep. Gasconade comes to a calm. He decides that he’s being childish. He shouldn’t have feelings. He can’t contain them, can’t do anything with them. He feels stupid for deluding himself that he could have the liberty of grief.

He stares, then slowly lowers the gun from his head, and places it on the ground.

“…My apologies.” He says.

Chapter Text

The next morning, I’m awakened by the ringing of my phone. I drearily check the screen for the caller, and it’s from the PRT. Who else would it be. It’s only 9 AM, I was hoping to sleep in, damnit!

I pick up the phone regardless, “Hello?”

“Hello, Larsen,” the voice is unfamiliar to me, some managerial employee I guess, “You must attend a mandatory meeting with the Protectorate, Wards, and departmental heads at 11 AM today. Arrive in costume. Do you copy?”

Oh my god. It  hasn’t even been 24 hours since the battle at the warehouse and I’m already being called back into work. Figures. “Uh, yeah, I copy.” I reply, my voice still croaky and dry from sleep.

I don’t have all that much time to prepare. I take a shower, get dressed, and go to the common area, where I awkwardly share the dining table with Livia—Fume—as I eat a bowl of cereal. She doesn’t say a word to me, as always, but washes my bowl and utensils in the sink after I’m done, without even asking. Kind of her, I guess. 

I only have around half an hour to chill and watch TV before I suit up and head to the conference room as I was told. Livia does the same. She doesn’t talk, so it’s no use trying to make conversation, and so I’m left with my own anxiety to silently wonder what this surprise meeting could be for. Is it about Jack’s questionable decisions during yesterday’s fight? Is there some catastrophe approaching? It can’t be something dire, like an Endbringer attack or some other S-class threat, since we’d just be called in to work immediately for that, and I’m on the “S-class option list” automatically because of my probation—I’m forced to respond to those. But still, a two-hour notice? Somehow the mix of urgency and formality makes this all the more worrying.

After we separate to put our costumes on, Livia and I meet each other again at the door to the conference room. We have seats labeled for us—Larsen and Fume. Her costume consists of just a skin-tight black suit and a gas mask, pretty similar to the ones we wore for protection against Hindenburg. Pretty much everyone is here. We’re sat at a round table, and I’m placed next to my fellow Protectorate members: Swordsmith, Veil, and even Dullahan, doing us the honors of staying in just one piece. Just to the side are the Wards: Thunderstep, Agonizer, and Fume. On the third section of the table sits four people I haven’t met before in business attire—must be the departmental heads. One spot remains open, and the last person to enter the room takes it with a demanding, serious presence—Director Foote. Where’s Gasconade? All the seats are taken at this point, is he not invited?

Director Foote clears his throat, and speaks, “I apologize to everyone for the short notice, but very urgent, important matters are at hand. It is imperative that communication is at peak, and that everyone fully understands what we are going through.”

He pauses, as his eyes dart between everyone at the table, “First order of business is that Gasconade is not joining us today because he is suffering a mental health episode. He wishes to stay in his room and not be disturbed. Once he feels good enough to leave, please give him space, and be kind to him. If you see him take any worrying actions, or if he says something that may indicate he plans to harm himself or others, let me or Dr. Kinsey know.” He gestures to the woman two seats to his left, “We would also like to remind everyone that counseling is encouraged, free, and confidential.

“Second, Snake’s body has left the morgue. Security cam footage shows him getting up and walking away. Our doctors swear that he was, indeed, dead. It is without a doubt that Ghost has broken her agreement with us, and now controls this dangerous power. From now on, if any cape dies, their body is to be incinerated or otherwise destroyed as quickly as possible, upon proper confirmation of death. But do not antagonize Ghost or attempt to destroy Snake’s body if you find them. We do not want any further incidents, and the corpse will simply rot away on its own with time.”

For the first time, he looks down at the stack of papers he brought with him, angling his head to look through his reading glasses, then back at us. There’s more? This news is already pretty heavy. From what I read about Ghost, she seems mostly harmless, but Snake’s power should absolutely die with him. And this is way outside of her MO. What does she plan to do with it? Will she give out the powers he had stored away? Would she even know what they do before foisting them on someone else? Snake clearly had powers he wasn’t willing to give away, possibly because even he is afraid of what they could do. The possibility that they’ll get unleashed back into the world after all is worrisome.

Director Foote continues, “I would now like to congratulate our Protectorate and Wards on a job well done yesterday. Hindenburg has finally been successfully taken into custody, and organized crime in Seattle is on its last leg with two of the major parahuman players in the Scoundrels gang no longer in service. That is exactly why we contacted Watchdog early this morning to formulate a plan to strike while the iron is hot, and zero in on Fencer. Their precog thinkers rated any such plans as having grim outcomes. Appraiser gave us black, Eleventh Hour rated it a 9, and Oracle supplied the Death card. Subsequent requests for auguries, even for benign courses of action, resulted in only slightly lower chances of disaster—Oracle still drew the Death card for every one. We only found any improvement by asking the precogs to rate a plan to quarantine the entire city—Purple, 6, and The Tower. We are led to assume that a potentially S-class threat is in the process of forming in Seattle, whereafter it will be unleashed on the world. It may be a contagion, a self-replicating force, a brand new cape with unprecedented powers, or just about anything. At this point, we don’t know—but we trust our thinkers at Watchdog with such a unified reading.”

He turns to Veil, cusps his hands together, and honors her with a slight bow with his head, “May I ask of you to use your power to place a barrier around the city?”

Veil straightens, and stutters as she hesitates to respond, “Uh, right now? Are you sure? How big? Do you want me to get Bellevue and Vashon in it too? No-exit? We don’t want anything to leave?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Wow. Ok. This would have major effects on the supply chain, disrupting the port of Seattle for even a day would have terrible effects on the economy, not to mention putting human lives and livelihoods at risk. You know that right?  You know this will affect wildlife too, right? Animals won’t be able to leave, salmon might not be able to migrate, birds too. It’s a felony to interrupt bird migrations isn’t it? I won’t be tried for this?”

“You will not be held accountable.” He replies, looking her dead on, “We have been given emergency powers, and we have already weighed our options.”

She stares back at him. Seconds pass, the air feels thick.

“Ok.” Veil relents at last.

I feel a shimmer pass over me, much like I did yesterday when I noticed her using her power—I might have missed that one if I wasn’t paying attention, but not now. This is much stronger. It feels like a wall of fuzzy static electricity phases through me, starting from Veil’s general direction, and quickly propagating the other way. It tingles as it passes, and even makes a whooshing, buzzy sound as it does so. From the reactions around me, everyone experienced the same thing. Will every Seattlite feel this? Do the other Cape groups? Would they know it’s Veil’s power? Even if they don’t, they’ll probably be on edge. Frightening.

“Thank you.” Says Director Foote, “Accord from Watchdog has also supplied us with a detailed, step-by-step plan for dealing with this brewing catastrophe. And when I say detailed, I mean detailed, full of contingencies depending on what the threat is, who’s on our side, etc. That was step one. The full instructions have been copied and printed, but you do not need to read them. The communications team and I will be relaying the relevant steps to you as the events play out. We are of course expecting everyone’s full cooperation.

“Step two is already underway. We are to have a meeting between ourselves first, and then with all cape organizations in this city. We have already contacted the relevant people to arrange this. We are to bring two representatives: Veil and Larsen. You will speak for the PRT’s interests. You will attempt to negotiate a truce, and coordinate a joint response to our impending doom. Do you understand? 

Well shit. Looks like I’m not getting a break after all. “Why me?” I ask.

“I’m wondering the same.” Veil joins, “I can only make one dome at a time, and I’m using my power on the whole city. I’ll be powerless, and if something happens to me, the quarantine will end. Shouldn’t I be staying home and laying low?”

“These are good questions.” Director Foote responds, “I had them too. I asked Accord, and he explained to me that sending our most vulnerable members to make negotiations would signal to the villain groups that we truly are in dire need. After the meeting, you are indeed encouraged to lay low, Veil. Larsen is chosen because he is new, and new capes always have the advantage of surprise—that’s why you were able to detain Hindenburg so easily, after all. Revealing our ‘new secret’ would show them that we are putting our best foot forward, and that we are genuinely willing to cooperate. Are these reasons acceptable?”

Veil shrugs, as do I. “I’m just not much of a people person.” I add, “Can she do most of the talking?”

“Of course,” he answers, “Your exact agenda will be given to you as a script, anyway. Don’t worry.”

I shrug, “Fine by me then.”

Director Foote continues to address the group as a whole, “The rest of you will attend to your duties as normal until the joint-Seattle meeting has concluded at 1 PM, after which your instructions may vary depending on the results of the meeting. Accord’s plan involves distributing the capes from all organizations into mingled groups, though, so be prepared to work with your enemies. Also, this may come as a disappointment to some of you, but we will be offering Hindenburg’s freedom to trade for the Scoundrels’ cooperation. This is a critically important step; apparently no path of action that doesn’t include this exchange will lead us to death.”

Swordsmith sighs. He clearly has some sort of personal grudge against the Scoundrels, I guess that’s the disappointment Foote mentioned. 

“Any questions?” The director asks the room.

Dullahan volunteers a question, “Is this going to be an S-class situation?”

Weirdly enough, this is the first time I’ve ever heard Dullahan’s voice. It’s somewhat thin and high pitched for a man, yet very smooth.

Director Foote clears his throat, “Officially, this is a response to an A-class threat. Declaring it S-class would result in some bureaucratic actions that would interfere with the measures we need to take. Our thinkers believe keeping it A-class gives us a higher chance of success. Any other questions?”

The room falls silent.

ㅤ"I know we're always asking a lot of you. I know it's not easy. But we're counting on each one of you, now more than ever. It's just us in here, so please remember that we all need to work together. We're fortunate enough to have forewarning before disaster strikes this time. Don't squander this chance. Capes are dismissed. Department heads stay, though, we need to work on a release to the press."

And with that, the more eccentrically dressed of us leave the conference room.

“These horoscopes are getting a little out of hand…” Quips Agonizer, shaking his head.

I laugh, Thunderstep laughs, even Fume laughs, I think that’s the first time I heard her voice too. We all needed some levity, it seems. This has been very anxiety inducing for me at least, I’m sure everyone else is feeling the same way, even if they have maybe dealt with situations of similar gravity before. I’m pretty sure everyone except for Swordsmith and Fume have participated in Endbringer attacks before—myself too, obviously. But this is just us, as the Director pointed out. That’s gotta feel like a whole different level of responsibility.

“Has Oracle even drawn the Death card before?” Thunderstep asks.

Veil responds, having just finished a short, hushed conversation with Swordsmith, “Only rarely. Usually she’ll show us Knight of Swords, Ten of Swords, Five of Wands, before something disastrous happens, sometimes she gives us Inverted Chariot, inverted Emperor, inverted Empress, or The Devil when we ask her to predict Endbringer attacks, but she’s less accurate with those. The Death card typically symbolizes change, weirdly enough. But if she’s drawing it consistently and in agreement with the other two precogs, we better listen.”

“Wait, hold on,” I interrupt, confused, “Tarot card readings are real?”

She chuckles a tiny bit, as do the rest, “No. Well, probably not. You can believe whatever you want. But, Oracle is a thinker on Watchdog, probably a precog. She gives surprisingly accurate predictions, but she refuses to give us any information on how her power works. She only gives her predictions through tarot cards, and refuses to elaborate. But, as I said, she is accurate.”

“Weird.” I say.

“Anyway, go ahead and get ready.” Veil mentions to me, “Read your script, we’ll meet back up at around 2 to rehearse our negotiation techniques before we head over to the meeting. And… Jack has something to say to you.”

She steps aside slightly, and gestures for Swordsmith to approach me. He timidly does so, which is weird for him. He takes one of his sheathed blades from his belt, and offers it to me in its scabbard. 

“You’ve earned your stripes.” he says, as he sighs and avoids eye contact.

I carefully unsheath it. It’s just a simple dagger, with a toggleable button on the hilt. Swordsmith instructs me to try pressing it, and I do so. It’s the same effect that Fencer’s sword had—the blade turns translucent and ghost-like. It feels lighter like this. I put it back in the scabbard without changing it back.

“Lots of… energy weapons and such.” Swordsmith explains, “Your power only affects physical matter, so something like this’ll be useful to you. Uh… keep up the good work, kid.”

He awkwardly waves and leaves. I think this is the first time I’ve heard him compliment me, and he seems miserable about it. He’s so intimidating and imposing wearing his powered armor, yet his lack of confidence right now totally betrays that image of him as a stoic battlefield commander. Interesting.

“Thanks.” I say to his back as he walks away. He fails to acknowledge it.

Chapter Text

The car ride to the meeting location with Veil is an awkward and nervous one. She wanted us to quiz each other on our instructions like we’re studying for a test, or like actors memorizing lines. It’s annoying, but I go along with it. Not to mention the awkward presence of Hindenburg sitting behind us, separated by bars as he twiddles his thumbs. 

The instructions are pretty basic. We’re supposed to bring up certain points, avoid talking about certain subjects, and generally try to make ourselves liked. Some key things to remember is to avoid calling the other groups by their more harsh classifications; SOPHIST is a club, not a cult, the Green Party are activists, not terrorists. The scoundrels…

“Oh it’s ok. We are a street gang. Just call us that. Haha!” Hindenburg butts in to our study-sesh, “No need to be so professional.”

“...Thanks.” I say, just wanting the ride to be over, “Veil, let’s just read our notes silently, ok?”

“Oh there is no need, friend. I am on your side, no need to hide things from me. There is a big problem afoot, yes? I will help! The boss will understand for sure, and he needs me for business, too!” Hindenburg chuckles, “Oh and no hard feelings for the torture you put me through. It is only your job. Very confusing situation. Water under the bridge, I’ve put myself through worse, trust me. You know?”

“Uhh…” I don’t know. I was sure he’d absolutely despise me— I would if that happened to me. Evidently he has infused his own skin with caustic chemicals, though. He must endure a lot of pain when experimenting with his power.

The van stops. Veil and I exit, and Hindenburg is escorted out of the back of the van by two PRT officers, still handcuffed. Our group of five enters the venue: a cafe, The SOPHIST Coffee Club and Hotel. The SOPHISTs keep this place as an open-doors safe haven for any and all parahumans to stay, have food and drink and enjoy company. They have a very strict policy against violence of any kind, and even the furthering of non-violent plots or schemes on the premises. It’s supposed to be a place of true neutrality, so it makes sense that the meeting would be taking place here, even if it is on the home turf of one of the groups.

Our meeting table this time is a series of booths and tables pushed together. Veil and I take a seat at a booth, while Hindenburg sits down at a chair, flanked by his guards. A well dressed man whose eyes are replaced by oozing shadows approaches us and asks if we'd like any refreshments. Veil orders a latte, Hindenburg gets a black coffee, and I take a glass of water and a croissant. As I wait for my croissant to toast, I check my surroundings, and take note of the capes present and trickling in. The comforting atmosphere and smells of this upscale coffee shop is somewhat dissonant with the attendees. Sitting opposite us is Ice Age, representing the Green Party. As his name implies, he has a power that revolves around the cold. Specifically he can create endothermic, cyan-blue flames by touch, which chill things to ludicrously low temperatures, and can spread just like normal fire. Ironically, real fire puts his flames out, but he's still one of those capes that can kill you with just one touch. For his 'costume', he simply wreaths himself in his own flames, which obscure his body and face just enough to not be distinguishable. There's also a cape I haven't heard of or read about yet… he seems to be wearing a Leviathan halloween costume? Poor taste. Leviathan hit Seattle a few years ago, and we drove him off pretty early and got out fine—turns out that Admiralty Inlet, the only body of water connecting Seattle to the ocean, is pretty defensible—but it's still in recent enough memory that it ticks me off. Also present is Fencer, with his standard matrix-esque getup.

Sitting at the other end of the table-chain in the booth is none other than Best Dressed, the leader of SOPHIST, and probably the owner of this very building. He is in much better harmony with the fancy vibes—he has thoroughly earned his nickname. He is a very powerful telekinetic, with a few limitations; he has a short range, and everything he moves has an equal opposite force on himself: Newton’s third law. If he wanted to throw a car, he would be thrown backwards with that same force. He is ‘Best Dressed’ because he makes constant use of his power to construct and supplement elaborate, expressive costumes and avant garde fashion for himself, since the objects he uses his telekinesis on move with him. Today he is wearing an all-white getup with an artificially billowing longline blazer adorned with wispy tassels and strings of fine gold chain which snake up and down his sleeves and dress-shirt in a satisfying helix pattern. He even has a comically large white top-hat that is floating just above his head. He makes no attempt to hide his face, which is unquestioningly handsome and charismatic. Two women flank his sides; the one dressed in goth-punk fashion sits unnecessarily close to him, while the other one in a costume that resembles a marble statue takes a more professional demeanor, and actually wears a mask. Those two would be Twilight and Memorial, I think.

My croissant is delivered to me, and I realize that I can’t eat it without taking off my helmet. I didn’t think that through. I’ll just have to eat it afterwards I guess. Veil just drinks her latte through her veil, and Hindenburg doesn’t hide his face anyway. Maybe I’ll have to rethink my costume.

My attention is caught by some capes entering the venue. First is a guy wearing a red hooded cloak with orange embroidered highlights and filigree patterns, and a mask that covers the lower part of his face. Looks like Yegg, an unaffiliated vigilante. Behind him though is… is Snake! Or, his body, at least. He looks different, and paler; seems like Ghost dressed him up in a coat and scarf, probably to hide the gaping stab wounds in his neck and chest. His presence gets a rise out of the crowd; Fencer laughs, Veil and I tense up, and Hindenburg swears in his native language in surprise as he turns around to look. Snake’s body sits down at the table, and waves timidly.

Best Dressed gives a slight bow and flourish, matching the fancy, upper-class draw of his voice, “Welcome, Mei, I’m very glad you decided to join us. Do we have everyone now? Shall we begin proceedings?”

“I think so.” Veil replies, then looks to Ice Age, “Is Guide not coming?”

“No.” He responds with scant a hint of any inflection, “She isn’t feeling well.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Veil returns, “Then yes, it looks like we have everyone. Let’s start by welcoming some new faces. On behalf of the Protectorate, I’d like to announce our newest member: Larsen. Larsen, say hi.”

“Uhh, hi. I’m Larsen, I’m a tinker, and I specialize in acoustics. I make devices that manipulate sound. It’s nothing special. Pleasure to make my acquaintance with everyone.”

Best Dressed snaps his fingers, which is echoed by his lackeys, and no-one else. “I should speak for my sudden addition to our meeting. This is Zephyr,” he gestures towards the one in the Leviathan costume, “He approached me this morning on behalf of The Fallen to discuss a future with SOPHIST. We mutually agreed that such a future cannot exist. Since he happened to be in my presence when the messenger delivered the request for truce, I invited him to come along too.”

“What he said,” Zephyr adds, “I was just leaving anyway. But if there’s something important, I wanna know about it. For my own safety.”

I give Veil a look. To accidentally catch a member of an endbringer cult in our proverbial net is very unlucky to say the least. He won’t take the news of the quarantine nicely. But if Veil feels fear or anxiety over this, she hides it expertly by shifting the subject.

“I think it’s also important for everyone here to know that Snake died yesterday.” She says, “The Snake you are seeing now is a corpse that is being puppeted by Ghost, who has not attended any joint-cape events until now. Ghost, would you care to say a few words?”

“I would.” She replies. Snake’s mouth moves, but his voice is replaced by a young girl’s, maybe because his vocal chords aren’t functioning. The dissonance is honestly hilarious. “I know you didn’t want me to use my power like this, but I want to actually do something, help people, and find a way to be real again. I’m done hiding.”

The emotional confrontation in her voice is somewhat chilling, even if I barely know anything about her. A slight silence hangs, as everyone takes it in, and waits for her to continue in case she had anything more to say.

Best Dressed snaps again, “Well said! Now with introductions taken care of, would our friends at the Protectorate like to enlighten us on the purpose of this meeting?”

Veil nods, “We would. Earlier this morning, PRT thinkers and precogs revealed that a catastrophe is brewing in this city that will affect us and then the world, and immediate action needs to be taken. We don’t know the specifics, but our thinkers strongly advised quarantining the Seattle area. I have used my power to encase it in a forcefield that will not allow anyone to exit. As I said, we don’t know the details, but we think it’s likely something self replicating, a contagion, or a new cape or power, due to the hints our thinkers revealed to us. We are extending a truce, and asking for everyone’s help in figuring out what the threat is, and then later fighting it. We are offering Hindenburg’s freedom in exchange for the Scoundrels’ cooperation, too.”

She pauses, and looks over everyone’s reactions, as do I. It’s possible that the threat is sitting among us, so our ulterior motive here is to sniff them out. Best Dressed nods, Ghost-Snake looks concerned, and the rest mainly wear poker faces. 

Zephyr scoffs, “So you’re telling me I can’t leave? And what’s that about a new cape? You think it’s me? This is some bullshit.”

“I guess we can’t rule it out, but I think it’s unlikely that you are the threat.” Veil returns condescendingly, “You’re here alone, and we’re talking about an event of mass-scale death. What is your power, anyway?”

“I ain’t fucking telling you, bitch! How about let me out of here or I start the ‘event’ with you .”

“No need for that.” Warns Best Dressed, “You are our guest here, remember. There will be no threats of violence in this sanctuary. This is your first and only warning.”

“Whatever.” Zephyr scoffs again, “But I wanna fucking leave.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that.” Veil responds.

Zephyr looks back at Best Dressed, flailing his arms in a ‘you believe this shit?’ kind of way.

Best Dressed gives him a look of feigned sympathy, “She can’t allow it, Zephyr. I should take this chance to say that SOPHIST will extend our full support to this operation, by the way.” He gestures a bow towards us Protectorate members, “It is our job as much as yours to defend the innocents. Zephyr, if they don’t want you to leave, I don’t want you to leave. And I don’t want any harm to come to Veil either. You understand, don't you?” 

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then. Let’s bring the torch over to the Scoundrels now. Swordsman? What do you think of this?”

Swordsman grins, “Well shit, if they’re giving me my man back, I’ll play ball. Welcome back to freedom once again, brother.”

“Thank you boss!” Hindenburg cheers.

Swordsman continues, “I don’t know if I exactly trust these ‘thinkers’ though. We really gonna put everything at stake for a hunch?”

Veil nods in acknowledgement, “Our thinkers aren’t 100% reliable, but several thinkers have consistently and independently rated this event very grimly. We think the evidence is overwhelming in this situation in particular.”

Memorial, the one who looks like a marble statue, speaks up for the first time, “I can vouch for at least one of them. If what Veil is saying is true, I trust their judgement.”

“I’ll help.” Says Yegg, “If it’s information you need, I can be a pretty good sleuth.”

“Thank you, Yegg.” Says Veil. Attention then turns to the only party that hasn’t responded to the matter yet.

Ice Age sits still, his chilling flames concealing any body language he could express, somehow even his voice carries an icy echo to it. “This… ‘catastrophe’, will it affect the plants and animals of the earth, waters, and skies?”

“We think it’s very likely.” Veil answers, “Conflicts rarely end well for the ecosystem. Threats like Endbringers regularly destroy environments too, for instance. Though we really doubt it is an Endbringer attack, to be clear.”

“Then I’ll help.”

“And the other Green Party members?” Veil presses.

“I don’t speak for them. I’ll talk to them about it after. The boss isn’t feeling well, as I said.”

“I see.” Veil continues, going off-script, “Well, that went better than expected, honestly. Thank you all for understanding the gravity of this situation, genuinely. Now… in order to maximize effective communication and cooperation, we propose forming joint-teams consisting of capes from several organizations. Would the table be willing to comply with this? Everyone will receive communication devices regardless, though.” She presents a suitcase filled with earpieces that I designed. 

The various groups consult with each other. Swordsman gives Hindenburg a doubtful expression, and shakes his head. Best Dressed speaks with his allies quietly, then addresses Veil again.

“We have our concerns… but we would accept the addition of Larsen to SOPHIST’s team. Is that amicable?”

I give Veil a concerned look. She shrugs. “That would be fine. Is that a no across the board otherwise, then?”

The table nods.

Veil takes a deep breath, “Then that is disappointing, but acceptable. Please accept these earpieces courtesy of Larsen, then. Communicate only what you are willing to share, but do it often, please. We want an effective distribution of tasks. We don’t want several teams to be looking for clues all in one place. Take on tasks that you are able and willing to do, same with potential fights. We aren’t drafting you, don’t feel forced to put yourself at risk. We have also been given a set of instructions by the thinker known as Accord. They’re very detailed, and there’s a lot of contingencies. It’s a lot to take in. Let’s go over the key details now while everyone’s here…”

Her lecture drones on, and most everyone picks up a stack of papers and gives the notes a read. Questions ensue, and Veil discusses them in detail. She’s very good at her job, clearly. Very charismatic. But it doesn’t make the ordeal any less grueling. Eventually everyone is satisfied with their understanding of the situation and how to proceed, plans get hashed, and we part ways. Hindenburg is released from cuffs, and joins Swordsman. 

Before Ghost leaves, Veil stops her. “Wait! There’s one more thing I wanted to ask of you, personally. Do you think you could return Annihilare’s power back to her? She’s been retired ever since. We’d really like her back.”

Ghost looks down on Veil from Snake’s towering height, and crosses her arms, “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think he already gave her power away, anyway. And I’d need to ask Annihilare if she even wants it, too. But even then, it’s been in the hands of its new owner for years at this point, right? Would it be right to take it back?”

Veil tilts her head.

“I said I want to help people, and doing what you tell me to do isn’t that. If it seems like the right thing to do, I’ll do it, maybe. But things aren’t black and white. You should know that.”

Veil looks appalled, “Well, Mei, be very careful to keep this code righteous , or the Xu family will hear about it.”

Mei huffs. “I don't care! Go ahead and tell my dad, I’m done letting you control me with fear. I can’t die anyway! I don’t know what you even think you can do to me!”

And with that, Ghost turns and stomps away alone.

Veil turns to me and whispers aside, “You just met her, but she is not like this usually. She’s usually like… a timid little girl. Something happened. Keep an eye out.”

I nod at the candid advice.

“Anyway, go meet your new friends. Have fun with the SOPHISTs, but don’t let them get you caught up in a party or something. You have work to do.”

I look over at Best Dressed, Twilight, and Memorial, who look back at me in return, waiting. I feel sort of weird about teaming up with them for some reason. I haven’t formed an opinion on the group, because I just genuinely don’t care about these sorts of activist things, but they bug me somehow. But, I walk over and join them regardless of my own thoughts.

The moment I step into Best Dressed’s range is very apparent. My clothes get a deep clean, dust and dirt flies off of me in a volume that I didn’t even know was possible. My pockets get tucked in, my belt buckle gets fixed. In no more than a second, he spiffed me up to his liking. His power is precise . I’m told he has a manton limit, but if he has any sort of mental map of the spatial location of the objects he manipulates, he no doubt knows the contours of my body down to the minute details. I really, really don’t like that.

“You ought to take better care of your appearance, Larsen.” He winks, “Care to join me for lunch? Can’t run an engine without fuel, after all.”

I don’t.

“I would love to.”

Chapter Text

“I’ll tell you something, I love your name.” Best Dressed mentions to me after he blows out the smoke from his cigar on this hotel observation deck he’s brought me to, “Larsen is just… just a name, isn’t it? It’s Scandinavian, right? Is it your name?”

He takes another puff, which I take as my signal to reply, “Uh, no, it’s not my name. It’s a nod to the scientist who discovered audio feedback, Absalon Larsen.”

He takes his time to enjoy the cigar, and loosens some of its ash. I feel uncomfortable, and compelled to fill in the silence, so I try explaining some more, “I don’t know, I thought it sounded cool. I needed to pick something…”

“It’s a fine name!” He says with sincerity. He cut me off, but I’m not sure if he meant to or not, “I was hoping it was just your own, though. More of us should bear our hearts on our shoulders. Me, I go by my ‘superlative’ like a title. People respect the symbol, you know? But my name and identity aren’t a secret. They’re one and the same. You know my name, right?” He puts out the cigar, clips the charred end to save it for later, and looks at me directly, leaning on the table we’re sitting at and flicking a strand of his blonde hair from out of his face. 

I hesitate, “Um… you’re right, I do. Do you want me to say it?”

He nods, and gestures a rolling motion with his hand to get me to continue.

“You’re Dom DeVille, right?”

"Dominique James Pierre DeVille, yes. You already know a lot about me, don't you? I'm a celebrity, and the PRT issues my wikipedia page to every one of their capes, local and visiting. You know I'm from Ontario, you know I used to work in the PRT before getting powers, maybe you even know some of the details of my trigger event, and how I run my business. What you don't know is how much is true, and how much is constructed either by me, or by them, but—as much as my word is worth—most of it is true."

“...Ok…”

He frowns, “I sense that you aren’t much of a conversationalist, and that’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with some introversion, and I have no problem with being a windbag when I need to, but I just worry that you’re not talking to me because you’re afraid . Are you afraid of me?”

“Are you making a threat?”

He rolls his eyes, “No, I’m not threatening you, my friend. Just the opposite. I’m telling you that you have nothing to fear.”

I sigh, “Look, I’m not trying to insult you or anything. I’m just being careful. I’m new to this, and I’m trying to go about this whole thing just… professionally. I’m sorry but this is just business.”

“You mean like how Veil carries herself?” He asks, flatly.

“Yeah, like her. It’s like she has a work face, and a face for just being herself, and I honestly envy her for that.”

“It’s hardly anything to envy.” He retorts, “We need to carry humanity in our hearts. She strips herself of that humanity, and goes home to her husband and kids like they’re a second life. She’s probably with them right now, pretending like nothing’s happening. It’s sad, really.”

I consider it. “I guess.”

He stares at me, and his visage slowly droops into a look of disappointment. “I’m sorry, it seems I need to spell it out for you…”

I raise an eyebrow, looking up from my train of thought, “Hmm?”

“Just like how you already know about me, I already know about you . I’m telling you that you have nothing to fear, because I already know your secrets.”

Whatever fidgeting I had been doing absentmindedly comes to a halt as anxiety sets in. Suddenly I find myself manually breathing, and focusing on my surroundings, letting my extra sense tell me about the acoustic properties of the deck, this table, Best Dressed’s skull and body… 

“Listen…” He begins, “I know it sounds bad, but business is business, as you were saying. I haven’t done anything with this information yet, just like I haven’t released any dossiers on any other capes in Seattle or elsewhere. The PRT knows everything about you, too. What I’m doing isn’t very different. Hell, they’re my source anyway.”

I’m thankful my helmet covers my expression. “Then why? And why are you telling me?”

“Because I want to help.” He shrugs, “That’s the answer to both of your questions.”

Our lunch arrives: mussel frites, a charcuterie board, and some sandwich sliders, carried by the same shadow-eyed waiter that served the meeting not much earlier. He bows, and walks off, allowing two more figures to enter onto the deck while he holds the door for them: Memorial and Twilight.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Warns Best Dressed, “Not yet, wait out there just a little bit.”

They obey, exiting back out through the door they came from, and leaving us alone. 

He eats a mussel, then points at me while speaking. “Do you know what SOPHIST stands for? The acronym, not the Greek school of philosophy.”

I had read it, but it’s slipping my mind, probably because of the anxiety of this situation. “Remind me?”

“SOPHIST is the Society of Parahuman Individuality, Sovereignty, and Talent. I’m talking about the ‘sovereignty’ part of it with you right now. I want a world where we are not afraid to show our faces, and where we aren’t coerced into perpetrating state violence. It’s… sad what they’ve put you through, really…”

I raise my eyebrow quizzaciously.

“I digress,” He continues, “What’s sad is how I noticed that you never got the chance to eat the croissant you ordered. You weren’t willing to take your helmet off. It’s understandable in that situation, I don’t trust some of them either, but it still pained me. Don’t get me wrong, I love your helmet, it really adds a je ne sais quoi to your fashion. And I’m not forcing you here, but…”

He trails off to think, and my stomach subtly grumbles. I am hungry. I’ve only had that bowl of cereal this morning.

“I just wanted to treat you to a nice meal after learning about what you’ve been through, Ian. Call it selfish indulgence of my own ideals. I invite you to take your helmet off and eat with me with this beautiful view of the skyline across from us; or you can take your fill and go to a private room. There is no judgement here.”

Yep, there it is. He knows my name—and ‘what I’ve been through’ apparently, though that can mean anything. 

I do consider it, though, thinking trepidatiously about the prospect for an uncomfortable amount of time… If he can use his power on my helmet he probably knows the shape of my face anyway…

No point using an umbrella if you’re already wet, I guess.

I take off my helmet, separating its clamps from my shirt. I shake my head to clear my blonde curls from my face.

“Looking handsome today.” Best Dressed smiles, “Would you mind if Memorial and Twilight join us? I give you my word that they will respect your secrets as well. Memorial has already seen your face, I may add, because of her power—but the choice is yours.”

“Go ahead.” I give my reply before dipping a french fry in some aioli and chowing down.  

The door opens without Best Dressed even having moved. We are sort of sitting close to it, so it makes sense that it was in the range of his power. Seems to operate up to around five or six feet away from him, judging from when he spiffed me up. Sort of scary how he could just throw me off of this building on a dime if he really wanted to.

The two women sit down with us. Twilight is already maskless, if you don’t count her pale black-and-white goth makeup. Memorial sits down and takes off her mask that takes the shape of a feminine visage of a greco-roman marble statue. It clinks against the glass tabletop, which lets me know through my power that it’s rigid and sturdy—armored, even. The rest of her ‘costume’ follows the same scheme, mixing marble-colored textiles and rigid plates to create the sense of a sculpture. Her face, as she reveals it, is dark skinned yet freckled, and pretty beautiful. 

“Apologies for holding you up,” Says Best Dressed, “I just wanted to make sure Larsen was comfortable. You had something to tell me?”

“Not really,” Memorial pouts, “I’ve looked around all day but can’t find anything. I don’t know how far to look back, that’s the main problem. And I don’t even know if seeing the past is useful for this… prediction of the future.”

He gives her a sympathetic look while he shrugs, “You’re right, but I think everyone is having the same problem. Some of the best precogs in the world worked on this and only gave us vague results, and you’re not even a precog. You’re doing just fine. Eat up, and then we’ll all go out together, now that it’s been made public knowledge to all of the capes here what we’re doing.”

I furl my eyebrows, “Wait, you…?”

“Oh, right,” He responds quickly, “Yes, we already knew about Watchdog’s augury before the joint meeting. We were trying to solve the mystery on our own. Oh, and… go ahead and introduce yourselves to our new friend. I’m sorry for getting into business right away.”

I wave.

Twilight weakly yet kindly raises her hand to wave back, “Sup. I’m Twilight.”

Memorial waves too, “Hi Larsen. Uh, you can call me Memorial. Sorry it’s so tacky. I was sort of in a phase when I made the name and it stuck.”

I smile, “I think it sounds fine, and it makes your power sound a lot cooler than it actually is.”

She smiles back.

“Why are you Twilight, though?” I ask, “I never saw the connection. You just make things move in a straight line, right?”

“She blasts you away to the sunset.” Memorial answers for her.

Twilight chuckles, “Uh, yeah kind of. It’s just my name though. Twilight’s my favorite pony, so I named myself after her.”

I stutter, “...You what?”

“Like from the show. My Little Pony.”, She explains, her voice strangely monotone and subdued, “Have you heard of it? I named myself after the main character.”

I try not to laugh so that I don’t choke on my food, and nod, “All this time I thought it was a cape name…”

“What about you?” Asks Memorial, “What does Larsen mean to you?”

“It’s the name of a scientist who discovered audio feedback…”

—

After an honestly enjoyable conversation over our lunch surrounding children’s TV shows, names, and our favorite food and drinks, the four of us set off after Best Dressed talks to PRT HQ to update them on our plans.

We walk around in a group, without much apparent purpose. Memorial holds Best Dressed’s hand as we do so, weirdly, and they talk to each other as if she’s showing him something. She seems to notice my confusion, and she holds out her hand to me in offering.

“If I touch you I can show you what I see.” She explains, “Do you want to?” 

I think I do want to, but there is a piece of me that is scared of what it may reveal to me, how it might overwhelm me, or that something weird is going to come out of it. My curiosity gets the best of me, though, and I grab on to her hand.

In an instant, a world of ghosts is revealed to me. Layered overtop of the same street we’re walking on is a moving image of the past. The present street we’re actually on is empty because of the curfew set in place, but people and cars from the past fill the street, walking around me and even through me, with the same visual effect as seeing two things at once while cross-eyed.

“This is what it looked like here yesterday at around rush hour.” Memorial explains, “You understand my problem now? I’m great at solving murders and thefts, but how can I find clues for something like this?”

I let go, “Yeah, I see the problem. But if we find something happening now, you’ll be able to see what led up to it though.

As if on cue, we come across a line of cars in dead-end traffic at a busy runoff between the interstate and a city road, suffused with the sounds of honking and angry shouting. Obstructing the flow of traffic is a single excavator, trying—and failing—to dig up a tree lining the boulevard. I wait for a command or the signal from someone else to leap in, but it never comes. The four of us stand and watch. After a bit of confusion, I remember that our goal is information gathering. It’s probably better to wait and see what’s going on as long as there’s no sense of immediate danger.

But it’s never exactly that easy. In perhaps a fit of road-rage, a driver exits his car with a pistol in hand and starts shooting through the windows of the car in front of him, and then the next too. The others, with their cars stalled on a precarious off-ramp, mostly decide to get out of their vehicles and run; and the few on the ends venture to maneuver around the off-ramp to drive away, grinding against curb and concrete as they scramble. 

I don’t need anyone’s permission to do something about this . I have a clear shot on the gunner, and there’s nobody left standing near him that would get caught in the crossfire of my long-ranged sonic blast. I aim and tune my LRAD towards the man and loose a beam of sound. I expect him to hold his head and crouch down in pain like most do—that would be bad for this circumstance though, since that’d put him behind some cover, and dropping low to the ground at this distance would create a dampening effect from the paved ground. Instead he screams and starts shooting randomly, up, down, in all directions.

On top of that, I’m momentarily startled by Best Dressed as he suddenly springs towards the gunner from his position just next to me, closing at least thirty feet of distance in less than a second—all while carrying Twilight on his back, weirdly. He can move around fast . If he exerts his telekinetic force on the pavement, that same force will be exerted back onto himself, allowing him to essentially levitate. All he needs to do is stay less than five feet up in the air, and he can continuously use his power on solid ground to dart and weave with as much speed and precision as he wills.

I silence my LRAD after the pistol is confiscated with lightning speed, snatched from its wielder’s hands and simply suspended in air to Best Dressed’s side. The disarmed gunman is picked up by his clothes and tossed gently into the air. When his trajectory crests to a line diagonal from the ground, Twilight uses her power to lock his velocity in place, and he continues moving in a straight, slow path upward. He flails, then shimmies out of his shirt, and falls some 9 feet onto the ground. Best Dressed uses his telekinesis on the jacket, unthreads it, then braids it back into a rope, while at the same time unlocking and opening a nearby car door with invisible hands. He manipulates the newly created rope to slam against the suspect, shoving him onto a car seat then, to which his limbs are then tightly tied together. I guess that’s how he makes his outfits.

The suspect still doesn’t calm down. He struggles with ferocity to escape his constraints, but ultimately gets nowhere.

“I should go calm him down…” Memorial tells me before she starts making her way over. I walk with her. I take a look at the weirdo in the excavator as I do so; he’s still going at it, seems like he doesn’t really know how to work the thing. 

When we get within talking distance of the others, the deranged gunner stops struggling and starts… giggling like a little girl. With an absent smile on his face he lets out a distant “woohoo!”, cheering for something that isn’t real. 

I give Memorial a confused look, “Did you do that?”

“Yes, actually.” She explains, “Touching me doesn't extend my power to you—it protects you from it. My visions make people feel the emotions of people who existed in the same place in the past—it’s not that strong though. He’s watching a circus act.”

“It’s great for parties.” Twilight adds.

Interesting. So she’s more than a sleuth. 

“Why did you do that?” Memorial asks the gunman.

He lapses from his spell as he answers, his voice thin and stressed, “I-I don’t know, I just want to go home. Just let me go home! I want to go home… Oh my god…”

He begins crying and hyperventilating.

“Hey, hey, calm down.” Memorial attempts to assure him, “We’re not going to hurt you. What’s your name? Do you have a history of mental illness?”

His panic attack clearly doesn’t listen, and he continues hyperventilating and muttering himself into a spiral. Memorial seems to give up with questioning, and places him back under her spell, making him think he’s someone from a much earlier version of Seattle watching a pleasant street performance. His mental breakdown doesn’t completely come to a stop, though—it only takes a small lull every so often when her power makes him laugh or cheer.

“This same thing happened just yesterday.” I mention.

“At Cherry and 3rd, right?” Memorial asks.

“Yeah, I guess you heard about it. Maybe it’s a clue?”

Twilight hems, “A disease that gives you violent urges? Is it a zombie apocalypse that we’re dealing with here?”

As I silently come to terms with such a harrowing possibility, the director’s voice sounds through my ear implant. “A PRT employee was just caught in an attempt to shoot up our headquarters. He was stopped by Dullahan. Be on the lookout for acts of violent impulse.”

“You heard that too?” I ask my group. I did give them the ear-pieces, so they should have.

They collectively nod and voice their affirmations.

I press the button on my ear-implant so that my voice is transmitted, “There was also a shooting uh, near Mercer and the interstate. The suspect is in severe mental distress. No motive known. He's uh… tied to a car seat. Need some cops to detain him or something.”

Just as I finish the report, a waft of smoke hits my nostrils and face, causing me to cough from the surprise. I look upwind and there is a fire raging in an apartment complex not too far away. People start running out of the building, while giving wide breadth to a woman walking at a measured, calm pace, while slowly spilling gasoline from a canister that she holds just behind her. Best Dressed springs immediately to action once again, taking twilight on his back just like before. After he swiftly thrusts himself across one and a half city blocks, he throws the gasoline canister skyward as soon as he’s able. Twilight’s power takes hold of it too, and it continues its upwards ascent far, far into the distance. They try the same maneuver as before to lift the suspect up into the air and suspend her there, succeeding this time, before Best Dressed precisely crushes a nearby fire hydrant, and bends its metal to spray down the building the best he can. I’m pretty sure he can’t use his power on the water, so Twilight uses her power on it instead, which helps the stream easily reach the very top of the tall building. The fire isn’t exactly put out, but held at bay.

I press my earpiece again, “There’s also a fire, probably arson, at the same place. Where Mercer merges onto the interstate.”

Fencer’s voice comes through, “Got a fire here too. Hindenburg took care of it though. Over and out.”

My tinker-enhanced hearing picks up sirens in the distance approaching. Hopefully fire trucks. Best Dressed returns back to our location by the road, with Twilight in tow, and now the suspected arsonist. Even before she came anywhere near Memorial, she was laughing—hysterically.

“I don’t think this one wants to talk either.” Best Dressed asserts. He then ties her up to the car seat just next to the gunman using nearby scraps of metal that creak as they’re violently bent into shapes of loops.

“This isn’t good…” I say. The anxiety is getting to me. I really don’t want to be here.

Twilight points, “Hey look, the guy in the excavator finally got the tree out of the ground.”

We all turn to look as well, and we watch the man stumble out of the machine to climb into the rugged hole left by the tree. The hole is just deep enough to conceal most of his body to us from our distance, but we do see him using a shovel to fill the hole back up with dirt and gravel as he’s still inside of it.

“He’s… trying to bury himself?” I ask, somewhat horrified.

Our group looks on, and Best Dressed gives a bemused “hmm” as he analyzes the situation, stroking his trimmed beard. “Perhaps you ought to use your powers here? See where he came from?” he says to Memorial.

“Already on it.” She replies, “Not seeing much. Looks like the excavator was left out and he just came by and started it up. Touch me if you want to see.”

Best Dressed and Twilight both touch her shoulder and upper arm. I momentarily hesitate, then get over the weirdness of physical touch, placing my palm on her other shoulder. I see the exact scene she just described, time rewinding and then being played back sped-up like we’re looking through security cam footage.

“This was about an hour ago.” She says.

Not much information to glean here. All this really tells us is how he managed to get his hands on an excavator. Maybe he’s an actual construction worker, and this is his own excavator, and then he went crazy like the rest of these people and decided to bury himself. But we need to figure out why they’re going crazy.

I look around, trying to understand this view of an hour into the past. I scan my surroundings, and then notice a weird looking tree in a different roadside median. It looks thin, young, and vaguely tropical, which is very unusual for our northwest climate. Maybe it’s related?

I point it out, “Can you get the history on that tree maybe? Isn’t it a little out of place?”

Memorial turns and considers it, “May as well.”

Our vision of the past begins to accelerate backwards, seconds becoming minutes, then hours, then days, then weeks and months. Seems she overestimated how long ago the tree was planted, revealing to us a past where a completely different tree stood in its place. She brings the overlaid vision back to some time much more recent, and eventually finds its genesis. That old tree apparently died and got cut down a while ago, and this one was planted and grown to maturity within seconds.

“Is this still sped up?” I ask.

“No,” She replies, “I’m not slowing down or speeding this up. This happened six days ago, at night.”

She replays the event. A young, curly haired woman in a jean jacket and sweatpants plants a seed, and watches it grow to twice her height in mere seconds.

“There’s only one person who could do this.” Best Dressed says.

I know exactly who he’s talking about. Dryad. She has the power to rapidly accelerate plant growth, and reinvigorate dead ones. As a cape, she’s usually covered head-to-toe in some version of ironbark that she’s genetically engineered to grow around her. What we’re seeing must be her in plain clothes. Suddenly I understand how Memorial already knew my face.

I focus my vision on the real tree as it exists presently. It’s not so different from its past shadow, but some of its alien-looking nuts have burst open on the ground, revealing a hollow interior. On my tip-toes, I pick a fresh one from the tree, then crush it on the ground with my boot. Nearly a hundred minuscule seeds spill out. I scoop up a few in my hand, and study them. 

With deep anxiety in my voice, I present a grim possibility, “Do you think he was burying himself… to plant himself?”

The others look at me. Memorial gives a troubled sigh. The unmasked ones raise their eyebrows in disbelief as they too consider it.

Still without breaking contact with the three of us, Memorial skims through the past. She points in the direction where, in the present, a tiny sapling peaks through a drainage grate. She shows us an event from the past of a small child lifting it up and stepping into it. We make our way over to it, look through the grates, and find the sapling’s roots clutched to the boy’s corpse, having almost completely consumed it. 

This is definitely not good. I begin to enter a spiral of anxiety before I attempt to ground myself and breathe. This is fucked. The director was right—we’re dealing with some fucked up self-replicating contagion or whatever. I could be infected, we all could be infected. Are we just going to all turn to trees trapped in this shitty fucking city?

I feel hopeless. What can I even do here? My power is that I make really good stereos. I shouldn’t even fucking be here. I clutch the seeds still in my hand, and my power informs me of the exact specifications of the crunching sounds they make as I destroy them.

My eyes widen as an idea comes to me. I study the seeds intently, holding one out close to my face, closing one eye. Then, I prime my LRAD to make a noise that perfectly matches its impedance in ultrasound. I shoot a beam of sound at the seed in my hand, and it shatters. I laugh. 

The others turn my way, “What was that?” Memorial asks. Maybe she heard a harmonic of the frequency I just used.

I then turn the LRAD on myself, turn its intensity up, and simultaneously activate my actuator rod to create an interference pattern to minimize damage to my vital organs. I blast myself with the high intensity sound for a second. Afterwards, I don’t feel very different. Of course I have no way of really knowing if it worked, but if these seeds are what’s spreading this ‘disease’, then I might have just cured myself.

“I think I can destroy the seeds with sound.” I say with palpable relief against my hysteria, “Do you want me to do it to any of you?”

Best Dressed gives a bemused chuckle. “By all means, go ahead.”

The others agree as well.

I repeat the process with each of them, targeting them with the rod and LRAD one-by-one, adjusting for the unique conditions of their bodies’ different shapes and masses. Then I do the same to the ones tied up in the car. Their behavior doesn’t change, so I don’t know if it works on them or not. Or maybe they’re permanently brain damaged. I still don’t know if it even works at all to begin with, though.

I report with my ear-piece to HQ, leaving the capes out of the communication in case Ice Age could be listening in. “We think we’ve figured out what’s happening, roughly. Memorial used her power to find someone planting a tree that grew within seconds, probably Dryad. We found multiple people bury themselves, one of which turned into an identical tree. We think it’s spreading by seeds. With my power, I think I can destroy them with sound, I’ve tried this on myself and the SOPHISTs I’m with. Not sure if it works. though.”

After some radio silence, a frantic Director Foote himself gets back to me, “Thank you for the intel. We will remove Ice Age’s communicator from our radio signal suspecting Green Party involvement. We want you back at HQ ASAP to cure as many capes and responders as possible. Thunderstep is busy right now, can Best Dressed take you there?”

“Uh…” I turn to him, “Can you take me to the PRT Headquarters?”

“Certainly,” He replies, “Leaving us so soon?”

“Yeah” I say back to him, “And yeah, he can.” I say again, now to the director.

“See you there. Thank you.” Director Foote ends the call.

Best Dressed leaves, then comes back to us with one of the cars that was abandoned in the shooting. Not driving it, but floating it above him. The extra force this puts on him seems to force him off his feet, relying solely on his power to move around. He places it on the ground, opens all of the doors simultaneously, and gestures for us all to get it. We do so, filling up all four seats of the sedan, with me in shotgun. Then, without warning, the car itself is lifted up again with us inside, then launched into the air. Evidently Twilight uses her power on it too, since it flies in a straight line, overtaking city streets beneath us. I yelp for a little bit before regaining composure, but I still find myself far from calm. Then our trajectory ceases, and we begin freefalling from who even knows how many feet in the air. I begin screaming again, both rationally and irrationally from the stomach-rush of the fall, before we come to a surprisingly steady deceleration as we hit the ground. I’m guessing Best Dressed used his power on the car and also pushed away against the ground as we approached it to dampen the impact, at the cost of creating a huge, streaking crater in the concrete. After the literal rollercoaster of a ride, we’ve arrived at my current home in less than a minute: the PRT Headquarters. Still shaking, I sit still in my seat for some moments before finally opening the door and getting out.

Best Dressed laughs, “Tah-tah, it’s a shame to see you go so soon, but , you’ve got a job to do. See you around!”

Memorial and Twilight both echo his goodbye as I shut the door behind me, and after some PRT officers rush over to greet me, they drive off. Well, the car’s wheels don’t move, it moreso gets… picked up off the ground, and then hovers away.

The officers then hurriedly escort me inside. It was a nice excursion, but I’m back in their care now.

Chapter Text

[1:52 PM, Monday, 03/05/2007]

Dom watches two armed PRT officers escort Larsen shoulder-to-shoulder just across a sidewalk and up some stairs to the entrance of the PRT Headquarters. It’s a bit much—a haughty, unnecessary display of power. The boy is more than capable of handling himself, but it’s not his safety that they’re concerned with—they want to control him, and remind Best Dressed that Larsen belongs to them.

He smirks and laughs. He sees their confidence as a facade, this display of authority as barbaric and uncivilized. Their world of bureaucracy and law is fundamentally built on fear—fear of poverty, fear of imprisonment, fear of authority. As an organization, they lack what it takes to actually lift people like Ian up—he will never rise above the issues that plague him in their care—that’s why Dom is so confident that he’ll manage to persuade him to his side.

Feeling satisfied that Ian has made it to his destination safely, Dom picks the car back up with his power, and pushes against the road with four pivot points. He hovers the car over the street, and moves it forward, ‘rolling’ the pivot-points as he goes to create a sense of smooth, continuous motion. His power gives him the specific cognitive ability to focus independently on any number of objects within his range simultaneously, which frees up his mental bandwidth to make conversation as he drives.

“What do you say we go back to the hotel?” He asks, “That’s where we last saw Ice Age in the flesh. I say we follow him from there and pay him a visit. We might not have our element of surprise for very long—they might soon catch on that we know.”

Twilight’s response is delayed as she takes a hit from her vape, leaving only Memorial to reply. “Sure. The sooner we go, the easier it will be for me to track him down with my power. Makes sense.”

Twilight blows a cloud out of the window, “I’m still up for it, yeah.”

“Wonderful.” Dom replies, “Let’s go then.”

He launches the car into the air once again, and Twilight uses her power on it. Their powers work in such beautiful harmony with each other. Her power cannot move anything on its own—it only locks in an object’s speed and direction; and his power moves objects with as much force as he wills. Without him, she could only keep a baseball moving as fast as she could throw it, but with both of them together, they can launch steel beams at bullet speed. Her vial was certainly worth the money.

Twilight loosens her hold on the car, causing it to free-fall just as its trajectory sends it close enough to the 34-floor skyscraper of a hotel that Best Dressed owns. Dom waits for their speed to slow with gravity, then carefully anchors the car to the building’s steel skeleton, and gently lowers it to the ground. He had designed the architecture of this building to be this way for this express purpose. 

The group of three exit onto the street, and enter the Coffee Club as it sits on ground level. It’s usually full of patrons, but mostly empty aside from some residents now, owing to the current circumstance that plagues this city. The permanent residents are all parahumans, most of whom are more or less pacifists, and seeking refuge from the world of violence around them. Many of them are ‘case 53’s, too, since they face the most blatant discrimination. The ones populating the cafe are Aija with a bloated, cone-shaped body, Yeong-Suk who has shark-like, sandpapery skin, and Sable, whose shadowed eyes can see in darkness, but not light. All of them want to live peaceful lives, and Dom has promised them exactly this. It would be nice to have their helping hand, but it’s not something he can ask for.

Sable greets them, looking up from the table he was wiping down, “Welcome back. Need anything?”

“We’re just fine, thank you.” Dom replies, “We’re only stopping by. Don’t mind us.”

Twilight catches up, as does Memorial, who offers both of her hands for her two friends to take hold of. Dom and Twilight take them, and they view a scene from the recent past that features themselves: the joint Seattle cape meeting.

“I think so.” Veil said in the past, “Is Guide not coming?”

“No.” Ice Age replied, monotone, “She isn’t feeling well.”

“Sorry to hear that…” Veil responded.

The vision is sped up, everyone’s voices becoming high-pitched and cartoonish, before it slows back down again. 

“This… ‘catastrophe’” Ice Age began, “Will it affect the plants and animals of the earth, waters, and skies?”

“We think it’s very likely.” Veil answered, sounding a little annoyed, “Conflicts rarely end well for the ecosystem. Threats like Endbringers regularly destroy environments too, for instance. Though we really doubt it is an Endbringer attack, to be clear.”

“Then I’ll help.”

“And the other Green Party members?” Veil pressed.

“I don’t speak for them. I’ll talk to them about it after. The boss isn’t feeling well, as I said.”

“I see….”

The playback of the meeting continues, then speeds up once more, until the various groups eventually depart. The group watches the past version of Ice Age, clad in his bright cyan flames, walk out of the cafe and onto the street. The three of them follow, chasing a shadow of the past which leads them to a public bathroom. Dom groans, loath to break this social contract of privacy, but motions for his troupe to follow inside anyway. Ice Age’s shadow enters a stall, to which they do not follow. They can see his feet underneath the door, though, still clad in flames that then flicker and die down.

The beginning trickling of a stream is heard, to which Memorial reacts with an “ew”, before speeding up the scene until he exits the stall, revealing an Asian-American man with flakey, dry skin but otherwise great shape, zipping up his jeans—Ice Age, without his flames to obscure him. His shade leaves—without washing his hands—and walks leisurely to wait at a bus stop. After that, it looks like he took out a flip phone and made a call, allowing the group to hear one side of the conversation he had in the past.

“Hey… yeah, it just finished. Be careful, they know something. They’re quarantining the city… I don’t know, they said they have people who can see the future… They say a lot of people are going to die and that’s all they know… No, it didn’t seem like it… There’s a new guy too, he’s a sound tinker, shouldn’t be a problem though… Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. See you later.”

“What time was this?” Dom asks Memorial.

“1:09 PM.” She answers.

 After the phone call, Memorial speeds up the playback to a few minutes later wherein a bus arrives, and Ice Age takes it. Dom lets go of Memorial’s hand, darts away momentarily to get the car he had already commandeered earlier. He’s remiss that he had to steal it from somebody, but an emergency is an emergency. He’d have to pay it back to its owner somehow after this is over.

The three of them get back in the car, and Dom wills it to hover over the ground and follow their quarry, while Memorial reaches from the passenger seat to keep contact with his shoulder. As long as she keeps her vision of the past at a sped-up playback, and Dom’s incredible mobility doesn’t fail them, they should be able to catch up to the present version of Ice Age in no time. Maybe half an hour at most, if the fastest they can manage is 2x time.

While ‘driving’, Dom uses his provided communicator earpiece to speak to the line direct to the PRT. “Memorial’s power revealed a very suspicious phone call made by Ice Age at exactly 1:09 PM today at… Stewart and 4th. Presumably to Guide and Dryad. Check the records, and see if you can find the other end of the call.” After ending the communication, Dom then reaches into his pocket to pull out his own cell phone, and dials the number of someone else, who picks up after a few rings. Without waiting for a customary greeting, Dom launches straight into his demands, “Yegg, whatever you’re doing, I need you to stop, and wait on standby for my call. Thank you.”

He hangs up, then dials someone else, who answers immediately.

“Hello?” Vesper answers, his voice deep and gravelly.

“Hello. About our current predicament… I know you’re helping us already, but I’d like to offer you an additional contract. 20k if you can find Dryad and Guide, and 40k each for each if you can kill either of them. Does that sound good?”

“You’re skimping out on me.” Vesper replies, cold.

Best Dressed laughs, somewhat caving under the pressure, “You got me. Yes, they are dangerous quarries… 100k for each of their heads… no, 250…”

“Shut up.” Vesper demands through the phone, “You still don’t get how I operate, do you? You only ever want me for your schemes, so I demand pay and a contract. But right now, this is different. This is about my mother’s divination, yes? That means you’re asking me to take action to protect the living, right?”

“Uh…” Best Dressed hesitates. At his core, he’s a businessman—that’s how he was raised. From an early age, it was instilled into him that humans are selfish, and the only thing that ever truly makes the world tick is money, and a good deal. His trust fund was withheld from him until he turned 25 and was told to make a living all on his own, which he did to great success, owing to the skills in persuasion and business that he received as a result. Vesper is an… interesting character, to say the least. Dom likes types like him, and wants more people like him in the world, but doesn’t understand them—in a way, he relates to them, even, but he can’t control them, and that scares him.

“Certainly.” Best Dressed manages, “As you’ve already been briefed, we face a grave threat to the world here. We highly suspect they’re behind this, and we need all the help we can get. They’ve made some sort of disease that spreads by seeds.”

“Then they will be found. No payment necessary.” Vesper says before abruptly ending the call.

Dom sighs, keeping his eyes still on Ice Age’s shade and the bus he rode, while maneuvering the car with as much effort as breathing.

“That wasn’t my brother, was it?” Memorial asks.

“It was.” Dom confirms, “He won’t come with us, though. Don’t worry.”

Memorial sighs. Dom is sorry for her that he ended up bringing Vesper to Seattle. She has a shaky relationship with him—if this scheme in particular wasn’t so extraordinarily important, he would have preferred to keep him busy elsewhere with the usual jobs he hires him for, making strategic hits on more distant threats to the SOPHIST agenda. Memorial can only spare so much energy to her anxiety about her broken family, though, and continues adjusting the dilation of time for her replay of the past to match the pace that Best Dressed can keep up with it.

The path that Ice Age took was circuitous and confusing. He rode the bus south for several stops, then got on a different one, then headed to a metro-station to take a train North. It’s as if he was riding public transit just to ride it. Thankfully, because the station he got on the train at was above-ground, Best Dressed’s group continue to take their very comfortable car to give chase. He doesn’t need to move everyone around in a car—he could do the same thing with some chairs instead, or even just grab his compatriots by their clothes—it’s just more comfortable, and more classy this way. The group speeds after the train’s past shadow, which does end up leading underground after all, through a tunnel still wide enough to fit their sedan. They don't observe Ice Age get off until the very last stop, where the group finally follows his shade up the escalator, still in their car hovering sideways just above the railing. At street level, Ice Age was evidently greeted by police officers trying to get citizens home or off the street to comply with the emergency curfew. The sped-up vision shows him getting shuffled in with the ones who are assigned to a public shelter, most of which seeming to be homeless people or unsuspecting travelers who got caught up in the quarantine. They formed a line, and were slowly checked in one-by-one by police, volunteers, and other first responders. The vision speeds up, and Ice Age’s shade merges with a real person that exists in the present. Heads turn, noticing the arrival of famous super-rogues riding a floating car, as does their quarry, who wastes no time in wreathing cold flames not just around himself, but around his entire surroundings. An intense, explosive woosh of bright cyan engulfs all those around him, and even sustains fire on the concrete. They scream and run, which only acts to spread the flames even farther to the ground they step on, and the other people they bump into. It spreads rapidly, quicker than mundane fire ever could. The ones burning die quickly depending on how close they were to the epicenter of the blast—some nearly instantaneously, their bodies turned into rigid, icy husks.

In the same moment, he solidifies the air around his hands, and then flicks with his fingers to sling burning bits of dry ice and liquid nitrogen towards the group’s stolen car. Best Dressed reacts immediately to rip the car in half down the middle to shove himself and his companions off their seats and onto the ground while using the car’s chassis as a shield against Ice Age’s projectiles. Dom lands gracefully, while the other two end up stumbling, but regaining their footing quickly. 

“Eyes up!” He commands, making sure Twilight’s attention is called forth for his counter attack.

Once he is satisfied with their safety, he bends and crushes one of the car’s half to form a large, metal shield, and with the help of Twilight’s power, hurls the other half towards Ice Age at bullet speed, who was foolish enough to eliminate Best Dressed’s concern for collateral damage. He uses his power to push against the concrete floor as he does so to brace against the extreme opposite force, which crushes and cracks the sidewalk and sends him off balance. After Best Dressed stumbles slightly to regain his refined posture, he looks through the cracked mirror of the mangled car-shield to see that the attack was a miss—Ice Age’s bravado had only existed to cover his escape, which he makes by coating the street in ice to skate on it with extraordinary speed. That just about confirms it: his only goal here was to waste the time of whoever attempted to pursue him. He’s no fool, clearly—after the meeting, he must have known that it was only a matter of time until his operation was busted. Best Dressed, on the other hand, has time to kill. Dom knows that he’s the most powerful parahuman in the city, perhaps even across the whole west coast—nobody wants to go toe-to-toe with him. To Ice Age, this is likely his worst-case scenario. He could probably deal with anyone else, buy time for his allies and whatever the hell they’re planning, and maybe even pick off some of the opposition. But facing Best Dressed? His only hope is to survive.

As Best Dressed and Twilight throw more munitions at Ice Age for good measure, the endothermic fire spreads not just from person-to-person across the frantic crowds, but along the asphalt and concrete, along brick buildings, and creeps towards Dom’s group, threatening to chill them as well. Keeping his eye firmly on Ice Age’s path of retreat and the trail of flaming, frozen waste in his wake, Dom addresses his current allies, “Memorial, I need you to get out of here right now. Run. Get in contact with Yegg and tell him to converge on me. I’m going to set this place ablaze, and then give chase. Twilight, on my back. We move as one.”

Without even waiting to hear their confirmation, he uses his telekinesis on the subtle titanium exoskeleton that he has Twilight wear whenever they go out together. He floats her onto his back, where he continually uses his power on the frame, essentially ‘wearing’ her just like how he uses his power on his outfits to keep his collar standing up straight. He then rips the gas-tank from this poor car’s chassis, as well as its battery. He causes it to short-circuit, then uses it as a firestarter to catch the gasoline on fire, and finally flings it across the street and surrounding buildings. The real fire doesn’t catch on the concrete and bricks as much as Ice Age’s, but even the most brief contact from hot flames puts it out. Best Dressed spreads burning bits of wood and cinder around as best he can to spread the fire around to the whole city block—firefighters will have to put these flames out the traditional way, with water. It pains him to have to destroy so much property, but as ironic as it is, this is the only way to stop Ice Age’s chilling fire. Satisfied with his handiwork, he gathers a collection of crushed concrete and oil-soaked burning debris to form a swirling sphere of fire around him as he rises from the ground in preparation to launch after his quarry. He pushes off against the sidewalk with force enough to utterly destroy it, and he is launched into the air, just as Twilight uses her power to lock in his velocity. Powerful wind blasts his face—he’s thankful he can use his power on his hair, or else his carefully constructed haircut would surely be blown to ruin; likewise, he extends the same courtesy to Twilight, who still clutches to him despite having the security of his power to stop her from falling. Yet, the wind itself on his face is still uncomfortable—such is why he prefers traveling by car whenever possible. Still, he lets his stylish longline blazer billow—or rather, he uses his telekinesis to make it billow. Best Dressed is nothing without flair.

Because of the gyroscopic force of his spinning, protective sphere of debris, he stays upright as he looks down at Ice Age, who in turn looks behind him and up as he skates away on blue-black ice. It doesn’t take any time at all to catch up. Before poor Icy can even react, Dom uses some of his store of debris as munitions to throw at Ice Age with violent force, but not terribly strong force—not as much as when he threw the right half of the car earlier at least. The influence of Twilight’s power wanes when enough force is applied to knock objects affected by it off course, so he risks falling and losing control of his flight by throwing projectiles like this. Still, the pair are practiced, and Dom knows the limits of what he can exert against Twilight’s power.

Ice Age, still, manages to dodge. Though the spread of his icy flames are somewhat stunted by the globs of hot oil that explode on impact. He seems to ‘flare up’ when he makes quick movements like this, the flames around his body grow larger in anticipation just before thrusting his whole body with enough force to propel him over the slippery ice in short, quick bursts. He is an adept speedster, though nobody has yet to figure out how exactly he does it. It doesn’t make sense that his cold flame would supply him with some sort of propulsion, and it’s the only power he has on record. The mystery may unfortunately never get solved, though—Best Dressed has every intent to kill him.

Dom watches Ice Age make a sharp left turn. Smart of him. Best Dressed and Twilight can only fly in one direction with their powers—to turn left after him, they’d normally need to drop back to the ground, then launch themselves again in the new direction, but not this time—Dom prepared. Twilight lets go of the pair, allowing them to drop and freefall, and Dom throws a large chunk of his swirling debris at nearly mach speed in the opposite direction that Ice Age turned, violently altering the pair’s trajectory, which is then locked in again by Twilight’s power. If this were any other opponent, he’d choose instead to crash directly into them and pulverize them with whatever solid objects were around, but Ice Age has a kill range. If Best Dressed gets too close, he’ll be frozen to death, and if Ice Age gets too close, he’ll be ripped apart and flattened. That’s what makes this fight so interesting to Dom, it’s forcing him to use tactics he hasn’t had to use in such a long time. Fights have become largely boring to him, this change of pace is more than welcome.

Dom looks up briefly to see the distance that Ice Age is progressing towards—he’s making a beeline for the water, it seems. A while ago, Ice Age got in a lot of trouble for trying to freeze the Puget Sound and then the Pacific Ocean, with the reported motive being to combat global warming. The attempt was, of course, unsuccessful, but it was difficult to do anything to him way out in the frozen waters burning with his icy flames. It became a hostile, inhabitable wasteland—nobody could walk on it without freezing to death, and no boat could sail it. They ended up needing a coalition of flying and cold-resistant capes to deal with him, Yegg included. It would be a drag, to say the least, if he managed to do the same thing again here and now.

“To the rooftop over there!” Dom commands, pointing to a tall building towards Ice Age’s path. 

Twilight obliges, allowing the pair to freefall, and Dom uses the same technique of throwing some of the spiraling debris on hand to turn slightly towards the building. They crash against it, bending the steel beams and brick tiling on the roof into an unsightly crater upon their arrival. Immediately he grabs some of the rubble he just created and throws it with full force towards Ice Age while bracing against the rooftop for support, but the villain moves out of sight behind another skyscraper before the volley hits its mark. Refueling on rubble and debris to circle around them, the pair blast off again to catch up. 

But they aren’t quick enough this time. As soon as Dom gets line of sight on Ice Age again, he hurls an extended barrage of sharp metal, hot oil, and concrete at his prey, but Icy’s serpentine movements ultimately thwart the attempt before he reaches the bay, which quickly turns to ice, fractalling out in tendril patterns as the chilling flames spread on the watertop. 

Annoying.

“We’re going.” Dom asserts, “Keep us in the air.”

“W-wait, really?” Twilight objects, but ultimately complies, keeping their trajectory straight and steady as they pass over the shoreline. 

Ice Age skates freely, and even does a twirl beneath them, as Dom continues his attempt to pelt him with debris. He conserves the flammable material for now, though. No use in trying to catch water on fire. But still, none of the munitions find their mark. The guy is just too fast, and Dom is just too far away. If only he could get close enough for just a moment… 

“Drop us.” Dom commands.

Without words, Twilight obeys, and their altitude drops as they accelerate towards the icy bay. Ice Age seems to stop and wait for them, as if to catch them. The fool. As soon as the pair get close enough, Dom uses nearly all of his supply of debris spiraling around him to launch downwards at Ice Age to both attack and slow their fall. Five feet above the ice, Best Dressed and Twilight hover face to face with Ice Age, now suffering scrapes and bruises from the recent attack which he only barely managed to dodge. With around ten feet of distance between then, the adversaries meet at the precipice of each others’ kill range, and without dialogue, they each attack at once. Ice age strikes his arms out to splash the pair with liquified air, and Best Dressed cracks the ice beneath him and attempts to pulverize Ice Age into oblivion, but is forced to instead use it to deflect the oncoming projectiles from his foe. He curses the gods for not allowing him to use his power on liquids. But just when he thinks he’s avoided the spray, he hears a shriek from immediately behind him—Twilight. A bit of burning liquid nitrogen managed to just barely touch her leather jacket. Shit. Without even thinking, he launches himself skyward and away from Ice Age, while simultaneously ripping her burning clothes off of her with his telekinesis and throwing it far away. While still in the air he takes his cigar torch from his pocket, floats it over to where the flames got her shoulder, and singes her delicate skin to put out the Ice Age’s fire. She cries in pain, but is kept alive. Instinctually, she locks in their velocity to retreat back to the shore, which is still burning with Icy’s endothermic flames, but but works as a ‘handhold’ once they approach it to boost the pair up to a building tall enough that its rooftop hasn’t been consumed in the ever-spreading ice yet. He takes off his blazer and puts it on her with his precise telekinesis to save her modesty, and lets her go, letting her stand with her own two legs. She hugs him in tears. 

Some things aren’t worth risking. 

Dom hears the sound of a motorcycle approaching, and then sees the motorcycle crest over the rooftop on which he stands in Twilight’s embrace. Yegg dismounts, and waves. One of Yegg’s powers allows him to walk up and down walls with altered gravity, which extends to small vehicles too. Conveniently, another one of Yegg’s powers gives him immunity to cold. He’ll get to finally put it to the test here in just a moment.

“Got your message.” He says, gazing at the now-frozen sound, “You’re lucky you’re so damn flashy or else I wouldn’t have been able to find you. Anyway, you needed me? I can guess what for.”

“Indeed.” Dom replies, tired and annoyed. He points in the direction of Ice Age, “He’s a problem. Get rid of him.”

Yegg laughs, and looks at Ice Age, now leisurely ice-skating far out in the bay, “Icy huh… Y’know, I support the Green Party and all, but I’ve always wanted to go all out on him…” He smiles, and taps his finger on his chin, thinking, “Can you throw me at him?”

Best Dressed raises an eyebrow, “If you think you can handle being thrown.”

“I can handle it… I think. I got an idea.”

“Be my guest.” Best Dressed relents. He tires of this, and if Yegg gets himself killed in a crash landing, it’ll be his fault anyway. He pries Twilight away from him, “Sorry, sweetie, but we need one more bit of oomph from you, ok?”

She nods, dribbling teary snot from her nose.

“Here we go…” He says, before taking a nearby lawn chair strewn on this rooftop, floating it towards Yegg to invite him to sit on it, and then using it to launch Yegg like a catapult directly towards Ice Age. He goes far, fast, and straight. Dom cups his hands above his eyes and squints to see Yegg crash into Ice Age just as an inky black portal opens behind him, which both of them are knocked into in the impact.

Dom sighs. What a mess. But at least he’s done with the fighting—whatever the hell Yegg does to Icy in that portable hole of his is up to them, but one thing is certain: Ice Age is no longer a threat. For the moment, at least. Yegg isn’t infallible.

He uses his cigar torch to start another fire on this building, which is about to be swept up in icy flames. With this and the fire he started at the beginning of the chase, the chilling flames should be kept at bay, for at least the city. The frozen sound will be a problem on its own, but there’s not much he can do about that.

“Let’s go.” He says to Twilight, hoisting her up with his power once again, and preparing to launch themselves back to the Society Hotel, “I’ve got to change outfits… and so do you. We’re wearing too much cotton.”

Chapter Text

[1:52 PM, Monday, 03/05/2007]

The PRT officers take me on a quick walk from Best Dressed’s stolen car to the doors of the PRT headquarters, where they transfer me to the care of Director Foote, before standing behind him on guard. They apparently just had a close call with a shooter, so the extra guns does make sense—or it would, if there wasn't a mysterious plant-disease that causes people to go crazy randomly.

He greets me, warmly yet hurriedly, “Good to see you. I hope you've made some friends. Tell me more about what you've discovered. A tree that infects people with its seeds? And you can cure it, you think?”

“Yeah, I think. Really tiny seeds, and we saw someone turn into a tree through Memorial’s power, so I'm pretty sure of it. I destroyed some seeds in my hand with my sounds, and did some uh… complicated acoustics to make the same sound in my body, and I did the same with the SOPHISTs. Not sure if it works though, but I feel like it should work.”

“What do you mean you feel like it should work?” he asks me, “Something to do with your power?”

I hesitate, thinking about it, “Yeah, I guess… I just don't see a reason why it shouldn't work, and… I guess it is my power? I just feel like it should work, but there's no noticeable changes afterwards, even in the violent ones who we think were in a later stage of infection. I think it could be brain damage. I just don't know.”

“Well if we can prevent any more of us from getting to that stage, that's a small victory for us.” He holds his arms out in a gesture of vulnerability, “I'm going to put my full trust in your intuition for now. Can you do me right now? And the guards?”

“Sure.” I answer, before unholstering my LRAD, extending my actuator rod, and vibrating the director's entire body with precision for around a second. He seems to lose his breath, which he quickly recovers after the process is complete. I repeat the procedure for the two armed officers accompanying us.

“That was interesting! Strangely relaxing. Like a full body-massage. Wow.” Director Foote remarks, before coming back to his professional demeanor, and turning around to go further into the facility. He motions for me to walk with him, and I follow, as do the armed officers behind me. “Can you make something that can distribute this large-scale?”

“Definitely not. I need to use my thinker power to gauge all the aspects of the tones to resonate in every individual body and not have the high intensity ultrasound also damage your hearing or your vital organs.”

The director frowns, just before I think about it a little more and correct myself, “Actually, I could maybe figure something out… maybe. We have that acoustic levitation chamber that scans what's inside of it to make the right frequency to levitate it, maybe we could modify that a little bit to work for this? I don't do coding very well, so I'd need Swordsmith’s help, maybe some programmers too.”

He turns his frown around into a grin, “That sounds like a fantastic idea. Swordsmith happens to be here right now on a short break from patrolling. He’s even already in the lab, if I recall right. And you will have all the assistants you need, this is my number one priority right now.”

I shrug, and follow him to the lab, feeling a little amused and nervous about being so important so suddenly. On the way, we pass by a few employees power walking down hallways with stacks of paper, on phone calls, or speaking sharply and quickly with coworkers. It's a busy, frantic atmosphere. We get to the lab, and I enter the code to open the tinker-made automatic sliding door that glides so easily it almost seems to float. “Hey, Swordsmith?” I half-shout as I walk in, but nobody calls back—seems he isn't here.

Suddenly, I hear a muffled shout behind me, then a single gunshot, followed by the sound of a jet engine that grows quickly nearer. I turn around just in time to see our pair of armed guards get sliced cleanly in half by none other than Swordsmith himself, just after one of them spares the Director's life by pushing him out of the path of the propulsion-blade, and into me. He bumps against me, and I push him behind me, just as I tune my LRAD to try to subdue this hero gone AWOL. I scream “Run!”, and director Foote immediately does so, sprinting down the hall as I pull the trigger to beam migraine-inducing sound towards Swordsmith. Or so I planned. Just as the tone starts, but before it could have any effect at all, he ignites the thrusters on his katana and slices my LRAD in half, which also dents and crushes its metal housing. Sparks fly from the busted electronics. Unrecoverable.

He looks down at me with a wretched grin, and calls me a slur.

In the brief moment where I'm too stunned to process what to do next, a coalition of armed PRT officers round the corner to the hallway. Swordsmith must have heard their approach, because before they even open fire, he ignites the propulsion-blade and throws it at them. The jets give it a perpetual gyroscopic motion like a frisbee that keeps it gliding in the air, and it ravages the cluster of armed combatants into bloody ribbons like a massive circular saw blade, before lodging itself deep into the wall behind them.

He turns back at me to laugh with pity before unsheathing another blade: the vibro-sword. The irony that my own creation would be used to kill me springs me to action. Quickly, he swings out to strike, and I parry it with the actuator rod strapped to my left forearm, primed to match the vibrational mode of the sword. Not only do I have my thinker power to tell me the exact specifications of how the blade is vibrating in the moment, but I was also the one who built it—I know exactly where its structural weak spots are. The rod adds constructive interference to the vibrating blade, and the extra power causes it to wobble wildly for just a moment before it bends and breaks from metal fatigue. I take advantage of Swordsmith’s momentary surprise to run back into the tinker lab and close the door behind me. With a synthesized clicking noise, it locks, and I access my earpiece to contact anyone who will listen. 

Jack shouts profanities from behind the door as I speak, lightheaded and hoarse. “Help! Swordsmith is going AWOL! He’s trying to kill me! I’m at the PRT Tinker Lab!”

A bright, flaming blade pokes through the metal door, and Swordsmith begins slowly melting a new way through to get to me. “I know there’s no windows in there! One way in, one way out!” He shouts, “I’m not going to make it quick, fucker! Just you fucking wait! I’ll melt your limp fucking dick off first!”

He’s aggressive, that’s for sure. And he’s not thinking clearly. In our brief confrontation just now, his movements were… off. He’s trained in fencing, kenjutsu, every dueling technique you can think of, and yet he’s moving his swords more like he’s just swinging around a big stick, devoid of grace or tact. On top of that he had every chance to kill me when I was busy dealing with shock, but didn’t. Is he prioritizing cruelty? Does he actually just hate me deep down? Whatever the case, I’ll have to bank on his mental facilities being damaged somehow by this infection—assuming that’s why he’s gone mad—or else I don’t stand any chance of living through this at all. 

I look around me, trying to think of an answer to my shitty predicament. There’s lots of things that could be used as a weapon in here; sawblades, laser cutters, kilns, hydraulic hammers, hazardous chemicals, even the fans we use for aerodynamics testing could lift a grown man like Jack off of his feet, but those are in a separate room behind glass walls. At the very least, I have the gear I keep on my person, or what’s left of it at least: my sound grenades, the rod, the levitation belt, and the matter-toggling dagger that Jack gave me just this morning. He was so normal then, and that was only a couple of hours ago—he progressed to madness this fast? Was he already infected? He has been acting a little more aggressively as of late—the stunt he pulled to kill Hindenburg at the warehouse comes to mind—but I thought that was just his friendly facade fading in lieu of his power-trippy narcissism. Is he not normally like that?

I don’t draw the dagger yet, though; instead, I prime and throw a sound grenade at the half-melted through door, which it sticks onto. There is an extra set of panic doors for exactly this kind of situation, but if he’s going to breach it, I may as well take the first move. I keep a steady eye on the door, gauging how much time I have left until I need to detonate the charge. He’s only cut through a few inches at this point, so he’s making pretty slow progress. Good, looks like I have enough time. I rush further into the lab to retrieve one of the failed prototypes I made of the actuator rod—its vibrations weren’t focused enough, and ended up vibrating its housing (which would have been me) way more than the object it was pressed against, rendering it unable to be turned on while held. That attribute would be just what I need right now, though. I quickly grab a laser-welder and a mask, and weld it to the floor, finishing just before Swordsmith’s fiery laser-sword finally finishes carving an oval into the thick reinforced metal door. All at once, I jump up, activate my levitation belt, turn on the rod prototype, and detonate the sound grenade. The thunderous boom emanating from the broken door is almost visible from the changes in air pressure it causes, and the heavy chunk of smouldering metal flies back, crushing Swordsmith against the wall behind him. The rod, tuned to the resonance of the lab floor, causes it to shake just enough to hopefully make it very difficult to stand on without slipping or tripping. I wouldn’t know, since I’m levitating in the air.

Where the hell is everyone, anyway?? Where’s the PRT officers and employees? Is that one squad that Swordsmith killed all they had? Surely not! I saw so many more just a minute ago on my way here! As if the universe reads my mind, suddenly a collection of PRT officers approach my foe from both sides of the hallway to spray him and the door with containment foam. I sigh. Looks like I get to live another day.

The sound of muted thunder accompanies the arrival of Thunderstep, having transported directly into the tinker lab along with… Snake? Snake’s body. Ghost-Snake? Whatever the case, they trip and fall on the vibrating floor, and Thunderstep flashes again to take the two of them to the top of a work table. How the hell did they find each other? And why did he decide to take her with him? Are they crazy too? Well, Thunderstep still has his power, despite touching Snake, so maybe they’re not? They’re not attacking at least. What the fuck ever, I’m so confused.

“You came to help?” I ask, “I got it figured out, but thanks. Really, no sarcasm.”

I cringe. That definitely sounded sarcastic, even with the clarification.

“Holy shit, dude.” Thunderstep says, “This is fucked up. He tried to kill you, for real? And you beat him?”

“I guess.”

The officers just outside the lab open fire in short controlled bursts directed at a threat I can’t see. Fire seems to be returned upon them, and the ones closer to the door that I can see get… knocked over and dragged away? 

“...The fuck?” Thunderstep whispers under his breath just before flashing away and then quickly coming back with a disembodied jaw clinging to his ankle, which disappears from sight just as quickly as it came. “It’s fucking Dullahan! They’re shooting at Dullahan! Shit!”

Ghost speaks up, “What is even going on? Why?”

“Wait, you didn’t hear–?” I’m interrupted as several body parts teleport into the lab. A finger pokes one of my eyes before I flinch, and a knee closes in on my throat to catch me in a choke-hold braced against a… I don’t even know, part of his hip? It doesn’t take long, though, before Thunderstep flashes to me, touches me, and then flashes away with me, freeing me from the hold. Dullahan seems to give up on us after that, and the body parts disappear from the lab one by one, giving me some relief, while worrying me about what he could be planning next. I look out the door, and see containment foam surrounding Swordsmith slowly shrinking. Dullahan is teleporting his body parts into the foam, and then teleporting away with what little foam surrounds each individual limb and piece. At this rate, he’ll be freed in less than a minute. Not good.

I break away from Thunderstep, still levitating, and float towards the wall to press the panic button, closing the extra set of reinforced doors. Won’t matter for Dullahan, but it’ll save us some extra time until Swordsmith breaks through again. I waste no time in setting up another sound grenade on the door just the same as it had been before.

“Guess I need your help after all.” I say, nervously and weakly.

“What do you need?” Thunderstep asks, “Do you want me to take you out of here?”

I do briefly consider it… “No, as much as I’d like. If we don’t do something, they’ll just end up killing everyone here, and then what will happen? We’ll lose the war. We’ll all die, everyone might die… fuck…”

I look around the room to try and figure out some more tricks. What I pulled on Swordsmith is pretty smart, but I just can’t think of anything that could possibly deal with Dullahan. He’s just too mobile. “Any ideas?” I ask.

Thunderstep shrugs, but Ghost speaks up. “If Dullahan lost his power, what would happen to him, do you think?”

Right. She didn’t attend the battle at the warehouse, of course she wouldn’t know.

“He’d die, if he used his power while he lost it. When his body parts are separated, his power keeps him alive somehow.” I answer, “But if he was in one piece, I think he’d be fine.”

“O-oh…” She gasps.

“That’s an option.” Thunderstep adds, “I doubt I could do much to him myself. Maybe burn him with a good hit, but he’s going to keep me moving too much for me to go on the offensive, I just know it.”

We’re so fucked. Having Snake’s power here is a pretty hefty counter to Dullahan’s, but only if he graces us by continually touching Snake’s body for a good six or so seconds. Yeah right.

“I have an idea but it’s a shitty one.” I say through nervous laughter, “I think I can mod the levitation chamber to make a… superweapon of sorts. To make a sound so deep and loud it’d probably kill Swordsmith and disable Dullahan. I think I can make it in time if you don’t let them get me. Swordy seems… bent on making me suffer or something anyway. I’ll be a bait, of sorts.”

“You better get started, then.” Thunderstep warns, “And keep that floor thing on, it really works. Mei and I can avoid it.”

“Gotcha.” I heave, and push off of the wall to float towards the acoustic levitation chamber. It’s a big, wide cylinder of polycarbonate glass, with large, meter-wide vibrating disks on its floor and ceiling. With typical use, those disks would vibrate and cause a node of low pressure in the center between them to levitate various objects under study. It’s just the strongest sound-maker in the room, and it’s easier to re-purpose gigantic transducers than it is to make totally new ones.

Step one is opening up the chamber, and gutting its insides to get the ginormous speaker plates out and into a better position to propagate sound around the whole room rather than just inside of it. The second step is reprogramming it to its new function, which is still difficult, but I feel like it’d be a lot easier to do the physical labor before we come under attack by crazy parahumans. I grab some tools and get to work. I expected it would be sort of difficult to work on something while levitating, but it’s actually pretty convenient! I end up standing sideways on the wall of the chamber while I yank out the disks.

“Can I help?” Ghost asks, standing Snake’s body on top of a work table.

“No.” I answer, curt, “It’d take too much time to explain everything to you. Sorry”

She begins to say something, but Dullahan’s limbs flood the lab, interrupting her thoughts. After he initially ‘feels’ out the room, he seems to zero in on me, and half of his head appears immediately before me, positioned sideways to match my orientation, and looking straight at me, before his eye darts around to examine my work. I’m reminded of the time I first met him at the police station—he was horrifying, and disgusting. When I saw the insides of his brain, nasal cavity, and mouth split in two then, I vomited. Now, it gives me insight. It’s not hard to miss the small sprout of a plant growing inside of his skull just next to the back of his head like a tiny potato spud. And I don’t just see it—I understand the resonance and power necessary to make a sound that will kill it. That must be why my cure wasn’t working on the ones already further into their infection. Actually, I could probably cure Dullahan right now, if only Swordsmith hadn’t ruined my go-to soundmaker; and he’s too mobile to target with my sound grenades or the rod. I guess modding this contraption to fill the whole room with sound is the best option after all.

After looking around at what I’m doing, Dullahan quickly notices that I’m working on building something, and attempts to stop it. His limbs and body parts get in my way, poking my eyes, and yanking tools from my hands. Thunderstep begins using his power repeatedly to flash in front of me, grab pieces of Dullahan, and then flash away. Ghost jumps into action too, and huddles Snake’s tall and bulky body around me, arms extended in a hover-hug, allowing me to work, while also putting Dullahan at risk of death if he touches it too much. He seems to get the message. The pestering I receive is drastically reduced, but not completely. He still finds openings to get me every now and then, narrowly evading Ghost’s attempts to swipe his sneaky limbs away.

Swordsmith’s laser-sword begins to slowly breach the panic doors, before I get in the zone and focus deep on my work, somewhat forgetting time, only glancing up at the surroundings every now and then to see new and interesting ways the situation has gone worse. Dullahan seems to have started fucking with random things in the lab, causing various dangerous gadgets to turn on. A small explosion here, a fire there, an acid spill over there. He’s carrying a gun or two in his hands that teleport wantonly around the room, too, judging by the gunshots I keep hearing. His aim evidently needs work, though—hard to look down the sights when your eyes are in arbitrary positions around the room, I guess. Thunderstep puts in overtime dealing with the omnipresent annoyance to keep me safe, moving with his electricity almost constantly, and shooting out blasts of lightning at offending limbs.

Oh, looks like Jack’s almost made it through. I hurriedly activate the sound grenade I planted earlier, but nothing happens. Dullahan must have taken it and put it somewhere else. Figures. Well, Swordy’s in the lab now. I don’t know how much time passed by—could be anywhere from twenty seconds to five minutes—it’s like I’ve been possessed by my power. This is by far the fastest I’ve ever worked, I’m pretty much finished with the mods I needed to make by now. I’ve transformed the levitation chamber into a large omnidirectional speaker that disperses the sound created by the two massive diaphragms around the whole room. It’s a pretty neat invention, and pretty mean: a weapon with no purpose other than to use sound to harm. Just minutes ago, I was going to repurpose this same machine to cure people of the tree-sickness, to save lives. Ironic. Probably burned that bridge now, but not like I could build it after I'm dead anyway. But, even with the sonic death machine, that'll probably come to pass anyway—the physical construction is complete, but I haven’t programmed it at all, and Jack’s surely going to kill me before I finish that. There’s no point. We’re all going to die, anyway—and very soon, in my case. May as well do something cool while I’m at it, though.

I hear Thunderstep from beyond my narrow field of focus blasting arcs of lightning all around, presumably fighting Swordsmith, who shouts profanities and slurs. Normally this amount of lightning bolts would disable or kill someone; does Jack have a lightning-rod sword? Is it his armor that is taking the hits? I haven’t bothered to look all this time; whatever, not like it concerns me. Without really caring for my surroundings, I reach for the detachable touch-screen console attached to the doohickey that once was the levitation chamber, and pull it free to use like a tablet. I begin using my limited capabilities in coding to calibrate and tune the… what should I call it anyway?

Thunderstep flashes right in front of me, ruining my focus and train of thought. He grabs both me and Ghost-Snake and flashes away with us in tow. The act of turning into lighting is also somewhat distracting, yet somewhat helpful. It feels like time dilates and slows, while at the same time speeds up and becomes incomprehensible. Is this special relativity at work? Before I have time to contemplate it, we arrive in a disparate corner of the room, far away from the doohickey I was working on. I think I’ll call it the Infrasonic Cavitation Device. ICD? Nah, I’ll call it the megaspeaker for short. Anyway, looks like Swordsmith almost just took my head off, seeing how he was mid swing just in front of the megaspeaker just as we flashed away. It’d be bad if he did any damage to it, I’ll just send a repelling drone from the thing for now to keep him off it while I figure out how to do the killing blast of sound it was intended for. Good thing this tablet console is wireless. I press a few virtual buttons, and the megaspeaker emits a powerful, bassy noise, with most power centered on itself and very little dispersing to the rest of the room. Interesting! That’s not usually how sound works. Did I somehow master 4th dimension propagation by accident? That’s been a roadblock for me for a while. How did I even do that? It’s like I’m not even conscious when I do my tinkering thing. It’s like I’m being puppeted somehow, my body moving towards some great design I’m not even aware of, even while manipulating the buttons just now. But if that’s the case, why could I have done that in just less than a second, while I need extra time to figure out how to tune it to kill everyone in the room? Maybe it’s because there’s a lot more chaotic factors involved?

Anyway, it looks like it worked. Swordsmith is literally blasted away from the highly pressurized force of wind that the sound creates. I’m sent into another instantaneous trance as Thunderstep flashes again with the three of us in tow, bringing us to a different corner of the room, and allowing himself a better angle to pelt Swordsmith with a barrage of lightning bolts. They seem to gravitate to his energy-sword, but the sheer force of the blasts sends him off balance and stumbling back and away from the megaspeaker even further. We flash away with lightning again, and again, and Thunderstep blasts Swordsmith and Dullahan with lightning again, then another flash, then another, ad nauseam. Just to let me finish programming the megaspeaker. The nigh constant electrification of my body honestly helps me focus, in a way. As I code while my body oscillates between being made of meat and lightning, flashing all around the room, I sort of pay attention to the feeling. The weird stillness that special relativity at almost light speed is honestly calming after you get used to the wrongness of it all. It sort of reminds me of sound, almost? Or, it reminds me of how my power feels? Wait… no, this familiarity is from my power! It’s my thinker power just barely working while my body is forced into this breaker-state! My power is telling me that his power isn’t lightning at all! It’s a wave! Not a sound wave, not quite an electromagnetic wave, but something else, and it’s alive! Of course his power doesn’t just turn us into electrical current or something! It’s more like we’re becoming a lifeform that’s composed of waves! Like some sort of alien from one of those weird hard sci-fi books that live on a planet of light and exist across all time or something. Huh. Well, it’s a shame I’m going to die before I get to tell someone about this. Oh well. 

I finish coding quicker than I thought it would take, and prime the megaspeaker to blast the room with extreme and deadly sound. Deadly. Dullahan’s teleporting body would probably render him fine but injured, but Swordsmith has no such protection—he’ll very likely die if I activate this. For just a moment, I do consider the possibility of arming it to only target the plants inside their brains, but it’s too risky. For one, I don’t know if it would even work, and I only have one shot at this. And I’m not even sure if I could do something that precise with this thing. It would kill the plant and them either way. And this is an emergency. And Swordsmith just slaughtered at least five people. I have every right to use lethal force here.

“I’m–” I begin to speak, my sentence regularly interrupted by brief transformations into and out of Thunderstep’s breaker-state, “finished w–” zap “with the megas–” zap “the thing!” zap “Activating it now!”

I press the button on the touch-screen to turn on the megaspeaker. I do set it to a very small delay, though, in the hopes that Thunderstep will bail us out. He does, immediately. In a final flash of lightning we’re thrust out of the tinker-lab, just as the tinker lab’s interior begins to crumble at the force of the megaspeaker. Amazingly, very little sound reaches us from the exterior except for a frightening rumbling, despite the open doorway, and the structural integrity of the building remains intact. The sonic barrage exists solely inside of that room. Huh. 

In less than a second after seeing my success, I awaken from a trance I didn’t know I was in, and see Gasconade firing his pistols into the tinker lab through its open doors. That’s right, he was sulking in his room here for the day. I guess we disturbed him. He turns around, noticing us, and shoots at us as well. I feel an extreme pain for only a moment, a truly life-changing pain for a single instant, before immediately ceasing like it never existed. My senses take in a changed set of my surroundings, as if I’ve skipped through time. I breathe deeply, and begin to hyperventilate from a primordial panic. I try to control myself, but fail. I can’t even process what just happened. Did I just die? 

Gasconade kneels down, and puts his face right in front of mine. It hardly looks like a human. It looks like a Van Gogh-esque representation of suffering plastered onto human shoulders, both two-dimensional and not. It’s intimidating, and confusing, and definitely doesn’t help my panic attack.

“Turn it off.” He demands, monotone.

My hands feel nearly numb as I pick up the tablet and turn down the power to the megaspeaker gradually until it ceases to make any sound at all. 

“Thank you.” He says. “I’m going… back… going back to bed. I’m sorry.”

My head swirls. I can’t control my breathing at all. I don’t even know what I’m feeling. Did I kill him? Did it work? Am I safe? Is the battle over? Anxiety holds me in an iron grip, and I double over on the floor. Someone says something to me to try and wake me from my spiral, and puts their hand on my back. Thunderstep, I think. Gill? Why? Is it Ghost? If it’s Ghost, she might try to steal my power. I scamper away, crawling and rolling like a worm to escape the physical contact. I try to claw myself across the floor, but my vision fails me. Ah, I’m passing out. Maybe I’ll die after all.

Chapter Text

[1:16 PM, Monday, 03/05/2007]

Moving Snake’s body around is more difficult than I make it seem. It’s nothing like moving around your own body—like normal people would—it’s clunky, stiff, heavy. When the body is new, like Snake’s is, there’s rigor mortis first of all, and trying to move around is like trying to punch or kick underwater, it’s just slow, no matter how hard you try to be quick. After a while though, the rigor mortis wears off, and the movement from my power seems to warm up the muscles or something, too. At this point, Snake’s body should be at peak performance, until decay and atrophy sets in later; then, he’ll get weaker and weaker until he falls apart, tendons will tear from bone, and then there’ll be nothing left for me to control.

I don’t like doing this, and I haven’t done it in a very long time. Nobody else likes it when I do it either. It’s scary. But being a ghost is, to me, scarier. That’s the only reason I know all of this stuff about corpses and how they rot away. For a while after I first got this power, I tried slotting into peoples’ dead bodies to try to feel like ‘me’ again. It never worked. I don’t feel anything through them—no touch, no heartbeat, no smell, no taste. All I have is sight and hearing now. I used to love baking cookies and treats. Daddy never liked it, but I’d sneak into the kitchen and help our cooks bake all sorts of things, and I got to learn a lot hands-on. I was never allowed into the kitchen on my own, though. I never got to put those skills to use. Maybe I could bake a cake now, but I can’t enjoy a slice, and nobody wants to eat something made by a rotting corpse. I couldn’t even do it legally. Years ago, I got in trouble when I ‘possessed’ the body of Sylph, an unfortunate Ward who died in Leviathan’s attack. They didn’t like that. It was the first time I’d ever possessed the body of a parahuman, and the moment I realized I could use their powers if I did. I’d stayed under the radar until then, but from then on, I was explicitly banned from possessing anyone’s corpse unless the PRT specifically asked me to. It didn’t matter that I was only trying to help.

But things need to change. I’ll never escape from my curse if I float around doing nothing. For my sake, and for Charles. And there’s this emergency on the line! The heroes need all the help they can get. They’re stupid if they won’t take mine.

“Can I fucking help you?” Zephyr asks, emphasizing every word.

Best Dressed told me to keep an eye on him, so I’ve been following him ever since the meeting with all the capes ended. I’m not exactly inconspicuous about it… should I have tried hiding? 

“Uhm, I’m supposed to be following you.” I reply, “We don’t want any fights. You might have a target on your back, so I’m here in case anyone wants to cause trouble with you. They’re afraid of me, so they won’t.”

When in doubt, lie by telling the truth. I am supposed to be making sure nobody causes trouble, but the trouble is him. I’m mainly making sure he doesn’t try to get out and ruin the quarantine. 

“They’re afraid of you?” He laughs, “You should hear yourself. How old are you, little girl? You sound like a nine year old. What the hell is even going on here? What’s your deal anyway?”

I really wish Snake still had a working throat. I’d be able to actually be intimidating then, or I might even be able to deceive people into thinking it’s actually him. But alas, until I find another body, I’m stuck with the voice I had when I first got these stupid powers.

“Yeah. They’re afraid of me.” I answer with an attitude, “You didn’t tell us about your powers, so I won’t tell you my deal either. Figure it out.”

“Well fine, fuck you too.” He scoffs, and stomps away. “Follow me if you can. I don’t give a shit.”

I give him a sarcastic “Thanks.”, and silence follows, filled by the fuss of a city closing down. Honking horns, annoyed complaining. Weirdly enough, people don’t seem to pay us much mind. It makes sense that they wouldn’t recognize Snake’s body in the radical change of fashion I’ve put it through—I don’t think he sported leopard print in life. But Zephyr in a Leviathan costume? I guess it looks low-quality enough that it could just be about anyone in a store-bought costume, and there are always a few weirdos in Seattle wherever you go. Could be that we pass as cosplayers instead of capes right now. 

“God-motherfucking-damn, everything is closing. I’m hungry, I wanted a fucking bag of Dick’s, or Chinese food, or something.” Zephyr complains, joining the sentiment of the masses, “What great fucking timing. I come to this shitty fucking hippie city just to get trapped into this bullshit, and didn’t even get what I came here for. Fuck.”

I stay silent, and let him vent as I follow his walk throughout downtown.

“Fuck this, dude. I’m a felon, I’m not gonna let the law stop me from having my goddamn double hamburger. This is un-American!” He turns back and looks at me, “Right? We have a right to gather and travel or some shit. Just like this liberal hellhole to take that from me. Freedom-hating motherfuckers.”

“Um, I guess…” I reply. I really hope he isn’t about to go on a political rant at me…

“I’m getting my fucking burger.” He continues, “I don’t care if they’re closed. I’ll go in there and goddamn make it myself if I need to. You know how to cook, Ghost? Or, shit, what’d they call you? Mei?”

I’m struck, unsure of how to respond. “Uhm, yes. I prefer Mei. Ghost was a nickname that just sort of stuck. I never chose it.” In times like these, I’m somewhat glad I have a ‘white’ sounding name. Because I’m possessing Snake, he hasn’t seen my true form, so he might well think I’m a May with a ‘y’. I’ve heard that The Fallen tend to be pretty racist deep south types—who knows how he might treat me differently if he knew.

After some more time thinking about how to proceed, I come out with the answer to his first question. “And I do actually know how to cook. But, you heard them at the meeting, right? I’m a walking corpse. This person died yesterday. It’s a health hazard.”

“Oh, right.” He muses, “Can’t change back or whatever?”

“No.”

“Then wash your damn hands!” He scolds, “You do the fries I do the burger, how bout it? No germ can survive boiling oil. Hell, I can work a grill at least. And you can teach me what to do.”

That’s… an unexpected response. He must be really hungry, clearly.

“Are you sure?” I ask, somewhat hopefully.

He stops walking, and turns around to meet my eyes. “Listen. I’ve been around and seen some fucked up shit. I’ve caused some fucked up shit. Corpses don’t bother me, ‘long as they’re clean, and you’re pretty clean. Y’ain’t got maggots crawlin’ in you. Hell, I’ve even eaten human meat before but that’s another story for another night. Gross shit ain’t so gross if you understand it. It don’t hurt nobody if nobody gets sick, ya know? Heat kills germs, bleach kills germs, it’s science, ya hear?”

I’m taken aback. I didn’t expect to get a motivational lecture from a doomsday cultist today, that's for sure. As kind as it is, I don’t know how much of it to take seriously, and how much I should write off based on the kind of person giving me the advice. It’s not like he’s saying anything related to The Fallen though, right? Well, maybe the cannibalism part, but I don’t know.

“Uh, thanks…” I say after spending some time being flabbergasted.

“You’re welcome.” He replies, “Don’t let them give you shit, y’understand? Just like BO and farts. You don’t got control of your bodily functions. If they got a problem with how you smell fuck ‘em, that’s they’re problem.”

I see. I guess that’s one point that I probably shouldn’t take. I’m not ready to take on a philosophy of unabashed selfishness. Still I give him an affirmative “yeah” to keep him appeased as we walk around. 

Eventually we come upon our supposed destination: Dick’s Drive-In. Seattle’s local cheap-and-quick fast food chain. Its food is just… ‘ok’. Often tourists come and try it and find it disappointing, because it’s just supposed to be a cheap burger and fries and nothing else. Zephyr probably would have been such a tourist if only it wasn’t closed. Is he really going to break in and make it himself?

The side doors of the establishment blow open violently, followed by a brief gust of wind. Zephyr saunters on in, whistling. When he sees me hesitate to follow, he turns back and waves, motioning me forward.

He laughs, “You didn’t think I was joking around, did you?” 

I affect a sigh. “I hoped you were.”

He slaps his knee to end his laughter, and proceeds to break and enter into the restaurant’s kitchen. “Shit, man. They put everything away. I gotta fucking rifle through their shit and find the ingredience. Alright I need beef patties, buns, lettuce, no onions I don’t like those. Uh, fuck yeah, pickles!” he holds out a big jar of sliced pickles he got from a pantry and shows them to me, “Man I fuckin’ love pickles. You better believe I’m gonna be having extra pickles on mine, oh boy.”

He looks my way to see me awkwardly standing in a corner of the room, afraid to contaminate the kitchen.

“What about you?” He asks, “Got any preferences? Do you like burgers? You better say yes or you’re a commie motherfucker.”

“Uh, I guess I liked burgers, yeah.” I answer, “I prefer hamburg steaks though. But I can’t eat them anymore. Because of my power.”

“Aw shit,” He dramatically places the pickle jar on the table. “That fucking sucks. My sincerest condolences. And I was just joshin’ you about the commie thing by the way. My Uncle Brad can’t eat burgers either. ‘Cause of the red meat. It’s a… medical thing or something. Totally sucks though. Goddamn. You still fine just cooking for me?”

“Yeah, it’s fine… it’s actually been a long time since I’ve had the chance to. I sort of miss it.”

“Yeah?” Zephyr goes back to looking for ingredients, “What kind of stuff did you used to make? What’s your favorite recipe?”

For a moment I pause and reconsider the situation I’m in. Am I really going to bond with this totally evil villain I’m supposed to be stalking? I guess if he’s having a good time talking with me, he won’t be causing trouble. And, to be honest, I am having fun talking with him too.

I choose to carry on the conversation after all. “I really liked making cakes. I’m more of a baker than a cook.”

“Cakes! Love me a good cake. My momma loves baking pies and cobblers and cookies. I bet you could make a mean pie but you’d never be able to beat her. No offense! Just there’s something that makes your own momma’s cookin’ taste better than anyone else's, y’know?”

Unfortunately, I don’t know. But I don’t want to talk about my dead mom and spoil the mood. “Yeah, I know.” I tell him.

“Alright!” He claps his hands together, ignorant of my melancholy, “I got everything. Even found you a bucket of fries-to-be. Why do they keep ‘em in a bucket of water anyway?”

“It takes the starch out of the potato, makes them crunchier and tastier.”

“Word.” He lights up the grill to get it heated, and puts a pair of buns on it to toast them. “Shit it’s gonna get hot in here.” he comments, before unzipping his costume and taking his Leviathan mask off. He has a sort of long face, and a complexion that’s more on the side of pink, almost red, beneath short buzz-cut brown hair and an unkempt goatee.

He gives a double take to my surprised expression, and answers my un-asked question. “I fucking hate this play pretend mask shit, y’know? They tell me I gotta do it, but fuck ‘em. Between you and me, they ain’t the boss of me. I’m free like the wind. I go where I want, do what I want. I just put up with the bullshit ‘cause they’re family. But everyone’s got their own boundaries, know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I do.” I respond.

He takes some time to put the burgers on the grill.

I instruct him, “You want to add some worcestershire sauce now. And then smash it with the burger press.”

He follows my directions perfectly, and I transfer the sliced potato to a strainer, then to the deep fryer, making sure to never touch any of them. I’m wearing gloves, but I can’t help but be extra safe.

“No you don’t.” He says, out of the blue.

I take a moment to process it in the midst of tossing the fries. “Sorry?”

“You don’t know what I mean.” He says, level, in contrast to his animated, loud manner of speech. “Be real with me here. I’m being real with you. It’s only fair.”

Watching the fries crisp up in the oil, I respond, “I have a very different sort of family life than you, from what you’re telling me at least. There were no boundaries for me, the way you’re talking about them. It was more like my dad was trying to crush me down into becoming someone who I was never meant to be. I barely even got to see him. He raised me through maids and nannies and then catholic school. Never had a mom to bake me a pie. When I… got powers I sort of ran away. Now I don’t have any family.”

“See? Now I’m an asshole.” He snarks, “I’m over here hoity-toity braggin’ about how great I have it and you’re over there feeling like you got nothing.” He places the burger on the bun, and wraps it up poorly in aluminum foil. “Finally, my fuckin’ burger. Double stack cheese extra pickles. And 100% free!” 

I put the fries in a small bag, and step away, allowing him to take it off the table without me ever touching it. He takes a handful of the greasy morsels of potato and shoves them all in his mouth. Mid-chew, he gives me a thumbs up of approval.

He moves over and jumps up to sit on a metal table to enjoy his meal, still being a chatterbox between bites. “Y’know, in some ways, it’d be nice to never have to eat again. You can budget better, you don’t get hungry or tired… but goddamn, I could never live without it.”

I don’t respond, instead I just nod my head in acknowledgement.

“Y’know…” He continues, “My ol’ man’s a real asshole too. I’ll say it. He put us through hell, me and my brother. Expected big things and wouldn’t take anything less, I think you know what I’m talking about. My brother—uh, I think they call him Eligos in the scene—he took things a little more seriously than me, I think, and I think that’s why he uh… got sent away, on an exchange. Sort of complicated family stuff, it’d take too long to explain… Anyway… They hated each other, or at least acted like it. Damn near killed each other. But after he left, dad got all sad. Personality totally changed. Wasn’t so much focused on toughening me up anymore. He tried going back to being a regular family again, but the damage was already done… I’m not sure what, but he regretted something.”

I listen, silently. After he gets through most of the burger and slows down, he puts what’s left of it back on the foil, and wipes his hands and mouth off. “Aw shit… here I am runnin’ my mouth again. I don’t know what I’m sayin’. Family’s important, yada yada. Anyway….”

He gets off the table, and walks towards me sitting on a counter, still in the corner of the room. He presents to me the remaining one-third of the hamburger he cooked, expecting me to take it. I stare at it, then to him.

“I told you I can’t eat, remember? This body is already dead. I’m just borrowing it. I can’t taste anything, and I don’t get hungry.”

“I’m not stupid,” He retorts, “Yeah you told me. I just figured I wanted to do something nice for you. I ate the fries you made, you ought to get a share of what I made too. Look, I don’t know, can you feel texture at least?”

I take a moment to think about it. Can I? My senses are sort of muted, but I do seem to have proprioception in the bodies I possess. 

“Maybe I can,” I answer, “I don’t know though, I’ve never tried it. It’d just be a waste.”

“Well shoot, maybe you’d know if you tried.” He coaxes me, “Come on. ‘Fore I change my mind.”

I internally sigh, and carefully take the half-eaten burger from his hands. After giving it a moment’s consideration, staring at the morsel of food that I hold, I shrug, and put it in my mouth. As expected, I taste nothing, but I do feel the texture. It’s a nostalgic feeling, but the comfort it provides is joint with a depressing reminder that I’m no longer human. It wells up a deep sadness and yearning that makes everything else feel stupid. It both reinvigorates the motivation for my goal of finding a cure, and makes me feel stupid for giving myself that hope. If I could cry, I would. But instead the chewed up hamburger falls out of the hole in my throat after a swallow, causing a gross mess on the scarf I was using to hide it. I take it off, and clean it with a napkin.

“Whoa!” Zephyr exclaims, “Fucking gnarly. That’s so cool actually. Lets you see how the muscles in your throat squish up and shit.” He whistles, and then seems to remember that he was trying to do something nice. “Oh uh, did you like it? Did I do a good job, miss chef?”

I smile. “I didn’t taste it, so I don’t know. I could feel the texture though. Thanks. I appreciate the gesture.”

“Hey, don’t mention it.” he says, before putting the hood and mask back on. “Let’s get the fuck outta here now.”

He kicks open the door that’s now somewhat misshapen from our break-in earlier, and takes us back outside. How the doors were forced open from the inside is a mystery—I assume he used his power for it, obviously, but he still hasn’t said a word about what it is. His name has some mythical connection to wind, I’m pretty sure, so aerokinesis is a pretty good guess so far, but the name could always be a red herring. Could he have blasted the door open with a huge gust of wind?

We walk around. The streets are somewhat emptier than they were when we broke into the Dick’s. The quarantine and curfew are quickly underway. Good.

Once we arrive at the boardwalk piers of downtown, Zephyr cups his hand over his eyes, and looks to the horizon. A dramatic gesture, since the sky is overcast without a hint of sun. 

“Shit… I don’t got no fuckin’ idea where the hell I am.” He turns to face me, “Well Mei, nice meeting you. Write me a letter or something, I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Wait…” I hold out my hand in a gesture for him to stop, “You’re not supposed to leave. You have to stay and respect the quarantine, remember?”

He laughs. “Shit, didn’t you hear me? I’m free like the wind. Ain’t nobody gonna tell me what’s what. Not even you, absolutely not Mr. Fancy Pants neither.”

I stutter, trying to think of what to say, how to convince him. I really don’t want to have to fight him. I’ve never been in a fight, and I really don’t want to start now. Best Dressed did give me a number to call for backup but… drats.

“I’m sorry, Zephyr, I just can’t let you. I know you probably don’t care or something, but I want to help people. I want to do my part.”

He walks back towards me, and puts his hand on his hip. “Listen. Some people are born to do good, some people ain’t. You’re the former, I’m the latter. That’s just how it is. You don’t wanna fight me, I can tell. I don’t wanna fight either. I’ll tell you a secret, even: I hate that shit. I hate fighting. It sucks!” He sighs, and facepalms, “Just let me go, ok? You do your thing, save lives, whatever it is, and I’ll do mine.”

I hesitate to give my answer. Even my thoughts are in hesitation, paralyzed between sympathy and ethics. 

“You don’t gotta call me that shit, either.” He adds, “Name’s Deal. You already seen my face, I already know your name. Let’s cut the shit, just be people, ok?”

For long seconds I stand motionless inside Snake’s body.

“I’m sorry. I can’t let you leave.” I say at last, before lurching forward to close the distance between myself and Zephyr. Snake’s body makes contact, and I feel the exchange of power take place. Zephyr easily wrestles free before the transfer completes, leaving a gust of wind in his wake, and pulls a string on his costume that extends a wingsuit. Another, much stronger gust of wind lifts him off of the ground, and he glides far into the air, and over the sea.

Chapter Text

[1:37 PM, Monday, 03/05/2007]

“Pasta is not soup.” I say, matter of fact. “It’s totally different. Soup has to have a broth.”

“No, but it can be soup.” Agonizer clarifies, “Fagioli is a soup. You have to agree with me there. But where is the line between broth and pasta sauce? Is marinara not a kind of thick broth?”

“No? No it is not!” I reply through an annoyed laugh, “It’s way too thick to be a broth.”

“What about blended soups though?” Agonizer presses, “Those are thick, right? And they’re soups.”

Feeling a little sore and bored from pacing around and keeping watch of this radio tower, I sit down at the edge of a sidewalk. Agonizer joins me, and Fume stands in the middle of the street, pacing around, looking like a Mad Max character with her gas mask on. It’s empty right now, so not like it matters. I’m supposed to keep them at arm's reach so that I can flash away in a bolt of lightning with both of them at a moment’s notice, but that’s stupid and unrealistic; Fume needs her space, and so do I.

“Yeah but it’s not the same thing.” I continue, “It’s about… how it’s used. The culinary experience of pasta is not a soup.”

“Nah. Anything that’s sort of liquidy and has solids in it is a soup.”

“So you’re saying cereal is soup?”

He turns his head away from me to think about it, and then turns back. “Yeah. Cereal is soup.” he says through his crying-laughing emoji mask.

Fume faces us from the street and speaks through sign language, “Is water soup? A glass of water with ice?”

“Yeah, that’s soup too.” Agonizer replies, without hesitation this time.

“Ok dude,” I laugh, “You’re fucking with us.”

“Maybe everything is soup.” He waxes philosophically, “Perhaps we’re all soup. All life came from the primordial soup, after all.”

“Air is sort of like a fluid. And we’re solids. The world is a soup?”

He nods sagely, and points at me, “Now you see.”

I nod as well, before holding my chin, and then wedging my arm between my head and my knee to try and get comfortable in this slouching position. We sort of sit there for a bit in the silence, waiting for someone else to say something, or for something to happen.

Finally, I find something to say. I twist my head sideways to free my jaw to speak while still resting my neck, “What are we even doing here, dude. What is going on.”

Fume signs, “We’re the cavalry. We wait until someone needs immediate help, and then you take us there ASAP. The radio tower boosts your range, so that’s why we’re here.”

“Yeah I know that already.” I say dismissively, “I mean, like, what the hell is going on? In general? In Seattle? Are we prophecised to die? Are we putting our trust in bogus future tellers? We’ve got cops out arresting anyone who isn’t staying inside for christ sake, what if this is just a hoax for a coup or something?”

Agonizer groans. “Now you’ve done it.”

“Come on, dude.” I groan back, interrupting him.

“You’ve gone and ruined the mood. We’re fucked. No point in it. What if it is a coup? Not like us kids can do anything. We’re better off arguing about the ontology of soup.”

“Ontology?” I tease, “Where are you getting these twenty-dollar words from?”

“Yes, a new subject! Thank you for taking my advice.” He teases back, “I got it from school. The same school both of us go to? It was in our vocabulary for English this week. Looks like someone needs to study.”

“Whatever.” I scoff, “Can’t you take anything seriously though?”

“I think I just proved that I take my studies seriously.”

“This is what I mean. You know what I mean!”

He shrugs, then stands up to stretch. “It’s just the way I am. What’s life without whimsy? We’re teenagers. We’re supposed to be having fun. Just so happens we have superpowers.”

I look up at him. “But there comes a point when you have to tone the silliness down, right?”

“Nah, dude.” He shakes his head, and his smile sounds through his voice, “I live and die by the bit. You don’t want me to be un-silly anyway, I’m too far gone. I killed a man yesterday! Do you want me to be all sad and guilty about it? No! I’m not gonna let violence get me down like that! Not me!”

I raise my eyebrows, “You mean Snake? You didn’t kill Snake; Swordsman killed Snake.”

He waives a hand at me. “Pshh! Nah, he wouldn’t have gotten the final blow in if I didn’t move him onto his sword. Swordsman just stood there and let it happen. I mean, I practically turned him into a shish kabob.”

I let my head hang down to think about it. “... I guess… I mean, it’s a group effort, though.”

“Sur–”

Agonizer’s voice is cut off by the implant in our ears sending a message. I spring to my feet immediately, and the other Wards group together as we were instructed. 

The voice on the other end belongs to some nondescript PRT employee working the comms. “Cavalry team, be advised, Zephyr is attempting to break quarantine. Confirmed flyer. He is heading North-North-West and is expected to hit Veil’s forcefield soon. Requesting immediate response. I repeat, Zephyr is at-...”

I grab my friends and activate my power, and the three of us become lightning. The instant I activate my breaker state, time crawls to a near halt for me, allowing me the extra time to think about where to send the bolt to. For some reason, I also get a sense of magnetic alignment that lets me orient myself to the Earth’s magnetic field—magnetoreception, it’s called. Since we're about smack dab in the middle of the quarantine zone, I just point us towards North-North-West like the comms guy said, and launch away. The radio tower boosts the signal of my power—somehow—and the bolt of lightning takes us all the way to the very edge of Veil’s bubble, just like I intended. At least I think so—the thing’s invisible.

We begin falling, since there’s no solid ground out here in the middle of the Puget Sound, and my instant transportation landed us some eighty feet in the air over the water. Agonizer sends out three of his wobbly bubble-like blaster bolts at once, which twist to hit all three of us with the force of a mediocre punch, and sends us upwards, then lets go, with a steady acceleration and deceleration somewhat like an elevator ride. We begin to drop again, and he does the same thing, suspending us in place in the air in a cycle of falling and ascending, accompanied by brief, annoying hits of pain. It’s not glorious, but Seattle pretty much doesn’t have any real flyers, so when one does show up, this is what we’re supposed to do. Usually Dullahan helps us in those situations, maybe he’ll show up soon.

I focus my vision far towards the south-east distance, and it doesn’t take very long to spot the man of the hour flying towards us in a Leviathan-themed wingsuit. They gave us the deets on him after they learned he was in the quarantine zone with us at the meeting; he can control wind. Nothing special that we know of like blades of hardened air or shockwaves or anything, just normal wind. He might be capable of getting out of the dome with it, but he’s no problem we can’t handle.

Fume manifests a huge baseball-sized bullet that instantly flies away towards Zephyr on his approach. Because her bullets simply manifest into existence near her at-speed and ready to go, recoil is non-existent, allowing us to stay stationary in our position in the air. Not like recoil would matter right now anyway—Agonizer’s power is absolute, and stops all motion except for the movement it causes. As the bullet approaches Zephyr, it falls victim to the wind, and veers off far before it ever has a chance to hit. Oh well, we’ll just have to get closer. Not a problem. 

“Let’s get in there.” I say, “Hit ‘im with the one-two sucker punch.”

“Got it.” Agonizer replies.

In one of the brief moments when Agonizer’s power ceases and lets us drop, I turn the three of us into lightning again, this time flashing right in front of him. He reacts by twisting and creating a powerful vortex of hurricane-tier winds around him just as Agonizer shoots him with a ball of force, and Fume looses another bullet. Then, chaos. Zephyr does get caught in agonizer’s power, halting him in his tracks before pushing him back, and I think the bullet hits, but the winds separate the three of us, flinging Fume away, spinning Agonizer head-over-foot and sideways in a small tornado, and lifting me up in a headwind. Agonizer shoots himself to stop spinning and stabilize, jettisoning himself upwards towards where I am, and then prioritizes shooting Fume, now at least 30 feet away from us and dropping, to lift her up and prevent her from a potentially deadly fall. At the same time, while I’m the only one not being protected from the temporary motionlessness that Agonizer’s power gives, Zephyr creates a deafeningly strong funnel of air that pulls me right towards him. Zephyr, who is in the latter part of the slight deceleration-phase of Agonizer’s power, also protected against any other movement and thus immune to the wind, catches me in a bear hug, just before the grasp of Agonizer’s power wanes. With his wings compromised in grappling me, we freefall. 

I try to struggle and wiggle out, but just can’t manage. I flash upwards with my power, involuntarily taking him with me in the bolt of lightning. I can’t really control who I share my breaker state with—it just happens automatically. Probably my biggest weakness. How did he know? A good guess? Luck? My offensive lightning blasts don’t even work on people I’m touching either. I’m pretty much powerless.

We get a little close to the water, and I flash upwards again. Momentum is conserved, and we keep on falling. He keeps a large headwind to slow our descent, but it’s still fast enough that hitting water would probably hurt a lot.

“Let go, jackass!” I yell through the intense wind in my ear—hardly audible, “Or we’ll both die! Or we’ll fall here until help arrives and you’re fucked! You don’t win like this!”

“Shut the fuck up, boy!” He yells back, “Try to hurt me and I’ll cut your throat!”

My situational awareness catches up to me, and I realize that he’s had a knife in his hand the whole time, right next to my throat in the iron grapple he has me in.

“That’s what I’m saying!” I holler, “We’ll both die!”

I flash upwards to avoid hitting the water once again.

He doesn’t respond this time. Maybe he’s trying to think about the logic of the situation or how to get out. After a few more seconds of falling though, two great talons catch us, then fall with us before a set of huge, dark wings slowly transfer the downward velocity into a steady glide, saving us from our perpetual free-fall. The creature that has us in its grasp is a local Case-53: Morena. She’s somewhat of a harpy in form, but furry all-over, with leathery wings and the face of a bat. I think she eats people.

Zephyr shrouds something unintelligible, then finally lets go to attack her with a knife. Morena releases me from her talon, leaving me falling with a deep cut on my shoulder. I enter my breaker state, and in my brief moment of timelessness, I prepare to just flash to where the other Wards ended up from that small tornado. That is until I notice something I didn’t expect to see: Snake’s body is falling with me. Ghost is controlling it now, so I’ve heard. This day just keeps getting weirder. How the hell did it get here? In a compulsive decision, I flash over to Snake’s body first before flashing to the Wards with both of us in tow. 

Agonizer catches me and Snake’s body with his power to keep us in the air. “That was fun. ‘Sup Mei.”

She raises Snake’s hand in a wave.

“No it was not.” I reply, my voice a little hoarse from the shouting just now, “I think we might be out-classed, actually.”

“Yeah.” He sighs, “What are you doing here, Mei? How’s the new fit, by the way?”

“I was trying to stop Zephyr.” She replies, “Morena carried me… new fit?”

“The body.” He says, waving his hand to re-up us with his power, “Nevermind. Looks like your buddy has it handled, though. Never seen her this fast.”

I look back at Zephyr and Morena, engaged in a dogfight higher up and closer to the edge of the dome. Sometimes Zephyr or Morena will even hit the edge of the dome, causing iridescent ripples against the blue sky. She is moving unnaturally fast. How is she even able to stay in the air with his wind? She uses wings.

“Oh. She took a bite out of me… It…” Mei turns around to look at the battle with me, then stutters. “C-can you take me there, Thunderstep? Please? They’re hurting each other…”

I give her an incredulous look, “Why? We were just saying this is out of our league.”

“I can take his power from him. That’s why Morena was trying to take me to him, but then I told her to save you and she dropped me… and…”

Agonizer shrugs, “They’re fighting really close to the barrier, too. One or both of them might hit it hard enough to slip through at this rate. Might be a good idea.”

Fume shrugs and nods.

He has a point. All Zephyr needs is a good running start to break through Veil’s dome, and it looks like Morena is fighting him to win, not necessarily doing anything to prevent damage to the force-field. She’s the one hitting hit most often, even, using it as a foot-hold to pounce on him. 

“Alright. I’ll take you right to him when he’s not moving around too much. You’ll grab him and take his power, alright?”

“Ok.” She says, with a hint of anxiety.

I grab Snake’s dead arm firmly, and the second we’re free from Agonizer’s power, I look over and see Zephyr in a moment of tumbling, reeling from one of Morena’s attacks. Looks vulnerable enough to me. I impulsively turn the both of us into lightning, and position her less than an inch away from contact with Zephyr. She dutifully grabs him in much the same way he grabbed me. Zephyr is bigger than me, but Snake is huge—his arms wrap around Zephyr, even immobilizing one of his arms in the process. Then, I touch both of them, and flash all the way down to water level, making a splashy landing at a safe speed. 

I let go, and start to swim, but with Zephyr thrashing, the other two begin to sink. Intense winds swirl just above the surface of the water, battering my face and howling loudly in my ears. It kicks up choppy surface waves in the water before a legitimate tornado starts to form that grows higher and higher, until it loses momentum. 

After a few seconds, the waterspout slows naturally and fizzles out, creating a short rainfall in its wake.

The winds calm. 

Peace.

Noticing that they aren’t coming out, I hold my breath and dive after them. My power is more volatile and uncontrollable underwater, so I’ll need to swim to them and touch them before even thinking about using it. 

I quickly catch up to the slowly sinking mass; Mei is trying her best to swim with Snake’s dead body while holding on to a limp Zephyr. I grab the both of them in a sort of half-hug with each arm, and then zap all the way to the shore; conductivity is a lot better in saltwater, so I can go a lot farther. Mei stands up in the now waist-deep water, and helps me drag Zephyr to land.

Some PRT officers keeping watch on the battle from the shore now start to rush towards us.

Zephyr pounds the sandy ground as he gasps for air. After a wet coughing fit, he heaves a full breath finally, and screams until all air has left his lungs once again. He then breathes in again, and cries, “What did you do to me!?”

“I took your power.” Mei informs him, half-shouting, half-crying herself. “I’ll give it back after. I promise. I’m sorry.”

He gets up off of the muddy sand, and looks Mei in the eyes, “Give it back!?” He shouts as he grabs Snake’s body “What do you mean give it back!? It’s gone!? You’re bullshitting me! It don’t work like that! It’ll come back! Fuck you! Fucker playing with me!–”

Morena lands near us, making a small impact on the ground that kicks up some sand. “So he’s done? No more fighting?” She asks, her voice shrill and wispy. 

“Yes. No more fighting.” Mei replies, sounding somewhat defeated.

“...I can’t eat him still?”

“No!” Mei says, more firmly this time. 

The PRT officers arrive. He still shouts and curses Mei as no less than three of them shove his face into the sand and forcibly handcuff him. 

“What’s the situation?” Asks another one, panting on the approach but unoccupied with the physical struggle. 

“She took his powers.” I reply, “He’s all yours.”

Suddenly, I hear Ian’s voice ringing in my ear, urgent and afraid. “Help! Swordsmith is going AWOL! He’s trying to kill me! I’m at the PRT Tinker Lab!”

I look to Mei. “Hey, my fr– Larsen is in danger. I’m going right away, can I take you with to help?”

Mei looks up from the pitiful Zephyr and replies with certainty. “Yes. I want to help.”

I take her hand, and flash away.

Chapter Text

[2:00 PM, Monday, 03/05/2007]

Agonizer continuously blasts himself and Fume with his power to keep them aloft the Puget Sound, inching closer and closer to the shore, but making slow progress. 

“You think he forgot about us?” he asks.

Fume lazily bobs her fist up and down, signing an annoyed “Yes.”, before getting telekinetically shoved diagonally upwards yet again.

Eventually a boat finds them, and brings them ashore.

—

[2:10 PM, Monday, 03/05/2007]

Gasconade shoots Thunderstep, then Larsen, then Snake’s body, all shots landing accurately and precisely on their three heads. He’s tired, and depressed, yet still trouble finds its way at his doorstep. He can’t even lock himself away in his room without being reminded of the reality that’s outside. He’s special. He needs to do something. It’s immoral for him not to. Besides, it’s noisy. Larsen made a device that shook the whole tower up. He can’t find any peace.

Mei’s true form emerges from the now dysfunctional corpse. Even her ghostly body shimmers with Gasconade’s curse. He affected her.

She mimes a hug with her incorporeal body. “I’m sorry. I know it looks bad but we’re doing the right thing. People are going crazy and attacking each other. Swordsmith was trying to kill Larsen. We did what we had to.”

Gasconade looks at the mess all around him. People dead on the ground, the lab a ruined mess, an unnatural, terrifying hum emanating from it.

“I see. Someone still needs to clean it up. I’m sorry for shooting you. I…” He falters, loses composure, “Why did I do that? Why would I turn on you? I’m… I’m sorry, Mei. I’m sorry…”

“It’s ok!” She cries, “I forgive you. I’m not hurt, see? I guess I’m going to disappear and reset soon, though… But you did the right thing too! You just needed everyone to stop so you could assess the situation right? I would have done the same. And you’re right, we need to clean up. We should turn off the big noisy thing, and then you should keep shooting Swordsmith and Dullahan, and then we’ll get more help, and then they’ll take them in… Right?”

He leans on the wall and slides down to sit. Mei floats down with him to meet his eyes, partially clipping through the floor.

“You’re too nice to me.” He says, mournfully.

“Of course I am.” She says, still pretending to hug him. She nuzzles against his neck. “I love you.”

A floodgate opens, and Gasconade weeps, but only for mere moments. He needs to control himself. He can’t lose to his emotions again. He has a job to do.

He gets up off the ground. He shoots Dullahan and Swordsmith one more time to extend the stasis, and then walks to Larsen’s bleeding corpse. It shimmers in the dark static of his power. He’ll need him to turn off whatever’s making that noise. Mei floats beside him.

“I love you too.” He says, despite himself.

She grins. For a moment he’s taken by the beauty of her smile. A momentary distraction. He doesn’t welcome it, yet its joy consumes him.

“Bye.” She says.

Her image flickers. She resets.

—

[2:32 PM, Monday, 03/05/2007]

Yegg tumbles into his portable hole with Ice Age. They roll across the floor, skid, then crash into the wall. Though from the outside it does look like a dark, bottomless void, it’s not so much a ‘hole’ from the inside. It’s more like his own private pocket dimension—a 500 square foot circular room, looking more like a studio apartment, furnished with a bed, couch, tables, and even a TV hooked up to a large battery generator. The only thing that sets it apart really is that the parts of the walls, floor, and ceiling that aren’t decorated by rugs or movie posters are an all-consuming black—so black that corners and depth cannot be distinguished, with no light reflected at all, creating an interesting visual effect that makes the decorations and furniture appear as if they’re floating. 

Somewhat injured with a few bruises, and maybe even a fracture, Yegg lets go of Ice Age and slowly rises, groaning. Icy does the same, though looking a bit more injured than Yegg—seems that Best Dressed got a few good hits in after all.

Yegg realizes that he’s engulfed in Icy’s cyan-blue flames, and sees that it has no effect on him. He moves in view of a mirror, and chuckles as he takes in the sight of the blue fire making a satisfying contrast to his orange and red costume. He whistles, “Whew, Icy, you gotta hook me up with this more often. This is sick as hell .”

‘Icy’ only responds with an angry growl. He walks, limping slightly, towards Yegg as he admires his reflection, stopping less than an inch from him, and flares his flames bright and tall in an attempt to intimidate him.

Yegg just gives a disappointed look towards Ice Age’s reflection, “Come on, man. What are you gonna do, kill me? You’ll be stuck here if you do that. I do have food and water, but after you run out of that, you’ll die. Relax, dude. Take a seat.”

Ice Age doesn’t budge. “So I should lay down and let you kill me? Get real. You have the advantage here. Either I die, or both of us die, and I’m choosing both.”

Ice Age reaches for the combat knife he had sheathed on his belt, but finds he can’t take it out of its holster. He looks down, and pulls on it a second time to no avail.

“I touched it when I tackled you in here earlier,” Yegg explains, “It’s atomically bound shut, now. Really, dude. Relax.”

Ice Age stares, acknowledging Yegg’s calm disposition. “You don’t intend to kill me?”

“You said it yourself: either you die, or both of us die. I could try to fight you, but it’s too cold in here for guns to work well—maybe I could get one shot off before it breaks and jams, but what if I miss? We go hand to hand? Maybe I have a few tricks to pull, but there’s a good chance I’d lose. I mean look at you, you’re built like a goddamn bodybuilder somehow , and here I am, all of five foot fucking nine with the ability to glue things together by touching them. You’re out of my weight class! I don’t think I stand a chance, so I’m not taking either option. We’ll sit here, just the two of us, and chill—no pun intended—until everyone else figures out what the hell is going on. That way, both of us live. It’s a win-win, right?”

Ice Age continues standing inscrutably still, close to Yegg, who at this point backs away for his own personal space.

“Oh, but… I did say something really badass earlier about going all-out on you one-on-one.” Yegg continues, “Can you just pretend that we had a really intense fight in here before tiring ourselves out or something? I’d really appreciate it. That’s gotta help your ego too, right?”

Ice Age answers, finally, “No. I will not lie for you. But I will accept this ceasefire between us. You will regret not taking your chances, though—I can say that much.”

“I’m sure, I’m sure.” Yegg replies, waving his hand dismissively, “The fate of the world balanced against my measly one life… What a conundrum… We can talk philosophy to pass the time if you want.” He makes his way to the kitchenette area to get some food, but his bag of pop-tarts erupts in bluish flames in his hand. “Aw fuck… hey do you have any way of turning this shit off? Don’t have a hot shower here or anything.”

Ice Age wordlessly walks forward, and reaches his arm out to touch the now-icy poptart. The flames are extinguished. He then slowly touches Yegg’s arm, and the flames around his body are extinguished too.

“Holy shit, dude.” Yegg exclaims, “Have you ever done that before?”

“Sometimes.” Ice Age replies, cold, “But never on the battlefield. Why would I.”

“Yeah, figures.” Yegg retorts, “Hey, you want any food, too? I got candy, protein bars, some frozen fruits… Can’t cook in here since it’s so cold, so all I got are ready-made snacks.”

“No. You could poison me.”

“Suit yourself.”

Yegg unwraps the poptart, and jumps onto his couch to eat. Ice Age watches him, hardly moving, until eventually he feels comfortable enough to sit on a cushioned chair opposite Yegg. He seems to have this habit of moving as little as possible, acting almost like a robot, or a statue. It’s really weird. Possibly related to his powers?

“So, Icy…” Yegg says with a mouth half-full, “What is going on? Word is that the Green Party is the source of this mystery threat? You know something about it, clearly.”

“I’m not going to tell you.” Ice Age replies, “I’m going to sit here and rest. I’d prefer it if you stayed quiet.”

Yegg shrugs, “At least tell me why . The jig is up, anyway. You don’t wanna tell me your excuse? I might be sympathetic, even. I usually support the things you do from afar, y’know. When you did that uh… when you wrecked all those coal mines, and the pipelines, I was like ‘hell yeah, finally someone’s actually doing something’, you know? So why are you doing this ? Lots of people are dying, I don’t exactly get it.”

“You wouldn’t.” Ice age retorts, “You fail to see the bigger picture. You fight for narrow-minded ideals. You play Robinhood, stealing material wealth and distributing it how you see fit. I have much greater plans. I see the bigger picture. The world you seek to create is, ultimately, not so different from the world we live in now. The world we will create… is radical . You and all the rest of you are so stagnant that the great tide of change we bring forth feels like doomsday to you. Not that you’re wrong… it is doomsday… for you. ”

Yegg coughs, choking on his second pop-tart before finishing it, taking his time to respond, “Wow… that is… edgy. Can you… maybe explain what this ideal world of yours is?”

“A world free from people like yourself.”

Yegg whistles, “Whew, geez. People like myself being…?” He motions with his hands for him to continue.

“Humans who cling to the scourge of industrial civilization.”

Yegg sighs, “Ok, I think I get it… Yeah, that about explains it. Sorry, I can’t get on board with that. Rough.”

“Rough indeed.” Ice Age growls, “It is already underway, as you know already. There’s nothing you can do to stop it. This quarantine… it’s useless. ”

“Mhmm… can we talk about something else now? Do you wanna play a board game or something to pass the time?”

“No.”

Yegg shrugs, and decides to get up from the couch to rummage in a plastic shelving unit. He retrieves a thin metal rod, then picks up a small desk, both of which he takes with him as he walks sideways up the pitch-black wall, sets the desk down, and sticks the rod out through the ‘ceiling’, where its top half disappears. With his other hand, he opens the laptop sitting on the desk, and begins using the mousepad. He navigates to a chatroom of sorts, which lets him see what the other cape groups are up to. He quickly skims through the backlogs, which informs him of the updated plan he’ll need to help execute. He begins typing to respond, before Ice Age throws a chair at him, smashing the computer screen, and rendering it unusable. 

“No.” Ice Age growls, “No talking to them. We’re stuck here, just the two of us. That’s our deal.”

Yegg retrieves the folding antenna from the inch-wide egress from the pocket dimension he just created, “Whatever, sure. Whatever makes you happy, Icy-Hot.”

Ice Age squints at the small hole that remains in the ceiling. “We’re moving.” He states, matter of fact.

“You noticed?” Yegg replies, walking back down to the floor, “Yes, we are. I can move the hole while we’re still in it. Pretty cool right? It’s not very fast, though. If you look closely you’ll see we’re still on the ice.”

“Where are you taking us?”

“Away?” Yegg scoffs, “To land? I don’t want to emerge only to find ourselves underwater after the ice melts.”

“You’re bluffing.”

Yegg shrugs. “Who’s to say? Man, you are a bore.”

He shakes his head, before sitting back on the couch. He turns on the TV and XBox, and begins leisurely passing the time.

Ice Age, in turn, sits back down, and stares at Yegg, still unmoving, still unrelenting in his resolve.

He waits.

—

[3:41 PM, Monday, 03/05/2007]

Vesper walks through the nearly empty streets of Seattle, wearing his usual plain clothes. His long hair droops over the open furred hood on his back, and he lets the gentle wind nudge it in whatever direction it wants, whether that is directly in front of his face, or billowing dramatically behind him. With his hands in his pockets, and a comfortable, confident gait, he stalks.

The city’s supposed to be in a curfew, but he gets around the same way everyone else is: through the alleys, the bushes behind parks, and everywhere else that people of the street congregate and travel through just like any other day—and just like any other day, they’re ignored, put on the back-burner. Everyone has something more important to do, anyway. In this way, the curfew presents a unique convenience to him; the lives of those tossed aside are more eventful—more deadly —than those more fortunate than them. 

Indeed, the fates of those he’s come across so far have been very weird. Some will die in a slow, excruciating sickness, becoming something else until their identity as a human ceases to be. Some will likely meet more accelerated, violent deaths—dismemberment, strangulation, and blood loss being at the forefront. He’s even noticed some patterns suggesting many will die at once, together; sometimes in an explosion, and sometimes by falling from great heights. None of these people are grouped anywhere near each other in the present, though, suggesting these deaths are in a somewhat more distant future. Still, though, mass death by gravity is not something his power has ever shown him before. He’ll have to follow up on that later, but for now, he narrows his focus on the problem at hand. 

At a homeless encampment occupying a secluded spot to the side of a major highway, consisting of a handful of tents below the shelter of a few pine trees, Vesper finds an assortment of people who all share very similar fates. His power doesn’t give him absolutely certain precognition, instead only supplying him with likely scenarios pertaining to the deaths of those around him, along with a vague estimation of timing and probability. Almost every inhabitant of this small community of fifteen-strong will be exploded from within . But not the kind of explosion from a bomb—their bodies will literally be expanded to thrice their size in less than a second. Their skin will stretch and tear, their organs will be destroyed, yet their bones will simply be pushed aside in the rapid expansion, totally in-tact. Roughly 90% certainty for each of them, and soon—but not all of them. A noteworthy two individuals share much more uncertain, myriad causes of death, probable but not guaranteed. Incineration, dismemberment, bullet wounds, aneurysms, starvation, frost-bite, total material annihilation… They have an interesting future ahead of them to be sure. Pretty much any given parahuman will have deaths like these, with about the same probability—albeit a bit on the high end in this case.

The conclusion is obvious. From above the embankment of the highway, looking down on them with binoculars, he gets a good look at his suspects: two young women, currently sitting at a barrel fire, eating together out of cans. One of them is ginger, one of them brunette, but both sets of hair are curly, scraggly, and tangled, matching their dusty clothes, but not their apparent health. Their skin is clear of blemishes and wrinkles, they’ve got meat on their bones, and their teeth are well intact. Maybe they really have been out here for some time—maybe a week or so—but they’re not from this life. This wouldn’t be damning evidence on its own, but along with the very suspicious fates of them and those around them, Vesper is all but sure he’s found his quarry. 

One small thing bothers him, though: he intends to kill them. He intends to kill them, and yet both of them have a vanishingly small probability of being killed by him. This means one of two things: that either he’s about to give up on them for whatever reason, or that if he tries to kill them now, he will fail. In a moment of contemplation, he consults with himself to see if the former is a possibility, and after weighing his life against the many he stands to save, decides that it isn’t. He will take action.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep, meditative breath, and steels himself. This isn’t the end. He has a trick up his sleeve, but he’s loath to use it. It puts a harsh toll on his body and mind, to use his power in a way that it wasn’t ‘meant’ to be used. But, he’s bereft of any other option—he’s resolved to kill them. He will kill them—at least one of them.

He focuses deeply on the near future of one of the women before him, forces himself to think about it and nothing else, to fill his mind with the pain and despair of death that this poor soul is soon to receive. More details fill his mind. Method of death: total annihilation. Time of death: 4:04 today. Good. With some momentum, he strains himself to push past his constraints, to get even more . Veins on his neck and forehead bulge, the beginnings of a migraine remind him of the wrongness of what he is attempting, urging him to stop. He reaches for more still. 

He sits on the dirt of the embankment. He didn’t remember sitting down. Blood streams from his nose and drips from his chin. He laughs.

He’s seen her death, and knows the exact steps needed to make it happen. It’s fate, now. She’ll die, and Vesper will live—that much is certain. It’s just… not a very pleasant path…

Oh well.

Vesper gets up, and tumbles down the hill to approach the encampment, not making any effort to arrive stealthily. The girls notice him, and stand up to cautiously assess him as he gets within speaking distance.

“What do you–”

Vesper pulls a pistol out from his pocket, and aims it at the pair.

Instantly, bushes and vines grow wildly around him. The gun is thrust out of his hand by the sheer speed at which a tree sprouts a limb, and barbed blackberry bushes ensnare him with a thousand painful scratches. Just when he thinks it's over, even more vines and bramble consume him. Movement has become impossible, and he’s liable to die of blood loss if this continues—but it won’t. Once he is properly restrained, the vines in front of him droop to make a window, not for him, but for the pair to observe him.

The brunette speaks, while fishing in a suitcase for some tools. “How did you find us?”

Vesper doesn’t deign her with a response. Instead he inserts a vision of one possibility of her own demise directly into her mind—a natural aspect of his power, one he can use freely, unlike the costly ‘path to death’ he just employed. Usually he uses this to confuse and disorient his targets, giving them vision after vision of their own demise—anything from cold blooded betrayal at the hands of their allies, to slipping on a puddle and cracking their head open—until they become incapable of differentiating their personal hell from reality. But this time, he uses it to manipulate . He allows her to see a very specific instance of her death—an unlikely one, but one that will spur her to take action. She will go from hiding to fighting, which will, ironically, lead to the death of her friend, and likely herself as well. Such a cruel fate. He pities her.

After receiving the vision, her mouth gapes open, and her eyes go wide. Dozens of small, insect-like machines fly to his face and crawl up his legs, covering most of his body. One of them drills into his skull. As his consciousness fades, he sees the woman produce something that looks like a mix between an antenna and a syringe from her case. Her eyes move from the device back to Vesper, flashing him a dark expression of abject anger and horror. He tries smiling, laughing at her, but finds himself totally paralyzed. As his consciousness fades in and out, he thinks he sees a heart-shaped vase of flowers materialize above her shoulder before falling to the ground. A hallucination?

Chapter Text

[3:20 PM, Monday, 03/05/2007]

I wake up in a haze. I’m in an unfamiliar place. Weird. How did I get here? What was I doing? I was building… because I was fighting Swordsmith, and then…

I spring to a sitting position once the memories of what happened catch up to me, only to catch a painful pang of a headache. I died. 

“Hey, hey, take it easy.” A voice calls out to me while I wince from pain and trauma. I open my eyes and see a very tired looking, bearded older man in a set of scrubs worn underneath a lab-coat. “Don’t get up too quickly, you’ll get a head rush. You’ve been laying down for a while, your blood pressure’s low.”

I blink at him, and decide to take his advice. I take my time to turn my head and look around. I’m sitting on one of those medical bed things with a curtain drawn around it, but not all the way. From what I can see beyond it, it looks like I’m in a room with no windows, filled with a lot of other people—some sit on the floor typing busily on laptops, some speak on phones, some are injured like me, and of course there’s some other doctors too. 

The doctor with a beard gives me a glass of water, asks me how I feel, and tests my reflexes to see if I’m injured, and then waves someone over to me once he’s verified I’m in pretty ok physical health. Director Foote pushes past my curtain with a limp. 

“I’m glad to see you’re doing well.” He says with a smile, then gives me a slight bow, somewhat impeded by his apparently injured leg. “Thank you for saving me.”

“Uhm…” How do I respond? “It’s no problem… Hey, where am I? What happened?”

He gives me an exasperated look, then nods as he sighs. “We’re in our panic bunker. It’s an extensive facility. We took all of the injured here, and decided that fortifying our back-end talent was the best choice. If more people get injured, Thunderstep will bring them here. As for what happened… I’m told you suffered a panic attack after the events at the tinker lab. It’s been about an hour and a half since then.”

I groan, then nod in acknowledgement. I want to know if Swordsmith and Dullahan are dead—if I killed them, but don’t want to really deal with that right now.

“Both Swordsmith and Dullahan are injured but in a stable condition.” The director volunteers on his own. Well, that’s that. “They’re behind bars—figuratively. It takes something special to contain Dullahan, but he is contained. We don’t know if they’re still suffering from dendrosis as of now.”

“Dendrosis?” I ask.

“Right. The medical condition you helped discover.” He answers, “That’s the name we’ve given to it. It means ‘to turn into a tree’.”

“Oh…” I respond, “They don’t have it.”

He raises his eyebrows. “They don’t?”

“No. There’s no way they do, not after what I did to them.”

“...I see.”

I take a moment to think more about this, to remember. “Wait… Did you say an hour and a half? What’s gone on since then? Any updates?”

He nods again. “Of course. Best Dressed and some other SOPHISTs fought Ice Age, and drove him into Yegg’s portable hole. Yegg is moving the hole to the football stadium as we speak, where the Scoundrels, our Wards, the SOPHISTs, and some others will ambush Ice Age. We still have no lead on the whereabouts of the other Green Party members. Memorial witnessed a phone call that Ice Age had, and we tried triangulating cell towers to find the other end, but nobody was there. We think it was a red herring.”

“Well, shit.” I sigh.

“Hindenburg is working on a cure now, too. Elsewhere, though. You’re the only parahuman allowed to be here right now, actually, since we know you’re confirmed as cured. We can’t risk another incident like the one at the tinker lab…”

At this point, I notice the gun he has holstered to his side. “Well gee, thanks.” I say, nervously.

“We did take with us your equipment and some tools. I’m sorry for asking so much of you, but would you get to work on rebuilding something that you could use to cure people, like you had before?”

“Oh, right. My stuff did break a little…” I say as I finally get off the bed and stand up. To be honest, I was already thinking about how I could fix my LRAD as quick as possible throughout this whole conversation. “Yeah, I could do that. Thanks.”

“No, no. Thank you.” he reprimands, bowing once more. “Would you like to get started right away?”

“Sure.”

I’m not happy about having all of this work to do, but I don’t want to catch any more bullets from any other crazy people today. Above that, I don’t want everyone to turn into trees either. I don’t know what I can manage with whatever supplies have been salvaged from the lab, but I may as well try.

After grabbing a cane, Director Foote leads me around to get to a place I can tinker in. Now that I can see fully beyond the curtain, this is a much bigger room than I thought it was—it’s a long, endless hallway about 20 feet in width dotted with metal doors at regular intervals. Still no windows. He walks me three doors down, then gets a pretty large ring of keys from his pocket, finds the right one with an impressive speed, and unlocks the door we stand in front of. Even with the light from the tunnel shining in, I can’t see anything at all in this new room until he turns on the lights, revealing a simple barebones interior of concrete and steel, furnished lightly with a table, some tools, and a few of my old prototypes.

“I’ll leave the door open.” He says as he leaves. “Close it if you think you’re going to be too noisy, though. I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything.”

And with that, he leaves me to my work. What a day. Barely any breaks, except for that lunch with Best Dressed, and passing out… does that count as a break?

I get to tinkering. First of all I need another sound gun. I have my broken LRAD, bent and cut up from Swordsmith, some of my prototypes that didn’t work or were too ambitious… I could salvage the broken one for parts, dismantle the rest, and merge all the best parts together… 

My mind sort of goes blank as I get into the workflow. An ambiguous amount of time passes, and I surprise myself with a new, probably functioning LRAD. I even managed to somehow incorporate one of those useless acoustic levitation balls into the design of the speaker head, and instead of having a parabolic dish to focus the sound, I incorporated a wider, flatter array of transducers that fire sound at the levitation ball in the center to deflect and interfere, which let me shoot concentrated sound in any direction, not just a straight line ahead of me. It’s very different from the one I had before, in both its capabilities and its looks. I can even bend the ray of sound around corners now. I continue to amaze myself today. First the megaspeaker, now this? Is my power getting stronger?

I close the door, and test it. I stand a pen sticking up precariously on the table, then shoot it with the LRAD Mk.2 at an angle. I hear nothing, but the pen vibrates and falls down. Good enough for me.

I open the door again, tell Director Foote about my progress, then get to curing everyone in the panic bunker by way of vibration one-by-one. The doctor with the beard that took care of me informs me that what I’m doing is called ‘extracorporeal shockwave therapy’, ESWT for short. Interesting.

After I finish with the bulk of my work, I sit down, and try to relax and daydream. But I can’t. I fidget with a sense of unease and discomfort that is unfamiliar to me. I feel like… I want to do something?

I stand up, and look for a door. There’s lots of doors, so I just approach the nearest one and turn the handle—locked. Hmm. I timidly turn around to look for another exit, only to catch Director Foote limping to me and waving me down. Embarrassed, I lean on the wall, while he sits on a nearby chair and sighs.

“You want to leave?” He asks.

“Yeah. Sorry, is that ok?”

He shrugs. “You are our greatest asset right now, to be completely honest. I would prefer to keep you safe here with us, and for you to keep us safe. We were planning on having Thunderstep take people here in the breakout room over there, it’d be locked, then you cure them, then Thunderstep brings them back, and repeat. We take on minimal risk this way. You are our living cure. We don’t want to lose you.”

A lot of pressure… Too much pressure. I never really asked for that.

“I guess. I feel like I could just do a lot more work out there than here. And I could cure way more people way quicker. What about the other capes? I could go out there and get them right now. If Thunderstep can take them here, he can take me there, right?”

He shrugs again. “That’s true. But we’re on the lookout for Guide. EMPs are authorized. If you and your gear get caught in the crossfire there, we’re back to square one.”

My leg bounces up and down. I don’t know why this bugs me so much.

“You should rest, Mr. Strutt.” He says empathetically, “You’ve been through far too much today.”

I groan. “You’re making a lot of sense. I know you’re making sense but I just… I don’t know. My friends are out there. I want to help them. I don’t know…”

I affix my gaze to the ground before he puts his hand on my shoulder. 

“I understand.” He says, sighing deeply “You want to go. Fine, go.”

I look up to meet his gaze, “You understand? How?”

He smirks, “I don’t, honestly. But this always happens. Capes want to be out there. I don’t know why, but who am I to stop you? You’re a different breed. I don’t think it’s my job to keep you on a leash. It’s my job to facilitate you.”

I raise my eyebrows, then rub my eyes and face. I’m mostly just confused. I thought it was his job to keep us under control? And am I falling into cape psychology? Am I really itching to fight just for the sake of it, just like all of those case studies I learned about in parahuman studies? Am I really no better than them after all?

Director Foote grabs the ring of keys, struggles to his feet, and opens the door before sitting back down. “It’s not an ordinary door…” He warns, “It’s a sort of tinker-made slide. It’ll suck you in and take you up to the surface. You may leave.”

I pick up my helmet from the ground and put it on.

Through my small bit of internal conflict, I manage a flat “Thanks.” while looking at the hollow shaft in front of me. I step in, and like he said, I’m sucked up like a large-scale version of one of those pneumatic tubes you see in bank drive-throughs. I pass through a few futuristic barriers of lasers that seem to limit my speed and ensure safe travel, before I pop out the other side, plopping me in an enclosed room with a metal slide door that opens, and I step through to a subway station. Looking behind me, it looks like this exit has the facade of a utility elevator.  

Thunderstep is already here waiting. 

He holds his hand up to offer a high-five, “Dude, glad you’re feeling better.”

“Thanks.” I say as our mutual clap echoes through the tunnel. “Y’all are about to fight Ice Age?”

“Yeah, the show’s about to start, let me show you.” He puts his hand on my shoulders, and in three bolts of lightning, brings us to the stands of the local football stadium. The grass has been covered with shiny tarps, and the roof has been closed to protect us from the rain that started since I got knocked out. In the stands with us is a colorful group of capes: All three of the Wards, Ghost-Snake, the Duplex Twins, (I think they’re SOPHISTs?), Twilight and Best Dressed, who seems to have changed outfits into an impractical looking but very elegant suit of armor, complete with a cape of collated sheet metal that he uses his power on to billow behind him. Also present is Swordsman and a bunch of Scoundrel members, many of which I recognize from yesterday’s battle, and many of which were those who Snake had given powers to. I recognize the firebolt guy, easy to pick out because of the large set of curling goat-horns in his head, the teleporter girl who kept on skipping, the humongously muscled guy, and some others that I never learned the powers of. Their presence makes me uneasy.

Agonizer greets me with a playful shove. “Heyy, I hear you kicked Swordsmith’s ass. Good fucking shit, man.”

“Welcome, welcome. It’s a shame I couldn’t have been there myself.” Swordsman says as he saunters up to me and daps be up—a gesture I’m slow to pick up on, resulting in an awkward one-sided dapping exchange. “I’m told you got the stuff?”

He’s been weirdly nice to me ever since we met on the battlefield. He’s pretty charismatic; it’s no wonder he can lead a gang. “Yeah, I can cure you.” I reply, “Just stand still if you want me to. Or sit down, I’m told it’s relaxing.”

“Oo, oo, vibrate me first!” Agonizer butts in, “I wanna try!”

I run my newly minted LRAD Mk. 2 over him, precise enough now that I don’t need to also use the actuator rod for counter-vibrations. Agonizer vocalizes a steady “ahhh” that turns into laughter as the vibrations run through him, creating a funny mix of addition tones that make it sound like he’s speaking through a fan. 

“Holy shit, it felt like scratching an itch everywhere all at once.” He says, gasping from the aftereffects, “I feel transformed. You gotta sell this.”

“Well, they want me to make more stuff like this, so I think I will.” I reply as I run the cure through Thunderstep too, “Well, they will. I just make them.”

Agonizer shakes his head, “Can’t believe they rip you off so hard. You deserve royalties.”

Thunderstep looks at his hand and stretches his neck. “Weird. I didn’t feel very different at all.” He says while I’m in the middle of curing Swordsman now.

“Probably because of your power.” I explain bluntly and offhandedly, “You’re made of waves. You probably feel vibrations differently.”

Thunderstep pauses, then does a double take in my direction. “...What?”

I’m about to explain in more detail before my train of thought is interrupted by the Duplex twins. They wear identical all-white costumes that sort of look similar to mine but skin-tight and without the bulky helmet and soundwave theme. Instead, the only detail is a vertical black line straight down the middle of their bodysuits.

“Hello, Larsen.” They say in unison, “Please, use your abilities to cure us.”

It’s at this point that I realize that there’s a line forming of all the rest of the capes here just for me. I then start the boring task of repeating the process of adjusting the settings of my LRAD to each one and curing all of them.

To make the process a little bearable with some conversation, and sate my paranoia, I turn back to Swordsman to ask a question while I do my work. “Can I ask? What’s with these guys? Weren’t a lot of them on Snake’s side in the uh… schism?”

He grins, pushes his sunglasses farther up his nose, and then crosses his arms as he answers, “Yeah, they were. But I brought them to a… mutual understanding. Snake worked under me, they worked under Snake. Everyone needs to look up to somebody. They lost their rock to stand on, so they landed on the next best thing—that would be me. That’s how it is. ‘Sides, we all hated those nutjobs.”

“Are they cool?” I ask, “With me?”

“Ask ‘em yourself. Matter o’ fact, hey–” He motions for the grantees’ attention, “Introduce yourselves. Y’all got names, don’t you?”

I guess if they’re ok working alongside the reanimated corpse of their dead leader. I’m about to get to them with the ESWT anyway. May as well.

“What’s your name?” I ask one of them as I rake my concentrated rays of sound through her. Not all of the Scoundrels try to replicate their leader’s… interesting choice of fashion, but this one does. She’s dressed in black latex with a black leather jacket on top, and her jet black hair is cut into a neat, short bob. 

“Tacet.” She says with a welcoming smile, “But you can call me your worst nightmare.”

“Uh… why?” I ask, or try to. I move my mouth and flex my vocal chords but no sound comes out. I realize I can’t hear anything either, just as soon as the effect ends completely, and the sounds of wind, rain, and light chatter refill my ears.

“Oh, so you’re the one who can silence things.” I say after the garish display her power. I don’t let it get to me at all. Maybe she was trying to intimidate me but it just came off as weird and edgy. Gives me second hand embarrassment, which paradoxically does make me feel a little safer.

I cure the rest of them, and learn their cape names as I go. The rest don’t threaten me like Tacet, and some of them even shake my hand, but all of them are curt, and keep their distance. The glue-hands guy—the one I got with the sound grenade—doesn’t seem to be present, I note. Tepid is the horned one that shoots fire, also dressed in the all-black Matrix theme. The huge one is Dad (yes, that’s what he calls himself), wearing only a pair of black XXL jeans to give everyone a full view of his ripped musculature, which honestly looks painful up close. The guy with goat-legs is Pan, he can stun people with direct eye contact. The teleporter girl that bailed everyone out yesterday is Swan, whose costume is a mix of ballerina and fairy aesthetic—she can teleport people or objects to a random location but only when she isn’t touching the ground, which is why she was skipping. Weird. There’s also Istic, a man with ebony skin, wearing a fancy black suit on a black dress-shirt with black slacks, black shoes, black tie, and black sunglasses—all around an eccentric, intentional look. He also speaks with a very weird accent that I can’t place. His power allows him to sow confusion in groups of people within a certain radius. One of them, Djinn, floats without legs—or rather, his lower half just seems to disappear into wispy, ribbony strands. He wears only an opened up black vest, and despite the lack of legs, his upper half is pretty toned, which, along with his apparent Arabic ethnicity, makes him look sort of like a real-life genie. In addition to the floating, his power is a sort of jack of all trades brute package, slightly resistant to pretty much everything, but not by much. Last in the line was the one who was able to summon the stationary bars of lasers that ultimately led to Larethian’s death: Widow, the recipient of Annihilare’s power, as Veil mentioned earlier at the meeting. Her costume consists of a skin-tight suit of white and black spiderweb print dotted with fake, gushing wounds, pretending to expose her organs and guts, and with the costume including a fully closed hood and mask in the shape of a spider head, she’s the only Scoundrel cape that doesn’t show her face. After telling me her name, she greeted me wordlessly with a warm, slow handshake that somehow felt like it meant something very important—whether it was an apology or a threat is beyond me, but it’s sticking with me way longer than it should.

After I’ve ran everyone through my probably valid dendrosis cure, the capes start getting into position and preparing properly. Best Dressed has been busy the whole time because I’ve already cured him earlier in the day—he’s been transporting a bunch of huge artillery shells into the stadium and positioning them in lines on the stands, along with some other supplies, including an ice bath and a hot-tub, probably for putting out Ice Age’s flames in a pinch. One of the Duplexes actually just gets in the hot-tub right away—they can transfer energy, damage, and ‘effects’ in general from one twin to the other. I’m told the plan is to have one of them fight Ice Age head-on, and transfer the flames to the one in the hot bath for a creative immunity from his power.

Feeling pretty tired after having to cure all of these capes, I just lean on the railing and look down at the field while the rest prepare. I don’t have much to do right now anyway. While zoning out, some movement catches my eye at the far corner of the field. A small spiral of inky blackness, slowly moving towards center field. I point to it as I tap the shoulder of the cape closest to me, which happens to be Djinn, stoically gazing at the soon-to-be battlefield with me.

“Hey, is that what we’re waiting for?” I ask wearily.

“Hmm…” He strokes his beard as he squints, then turns around, “Hey, boss! He’s coming!”

Swordsman perks up and rushes to the railing with us to get a good look too. The spiral of darkness is almost at the center of the field at this point. “Shit! Yeah, he’s here.” Then he turns around too as he grins and lets out a devilish laugh, “Tepid! Time to light this bitch up!”

Tepid, following close behind Swordsman, ignites a bright, swirling ball of fire in his open palm. “Aye aye, boss!” He cheers as he swings his arm to hurl the bolt of fire towards the tarped football field. It lands a disappointingly small distance from the edge, but suffices to ignite the coating of oil on top of it. Thunderstep flashes to center field along with a Duplex, drops him off, and returns in the blink of an eye, quicker than the fire can spread.

The entire field then lights up in flames, everywhere except in a radius around the center where Duplex and the portable hole sits. Not but a moment later, the spiral of darkness opens up like the aperture of a camera, and the Duplex jumps in. Our view of the battle inside the dark pit is obstructed, and us at the stands are left only to wait, apart from Agonizer, who is shooting his characteristic balls of force blindly into the fray. A single gunshot is heard.

Long seconds pass. Ice Age’s bright blue flames creep out of the colorless hole and fill in the circular gap bereft of oil. The murmur of anxious conversation immediately preceding this engagement is only a memory now. Everyone gives their undivided attention to center field, straining our eyes against the circle of bright cyan flames contrasted by the orange fire that surrounds and contains them. Finally, one of Agonizer’s blasts finds its mark. Ice Age and Yegg, both clad in blue flame and tangled in a wrestling maneuver, are yanked out of the hole. Agonizer then quickly shoots a ball of force at the other Duplex soaking in the hot tub, who transfers the effect to his twin so that he can be pulled out of the hole too.

All of the blasters (Best Dressed, Twilight, Fume, Thunderstep, and I guess me as well) wait ready in trepidation. With Yegg and Ice Age entangled like this, nobody can get a shot in from a distance without risking collateral damage.

Yegg takes off his jacket to slip away from the grapple, which sticks to Ice Age and flaps obnoxiously on his face—he can ‘glue’ objects together by touching them, I think. Yegg crawls away, and Ice Age stumbles up to his feet to pursue him, but Duplex tackles the villain to the ground. Yegg then gets to his knees, and leans over to touch Ice Age’s clothes, causing his sleeves and pant legs to stick together and become an impromptu straight-jacket. Duplex lets up, and Yegg offers Ice Age a swift curb stomp before running back to his hole.

Everything’s going great so far. Ice Age is immobilized and about to be shelled, and we’ve managed this without risking Yegg’s or anyone else’s lives. Agonizer prepares to use his power on Best Dressed so that he can throw the tank shells at the murderous villain without any opposite force on himself. But as soon as the iridescent ball of force makes contact to cause Best Dressed to accelerate, time seems to slow. A myriad of catastrophes gut us all at once.

The sunlight peeking into the stadium through the gaps between the roof and the stands is blotted out, quickly and ominously. Through the harsh floodlights, we watch Yegg’s head crack open and explode, while his body begins to fall just short of the safety of his hole, which shrinks and disappears in an instant. No audible gunshot. Massive stalks of vines and tree trunks along with swarms of drones then enter from the gaps above.

Seeing this, Best Dressed apparently makes a quick decision within the half-second that Agonizer’s power is in effect to divert his attention from Ice Age, and instead unleash the barrage of artillery shells at our new guests instead. Fume still fires at Ice Age, and Twilight uses her power to enhance both ballistic assaults. Thunderstep blasts Ice Age with a bolt of lightning, and Agonizer too shoots a ball of force at center field. The lighting hits first, then Fume’s massive bullet, then Agonizer’s blast, which shoves Ice Age directly onto the hot, burning oil.

Several of the artillery shells crash into the larger quad-copter drones and tear through the wood of the rapidly growing trees invading the stadium. The damaged drones and large chunks of severed tree trunks fall to the ground, one of which seems to have been supporting three individuals clad in wood and vines, who fall down with it. The nearby trees sprout myriad limbs to catch all of them in the air before they make it to the ground, while the dead trunks crash into the fiery football field. One of the shot drones spins out of control and lands somewhat close to us on the stands, and dozens—hundreds of smaller, insect-sized robots crawl and fly out of it. 

Well, I guess we found the other Green Party members. Dryad is the one controlling all of the plants, obviously. It’s a good thing I blasted those seeds out of everyone or else she may have been able to kill us all already by now. Guide must also be here—she’s known as the ‘hive tinker’. She specializes in small machines that can’t do much on their own, but become a really big problem when they work together. But there’s only supposed to be three Green Party capes, and Ice Age is accounted for, so who’s the third one that fell just now? They’re so far away, and all the branches make it hard to see too; I’ve no way of telling.

I fiddle with the triggers on my LRAD and fire an angled beam of sound towards the thick mass of branches hanging from the roof of the stadium, aiming to where I think the group of three should be. I don’t know if I’m doing anything, but I may as well try.

“My twin died.” Duplex’s voice announces loudly and clearly, but not shouting or with any hint of emotion. “I don’t know how or why. I’m leaving.”

I whisper a confused “What?” under my breath as I turn around and see a soaking wet Duplex calmly get out of the hot-tub with a splash of water, and run away. I look back at center field and strain to see the other Duplex dead on the ground, freezing in Ice Age’s flames next to Yegg. At least they can ‘regrow’ each other as long as one of them remains, I think. 

What the fuck is going on?

“Fuck!” Someone else shouts out in terror, “Get the fuck off me!”

I look over and see Tepid covered head to toe in tiny, crawling robots. Some of them stab him with what look like needles, some even crawl and fly into his mouth and nose. Next to him is Djinn, who is evidently light enough to be carried off by two medium-sized quadcopters.

Swan leaps up and just barely manages to swipe at one of the ribbony strands that dangle from Djinn’s waist, and he’s teleported away. Thunderstep too flashes to Tepid, touches him through the veil of drones, and flashes away with both of them. The crawling types fall, and the flying types wobble in the air to maintain altitude against the sudden drop.

Then, they come for me. Before I can even react, they cover my eyes, ears, and enter through my nose. My mouth is forced open, and dozens of tiny machines crawl inside of me. They lacerate and poke holes all over my body. Some of them even carry syringes, and inject me with mystery substances. I writhe in panic as I attempt to do something, but they’ve damaged me and my gear so heavily already that it’s difficult to even move. A horrible pain accompanies the sound of a drill atop my head—they got in my helmet somehow, and I guess they’re drilling into my skull. Something hits me and moves me suddenly, and the ones inside my mouth get shoved deep into my throat, tearing its way through. Something inside of me breaks, one of those organs so vital that it doesn’t even cause me any pain.

Then, I’m standing back up again, watching Swan fall back down to the ground as the hordes of tiny drones find a new target. My internal organs are fine—I’m not damaged at all, even. Did I just hallucinate? Whether I did or didn’t, they still come flying and crawling directly towards me, just like before. I won’t let that happen again. I quickly prime my LRAD to create a high amplitude infrasound wave in the flight path of the drones. The oscillating air pressure disrupts their flight, and they fall and clatter, but there’s still the ones with treads and legs that move on the ground. Clearly they have some sort of strong grip that lets them crawl up and stick onto people, so I doubt I could shake the ground to make them trip, and I don’t want to divert my LRAD’s beam of sound anyway—the drones would just get back up.

Before I can think of a solution, they’re upon me. These things are quick. They begin crawling up my legs when I finally get the idea to just turn on my actuator rod to vibrate my body. While the experience of full body vibrations isn’t fun, it at least works, and the crawling drones fall off of me. Then, I realize that I can float, and activate my levitation belt. I keep a steady stream of infrasound surrounding me with my other devices to protect myself from all angles.

While this is going on, Best Dressed, with the assistance of Agonizer and Twilight, sends one more volley of artillery shells towards the growing web of vines and branches above us. A swarm of drones approach the group from the other side, and Thunderstep suddenly flashes into view, takes Agonizer, and then flashes away and out of the stadium. I hear several more cracks of thunder immediately after, implying that he’s moving far away. He’s abandoning us??

The swarm then sets itself upon Best Dressed and Twilight. Twilight seems to get telekinetically pulled close to Best Dressed’s side just before they get within his range. He shoves all of them away as they do so, completely vacating his range of every hostile object possible, which creates a satisfying visual image of the exact radius of his power—but they just keep coming. They form a huge funnel that converges on the pair, and are joined by more and more. Every individual drone that gets crushed and tossed aside in his range only serves to get replaced. He pushes against the swarm, and gets pushed back in return. The constant pressure quickly begins to move him, even lifting him off of the ground and accelerating him rather quickly, crashing against some unused food stands, and shoving him through the entrance that leads outside of the stadium. I can only assume they successfully carry him away from there.

Swan has also evacuated some others who are helpless against the omnipresent swarm—Pan, Dad, Tacet, even Swordsman. 

Istic is the last to go. “I think I got them!” he says in a commanding but pained voice as drones begin cutting him, right before Swan jumps up briefly and taps him to make him disappear from this place. 

Swan herself can teleport anything touching her, so she’s fine as long as she keeps doing jumping jacks or something. Widow surrounds herself in her laser bars that disintegrate any drone that comes near, and Snake’s body seems largely unaffected. I have my sound, so I can stay and fight, but I can only really focus on surviving at this rate. That leaves us with just four remaining on our side of the, what, seventeen we had before?

A series of thunderous booms that grow in volume each time accompany the return of Thunderstep. Swarms of drones try to attack him, but he just flashes away without them. That makes five now. 

Ghost-Snake approaches me, covered in drones trying their best to kill a corpse.

“Can you help? They make it hard to move.” She asks quickly. 

Instead of wasting time responding verbally, I just walk close enough so that the infrasound that surrounds me can make some of them fall off of her, and then stick one of my sound grenades onto Snake’s body. It vibrates violently, and causes the drones and robots sticking to her to fall off, much like what I’m doing to protect myself, but less precise and more dangerous. But, it’s a corpse, so I don’t need to worry about damage to internal organs.

I walk over and shout to the other three, “What do we do n-”

A bar of shimmering black light appears immediately in the path I’m walking. So close that it’s un-reactable as I walk straight into it. I’m severed in half.

Reality blinks and I’m back together as if nothing happened. My heart races, remembering the intense pain and the feeling of impending death.

Unsure if I even began asking my first question in this reality, I ask a different one. “Does anyone else feel like they’re dying?”

Whiteness fills my vision. Only for an instant, then it disappears. It happens so fast I can’t even process the pain until afterward. Then it happens again, and I feel like I’m punched in my side. Lightning bolts. Not normal lightning, kinetically charged lightning. Thunderstep is attacking me. The barrage continues, and eventually the electricity shorts the rod currently vibrating my body to keep me protected from the swarm. It goes haywire, vibrating me and damn near ripping my arm off. Inside my own body, the intense energy of the sound rips me apart.

Then, again, it’s as if it never happened. 

“Y-yeah.” Thunderstep says. “It keeps happening. That’s why I left. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m not getting anything.” Ghost says, sounding confused and concerned “Maybe because I can’t die?”

Swan looks absolutely terrified and paranoid, while Widow is inscrutable, inside of her cocoon of annihilation. All of us just stand still. I think at this point, our inability to tell reality from fiction has us all too afraid to act. At least we can still talk. We can’t let another hallucination get to us.

“What do we do?” I ask again.

Widow’s voice emanates from her cocoon, sounding somewhat distorted, “I’ve already done all that I can do. The rest is up to you”

I look up at the mass of branches where our foes supposedly are hiding, and see that it's covered by her laser bars in a spiderweb pattern.

“Huh.” I say. Maybe that’s why we’re still alive—both sides have each other in check.

In the act of turning back around, to discuss more, I accidentally hit the hilt of that dagger Swordsmith gave me, and turn it on. It somehow slices through the scabbard, and cuts my guts open.

After another fake death, I return to reality. We have to talk fast and figure out a way to win here.

“Thunderstep, can you get in th-”

This time, a gaping, bleeding hole appears in my abdomen, like I’d been shot, but didn’t notice. Still no sound of gunfire, just like what happened to Yegg and Duplex. I fall to the ground, gripping the wound.

“Oh my god!” Ghost cries, as she leans Snake’s body over mine. “Oh my god! What do I do!?”

I groan and gasp. Thunderstep finally takes action to dart around. Looking for the sniper maybe?

Expecting that this reality will soon collapse, I sort of give up trying to contain the wound, and pull my hand in front of my eyes. Completely red, dripping with blood. Looks like I’m bleeding out this time, nice and slow. Is there a limit to how long these hallucinations can last?

Ghost puts her hand on my wound to keep some pressure on it. She really doesn’t need to. Why waste her time? This isn’t real.

Oh well, no point in dwelling on it. May as well die.

Finally. It feels so good to give up. You ever make a plan to meet someone or whatever, but then when the day comes, something happens, and you’re not feeling up for it, and you end up cancelling, and cancelling feels good? It’s like a relief. And here I am, in a hallucination of my own death, not needing to worry about a damn thing? I ought to thank whoever the hell is doing this to me.

And I’m starting to get a sense of euphoria from the oxygen loss too. Senses dulling, less pain. It’s nice.

I don’t feel any regret. This is what I wanted. This is what I was going to do, anyway. I am in control. These are my thoughts, and I endorse them.

…Shouldn’t I be coming back to life now?

Suddenly, I regain my senses. I expect to be back at my feet, in the stands of a burning football stadium, but I’m not. It’s not exactly like I have feet, even, or a body. At least not my body. I’m composed of a mass, but with much greater depth. I am large, yet spread over a dimension I couldn’t comprehend before. 

I receive a broadcast.

Destination.

On the scale of a solar system, I give a brief consideration to the periodic orbit of the planets, the electromagnetic resonance of solar flares, the gravitational waves that exist all around me, and to the ebb and flow of the myriad realities. I pay attention to these details, use them to verify the course that has been plotted, and to ensure the safe travel of a certain message across space and realities, to encrypt them so that only the intended recipient may understand it.

Agreement.

Then, I’m somewhere else. I’m the same entity, but in a different form. I’m watching a world, my attention able to simultaneously capture all that occurs on it. I pay particular attention to the drives and tact of strife, to see how they use their unique abilities, to gather data. Sometimes I interfere, but not now. A particularly intriguing interaction of power is taking place. Some powers are only intended to affect objects, but one individual was given the power to be considered as an object—or rather, for powers that have specific criteria for action, this individual exists in a superposition of being an applicable target, and an inapplicable target. It’s a similar, muted version of the power I’m using now—the shards are programmed to not notice that this one is a person. To forget about him. 

A power that is meant to make only objects unaffected by this reality is being imposed on him. As a result, he is invincible, but unable to affect the world. Strange. Data, but not particularly helpful data. The experiment will continue, though. There will be more uses to be discovered.

I take a deep breath, and open my eyes. Snake’s face cranes over me, looking like he’s seen a ghost.

I’m lying face up on the ground in the football stadium. My head’s a mess. What did I just see? Was that me? I feel like I just had a really important dream, but the memories are all fuzzy. 

More importantly, was that real?? Did I actually just get shot or something?? I look at my hand—slick with blood. In a panic I flex my abs to sit up and take a look at my stomach. My costume is ruined, wet and stained blood red, but my exposed stomach is… fine? Well, it’s not normal. Where I was wounded now remains a weird, wobbly looking scar tissue? And it has a ribbed black skeletal theme, almost like a tattoo. 

Whatever the fuck happened, I think it was real. I get to my feet quickly. 

“What did you do?” Asks Ghost, sounding scared and emotional, “Give that back! I made a promise!”

I have no idea what she’s talking about. “You what?”

Her words, unbeknownst to her, remind me of something I’ve completely forgotten. Megan. I made some sort of promise to her when I met her. What was it again?

Then I remember what happened. I was shot just now. There was a bang, and then I got hit. There was a gunshot, I just forgot that I heard it. Why can I remember? More importantly, where did I hear it from?

Another gunshot rings out from above. This time, Snake’s body catches the bullet. The force of the impact causes Ghost to stumble a bit, but doesn’t destroy the body enough to make it unable to be puppeted. I guess she doesn’t know this one’s already dead.

I look up, and see the culprit peeking out from the roof just as she retreats out of sight. It’s Megan, I’m sure of it. I program my LRAD to fork a beam around the roof at her that will hopefully disable her, or destroy the dendrosis seed if she’s infected. This is a risky move, since I need to release my protective infrasound aura to do so, but as I let it go, I almost instinctively replace it with something else. I tug at the air pressure around me periodically, matching the natural resonance of the weather and the stadium stands. I create an infrasound around me without using any technology. I begin to notice a new sensation, a new extension of myself. My thinker senses inform me of the sound of an impact on the metal roof, and I hold the beam of sound at what I’m sure to be Megan for good measure. As I do so, I flex it this new feeling, and a tame gust of wind blows across the field, causing some visible ripples in the fire.

I look back at the capes still with me. Swan looks terrified, which somewhat humorously contrasts her constant jumping. She cries, and lets out short screams at regular intervals. Widow is still there in her cocoon. Thunderstep appears to be gone, but flashes into scene as I check.

I use my newfound power to create a large standing wave across the whole stadium. Wind is nothing but changes of air pressure: air travels from areas of high pressure to low pressure. Sound is, also, just changes of pressure. Before, I only had the knowledge of how to make sound waves really well, and had the gadgets to do so. Now, I have the knowledge, and the ability to make them. It’s not perfect, though. It looks like I can only make sort of slow winds, the kind you’d encounter most days, but that works just fine for making huge infrasound. Better than any device I could make, even.

Even the stadium itself begins to shake and sway. The flying drones come falling down as the infrasound increases in amplitude.

“Give it back!” Ghost shouts again. It sounds like she’s crying.

I ignore her. There’s more important things to worry about.

“Thunderstep,” I begin, trying to sound commanding, “Bring some capes back. We can take them now.”

He flashes away without a response, and comes back with Fume, Twilight, and Best Dressed, who lifts the three of them a few feet into the air to avoid the land-based robots. Widow strategically disengages some of the laser bars to let them get back to throwing anything they can at the ceiling of tree branches. Best Dressed even rips apart the seats and braces against the metal of the stands to hurl them with full force. Fume’s sulfuric gas seems to visibly ooze from the mass, too.

The damage on the vegetation just gets replaced by more growing trunks and vines, but this sudden change in the tide of battle apparently makes them feel the pressure, since they finally start moving. Several tree trunks erupt from the tangled mass, with branches and vines curled to support what look like spherical, coconut-like fruit-pods at the ends, large enough to be able to contain at least one person each. The problem is that there’s three people in there, but way more ‘escape pods’. Our blasters each seem to pick one and fire. Widow catches a few of them in their tracks with her laser bars, disintegrating the wood and vegetation instantly. Then, the trees stop growing, and the vegetation stops moving. One of the trees caught by Widow oozes blood and gore. Must have been Dryad.

“Thunderstep!” Mei calls out, pointing to one that has been punctured by a large shell, “Move me over there! I see one!”

He does so, flashing the body of Snake into one of the distant canopies. Another flash of lightning from within the curled sphere of branches marks an offensive lightning bolt. Seconds later, he returns with Snake’s body, and the defeated—yet still alive—Guide. Her ironbark armor is singed, and her face is wrinkled, sobbing with abject rage. 

At this point, there’s no point in keeping the fire burning. I use my power to create vacuums of air with infrasound, which slowly puts the fires out—both blue and orange.

Another figure stumbles out of one of the ‘escape pods’. A Native-American looking man with long hair and a comfortable parka. He limps and wobbles, almost like he’s drunk. Best Dressed uses his power to leap towards him and restrain him.

“Hey, hey, big man.” The stranger says, his voice hoarse and clearly tired, “She was controlling me. Guide was. Had no choice. You got her though, right? Good job. Job’s done.”

He seems to lose consciousness, and Best Dressed catches him gently. He looks like he doesn't know what to do with him.

I check my stomach where I was shot. Yep, still weird looking.

I deactivate my LRAD. This is over.

“There’s something I need to go do.” I say, not looking at anyone in particular. Too tired to do social right now. “Thunderstep, can I ask you, please, to bring me to the roof?”

“Uh, sure, dude.” He says, then touches my shoulder from behind, and flashes away, but without me. He comes back. “What? Weird. Let me try again.” He flashes away yet again in a bolt of lightning that arcs up towards the roof, and again I remain still. He comes back down. “What’s up?” He asks, extraordinarily confused.

“Whatever.” I sigh, waving my hand, “I’ll go find a ladder.”

Chapter Text

Shizuko sat at her office chair, double checking her site plans and notes. She was supposed to do a site visit on her current work-in-progress that day, and was feeling somewhat nervous, yet mostly giddy. This was her biggest architectural endeavor yet. The build had reached some major milestones, and was at a critical point: everything had to be perfect for the final product to work well and safely, there could be no room for error. That’s why she’d resolved to make daily site visits from then on, to work directly with the builders. There were other overseeing engineers on the project too, but as the lead, she felt a tight obligation to give it her all.

With some unspent nervous energy, she jolted from her chair, tucked in her dress-shirt, and prepared to leave, just before a firm knock came from the other side of her office door.

Strange. She didn’t have any appointments, and rarely got visitors. With some curiosity and minor trepidation, she abandoned her exit course, and opened the door, while stepping aside and waving to warmly welcome the stranger inside.

“Hi!” She said, “Did you want to speak with me?”

The visitor had a strange manner of dress, wearing a fancy all-black suit, black tie, black shirt, everything . It was the only color on his entire body, and it was faint but she could swear it was like he was leeching the light from his surroundings. It made him look more like a silhouette than a man.  He took his sunglasses off as he spoke in a strange accent, somewhat close to British, but with every consonant hard, almost clicky. Speaking every word seemed to be somewhat laborious to him.

“Yes. Shizuko Kemp?” He asked, “I have a proposition for you.”

“That’s me.” She replied, before pulling her office chair out of her desk, and sitting down to face him. “Have a seat. I was just going somewhere but I can make some time. What’s your name?”

The stranger sat down, and smiled. “I admire your work. A bridge that captures the energy of waves, and the clacking of trains… It's beautiful, forward thinking. Clean energy, and practical. Months ago, Leviathan tore things down, opened up a new waterway, and we’re not just rebuilding, we’re making things better. All thanks to minds like you.”

“Thank you.” She said, grinning. She noted that he never gave her his name.

“You’re welcome.” He returned. “So, it would be a shame if something awful happened that would… delay its fruition. These days, there is so much violence; villains loose on the streets. Anything could happen.”

Her good mood was quickly coming to an end. At this point, she understood exactly what was happening. She nodded her head slowly and facetiously.

“My proposition: you need security, to make sure this all goes ok. We can provide this security for a fee—a relatively minor fee. The city, the state, they have given you a handsome budget, yes? It can come out of that. Necessary expenses, you see.”

Shizuko pursed her lips, and tapped the handrest of her chair as a show of annoyance. “The police and the protectorate give us all the protection we need. We don’t have a need for mercenaries.”

The stranger laughed. “Maybe you don’t see–”

“No, I understand perfectly well.” She interrupted, “You’re extorting me for protection money, and if I don’t give it to you, you’ll wreck it yourself. You think I'll play along because my career is riding on this. It’s not going to work. I’m saying no. Goodbye.”

She grabbed her binder of notes, then stood up from her chair in a huff, only to find herself incredibly dizzy. She experienced a small headache as she tried to remember what she was doing. Was she angry? She was going to go out the door. Angry at the door? The door hurt her? Oh, maybe she stubbed her toe on the door, and was going to try to fix it. But that didn’t make sense… 

After sitting back down in her chair, the utter confusion wore off, and she found herself able to think clearly once again. Something unnatural and sinister just happened. This black-suited stranger must have used some sort of power on her to disorient her. She uncupped her hand from her face, and looked back at him, who was still sitting down and grinning, totally unmoved. Most people would have been scared out of their mind, but Shizuko was never one to cower. Between fight or flight, more often than not, she chose fight, much to her chagrin—but at this moment, she had hoped it would work in her favor, and allow her to think more clearly.

The stranger just continued to stare at her. She knew it was a manipulation tactic to make her say something. It was working.

“That’s a real funny trick.” She growled, speaking low, “Want me to clap?”

He let out a single chuckle. “I see you’ve made your mind. You will see us again soon. The deal is still on the table. Try not to be so stubborn.”

Shizuko was hit with another wave of confusion, and the strange man left before she was even aware he’d moved. She called the police, and went to the site as she had planned. They had made very good progress. The implementation of the swing-bridge functionality was very complicated and precise because of the wave power generators that had to move with it, so her input was very needed. She managed and advised the construction workers until the sun set. Before she left, she warned them to call the police and then her if anyone suspicious tried to do harm to them or the project, or if anyone at all was just giving them the creeps.

She was more tired than she had been in quite a while when she returned home. She was typically a very busy, working woman, but the demand of physical work as opposed to the usual desk work of engineering was different, more active. Though she enjoyed it, she was sure it’d tire her out very soon. She let out a well-deserved sigh as she unlocked the door to her house, then took another deep breath to announce her presence with a “Tadaima!”

From a room she couldn’t see, a voice still more exhausted than her answered her call with an “Okaerinasai.”

Shizuko took off her shoes, then headed straight for the source of the voice to find her mother laying down in her bed, trying to position herself upright to greet her properly. Several beautiful arrangements of flowers and herbs sit on various surfaces in the room—on the windowsill, on a desk, and on the bedside table. Some of them are dried and starting to crinkle but still beautiful in their own way, and some, younger, look healthy and elegant. All of them, though, are intricate pieces of ikebana, with carefully crafted twisting vines and flowers chosen with care.

“How was work?” Shizuko’s mother asked her, her voice with the characteristic wobbling that elderly people tend to have despite being barely short of the age of 50.

Shizuko sat down on the bed. “It’s ramping up. The bridge is really starting to take shape. I’m going to be out there every day from now on.”

Her mother smiled. “Good. Keep working hard. Make them understand just how smart you are.”

Shizuko nodded, then gently fondled the flower arrangement on the nightstand—a slanted-style mix of chrysanthemum and pine. The youngest and spryest one by far, must have been made today. “Maybe you shouldn’t be working so hard though.” She said, “It’s beautiful, but shouldn’t you be resting? You can’t afford to spend your energy like this. I mean, look at you, you can hardly sit up.”

Her mother frowned, “Maybe you’re right. But… Maybe you’re right. It’s just what I want to do. What else will I spend my energy on? The flowers’ beauty is only temporary on earth, but forever in my memory. When I snip and trim them, it’s like I’m giving life to all of the flowers that passed through my hands before. It’s nostalgic.”

Shizuko sighed, disappointed in herself. “No, mom, that’s really beautiful. Maybe you are right. You should do what makes you happy.”

Saeka smiled. “By the way, why didn’t you tell me anything about that new doctor? Did you sign me up for an ‘experimental treatment’?”

She blinked, confused. “No? What are you talking about?”

“That new doctor, she visited me today. You hadn’t seen her? She visited today, so I figured you would have met her and given her the keys and such.”

Shizuko began to worry. “I have no idea who you’re talking about. What was her name? What did she do?”

“Oh, she just talked to me.” She said, dismissively, “Something about an ‘experimental treatment’, I didn’t get it. It was weird. She said her name was ‘Doctor Mother’.”

Shizuko shook her head “That sounds fake. I’ve never heard of this person. She was trying to experiment on you?”

“I told her no. It all just sounded too… weird. And then she left. The nurse visited later, and she didn’t know about her either, so that’s why I thought she’d talked to you first.”

“She didn’t.” Shizuko confirmed, “I don’t think she was supposed to be here. I guess she broke in?”

She paused, looking at her mother with a furrowed brow, confused and worried. Was this related to the cape that visited her? Are they threatening her family? 

“I think you should call the police if it happens again.” Shizuko warned, “Or call me. I’ll get here as fast as I can.”

“I’ll throw something at her next time.” Saeka said with a chuckle, “Of course. Thanks for letting me know.”

As she sat in the chair next to her mother’s bed, spiralling into worried thoughts, she found that her mother had fallen asleep. It doesn’t take much to knock her out when she’s fatigued, the ikebana from earlier in the day would leave her exhausted for days, maybe even the full week. Shizuko then dragged her feet to her room, where she got little of the sleep she desperately needed.

Several days later, neither the strange cape nor the mysterious trespassing doctor returned, and Shizuko felt a little more at ease—but things were far from perfect. One of the excavators they were using broke down suddenly, she had a few no-call-no-shows from some workers—things that would normally easily be explained away as bouts of misfortune, but in the light of recent events, they left Shizuko paranoid. None of the workers ever called her about any suspicious people, but she remained vigilant, and rightfully so, since one of the construction workers came to her in a huff explaining that a bunch of the building materials had been encased in some sort of weird, rubbery goo. It was virtually impenetrable, and incredibly sticky like nothing she’d ever seen. As she was in the middle of calling 9-1-1 to report the vandalism, the man in all-black raked against the temp fencing blocking off the construction. She was about to tell the phone operator about him as quickly as possible, but came under a trance of utter confusion before she could even begin. She didn’t even remember what she said before she hung up, but it was something dismissive. 

She then stood eye to eye with him, phone stowed away in her pocket. 

He flashed a wide smile. “The police won’t help you. The heroes won’t either. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there. Like I said.”

“No.” She reminded him, “Get the fuck out of here.”

He shrugged. “So determined… Come on, let us have a chat. Just you and I. We’ll strike a deal, a deal you’ll like, I assure you.”

“You can say whatever the hell it is you want to say right here, Istic.” She informed him, raising her voice above the murmur of construction noise. A couple of workers turned their heads and started paying attention. “I’m not interested in keeping secrets.”

He laughed, then shrugged again. “You found my name! Good girl. How’d you do it?”

She flashed him an offended look, “You have a wiki page. I even asked around on Parahumans Online about you. You’re the Scoundrels’ intimidation guy, because your power only makes you strong against normal people. Against other capes, you’re dead meat.”

With a snide smile, Istic raised his eyebrows from beneath his sunglasses. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Shizuko didn’t actually read that last part anywhere, and she didn’t even care if it was true—she just wanted to bully him. Clearly he sat on a cloud of his own ego, and more than anything she wanted to yank him from it and send him plummeting. 

“What would you say then?” She asked, impatient, “You came all this way and fucked up this pile of steel beams for what? What did you want to discuss?”

Istic shrugged again. “Fine. One million dollars—just one. All your problems will be solved.”

“No.” She said, nearly cutting him off. “Fuck off. Don’t make me say it a third time.”

Istic shrugged yet again. “Have it your way but… our fee will only go up. I’ll see you soon, one more time.”

As he turned to leave, he made a show of stopping in his tracks, and pointing a finger in the air to signal that he just remembered something important. “Oh, I was going to say. I wish your mother a swift recovery.”

Shizuko watched him leave, fuming. Against his advice, she dialled 9-1-1 again, and reported everything that just happened, then called her mother. Saeka was still very exhausted from all the activity three days ago, but could spare a few words for her daughter. She was fine, nobody else had visited her.

Shizuko spent the rest of the workday trying to find a solution to the large amounts of rubber glue problem, all while feeling sick to her stomach. She had always been a fighter, and usually short of temper, but cognizant to not lash out at people who don’t deserve it, and even so, she was just barely holding it together, only able to speak in short bursts to her coworkers without letting her rage show.

Despite trying for the remainder of the day, she couldn’t manage to separate any equipment from the thick glue. No cop nor hero showed up to help, and she went home later than usual to find her posts online asking for advice in dealing with the superpowered gang had been removed. A deep hatred began to seethe within her. To temper the rising anger, she indulged in some whiskey from the seldom used liquor cabinet, then went to sleep. 

The next day, after rising with some coffee and feeding her mother, Shizuko drove straight to Seattle's PRT Headquarters. After demanding to be seen, she was interviewed by an officer, where she explained everything—Istic’s appearances, the racket scheme, even the strange doctor her mother mentioned—in as much detail as she could manage. The detective seemed to take her seriously, and bid her goodbye after the ordeal—a bid that Shizuko rejected. She demanded to talk to a cape—Swordsmith, Annihilare, hell even one of the Wards. Her request was politely declined, and after slamming her fist down on the table and finally shouting at the man, she was kindly asked to leave.

She stared at her reflection in her own car’s window afterward. Her long, somewhat wavy brown hair blew in the wind and battered against her face. She was only 26, the youngest graduate of her class; her face was still youthful—honestly too neotenous for her own comfort—yet it was marked by a tiredness different and more intense than any she’d experienced before, even from the back-to-back all-nighters she endured to get her college degrees. It was a coldness. She wondered if this is something all adults come to understand at some point, if this feeling was what marked the naive from the mature. She punched her window hard, without even thinking about it, and the window cracked. After freezing for a few moments in mortification, she finally opened the car door, and drove to work. 

The next week went by in a blur, to her. She had convinced herself that Istic was right after all—that nobody would help. Clearly their influence was deep, probably paying off politicians, probably running the whole damn city—who knows. She felt both helpless and wistfully angry. She began drinking herself to sleep nightly.

Her mother’s wave of fatigue had subsided, and she evidently felt better enough to start another ikebana. Shizuko had decided to offer her help in the endeavor one evening, hoping to find the rare quality family time as a distraction from the grim reality she faced.

“Are you doing ok?” Her mother asked while the two of them took to a tedious process of twisting small vines around a larger stem. 

Shizuko had been trying to keep her issues away from her mother, and trying to smile and act like her normal energetic self around her. She didn’t want to worry her, but she didn’t underestimate her mother’s intuition either—she suspected a question like this was coming, and decided beforehand that it’d be easier to tell the truth when the moment came.

“No.” Shizuko responded. She didn’t elaborate.

“Is someone giving you trouble?” She asked, with the sort of tone one would use when consoling a child.

Shizuko sighed, “You could say that.” 

“Is it that doctor?”

“No. I don’t know, actually. Maybe.”

“So it’s someone else?” Saeka looked at her daughter suspiciously, “A boy?”

“No! Aaugh… It’s serious… It’s…” Shizuko sighed deeply. “Fu- freaking… Supervillain goddamn gangsters are trying to get protection money from me for the bridge. I’ve tried asking for help but nobody listens. I think I’m just f-,” Despite herself, despite speaking to the one person she respects the most, she raised her voice, “I… Everybody’s in on it! We’re doomed! Fucking– It’s the same shit! Our home got destroyed by Leviathan and Yakuza, and look where we are now! Same fucking shit!”

Saeka attempted to embrace her in a hug, but she had become inconsolable. She had an urge to push her mother away, but tempered it by gently disengaging from her arms, stumbling a few feet away, and screaming into the corner of the room, where she squatted down until she was able to contain herself. 

After some silence from her sobs, Saeka spoke. “Are you worried they’d come for me?”

Still leaning against the room’s dusty corner, Shizuko told the truth through mumbly lips. “Yes.”

Saeka placed a gentle, tired hand on her daughter’s sulking shoulder. “Well, I’m not worried about you. I believe in you, Shizuko. Do what you can, and try not to worry about me in return, ok?”

No sleep found her that night. Something beyond anger bugged her, an anxiety that couldn’t be drowned away in booze. The next day, Shizuko returned home to find her home bereft of her mother. The only remaining trace of her the ikebana they worked on together: a heart-shaped frame of stems lovingly adorned with white lilies. She wanted to fly into a rage, break as many things as possible, but her anger manifested differently: it coalesced in her heart, and weighed her body down to catatonia. Hours later in the night, she hadn’t moved an inch. A flower landed on her head: a pink hydrangea, out of season. She looked up, and there was only ceiling. She believed she was going insane.

She stopped going to site visits. She had already been doing more work than she needed to, so it was professionally acceptable. But she also figured the project was doomed. There was one more reason for her reclusion, though: objects kept appearing near her. Sometimes on surfaces, sometimes forming mid-air and falling to the ground, one or two times a day, but enough that she didn’t want to risk the unwanted attention if it happened in public. These objects ranged from vases of flowers, to bento boxes, to gold bars, to handwritten letters. The letters seemed to be written by her mother, but it was mostly garbled phrases and apologies, sometimes in English, sometimes in Japanese; they had esoteric themes around leaving humanity, and certain strings of words like “the creator uncreated” would appear recurringly, layered over each other as if from a printing error. She didn’t know what to make of it. It didn’t make sense.

After some amount of time without stepping foot in the sun—maybe a few days, maybe a few weeks—a visitor knocked on the door. The nurses had already been dismissed when the missing person report was filed, and she hadn’t invited anyone to come. She approached the door with suspicion, concealing a long kitchen knife in her sleeve as she looked through the peephole to see none other than Istic, smiling with his hands behind his back.

She spoke up, finding her voice difficult to produce volume after being unused for so long. “What do you want?”

Istic raised his voice in turn to be heard through the closed door, “Just to have a chat. A friendly chat. Won’t you open the door?”

“I won’t.” Shizuko answered, “We can talk like this.”

Without warning, her mental capacity was diminished in an all-to-familiar way. Short term memories were temporarily erased, her context of the situation jumbled, and her impulsiveness heightened. Confused, not quite able to remember who she was talking to, but still feeling the anger bleeding over, she attacked wildly in a rage. When the spell of confusion ended, and she came to, she found her front door scratched up, splintered, and broken. Her kitchen knife had been embedded into the wood, and she picked up a nearby lamp and bludgeoned it until the knob broke off. She watched Istic gently open it, walk slowly inside, and sagely nod his head at her, as if approving.

As Shizuko stood still in awe from her own actions, Istic helped himself to sit in one of the living room chairs. He didn’t take his shoes off, which pissed her off enough to break her out of her shock. She did want to come to blows with him, but knew she didn’t have a chance—she was just human. She sat down in another chair facing him, but poised ready to jolt out if he tried anything at all.

“A few people react like that.” He said, sounding amused, “I’m not sure how it works… Some people, they are just angry, no? It’s pretty normal in this society, yes? For some, when they get a little confused, they just… fight, like the confusion removes a certain restraint. You didn’t do that before. What changed?”

“You.” She answered curtly.

“Me?” He acted offended, “We weren’t on good terms, but this isn’t like you. I thought you would be more… Well, maybe it is like you. You didn’t take our deal, so maybe you’re just stubborn. Selfish? You have a word for it—narcissist?”

She stayed silent, choosing not to fall for the taunt.

“But, I did think you cared more about your work.” Istic continued, “I’ve tried visiting you there, but couldn’t find you. None of the workers knew where you were either. This is strange. Why?”

“You know why.” She growled.

Istic shrugged. “I’m afraid I… really don’t.”

Another letter materialized between the two, and started gliding to the ground. Shizuko jumped from her chair immediately to grab it, but Istic acted quick enough with his power to confuse her before she could, causing her to stumble onto the ground instead. She flew into another rage, turning her own coffee table upside down and breaking a few vases before coming to and seeing Istic in the far corner of the room calmly reading the letter. With her mind completely sober of the confusion effect, she consciously walked to him, and threw a sucker punch to his gut. He didn’t use his power on her, instead just taking his time to cough and grab the part of his stomach that got hit. He laughed, then shrugged as he handed the paper to her. She wasted no time in reading it: the first coherent letter to appear like this.

“I think I understand now.” He said, still groaning from the hit. He went to pick up a chair that had fallen over in Shizuko’s half-conscious struggle, then sat on it. “We did not take her, no. Come, let’s talk.”

After reading it, then reading it again, a heavy anxiety layers over her rage. She chooses to stand as she responds. “What does this mean? What do you mean you understand?”

“To explain, I need to tell you about myself. Shizuko, I am speaking to you right now as myself, not as an extension of the Scoundrels. Get it? Fate has put us at odds, but, it is possible one day, we may become allies.

“I am from… very far away. A place you will never visit. We called it Tor Nav’roc. There was an animal native to this place, called the Vin’isk, a holy beast; it produced the blackest pigment you could ever see. So dark, it’s like there’s nothing there. The pigment was harvested harmlessly, and was considered very beautiful in our culture. The pigment was also an abundant source of energy, and the Vin’isk could only produce it in our lands. A war was fought over the Vin’isk, and in the end, Tor Nav’roc lost, many people died, many more were maimed. I was one of them. Then a strange woman wearing a hideous white robe gave me a potion in my dying breaths. It turned me into a monster. I became four-legged with an extra set of arms that were blades, and from then on, I could only ever see the future. My sight was always a few seconds ahead. I no longer lived in the present.”

He gave Shizuko a glance to gauge her reaction, then continued after seeing her remain stark still. “It may sound mighty, I was a slave to fate. It was as if my sight only showed me the most grim outcomes, and I was constantly fighting back, fighting for my life. I lived in fear, and could only react to that fear, and I became the monster myself. There was only violence, and I always won. I’m not sure how, but they managed to capture me, only to let me loose in this world—this strange world. A man you know as Snake showed me kindness. He tamed me, then locked my curse away. I owe him my life, so I pledged fealty to him, and he gave me another power, a more fitting power.”

Shizuko stared at him blankly. “What?”

He shrugged.

“But why stick around with some crooks instead of trying to fight back against that doctor!?” She shouted, “Why try to fucking take my money? What’s the point!?”

He shrugged again. “I would like to find the doctor again, and I’ve tried, but they’re more powerful than you know. They’ll destroy any plots to rise against them before you can even act on them. They might even know I’m telling you this right now, but they let it slide, because I’m telling you to give up on it. Why am I a Scoundrel? I’ll answer with another question. Why do you think this city is so safe?”

“What?” She answered, confused. She was aware that crime statistics were pretty low here, and that, for such a prominent city, the small number of only three cape groups including the PRT was rare and unusual. Despite the racketeering, she realized she hasn’t heard of any serious crimes these guys have committed, but figured they were just good at covering their tracks.

“It’s because there’s a balance.” Istic explained, “The Scoundrels take part in that balance, Snake helps uphold that balance, and I follow Snake. I believe in him, and I believe he is working for something much greater than these silly money games and power grabs. Perhaps it’s all only a front for the real games to come.”

A realization dawned on Shizuko. A goal crystalized in her mind. She began to shake with the realization of something she can finally do.

Istic smiled, seeing the marks understanding on Shizuko’s face. “We don’t kidnap anyone. We make money through… schemes like the one we’re doing on you, so that we don’t have to use uh, less moral methods. We don’t hurt innocents. I assure you, we had nothing to do with your mother. I’m sorry to hear about it.”

He paused, waiting for a comment that never came, “As promised… this is the last time I’ll ask you. I’ll respect your answer, but there will be consequences. I’m sure you understand… 10 million dollars, out of the pocket of the state, for the Scoundrel’s dutiful protection?”

Shizuko escaped her deep train of thought to answer clearly. “No. Maybe you’re content being controlled, but I’m not. I’ll never be. Do your worst.”

Istic shrugged before getting up from the chair and leaving through the broken door. He spoke the last words without turning his head. “Farewell. Perhaps our paths will align again some day.”

Shizuko ended up returning to work, and months later, there were no more incidents, no more vandalisms. Despite being confused from the unexpected hope, the project went on as normal. A year later, on the day it was scheduled to open to the public, it collapsed into the sea because of a hidden issue in the concrete’s chemical integrity. As she watched it turn to dust, she triggered. 

Months later, Shizuko sat in the Rain City Raiders hideout—just a basement dwelling in Capitol Hill—and remotely manipulated some of the various control beacons she placed around Seattle with her mind as she uploaded a video file to her cloud with a PC—her declaration of war. She reached out to her teammates with telepathy—her specialty as a cape. She could connect ‘systems’ on a level of complexity and latency that transcended wifi or radio by orders of magnitude. She could link her thoughts with anyone , really, all it took was a few minutes of sitting still with a clunky helmet-like device on their head, and a bit of concentration.

“I’m about to send the broadcast.” She said through abstract thoughts, “I want to make sure everyone’s ready before I do it. They might retaliate very quickly.”

“I told you not to do that while we’re all in the same room!” Needlepoint whined out loud, “It’s fucking freaky!”

“Nah, it’s cool as hell.” A voice rang into her mind: Dryad’s voice. 

Needlepoint threw her hands up and rolled her eyes in protest.

Shizuko turned around in her swivel chair and looked at the team of capes she somehow managed to gather: Dryad, Toss, Entripa, and Needlepoint—a plant controller, a teleporter, a weird sort of shaker, and a very weird blaster respectively. “I wasn’t looking.” She said outloud, “I didn’t know if one of you went to the bathroom while I was working or something.”

Toss, an ex-millitary guy with a thin buzzcut, anxiously teleported a coin back and forth between his fingers. He seemed kind of disengaged—he was the most recent member, and the only man in the group, and while not exactly isolated, he didn’t have the same sort of kinship as the rest of them. He trained his eyes on the coin he fidgetted with as he spoke with telepathy. “I think we’re all ready. Are you, Guide?”

That was the name she’d chosen for herself in this new life of hers: Guide. It was a reflection of the misanthropic mentality she’d developed: that no free will exists, that everyone on Earth is not only complicit in their own tyranny—they want to be controlled. If they wanted to be pawns, they may as well be hers. She didn’t even found the Rain City Raiders, she wouldn’t have come up with such a juvenile name first of all—that was Needlepoint’s idea. Guide joined it, then subtly made more and more shots until everyone else’s lack of initiative turned her into the de facto leader. It was too easy.

“Yeah, you haven’t fought like, in person yet, have you? You’ve only ever helped with info or the occasional robot swarm.” Entripa said with her brow curled in concern. She was nervously fidgeting as well, twisting her long, dark hair between her fingers, “What if they come right here ? Toss can get you away but what if they find you after and you’re totally separated from us?”

“It’s possible they know where our hideout is, and I have a few backup labs, but I can fight.” Guide assured them, “I’ve been working on some new tinkertech that I think’ll give me a chance in real combat. Toss, you already know where they are, but don’t teleport me away unless you absolutely need to. I want to be a part of this. In fact, it looks really good for us if I can prove I’m not a glass cannon.”

“Understood.” Toss confirmed.

Guide looked intently at Needlepoint and Dryad, who hadn’t given definite responses yet.

Needlepoint feigned a smirk of confidence. “I’m ready. Let ‘em try and take back their territory. It’s ours.”

Needlepoint—or Terry, her real name—was on the very masculine side of tomboy, hair cut as short as Toss' but dyed pink and red instead of his natural brown. Guide was jealous of her in some ways—the way Terry acted outwardly was a lot like the way that Shizuko felt inwardly, but she just couldn’t manage to bring it out, and instead the only thing that seeped through was a filtered, cold hate instead of a rambunctious fighting spirit. 

Guide accepted Needlepoint’s confirmation with a gentle nod, then looked to Dryad.

Dryad looked back. Her numerous freckles accented the determination in her eyes, almost managing to make her look innocent—naive with hope, like Shizuko once was.

Guide felt a bubbling in the telepathic bond. Was she trying to say something?

“Let’s do it.” Dryad said, out loud, “Let’s let them know what we’re fighting for.”

Guide broadcasted the video. Televisions and radios all over Seattle were forced to show an announcement by herself with the Raiders behind her, accusing the Scoundrels of evil, the Protectorate of corruption, and the SOPHISTs of coercion. They proclaimed that they would hold Capitol Hill as their free territory, and bid anyone who opposed them to fight them for it.

And come they did. 

The Raiders had an excellent track record so far, but had only ever been on the offensive, hitting hard on drug dens or intercepting arms trades, then getting out quick. Their powers lent very well to covert ‘raids’, fitting the name, which is why they didn’t give a specific location in the announcement to fight them fair and square—their best chance of winning was by catching them off guard, then ambushing them, just as they’ve always fought. But, they’ve still never fought on the defensive before, and have never fought to win , either. They were rightfully nervous, but had reason to believe they’d win: Toss and Entripa were practically impervious to any physical attack, Dryad was exceptionally versatile, Needlepoint’s power had an incredible untapped offensive capability she was anxious to use, Guide had her network of surveillance and traps, and—above all—they were more coordinated than any other team of capes could ever dream of, thanks to her mind-linking.

Things went fine at first. Guide was practically omniscient across the city thanks to the many cameras she mind-linked to herself, and found a contingent of Swordsman, Snake, Istic, some other various Scoundrels—some with powers evident by their heteromorphisms, some probably without powers—and, strangely enough, the Duplex twins. That was interesting—it meant they were teaming up with SOPHISTs. Had Best Dressed sent them, or were they acting on their own will? She didn’t know.

The Raiders converged on them in a condensed group, their stealth assisted by Guide’s surveillance and from the aura of silence that Entripa could produce around them. Both Dryad and Entripa had a range of around one city block with some caveats, so once they got just close enough, Needlepoint used her power to turn the lock of a nearby closed convenience store’s front door into hundreds of tiny, razor-sharp needles that shot out and embedded harmlessly into the sidewalk. Once they were comfortably hidden inside, Needlepoint peeked out of the window, got visual on the attacking capes, and turned their entire surroundings into thousands of needle-like projectiles that struck them with precision. The surprise attack only got them for a split second, though, before one of the Scoundrels exploded into a large ball, encompassing the roughly 15 people. The needles bounced off of the gelatin-like sphere. Still, Needlepoint had managed to disable some of them from piercing their pressure points, and the rest were pricked all over and pissed off. Needlepoint continued the assault anyway to no effect, probably just because she could. Dryad caused a nearby tree to grow steadily, which gave Needlepoint an essentially infinite stream of ammunition.

But, in holding their defense like this, they couldn’t attack either, and didn’t know where the Raiders were. They stood still. They talked to each other, which the Raiders couldn’t hear from their distance, but Guide picked it up from a nearby camera. She relayed it telepathically to her teammates.

“Just stay still.” Swordsman announced, “We wait ‘em out here. That bitch could kill us if she so much as felt like it.”

“Remind me, why are we supposed to wait?” Snake asked, his speech characteristically over-anunciated, “I remember there being a good reason, but can’t remember the reason .”

“I’m in the same boat.” Swordsmith replied, “We had a damn good reason, though. This sort o’ thing happens.”

Snake shrugged. “Gotta have faith.”

Needlepoint used telepathy to comment on the information. “They’re just waiting? Are they stupid?”

Guide was about to give her thoughts on their reasonings, that perhaps they’re waiting for a PRT response, when Needlepoint’s chest formed a gaping wound—instantly, as if her own perception of what happened was erased, as if time skipped.

The Raiders panicked immediately. Some of them were only teenagers, some had never actually seen someone die. They screamed—they were allowed to, Entripa’s power made it silent. She wasn’t completely dead at the time, though, so they tried stopping the bleeding, and Dryad even tried growing some herbal medicine. Toss teleported her to the hospital, but it was futile, and Guide knew it. 

Because the stream of needles ceased, the Scoundrels escaped their defense bubble, and headed straight for the Raiders. They seemed to suddenly know exactly where they were, and Guide had no idea how.

Guide warned her team telepathically. Most of them got ready to fight. Dryad was still crying.

The Scoundrels surrounded the store, and the ones with guns opened fire. The bullets lost energy and fell to the ground before they could even break windows—Entripa’s defenses at work. On top of that, they were close enough to her that her power entropied the energy of even sound, causing them to be effectively unable to talk to each other and communicate.

After they confirmed Entripa was present, most of the Scoundrels stayed behind while Swordsman and just one of the Duplexes broke in. Entripa could dissipate the energy of pretty much anything—sound, bullets—but nothing living. Despite being furthest from the door, she was essentially powerless as the two made a beeline for her. Toss tried to stop them by teleporting some racks and window panes in their way, then teleporting Guide and Dryad to stand by Entripa and protect her. He teleported anything he could touch to allow himself an easy path to group up with the rest of the Raiders, while also positioning the furniture to block off Swordsman and Duplex.

Toss spoke with telepathy, cutting through the silence, “We win this by staying together.”

Guide remembered she was supposed to lead, and added to his thoughts. “He’s right. If any one of us goes down, we’re all done for. Can you use your plants much, Dryad?”

“Not any of the big ones, it’d crush us.” She replied, “Just our living armor. I’ll try to make it grow in strategic ways when I can.”

Suddenly, all four remaining raiders became utterly confused, causing an automatic telepathic voice to remind them to stand still and defend. After the confusion faded, they saw that one of the grantees with a power that made solid objects turn liquidy worked his magic on the impromptu barricades, allowing Duplex and Swordsmith to awkwardly splash through them. Swordsman tried unsheathing, but Entripa caused its energy to be depleted which meant the friction between the blade and the scabbard was all that remained. He was unable to get it out. Guide took the opportunity to test her new piece of tinkertech: she had implanted electrodes throughout her body that react instantly to her impulses and reflexes, allowing her to move before she even knew she wanted to, and bringing her reaction time down to the tens of milliseconds. She brandished her fists, and began fighting Swordsman hand-to-hand.

Duplex, on the other hand, was able to maneuver his body just fine. He leapt to tackle Entripa, and he succeeded despite Toss tapping him mid-air. Through telepathy, Toss' confusion was felt by the rest of the team. He intended to teleport Duplex away, but nothing happened.

Duplex continued to hold Entripa in a grapple. After his power failed, Toss resorted to physical violence to try and get him off, but the twin didn’t even flinch. Around two seconds later, Duplex was shoved upwards hard by some invisible force, and he fell back onto the ground reeling and coughing. Through Toss' deduction that had been telepathically communicated, he believed Duplex had sent the teleportation attempt to the other Duplex, which was teleported high into the air, and then the damage was distributed evenly to both of them when he hit the ground. As the beaten but still heavy Duplex laid on top of Entripa, the silence abruptly ended. Snake had been touching the other Duplex.

Meanwhile, Guide had honestly been kicking Swordsman’s ass. In just a few seconds, she’d reacted to his punch, grabbed his arm, and tripped him judo-style. He fell straight on his back, where Guide then kicked him in the face hard enough to cause something in his mouth to bleed fast. But as soon as Entripa’s power waned, he quick-drawed his sword, and despite still being prone, likely would have cut her leg off if Dryad wasn’t quick enough to make Guide’s living, wooden chest-plate to grow a limb and parry the blade by wedging it inside of the thick wood. When he kicked himself to his feet, Dryad herself foolishly leapt into Guide’s aid to push Swordsman away. She lost some fingers.

The two women felt a hand touch both of them, and they were suddenly in park, somewhere far away. Toss must have teleported them. Guide specifically told him not to do this, and she could have reminded him of that fact with a simple thought, but decided not to. They both knew the fight had already been finished.

“We’ll find her. I promise.” Erin ‘spoke’ in a candid telepathic message while clasping Shizuko’s hands.

Shizuko had spilled everything to her—her mother’s disappearance, the strange doctor, Istic’s story, and the real source of the mysterious vases of flowers that magically appeared around her sometimes. She told her about the experiments they’ve been doing on her mother, and why she needed to be freed. She hadn’t told anyone else before, not since she triggered at least. She didn’t trust the Raiders enough, so she told them the occasional matter-creation was a weird side effect of her power, and only told them the half-truth about her trigger event to make her cause of ending corruption in Seattle seem just. But, that too was only a farce so that she could gain influence in the greater cape scene—Shizuko told Erin this too.

Over the months subsequent to the Raider’s heavy loss, her relationship with Dryad grew into something she never expected. After losing the Raiders, she came to feel sick with herself. She had essentially used them as cannon-fodder in a suicide mission, and the regret drove her to live more in the moment, and open up more to Erin—Dryad. She had a sort of relationship with Toss, but that was more exploratory than anything, and borderline pure manipulation. Erin was different. She reminded her of herself, a version of herself with more hope, more love. And she managed to forgive her.

Erin nodded her head, weighing the facts in her mind—Shizuko could notice the subtle ‘tugs’ her passive thoughts had in their telepathic connection. “So, you want to pretend to be some ideologically motivated vigilante/villain group, so that you can pursue your real goal of bringing them to justice without them thinking that that’s what you’re doing?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Shizuko mumbled with her thoughts, "Sounds kind of surface-level when you say it like that, though”

“I have a great idea!” Erin announced with a smile, still telepathically, “I control plants, why don’t we pose as ecoterrorists? Lots of people hate those, and capes won’t really consider us a direct threat to them, and we might even do some good while we’re screwing around putting up the villain act.”

Shizuko shrugged as she played with the mechanical prosthetic fingers she made for Erin. “Makes sense. My power would put me a little out of place, but it makes sense. What about a name? Something better than ‘Rain City Raiders’, and something controversial… what’d kick up a storm?”

[4:00 PM, Monday, 03/05/2007]

Guide paces impatiently inside the dense tangle of jungle trees Dryad formed just under the roof of the football stadium. She’s distributed her processing across a few datacenters, so she has leeway to allow her mind to wander and think about her past, about how she got to this point, and to remind her what it’s all for. The Rain City Raiders happened nearly four years ago. She still communes telepathically with Travis and Camila sometimes—previously Toss and Entripa—but they’re both shadows of their former selves: defeated, imprisoned, and stripped of their power. God willing, she’ll avenge them. Both Guide and Dryad, though, are so much more powerful than they used to be. They’re capable of so much together. The plan had always been to gain some amount of power over Seattle, then to spread that influence as far as she could until she had enough power to rival Cauldron. Together, they engineered a way to literally control people. If they could manage to spread the control seeds across Seattle, take control of their capes, then their victory would be all but assured. Her mother is being held in another dimension, as her letters have since revealed, but with exponential growth, she’ll be sure to find control over a parahuman who can help with that. And as soon as they win, she’ll remotely activate a pulse that renders all control seeds obsolete—she doesn’t want to be a tyrant, after all.

She sees through the many eyes of her drones. Ice Age is burning alive, possibly dead—a fact that doesn’t really bother her. Truthfully, she hates him. A while ago he came to them out of nowhere, fully on board with the ecoterrorism thing, and gave them unsolicited help with a publicity stunt about destroying oil rigs. His power was so flashy and so strong that they just let him join the group, but he was never in on the real goal. She resents him for all of the unnecessary deaths he’s caused today. What a waste.

She sees a number of capes are able to resist her swarm of drones: the one that received Toss' stolen power, the breaker that can become lightning, the dead one, the one with the spiderweb theme, and the new kid—the sound tinker. Troublesome, but she has some cavalry that’ll be here shortly. She’ll just keep them busy with death visions, using the power of the one that showed her the vision of her mother’s dying corpse. She hadn’t really gotten to use that ‘control serum’ on a cape yet, and was pleased to see that the rote body control also gave her access to his power.

She wonders what her specialty as a tinker really is. Is it really about connecting processing systems and thoughts, or is it about controlling those systems? It seemed that the scope of her power grew and grew the more she explored it. She’s gone from simple telepathy body control and self-replicating, intelligent machines. Where will it take her, she wonders?

Oh, looks like one of them got shot. Just a big hole opened up in his stomach, exactly like what happened to Needlepoint. Guide doesn’t know why that mysterious force is helping her, but she certainly welcomes it.

Then, a confusion takes hold of her, and she shunts off her consciousness completely to her datacenters. What is it this time? Istic? She thought she already got rid of him. Something else? Vesper’s power?

Through a strange out-of-body experience, she watches herself have a vision. Not a death vision, but a vision of being someone else—some thing else. She understands all of it yet none of it. A pair of entities on cosmic scales, manipulating and experimenting on the humans of Earth—ants, comparatively. Despite being alien to her, she thinks she understands how the entity feels. It haunts her. After the vision ends a split second later, she returns some of her consciousness to her own mind, and creates a copy of the vision in an external storage—could be a clue.

All of her drones currently in the stadium lose altitude, and become grounded. Unfortunate. Why? Whose power? The sound tinker is also up again, for some reason, is it him? He managed the same effect around him before, just smaller—did he manage to make it bigger?

Suddenly, Guide’s horizon for victory changes. Now that the threat of her drones is mostly gone, she needs to get on the move and try to get away from whatever effect is causing this. There’s helicopters above, so the best choice is to try to sneak under the roof, then get to the ground. 

She tells Dryad exactly what to do telepathically, and she obeys dutifully. The thought has crossed her mind that she could likely just ask Erin to give her root control over her body, but decided it’s more fun this way. She doesn’t want to rely on her power for everything .

Giant pods of fruit grow around the two of them and Vesper, the trunks of wood they’re attached to grow rapidly enough to move as fast as a car, and they make their escape. Though in separate pods, Guide’s thoughts mingle with Dryad’s to coordinate the trajectories of themselves and the decoys to avoid the bars of lasers that keep appearing. The dance of consciousness is something both of them have come to very much enjoy—it’s a level of ‘closeness’ no-one else on earth could possibly understand, their egos intertwined, their thoughts one and unabated.

Trajectory. It feels familiar. The feeling of not quite love but something else with her partner—her ‘counterpart’—and the broadcasts, communicating something beyond speech… She really is like them. Is that a good thing? Is she alien? Has her mind become like her mother’s body—molded and replaced by the things she’s created? She recalls the death vision Vesper showed her. It didn’t make sense; she would never kill herself. A strange, foreign emotion peaks above the ridge of her consciousness. She focuses on it, trying to understand it, and simultaneously fearing it. Like cognitohazard, like a black hole, it swallows her.

When she breaks out of the spell, her motion comes to a halt. The pod isn’t moving, the tree isn’t growing. She reaches out.

Connection terminated.

Chapter Text

My mother died when I was very young. I never really knew her, and she existed to me only through vague memories I could only barely form as an infant when she was still healthy. The toll it took on her life was slow, though. I have a much clearer image of her in a hospital bed than anywhere else. She died finally when I was 5 years old. The cause: a rare form of cancer; treatable, but not exactly curable. Of course, I didn’t understand any of that at the time, and especially didn’t understand why it being hereditary was a big deal. I didn’t even understand the significance of death. I cried and cried, but only because my dad was crying. To me, it didn’t feel like I had lost anything.

My dad’s name was Zhong, and my mom’s name was Lihua, a fact I clung to and reminded myself of for the years following her passing. After she died, my father started acting… strange. Well, he seemed to have taken the grief in a very normal way at first. He took a few months off from work to mourn, fell into a depression, then slowly picked his life back up and happened into an equilibrium. Except, it’s like he pretended nothing ever happened afterward. As I grew up, I’d ask questions about my late mother, and he just wouldn’t answer. He’d shut me down, and I quickly learned that if I tried to push for answers, he’d scream at me and punish me in some way for disrespecting him. What’s weirder is that he’d occasionally call me by her name. Eventually I came to accept the lie that I just never had a mom to begin with. What else could I do?

Daddy owned a tech manufacturing business, and we were pretty wealthy, lived very well, had maids, wanted little. Life was fine, anyway. We had moved to the USA for the sake of mom’s treatment, but stayed afterward anyway. I’d spent my early childhood here, made friends, and liked it here. Dad could still run his business from afar, and even strike deals with America’s tech giants more easily this way, all in the same time zone. We stayed there until I turned 13. That’s when my cancer was discovered.

It was earlier than it was supposed to be. In the clinic room where we were informed, I grappled with the fact that I’ll never become an adult, that all this work getting good grades in school would have been for nothing, and even felt sorry for all the work Dad put into his company, not having any heirs to carry it on. Through tears, I looked at him in the hospital chair, and found his face expressionless, inscrutable. I can hardly describe it, but it made me feel true fear. Somehow there is a fear beyond the mortal panic I had just felt, and it was this: the fear of the unknown. He was planning something, I just knew it. I could feel it. He was hiding something insidious.

Later that day, he announced that we’d be returning to China, to stay in my childhood home in Shenzhen. It was hardly my home, I only lived there until I was three years old. Obviously I didn’t want to go—I wanted to stay with my friends, spend my last years where I’ve spent the rest of my life—but at this point, I knew better than to try to rebel against him. Maybe I could have run away, but he’d find me. He’d use whatever method necessary to get what he wants. There’s not much you can do against money like that. 

I started treatment, and over the course of the year, he foisted a bunch of hobbies on me. While I was struggling with loneliness in a country I only barely knew the language of, all Dad did to help was hire calligraphy instructors, piano teachers, and arrange mahjong nights. When I was still healthy enough to move around well, he made me go to tennis lessons. I might have even enjoyed these things in any other circumstance, but something about it just felt wrong. He started dictating my wardrobe, too, dressing me in these expensive, heavy traditional clothes I didn’t appreciate. It was like he was shaping me into someone else. 

Eventually, I became bed-ridden, just like my mother. The activities dwindled as I was able to participate less and less. Even lifting a brush for calligraphy eventually became too much. I spent most of my time reading, and I was getting better at the Mandarin skills I had lost from so much time in the States. At some point, after I figured I had nothing else to lose, I turned to my father, who was sitting in a chair, leaning against my bed at the time, and asked him a question.

“Dad, can you please, please tell me about Mom?” I asked.

He lazily shot up and inhaled, as if waking up from a nap, and looked at me in a daze. He held a blank expression for some uncomfortable amount of time, then finally nodded. He pulled a worn piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and showed it to me. I looked at it in horror as he explained.

“What is there to say… She was a lovely woman. I loved her with all my heart. Just like I love you, Mei. How…” He stammered, “How do you explain what someone was like? A person … is so complex. So many… pieces of personality. Where do you even begin?”

She looked exactly like me. In fact, I was wearing her clothes. He even had hair stylists pretty my hair up into exactly the style she wore in that photograph he was showing me just then. When was that even taken? How old was she?

“What sort of hobbies did she have?” I asked, “Did she play mahjong? Did she play piano?”

His eyes shifted from the photograph to me, and held me in a stare. He was contemplating something. Eventually he pulled something else out of his pocket: a thin vial, full of some sparkling, crystalline fluid that looked almost like a jewel.

“I almost forgot.” He said, “The doctor wanted you to have this medicine tonight. Thank you for waking me.”

He was lying. I knew it. It was obvious. His voice was mechanical and shaky, just as shaky as his hand was while he gripped the strange glass.

“Ok.” I said.

I drank it.

I don’t know whether or not to call it the biggest mistake of my life. Even if I ran away before he could take me back to China, the cancer would have still eaten me alive. One thing’s clear: I’d be dead if it played out any other way. Did I even have a choice? I’m only alive because of that vial, but not in a state worth living. 

There’s no way to really describe pain. People can use numbers, but it doesn’t really describe the whole picture. I was existing at around what I would have called a 7 out of 10 at all times at that point. Using that as a benchmark, the transformation that that vial caused sent me to 70. It’s like my consciousness was expanded only for the purpose of allowing me to experience more pain that should have been possible at one time. I don’t think normal humans can even comprehend it. That was the last sensation I ever felt. In the moment, though, the total disappearance of all pain was a relief. I smiled and laughed as the sheets of my bed fell through me, but the happiness was short-lived. I found myself floating on nothing. I could see through my hands. 

Dad looked at me with some mix of joy and curiosity. “Mei!” He called, getting up from the chair he sat on, “How do you feel?”

He tried touching me, but his hand passed through my body. I wanted to get up from the bed in what would have been the first time in nearly a month, but as I willed it, my body only rotated until I was looking at my dad upright. My legs phased through the sheets.

I figuratively looked straight through him, and he literally looked straight through me. 

“Mei,” he spoke with excitement, “This must be your power! Come, turn it off. Are you cured!? We must have the doctor see you right away!”

“I can’t.” I told him. “I can’t turn it off. This is just how I am now.”

Of course, I didn’t know that for sure at the time. It turned out to be true, but I only said that to spite him. 

He stammered helplessly, and I floated away through the wall, then another, then another, until I found myself outside in the moonlight. I just kept moving. I followed a road to Shenzhen, then Hong Kong, then floated across the whole Pacific ocean. I just kept going in the same direction. The sun rose and set more times than I cared to count. My mother’s clothes turned into a ghost along with me, and I discarded them somewhere in the great blue ocean, permanently resigning me to the pajamas I wore underneath at the time of my transformation. I was done pretending to be someone else, someone who was already dead.

—

After I relinquish control of Yegg’s dead body, it plops down in a morbid cuddle pile next to Snake’s. Finally, for the first time in over 24 hours, I’m done inhabiting gross, smelly dead bodies. Best Dressed is letting me use the walk-in freezer at his hotel to store them, and I was honestly expecting it to be full of other bodies already, but it seems to just be totally empty instead. Maybe it was actually full of food, but he moved it to make room for me? Who knows.

I phase through the locked door only to be surprised by Best Dressed himself, about to knock on it with his knuckles. How polite of him. His outfit of the hour is a take on night robes, tailored to look fancy and presentable, with a super long night cap that twirls around him in a spiral. He must be tired— it’s, what, 2 AM? I first spoke with him way early in the morning yesterday, and he’s been nonstop working through the whole Green Party disaster since, and still is. Maybe I could ask him if he had food or bodies in here? Maybe he’ll find it funny? Nah…

“Good evening, Mei.” He greets me with a flourishing bow, not affording a hint of exhaustion, “It would appear that you have a guest.”

“A guest?” I ask, curious, “Who?”

He gives me a sympathetic look. “He claims to be your father. It seems they’ve followed through on Veil’s threats.”

Anxiety takes me. I don’t have a stomach to get butterflies in, but the vague feelings persist in this ghostly existence I’ve come to know. But the anxiety quickly turns to determination. I told myself I would confront these things. I told Veil I was done hiding. I’ll prove it.

I make a show of rolling my eyes for the sake of my own confidence. “Fine. I’ll go talk to him. Is he in the lobby?”

He nods. “That very place… I can tell him to leave. He told me he would if you don’t want to see him.”

Weird. I guess he doesn’t want to pick a fight with the SOHPHISTs, or he’s playing up the estranged father act.

“It’s fine.” I assure him, “I’ll go talk to him.”

I float at a diagonal through the hall, and phase through some walls and doors to beeline straight for the hotel lobby. He notices me right away when I phase through the wall, and leverages his ornate cane to stand up from the chair he was waiting in. He gives me an apologetic look.

“Mei…” He speaks with a low, quiet voice, “How… have you been?”

“Why are you here?” I press him, “How did you even get here so fast? This is an active quarantine site. Did you bribe your way in?”

He shakes his head. “I came as soon as I heard. I happened to be in the country… I’ve been looking for you. You… haven’t changed at all.”

“I haven’t.”

A long silence hangs. 

“I’m sorry.” He tells me. Tears follow.

He tosses the cane aside and walks towards me, arms stretching out as if he’s going to hug me. I don’t try to avoid it, in fact, I float suspended in perfect stillness. I’m so conflicted, I don’t even know what to think right now, but even if I wanted to accept the hug, I couldn’t. I’m sure he knows this already anyway. Why is he even trying h–

Contact.

Something touches me. Something affects me. How? Sometimes really niche powers can move me or stun me, but touch me? Has that ever happened before?

My dad envelopes me in a hug. A real hug. Not one of those pretend-hugs I’ve given Charles in the past. He’s really, genuinely touching me. My eyes widen in disbelief, my body goes ironically catatonic. Dad, on the other hand, openly weeps.

After moments, maybe minutes of the sound of sobbing, I eventually regain my grip on reality. “How?” I ask, my voice sounding raw, “How? Dad, are you…?”

He pulls away from the hug to face me, before fixing his rectangular glasses that became skewed from the embrace. “Yes… It took a fortune. I sold the company. I had to make sure it was exactly the right one. And it works.” He laughs slightly, then uses his power as a demonstration. 

All of our surroundings turn a strange transparent bluish hue, just like me. I float down, and I can touch the floor. Dad stays the same, not see-through at all, but is still able to touch me.

“It works!” He remarks again, with incredible joy. “I can… make objects around me ghostly, and no-one else can touch them, only I can. I told them to get me the same stuff you had… and it works!”

“You did this for me?”

He pats my head. “Of course, Mei. It’s all for you. I love you.”

Finally, I start to cry. Immaterial tears trickle onto his coat, and soak into it. My composure vanishes, and I break down in a sobbing overflow of raw regret. “I love you too, Dad.” I say, gasping for air.

He holds me tight for another few minutes as my tears vent some of the frustrations I’ve harbored for over two years.

After I’ve calmed down, he laughs nervously, and shrugs. “What shall we do?” He asks, “I… I don’t know what to do with myself now. I sold my fortune, risked it all just to get here to you now. What do you want? Tell me. Have you been going to school? We can try to get you a normal life.”

I shake my head, and wipe away my tears. “I… no. There’s still some things I need to do. There’s someone else I need to save. And… this is such an incredible thing you’ve done for me, but I can’t touch anyone else, can I? Only you, or whatever you let me touch right? That’s… not what I want, still.”

He frowns.

“The guys at this hotel… the SOPHISTs; they have a plan.” I explain, “They can fix me, for real and for good. If you need something to do, then let’s work together. Be a cape with me. Help people”

He nods. “Alright.”

Chapter Text

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♦ Topic: Seattle Quarantine Containment Thread
In: Boards ► Places ► America ► Seattle Discussion (Public Board)
OrcBread (Original Poster) (Moderator)
Posted On Mar 5th 2007:
There's been a *lot* of disparate threads in the last thirty minutes all parroting the same questions and information. All general conversations about the emerging quarantine situation in Seattle should be here from now on. If you have a question, refer to the following FAQ to see if it's been answered already.

Q: What's going on?
A: The Seattle Metro Area including Kirkland, Bellevue, Vashon Island, and part of Bainbridge Island, have been placed in a sudden Quarantine by the PRT using Veil's power in response to a Class-A threat.

Q: Who's Veil? What does her power do? What was that weird shimmer earlier?
A: Veil is a member of the Seattle Protectorate. She can create forcefield domes that allow for a one-way only entry or exit. She placed a dome around the entire city preventing anyone and anything from leaving. There are also law enforcement and PRT personnel maintaining the perimeter of the quarantine.

Q: What is the threat? Am I in danger?
A: We don't know. The PRT does not seem to be willing to release any further statements to the public. They have placed a 24 hour curfew on the area, and all citizens are to remain indoors and away from windows.

Q: How long will this last? What if I run out of food?
A: PRT sources have said that they remain hopeful it will not last more than a day, but that law enforcement officers will deliver necessary supplies to homes on an as-needed basis if it continues. Veil's power allows for things to enter, but not exit, which means that Seattle will continue to receive shipments if it comes to that.

Q: How do I evacuate?
A: You can't. We just have to wait for it to be over.

Edit as of 03/06/2007:

The PRT has released a statement saying they have identified the threat as tinker-made self-replicating robots created by the villain known as Guide, who has since been caught and contained. The robots themselves are still at large, though, so the quarantine is still in effect, and citizens are urged to stay indoors for your safety.

This is a very harrowing experience for all of us. Please remember to be nice to each other.

(Showing page 1 of 17)

►FriezanDeez (Banned)
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
Can't have shit in seattle

►Colgoat
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
This is insane. Absolutely no warning, now we're stuck in the area while some nebulous class-**A** threat is on the loose!? I know this city has some problems but this is a disaster. My kids are scared out of their minds and I don't even know what to tell them. The fact that the PRT can invoke this sort of emergency power whenever they want is dangerous to our democracy.

►RattyRotini
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
The shimmer was incredible though. Don't know how to describe it but it's was like when put your hand through a really smooth stream of water but with your whole body. My first time ever really seeing a cape's power, let alone feeling it. Seems pretty much everyone else felt it too? Pretty awesome.

►Snorno7
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
Already it's been such an active week. There's been like 3 or 4 other cape incidents these past few days, and a new cape on the scene too. Coincidence?

►#1YeggFan (Wiki Warrior)
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
I just hope we get to see some fights. All the other ones this week have been behind closed doors or against unpowered regulars. Surely this time we'll get to see something flashy. Say what you want but it's better to enjoy a show than to just be scared and die.

►20WildHogs
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
Finally I get to use my fallout bunker!! Got flooded when Leviathan came but works fine now!

►Gas_Giant
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
I don't even live here, I just drove in yesterday to see the tulips and cherry blossoms, now I'm stuck here and bound to my hotel room. At least I'm staying in Hotel Sophist (of course I am, we're all cape geeks) so I'm feeling pretty safe with all the parahumans here.

►ForlornLeftGlove (Veteran Member)
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
I get that we don't really know what's happening, but what are the leading theories on what might be happening? Any capes or cape wives know anything?

► Yegg (Verified Cape)
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
They're not gonna comment cuz they don't know shit. Just had a meeting with most capes in town and good news is we're all working together. Basically some of their thinkers sounded the alarm way in advance this time and now everyone's up in arms trying to figure out what it is they should be worrying about. It's a little bit fishy to me too. Shit's fucked up for sure.

\@#1YeggFan We're all on detective duty right now but I'll be as flashy as I can help it!

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(Showing page 8 of 17)

►CoolGuy87
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
\@Gas_Giant How is Hotel Sophist? I've never been since I don't really feel like spending money on a hotel when I live here, but I hear it's a great place for cape geeks

►Gas_Giant
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
\@CoolGuy87 It's pretty nice! There's some upscale options but also some normal 3-star accommodations which is where I'm staying. Pretty much it's a tourist trap for cape geeks who want to meet parahumans and Case-53s up close. All the employees are parahumans and there's always some in the gym or the cafe and such. And most of them are really friendly! It's a really neat experience I think, you just have to have an open mind and respect

►All4Echoes
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
So basically they subsidize the existence of Case-53s with money from cape-geek tourism? I guess they benefit from it but it has like, 'freak show' vibes, doesn't it? Like paying admission to a zoo?

►mrowm (SOPHIST)
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
\@All4Echoes I'm not horribly offended by it. We're special, we're weird, of course people find us interesting. And the people who pay money to come here pretty much have to be open minded.

Our uniqueness is a gift, and that applies to everyone, not just people with powers. I just think it's great that Best Dressed made this institution where I can live a peaceful life.

►Cyskix
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
Guys Yegg just drove a motorcycle over my 4th story apartment window?? And then got launched at Ice Age in the middle of the frozen sound? Caught it on video only because Best Dressed was literally flying in the air just before.
[VIDEO EMBED]
I think he goes into the hole that he makes with his power at the end?

►#1YeggFan (Wiki Warrior)
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
MY GOAT!!!!

► Yegg (Verified Cape)
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
😎

►Cyskix
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
And he posts right after???

►SlowSloth
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
LEGENDARY

►ForlornLeftGlove (Veteran Member)
Replied On Mar 5th 2007:
So they're fighting Ice Age? What, is he going to try to freeze the ocean again? Is Green Party up to something?

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(Showing page 16 of 17)

►OrcBread (Original Poster) (Moderator)
Replied On Mar 6th 2007:
Some important info has emerged, and I've updated the thread header with the most important of it. Basically it seems that they've identified a threat, are dealing with it, and expect everything to go back to normal in one or two days. PRT sources say the threat was a self-replicator created by Green Party's Guide, but they assure everyone that it is under control. Though the killer robots only appear to be targeting capes, they still present a potent danger to everyone, so the curfew is still in effect.

The Green Party has been defeated. The PRT reports that Ice Age and Dryad are dead, and Guide is in custody. Yegg was unfortunately killed in the battle that took place in the football stadium yesterday afternoon, but we are lucky he was the only cape casualty on our side. Many civilians have also died as a result of Ice Age's flames. Please be respectful.

►CoolGuy87
Replied On Mar 6th 2007:
The Ecosocialist party also just released a statement saying that they still do not affiliate with the villain group that shares their former name. lol [NEWS ARTICLE LINK]

►#1YeggFan (Wiki Warrior)
Replied On Mar 6th 2007:
...

►RattyRotini
Replied On Mar 6th 2007:
Eidolon is here. Saw one of the drones outside, then saw him fly around like a 90 degree corner at full speed, then something sort of glowed around him and the drone sparked and fell down, then he flew away just as fast as he came. Super surreal, it was so quick i would have missed it if I blinked. I guess he's hunting down the robots?

►ezdeezy
Replied On Mar 6th 2007:
Eidolon is here??? Damn, I guess this really is a big deal

►Agonizer (Verified Cape)
Replied On Mar 6th 2007:
Yeah the rest of us don't have a lot of work to do now. The tinkers have a lot of work to do actually but when Eidolon comes everyone else just sort of sucks at their job in comparison. Which is fine by me I'm tired as hell. We're supposed to be ready for more surprises but like the truce is still in effect so not like anything can really happen.

Sucks what happened to Yegg :/ i mean i was technically supposed to catch him and arrest him and stuff for burgling and stuff (allegedly) but like he's so chill i never really wanted to. Shame to see him go like this.

►ForlornLeftGlove (Veteran Member)
Replied On Mar 6th 2007:
\@Agonizer What happened? Can you tell us about what happened on the football field?

►Agonizer (Verified Cape)
Replied On Mar 6th 2007:
\@ForlornLeftGlove Big battle, all the capes in the city Vs. the three Green Party capes. I can't tell you about what happened because I wasn't there for most of it. Honestly don't know what happened to Yegg sorry. I'm told it was a surprisingly close battle though.

►Colgoat
Replied On Mar 6th 2007:
Sorry but I remain skeptical. We're sitting ducks out here scared and anxious and we're still being fed information through a goddamn straw. I know there's more to it than this. Where's the press? Why are we supposed to just believe everything these guys tell us? Just because they have powers? There's NO WAY the "killer robots" are the only thing going on here. There were 16 MASS SHOOTINGS IN JUST 7 DAYS!!! ARE WE GOING TO FORGET ABOUT THAT? WAKE UP EVERYONE!

►Snorno7
Replied On Mar 6th 2007:
I did hear something about Swordsmith going crazy or something? Went and attacked one of his own? What's up with that? And how did just three capes really stand up to... the whole city's worth of capes? It IS kind of weird. Some sort of larger conspiracy isn't really that unreasonable to suspect.

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♦ Private Messages:
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From Kiitybox *New Message*: Hii I hope you're doing well ^_^ I'm just a big fan and I know you're busy prob . . .

From LbhXabjJub *New Message*: 47°39'43.7"N 122°14'53.0"W 19-02-2007 02:35 UTC

From Nods *New Message*: Hey so I can't go to my hotel reservation because of the quarantine and can't get a refund on . . .

To Yegg: Take him to Lumen Field. I'll work with the protectorate and everyone else to ensure your safety.

From Ashraf1 *New Message*: Hello. I am a parahuman trying to live a life of nonviolence. I request financial aid to ma. . .

From Pestilence *New Message*: dude why are you so fruity

♦ User details: LbhXabjJub:

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♦ Private Messages from LbhXabjJub:

LbhXabjJub *New Message*: 47°39'43.7"N 122°14'53.0"W 19-02-2007 02:35 UTC ► Delete message: Yes or No?

Message deleted from your inbox.

Chapter Text

There was a small interval of peace in the evening following the big climactic stadium battle with Green Party. Ice Age and Dryad were dead, and Guide was apprehended and her power stolen, so all the capes just sort of cautiously went their separate ways, but still remaining in the effect of the truce because of the ongoing biohazard. Guide’s drones had all fallen or disappeared when Ghost-Snake took her power, so it seemed like maybe something about her losing her active tinker power made her unable to control them, but apparently not. In the middle of the night, even more drones started appearing out of the woodwork and relentlessly attacking capes—just capes. Apparently some of the PRT’s brightest minds decided the best way to deal with this would be to group every cape in the city into one place, and shoot down or EMP anything that comes near. That’s how I ended up where I am now, back in the underground bunker surrounded by some of the most powerful heroes and criminals on the west coast without any internet or cell signal.

The ones on the other side of the law have mostly kept to themselves so far, and thankfully this elaborate bunker seems to have an infinite amount of extra rooms, so everyone gets as much privacy as they need. The guys at the PRT even gave us the furniture for a little kitchenette, some couches, and enough beds for everyone. They also gave us some books and TVs with DVD players for entertainment, which I haven’t had much of a use for, since I’ve been in the impromptu lab trying to make a better, more precise EMP cannon so that we can access the outside world again sooner. Swordsmith is still hospitalized, so the only tinker I need to share the lab with is… Hindenburg. He’s talented, he made my ‘Shockwave Therapy’ cure for the dendrosis obsolete with some sort of really specific herbicide that the government is releasing into the air and water supply. But he is messy. The blimp disaster comparison is no joke, I swear that man has caused way too many explosions in the last 12 hours for it to be an accident, and every time it’s something different. Made the place smell like literal ass one time and then somehow made the air “fizzy” to fix it (his words), which got everything wet from the bubbles, so he made a desiccant to fix it… and so on. It’s not fun—it’s like he’s totally without order.

While the two of us are focusing on our respective projects on opposite sides of the lab, Thunderstep and Agonizer open the door and walk in. Their arrival isn’t exactly sudden—they don’t swing open the door or anything—but Hindenburg gets startled nonetheless and ends up dropping his beaker on the floor, where it shatters. The two wards freeze in place. I brace myself for another explosion or something, but the only sound I hear following up the annoying crinkling of glass is a disappointed groan.

Curious, I crane my head to get a good look of his work station. “So… what’d ya drop this time?” I ask passive-aggressively.

“Aghh… I dropped nothing!” He replies, sounding way more upset than ‘dropping nothing’ would typically warrant.

“...You dropped… nothing?” I ask again, incredulously.

“Yes!– Er, well, I dropped the beaker.” He explains pedantically, “The beaker had nothing in it. It was in a superposition of being something and being nothing, and I fucked it up by observing nothing. Now it is nothing. What a nightmare.”

Thunderstep scratches the back of his head awkwardly, “Uh, sorry…” he says, just before Agonizer elbows him playfully.

“Yeah thanks for nothing, dude.”

Hindenburg stares at them for a moment before laughing in loud, short gasps like it was the funniest thing ever.  I give it a chuckle too—I’m tired.

“What do you two want?” I say through the grin containing my laughter.

“We’re bored as hell.” Agonizer replies, “What do you think.”

They’re both in full costume. In the Protectorate section of the bunker they’ve been existing out-of-costume, but they still don’t want their identities to be known by the various villains like Hindenburg, so they must have put them on just to visit me here. Me, personally, I don’t really have much of a life outside of this to begin with, so I’ve given up wearing the helmet at this point. So few villains in this city wear masks anyway, sort of feels unfair.

“Well there’s not much to do here either.” I sigh, “Unless you know something about how to make room-temperature superconductors. What have you been up to?”

“We’ve been playing board games with Fume and Veil, Mario Party and stuff too.” Thunderstep replies, then points at his friend, “This guy started trying to figure out what the grossest edible sandwich he could make was.”

“It’s a pickle-water and milk toast sandwich.” Agonizer proudly proclaims.

“That’s great…” I sarcastically snark as I continue to try to solder.

“What have you been up to?” Thunderstep asks, “Just this? We haven’t seen you all day, how long have you been here?”

“Since I got here.” I answer.

“Dude, we got here at like 2 AM.” He presses, “You’ve been up since?”

“I got some sleep before. I’m fine.” I sigh, “I’d just rather this be over as quick as possible.”

“I’ve been here since too!” Hindenburg butts into the conversation, “Genius doesn’t sleep! Oh and sorry I haven’t cooked that superconductor yet. That nothing was supposed to be it. I try again.”

I dramatically shove the soldering iron back into its holder and lean back into my chair. “Whatever. Don’t bother, I’m getting nowhere here. I give up, I’m just not suited for this.”

“What are you even trying to make?” Thunderstep asks.

“A better EMP that doesn’t interfere with cell signal.” I explain, “An electro-magnetic pulse cannon should rely heavily on waves, so I should be able tinker about it, but I just can’t… grasp it fully. I can sort of do it, but maybe it’s just a little too much of an edgecase of what ‘acoustics’ is.”

I guess my power isn’t improving and expanding exponentially after all.

“Damn.” Agonizer says, “Well if you’re done tinkering do you wanna play COD?”

“It is wise to know when to give up!” Hindenburg butts in again, “I wish I had learned this lesson long ago. Go have fun with your friends. I keep working. Maybe you come back later and you already figured it out.”

For some reason, it annoys me that this guy thinks he’s in a position to offer me advice despite clearly not living by the advice itself. Despite that, I still get up from my chair with a shrug and get out of the lab with the two Wards. Not because he told me I should, but because I wanted to.

Once we get into an empty hallway, Agonizer looks behind him—maybe to check if we’re being followed? “One more thing,” He says, “They brought a psychologist down here. They’re making us all take turns talking to her. We actually were supposed to come get you so you could go see her. Kind of a drag, sorry. We can play COD after though.”

I give a disappointed grin. “Oh.”

“He just went.” Thunderstep says, “And I’m supposed to go after you.”

“Yeah, she was really worried about my kill streak.” Agonizer says nonchalantly, “Y’know, ‘cuz I got Ice Age and Snake. I’m pretty fine though. I just think it’s funny how my incredibly nonlethal power has ended up doing most of the killing. She probably thinks I’m insane or something. Maybe I am! Who knows.”

“...Okay.” I say after a short moment of silence only filled by the clacking of our shoes on a hard, metal floor.

“What?” Agonizer whines defensively, “C’mon, stop being so serious. It already happened, not like we can do anything about it. Relax, I’m allowed to make jokes.”

“...Look dude, are you sure you’re ok?” Thunderstep asks.

Agonizer nearly cuts him off, “Dude, I’m fine! Really. It’s no big deal.”

Another awkward silence.

“Anyway…” Agonizer comes to a stop, “The therapist is waiting in that room over there. Come back to the hangout spot after. Might end up being a slumber party.”

I wave goodbye, and enter the room being used as a therapist’s office. There’s some basic office chairs, and some bottled tea and snacks on a folding table. In one of the two chairs sits a dark skinned woman with puffy hair sewn into a high ponytail, wearing a comfortable looking brown corduroy suit that makes her look professional yet approachable. I recognize her as the Dr. Kinsey that Director Foote mentioned at the meeting yesterday morning.

“Hi,” She welcomes me in, “Go ahead and sit down. I wish I had more accommodations but feel free to have a snack.”

I am actually really hungry, since I’ve been working all day. I grab a granola bar and start chewing on it.

“I was hoping to see you a little sooner than this,” She says, “And I was hoping our first meeting would be… less rushed, and maybe more comfortable than this. But, it is what it is.” 

I shrug while I finish eating.

“But, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Dr. Kinsey, but you can just call me Lasandra. What should I call you?”

“Ian’s fine.” I say.

She begins taking notes on a pad. What could she possibly be writing?

“So… I have a lot of questions for you, Ian.” She says pensively, “But first, do you have any questions for me?”

I shrug. “Do you think Cayman’s doing ok?”

She looks at me quizzaciously, “Assuming that Cayman is the real name of one of my other patients, which I’m not allowed to confirm, then I can’t answer that for you because of patient confidentiality. But, why do you ask?”

“He’s uh, just acting a little… Just now he talked about his ‘kill streak’, made jokes about it, and seemed pretty cagey. Insisted he’s fine, though.”

She scribbles some more, “Are you concerned for him?”

“Uhh,” I stop and think about it, “I guess so. Why?”

“Do you consider him your friend?”

“Yeah, I guess he’s like a friend. Why?”

She puts down her pad, “Well, that’s great. That’s one of the things I was going to ask you about anyway. Given your past, I was concerned you weren’t making any new friends here in this new environment, so it’s great that you are.” She seems to get an idea, then picks the pad up and scribbles some more notes. “Have you made any other friends? If you don’t mind going into this a little deeper.”

I shrug. “Sure. Uh, there’s Gill. He’s nice. Uhm…” I pause for a moment to consider how much I should actually share here, “Best Dressed is pretty nice too. I liked talking to Twilight and Memorial when I got to see them yesterday. I guess those are more like acquaintances though? And there’s…”

I think deeply about Megan.

“That’s it.” I tell her. It’d be trouble if she couldn’t remember some of this. Best to keep quiet.

“That is fantastic!” She says, smiling, “I’m aware you didn’t have much of a support system before joining the Protectorate, just like a lot of capes. I’m glad you’re doing better now, though. What changed? Have you—or do you—think you have some sort of social anxiety?”

“Nah.” 

“...Okay… Do you think you were or are struggling with depression? Did you feel too stressed or tired to make friends?”

“I might have been depressed but in hindsight I don’t think so. I don’t really get very stressed either, sort of the opposite. I mean, I had my trigger event because I…”

I think very carefully about my trigger, a memory I’ve only recently been able to access. I play it back in my mind, like I have for the last nearly-24 hours. I looked away from Megan, looked at the sunset, then forgot her, then I triggered. Why. Why? I thought I triggered because I was failing and was about to become homeless, that’s probably what this shrink thinks too if she has any background info on me. It made so much sense, but in reality, that’s not what I was thinking about at all. Why? I had my theories, and I hated all of them. Should I tell her? If I let a psychologist know about it, would she be able to help me figure it out? Is it even possible because of the stranger power?

“...That’s okay.” Lasandra says. I was thinking so deeply I didn’t notice her intent gaze, studying me. “You don’t need to relive your trigger event for me. Unless you want to take your time to try to talk about it, we can move on. Is that okay?”

Whatever. It’s too much trouble. “Yeah, let’s move on. Sorry. I was saying I don’t get stressed because I’m lazy.”

Scrawling some more notes, she simultaneously speaks, “Well, it certainly doesn’t look like you’re lazy. You’ve been working and building nonstop, haven’t you? You’ve singlehandedly advanced acoustical engineering, and you’ve worked pretty hard, especially these last few days. You’ve saved potentially millions in your work in this recent crisis too. Why do you think you’re lazy?”

I groan uncomfortably trying to think of a proper answer, “That’s sort of different? Cape psychology is… pretty weird, I’m sure you know. I sort of feel like I need to build things. It’s like fidgeting I guess. But I still try to do the absolute bare minimum whenever I can. Especially before I got powers. I was failing all of my classes—maybe you know that already. I just, didn’t feel like doing them.”

“Would you say you have difficulty with motivation?”

I shift my gaze upward momentarily to think about it, “Uh… yeah, that’s a way to put it. I just don’t get motivation, y’know?”

“I see…” She glares at her pad, thinking for a minute or two.

I fidget by tapping my fingers in the silence.

Finally, she speaks. “I’d like to change the subject a bit, if you don’t mind… I sort of mentioned just now that you’ve been very busy recently. You’ve been in some very dangerous and stressful situations. How are you dealing with that?”

I shrug. “I’m fine.”

She stares at me, expecting more. “...Okay. Does that mean you don’t want to talk about it, or that you really are doing fine?”

“No, I mean I really am doing fine.” I explain, “Well, there was that bit where I died, and I guess I had a panic attack, and passed out for a bit, but I’m pretty sure that’s pretty normal, all things considered. It was just the whole dying thing that got me, really.”

She takes some notes, “I see… Can you tell me more about that incident? What happened, in your own words?”

“Uhm, well, I was at the PRT HQ, and Swordsmith went crazy and started attacking me, because he had dendrosis and was being controlled by Guide or something. Then Dullahan joined in too—attacking me, that is. I built a huge uh, noise maker, basically, to try and subdue Dullahan because he was so spread out and hard to hit with pretty much anything. Thunderstep and Ghost were there too, they helped. After we defeated them, Gasconade came and just saw some people fighting and tried to put a pause on it, so he killed me and then I reset back to being alive. Yeah, that’s about it…”

“Was it difficult fighting your own allies?”

I stop and think about it. “No, not really. I mean, they were being controlled, right? And both of them, well… Dullahan just watches me all the time, and Swordsmith is sort of an asshole.”

“So, you’re not fond of them?” She suggests.

“Yeah, I’m not fond of them.” I confirm.

She takes some notes and ponders something. “Do you feel like the Protectorate here is a safe, accommodating place for you?”

I recall the moment when the dendrosis-infected, potentially mind-controlled Swordsmith called me a slur.

“Sure.” I tell her.

“That’s good to hear.” She says, “Do you mind telling me a little bit about yourself? How is your family situation?”

“I do mind.”

She raises her hands as a sign of acceptance. “That’s totally fine.”

Another minute of silence passes, filled by the sound of a pen on paper and scarce else.

Lasandra fills the silence, “You mentioned earlier how you were concerned with how Cayman might be handling his own responsibilities towards potentially lethal violence. How are you handling that?”

“Uhm… Well, I turned myself in, didn’t I?”

“That’s not what I was asking.” She returns.

I shrug. “Uh, it sucks. I don’t know.”

After another long length of silence, she finally gives me another “I see.”

After more silence and note taking, she speaks, “Ian, was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about? You can tell me anything. It doesn’t just need to be me asking you questions.”

There are some things actually. Should I ask her about second triggers? Maybe not, I could read about that on my own, and I don’t want them to know about it if it turns out I had one.

I shuffle uncomfortably as I gather my thoughts, I look around the room, then look at Lasandra. She looks right back at me, analyzing me just as I’m analyzing her.

“What do I want?” I ask her curiously.

She tilts her head, “Excuse me?”

“I figured you’d know—or have an idea. You’re a psychologist, a parahuman psychologist. You study people like me, you’ve come at me full of questions, surely you have an idea by now right? Because clearly I fucking don’t. And—look, I’m bad at masking. You know I know you think something's wrong with me. Just come out and say it. What do I want?”

She looks me in the eyes. “Ian, maybe you have a misunderstanding of what my job is here. I’m a crisis counselor. I’m here to help you work through the intense stress you’re going through. And yes I went to school for a long time, but I’m not a mind reader. You’ll have to tell me what you want, whatever it is.”

“Yap, yap, yap.” I roll my eyes and speak mockingly yet calm and monotone “Cut the bullshit. Just casually asking me if I feel empathy? I know what you’re doing. I’m a criminal and you’re supposed to figure out how much of a liability I am. Fuck you, trying to keep me down. I don’t wanna fucking hear it. What I do want to hear is your theories on what I want, because I genuinely don’t know.”

She takes a moment to reply after I finish—persuasive conversation tactic to give her more authority. “You are welcome to express your anger here, Ian. This is a safe space to work through those feelings, even if I'm at the brunt of it. As for what you want—I don’t know…” She stutters and shrugs, “If I were in your position, why, I’d… I’d want to help people, but I’d want to get away from the stress of cape life. There’s lots of things I’d want. I’d want a vacation, I might want to explore some hobbies, I’d want a million dollars. But I can’t tell you what you want. What do you want to want anyway?”

“That’s the thing.” I point at her. “That’s the thing—you said it—well, you almost said it. You skirted around it. You’d want freedom if you were me, right? Wanting isn’t always towards good, sometimes you want to get away from bad. But it’s not about what I want, is it? Yeah I want a vacation to ‘get away from cape life’, but I can’t do that, can I? I’m here, a public servant—an indentured servant. I’m not… unwise to it.”

She takes another deliberate pause before speaking again, and in that time I begin to feel a slight rumbling. My power picks it up as infrasound. Weird. Could be the local generator.

She speaks flatly. “So what do you want me to do about it?”

I smile facetiously and shrug. “Well, I don’t know. You’re only human, after all. You’re just you, a cog in the machine. What can you do about it?”

I look down and tap my forehead, thinking, simultaneously distracted by the rumbling. My power supplies me with so much information about the sounds around me all the time I’ve had to develop a skill for ignoring it, making it hard to focus on life outside of acoustics.

She’s still silent. Sometimes people use silence as a tactic to get the other party to overspeak. Maybe she’s doing that here, and just doesn’t know how effective it is on specifically me.

“What would you do in my situation?” I ask, visibly bothered, “Be honest. Your microphones are recording silence right now. You can tell your superiors you lost it in the incident?”

Not a bluff. I can tell where the microphones in the room are, and just made a pocket-sized magnetic jammer today that can function as a noise-canceller for electronics.

“The incident?” She asks, concerned.

“I’m not threatening you. Just please answer me. I need to know how boned I am.”

She shrugs, defeated. “I guess I’d turn villain.”

“Exactly. But I’m not going to do that.” I say as I simultaneously run a calculation in my mind to figure out how far away the sound source is from me, “You know why? Because I’m lazy. I don’t have ambition, so I’m just going to do whatever’s easiest. It’s better that way. You understand? Tell that to your boss.”

“...Ian, I don’t have a boss to tell. It’s patient confidenti–”

“Ah–!” I interrupt her as I realize the source of these structural vibrations, changing my tone, “So, we’re about to be attacked. I think something’s trying to drill into us from below. You should probably just get out of here.”

She raises an eyebrow and simply says “Okay.” Before picking up her notes and walking away. “Anything else I should relay to the PRT agents above?” She asks on her way out.

I get up from my chair and start moving too. “Not much else to say. I’ll try and figure out more and send a letter up or something.”

Can’t wait to get out of this faraday cage.

Chapter Text

After explaining what I heard to the wards, I picked up some of my gadgets, then headed to where the ‘villains’ are residing to explain it all to them too. As the five of us—Agonizer, Thunderstep, Gasconade, Fume, and Me, fully costumed—open a large door to arrive in the communal area, we seem to interrupt a game of cards between Swordsman, Istic, Hindenburg, and Best Dressed, who sits a good five feet away from the table, probably so his power doesn’t give him an advantage. They pause the action movie they had playing to greet us with passive amusement that we’d pay them a visit.

“They’re drilling into us from below.” I announced.

The bemusement turned to a sour groan.

I waste no time in placing three contact mics to the ground, and wiring them to a pair of headphones to make a sort of binaural SONAR to enhance my already superpowered spatial sound perception.

“Did you let the guys upstairs know?” Swordsman nonchalantly asks as he draws a card.

While I’m still setting up, I answer. “Already sent a messenger. They for sure know about it by now.”

“I don’t see a problem, then.” He shrugs, “Let Eidolon take care of it. We draw ‘em in, Eidolon takes ‘em out. We’re like the honey in a fly trap. What can we even do? Don’t work yourself too hard, man.”

I roll my eyes internally. “Some of us don’t like being the bait in a fly trap. I want to get the hell out of here. If you don’t want to help, fine, I’ll just do my thing.”

I finish setting up the ramshackle SONAR machine, and start listening. I keep my attention divided to keep track of the conversation, though.

“Come on, now,” Best Dressed addresses Swordsman as he floats a card towards himself from the deck, “It’s absolutely reasonable to want to help out and defend ourselves here. I mean I certainly feel just a little bit embarrassed sitting here while Eidolon does all of the hard work himself—capable as he is. But, Larsen, are you sure whatever you have planned wouldn’t make the situation worse? Need I remind you that we have no communication with the outside world because of the EMPs surrounding our enclosure? We have no communication with Eidolon, if you try to bury this drill or what-have-you, how can you be sure you wouldn’t also bury Eidolon?”

I hate that he has a pretty good point. “I can see it with SONAR, I’d know. By the way, it’s about 200 yards away, coming at us at around an inch or two per second. Impressive considering it’s drilling through bedrock, I’m pretty sure.”

Swordsman counts the numbers on his hand. “So, what, it’ll be here in an hour at worst? We got time.”

“What did you have in mind, Larsen?” Best Dressed asks, “Do you have a plan?” 

“You could dig a hole and I could pour acid down perhaps?” Hindenburg interjects.

“I was sort of thinking along those lines, but not with acid.” I answer, “It’s probably a big drone carrying lots of smaller drones inside, like we saw at the football field. If you pour acid, and it’s not enough acid, they’ll just swarm us all the same. If it’s too much acid, we might suffocate or something, I don’t know. I was thinking maybe we could throw Best Dressed at them?”

Best Dressed takes a deep breath. “I’d much rather not, at that rate… but if I had to, it’s not a bad plan. If the hole is thin enough, I could grab onto the bedrock around me to anchor myself, and they wouldn’t be able to carry me off like they did earlier. But what if the rocks break loose around me? Even with my capabilities, I might be crushed.”

“I guess…” I conceded, “But I was more thinking we could use the Agonizer-Best Dressed combo you did earlier? Where he moves you while you use your power?”

“Hell no, dude.” Agonizer says, “I wasn’t even supposed to be doing that then. I got in a lot of trouble for that, actually. They uh… maybe I shouldn’t say this here, actually…”

Best Dressed finishes his thought for him. “His power is all-or-nothing: once its conditions are cleared, it moves the target in an eligible path no matter what. My power is limited only by the force anchored upon me. If he affects me, I can impart a potentially infinite amount of force. Both the PRT and myself are afraid of what would happen in this outcome, so he’s supposed to avoid using his power on me at all costs. I only obliged yesterday to finally test the theory while we were on equal terms, and while I didn’t push my power as far as I could take it, I highly suspect the theory is right. No, I would prefer not to do that again. Heaven knows what would happen to us in this bunker if I accidentally caused a massive earthquake.”

“Oh.” I said, disappointed, “Yeah, the only other idea I had was to shake it up a lot with my power, but that’d have similar risks. That’s about it. And I don’t even know how I’d dig a hole in the first place.”

“You could use acid.” Hindenburg suggests again, “Like that acid that digs through several floors in Alien? I can make that, it’s real. I can pour it down.” He then mimes pouring acid out of a bottle and makes a hissing sound as it trickles down. 

The men at the table shake their heads and laugh slightly.

“No?” Hindenburg asks jokingly. The game of poker resumes.

“We should at least have a plan for what to do if it gets here.” I press.

“If it comes to that,” Best Dressed begins, “You’ll tell us where they’re boring out of, and we’ll meet them at that chokepoint. We have EMPs here, too. I’d prefer to keep the TV running, but it is what it is. If that doesn’t work, I welcome Agonizer to use the ‘combo attack’ with me again, for the interest of saving our own lives.”

I take the headphones of the SONAR off. I’ve gathered all the information I need. “Fine.”

Even though this just means I have less work to do, it really bothers me for some reason. Maybe because I’m leaving it up to someone else? I’ve always had issues with control, I guess.

Best Dressed addresses the Wards, “Why don’t you join in, too? Memorial and the others are playing Catan over there. We can start another poker table.”

I already know they’re going to decline the offer, but I speedwalk out of the area in a huff before I can hear their response. Once I’m at the pressure elevator shaft, I write a letter explaining more details about the drill, and send it up. Alone, finally, I take the opportunity to do something I’ve been waiting a while for the chance to do. I navigate the maze of doors to where the injured are being kept: Swordsmith and Dullahan, and that long-haired guy. My handiwork. I’m not here to see them, though. They’re either sleeping or too out of it to notice me, thankfully, and the nurses pay me no mind as I walk past to enter ‘the brig’—I have reason to be here: I’m the only member of the Protectorate left, and we need information desperately. I guess they noticed pretty quickly that the drones are also being attracted to Guide, just as much as the other known capes in the city, so she’s cooped up down here with us too. A little more cooped up than the rest of us, though.

The door to this room is more sturdy and secure than the others, with the kind of wheel latching mechanism you’d expect to see in a submarine. Inside of this room are several individual holding cells made out of glass or some other clear material of at least one foot thick, with no discernible door on any of them. Only one of them is filled, though—only one villain survived. Ice Age died of complications from his burns earlier today. Nobody wanted to risk treating him.

Guide sits on her knees in the far corner of her cell in that classic orange jumpsuit, slouched over and muttering to herself—nonsense phrases and numbers. The muttering continues but grows quieter as I enter. Other than that, she shows no acknowledgement of my presence; not even a glance. What’s most peculiar, though, is the bouquet of flowers spilled over on the ground next to her. There was no way she or anyone else came into or out of this cell, so how did it get there? Well, more important things are happening right now.

“The drill.” I ask, monotone, “What’s inside? What will it do once it gets here?”

She continues muttering. I sigh and wait, trying to think of how I can capture her attention, but suddenly the muttering comes to an abrupt stop, after which I realize that it was the only sound in this very insulated room. After just one or two seconds of hearing my own heartbeat, the silence starts to drive me crazy.

“What drill?” She asks, surprisingly clearly, not stuttering or wavering at all.

“There’s something drilling into us, slowly. It’s one of your drones, right?”

“I wouldn’t know.” She answers, angrily, “I don’t have the capacity to know. She took my power from me, my mind, she took my me from me. Scattered. I was scattered, now it’s falling apart, I can’t keep it up, I lost the way to keep it up.” Then, she screams, “Tell her to give it back! Give her my power back to me, give it back, and I will help. I will call them off. I will if you give it back.”

“Okay,” I sigh, very tired of the crazy act by now, “I’ll tell her to give it back to you after you call off all the drones.”

She laughs, then coughs. “You think I can still do that? They’re following preordained orders. The last orders I ever gave them. I told them to kill you. I told them to kill all capes. They’re smart. They talk to each other. They made a drill? Good. Good girls! Very smart. With luck, they’ll kill me too. Wouldn’t that be great?”

“And then we’d have a bunch of cape-killing robots take over the world?”

“Yes!” She giggled maniacally, “You get it! They cause so many problems. It’d just be better if we were all gone, wouldn’t it? Go back to normal?”

The conversation continues to annoy me, so I pace around in a circle, and tap the hard part of my shoulder plate to avoid the total silence. I do spot a few mics of my own design, and use the same acoustic cloaking device I used against my therapist—part of why I waited until now to do this: I wanted to see if it works.

“Look,” I begin taking an apologetic tone, “Nobody’s listening to us here right now, it’s just the two of us. I want to have a heart-to-heart.”

“Did you see the vision?” She asks immediately.

I’m taken aback, my train of thought interrupted. “The vision?”

“When you triggered. Yesterday. Did you see it?”

“No?”

“They are experimenting with you. Playing with you. They said you exist in a superstate now. You are both person and object, target and non-target. Isn’t that interesting? But you’re just a datapoint. We all are.”

“Who’s this ‘they’?”

She laughs in a sort of pathetic way, ending with the last of her breath. “The gods.”

I roll my eyes. “You can stop the crazy act, you know. It’s just me.”

She groans. “It’s not completely an act. But fine. You don’t believe me, fine. No, I know nothing about the drill. What the fuck else do you want from me?”

“Guide,” I sigh, “What do you want? Besides getting your power back.”

“What?”

“Why’d you do it?” I clarify.

“They already asked me this. Need I repeat myself?”

“I know you told the interrogators whatever. I’m asking you to tell me. Are you really an ecoterrorist? What motivates you so much? Enough to risk your life and nearly ruin a whole city?”

She starts muttering to herself again, then answers. “What’s it to ya?”

“I just want to know. For myself.”

She laughs. “You think asking me about myself—a terrorist, murderer, all sorts of bad things—would help you understand yourself?”

I open my mouth to answer, but she keeps going. “Fine. Say less. I already know all about you, Ian. I know you’re telling the truth that we’re not being listened to right now, and I even know your gadget works. I know all about your pathetic life, how you don’t want to be here. You come here, hoping to, what, find an alliance in me? For advice? Fine. To be honest with you, there’s nobody in this city I hate more than you. But you’re all I’ve got now. My counterpart…” Her voice trails off and she seems to choke on a bout of tears before coming back to her hate, “You’re all I’ve got. Nobody else would be stupid enough to hear me out.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“But you know what, it’s all fucked.” She continues, “I’ll never get away with anything like this ever again. They’ve figured out the trick. And Erin’s gone. I can’t make any more. All I wanted was a better world. The control seed would spread to more and more capes, and once I had them all, I’d send them towards the Endbringers as one, and send the survivors somewhere far, far away.”

Doesn’t sound like a terrible plan, though still a pretty bad one. “That’s the truth?”

“Do you want it to be?” She teases.

“I couldn’t care less.”

She smirks. “Whatever. I’m at the end of my rope anyway. There’s more. There’s someone I wanted to save. Someone in another world. Get her out of there, or get me my power back, and I’ll owe my life to you.”

“In Earth-Aleph?”

“No, a different one.”

Huh. Well, wouldn’t sound like a bad deal if I could do either of those things, and I guess if she got her power back, her life debt would be pretty valuable—if she could be trusted.

“I’ll consider it. Can you really not use your power?”

“My power simply connects thoughts. I have lost it now, but the connections remain. But without the tinker power itself, I cannot maintain them, and the connections are degrading. I connected my thoughts to webs of computers and processors, and I am losing those connections one-by-one. There it goes, there goes another. Do you have any idea what that feels like? I wasn’t lying to you. I am losing myself. Literally. Do you understand the urgency now?”

I ignore her question. “So you can or can’t control those drones?”

She laughs. “What a one track mind! I could try to control them, but would it really change anything for the better? How could I know the signal wouldn’t be corrupted? What if I try to call off the attack, but then they start attacking everyone instead of just capes? No, Ian, it is safer to give me my power back first.”

“Easier said than done, though.” I complain, “Snake’s body isn’t here, and I can’t leave this bunker, and I don’t even think I could convince Ghost to do that in the first place. Also, Eidolon is systematically destroying them all, they might even be eradicated by the end of today.”

“I know.” She hisses, “But I know where it is, and I know where Ghost is. I can help. And you… new possibilities exist within you. You took some of Snake’s store of powers, did you not?”

Wow, she is pretty smart. I myself didn’t even realize that until way after it happened. I definitely wasn’t supposed to do that—nobody can have more than one power, and Snake definitely couldn’t give someone an extra power. Her description of the power I got from my second trigger also seems to be accurate, from what little data I have so far. 

“I guess.” I answer noncommittally.

“Then all you must do is take more from her.” She continues excitedly, “Take my power, build a connection between you and me. I will be able to access the tinker power, and I could guide you—I’m more experienced with it. My power is very strong, but useless if you can’t utilize it. Host me—in just a small section of your mind, and we can be unstoppable.”

I start to get nervous. This is some pretty serious stuff we’re planning here. I really don’t like the idea of partitioning out a part of my mind to her or anyone. But, something about it appeals to me: the freedom that power grants, and her ideal of imposing order on the world. They’re feelings that are foreign to me, yet intimate, like how I might have felt about the convictions of someone I deeply cared about. I’m beginning to tap into them more. I know I didn’t have these desires before, but something must have changed in me. I sort of came here to ask her for advice in finding what I want to do, for finding motivation—and in a way, that’s what I found. Even if, in the end, I go back on this evil deal of giving this known mass-murderer another platform, humoring the idea might still be fun, and it only opens up more possibilities.

“I’ll see what I can do.”