Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Conway

Richard Conway is currently lying down on the ground. More specifically, outside. On a sidewalk. A gust of the bay breeze occasionally ripples through his longcoat, stirring the otherwise still body. As pedestrians delicately walk around the man, they glance at him with expressions ranging between disappointment and bemusement. This is the first clue that something is amiss.

Laying down on concrete is not a pastime many people enjoy. If it’s cold enough to cool you down, it’s either covered in rain or snow. If it’s hot enough to warm you up, it’s already so hot out you’re certainly not looking to soak up any more heat, unless you’re a cold-blooded animal. Richard Conway may describe himself as a cold-blooded animal on a good day, but it does not play a part in his pretense for lying here. Of course, anyone looking at the man could see this, observing the second piece of evidence:

Richard Conway is lying face down on the pavement. Surrounded by shattered glass.

“Mm,” he grumbles, eventually. It’s a statement of resolve. Of a man pushed to the ground many times before. Of one who is determined to always get back up through sheer determination. The Dropshot™ lightweight, fall-breaking coat reinforcement also helps.

After trying to lift his head and realizing his neck cannot tilt back any further, the man rolls onto his back with a sigh before slowly standing up. He shakes the glass from his coat, with people nearby reacting like a dog decided to shake pond water from its fur right in front of them. But Conway is already focused on other matters. The man just fell through a window—and it was a window, glass doesn’t just appear for no reason—but he couldn’t find a building missing one anywhere plausible. This was a wide market street, lined by mostly brick and mortar buildings a few stories high with quaint awnings and tables along the sides, certainly no auto-defenestration–sized plate glass to be found like on skyscrapers and other office buildings. He was near the end of this street, too. Looking inland he could make out larger industrial buildings, but closer to him was the end facing the ocean, it seemed. Right on cue, a particularly harsh gust of wind came from the bay that entered the coat, chilling him. Unless another nor’easter was coming around, this was definitely colder than Boston should have been. As Conway turned to take in the oceanfront view, he concluded that no, this was not Boston. One gets a feel for the light and color of a place in the world when you’ve lived in it enough, and he was still willing to bet (or rather, hope) he was still in New England. But no, Boston did not look like that. He never recalled there being that distant oil rig topped with an iridescent dome, for one.

Clearing his throat, he addressed the surrounding people, now slightly wary of him.

“Where am I?” he asked, without a trace of shame.

“Earth,” a passerby replied.

“Oh great, not even Mars.” He waved them off and eyed another person. “You, same question. After a dozen we might even be able to nail down a country.”

“Brockton Bay, sir. New Hampshire. May I ask why you’re covered in glass?”

“Business venture.”

How he performed a leap so strong it crossed state lines remains a mystery. His BULLFROG™ Projectile Hypertrousers would have certainly produced a sonic boom after that. Does that make being a nuisance a federal offense? In any case, he figures, it would be best to get back as soon as possible. Clients are waiting, and with luck he can catch a train and be back before dinner. With a sigh, he starts walking for only a moment before stopping and turning around. He quickly retrieves the crumpled fedora from the ground, returning it to its rightful place upon his head, before continuing onward. No man is complete without his hat.

Assault

Ethan was having a lovely day out on the boardwalk. Well, as lovely as it could be in April. Things were quiet this week, meaning that the patrols he and Jamie went on were less “mad dashes towards loud noises” and more about doing the routes and reminding the public that they were safe. She wouldn’t admit it, but it was nice to take a few hours and walk the whole boardwalk. A black costume certainly helped take full advantage of the bright evening sun, too. Perhaps I could push for one of my own to stay warm , he mused. The Winter Assault. Hell, why not one for every season? An entire line of costumes perfect for any weather, and it would multiply the amount of merch available too! But PR would tragically never accept it.

As they were continuing their stroll, the sound of a blunt impact accompanied by the tinkle of broken glass came to their attention.
“Hear that?” Jamie asked.

“Finally, someone getting thrown out of a window. I was getting bored!”

She sighed. “Sounded like it was the next street over.” She stopped suddenly, and bent down to a runner’s stance.

“Calm down, puppy,” he said. “I don’t hear any screaming. You can just walk places, too, you know?”

“You skip the entire flight of stairs, every time, in our apartment.” But she stood back up and matched his pace again.

“Yeah, ’cause it’s fun!” He clapped her shoulder. “Let’s go see who got reintroduced to gravity.”

By the time they reached the street the noise came from, there was no hushed crowd looking at any unfortunate red mess on the ground. In fact, people were mostly just going about their day as if they didn’t definitely hear the same comically loud thump that Ethan was able to hear from nearly a block away. Though a handful of people were grouped together, it seemed they were dispersing now. Out of them, a man of average height wearing a big brown coat and beige fedora walked out, heading towards the literal boardwalk part of the Boardwalk, also in the direction of him and Battery. As he got closer, he looked at the two with apparent confusion.

“Hey there,” Assault said, “lovely weather today, huh? Say, did you also hear someone get thrown out a window?”

“No, though I think I know who did.” The man sighed.

“If you have something to tell us it would be appreciated if you did so now.”

He made a show of brushing off his sleeves, causing a few smaller shards of glass to come loose.

“Damn, sorry to hear. You’re… alright?” Assault asked.

“Yeah, this sort of thing happens a lot in my line of work.”

“So it does.” He nodded. “Say, I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. I dig the noir detective look, though. You got a name?”

“Richard Conway, professional spy.”

“And you’re fine with people knowing that?” Battery looked bewildered at the admission.

He shrugged. It was a remarkably iconic shrug, Assault had to admit.

“I could go by other names, too. It could not be my real name. My turn, what’s with the whole…” he gestured to Assault and Battery.

“I’m Assault, this is my partner in crime Battery, we-”

“Do not do crime. We’re Protectorate capes, out on patrol. Did you come here recently?”

“Huh, never heard of that show. You doing promo work for it, then? Sorry, I’m in-between TVs. I-”

“Show?” Battery turned her head to mouth the question to Assault. He tried to replicate the shrug he saw, but it didn’t quite feel as perfectly shrug-like.

“-happen to need to get back to Boston, could you tell me where the nearest train station is?”

“Boston?” Ah, he was one of those capes, Assault thought. Different caliber down there.

“Yeah. Potholes, baseball, illegal arms manufacturers, donuts. You know the one?”

“Sure. Station’s just a few blocks north, by the way. Stay away from the gang tags and you’ll be fine.”

Battery looked ready to ask more questions, but he wasn’t going to needlessly antagonize a Boston cape and ruin this city’s peaceful streak. He complained, but it was nice to get a little vacation from time to time. The walks along the boardwalk were his favorite part of the day.

“Well alright then,” Assault said, “you have a good one. Try not to kill anyone!” Battery glared at him.

A pained expression flickered across Conway’s face, but he smiled. “Sure, thanks.”

As the peculiar cape walked away, Ethan looked back at Jamie.

“We really should have figured out why he was here.”

“Does it really matter?” he asked, “I mean sure, it’s standard procedure to, but he just wants to go back home. Whatever professional spy business he had here is probably already over.”

“Which is why we should have figured out what that was! The Ambassadors could be putting out feelers... ” she opened one finger and tapped it with the other, and was going to tap another but gave up after a pause. “Why does anyone come here from Boston, anyway?”

“Not our problem anymore, puppy. Let’s go wrap up this patrol.”

As they walked, though, Assault continued to think about the man. It was a really nice outfit, he thought. A nice challenge to the super-colorful or super-dark costumes of most capes, while still maintaining that air of mystery and power. If he couldn’t put the man flat on his ass in a second, Assault might’ve been intimidated by that flowing coat. But why no cape name? Was that part of shaking up the scene, too? Was it a cape name? Then Assault had another thought: Was that even a cape? The poor guy could have just had a bizarre fall. Maybe he was in corporate espionage and just wanted to say to people he was a spy. The hat may just be a hat.

He couldn’t help but laugh. What a character.

Chapter Text

Conway

Not seconds after walking away from the pair of costumed individuals, Conway realized he could have asked even one more question and gotten a much better idea of the target of his search. “Somewhere north” narrowed things down greatly, but not enough to be particularly useful. So, to pass the time in his now slightly-less-random walk towards a train station, he decided to take stock of his personal effects. Coat and hypertrousers aside, he also had the handy Crosslink™ rewiring tool among his pockets, should he need to requisition free snacks from vending machines on his trip back. Handy in any scenario, really, he had started carrying it everywhere just to see what it could do. Clients were always the same thing: Open this door, turn off this camera, produce paralyzing shocks from this power outlet. No sense for the dramatic, these folks. But they paid the bills. A miscellany of wirejacking tools were stashed in there, too, to ensure that no closed circuit networks could ever impede his rewiring pranks. What good was a rewiring tool if there were no wires to mess with? Gloves, too, perfect for anything from avoiding fingerprints to clinging to ceilings. Oh, and the gun, of course. All things considered, the G43 “Resolver” was well worth carrying despite the risk it posed to him by skirting the full gun ban. It most certainly could resolve things. Six of them, in fact, per magazine. He had been disappointed to learn upon receiving it that—despite the name—it was semi-auto pistol, but the small geometry made it easy to conceal.

As he was wrapping up his self reflection, Conway realized he had no idea how much more north he needed to go. Buildings were starting to look less homely than before. Lived in, sure, but there were less kitsch outdoor restaurant tables and more upturned trash cans. He also saw a group of three dangerous looking individuals walking towards him on the same sidewalk. Not “dangerous looking” because of any stereotypes he might have, Conway was an esteemed gentleman. No, it was the baseball bat crudely wrapped in chains that made him doubt their hospitality. What the hell, he thought, I’ve been lacking in fights lately. It’s good to keep the bones on edge, and quarries couldn’t usually give him a good fight when his default attack mode was a pounce from the shadows and a solid punch to keep them down.

“Evening, gents,” he said, as he got within social acknowledgment range.

“Piss off, dick.” The bat-wielder spat. Largest of the three, green mohawk, though it had seen better care.

Conway smiled at the insult like it was as funny as the first time. The poor guy joined a long list of people who made the rare triple-entendre without even realizing. A shorter kid started walking ahead of the group to meet him, brass knuckles already on. A growl revealed... Braces? Oh, that’s just not right, he thought, but he is still trying to punch me.

“Look, I don’t want any trouble or for you fine folks to get hurt, but I don’t have anything for you to steal.”

“That’s no problem, your life is all we need,” the third sneered. She was standing back now, cigarette in hand.

“It’s a compelling offer, but I’ll pass.” He took a minuscule hop to check that yes, the trousers were back in business, then crouched down as the kid in front was closing in.

When the kid got ready to throw the first punch, Conway kicked off. About a square meter of lovingly hand tailored Italian hyper-reactive weave enmeshed in his clothes released their tension, launching him into, then onto, the unsuspecting punk. A punch to the face was kind enough, and after he began another crouch to prepare for the mohawk now charging at him, bat raised. A full power leap knocked him down too, with an unpleasant bit of road rash to boot. Two punches, just to be sure. He looked up at the cigarette girl.

“Counteroffer, you give me a smoke and I’ll let you walk away.”

“Oh, you’re so dead now!” she yelled. She made a show of taking out a gun, languishing with all the time an executioner could care for.

Unfortunately for her, the Crosslink works on guns. Originally, Conway thought it worked only on INTEX ID-locked guns. But, through means unknown to him, it seems to work on nearly all firearms he has come across since. This gun included. While one hand was lowered from the last punch, it was in perfect position to fiddle with the settings of the rewiring tool in his coat pocket. Trigger to… Streetlight. Perfect. The only thing better than not dying is knowing you can gloat about it with a gun to your head.

“I’m afraid guns are illegal, sorry ma’am.”

“Yeah, you’d like that, huh? But Lung makes the rules around here, and he says he only cares about us bringing back a hand. An’ as much as I wanna make you scream your quaint fuckin’ throat out, it would get boring real fast.” She leveled (Well, level enough at this range, he thought) the gun, and pulled the trigger.

Click.

The streetlight turned off.

“Th’ fuck?”

Click.

The streetlight turned on.

“Ma’am, there’s no need to threaten the city’s electricity bills, I don’t live here.”

“Shut up!”

Click click click click.

“Stupid piece of-” she reached for something else in her pocket.

If it was a backup gun, the Crosslink would need a few more minutes before it could disarm again. It would be stupid to keep two guns on one person among three, but Conway was overestimating the thugs’ intelligence already, so before she could prove him wrong he took off in a final pounce, landed on her, and gave her a punch.

Still got it, he thought. But I wouldn’t mind a challenge.

Dusting himself off, he relieved her of the gun and disposed of it in a trashcan that was not completely desecrated. Deciding that it would be easier (and safer) to find the station from the rooftops, he dropped down again. It never got old, feeling the tension of the fibers build like they were his own muscles. Richard Conway might just be a man with nice clothes, but dammit, he lived for this. And they were very nice clothes. He released, leaping up to the roof of an apartment building. The sun had gone down now, but standing on the building he appreciated the wind billowing into the longcoat, cold as it may be. Violence was sweaty business. A few exploratory leaps up allowed him to scout out the ground a little better, and he spotted a railway track at least. Why didn’t he leap up here sooner? There might not be any trains leaving this late, but he could easily grab some snacks and a room from the kind (and unaware) folk managing the station, and wait until morning. Keeping the rail line in sight, he started making his way across the rooftops. Leap, land, reorient. A few poor landings, but the Dropshot™ hundred-foot guarantee kept up its end of the bargain. Another leap, and-

What just reflected that light?

Conway had picked up a very healthy fear of glints of light in his line of work. Try as he might, one was never free from occasionally being on the wrong end of a sniper’s scope or a camera’s lens. Even though it was dark now, moonlight could betray someone’s position all the same.

He looked from the building he landed on, and saw what spooked him. Eyes of a skull-faced motorcycle helmet. More specifically, eyes that were now pointed toward him. Damn. Annoying thing about glints of light is you only see them because they’re pointed in your general direction. Though the visor covered his face, he could tell from the other three with him that he just started a discussion, one that included Conway as the subject. The group was wearing outfits more on the costume side of things, though by no means Assault and Battery level. Kids messing around? Criminals taking design cues from movie tropes? Nevertheless, emboldened by the last encounter, he decided to go find out. A dramatic leap is never a bad way to make an entrance.

Tattletale

“Bitch, are you bringing along any other dogs?”

“No. Just the three.”

“Then what leaps like them and is following us?” Grue asked.

Tattletale looked at Grue, then looked where he was looking, then saw what could have been a hat [indented crown, fedora] peeking over the building behind them.

“Person tailing us,” Tattletale said. “Unless your dogs wear fedoras.”

“Must be Oni Lee, then.” Regent said.

“Why would Oni Lee wear-” Grue turned to him and saw a grin at the edges of his mask. “Nevermind.”

As he said that, the figure leaped up from behind the parapet wall of the roof, and landed gracefully with a thud in front of them. As he raised himself up the fedora revealed his entire face. What?

“Evening, folks.” he announced.

Tattletale gave a warning sign to Bitch: Don’t make the dogs jump up here, but keep them able to. Hopefully she got that from a hand signal. She turned to the man.

“And who might you be?” she asked.

“Richard Conway, amateur electrician.” [he believes himself].

Regent laughed.

“Tattletale, of the Undersiders. Why are you tailing us?”

“Wanted to get in on the fashion show. Say, do you know where the train station is?” [doesn’t know, genuine]

Grue looked at Tattletale. Dumbfounded, she nodded.

“You… don’t know where the train station is?” Regent managed inbetween laughs.

“Of course I do, I wanted to make sure you knew too.” [snark] “Sorry. Some of your friends gave me a good lead on the rail line but I might be following it the wrong way.” [friends? Coil? Faultline?]

She narrowed her eyes. “Who were these ‘friends’ names?”

“Uh, Assault and Battery. I think it was a TV thing.” [no threat intended, genui-] WHAT.

“What.”

“He’s with the heroes, why aren’t we killing him?” Bitch asked. “Should I?”

“Woah, hey now, I just want to relax on a train, enjoy some biscotti, and get back to Boston.”

Regent, now keeled over, theatrically raised his head, and in the quietest voice Lisa had ever heard him use, asked: “How did you take the train here, if you don’t know where the station is?”

The man shrugged with complete, unabashed cluelessness.

“It’s been a long day, guys. Fine, I’ll find the station myself. Can I at least know about the costumes?”

Oh? “What do you mean?”

“Like seventy percent of the people I’ve talked to or punched today have been wearing costumes. Is there a convention? Ren-faire?” he nodded his hat towards Regent.

“We’re villains, buddy,” Grue said, with barely masked patience. “Those two earlier were heroes.”

He looked at Grue, unconvinced.

“Look, Dick,” she started, [he’s amused, but he’s heard it countless times.] Damn. She didn’t let the disappointment show. “You just jumped clear across a building. I read minds, A ‘n B are fast. We all have fancy powers. Some of us rob banks with them, and some of us stop people robbing banks. Clear so far?” [it’s not]

She tried again, “did you just have a world-upending, confusing event happen?”

He scratched his head. What the hell is this man doing here [looking for the train s-] “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Hey Tats, is it possible for a trigger to cause amnesia?”

She sighed, “yes, but not like-” her earpiece beeped. “Hold on.”

Walking away from the group, she tried to tune out Regent and Hat Dude as she answered.

“Coil. Lee’s running scared, but we’re being… delayed? By some clueless cape.”

“You’re supposed to be on the move by now.” Even without raising his voice, the words still cut.

“Yes, but he’s not attacking us. No idea what’s going on. I don’t think he knows what powers are?”

“Please keep your social calls to times when we are not working. Move.” The earpiece clicked.

Walking back over to the group, she picked up Grue asking a question.

“Well, leaping through windows is a surprisingly large part of the job. Some days more than others.”

Regent, still finding way too much humor in this situation, was about to ask another question when Tattletale interrupted him.

“Boss says it’s go time, not going to make the window otherwise.”

Conway looked up. [he’s excited] “Time window.” she clarified. “Dick, it’s been a pleasure, but you should go now. For your own safety. Guys?”

She gestured at Bitch, who whistled to the dogs as they prepared to go meet Lung.

Chapter Text

Conway

Breaking in to the train station was easy. Finding food, a place to sleep, and even a phone inside equally so. But a morning of exploring the internet on the phone, while waiting for his presence in the building to be legal, turned out to be much more difficult. He was tech literate enough to navigate it, having managed his own blog in the past, but the web didn’t present itself quite like he remembered. All of the sites he frequented were nowhere to be found, or only existed in spirit through unfamiliar alternatives. Like any good detective, he was trying to pick at the nagging questions in his mind after last night’s events. Why was everyone in costume? Why were thugs openly picking fights they couldn’t win? They mentioned a “Lung,” but where were Heart and Liver? Unfortunately, just like any other detective, he seemed to only get more questions with every answer. He was starting to miss his office. Or rather, the half of his apartment that served as one. Having only a phone and no papers or corkboard to organize notes with was an incredible frustration.

After discovering that he was, in short, stranded in a familiar-yet-different world filled with powered humans and world destroying monsters, the last question he expected to have was, should I stay?

Armed with new information, he recalled the previous day’s conversations. He had encountered civilians, gangsters, heroes, and villains all in one day. The powered ones thought he was powered, and the unpowered ones didn’t. An idea started to percolate in his mind. He couldn’t go toe to toe with the supermen of this world, but the small fish? He could pull off the role of reasonable small town hero, for once. He might even be able to do good, rather than simply getting paid as an interloping third party that ruins both of the two parties that hired him. The Rooke/INTEX fiasco still upset him in a way he thought he was above.

Maybe it was the shit pay, but maybe it was that he never used his skills for good. It was never “just” someone looking for a missing person, or confirming a suspicion. Those missing persons had debts to pay, lovers wanted revenge more than vindication. His work was, at best, people looking to take others down a peg. Often it was the case they deserved it, but the people paying him weren’t concerned with morality beyond “they wronged me, and wronging me is evil.” He would subvert the law on a dime, sure, but it was with good intentions! Usually. He reconciled very quickly that swiping the phone he now held was for the greater good.

What did Assault say again, the Protectorate? It at least sounded noble.

‘Sounding noble’ is a lot better than I can usually say, he figured.

He found plenty of backlash to the Protectorate throughout his digital foray, but many of the naysayers’ arguments were too personal to hold any weight. A one-star review from someone that got kicked out of a restaurant for causing a scene. He had his fair share of complaints from his line of work, too: “he stole from me!” I was paid to, he grumbled, and though you wouldn’t appreciate it, I did it damn well. He felt a sense of kinship with the organization, even if it was under de facto government jurisdiction.

In his searches he also noticed something conspicuously absent: None of his equipment suppliers existed. If anything broke, that meant no replacements, no repair parts, nowhere to send complaints. Normally, this could be bad, but Conway was exceptionally kind to his tools. In fact, this might have a major upside: Nobody else had a Crosslink. Sure, it looked like most of these parahumans could tank more than a big fall, or simply fly. But he may very well be the only man with telekinetic wire manipulation. Okay, not telekinetic. But he could say that. Or say “connection manipulation” and call it close enough. Yes sir, I just put my hands in my pockets and wires bend to my will! Tinkers get their title without even needing physical powers, and his pants-based movement far exceeded the average human.

He did not like how quickly his brain formulated the con, but he couldn’t convince himself not to do it.

Assault

By the front desk in the lobby of the PRT headquarters, getting ready for a short morning patrol and grabbing a last-minute coffee, the last thing Assault expected to see walk in the sliding double doors was a familiar brown coat.

“Conway,” he addressed the man, “didn’t miss the train, did you?”

Hearing his voice, the man turned from his original target of the receptionist towards him. “I had a change of heart.”

Assault shifted his stance. “About?”

“I was considering my options. Boston or here, I’d prefer the latter, I believe.”

“Awesome! Say, was it my charm that won you over?”

“Actually, yes.” Conway said. Assault blinked. “I’d like to join the Protectorate.”

He blinked again. A Boston cape, choosing Brockton Bay instead? It would be a coup! “Absolutely.”

Seconds passed as they looked at each other in silence.

“Is there supposed to be confetti, or..?”

“Right, yes. Let me get someone to cover for me real quick, and we’ll be ready to rock!”

He stepped over to the desk. “Would you mind telling Bats to take over my patrol? Tell her I’m sorry,” he asked the receptionist. They glared at him, then picked up the phone.

“Alright!” He turned back to the man of the hour. “Follow me.”

They headed up one of the two large staircases from the lobby, and down the hall to a conference room. Standard PRT layout: large table, chairs never quite comfortable enough for a meeting, a one-way mirror for no reason other than its absence would make rooms with two-way mirrors more conspicuous. Sitting down, he pulled a recorder from the awful half-drawer bolted on the underside of the table, and started it. “April eleventh. Assault covering possible recruitment of a new cape.” He looked up and gestured for Conway to take a seat. “Let’s start with a name, first. Typically we go by cape names for the sake of distinction. Now, you gave me your actual name before,” I think, “but did you have a name you planned to go by professionally?”

Conway paused for a moment, caught off guard. Did he really not have one? But then he looked at Assault and smiled.

“Gatecrasher.”

The interview, more talk-show than interrogation, went by quickly. Motivations, plans, it went swimmingly. He can’t remember the last time an interviewee made him laugh! But the man had a way with his snark, certainly. Oh, Assault was sure it would get on people’s nerves, but it would be good to have another guy on the team who wasn’t Armsmaster. The others were alright, but for some reason they always tried to follow the man’s demeanor even when he wasn’t around. But speaking of Armsmaster…

They walked in to the underground testing range, which was more like an advanced multipurpose rec room of sorts.

“We’ll also need to get some preliminary physical and power testing down before I ship you off to the PR department, thus our testing range.”

“I’ll take them over the HR department any day.”

Assault chuckled, “Alright, let’s get to it. Arms would be pissed if I brought you on and couldn’t even say what you did!”

They were now standing in the middle of the massive room. A shooting range down one end, walls and floor tiles of various materials on another, generic concrete geometry resembling real world edifices, the works.

“See that ledge there?” Conway gestured to a taller concrete structure a small distance away, a two story building best described as “greige”. He crouched down, then after a moment, leapt like a frog onto the roof.

“Hah! So that explains the fall when I met you, huh?”

“Something like that,” he leapt back, landing exactly where he left. “And why I wasn’t hurt from the… error”

“Shit, so we’re looking at a sort of mover-brute thing then? You might give me a run for my money!” Assault smiled.

Conway looked at him after standing back up. “What do you do?” he asked.

“Kinetic energy. Take a little here, give a little there.” Giving his legs that burst of acceleration, he made a leap of his own to the spot Conway jumped to, “it’s simple, but that’s what gives it complexity.”

“Say, what happens if you do that to me?” Conway half-shouted up to him. He leapt back down to the man.

“Let’s find out, dear friend! Go ahead, do your thing.” As Conway crouched again, Assault directed a little bit into the legs. Then he disappeared with a crash.

Bewildered, Assault looked around. Though he didn’t see Conway, there was a small crack in the floor where he departed… and a massive chunk of concrete taken out of the far wall where he must have ended up. Panic rushed in as he ran over to check the damage. There was no way he would be the first to recruit and kill someone within an hour.

But as he ran towards the impact site Conway got up, dusted himself off, and started walking back towards him.

“Put a pin in that one for now. Somewhere with less wall.”

“Yeah,” Assault agreed. “No broken bones? You just took out a person-sized piece of concrete. Underground.”

“Nope. Probably shouldn’t do that too often, but believe it or not I’ve had worse.”

Tough sunovabitch, he had to him give that.

“Though I should mention,” he added, “I don’t believe that translates to other damage. Just falls. Or very fast horizontal falls.”

“Still, lotta villains out there that like turning us into ragdolls. Standing up to that helps a ton. Well that’s good enough for me, I’ll have to-”

“Wait.”

“What?” The man could already throw himself into orbit with the right tools, what more could you need?

“I’ve also got something of a… sense for connecting things.”

“Like logic?” Assault asked. “Oh, detective! Of course-”

“Uh, no.” The man admitted sheepishly. “I just have regular detective skills. Sitting in cars for a long time, thumbtacks on strings. Other things… No, I mean electrical connections.”

Assault simply stared at him. “You’re gonna have to explain how that relates to the jumpy thing.”

He shrugged. Walking over to the door they came in from, he pointed at the button. “Press that.”

Assault pressed the door button. The lights went off. “Huh.”

“Again.”

Assault pressed it again but the lights didn’t turn on. Instead, the mp3 player in his pocket, which he intended to use on patrol, started playing.

“Again?” he saw a nod.

Pressing it turn turned on the lights, and after the lights flickered on the door opened. He paused his music manually.
“That works on anything?”
“Anything that can be connected with electricity. Digital signals don’t play nice. Closed circuits work if I can get physical access to them, but most unprotected wiring just needs proximity.”

“Arms is going to have a fit over this…” Conway looked at him with concern. “I love it.”

Chapter Text

Conway

Assault had given him tips for the PR folks before throwing him to the wolves, and Conway managed to escape with his sense of image mostly intact. He opened hard with the “honest detective” angle, explaining the “big change from bright colors” idea and, whether they wanted it at first or not, the seeds of the design took root before they could ax it. They would have to tailor the coat to make it work “just right”, but as long as it was tailoring and not replacing, he would be just fine. It was in the warranty. As for the face, though, he was informed that his idea of a full black wrap to shroud his head in a dark void was “not good for a heroic image.” But white void would work just fine, apparently. So as it stood, he would be channeling his inner Invisible Man. He could see it working, and it was better than a domino mask, at least. “Gatecrasher” was also a hit, thank god. Assault put him on the spot with that one, and he wasn’t the proudest taking the name right from the augment in the hypertrousers, but its not like it was being used for anything else.

Thus he began the painful part of the process, according to Assault. Sitting on a bench outside Armsmaster’s workshop, he recalled the last piece of advice he got: “Try not to give him too much lip. A recommendation coming from me is kinda acting against you already. Sorry.”

The door opened, and the leader of Brockton Bay’s Protectorate walked out with all the poise of someone whose passion was (according to Assault) hunching over a desk all day. Which was… a pretty adequate amount of poise, he had to admit. In fact, that man definitely out-poised him, now that he saw how he walked. Damn.

“Gatecrasher, come in.”

“Hah,” he said. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Under the visor Armsmaster visibly deflated for a second, before rallying and holding the door for him. He walked back to a table in the middle of the room, and sat on the other side in front of a thin manila folder. Another desk behind him featured a stock standard office computer, and minimal files in an in/outbox receptacle.

“This isn’t much of a workshop, I must say. I got the impression you were more of a major tech guy.”

“My workshop is back at PHQ. The massive self sustaining oil rig out in the bay? This is just my office.”

“Of course, carry on.”

“Assault tells me you’re looking to join the Protectorate,” condescension was already seeping in despite the man’s efforts. “Normally, there is a more official process, but what happened today will suffice, seeing as you have already toured half the private sections of this base, and the image team is already head over heels with the ‘breath of fresh air’ you’ve given them.”

“Thank you.” There wasn’t much he could say that would make anything better.

“Thank Assault. I’m here to ask you some questions of my own.”

“Shoot.”

“Yes. You mentioned originally you planned on heading back to Boston, but decided against it. Can you elaborate on that?”

“I can.”

After a moment of one emotion, then another of resignation, he continued. “ Would you?”

“I’ve been working in Boston for a few years now. I ended up here recently, and realized that if I went back it wouldn’t be the same.” Hopefully he wouldn’t pick up on that half-truth.

He frowned. “When you say, ‘wouldn’t be the same’..?” Damn.

“I didn’t leave on my own terms.” It would have to be good enough. Conway wasn’t going to say he came from a place capes didn’t exist. The implication that he wasn’t a cape would be the least concerning part of that statement. Armsmaster frowned again, but didn’t press the issue.

“What are you looking to get out of this?”

“Money,” he said. “Also a chance to actually make a difference for once. Know that I’m doing good instead of being played like a pawn by two equally shitty sides. Something to tell the kids ‘I didn’t just profit off of idiots killing each other,’ you know?”

“That’s… fair.” He glanced at the folder, then leaned forward. “Now, Assault mentioned a ‘connection sense,’ but couldn’t elaborate. Tell me about that.”

Conway borrowed a light switch and desk lamp from the PR folks, just in case he couldn’t do the same stunt like with Assault.

“Flick the switch,” he said. Armsmaster did.

A monitor on the other desk of his turned off. He grunted.

“Again.”

He did, and now the desk lamp was on while the monitor stayed off. Then, Conway decided to go for the coup de grâce: The Crosslink’s visual connections already gave him a good idea of what the man was wearing, but it wasn’t until he saw how Armsmaster was reacting to the questions that he realized the man must have some sort of lie detector on his visor. Probably more. The man could see Conway’s organs, probably, and he was not happy about that. So he wired the switch to the visor.

“Again.” He flicked it, and jumped back.

“What the hell did you-” he started. Then moved forward and flicked it again, mercifully returning him to his streams of information. “Don’t do that again.”

“Even if it’s tactically relevant?”

He sighed. “When would it be?”

“Screen addictions are unhealthy, all that reading’s not good on the eyes. Can’t have our leader not seeing straight.”

“Reading… Fine. Just use good judgment.”

“Shoot, I just ordered a fresh batch of bad judgment. They don’t take returns.”

Armsmaster did not dignify that with a response, and instead lost himself in thought for a minute.

“If you joined, would you be willing to let me do testing with that device in the future?”

“With me,” Conway said. He wasn’t willing to let the ace up his sleeve out of his sight. “I’d be willing to help you test it, from time to time.”

“I believe we can find a place for you in the Protectorate.” He said, finally. “Welcome aboard, Gatecrasher.”

Sam

She was walking home when it happened. It was dark out, it was cold, and she was pretty sure she had already walked past this block. Probably multiple times. Her parents were out late, so they wouldn’t notice that she was out for far longer than she should have been. They might not have noticed if they weren’t, either, but she pushed that thought away. She had gone out for a pizza, as anyone hungry and a little too out of the mood to make their own dinner might, but she got up earlier than usual today and didn’t expect to be this tired by now. Worst of all, she forgot to check the time before enacting the plan, and the pizza place was long closed when she arrived. Most of the streetlights were off, long ago broken and never replaced.

A few short lived snow flurries went down the street, though they would never make it to the morning. As she walked yet again, long having lost track of her starting point, she spotted three people and the small glow of a cigarette. ABB territory or not, she thought, I’m gonna die if I can’t get home. Whether it was true or not, she wasn’t thinking clearly enough to tell.

She got closer, not yet calling out, but one of them, a large man with a green mohawk must have heard her footsteps.

“Well, hello little girl,” he said, “what’r you doing out here?”

“I’m Sam. I- I’m lost,” she said, half whispering.

“Aw, she’s lost, isn’t that tragic, boys?” The girl with the cigarette drawled.

“I’ll dell you whad’s tragic,” the short kid tried to shout, as he slammed a bottle to the ground. “Some guy fugged ub my face!”

“Yea, an’ my back! That’s real fuckin’ tragic!”

Sam realized immediately this was not a good idea, but it was too late now. If only she saw them before, she’d know just how dumb it was. Spending most of her time away from her parents, whether it was her avoiding them or them, her, she had more experience on the streets for kids her age. But, regrettably, this did not translate to good people skills. Certainly not self defense, though even if she was skilled, not starving, and at peak energy, the numbers were not in her favor.

“And the most tragic is, our boss was real pissed about the whole thing!” the girl spat after taking a sip from her own bottle, before replacing the cigarette to her mouth. She paused, then her eyes danced with malice. “Y’know girl, I don’t think you’re tragic enough.” She threw the cigarette and drew a knife from her pocket.

Too hungry to run and too tired to run properly, she was out of “flight” options. “Fight” didn’t even cross her mind, it was too laughable a plan.

“Um,” she tried.

“Yea! Spread the love, right? Let’s spread some tragic!” Mohawk guy grabbed her shoulder.

She didn’t remember the next part. She didn’t think she would ever want to.

After the ordeal, she managed to get home to her apartment. She wasn’t sure when. Her parents had returned but didn’t notice she was still out. Her door was closed, maybe they thought she went to sleep. Even by Docks apartment standards, it was not a good place. Half-rotted wood creaked, iron nails from god knows when failed to hold boards in place. Every once in a while, vermin would pop out of somewhere the family swore they cleared out before. But at least it wasn’t outside.

She crawled into bed and tried to sleep, but the pain was starting to come back with a vengeance, thawing with the heat of the indoors. She got up and went to the bathroom. Something about washing wounds clean, right? She washed her face and it stung even more, and she kept washing and it kept stinging until it didn’t sting quite so much. There was blood that made its way into her eyes before, then washed out and replaced with mostly-potable water, but as that cleared away she finally saw herself in the mirror. Looking over every detail of her face, she tried very hard not to cry, and failed quickly.

“I- why? Thith-” her breath hitched.

“No!” She cried, “I’m Tham! Th- Sthh- Tam. I’m. I’m Tham.” All she wanted was to manage one word. She just needed to say her name, something to get the smallest amount of control back. But words became too painful as salt flowed into the cuts more and more. She sunk down to the floor in defeat, unmoving. Her eyes stared at the wall behind the sink.

Darkness closed in. Dots started to appear. Little pinpricks, at first, like stars in the sky. Then they started to grow. A pattern of dots of every sized filled her vision, distorting and shifting and swapping like Apollonian circles that couldn’t quite remember where they were supposed to be.

And then, after an eternity, they must have found their place, and the settling stopped. Sam could see again. She could see everything. Too much. Every speck of dust and every hair fallen from a body. Even after closing her eyes, she couldn’t stop seeing everything straight through them. The nails in the walls, flecks of lime in pipes. She kept trying to see anything larger but the small things kept crowding her vision, like cars buried under a snowstorm.

And then, in the wall, looking at her.

She saw a rat.

Chapter Text

Conway

Protectorate cape training is much like any other job training. After pretending to read a phonebook-sized list of rules, the meat of it involves shadowing your teammates in their duties, until proving to both yourself and your boss that you know enough to (probably) not mess up. After all, cape work is basically what Conway did for an extended period of time, just without the bonus of getting to call himself a cape. There was a time, once, when he tried wearing a cape, with mixed results. More fun than the coat, but terrible for jumping through glass. Conway would later learn it was unorthodox for a new hire to go on patrol so quickly, but when Assault offered shadowing him for one, how could he say no? They likely had the same plan in mind already. The next day, they met for coffee in the lobby like before.

“Bats was not happy about yesterday, so to make it up to her we’ll be doing her usual route around the downtown area. Good to get you acquainted with the city, and the city with you, too!” He said, as they walked out of the lobby. Conway grabbed a paper map from the receptionist before leaving, just in case.

“And how exactly are we covering all of this? We can’t walk every street.”

“It’s more of a ‘suggested route’ than anything. Get the big landmarks, take a random route between them so everyone gets the sense you’re out there, detour for any loud noises. It’s a more useful way to ensure there’s capes nearby if shit goes down.” He sighed, “but no, can’t walk every street. So we do as many as we can! Speaking of, let’s get a move on, stretch those legs!” Assault started bounding down the street with an inhuman stride.

Alright, Conway thought, as he crouched down for the first of many times today, showtime.

Keeping up with Assault posed an interesting challenge for Conway. The man had an undoubted advantage in general speed, while his own leaps had to be moderated to keep pace. Too far, and he’d have to loiter waiting for him to catch up. Not far enough, and he’d have to queue up a massive jump to try and keep pace, which was much harder to judge the further away he got from Assault. At first, bystanders feared the hero was fighting him and would dash for cover or hasten their pace to get away as they leapt by. But as they started to learn how each other moved, it must have appeared less “chased by a loose cannon in a fedora” and approached something more graceful. Crowds would naturally make way for Assault, more out of courtesy rather than any genuine fear of being trampled by the bright red hazard, but Conway didn’t get the same help. Instead, he made more liberal use of the walls of buildings, a back-and-forth between jumps that gained height and ones which used that to set up a long leap that wouldn’t accidentally tackle anyone on return to the ground.

Patrol heroes were outfitted with earpieces to keep in contact with each other and whoever was back behind the desk, Console. A suggestion, usually, but a necessity for the Gatecrasher/Assault pairing, which would have required extensive shouting otherwise.

“What’s the deal with this, anyways? I just keep jumping around, and crime stops happening?”

“Short answer is yes,” Assault replied. “We’re out here reminding the public we’re keeping them safe. Maybe we actually stop a few bad guys, but for the most part it’s like the TSA. If we’re here, people think about doing crime less. So, yeah, pretty much.”

“TSA, famous for stopping crime and making people happy.”

He laughed, “touché. We’re like the TSA, but we can actually do things.”

“Like punch people into the ground.”

“Punch people who would otherwise level the city.”

“I’ll give you that. I can’t complain, normally I only got paid if I jumped into buildings full of people with guns.”

“Well, sometimes we get called in for those, if there’s villains involved.”

“Ah,” Conway said. “Hey, just a hypothetical, what if that happens?”
“You get called in?”
“I get shot. This coat only deflects gravity and insults toward my fashion sense.”

“I’m not bulletproof either, if that’s what you’re wondering. Sure, I can kill the velocity of bullets as they’re about to hit me, but I’ve gotta know they’re coming. We try to keep things from getting to that point, but it happens sometimes. Same as any other law enforcement.”

Conway ruminated on that. After a pause, Assault continued, “So to answer your question, you go to the hospital, or Panacea if it’s bad. You get compensated, get some rest, and get back out there.”

“Well, as long as I’m compensated…” Conway chuckled. “Sorry. I was near guns, sure, but if you’re good like me you can take ‘em down stealthily with no risk. Almost no risk.”

He paused after a building jump. Looking ahead, he saw a cape. Or thought he saw, at least. Singling out people just because of what they wear sounded like a dubious idea on paper, but Conway doubted anyone would be wearing that unless they had some serious power to back it up.

“Assault, cafe on the right, who’s that fella wearing Hugo Boss like it’s 1940?”

“What? Shit” came the reply. “Krieg. Empire cape. He’s another kinetic manipulator.”

“What the hell, is everyone a kinetic manipulator? Okay. So he’s you? Powers, not the… other stuff.”

Assault sighed. “Surprisingly, close enough that our powers counter each other. Hand to hand, I win, but he’s got range on me. Imagine a ball of molasses.”

“Done. Now what, imagine some gingerbread?”

“Now imagine he’s speeding himself just as much as he can slow you down. Every punch is like you’re up against a wall, nowhere for the energy to go but you.”
“Fuck,” Conway breathed. “That bastard, punching was my thing!”

“Focus, look’s like he’s getting up. If we just continue forward he probably won’t cause a scene.”

“And let the Nazi go?”

He grunted. “Not my favorite option either. But he’s not doing anything.”

“He’s breathing on American soil.”

“He’s an American.” Conway scoffed at that, but Assault continued. “Same rights as us, right up until he does something stupid. You gotta be patient with these things.”

Krieg was now out on the sidewalk, and Conway was in his field of view, not yet spotted. He gave Krieg a wave, and immediately the man looked up. He extended a hand and made a thumbs down gesture.

“Ah hell, I think he saw you.” Assault commented.

“Who does this guy think he is, Ceasar? Take this, buddy.” From his position on the wall, he unstuck his other hand and returned a double thumbs down, remaining upright by the power of his shoes and very powerful Achilles tendons.

Krieg appeared to laugh, then beckoned Conway over. He obliged, planning to hop right in front of him. But as he fell the jump lost power quicker than it should have, and he landed ten feet short, almost clipping a pedestrian’s head and barely sticking the landing.

“Well, if it isn’t the fantastic frogman! What are you doing here, in our territory?” the man boomed.

If asked this question a second ago, he would have had an answer involving the word “punch.” But Richard “Gatecrasher” Conway did not get where he was today without his brilliance. The Crosslink had something of a secondary function: In order to rewire things, you have to know where they are. This much is obvious in normal usage, but there’s something he never considered until now: Rewires stay in place for as long as devices aren’t disturbed. The light switch and desk lamp from yesterday’s stunt? They’re still wired together. He had the switch on him, and though he didn’t know where the lamp was now , finding it was trivial: Just follow the wire.

“Here to deliver a message.” He reached into a pocket and retrieved a quarter, flicking it to Krieg, who caught it with ease.

He inspected the entirely ordinary quarter. Either calling the bluff or not wanting to lose face for not understanding the “message,” he laughed and tossed it away. Then walked away as if Conway wasn’t a threat.

Assault walked up to him seconds later. “The hell was that?”

And now, to secure the plan: “I was gonna punch him, but I felt that field as I got close. No way I could, so I had to back off. And also save face.”

He exhaled. “Thank you for not punching him. Shall we wrap up our patrol?”

Conway nodded. “Sounds good for me. Not even a single broken bone, I’m on fire today.”

“Assault to Console, we’ll be heading back now. Another beautiful day in Brockton Bay.”

In Conway’s pocket, the light switch had a new wire. That desk lamp may never be found, but now the wire pointed directly to a mini flashlight on Krieg’s keychain.

The best coin tricks work even when your audience doesn’t play along. Because in the end, the coin was never really the point. It was the distraction.

Conway, that night

Being Gatecrasher was a great excuse to leap from building to building in broad daylight, Conway could not deny that. In Boston his acrobatics were always limited to the cover of night, in equal parts to avoid harrying law enforcement and to avoid falling flat on his face where people could see it. As a card-carrying superhero, he now had no reason to merely pretend to be one, but there was still that thrill of a nocturnal vigilante hopping from building to building, hunting down evildoers. He checked the Crosslink again: His heading was still nominal.

The thing Conway missed about private investigation was its… extralegal nature. Laws still applied to him, of course, it’s just a lot harder to prove you broke the law if all potential witnesses are unconscious and all cameras have been wiped. He was thinking about what Assault said earlier: He was not going to get shot by some hooligan because he had to wait for them to shoot first. His abilities were enough to prove he could be a cape, but if everyone and their mother could swat him out of the air like Krieg, how was he supposed to do any damage? Snark the enemy to death? No, he was going to hit them where it hurt. People around the PRT headquarters had mentioned “unwritten rules” in passing, and he was very much aware of what they entailed after he saw them written down in the handbook he received yesterday. No, the irony was not lost on him. He wasn’t going after a civilian, he was just going to probe for weaknesses. Maybe cause a little chaos. Fine, maybe just make this man’s life hell, is that so wrong? It would only be fair after what a bastard like Krieg did to everyone.

A few more minutes of travel where every glance at the Crosslink revealed more drastic direction changes, and soon Conway knew where he was headed. It didn’t take a master detective to tell that the ominous Medhall skyscraper was a secret villain lair. Well, maybe it did. He would have needed someone else to do it to confirm, and he wasn’t going to wait around months for that.

Just like that, Richard Conway, professional spy, arrived at the front door of another break-and-enter job. Enter the place and break whatever he could, that is.

Through a massive glass front wall, he could see the main lobby still had a receptionist inside. Off to the left, their whole job was watching the door. A grand staircase to the second floor on the opposite side. Fountain in the middle, red seating scattered about the black granite floors and white plaster walls. They really were not subtle about it, he decided. You could hold a rally in here, complete with the railing on the second floor for your figurehead to shout drivel from.

After a quick trip around back, he spotted a junction box, finagled with it in a way only Conway could, and the first floor circuitry was his plaything. Motion activated sliding doors in front? Hooked up to that chandelier and the rest of the lights on its circuit. Panic button under the poor receptionist’s desk? Lobby cameras. Elevator call button? Mag-locks on the emergency egress stairwell’s door. Elementary, really.

He had no idea what would happen after that, but that was just part of the fun, right? Beats suction-climbing all the way to the roof of the titanic building.

And with that, he walked in the front door.

The lights went out before the receptionist could look up to greet the intruder. Only a man-sized silhouette remained. She panicked, naturally, and pressed the relevant button. Conway hopped to the elevator door, called it, then hopped to the stairwell. The locks reengaged behind him, but the building still followed fire code, and a push-bar on the inside meant he did not just walk into a trap of his own creation. The Crosslink’s wire had raised its angle of elevation on approach earlier, and he knew he would be looking for a floor near the top. Damned if he could remember which one. As he scaled the stairwell one leap at a time, he idly wondered whether the keychain was here because Krieg was working late, or simply forgot it? How would the receptionist react, knowing the alarm wouldn’t work? Did other Empire members work here? These questions did not necessarily require answers. Thinking about them, letting them stew in his mind as he focused on the task at hand, his brain always managed to come up with a plan eventually.

At the top of the stairwell was a roof access. Through the door he could see a helipad, but the more interesting prize was yet another junction box, and a chunky one at that. Aw, you shouldn’t have, he thought. Jacking in gave him a plethora of options on the top few floors. With no idea what inhabited these floors, however, he was out of the loop on what each connection available to him actually was . Some patterns were intuitive: Short horizontal wires between doors and keypads, grids connecting lights. But beyond those, things got murky. Wires lacing every exterior wall might be alarms, but could just as easily be controls for blinds. Series of wires with vertical spikes every few feet might be power to a row of machines, or extravagant wall lighting. Once he started to see the rooms, he could figure out more. Most importantly would be camera locations. Find a camera, find a light switch, flick, disable, repeat.

He went back down the stairs and peered into the topmost floor. Empty, lights off. Opening the door revealed a hallway, likely including a staging area and maintenance storage for the helicopter.

The next floor, however is where things got interesting. The stairway was in a small alcove of a larger lounge, which featured a door to the elevator he likely called before, and a massive glass wall looking over the bay. He walked to the back, into an attached antechamber which connected the lounge and three other rooms. The one to the right had a sliver of light escape from the bottom of the door. Saving that for last, Conway checked the left: an office. The middle: a much more extravagant office. He was going to consider door number three, but the large office caught his eye. Inside, a massive zweihänder was mounted behind the equally overkill spruce desk. Normal things for the CEO of the biggest pharmaceutical company in Brockton Bay. Could Krieg be… obviously not, he dismissed the thought. Krieg doesn’t lead the Empire. Kaiser sits at this desk. Looking around the office, more memorabilia of both medical and Germanic style adorned the walls, and the glass wall behind the desk presented the rest of the city. Also, a door to a smaller room off to the side was open, though he couldn’t see in from here, as the door was in a small recess between the glass wall and the side wall. Walking over, it was an ordinary washroom. Why did it have to be so private so as to be hidden from the rest of the room, anyways?

Before he got carried away with bathroom architecture critique, Conway decided to deal with the third office, and its presumed worker. Peepholes are designed to be looked out of, not in, but glass is glass. There’s nothing stopping one from looking really hard to get the gist of what the inside looks like. Just an ordinary person behind the desk. He opened the door and prepared to pounce.

“Good evening, sir, I-”

“Frogman!” he roared. “Fuckin’ knew I should have killed you before!”

Conway closed the door. Let’s think for a moment. Time to stop thinking of this place like a normal pharma building. Also, it was time for him to stop thinking he could knock out anyone he encountered. The enforcers and professional guards of old Boston were tough, but even they could be panicked by a surprise pounce or shock. No such luck when your enemies aren’t just unpunchable because of good armor, but because they prevent you from punching. He was about to retreat to the stairwell when the elevator dinged. Hell, he thought, that’s office worker one or two. Or in other words, a fifty percent chance of Kaiser.

After losing the element of surprise, the next bastion of defense laid out in Conway’s playbook was “keep surprising them.”

So he ran to Kaiser’s office and locked the door, before deferring to the next plan of action. Okay, we need to exercise these skills in less dangerous situations, sometime. Excellent plan to follow after escaping this situation.

He heard Krieg’s door open, then the knob on Kaiser’s rattled. Glass wall? Jumping out would be a good last resort, but no need to tempt fate with a few-hundred-foot drop if there’s better options. Zweihänder? Conway scoffed at the thought. He didn’t investigate the washroom yet. Maybe it was hidden to obscure something useful to Kaiser! Escape route? Weapon? It was worth a shot. As Krieg kicked the door down, Conway performed the daring maneuver of “the exact same thing with the next door.” Unfortunately, better ideas would have to come soon, because he was running out of doors, here.

The washroom was entirely unremarkable, much to his chagrin. The man must have designed this building from the ground up! Why such a bizarre floor plan? Why have the door face the weird alcove extension of… the… glass wall. In a flash of inspiration, Conway remembered what Assault said before: He wasn’t immune to bullets, he had to know when they would hit to stop them. Krieg wasn’t Assault, but he was a helluva lot similar. He shifted his stance toward the locked door, with one hand holding a towel bar for support. If he caught Krieg off guard, it might just work.

He raised a leg, and felt the fibers tense. When doorknob rattled, he kicked the door with all the fury of that time he tried to get through a vault door with his Gatecrashers-the-augment.

The door was let free of its hinges, the glass shattered, and he caught a glimpse of Krieg from behind the door, as he and it began a rendezvous with the ground which would take an agonizingly long time from this high up.

“Hm,” he said, looking down from the newly-created ledge, “he did Nazi that coming.”

“Oh my god,” a voice from behind him came. Shit. He spun around.

“Ah, the receptionist! Afraid I didn’t get your name before. You really should leave, you know. Quit, even.”

She looked at him, dumbfounded, then turned and ran back to the elevator.

With that out the of the way, let’s be a detective. Conway got to work, wiring everything to everything else, opening things without their alarms, pressing buttons just to see what happens. Unfortunately, for all the power of the Crosslink, it was useless against the physical safes and locks and password-protected computers present across the offices, but there was an electronic wall safe to pilfer, at least. Or rather, copy the documents he found inside, then close the thing back up again. Half of good counterintelligence was not letting the enemy know you knew what they knew. He had no clue what these documents were, but they were important enough to be locked away, and that was good enough for him.

Krieg’s death would be a tragedy. Not for anyone important, but for Conway it meant his time here would be cut short. Police or Empire capes would be here soon, and he didn’t intend to be here when they did. He wouldn’t dare besmirch the Protectorate’s name (or his own) by getting caught in such a pathetic way. Before running to the stairs though, he made sure to leave four gifts: A bug for each room, wired to receivers he stashed back in his coat pockets. Nifty little thing, really, that they’re just transmitting electricity. Digital signals might not be able to be Crosslink’d without getting jumbled, but analog sound would work just fine. Hopefully at any distance, and—unlike other bugs—entirely untraceable. And with that done, he got the hell out.

Chapter Text

Armsmaster

Minutes after sitting down to process his encounter with the vigilante girl and still in his armor, Armsmaster heard a knock at the door of his impromptu PRT office.

“Yes?” He answered. The door opened to reveal his secretary, Jameson, holding a hastily organized folder.

“We’re receiving reports of a break-in at the Medhall building. One death confirmed, no major damage. To- to the building, I mean, not the… casualty. He fell from the top floor, sir.”

Colin grunted at his secretary as they placed the folder in front of him, before belatedly remembering his manners. "Thank you, Jameson.”

The information gathered immediately after the incident pointed towards it being premeditated. With their entry through the main lobby unimpeded, burglars went straight to Max Anders’ office. They left no prints, no camera footprint, and no witnesses save for the receptionist that called it in, who was rattled enough for her minimal information to be of little importance. All they got out of her was a man wearing a hat and coat, which could be anyone. The one death was allegedly a civilian, an office worker in the wrong place at the wrong time. But preliminary inspection of the body showed deviation from what a fall of that height should have done to it. Being alive momentarily after impact, for one, was not normal for falls measured in hundreds of feet. They were saying it was “likely caused by powers”; either their own trying to save themselves, or their assailant intentionally or unintentionally keeping them alive with them. Until they could inspect the brain, though, any conclusions would remain conjecture.

Anders was furious, naturally. Arriving almost immediately at the scene, he appeared equally focused on figuring out what happened and trying to make sure law enforcement did not. He was also incredibly reticent with the matter of what , precisely, was robbed. Whether it was paternalistic feelings towards his employees clouding his judgment, or simply indignation at being robbed, Colin would not bother guessing. He would also not surprised if the CEO might have skeletons in his closet, but that didn’t make the efforts to hide them any less infuriating to read through in the report.

“Uh, was there anything I should know about your meeting earlier?” Jameson asked. They had been the one to initially take the call from the vigilante responsible for Lung. He frowned at the reminder.

“No.” He returned to the folder. They nodded, but did not leave.

“Sir-”

Colin looked up again, and they flinched under his gaze.

“-if there’s anything else you need, I’m happy to help. But if not, it’s one in the morning…”

“Right. You may go.”

“Thank you. Good night, sir. Er- good morning.” They managed a weak smile before dashing out the door, leaving Colin alone with his work. He quickly disregarded the “[partial truth]” that flickered when Jameson said they were “happy to help.” A part of his mind told him keeping the detector on at all times was unwise; if not for revealing the white lies, for reinforcing an over-reliance on it that could be his undoing if it was taken away from him. Gatecrasher reminded him of that with his little light switch stunt. But if not for the detector, I would never know what details I was missing, he reaffirmed to himself.

He turned his attention back to the Medhall report. Was this what the girl was asking about? She said no civilians would get hurt, but he wouldn’t be taking that as a guarantee. If her gang fucked up, he could see events leading them into throwing a witness out of a window. But instinct told him she wouldn’t be so bold as to commit the crime (or have her teammates do it) mere minutes after divulging it to him.

He sighed, and armor plates clinked softly as his shoulders fell. In hindsight, their meeting could have gone better. He didn’t regret what he said, there was nothing that she could be doing which would justify keeping details from the people she was allegedly trying to help. But under better circumstances, he could have gotten more information to go on. Perhaps it would have been better to officially offer her a spot in the Wards, rather than making an offhand acknowledgment of its existence.

Too many people trying to do the right thing the wrong way these days. Even if Colin was one of them, he had to assume otherwise. When nobody knew where to go, someone had to provide a direction, or else everyone would run off on their own, nothing would get done, and everything would fall apart. Making a token lamentation of the loss of sleep he was ultimately unconcerned with, he walked over to his personal coffee machine—one of the few amenities in the room—and started brewing a cup.

How could Gatecrasher help? He wondered to himself. Triumph had recently joined the Protectorate too, sure, but was fulfilling mostly the same roles he had as a Ward. It had been some time since they had a truly new cape posted to Brockton Bay who also planned to stick around. At the moment, the team wasn’t lacking in mobility, and firepower was generally not a deciding factor in fights. But the rewiring power? It had potential. He still needed to find out the specifics before getting solid plans in place, but he could tell it would be a useful support asset. Possibly make enemy electronics malfunction mid battle, sew chaos in the ranks. Sitting on the back lines with a handful of light switches, perhaps Gatecrasher could choreograph any confrontation to give them an edge. There were certainly applications other than combat, too. If one could get him close enough to security systems, there might be a way to remotely access and tamper with them. Disable alarms, cameras… Locks…

Carefully, he walked back to the desk and looked at the folder of the report. When it said the intruder(s) weren’t captured on camera, it wasn’t because they avoided them, it was because the cameras turned off. Choreographed.

He tried to remain stoic. Not for the sake of the otherwise-empty room he was in, but to keep his mind from jumping to any rash conclusions. Even if he thought Gatecrasher was behind this (and he didn’t, he reminded himself, it was just a possibility), there was no way to prove it. He very much wanted to get on with helping the new recruit test his powers already. Whichever way things went, Colin dared to hope he might finally catch a break.

Sam

Though she only had her powers for a day, Sam was acclimating to the harsh change in perspective quickly. Much like a traveler thrown into a country where one didn’t speak the language, she had little choice but to adapt. In some ways, a shut-in life with no pressing obligations helped, too. Not needing to be anywhere at the moment allowed her all the time she needed to deal with her new set of eyes.

The wall-dwelling rat appearing when it did was a blessing. Perhaps it was the easily recognizable shape, its nature as a living thing, or being startling enough to distinguish itself from the surroundings, but it provided an insight she could use to get a grasp on her powers. A crowd of people is overwhelming for anyone to try and truly “see,” but finding an individual person in it is easy. Focusing on objects she expected to find helped her figure out where they were, and brought them into focus through the noisy mess of everything else. In addition, smaller things seemed to naturally be easier to pick out. As distance increased and large, unimportant things slowly filled up her field of view, it approached what she might have likened to the typical distance limit of normal vision. She could make out blurry silhouettes of neighbors in the buildings adjacent to her, but without knowing what she was looking for her eyes couldn’t infer any further detail.

Sometimes, objects could grab her focus entirely for a few seconds, destroying her ability to see anything else. Memorabilia on her shelves, her parents, and the rats which she unpleasantly discovered infested more of the building than thought possible. They would catch her eye, and she would focus on them, thinking of nothing else. As she focused on them they became easier to see, she could see everything, would focus on them more, and this would continue until she managed to break out. Mercifully, mirrors didn’t cause similar issues.

Painful as the stairs may be to conquer, she discovered that the roof of the apartment complex may be her new favorite spot. The sky provided a much needed reprieve from the… everything her eyes were subjected to. It was black and white, the difference between the solid mass of objects contained in the city and the pure emptiness of the sky above it. She could still enjoy sunsets, at least.

As mutually ignorant of each other as her family may otherwise be, it wouldn’t be enough to allow Sam’s injuries to go unnoticed. She could hide on the roof or in her room for a few more days, but soon enough some chore or obligation would require them to cross paths, and when that happened she had no idea what she would do. Tell the truth, and deal with the inconvenience and shame of yet another fuckup? She didn’t recall drinking that night, but why the hell else pizza and thugs would sound like good ideas, she couldn’t tell. Deflect until it got awkwardly ignored, like every other problem that cropped up in the family? Hide her face entirely? It was a stupid idea, she knew, but it was sounding a lot better than the alternatives. If she donned a mask and went into the kitchen and proclaimed herself Empress of Ratkind, it would probably garner less reaction than showing her face. Her parents hadn’t kept track of her through most of high school, only offering minimal lectures or fights when grades plummeted, enough to claim they did something to try and help. By senior year, she learned to not bother. Successes were met with grunts of acknowledgment, and failures only cemented their belief that, against “everything they did” to stop it, Sam turned out just like them. A match made in Heaven, she thought, only two people as shit at life as they are could tolerate how pathetic they both were. Her last attempt at, well, anything really, was an application to the Bay Community College. If she succeeded there where her parents both failed, anything was possible!

If there was one good thing about that rejection letter, it was an awesome excuse to down an entire bottle of Turnaround that night. At least the cashier had finally conceded that, despite her height, her ID really wasn’t fake. Silver linings, and such.

Her focus returned to the skyline, trying to gradually reintroduce the bustle of the city to understand her power better. Slowly lowering her gaze onto only the taller buildings limited the stimuli, and let her focus on things as they appeared, rather than all at once. After it got dark, she had no clue how much time passed. Her parents were probably asleep now, but she was in no rush to go back to her room.

Who was jumping between buildings at this hour?

It was a pleasant distraction from peering into the scant few rooms in nearby buildings which happened to still be lit up. She watched as the person leapt across rooftops with grace. Maybe not a ballerina’s grace, but a sort of grace nonetheless. On one landing, the man slipped on what she knew to be a plastic bag, and she giggled seeing the silhouette fall on his face. Every cape has their flaws, Sam reasoned.

Shortly followed by, shit, am I a cape now?

Chapter Text

Conway

Conway’s first night in Brockton Bay had been an outlier, in his opinion. He had no warning he’d be in the city right up until the very moment he was, and his lodgings reflected that. The second night he was busy wondering if he landed the job, and the third he was out all night, putting vigilantism back in style (and Krieg through a window). It wasn’t until after the events at Medhall he had time to sit and think, and recognize that a break room at Brockton Bay’s dreariest (and only) train station was not a suitable long-term accommodation. Of course he was going to stay in the city, after landing what was quickly becoming his new dream job, but that meant finding a real place to sleep. Even if it meant losing the luxury of free break room coffee and donuts.

Before getting a new place to stay, he would also need a new bank account. Attempting to use his old ATM card downtown warned him of a heart-stoppingly massive “$9.99eINF” out-of-network fee, and it was reasonable to assume a wire transfer would be just as futile. Getting over the initial hysteria any reasonable individual would experience after having a traumatic separation from their life savings, he resigned himself to the knowledge that there was nothing he could do. He would just have to accept that the twenty dollars (and sixty cents) in his savings account was money he wouldn’t get back, and start anew. The HR department at the PRT had informed him that as an employee, he was entitled to an account at Bay Central. Impressed by HR’s ability to not be entirely useless, he was more than happy to take the necessary step of going downtown to open the account in person.

Sipping on a coffee stolen from the lobby on his way out, complementary pastries in hand (he needed all the free food and drink he could get, before his first paycheck came in), Conway decided to relax today. Taking it slow and walking to the bank rather than using the Bullfrogs or other methods of transport, it would be a nice reprieve from the constant running he dealt with since arriving in the city. A chance to really take in the city and get to know his new home. Assault was wrong about the patrols: you couldn’t truly understand a place if you were busy bounding down its streets faster than any normal human.

Brockton Bay was built to be a “real” city, a preference towards automobiles included, but for reasons beyond him, walkability seemed to be gaining prevalence. More than Boston, at least. Some streets had been converted into pedestrian only, perhaps in response to the success of the Boardwalk, and were bustling with crowds, customers, and performers of all sorts. It wasn’t terribly enthusiastic, like the people out and about were afraid that being too jovial would suddenly summon a cape fight, but it was pleasant enough in spite of the cold. At least it’s not raining, Conway thought, reminded of the dreary weather he was subjected to back in Boston just a few days ago.

Strolling through downtown, he became aware of someone tailing him. Just a suspicion at first, but a lifetime of watching one’s back through reflections in storefront windows eventually confirmed it. Short, wearing a faded red hoodie and unfashionably-torn jeans, with a face mostly obscured by a scarf. He figured they must have been stalking him for some time, judging by how leisurely they walked. He slowed his own pace to see if they would catch up; better an assailant make their move in broad daylight than whenever he next visited a secluded area. Eventually, they closed the distance.

He turned to acknowledge them. “I’d prefer if you didn’t attack me, I’m trying to take it slow today.”

“No fight, I wanted to talk to you. Thaw you jumping around latht night,” she said.

Conway was silent for a moment. Was she threatening him over the Medhall incident? He tried to get more info from her face. Fresh cuts, one tracing across an eye and scraping the sclera, and enough others that he could guess as to why she was wearing the scarf. Not quite scars, but they would be soon. He looked away, hoping his height advantage meant she didn’t catch him staring. About two seconds had passed since she stopped talking, and his world-renowned wit was at risk of being damaged if he didn’t reply soon. He went for the ambiguous option, hoping it would force her to explain herself:

“Like what you saw?” he deadpanned.

It was her turn to look at him, now. “Yeth.” What the hell does that mean? “I’m Tham.”

“Tham?”

She winced. “Ethss. Ay. Em”

“Right, Ethsayam, of course!”

She stopped, and it took Conway a few steps of his own to realize and turn around. “Shit. I’m trying to hold back the quips these days but it’s habit. I’m-” he almost said ‘thorry’ and mentally kicked himself for that, before continuing. “-Sorry. Biscotti?” He held out some of the pastries he nabbed earlier. An inelegant move, but the only one he could pull off on such short notice. Luckily, she accepted the apology.

“That wath a thit apology,” Dammit. “But I accthept.”

“Sam. I’m-” Shit, he thought, who am I? Conway was once again thrown into the realm of the mind to solve the question as fast as possible. He was currently unmasked: It would be considered poor form to enter a bank wearing one. But she knew he was a cape, and he hadn’t ruled out her trying to damage that somehow. If she was trying to take him down, though, she would likely discover a name quickly anyway. And there were too many people walking around them, increasing the risk if he announced himself as a cape while unmasked. “Richard Conway, weaponized jerk. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Whath a jerk like you doing, thcampering over rooftopth that late?”

“Exercise.”

Sam huffed, but didn’t press further. Conversation eventually picked up with less private topics, and continued until they reached the massive front steps and marble columns of Bay Central. As lovely as the chat was, he did have business to attend to.

“Thanks for the company, and thanks for not trying to kill me, but now it’s time for me to…” he gestured at the bank.

“I’ll join you!” she said, cheerfully.

“Setting up a bank account generally isn’t a social affair.”

“Oh.” She looked like she genuinely didn’t expect that, but recovered quickly. “Thee you around, Conway.” She waved before disappearing into the crowd.

With that, Conway entered the massive lobby of Bay Central. He went over to the counter on the side, where a long line of tellers had long been entrenched in a battle against an even longer line of customers, grabbed a ticket, and braced himself for the biggest challenge of the day: Bureaucracy.

When waiting for the next available associate got boring, Conway went over to the atrium-like waiting area of the lobby to pass the time. How would I rob this place? He mused. Not a normal thought to have in a bank, but he had accepted by now that he was far from normal. Cameras had nearly full coverage of the lobby, leaving only a handful of places behind islands or pillars one could dance between to stay out of sight. The comically out-of-place horse statue also provided good cover.

“Why would they have a statue of a horse?” He muttered to nobody in particular.

“Probably to let someone hide from that camera placed behind it for no reason.” A girl grumbled back.

He laughed. “Glad I’m not the only one questioning that placement.” Looking over at the new voice, a teen with freckles was now looking at him. “Wait a second, are you trying to case this joint?” Mercifully, he cut himself off before saying “too,” even if it was technically true.

“Nope, just bored. Seriously, how long does it take to clear up an overdraft? Jeez.”

His eyes returned to the rest of the floor. The bullpen next to the waiting area could be a better route, if one could avoid getting attacked by a worker hiding in there. Finally, on one of the back corners near where the offices, meeting rooms, and security/janitorial must be, he spotted his favorite piece of furniture: A junction box. Probably only access to lights, lobby cameras, and alarms where the tellers were, but a good first step.

“Why are you here? You look like you’re investigating John Dillinger.”

“I’m investigating why I have no money.” He sighed. “Namely, I’m broke. And Dillinger was the thirties, this style is forties.” She waved him off, saving his fashion from further scrutiny.

This was taking a long time, he thought. He looked around at the room, hoping in vain it might summon the person he was waiting for sooner. No such luck, but he looked at the back just in time to see a gaggle of familiar costumes appear from the back rooms.

People screamed, and the world went black.

Panacea

“Fifteen minutes. We won’t be here any longer than that…” The girl announced.

You bitch, Amy thought, in reference to the girl in black. Not the other bitch. Or Bitch. There were too many people pissing her off today, she concluded.

The noir detective looked at her, scared. No, was that disbelief? Like the five supervillains that just walked in were interrupting his lunch order.

“...try to kill the spiders I just put on your bodies, in your clothes, your hair? I’ll know…” Shut up! Enough with the monologue already. Her opinion of the bug lady had started very low, and was only decreasing with every word. Before she did anything stupid, though, the villains dispersed and got to robbing the place.

“Just my luck.” The detective whispered.

“Shh!” Amy said, as light as possible. He didn’t make any further comments for a few minutes.

“Nope. They might pick up deep voices, but she didn’t hear that.” He made an entirely whispered “ha ha” sound.

She remained silent. Maybe he would just shut up if she didn’t encourage him. He did. Did he risk his life just to boast about pointless acoustic knowledge? We still can’t do anything, she thought. Once again, I’m a cape who can’t even fight crime right in front of me.

Ten minutes passed punctuated by occasional shouting from the criminals, until they eventually huddled together and started whispering. They headed for the front door and Amy could see them glancing outside and looking back, spooked. More shouting revealed the Wards were outside waiting for them. “Six or seven.” Serves you right.

The fight broke out against the Wards, fully taking up their captors’ attention. After some quick tests to make sure Bug Girl wasn’t tipped off to her experiments, she went all out, making sure the spiders on her would not only not register her movement, but would hopefully throw some nasty mental feedback at their master if she tried giving them more commands. Confident in her work, she stood up.

“Hey, it’s okay for you to break the rules now?” He whispered.

She’d had enough of this man. “I’m Panacea, I’ll do whatever the hell I want. Just modified ‘em so they won’t tip her off.”

He blinked. “Huh, how about that. I didn’t know it was Reveal-your-cape-identity Day.” He reached out a hand. “Gatecrasher, Protectorate. Do your magic on my spiders and I’m at your service.”

“You’re a cape?” It caught her off guard, the outfit was outlandish but in a normal, eccentric human way. She would worry about ramifications of possibly making him reveal his civilian identity under false pretenses later. It wasn’t her fault he didn’t know New Wave had public identities.

“You think I just wear this for the style?” He said, as she started inspecting him for any hitchhikers.

“Yeah.”

“Well- That’s fair, actually.”

“Stop talking, I haven’t gotten them all yet.” Even threatened by black widow venom, the man literally could not shut up to save his life. A once over to make sure she didn’t miss anything, then she clapped his shoulder. “All set. I’m going to help the rest of the hostages. You… do things that don’t fuck that up.”

He raised his hands as if to say, who, me? But he walked away with purpose, leaving Panacea-nee-Amy to the unenviable task of bug removal from every hostage. She suspected the civilians would still somehow manage to be more trouble than Conway, though. An incredible achievement in her eyes.

While finishing up the last of the hostages, Panacea spotted Bug Girl retreating further into the building, separated from her team. Now would be the perfect time to pay her back for ruining her day, she decided, and grabbed a fire extinguisher with vengeance as she tailed the girl back to her hiding spot.

Initially a success, Panacea did not have the skills necessary to press the advantage of the ambush, and she found herself juggling it back and forth with Bug Girl shortly after. She evaded, Panacea recovered and phoned Vicky. Bug pressed the advantage up until Glory Girl literally crashed the party, and although Panacea was on the wrong end of a knife to the throat, the situation appeared to be improving. Right up until Tattletale joined them, prodding Vicky, stalling and trying to piss her off enough to slip up. But with the aforementioned knife at her throat, there was nothing Amy could do except stand and listen.

“Scholars want me to be wrong. Especially since the only suspected telepath out there is-”
“The Simurgh,” Glory Girl finished. Amy was distracted by the lecture’s sudden escalation to S-class threat and didn’t even notice the addition of a fifth person to their conversation.

“Excuse me, professor?” The man in that damned trenchcoat was at the doorway, now, hand raised. “What’s the Simurgh?”

Tattletale flinched, but otherwise took the interruption in stride. “So glad you could attend, Dick. Excellent question. Fascinating that the amnesia is that bad! Giant murderous winged beastie, a headache in more ways than one, and the only thing I’m willing to concede is a better chessmaster than yours truly. Now, no more interruptions, please, we’re on a time limit.”

Amy stared at him, wide eyed: You know her? He shrugged.

As Tattletale moved on to… Oh, god, the topic of Amy’s family, Conway provided no further avenues of attack despite multiple silent pleas from her eyes. Was he interested in her cape family drama? Was he even a cape? I’ve never heard of a ‘Gatecrasher’ in the Protectorate, she thought, he’s either too good to be revealed publicly, or too new to be announced yet. And first impressions did not lend credence to the “exceptionally good” theory. Throughout her monologue, Tattletale was waving around a laser pointer for no reason, pointing it but never bothering to turn it on.

“Offer stands for twelve seconds,” Tattletale announced, “get in the vault.”

Amy mentally directed multiple curses to various people in the room.

“Gatecrasher, can you do anything?” She half-yelled, trying to force the oaf into action.

“I’ll be honest, a lot of my plans involve punching, and the jury’s out on how effective that is right now.”

“Aw, guys, the big honorable cape doesn’t want to fight a bunch of schoolgirls!” Tattletale taunted. “Eight seconds.”

Fine, I’ll do it myself, Amy thought, and threw herself away from Bug Girl. Predictably, she didn’t let her knife get in the way of Amy’s throat. She lunged at Tattletale, who leapt back, only to get body-checked by a flying Glory Girl, who pinned her to the wall. Tattletale was then promptly thrown into Bug Girl, inciting a chorus of irritated buzzing from the swarm of insectile spectators in the room. She saw the girl flinch in agony every time the swarm tried to make a move, but through sheer will must have managed to overcome the migraine long enough to direct them at Vicky, who was now standing over the collapsed duo.

“Idiots, I’m invincible.”

“I warned you about calling me stupid,” Tattletale answered. Then she raised a gun. “And no, you’re not invincible, not really.”

How did she knew about the forcefield? Amy was about to cry out as Tattletale pulled the trigger.

Click.

The lights in the room went out.

Tattletale’s eyes widened. As she doggedly set about her new task of toggling the room lighting, Conway finally made his move. The flickering lights must have pushed Bug Girl past the brink, as the swarm was starting to lose coherence.

“Jesus, what is it with everyone pulling guns on each other? Girls, I think now’s a good time to leave.”

“Shut up!” Glory Girl yelled. A minute ago, Amy might have, too, but she was spooked by the gun.

“Vicky, they know about the forcefield, we need to go, now.” She had no clue what interfered with the handgun, but she didn’t want to test how long it would last. They needed to take the retreat while they still could.

After standing still for seconds that felt like minutes, she stood down. Amy and Conway winced at the parting kick she delivered to Tattletale’s midsection before walking over to them. She closed the door as they walked out.

“Okay, new plan?” Amy tried to make a definitive statement, but it turned into a question partway through.

“Door to that room’s locked, should be clear for us to deal with the others outside.” Now empty of hostages, they started walking through the lobby to the front of the bank, but stopped as the rest of the criminals barged back in.

She heard Conway say, “Oh, are you f-” before the three of them were thrown back into darkness.

Chapter Text

Tattletale

“What the hell happened in there?”

Back at their hideout, Lisa was, for once, not the most headache-ridden member of the team, and the duty fell to her to explain their side of the heist.

“Glory Girl stopped in for a chat. And Panacea.” She winced. “And Gatecrasher.”

“Okay, in that order: wow, damn, and what?” Alec asked.

“That’s a lot more than you originally predicted,” Brian said, in what she could tell was only a neutral tone on the surface.

“All things, considered, I’d say it went pretty well.”

“We had to use Brutus and kick the door down to get you guys! Any longer and we would be discussing this through containment cells. I still can’t believe we managed to shake them. Good work, Rachel.”

She grunted.

“Let me talk, please?” They looked back to her. “Gatecrasher is that guy we ran into the night we found Taylor.”

“Fedora man?”

“The very same. It was hard enough to manage reading the rest of the room, but from what I gathered about him, he’s a new hero. Panacea met him recently but isn’t the fondest. Could be a rogue? Protectorate hasn’t announced anything yet. Guy didn’t know what the Simurgh was, somehow.”

She would have to convince Coil to get on this guy’s case eventually. Second time he shows up right before a fight, and unmasked, too!

“Hey, he couldn’t find the train station in front of him either, cut him some slack.” Alec grinned.

He had a point. When they first met Conway, he was not interested in a fight, and really just wanted to find the train station. She hated to admit it, but maybe they just had bad luck running into him. Or he did, for running into them? [He didn’t know about capes that night.] So? [So how did he become “Gatecrasher” in a day?] She snapped herself out of the line of questioning before it went too far.

“Nobody knows what the Simurgh is,” Rachel added. “Do you?”

“Point made, but he didn’t know of the Simurgh!” she sighed. “Wild guess? Maybe he messes with electronics. I tried to warn Taylor where the bugs on her were, but the damn laser pointer didn’t work. And when I tried to shoot Glory Hole, the lights turned off, instead.”

“You what?” Brian yelled.

“Relax, she could take it. And it didn’t work, anyways.”

“What about my bugs?” Taylor managed to groan from her position on the couch.

“Your headache. Panacea was messing with them, I was trying to show you where the ones fucking you over were, but no such luck without the laser. And I gathered you didn’t pick up on my other attempts to inform you, either.”

“Huh?”

“Figures. Don’t beat yourself up, it was a long shot even if the pointer worked.”

Taylor hummed in response.

The pointer should have worked though, Lisa thought to herself. She was more pissed off that it didn’t than by Taylor not picking up on her info. She didn’t know why, but as far as she knew, nobody in that room could have disabled it other than the literal Gatecrasher that joined their battle. Tinker? She considered. She would have initially pegged his super strength/agility as under some kind of mover power, but it was possible that was just one facet of a deeper specialty. Her phone had worked during the encounter (she had subtly thumbed a text that Taylor did not pick up) so it wasn’t wide area jamming. His focus was on her as she was having her chat with Glory Girl, but in hindsight it could easily have been for reasons other than wanting to listen to her speech.

If he could target specific tech, w ould that line up with anything else?

[The gun triggered the lights]

Of course! She smiled. Not jamming, but disruption! But it must be a power, then. No tinkertech she knew of could rewire a gun to a lightbulb, it just couldn’t be explained. There was no physical connection, only a conceptual one. But with that piece of the puzzle more compelling than the tinker theory, how did his jumping fit in? Did another cape give him powers? Equipment? Why not give every cape that ability? But she didn’t want to exacerbate her headache, those questions could wait.

Brian stood up. “Well, at least everyone got out, and we got what we came for. That counts as a victory in my books. Holding our own while outnumbered by the Wards is just a bonus.” He started distributing the payout.

“So, pizza?” Alec chipped in.

“What the hell, sure. We can definitely afford it now.” Lisa grinned.

Things would work out, despite the hurdles.

Battery

Triumph sat next to Battery as they waited for the meeting to begin. She and him briefly chatted on his recent graduation to the Protectorate: How he was dealing with the responsibilities, what the PR department had planned for his costume, and so forth. Armsmaster had arrived before anyone else, either because he called a meeting in the room he was already in or because, as leader, he felt the need to claim the chair at the head of the table, and had been silent save for acknowledging arrivals. The rest filtered in in quick succession shortly after, Ethan joining them on the side opposite Rory. Armsmaster cleared his throat once Gatecrasher, the last to show, sat down.

“Taking Lung into custody was a major victory, but that does not mean it is time for us to relax. Just yesterday, the Undersiders, a nascent villain gang, robbed Bay Central in broad daylight. Wards intervened on time but were ultimately unsuccessful, letting the Undersiders take all money present and get out intact.”

“How much?” Assault asked.

“Reports say thirty to forty thousand in cash, little else of value was taken.” Assault nodded, though he seemed disappointed by the amount. “But the money is of little importance, and I believe the Undersiders knew that too. This puts them in the public eye, taking on the Wards and winning in a heist bordering on cliché. We have to be careful of whatever they plan to do next. Gatecrasher?”

The man’s fedora tilted up, caught off guard by the segue as much as Battery. After she and Assault first encountered him they hadn’t spoken since, though she had to endure Ethan talking about him at home enough over the past two days to get a decent read on the man. Apparently he hailed from Boston, which should have given him a great deal of experience and knowledge if he dealt with that city during or after the Games, yet failed to recognize that she and Assault were capes. Perhaps he was dazed from the fall, but seeing him after he had time to recuperate she had her doubts.

“Well, I was there trying to discuss matters regarding my bank account, but they cooked up a dastardly plot to interfere with that. I was sitting in the lobby, waiting for an appointment…” He trailed off as Armsmaster sought to interrupt.

“I was hoping you might discuss the abilities you saw at play, particularly with regards to Tattletale.”

“You didn’t want to hear how I was casing the joint and chatting with an inconspicuous bystander who would soon reveal a world-shaking secret to me to heroically save the lives of every hostage present?”

“Not particularly. Panacea’s civilian identity is known, which is standard for members of New Wave.”

Gatecrasher leaned back in indignation, almost hitting Velocity with one of his outspread hands. “So much for my equally heroic reveal of identity to her, then. Fine,” he harrumphed. “She moved to intercept the bug girl-”

“They’re provisionally calling her Skitter,” Velocity added.

“Moved to intercept Skitter, thank you Velocity, and soon after were joined by Tattletale, Glory H-” he winced, but if anyone else noticed they didn’t show it. “Glory Girl, and myself. I’ve heard the running theory that she’s psychic, but given that her shtick seems to be information or misinformation, and she claimed to be psychic, I’m not inclined to believe her. She rattled off dirt on the Dallon family trying to provoke the two, and it worked very well. Panacea threw herself out of knifepoint in anger, and Glory Girl threw Tattletale into a wall.”

Jesus, Battery thought. If she can turn capes feral like that, it’s a good thing she and Armsmaster haven’t faced off. Not that she would ever voice the concern; she quite enjoyed keeping her job.

Assault raised a hand. “Was that wall…”

“No, she entered through a different wall, though it did leave a crack in this one. Is the wall thing a running theme with her?”

“I don’t believe she intended for it, but people know her for ‘the wall thing’, yes.” Miss Militia added. “The bank is asking for reparations.”

Gatecrasher laughed, but stopped when Armsmaster looked at him. “I encountered them on my first night here, as well, and she was equally adept at reading people then. Probably not psychic, but a damn good cold reader. You don’t need powers to do that, though.”

“Maybe not, but they sure as hell help. A cape known as ‘The Number Man’ singlehandedly runs like half the criminal underworld’s banking.” Assault said. And ours, she thought. Cauldron was a dubious business associate, but she couldn’t complain about how he managed the sale of her house above market price.

“She also had a gun which, from what I can tell, is not the norm around here.”

“Not exactly,” Miss Militia said. “But generally capes on both sides refrain from lethal weapons. I’m something of an outlier, but even that is only tolerated because it’s literally my power, and because I’ve proven I can use my arsenal non-lethally enough that people trust me to keep it that way. It’s troubling if we have capes going around always carrying.”

“For what it’s worth, she only tried to use it on Glory Girl after she said she was invincible, so I’m willing to believe she’s careful.”

“Are you giving a villain the benefit of the doubt?” Armsmaster asked.

“I mean, she didn’t shoot me even when given the perfect opportunity. That’s kinder than most opponents I’ve fought.”

That piqued Battery’s interest. “Was that back in Boston? Even at the height of the Games I don’t recall guns being of much note.”

“Games?”

What? “The Boston Games. Top dogs arrested, big power vacuum, less-courteous villains filled in and wrecked havoc?”

He took a moment to digest that. “Not my area, I was fighting unpowered groups. Private security, weapons manufacturers, hitmen. That sort of thing.”

“Before you got your powers?” Triumph chimed in.

“Uh… yeah.”

“How?” She asked. This man was getting more interesting by the minute. Battery didn’t even mind if this tangent long left the original point of the meeting. She could tell Armsmaster did mind, but was holding his tongue.

“How did you do anything before you had powers?” He asked back.

“I didn’t. My father was a detective, and even though he works hard, he never goes toe-to-toe with opponents, he just tries to get them locked up.” Assault looked over at her and she smiled. She and Ethan had hashed out that discussion enough already. Her father was one of the few people in her life who knew his past and present identities, yet still gave his blessing for their marriage after accepting Ethan was one of the good guys, now.

“Hey, neat, I’m a detective too. Or, was, I guess. Can I still do that?” Gatecrasher looked around the table.

She knew that he knew damn well if there was one person to look at, it would be their leader. But he must have wanted to avoid antagonizing him further, after this morning. She had been at the range for their “power testing” session earlier, which was just an excuse for Armsmaster to obsess over that rewiring ability of his. She had dropped what she was doing when overhearing they were going to spar, but right before they began it reached an anticlimax when Armsmaster got annoyed with his tech and stormed off.

“Yes, there’s plenty for heroes to do other than fight on the frontlines, if that’s what you mean.” Miss Militia said. “In fact, we would benefit from a support role more than the usual team, given that everyone else in this room right now is primarily a frontliner. I haven’t been briefed on the specifics of your power, but I trust Armsmaster went over possibilities in detail this morning.” Was that a smirk? It was hard to tell with the scarf.

“Fantastic, ‘cause my combat skills have gone down since I started dealing with people who could telepathically pulverize me.” He looked back at Battery, “Which I guess is my answer to your question. Lot easier to take down a dozen normal humans if you move quietly and punch fast. Dealing with guns was the punishment for messing that up.”

Armsmaster cleared his throat. “Speaking of support roles, Tattletale is one for the Undersiders?”

“Sure? Bitch is also a support role if you count the dogs being used as transport, too. Hammers and glasses.”

“We refer to Rachel Lindt as ‘Hellhound’, for the kids.” Dauntless added. Wow, when did he get here? Battery thought to herself. The man really did have a passive presence. She tried not to write it off as “thematic” for his power.

Gatecrasher shrugged. “She calls herself Bitch, I’m inclined to call her Bitch.” Dauntless nodded.

“Sorry, ‘Hammers and glasses’?” Triumph said. Gatecrasher blinked, as if the phrase was perfectly ordinary and Triumph was being absurd.

“When all you have is a hammer, everything’s a nail. Look through red glasses and all you see is red. Try to find every support power and everyone’s got a support power.”

“Yeah, alright. Carry on.”

“Tattletale must be the intel for the group, then. Skitter said there was something ‘like a mole’ but not anyone in particular. It’s possible she’s referring to the cold reading revealing info.” Oh, no. Armsmaster was doing that thing where, when really pissed off, he would start pretending the conversation was progressing the way he wanted. Battery had no clue if it was passive-aggressive or an unconscious quirk. “We should revise rules of engagement with the Undersiders to minimize the chance they pick up on a tell. Anything else to add?” Oh, he was totally being passive-aggressive, Battery decided. Nobody was that obtuse.

“Skitter shares her bugs’ senses somewhat, but it’s not perfect. Can hear if you’re talking because of how your body rumbles, but not if you whisper very lightly.” He said, demonstrating the whisper. “Probably already covered, but I can attest that Grue’s darkness really does feel like a void. Could move if I forced myself to, but my brain really thought I was about to walk off a ledge. Gave up when I tripped over a couch.”

Assault snickered. She tried hard not to imagine the aloof detective walking into a couch and flipping over it, hat spinning in the air, which immediately made her imagine it, of course, and fought off laughter of her own.

“Also, Glory Girl’s not really invincible.” A few heads turned.

“That… is not something New Wave ever informed us of.” Miss Militia said. “How did you discover this?”

“Tattletale said so, right before trying to shoot her. Could be a temporary thing? Does she deflect rather than negate damage?” He looked at Assault. “Is there another kinetic manipulator? This feels like a bit.”

“Makes sense if it’s temporary, I get why such a weakness would be kept under wraps. For the same reason New Wave hasn’t said anything, we should probably keep this to ourselves.” Velocity said, to murmurs of agreement.

Armsmaster spoke up. “This has all been very enlightening. For the next topic of this meeting-” Assault clutched his head in mock agony, “-the day before the bank heist, there was a particularly high profile murder which has caused a stir.”

“Is that relevant to this meeting?” Battery asked. “Sorry, but I saw the report and it looks like something for the BBPD. Unless they think capes were involved, and they’re passing the baton back to us.”

“They haven’t yet, but I suspect they will soon. I was running analysis, and the results suggest powers were involved.”

“You can just say you have a hunch, you know.” Gatecrasher said.

Armsmaster grunted. “I do, which is what I wished to discuss. Gatecrasher, you and I did some preliminary power testing earlier today. During this, I noticed aspects of your power which appear to line up with the techniques used in the Medhall break-in.”

Battery stared at him in confusion as multiple voices broke out. Was this a team meeting, or a tribunal?

“Is this the right place to discuss this?” Miss Militia retaliated. Triumph looked like he was about to shout something, were it not for the consequences of him doing so, and instead looked at Battery in disbelief.

“Of course my skills would line up,” he finally said. “Same as anyone else. Breaking into buildings is a pretty standardized affair.”

“Am I the only one who feels like they’re missing context here?” Assault chimed in.

“Are you still upset that I broke your halberd?” Gatecrasher said.

“You did what?” Battery said. Okay, that’s why he’s so pissy today.

“He wanted to duel, I accepted, I turned off his halberd.” He scratched his head. “It, uh, didn’t turn back on after. Tinkertech is tricky like that, I guess.”

“It is.” Armsmaster cut in. “And while I do not understand why you thought it a good idea to mess with tech you don’t know how to fix, it does not answer my original question.” Assault silently ooh’d as their leader raised his voice. Battery rolled her eyes at him.

“A question?” Triumph looked lost. Battery felt much the same.

“I would like to know if Gatecrasher was involved in the murder of James Fleischer.”

“You didn’t include a question mark,” Gatecrasher retorted. Battery would not normally use the word “chill” to describe someone, but if she did, Gatecrasher would definitely be “chill”. Usually. Now? She could see this was getting to him.

“Did you kill him?” Armsmaster pressed.

“No!”

“Lie.” he said, automatically.

“Colin, for Christ’s sake, do you always have that detector on?” Velocity said.

Battery glanced over at Gatecrasher. About half the table was pissed with Armsmaster for dragging them into the meeting-turned-interrogation, and half was hearing that word “lie” repeat in their heads as they looked at the accused man. He appeared to retreat into himself, but after a moment recovered and sat up again, asking, “who the hell is James Fleischer?”

“You don’t know who he is?” Armsmaster asked.

“No.”

Whether they were complacent with the lie detector or not, everyone looked to Armsmaster: “...partial truth.”

“What does that mean?” Everyone who had experienced the shame of Armsmaster bluntly calling out their lie always responded by trying to subvert it, despite not really knowing how. Battery had tried doublespeak, Assault tried to talk faster than the software could keep up, but to no avail. Best she could achieve was it reporting “truth” and him quickly recalibrating something before repeating the question.
“Oh! He knows he killed the person in question, but he thinks of them as someone other than ‘James’!” Triumph exclaimed, and all eyes fell on him. Gatecrasher in particular was looking displeased. “Was I not supposed to say that?”

“No, that makes sense,” Miss Militia sighed. “Gatecrasher?”

He paused for a moment. “Would it help if I said I killed Krieg?”

Multiple shouts broke out at that, as Battery watched the chaos unfold. “Okay, maybe not.” he appended.

“Guys!” Assault out-shouted everyone else. “Guys. Let’s calm down. Nobody knows what’s going on, and it’ll keep going like that until we hear an explanation.”

Surprised by the typically-mad man’s lucidity, Miss Militia nodded her assent. “Gatecrasher, what happened with Krieg?”

He took a deep breath. “So, Assault: Remember when I gave him that coin out on patrol?”

Assault groaned. “And here I was, thinking I prevented you from doing something stupid…”

“I was on console that morning, right?” Velocity added. “That never came up. I might’ve overheard the name but nothing was called in.”

Maybe the fatigue was getting to her, but Battery couldn’t help but bury her head in her hands. Velocity had a habit of phasing out during console duty to, in her recent memory: “Spin a pen really fast”, “take a leak” (without getting someone to take over in his absence), and “break the backflip world record”. She had let it slide, but at least now the humiliation of having to retake console training designed for Wards might prevent future incidents.

“That night, I tracked him down to the Medhall building. Was going to mess with him, maybe glue his furniture to the ceiling. I don’t know, I’m an opportunist. Simple break in, no trace it was me, nothing more than a few crossed wires. Eventually ran into him on the top floor.”

“So, how did he go from the top floor to the, uh, bottom floor?” Assault cringed as he asked. He must have also been thinking of the shattered glass they found where Gatecrasher first fell into their lives.

“Uh, that’s where things get… Murky.”

“How so?”
“I’ve already sort of inadvertently linked a cape to their identity once today, and I can’t say I’m sure of how to proceed.”

“There’s more?” Dauntless frowned.
“Yeah. That’s the issue with saying why you can’t say something. The large something-shaped hole that’s left.”

“Hypothetically,” Triumph ventured. Miss Militia looked at him with disapproval, but Battery could tell she was relieved she wasn’t the one to have to say it.

Gatecrasher sighed. “Hypothetically. There’s a person who is second-in-command in two different organizations. In such a case, there’s a possibility that the person he reports to is in both is the same.”

“Kaiser.” Triumph said. Gatecrasher raised his hands in surrender, in a “I’m not saying anything, but also you’re saying what I’m saying” sort of way.

Miss Militia rubbed her temples. “Are you suggesting-”

“-that the CEO of Medhall doesn’t keep a zweihänder in his office just because it brings the room together?”

“Fuck.” Battery didn’t hear who said it, probably multiple people.

This was unpleasant knowledge to have. The man just handed the Protectorate the strongest leverage it could legally use, which somehow pressed simultaneously against one of Brockton Bay’s most detrimental organizations, and one of its most beneficial. How much could the city improve if there was no more Empire? How much damage would be done from losing one of its biggest companies? If Medhall was controlled by the Empire, was it actually changing the city for the better? Or their version of “better”? Every time she purchased medication…

She shuddered. At least there was consolation in seeing everyone else ponder the dilemma.

Miss Militia eventually broke the silence, “I believe that, in light of recent revelations, we should take some time to think this over. Until we reach a decision, though, this information does not leave this room.”

“Amen. This is a lot, and I’m hungry.” Assault said. He looked at her. “Lunch?”

She nodded, standing up and making her way to the door, even as Armsmaster tried to regain control. “This meeting is now over. We will reconvene next week...”

Chapter Text

Conway

A lifetime of working at ungodly hours had engineered Conway’s body to survive late night escapades far better than most. As long as he had some caffeine in the moment, and was sure to pay off the sleep debt with a nap later, he could make it until daybreak before he started shutting down. Thus, it wasn’t a great hassle for him to take a patrol shift which would run past midnight, and it provided the perfect opportunity to build rapport with Miss Militia, who always ran these patrols. Plus, night shifts paid time-and-a-half, and he would never complain about that. He would, however, complain about Miss Militia’s unfair advantage in that realm.

“You don’t sleep. Ever?”

“I can if I choose to, but it’s not necessary.”

He scoffed. “Unbelievable! So who normally does these patrols, is it always just you?”

“Usually. Sometimes Dauntless’ schedule lines up, or Assault gets restless and calls in last minute. It’s more of a suggestion that we patrol in pairs, given how low our numbers are.”

“Unless you’re the newbie.”

She nodded. “Though I wasn’t under the impression you got stuck with this shift? If Armsmaster didn’t force you to take this, Either he’s giving you PR duty soon, or he’s going to pretend a punishment isn’t necessary, then harbor silent resentment until the end of time.”

“PR. Though it looks like that will line up with my official debut, so I suppose I got lucky there. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t do this in part to try and avoid stepping on toes for the time being. Better to be the plus-one on a shift rather than feeling like I’m taking someone’s spot.”

“Hm.”

They returned to silence for some time, as they walked through the Boardwalk. Miss Militia avoided small talk, which Conway could appreciate. It would have been awkward to be on a multi-hour route and try to keep up conversation that didn’t mention the day’s earlier events. He would have preferred the Krieg situation to calm down before daring to mention it, but he didn’t see a better way to deal with Armsmaster’s trap than to beat him to the punch. On the bright side, it seemed he formed a schism in the Protectorate. Okay, not “bright”, but it could have been worse. Rather than universally condemn him, sides were being taken along the general lines of “follow the rules” and “punch Nazis”. Did he want to curry favor with Armsmaster’s second-in-command before she sided against Conway? Possibly, but there’s nothing wrong with doing things for multiple reasons.

“I take it that wasn’t the only reason you took this shift, though.” Damn, did he accidentally run into Tattletale again?

“I’d like to hear your thoughts about what happened earlier.”

She hummed, then took out her earpiece. He followed suit. “It’s a delicate situation, right now. Off the record: I don’t disagree with what you did. I would have liked to see things through properly, but you did something that we haven’t managed in some time: You got results. Lung’s in custody, sure, but we didn’t put him there. Some girl went out on her own, put her life on the line, and nearly killed the bastard herself. Reminds me of myself, almost.”

“Am I being compared to a little girl?”

“And myself, by extension. But you saw her firsthand, you know that’s no insult.”

He nodded. He heard through the grapevine what those bugs did to Lung, and it would have been very easy for the swarm in that office room to do the same, if he didn’t have backup. Well, backup in the form of kids of his own, trying to punch people who had knives and guns pulled. At least Panacea could have healed him if anything went wrong, he supposed. It would be good to meet the Wards and New Wave properly at some point, and perhaps get in her good graces before he contracted something terminal.

“I can’t tell you to go out and keep doing what you did. But as long as you’re saving more lives than you end, I won’t stop you.”

“Wasn’t exactly planning on ending any lives, if I can help it.”
“Good.”

Not an endorsement, but he could hardly blame her. If you’re wearing the American flag 24/7, you have to set a good example. He was surprised Assault took the side of “Team Rules” and not her. From what he saw, the man was devil-may-care when it came to hero work. But, thinking it over, it was only ever his words that were reckless. Either he was all bark and no bite, or he was toeing a fine line trying to not get in any real trouble, Conway couldn’t tell. They paused, taking a minute to look out across the bay. The PHQ’s forcefield shimmered in the distance with reflected moonlight.

“You should know, you aren’t the only one with ulterior motives.”

Conway made a mock gasp. “And here I was, thinking I was finally having a pleasant conversation with someone!”

“I apologize,” she said in a tone which was not apologetic. “But I have a proposal for you. Armsmaster’s right about the Undersiders. I can’t pin down why, but their jobs don’t make sense. The bank helped their reputation, but there’s a million ways to do that which don’t include the risk a stunt like that entails. They’re building up to something, and I don’t like it. Now, none of us can directly ask them; any line of communication we open is bound to give them more intel on us than we gain on them. But you...”

“Me…”

“You didn’t tell them you were with the Protectorate, right?”
“No. I may have told Panacea, but last I checked she and the Undersiders don’t get along.”

“Excellent. What if we set up a little chat between you and them?”

He paused. The Undersiders hadn’t actually attacked him, yet. Shrouded him in darkness and damaged his pride, sure, but they were more focused on attacking all the other capes present. Even let him off with a warning, that first night. He hadn’t known at the time, but they absolutely could have wiped the floor with him, and yet they chose not to. But of course, “could wipe the floor with him if they decided to” was not exactly reassuring.

“Is that a great idea? I don’t know much, but what if I tell them about the super-cool underground armory? Or CEO-who-shall-not-be-named?”

“That in particular is a risk, yes. But ideally, the conversation would never go there. If not for having a literal lie detector in the room today, even I might’ve believed you. Something tells me you have a history of dancing around the truth.”

“Thank you..?”

“You’re welcome. It should be simple enough for you to dig up dirt without revealing too much of our own. If all else fails, just… be yourself.” She let out a rare, gentle laugh. “Hammers and glasses...”

It was a pleasant night, ignoring the weight of yet another responsibility upon his shoulders, and the fact that he would be spending another night in a break room. Perhaps he could take some time to house-hunt here for better places to squat. The Lord Street Market was fascinating to roam at night, when nearly nobody was out. Far enough away from the rest of the city, one could start to see stars without light pollution getting in the way. As long as no new chaos erupted, he could get used to this gig. Walking down the waterfront under the stars, talking to people about things that weren’t… Okay, they were still talking about committing crimes. But in a productive way! Most of his social interaction back in Boston consisted of purely business affairs. Even if he was still going to talk shop with people here, it wasn’t solely because his paycheck relied on it. It was at that point he was pulled out of his musing when he started hearing a tinny shout come from one of his pockets, reminding him that he had not yet returned his earpiece to its designated location. He rushed to put it back on, with Miss Militia following after seeing him do it.

“What now,” he groaned. “Did someone finally blow up the moon?”

“-ome in! Come in, patrol! Where the hell…”

“Console? What’s wrong?” Miss Militia asked.

“Jesus, did you pick a bad night to finally sleep! Did you not hear the explosions? Downtown’s got bombs going off all over! Lung’s been sprung from the rig, I’m only here cause Triumph gave up contacting you and deputized me while he left to intercept! All I’ve got is a confoam grenade and a pen!”

“Shit.”

“Agreed, ma’am!”

“Would you take offense if I requisition some transport?” Conway asked. She shooed him away as she continued talking to the frightened desk jockey.

Dashing over to the nearest car—an unremarkable sedan hopefully nobody would miss—he started futzing with wires near the steering wheel until the locks popped up and the engine started. Thank god for electronic ignition. He waved Miss Militia over, and she directed him to the passenger side.

“No offense, but I trust my driving over yours.”

“Good call, I don’t drive.”

She might have looked at him now with more surprise than when he admitted to killing Krieg, but said nothing as they started driving back.

Brian

He hadn’t known if the shadow-double gambit would work, up until the moment it did. The force of the jeep driving through it dissipated it like a cloud of mist, and after observing that, he was very thankful he came up with a plan that didn’t involve him standing where the late clone used to be. After that? They were in his domain, literally. Darkness swarmed the vehicle and the fight was as good as over. With first passenger incapacitated—yanked out of the seat and dragged across the concrete with just as much velocity, actually—the gang should be able to take out the driver, leaving Bakuda with nowhere to run. As if to confirm the thought, he saw Regent manipulate the driver to crash the jeep, giving the mad bomber a fall she wouldn’t soon get up from. He limped out of the darkness to reunite with his team.

Alec was… ah, hell. That last stunt knocked him out, but he knew the guy would be alright. They all would, now that this ordeal was over. Taylor’s surprise embrace gave him the energy he’d need to finish the night and get everyone back home safe.

“Come on,” he said, breaking out of her arms. “We should restrain the lunatic, get her out of here. Maybe get an idea of what’s going on with the ABB.”

She nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

The click of a trigger snapped him to his senses, and it was followed immediately by metal clattering against the ground.

“Stupid fucking broken piece of-” Bakuda started shouting, reaching for a grenade on her belt as she discarded her grenade launcher. Anything she kept on her person was bound to be more exotic than a stun grenade, but Brian wouldn’t give her the chance to use it. Readying the pistol he relieved the jeep’s passenger of moments ago, he aimed for her hand and fired.

A cry of “motherfucker!” confirmed he hit his target. He was scrabbling to get to her, but was interrupted when a brown blur descended on her and delivered a swift punch to the face, as confirmed by shards of the gasmask’s lenses spraying out from behind the man who now sat atop her. The fedora tilted at them as the man got up and turned around.

“Thanks for the assist, wasn’t too keen on jumping on a grenade.” Richard Conway, or rather, Gatecrasher, greeted him.

Brian’s first instinct was, actually, to not attack. Taylor and Lisa were staring daggers at the interloper and he could see bugs starting to coalesce. But for Brian, his only interaction with the man was the doofus they ran into that one night, and he wasn’t going to attack him for no reason, especially if he was opting to attack Bakuda instead of them. He gestured for the girls to stand down.

“Gatecrasher.” He tried to hide how tired he was, but it definitely came through in his ragged voice. “I think we should be thanking you, actually.”

“You disabled the grenade launcher.” Lisa inferred, her voice a mix of indignation and relief.

“Oh, not at all! I disabled the trigger of the grenade launcher.”

She rolled her eyes. “What are you doing, showing up this late to the party? Let us do all the heavy lifting, and you swoop in and knock her lights out?”

“Would you rather I left you guys to figure out what her saving-throw grenade did?” He glanced over at it. “Impact fuze’s still active, actually…”

Brian tensed. Maybe his goodwill was offered too readily.

“No. I need your help.”

“Really.” Taylor maintained a calm posture, but Brian could see her agitation manifesting in the various bugs around them.

“It’s understandable you didn’t notice it. You’ve been busy getting shot and exploded at for the better half of the night. But, uh…” a distant explosion interrupted him. “That. You’re not Bakuda’s only target.”

“Fuck.” Lisa said. “The city. Everything…” She paused for a moment. “Bakuda wasn’t really in charge because Lung is still in charge.”

“Wha-” Ah, Alec’s back. Brian let out a sigh of relief.

“Now, we can’t take on Lung, I hear he’s upgraded his underwear.” Gatecrasher looked at Taylor, who looked away. “But I was thinking it over, and we would make a pretty good bomb squad.”

“Hah, cause… Bakuda…” Alec trailed off.

“Yes, yes, there’s plenty of time for puns later, but must I remind you the city is getting bombed! I’m growing rather fond of this place, and I’d like to prevent it being turned to slag so soon.”

“What’s in it for us?” Tattletale retorted. “I know plenty of other hellholes to live in.”

“My dad…” Taylor trailed off. Shit, Aisha! Brian realized. “Lise, we need to do something.”

“Fine, fine. What’s a little more walking on a sprained ankle?” She muttered.

He turned to Gatecrasher. “What’s your plan?”

Under the white wrap mask, Brian thought he saw a smile. “Your darkness, it’s not just ‘dark’, its not-light. No light waves, no sound waves, no radio waves.” Really? Brian held his tongue, no need to embarrass himself by revealing Gatecrasher of all people knew more about his own power than he did. “Skitter, your bugs can do things, right?”

“Yes..?”

“Fantastic. Have them do things to the bombs? So you don’t have to get close to said bombs?”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. Okay, maybe he’s only appearing smarter because we’re all exhausted right now, Brian hoped.

“Tattletale? Can you mind read bombs? See what makes them tick, so to speak?”

“Nope.”
“Damn, worth a shot. Regent?” The kid tilted his head up from his resting spot on the pavement. “Nevermind.”

“Roger that,” he replied, curling up on the ground.

“Here’s my thoughts: Skitter? You spot bombs, see if you can’t get a noble cockroach to jam itself in a mechanism or something. If not, Grue? You darkness them, keep sensors from going off. Me? I get the prestigious job of walking blind through said darkness, getting up close to these things, and disabling the triggers.”

Tattletale butted in: “Sure, sounds great, but here’s what I don’t get: When we last met you were pretty adamantly against me. Fighting me, in fact. Why are you so happy to team up now?”

“THE. CITY. IS. EXPLODING!” He yelled. “Spend your night psychoanalyzing why I don’t want to go to sleep in a minefield, I don’t care. Skitter? Grue?”

Brian looked to Taylor, but she was already walking toward Gatecrasher. He followed, giving Lisa a shrug before turning around.

“Alright, get those bugs out there, signal me if you find anything. Let’s go save a city.” He said, before leaping ahead, towards plumes of smoke rising from buildings in the distance.

Chapter Text

Taylor

If the fight with Bakuda was exhausting, the all-nighter they volunteered for immediately after was enough to guarantee they would get knocked out as soon as they laid down. Buildings of high importance to the city were the first casualties of Bakuda’s bombing spree: The town hall, train station, Protectorate buildings, and Bay Central, to name a few. Even Fugly Bob’s wasn’t entirely unscathed, she would later learn. A great deal of smaller buildings had been hit by various bombs going off at random. But for every building that ended up damaged beyond repair, just as many had been saved from almost certain destruction by the trio. Battered from the fight and literally shaken by the explosions going off around them, it took time for them to find their stride. But eventually after getting familiar with how their abilities worked in tandem, the rate at which they could locate and defuse lurking bombs increased greatly. Taylor was able to handle the smaller, more standard explosives, while Brian and Gatecrasher would seek out the more chaotic ones. There were many close calls, often when Gatecrasher belatedly discovered a bomb that had multiple triggers, or false ones, or triggers that went off when other triggers were defused, but luckily he was able to leap far enough away that the resulting explosion was subsumed by Grue’s darkness before it could harm him.

Now, as the sun rose on Brockton Bay there was still chaos in the streets, but it could have been much worse. They found themselves standing in the middle of a street, catching their breath, when they decided to finally call it.

“I think we’ve done everything we possibly could,” she said to the others. Brian nodded.

“That sucked, but I’m glad we did it. I know I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anyone I knew got hurt when I could have prevented it.”

“Agreed,” Gatecrasher said. They stared at the devastation around them in silence for a moment. “So… my place is a pile of rubble. I don’t suppose you know somewhere I could crash?”

“We’ve got a place!” Taylor said. It was the least they could offer after everything they had been through. Not to mention he may have saved their lives, tripping up Bakuda like that.

“Uh, give us a moment.” Brian pulled her aside, lowering his voice. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? We owe him one, but more people knowing about the hideout opens us up to a lot of risk.”

Shielding her eyes from the morning sun in her face, and trying to ignore a slowly increasing headache, she honestly didn’t care what happened so long as it got her to a bed as fast as possible. “I trust him on this. We got off to a bad start at the bank, but he still chose to help, instead of taking us down at our weakest.”

He thought for a moment, then sighed. “Alright, but we should make sure the others are cool with it before he walks through the door. Don’t need him getting maimed by Brutus.” She nodded and they turned back to Gatecrasher.

“Come on, follow us.” She said, as they turned toward the Docks.

When they arrived outside the former welding factory, Taylor went ahead. “I’ll go double check, be right back,” she said, before attempting to bound up the stairs, and immediately remembering “bounding” was not a verb her body would agree to in its current state. Saving herself from a fall, she climbed the rest at a slower pace before undoing the lock on the door. In the kitchen, Alec and Rachel were arguing over… Eggs?

“Like a hundred different ways, and you only ever scramble them? Where’s your sense of adventure?”

She grunted. “Who cares how they end up? It’s all egg in the end, just stick to the fast method.”

“See, you say that, but the ‘fast method’ would be frying!” She waved him off.

As much as she wanted to see where this was going, Taylor could almost see a clock ticking down in her mind, labeled “seconds until I black out”. She knocked on the doorframe. “Hey, guys, you cool with a guest?”

“Here? In our place?”

“It’s Gatecrasher, he needs a place to, ah, crash. By the way, where’s Lisa?”

“Getting groceries. And after that guy saved our asses? Sure, why not. Rache?”

“Whatever.” She said, turning her attention to the refrigerator.

“Groceries? Right now? I didn’t think any stores would even be open.”

He snorted. “I mean supplies, dork. Like ibuprofen and bandages? Maybe she’ll grab some lettuce too, I don’t know.”

She rolled her eyes before heading back downstairs.

“Hey!” She called over to the two, who were now talking over by the railing. She gave them a thumbs up when they turned around, then proceeded to head back up and into her room and fall onto her bed, not even bothering to remove her costume first.

She awoke to muffled shouting. Avoiding checking the clock out of fear of seeing how little she slept, Taylor got out of her barely large enough bed and opened the door to the living space.

“And when was I going to be informed about this?” She heard Lisa shout.

Alec replied from the couch. “Look, it’s not a big deal, he-”

“Not a big deal? He knows our faces! The only one still a secret is- ah, Taylor, perfect timing! This brilliant little plan was your idea, how about you come over here and suffer the consequences, too?”

“You already saw my face days ago and I didn’t make a fuss, I really don’t see what the big deal is.” Gatecrasher, no, what was his name? Something Conway? Conway said.

She reached the kitchen, where Brian and Conway were sitting at the island while Lisa stood. Rachel must have left while Taylor was sleeping, maybe to avoid the exact situation that now confronted her. Brian was nursing a can of coke while Conway was… was that a Shirley Temple? She forced herself not to laugh, if only to avoid pissing off Lisa more.

Lisa paused for a moment, looking at Conway. “So, now what? You’ve seen our faces, where we live, should I invite you to the team, too? Maybe we can go say hi to the boss! ‘Good evening sir, I have a prospective new hire. He punched glass into someone’s eyes and then absconded with half of our team, I think he’ll be a great fit! Oh, and did I mention he let Glory Girl kick my ass? ’”

“You keep complaining about me taking out Bakuda, I’m starting to worry getting exploded was a part of your master plan.” He took a sip from his straw before continuing. “Wait. ‘Say hi to the boss’? That’s not Brian?”

She saw Lisa’s body tense in a way that reminded Taylor of whenever she had to call on an immense reserve of willpower to prevent breaking her fist against something structural on particularly bad days.

After what felt like an eternity, she sighed and looked at Brian. “You’re okay with this?”

Brian shrugged—a habit he seemed to pick up after Conway first did it—and she turned to Taylor for her answer. “Fair warning: If you try to emulate the shrug too, I’m going to scream.”

Taylor tried extra hard not to move her shoulders. “Yeah. I mean, his abilities would be pretty useful. He could defuse almost any of Bakuda’s tech, he totally hard-counters Kid Win. Or Armsmaster…” That might be bad, actually, she realized.

She was really gunning for him on the team because, like Brian, Conway seemed to try and be a force for good. With him, they could finally tip the balance away from Tattletale, Regent, and Bitch going full-villain. Hell, maybe the Undersiders could turn face and become an organization like New Wave. But if Conway did counter Armsmaster, it would be that much harder to sell it to the man. Maybe she could modify her master plan to involve deposing the Protectorate leader and making a deal with his successor. Things were quickly getting out of hand on what was supposed to be a brief stint as a vigilante.

“Hey Alec?” Lisa raised her voice.

“What?” He shouted back, now occupied with the game console.

“Conway on the team, yes or no?”

“Sure!”

“Uh, how is Rachel going to react to this?” Taylor said. “Didn’t I join without her say-so, too?”

“Eh, it’s cause it was unanimous except for her. This time around, me and her can complain behind your backs instead.” Lisa hid it well, but Taylor could see she was being honest about that. With mock enthusiasm, she extended a hand for him to shake. “Welcome aboard, Dick.”

“Huh?” Conway looked up from his drink.

“Congrats on becoming the newest Undersider.” Brian smiled and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Wha-” He looked between them. “Uh, yeah. It’s great to be here!”

Lisa pinched her nose. “Christ, we just hired a man who wasn’t even trying to join us…”

“I swear I mentioned that. My residence was destroyed along with the train station, I came here cause I’ve been awake for twenty-five hours and Taylor offered a place to sleep. But I could use a job…” He scratched his chin. “Yeah. I’m in.”

Lisa extended her hand again with not quite as much enthusiasm as before. “Okay, welcome aboard. Again.”

This time, he shook it.

Miss Militia

When Gatecrasher split off to meet the Undersiders mid-battle, Hannah had her doubts about the man’s plan. The five-second pitch before leaping into the container yard amounted to “it’ll be easier if they’re distracted fighting, and I’m right here anyways, so why wait?” She was needed elsewhere, so she hadn’t wasted her breath trying to convince him otherwise. Later that night, she heard that when Bakuda was taken into custody, she was talking about Gatecrasher as if he was the one that defeated her. There had even been reports of a man matching his description out defusing bombs with two of the Undersiders. Then, as night became day, the world moved on, and she grew worried that he hadn’t reported in yet. But, on the rare chance he was pulling off a masterstroke of genius, she held off on any recovery action that would blow his cover.

Sometime in the afternoon, she finally received a call.

“Yes?"

“Miss Militia, it’s Gatecrasher.”

She let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t sound like he was recently tortured or in battle, at least. “Status?”

“Good? I’ve… joined the Undersiders, ma’am.”

It was a good thing she wasn’t taking a sip of coffee right now. “I beg your pardon?”

“They hired me, I think. I intercepted them right before Bakuda was about to kill them, stopped her, and got two of them to join me defusing bombs across the city. I asked if they knew a place I could sleep—the only casualty of the night was my house, you see—and they offered their lair. One thing led to another…”

“You asked to join and they just said yes?” This was too good to be true. If Tattletale saw through his ruse right away, she could be turning the entire plan to her advantage.

“No, I didn’t ask to join. Tattletale was complaining about them letting me see everything over breakfast, and sarcastically suggested they hire me, but they started discussing it for real. I suspect the lack of sleep got to us all.”

Hannah paused. “Breakfast..?”

“Uh, let’s see, Al- Regent made deviled eggs for us, Grue and Bitch had some bacon. I asked for a Shirley Temple, as a joke, you know, but I look over and Regent’s pulling out a thing of grenadine.”

“How did you all navigate eating with the masks?” Curiosity was getting the better of her, she knew, but it was a surprisingly common issue. Deals made over food was a tradition as old as time, but for capes with ill-suited costumes, the decorum of the affair was difficult to maintain. She would never ask anyone about it, but she would gladly accept advice to help avoid awkwardly maneuvering food past her scarf.

“We took them off?”

“What?” I suppose that counts as a solution, she conceded.

“I won’t discuss the more sensitive details until we meet again in person, but no, I don’t think this is a trap. In fact, Tattletale was the one most opposed to the whole thing. If she’s pulling double- or triple-bluffs, well, I’m screwed regardless and there’s no point agonizing over it.”

“Okay.” She said, after a moment. “Good work, Gatecrasher.”

“Ma’am.” He hung up.

What was Armsmaster saying about that other group member? She thought back to one of his late-night rants to her. Allegedly, Skitter was planning to turn them in to the Protectorate, but with recent events it was looking more and more like she was joining them for real. She would have to keep an eye on Gatecrasher.

But first, I need to make sure I’m there when Armsmaster finds out about this. The look on his face will be priceless.

Chapter Text

Sam

After her apartment complex took a glancing blow from one of Bakuda’s larger bombs, the tenants were ordered to evacuate in case the building collapsed. If I’m going to lose my house, I can’t lose my stuff too, she thought to herself as she quickly stuffed the most important personal effects into a duffel bag. The duffel did not play any role in her daily routine, it only existed in case she had to leave quickly. She never expected such a case to be “building collapse” rather than “family collapse” or “mental collapse”, but these reflections were saved for after she got the hell out with everything she could fit in it. Tools such as a fancy set of lockpicks that, fittingly, had been acquired once upon a time at the expense of an older, shittier set of implements. Documents she would never need more than once in a blue moon, but would cause difficult y if one ever lost them. The first thing most people think to pack would be clothes, but the se went overlooked. In her mind they were the least important thing to bother with, as long as she was already wearing something. She could easily find more later; the Weymouth Mall clearly didn’t care what she took, if they were going to store perfectly good clothes in a dumpster.

News of evacuation must have reached the building’s murine population as well, as the commotion saw rats scurrying around more than usual. Two such residents that Sam had recently acquainted herself with, Ratbert—whom she recognized from the night she triggered—and Ratilda, seemed to go to her for advice. Of course I wouldn’t leave you behind, she reassured them, finding space for them at the top of the duffel as she made her way to the exit.

At first, she settled down in the cordoned-off safe zone with the rest of the evacuees, sitting against a wall with the duffel bag secured under her legs and checking the crowd for threats. ABB members or not, it was entirely possible her assailants were civilians around here. As the night crawled on and people settled down, however, she was surprised to find herself… bored? They kept hearing explosions off in the distance, afraid the next one might be on top of them, but Sam was reasonably certain no danger was nearby. She couldn’t rule it out entirely since, if there was a bomb that didn’t look like one, she didn’t know if she would notice it, but scanning her surroundings was something to do other than panic blindly like everyone else.

To pass the time, she decided to tune in to what she dubbed “Conwave”, her personal 24/7 radio show, live from the little circular receiver she swiped from Conway’s coat pocket a day ago. What are those electronic doodads? She thought to herself, when first inspecting his pockets as they chatted, he has like a dozen of them, what’s it matter if one goes missing? Besides, if they were that important, he could just track her down again to get it back. She didn’t plan to do it, of course, but when one has the ability to inspect everyone’s pockets it is very difficult not to, and curiosity got the better of her. She hadn’t noticed the gun or other high tech gizmos he hid in there until after, but pick-pocketing someone once was hard enough. Twice? She would have certainly been caught.

When the fight at the bank broke out, she was terrified despite being on the other side of the city. Who do I call? How do I tell them what’s going on? If they can tell I’m not calling from nearby, how do I explain what I know? Ultimately she admitted defeat, sat down, listened, worried. It didn’t help that there were two periods of complete silence, either, but eventually his voice returned, and she could just barely hear the voices of Panacea and Glory Girl! Not her favorite capes, but it was still cool for him to be working with them. After things died down and Conway must have been on his own again, indicated by occasional muttering to nobody in particular, she put it down to focus on other things.

If Panacea and Glory Girl were a surprise, this morning was earth-shattering. She started listening in after hearing what sounded like him talking to someone other than himself, only to hear a voice that might have reminded her of Armsmaster. And Assault. Battery… Miss Militia..? Conway was talking to the entire Brockton Bay Protectorate! No, she amended that after listening further: Conway was a member of the Brockton Bay Protectorate! After that fiasco, she had to find him again. He was no longer the cute, affable vigilante that fell on his face jumping between rooftops, this guy was serious. And he seriously needed a sidekick, she decided. Then the bombing started, and she was preoccupied with more pressing issues, but now she returned to her new hobby of… Well, it’s not exactly spying on someone, just listening!

Right now, Conway sounded like he was heavily exerting himself, muttering inbetween breaths about “taking this job to get away from bomb defusal, but no…” then shouting to his partner, “Grue, darkness me!” before the radio cut out again. Grue? The Undersider? How a hero ended up working with a villain on something less than an Endbringer threat on such short notice, she didn’t know.

After listening for another hour, Sam had learned that Conway was working with Grue and Skitter on saving the city from the bombing run. They shared grievances about Tattletale, Grue deflected a question about who the boss of the group was, Conway used maybe a dozen bomb-related puns, stopping after accidentally reusing one. Sam was able to get a good idea of where they were from their chatter about the buildings around them. That’s not far from here, she noted. Her parents were off consoling each other somewhere else in the crowd, anyways, they wouldn’t notice if she left. Grabbing the duffel and checking in on her new companions inside, she headed off to spectate the hero and his villain acquaintances in action.

Conway

Though targeted by Bakuda, the only damage suffered by the PRT headquarters was the destruction of its glass exterior. Devastating to the architectural style, having to replace it with a mix of translucent tarp or plywood, but he was informed day-to-day functions were unimpeded. Conway had left the Undersiders’ lair and was waiting at a bus stop to cover the trip there, when a familiar face walked up to him.

“Whath up, Conway?”

He turned to greet her. “Sam, long time no see. Still in one piece?”

“Yup.” She said. They stood in silence. Conway glanced at the bus schedule printed on the side of the stop.

“So, where are you headed?” He attempted.

With his current outfit, it was plausible she genuinely ran into him accidentally. A handful of public encounters had occurred where Conway was wearing clothes that, while ordinary enough, did exactly line up with the costume Gatecrasher wore, and it was only a matter of time before someone put two and two together. To try and avoid the issue, he had taken to putting away the hat while “being Conway”, and in addition borrowed clothes from Alec who, surprisingly, was closer to his build than Brian. He did not wear the aristocratic look as well as Regent, but it was better than the black aramid bodysuit under his now-removed coat, which would have been very conspicuous to walk around in. The leggings were not his style, to put it neutrally, but they fit over the Bullfrogs without the bulk that two pairs of pants would otherwise cause. Probably not necessary, but the neon-blue accents of the hypertrousers were somewhat unique, and there was no point risking it.

“Where are you headed?” She asked back. He considered repeating the question again, but realized if he did so the conversation probably wouldn’t go anywhere for a long time.

“PRT building.”

She hummed a sing-song tune that went on for a second too long. “Ith that tho?”

“Let me guess, you’re headed there too.”

“Mhm.”

“Any particular reason, or are you just a really big fan of piles of shattered glass?”

“I wath thinking of joining the Protectorate, actually. Though, if they turn me down, maybe I’ll join the Underthiderth…” She looked up at him and winked.

If anyone other than her said that on any day other than today, he might have shrugged it off as a joke. Since that wasn’t the case, he was instead subjected to the less pleasant outcome of feeling his blood turn to ice.

“Okay, I’ve had a very long day. I’m going to ask this question seriously, and I would appreciate it if you answered it seriously: Why are you saying this to me?”

If she didn’t just threaten to reveal his second-biggest secret (after “not having powers”), he might have felt more guilty about the pain that flashed on Sam’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he added. “But you have to understand, this is serious. Not exactly ‘bus stop small talk’, and if you go around telling everyone about this, a lot of people could get hurt.”

“I know, relaxth. I’m not a child. How old do you think I am?”

“Hey, that’s not fair, any answer I give will be wrong, even if it’s the right one!”

“Twenty-three.”

He looked at her and tilted his head, and immediately regretted it. “I’m short!” She shouted. Then, muttering, “fuckth thake…”

Another, slightly more awkward minute passed until the bus arrived and they hopped on. Conway instinctively picked the first available seat much to the disappointment of Sam, who seemed to prefer the very back, but she relented and joined him when it was clear he wasn’t getting back up.

“I’m theriouth about joining either team, though.”

Luckily, the bus was almost entirely empty. Not many people out and about after city-wide armageddon. “You mean you have powers.”

“Yup.” A slight smile.

“And those powers would be..?” Conway could hold conversations with the best of them, but only if they gave him replies he could work with.

“I thee everything. Well, thmall thingth. They’re more clear. Big thingth…” she wobbled her hand. “The thmaller, the better. Heh.”

Conway couldn’t believe he of all people would ask: “Not that I don’t believe you, but could you prove it?”

She glanced over him, a ponderous look on her face. “No withdom teeth, crown on lower left molar. Bullet in left bithep?”

“Motherfucker,” he muttered, rubbing his arm. “Doc said he removed that. ‘Phantom pains’ my ass…”

“Now that I’ve proven mythelf worthy, may I join you on your journey?”

Damn, I guess I owe her one for the bullet. “Okay, when we get to the PRT I’ll introduce you.”

She smiled and nodded her head enthusiastically.

Chapter Text

Coil

“Chance the ENE Protectorate gains a new member today, if I don’t use my power?”

“Fifty-seven point six percent.”

Interesting. Coil didn’t have any plan prepared for it, but he decided to ask anyways, to shake things up. “Chance the Undersiders gain a new member today?”

“I’m… not sure. My head hurts.”

Coil tapped a button on the phone. “Mr. Pitter, are the painkillers going to arrive today?”

Dinah winced. “Fifteen point two…” Dammit. He would have to get her to answer questions only directed at her, eventually. He hung up on Mr. Pitter before the assistant could reply, and tapped two pills of ibuprofen into his hand to give to Dinah. They would have to be enough for now.

“What do you mean, you aren’t sure?” He was still learning the limitations of his pet’s power, and it was not convenient in the slightest that he could only test every so often. Since being brought back to his lair, only eleven questions had yielded answers. Twelve, counting the error he just made on the phone.

“It’s… there’s two categories, but one isn’t happy. Like oil and water trying to mix.”

Ah, of course! Coil realized. If semantics can trip her up, it looks like I’ll need to be even more careful interpreting answers. “Chance the Undersiders gain a member that is not Gatecrasher?”

“Twenty-four p-point one percent. Please.”

He offered one more pill into her outstretched hand. “That’s all for now, pet. Thank you.”

The ambiguity of Gatecrasher’s membership in the Undersiders gave him pause. Perhaps Dinah wasn’t sure because whether he considered himself a member was in flux. Or maybe it was whether the team did, or if Coil himself did. Was it based on asking an arbitrary amount of simulacra if they considered him a member? He was still getting used to dealing in questions with probabilities for answers. However, ignoring that tangle, there was still a decent chance they gained a new member. Or rather, a good chance a person would come under Coil’s scrutiny today, and impress him enough that he would extend an offer they could not refuse. Or perhaps, I absolutely extend an offer to someone today, and there’s only a seventy-four percent chance they accept. He would need to figure out the nuance soon.

“Gatecrasher and one neutral have disembarked, headed towards PRT HQ.” A spotter called in. They found him last night during the bombing run, and had been diligently tracking him since. The spotter had informed them recently that, via directional microphone, the person tagging along was likely friendly but posed a possible risk to Gatecrasher’s identities. Tattletale, failing to live up to her name once again, had not yet informed him of Gatecrasher’s arrival or fraternization at the Undersiders’ hideout. This is why we have redundancy, he thought to himself. If not for knowledge regarding Gatecrasher’s employers he gleaned as Thomas Calvert, he would have been thoroughly furious with the Undersiders gaining a new member without his approval. However, it presented an excellent opportunity to get more claws into the Protectorate. Even with less than a week of experience, Gatecrasher was allowed into meetings that Commander Calvert or the Director herself could not attend. Well, Emily certainly could get in if she wanted to, but heroes talk differently when ‘Lady’ is looking over their shoulder. He would be a powerful tool if Coil could sway him, and still useful if not.

“I believe they are discussing the possibility that the neutral joins the Protectorate, sir.” The spotter added. “How to proceed?”

Well, that won’t do. No need to sit idly by and let his enemy gain strength, he figured. Chance favors them getting a new cape by a small margin. A coin flip, nearly. “Continue to tail them, keep me updated,” Coil replied. In the cafeteria, Thomas Calvert stood up and walked to dispose of his lunch, before heading downstairs to wait for their arrival. Coil swiveled the monitor with the spotter’s feed towards Dinah, who was currently resting on a cot on the floor. “Pet, is this person going to join the Protectorate or the Undersiders today?”

“Huh?” She replied after stirring from sleep. “I don’t know… You said no more questions for now.”

“You’ve been asleep for six hours.” Maybe placebo will help. “Either group. Is this person going to join a cape group today?” He pointed at the figure in the dingy sweatshirt with their hood up.

“I don’t know! That’s just a person, I don’t know who they are. If they are, they aren’t wearing that outfit.”

“If I can get a look at their face, would you be able to tell me?”

“Eighty-five point zero per-”

“Excellent,” he interrupted. Entering the lobby, Calvert grabbed a coffee and started chatting with the receptionist. He zoned out to let the small talk flow easier as Coil rang Tattletale. He regretted having to discuss Gatecrasher now, instead of saving the dramatic reveal for a more heated discussion with the girl later, but this took priority over reminding her of her place.

“Boss?”

“Did you acquire Gatecrasher’s phone number?”

There was a pause, and a hint of something rude muttered under her breath that he ignored. “Yes.”

“Good. Be prepared to call him if I say so.”

Calvert noticed the front plywood-clad front doors slide open and tuned back in. “-but basil would be an easier plant to grow, if you were just getting started.” What the hell was I saying? He smiled at the receptionist’s response and gave her a gesture to hold on a moment as he pushed off from the wall he was leaning against. Gatecrasher and his plus-one had entered the building, but unfortunately the latter had a scarf in addition to their sweatshirt. The shadow of the hood prevented him from seeing the face at this distance. Shit, he realized a moment too late that after peeling himself off the wall, he had committed himself to moving to greet the pair walking in. Or moving somewhere else. He swirled around to the coffee station and prepared to act out pouring a cup despite the one he held being nearly full. The things I do for this city… As he shuffled the coffee table’s accoutrements, he looked over at Gatecrasher and the receptionist. Unfortunately, Gatecrasher was standing between him and the person he was trying to look at.

“Boss?” Tattletale asked.

“Hey Conway, how are you doing today?” The receptionist asked.

“I’m here, be patient.” Coil answered.

“Not exploded yet,” he replied, smiling.

The spotter chimed in: “Gatecrasher and the neutral have ent-”

“Me neither!” His friend chirped up. “Thafe and thound.”

“I know,” Coil interrupted the spotter.

“Glad you’re alright. How can I help?” The receptionist said.

“What’s that?” Tattletale said.

As Conway started to talk, Calvert walked over to introduce himself.

“Not you. Hold on.” Coil replied.

The man turned to him. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Richard Conway.” He extended a hand.

Coil didn’t know how it went without him being there, so he asked on the spotter.

“Field Commander Thomas Calvert, a pleasure.” Calvert said as he shook it.

“Looking to join Protectorate, shes telling them where to go…” the spotter relayed.

“And this is Sam, I can’t get rid of her.” Conway chuckled.

“Pet, the person joining the Undersiders…” Coil started.

Calvert looked into the hoodie as her head raised up at him.

“Her face is covered in scars.” Coil said.

“Scars. Good to meet you.” Calvert moved his hand to shake hers.

Coil cringed at the same time as Calvert. Gatecrasher and Sam, I mean Sam, cringed too, which was even worse.

“Twenty-four point one percent chance she joins the Undersiders today.” Dinah responded.

Calvert resisted the urge to collapse back to Coil. Just five hours of shame before he could leave work.

“Is this some power play to remind me how much of my time you can waste?” Tattletale said.

“Sam, I mean. I’m so sorry.” He tried a cough, which failed, and turned to a practiced nervous laugh instead.

Coil was somewhat relieved the fuck-up wasn’t so colossal that it jumped across simulated timelines.

Calvert tried to finish his introductions as humble as possible, then excused himself.

“Call Gatecrasher, delay him, try to get him to leave.” Coil directed her.

Calvert found a quiet place to call the base from. “Get Dinah on the line.”

“Calling. Leave where?” Tattletale asked.

“What is it?” Dinah asked, groggily. “I feel worse than when I went to sleep.”

“PRT Building. Thousand dollars if you can get him out of there in thirty seconds.” Coil said.

“What are the chances a woman with a scarred face joins the Undersiders today?” Calvert asked.

Tattletale laughed. “Can do it in twenty, boss.”

“Ninety-two point one percent.” Dinah replied.

“Try to do it without causing a scene, don’t be foolish.” Coil added.

“Chance she joins the protectorate?” Calvert asked.

“No fire drill? Come on.” She pouted.

“Seven point seven.” Dinah said. Then, away from the phone, “Mr. Pitter, can I have some pills please?”

“Actually, nevermind. Go wild.” Coil said, then hung up. Calvert directed Mr. Pitter to give Dinah her medication, then hung up as well. Coil breathed a silent laugh. Apparently, putting my foot in my mouth was the best option, there. You win today, Calvert. Coil’s memories folded into Calvert’s.

I may need to avoid her for the rest of my life, but otherwise, a stunning success. Calvert smiled to himself.

Conway

Sam and Conway went to a restaurant near the PRT for lunch. Kiwivespa’s was the pinnacle of “upper middle class dining” and not a place either of them could afford to visit regularly, but there were few other places available nearby. The outdoor dining was a nice touch too, after the incident at the PRT. Sam, and by extension Conway, were not in the mood to be near a lot of people right now. She was not keen on pursuing the Protectorate job half because of Commander Calvert’s unpleasant welcome, and half because as a result of that, she concluded that being such a public figure was a terrible idea. Conway tried to reassure her that he didn’t have to exist publicly (yet), but even the occasional bit of PR was too much for her. He could sympathize; reporters were like jackals. Or piranhas after the scent of blood. There were a lot of unpleasant animals to compare them to, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with them.

After the waiter left, she spoke up. “Tho, the Underthiderth.”

Conway grimaced. It was not a good look for a Protectorate cape to recruit a recent trigger into a villain team. In fact, it was the exact opposite of the intention of crisis point work. But of the villain groups here, she could do much worse… They robbed a bank and Tattletale tried to shoot someone, sure, but they were just kids. They weren’t committing hate crimes, or hate crimes, or… what did the Merchants do? Drugs? As long as they kept their needles to themselves he wasn’t particularly wrathful. But they didn’t, from what he heard.

“It… is not the worst idea.” He said, eventually. “I suspect I won’t convince you to join New Wave?”

“Hell no.”

“Fair enough. You know, I think you might be the oldest, better make sure you’re a good influence.”

She put her hand on her heart and nodded in a very stoic manner, then broke down giggling.

“I am a model thitithen. Not giving up alcohol though.”

Conway shrugged, he couldn’t claim to be better than her on that front.

“What’s with the duffel, by the way? That’s a lot to be carrying around on a lark.”

“All my thtuff. My apartment got evacuated during the bombing.”

“Damn.” Conway didn’t have a good reply to that. “Everything? Even clothes?”

“No. Perhapth we can go thopping thometime! Lookth like you could uth a new wardrobe too…”

“Whatever do you mean? I’m fabulous.” He made an exaggerated flourish as he replied.

It caught the attention of a stocky man walking by. “Hey, the hell are you wearing?”

Conway looked down at his own attire. “Ruffled shirt and pantaloons? I think it’s based on commedia dell’arte.”

The man huffed. “I stand for American pride, all you do is sit for f----t pride.”

“I don’t believe Lélio was ever portrayed as such, but good for him.” Conway smiled.

He took a step closer. “I’ll cut that smile off your fucking face, pretty boy!”

Okay, that was uncalled for. Conway stood up. “No need for violence, you can just ask nicely, you know.”

“I’m out here fighting to make this country great, and all you’re good for is sucking my dick!”

“Afraid not,” he said as he walked over to the man. “But I’m quite good at fighting, would you like to see?”

The man pulled a knife and lunged. “Die!” Well, that’s unpleasant to have screamed at your face.

Conway sidestepped and retaliated with a punch. The convenient thing about an opponent underestimating you is that most of your punch’s power can come from them running into it face-first. The assailant stumbled, and a blur appeared faintly around him, as if a swarm of copies were summoned and then held tightly to the host, like they were trying to avoid detection. Shit, another Empire cape antagonizing me? He wondered. Okay, I antagonized Krieg first, actually. Oh well, at least I have an excuse, now. But as the man got up, Conway could tell the ghost commander realized he shouldn’t be making a scene out of costume, even if this was technically Empire territory.

“Fuck you. You won’t be looking so smug when it’s fucking Judgment Day, crying on your knees!” He shouted, but Conway could tell the fight had gone out of him. And a tooth, he noted, bending down to pick it up after the interloper walked away. Neat. He sat back down at the table.

“Doeth that happen often?”

“More than you’d think, actually.” He finished his drink and stood up again. “Anyways, Undersiders?”

She nodded in excitement.

Chapter Text

Regent

Alec was not very happy at the moment. Huddled in the back of a booth, hiding an occasional errant arm twitch, about to be surrounded by jackals, he fought hard to keep his mind away from rough memories. In the middle of the room, there was a massive conglomeration of tables. It didn’t help that Somer’s Rock even looked like one of Heartbreaker’s joints. Instead, he tried to pass the time by talking to the newest team members, Grumbles and Mumbles. He looked across to where they were seated. Together with Skitter, the four of them occupied the booth, while Tattletale, Grue, and Bitch opted to claim seats at the makeshift refectory table early, before the other teams arrived.

“So, Gatecrasher, tell me again how this-” he gestured at the papier-mâché rat visage next to him, “happened?”

“It wath on short notith. ‘Welcome to the team! We need you in cothtume in three dayth. Toodleth!’”

“I did not say ‘toodles’,” Tattletale muttered. “Let me level with you, Ratcatcher, this isn’t my favorite arrangement either, bringing you out this early, but the boss says ‘jump’, we jump.”

“I like the outfit,” Skitter added. Of course she would, it’s practically what she wears every day.

“Thank you!”

In addition to the floppy paper rat mask, Ratcatcher wore a somewhat pointy hat. Both working to wrangle her short, unkempt hair. A striped tee and thigh-highs clashed (or “contrasted”, a more positive reviewer might say) with a faded blue denim jacket and shorts. The boots were just about the only part of her getup that didn’t appear to be on the verge of falling apart.

Gatecrasher cleared his throat. “I ran into her the morning after the Bakuda fiasco. She showed promise, I thought it was a good idea.” The fedora tilted with his head. “And if ‘the boss’ thinks it’s a good idea too, well, who am I to question him? Her? Them?” He looked at Tattletale, who revealed nothing.

“Sure.” Regent shrugged. “How could we go wrong? We finally have enough people for a rugby team.”

Grue sighed. “Eyes up, guys.”

Kaiser had walked in, two very lovely ladies on each side of him. Regent prayed he could be the one to kill that man, just for the jokes about a regent killing a monarch. The women were interesting too, he supposed. A bit too tall for my tastes, though. He turned his attention back to the table and his glass of ros é. Tattletale opted for a black tea, Skitter and Bitch, coke. Grue made the daring choice of nothing, while Gatecrasher and Ratcatcher opted for water. Honestly, he was a little disappointed. I mix a Shirley to perfection for this man, and he won’t even try something new at the place you can order anything on the house? Water would have been easier to spike, too, if that was their concern. Open glass from the moment it’s brought out, and strange flavors can be written off as issues with the water supply. Can’t mess with wine like that without ruining the taste, and seeing a vintage uncorked in front of him was one of the few tiny satisfactions he still enjoyed.

The crew mostly kept their heads down, stealing glances to size up new competition without being too blatant about it. When Faultline and her eponymous crew walked in, though, Ratcatcher showed more of a reaction than even Tattletale. As Faultline intentionally walked past to sneer at Tattletale, Newter locked eyes with Ratcatcher and grinned in a much more friendly way than his boss. She gave him a thumbs up. Lord, she’s hopeless. Alec took it in stride, but over the past few days it was almost tragic seeing how flirtatious Sam tried to be, and even more to watch how spectacularly she failed. “He’s like sixteen, sis.” He whispered, and her eyes widened as she defensively flailed her hands in front of her. Whoopsie. He heard Gatecrasher sigh. Hm, I wouldn’t mind trying that psychedelic sweat, though. If I just found someone willing to get dosed by him… He shrugged off the thought.

Skitter leaned over to whisper to Tattletale. “What was that with Faultline and you?”

Regent spoke up. “Can’t say why Faultline doesn’t like Tattle, but I know Tattletale hates it when people act like they’re smarter than her, and Faultline is smarter than her.” She shot him a look from across the aisle. “Hey, just saying!”

“Gatecrasher, swap with me?” She asked. He and Tattletale switched seats so he sat at the massive table now.

As Tattletale leaned in to explain their beef to Skitter, Regent turned to Ratcatcher.

“So, new girl.” He said, and after Skitter looked up: “Other new girl. I wasn’t there to hear it, but what’s your deal?”

“Powerth?”

“Nah, like, how did you end up with a bunch of goofballs like us? And don’t say ‘Conway’ cause he owes me an answer to the same question. I get why Skitter joined up, but you guys seem more like the noble types.”

“Hey, I’m noble!” Skitter interrupted.

“You rotted a dude’s junk off with spider venom, you’re hardcore.” She seemed to accept that answer.

“Honor among thiefth?” Ratcatcher replied. “Being among heroeth doethn’t mean you aren’t among athholeth. At leatht now, if thomeone fuckth with me, I can fuck back.”

“Phrasing.”
“I know what I thaid.” Her body shook with a quiet laugh. “Kidding. But yeah. All the PR in the world wouldn’t fixth thith.” She gestured at her face.

“Hm. And Gatecrasher?”

He turned around and shrugged. “The Protectorate doesn’t approve of the way I solve problems.”

“They’re saying she might not be able to see again.” Tattletale said, frowning.

“Bakuda? Good, maybe she’ll pick up a new hobby then.”

“What’s with you and Bakuda?” Regent asked. “I didn’t know you and her were a thing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Saying ‘I like having vision’ would be an understatement. You can imagine why I’m averse to that sort of thing. Break her legs, and I wouldn’t even flinch.”

“Fair enough.” Regent said. He thought back to all the times his body had risked getting permanently damaged, eyes or otherwise. The fear never even crossed his mind. Maybe when you’re able to hijack—pun somewhat intended—other people’s senses, there’s less concern about keeping your own in perfect condition. Hell, worst case scenario, he could probably find a willing thrall to permanently take over. There’s enough weirdos in the world that somebody’s bound to actually enjoy it.

He was drawn out of his reminiscing by an announcement from Coil: “Seems Lung won’t be coming. Convenient, given the subject of tonight’s discussion. Shall we begin?”

“Let’s.” Kaiser answered. Regent leaned back and zoned out as the “words”, to borrow a term from Bitch, began.

After some time, the meat of the meeting had been chewed through. As he was closing, Coil opened up the floor. “Offers, announcements, grievances?”

“Yeah.” Hookwolf spoke up. “Bitch.” That will never not be funny to hear, Regent mused.

“What.” Bitch responded.

“You attacked my business. Set your fucking dog on my customers. Lucky I wasn’t there.”

“That’s the kind of risk you run, doing business in Brockton Bay” Grue answered. “Team members have their needs, and I don’t care to stand in the way of that. How would your people react if you forbid them from harassing or hurting gays, Kaiser?”

“Damn right, boss.” Crusader spoke up. He laughed. “I’ll keep hurting those f----ts any day of the week, just try and stop me.”

Gatecrasher responded with a laugh of his own. “I’m sure plenty of people have.”

“Oh, yeah? Big talk from Bogart over here.”

Gatecrasher took a moment reach into his pocket, and Ratcatcher giggled at whatever he was about to extract from it. He held up a tooth, small splatter of blood on it, to the rest of the room.

“You!” Crusader shouted. The rest of the room shifted their gaze between Crusader and Gatecrasher.

“Me!” Gatecrasher replied, cheerfully. “Now, if even I can manage that, I can see why you have your little vendetta. They must have beaten you within an inch of your life!”

“I would suggest the two of you take this feud somewhere else, before further disruptions arise.” Coil said. Regent had heard that tone of voice plenty of times before. Not a suggestion, a threat. Stop, or else…

Gatecrasher must not have gotten the memo, as he continued. “Ah, I’m not looking to start any trouble. But I need assurances my fashion sense will not be slandered any further.”
“Of course you wouldn’t want trouble, you couldn’t survive a real fight.”

“One where you outnumber me ten to one? No, I suppose not.”

“Gentlemen.” Coil issued what sounded like a final warning. Regent let out a sigh of relief as Gatecrasher heeded it this time.

“Let’s set this aside for now.” Grue ruled. “We can return to it after the ABB is dealt with.”

They nodded. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, “Ah! Fuck!” Crusader yelped. Gatecrasher let out a barely audible laugh, as the Empire cape jumped away from a wall outlet that somehow managed to shock him. Coil looked at the prime suspect with displeasure, and Gatecrasher raised his hands to plead innocence.

Coil shook his head. “That’s settled then. If there’s nothing else, let’s conclude the meeting. Thank you everyone.” Regent suspected “everyone” may not have included the Undersiders as much as everyone else. But he had to admit, that shock was pretty funny.

Grue gestured for Gatecrasher and Bitch to get up, then came to Regent’s table. “Let’s go.”

“Bitch, do you understand why I’m pissed right now?” Grue said, after they had left the pub. “You made us look bad. I’m not pissed because of what you did to Hookwolf’s business. That’s you. But now I have to fucking defend the actions of my team without knowing what the fuck people are talking about, and that makes us look weak. You get it?”

“Fine, whatever.”

“If I were in your place, I would have done the same. But you need to let the team know about those things.” Gatecrasher added.

“Oh, you do not get to say that.” Tattletale spoke up. “What the hell was that with you and Crusader?”

“People fight! He went after me, I retaliated, he ran away tail between his legs. Twice now, actually.”

“He attacked you? When?” Grue asked.

“Day he introduthed me to you guyth. We were having lunch, he cometh up, pullth a knife…” Ratcatcher shuddered. Hm, something in her past? Regent thought. I can see how that would fuck a person up.

“Jesus. Was it cause of…” Grue interrupted his thoughts.

“Huh?” Gatecrasher said. “No, I was still in Regent’s outfit, and the man couldn’t appreciate good style.”

Regent smirked. At least someone likes the threads.

“We got eyes on us, by the way.” Skitter said. “Might want to wrap things up.”
As they walked away, Regent resumed thinking. Despite the hiccups, their group was quickly becoming a force to be reckoned with, and they didn’t even get snuffed at a Somer’s Rock meeting!

Also, hang on, did I just empathize with a group member? Huh, maybe these guys really are “friends”…

String Theory

“All that time wasted here, and you’re still smiling like an old coot sipping moonshine on the porch?” Voices carried remarkable well in the Birdcage. A great way to remind you that privacy was a luxury down here. Unfortunately, it was also a pain in the ass to have one’s thoughts interrupted constantly by everyone talking.

“This is tea, Michael,” the gentle tone of Marquis replied, followed by a glass clicking against the table. “And I suppose this facility is my porch. But I’ll have you know I’m forty.”

“Well damn, gramps, you could have fooled- AH!” The other voice screamed. “Okay, okay, you win, you’re young and handsome. Fuck, you made me bleed over my good shirt, dude.”

“A tragedy. You know, speaking of fresh blood. I’ve heard word we may have some visitors from my old territory.”

“What, you got the ghost lady to pull out Psychic Steve or some BS so you can get your daily news? I don’t see any newspapers ‘round here.”

“My friend, a plethora of material pours into this place every day, you’re smoking evidence of that right now. You think information can’t travel, too?”

“Not in the fortune cookies, I know that much.”

“Crack open a few more, maybe you’ll find some. But I digress. They’re saying Brockton Bay has had a spot of trouble with Lung lately-”

“What, tuberculosis? Ow! I’m sorry.”

“-trouble with Lung lately, and everyone’s banding together to stop his gang.” Marquis said. “Well, not everyone. It seems the heroes aren’t planning to do much. Ah, well. In any case-”

“Will you shut up?” String Theory screamed, propping herself up in her bed. “I can’t fuckin’ think with you reminiscing in my ear!”

Marquis cleared his throat, more irritated now. “ In any case. It looks like we’ll be getting plenty of friends joining us here very shortly.”

“What was that? Nevermind, keep talking!”

The man remained silent. In fact, everyone was. Bastard told everyone to quiet down just to spite me.

“Fine, be that way! First one to kick his teeth in gets a free laser watch!”

“Now who’s being disruptive?” Marquis chided.

“Your mom!” She fired back.

“I’m afraid she’s no longer with us.”

“Fucked up. My condolences.” She said. “To the pallbearers carrying her!”

Marquis chuckled. She suspected he enjoyed the ribbing. He never made any of her bones extend out of her fingers, at least. She laid back down. “Continue?”

“Thank you. As I was about to say, it will be interesting to see if anyone I know ends up here. Oni Lee and Bakuda have killed enough directly they would likely get hit with a kill order as soon as the Protectorate got them on the back-foot. And if not? Well, after the stunts they pulled recently, I’d wager good money they’re coming down here to join us.

“How much?” Michael chimed in. Marquis ignored him.

“What about The Dragon?” Another cellmate nearby asked. “Kyushu, I mean, not the bitch keeping us here.”

“There is no need for such hostility.” A voice said over the wall speakers.

“If they can get Lung in here, well, color me impressed. I don’t mean to disparage your efforts, Dragon, but I don’t know if this place could hold him.”

“No offense taken, Marquis. Though I am quite confident in my abilities.”

String Theory—or Stri, as they had taken to calling her, for brevity—tuned out the rest of the conversation. Could Lung break out? She considered. No, wrong question. Would Lung try to break out? The prisoners of the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center were broken, defeated things. I held the fate of the moon in my hands! She could have gotten out of here long ago if she set her mind to it, positive. The Birdcage was just an excuse to give up, something you could point at and shrug if someone asked why you threw in the towel. But she knew Lung was not a man familiar with defeat. The man who solo’d an Endbringer? He wouldn’t let this fancy white box hold him. And Stri knew what would happen when The Dragon spread his wings: Demolition charges, confoam, probably some mixture of neutralizing agents and neurotoxins, all falling into the cavern they were allegedly suspended over? Not her cup of tea. Not how she was going to go down. Is that… determination I feel? That hadn’t happened in a long time. Such a long time, in fact, that she was sure Dragon-the-warden had even given up expecting escape attempts from her.

Materials? Coffee and bubblegum. Deadline? Lung’s arrival. Objective? Get the hell out.

Easy peasy. Stri cracked her knuckles and grabbed her glasses. This’ll be fun!

Chapter Text

Miss Militia

Grabbing lunch from the cafeteria, Hannah waved Conway over to her table after spotting him. She had been meaning to discuss the results of Somer’s Rock, a veritable treasure trove of intel whenever it happened. Regardless of whether anything was achieved, having every gang in one room at the same time provided crucial insight into the inter-group dynamics. The difficult part of black ops, though, is always communication. Not that this was a particularly heinous breach of any rules, written or otherwise, but for someone of her status it was good practice to cover one’s tracks. It wouldn’t do to have such correspondence dug up as a part of a larger investigation, should one ever occur. Hannah never planned to be on the wrong side of the law, but she knew all too well how it shifted to fit ideals that may not always align with hers. Thus, awkwardly waving to the man under pretense of enjoying food together, despite being widely known as a solitary eater, all to avoid an email.

“I finally get to sit at the cool kids table? Awesome.” He said, as he sat down across from her.

“Mm.” She replied, finishing a bite of not-terrible sandwich. “I was hoping to discuss your report on Somer’s Rock. The info you got is invaluable. Whenever a villain meetup occurs, we’re always stuck playing catch-up for weeks on end. The report you gave will be invaluable to our work.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” She looked down at the sandwich for a moment. “However, I have bad news as well.”

“Just for me? Aw, you shouldn’t have.”

“Humor me for a moment, please.” She sighed like a woman who hadn’t slept in months. Which wasn’t untrue.

“Unfortunately, they’re breathing down our necks on the matter of your public reveal. It’s not just the Image Team frothing at the mouth waiting to releasing all sorts of merchandise and advertising featuring your likeness, though that is part of it. As I’ve mentioned, this little mission I’ve assigned you to is not exactly…”

“Legal?” Conway finished.

“That. It’s nothing terrible, but the public and our enemies are not fans of subterfuge, for various reasons. People like to know things are as they should be, and get jumpy when there’s wrenches in the works such as yourself.”

“You know, I was considering putting ‘expert wrench’ on my business card, back in the day,” he mused.

“I’d like to discuss that too, actually. But back on the topic of the reveal; it’s penned in for Wednesday.” She frowned as he took in the information. She was not a fan either, but it wasn’t her call to make.

“Wednesday.” He said. “You wouldn’t happen to mean one that isn’t two days from now, would you?”

She shook her head. “I just got word of it this morning, I apologize.”

Conway sighed, and took a sip of coffee before continuing. A latte? Hannah never opted for anything other than black. Even without the need for caffeine to fight off sleep, it assisted greatly in fighting off a more general weariness that was likely a result of never getting a break from existing. Meditation helped, but more recently that slid back into automatically sleeping for exactly an hour, or spending an hour anxious about everything that needed to be done as soon as it was finished. In the end, nootropics were the simpler solution.

Conway saw her glance at the cup. “Want a sip? Flavor of the day is maple.”

She reviled at the thought. “Why would they do that? How does maple even… nevermind. No, thank you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You must be one of those purists that’s never tried adding anything to coffee.”

She shrugged. “Why bother? It’s just coffee, anyways. Tastes better than energy drinks, and that’s good enough for me.”

“Do you just eat flour and water to get your calorie intake?” Conway shook his head with mock sorrow. “I used to think that way too, but trust me, as someone who spent too many stakeouts on a rooftop tired and bitter, bitter coffee only makes it worse.” He pushed the cup towards her. “It won’t hurt, promise.”

She relented, if only to move the conversation onto his past employment. It was… good. She absolutely could not let him- “I saw that! You exhaled and smiled softly like in the commercials!” -dammit.

“Fine. You win.” She said. “So, you went on stakeouts often?”

“Something of the sort. Sometimes they were actual stakeouts, sometimes it was waiting hours for the right window of opportunity. Sometimes, I was bored and just wanted to go to work early. Shake up scenery from the same old three walls of the apartment, you know?”

“Sorry, three walls?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“Nevermind. I remember in that first meeting you went to, you mentioned arms manufacturers?”

“Even my therapist was more subtle with the guiding questions.” He chuckled.

“I apologize. I should clarify this is not an…” interrogation was the word that came to mind, but she didn’t want to ruin the mood by even saying the word. “I really am curious.” She said.

“Figures, should have expected ‘Miss Militia’ wanted to hear about gun factories.” He smiled. “Alright, here’s the good story. Or maybe just the most recent and easiest to remember one. Manufacturers: There’s two of em, INTEX and Rooke Firearms-”

“The names don’t ring a bell.”

“Huh, you heard of the IT-XM25 or G43, respectively?” She shook her head. “Oh well. Also, shush; it’s storytime.”

He grabbed his coffee back to take a sip before continuing. “So I fall out of my apartment one day—equipment malfunction—and land right in a building with someone getting murdered. I get pulled in both to bring the guy to justice, and to clear my own name. It doesn’t look good in court when you literally fell through the skylight of the crime scene.”

“Right, the jumping thing. But didn’t you say this was back when you didn’t have powers?”

“Uh.” He scratched his head. “Yeah, just a normal fall through the skylight. As normal as that can be. Must’ve landed on a couch.”

“Then you got out of the business after that?”

“What? No, that was the beginning of the job.”

Hannah blinked. “How much more could there be?”

He laughed. “You know, from what I’ve seen of the cape scene so far, a lot of you guys forget what normal humans get up to.”

She tried to hide her embarassment. “It’s easy to get caught up in the immortal flying supermen and moon-terrorists.”

“Moon-terrorists?”

How could he not have heard of that, wasn’t it public knowledge? She spent so much of her life in and out of clearance levels, it was hard to remember who was privy to what. Well, if he hadn’t heard of it before, he was bound to soon enough. “String Theory was her name. In the Birdcage, now. Could probably best describe it as ‘extortion’. She could have built anything she wanted, and she spent all her time on blowing up random things. Literally. Blew up random buildings, locations, people, except the only people exempt were those who paid for ‘protection’. Tried to argue it was better than the standard racket of ‘protection or else I will hurt you’, but the chance that anyone could be next terrified people. The last straw was her threatening to ‘knock the moon out of orbit.’ Now, tinkertech is strange sometimes, but there’s nothing you can build that would deliver that much energy and not explode the moon.”

“Much worse than losing it completely.”

“Precisely. So we finally went out of our way to take her down.”

He nodded, but didn’t reply at first. Then: “Went out of your way?”

Hannah cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“She was exploding people randomly. That wasn’t on your radar before the moon thing?”

“That’s what I mean, with the panic. You hear ‘randomly exploding’ and it’s only bad because you ignore that it’s much less likely than getting shot, attacked by a shark, struck by lightning…”

“I think—and this is just my humble opinion—but I think it’s bad because of the ‘randomly exploding’ part.”

“You don’t think it was the right decision to wait? By the time this got noticed, this had been going on for some time. We had more pressing issues.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, it’s the best time to plant a tree.”

“I beg your pardon?” Shouldn’t have encouraged it last time he did that...

“Best time is twenty years ago, second best time is now. You’re saying you let this go because you could just… wait for it to become a problem instead of preventing it, knowing you would need to eventually?”

“I understand your frustration, but proverbs don’t automatically win the discussion. We’re outnumbered, Conway, we have to pick our battles. Every cape we send to deal with the random explosions is a cape we’re diverting from Endbringers, or the Blasphemies, or…”

“Agreed. No clue what those are yet, but I’ll take your word for it. But not every cape can be working on the big problems. Hell, look at what we’re doing! You go in and wreak havoc on the big baddies, I lurk around in the background, maybe throw a guy out a window, investigate the institutional side of things. It works!”

“Hm.” They sat in silence for a moment. When Hannah finished her lunch, she continued. “You may have a point. I hate to say that because, as a part of the original roster of Wards, the little jobs were exactly what we were there for.”

Conway shrugged. “I don’t hold it against you. Like you said, it’s easy to forget about the small things when the big ones are on the horizon. But there’s always something on the horizon. If you try to wait until there isn’t, you’ll never get around to the problems killing you from the inside.”

She frowned. “Do you…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why does everyone keep insinuating things about me? No, nothing’s killing me from the inside. I think. Hey, unrelated, but Assault mentioned we could get Panacea to check up on us from time to time?”

“We could set something up, if you feel its necessary. But keep in mind she’s not a part of the Protectorate.”

“Got it, no bugging her every time I feel a cold coming on.”

“You need to be aware that she could always decline. Spend your good will sparingly.”

He nodded. “Uh, where were we? Rumors of my impending doom, the world’s impending doom, the moon’s… Ah, Rooke. She hired me to catch the real killer, her competitor, Gessler, counter-hired me to take her down, the police chief hired me to, ah, investigate why the camera footage was missing.” He hesitated. “I was the reason it was missing. Cause of the whole ‘Rooke needed me not incarcerated’ thing. I think the statute of limitations on that is out. Don’t check.”

Hannah tried to look reassuring as she nodded.

“Rooke’s company is hit by a trapped prototype I stole from Intex for them. Which Rooke needed me to give to them to steal. Which I stole from another company…” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “There was an affair, too, but that’s not particularly relevant. I had to let a guilty man free to save an innocent one from prison, some asshole threw me out of a window,” he said, with indignation. “All leading up to ending Gessler with that trick I later used on Krieg.” He sighed.

“Thats…” Hannah attempted.

“Yeah. Pretty sure I killed more people than I avenged. Hit me harder than most of the other jobs. Wanted to get away, ended up here.” He settled down. “Huh, that feels like my whole life story. Sorry about that.”

“No, you’re fine, I asked.” She said. “Prototype firearms, though?”

“Of course, of course, let me tell you about the prototype firearms…”

She grinned.

Tattletale

Finally over the compounding thinker headaches that were tearing her apart over the past few days, Lisa was in her room relaxing, watching crime movies. Something of a treat, for her brain: A plot that, on the surface, was complex enough to keep it entertained, but shallow enough that it didn’t require any brainpower. Halfway through, just as Al Pacino was about to investigate a robbery suspiciously similar to his target’s usual M.O. [it’s a setup to get intel on him!] yes, I know, she heard a knock on her door.

“Yes?”

“Got a minute? Conway’s got an announcement.” Brian said.

Reluctantly, she pulled herself out of the sheets and went out to the main room. Everyone else was either already lounging around or, for Taylor and Alec, were coming out of their rooms as well. She took a seat at the island next to Sam, with Taylor joining her. Brian and Rachel shared the normal seating area of the couch, while Alec draped himself across the abnormal parts of it.

“So, Dick, you look like you’re about to make an announcement. What’s the occasion?”

“Yes, I won’t even bother trying to figure out how-”

“Brian told me.”

“Fair enough. The occasion,” he paused, [guilty, confession] he’s going to say it, be patient. “Is that the Protectorate is going to reveal a new hero on Wednesday.”

A few glances were exchanged. “Okay?” Rachel said.

“who happens to be me.” [been a hero for a while, delayed reveal. Undercover? No malice, won’t attack. Not after us?]

Alec laughed. Taylor muttered, “Wait, is it April now? I thought May first…”

“Saving that one for next April. But no, he’s telling the truth. Knew it.” Maybe if Taylor thought I could confirm what I suspected, she’d make my life easier and confess. Or if she’s innocent she’ll stay silent, and I’ll keep hearing [she’s silent cause she’s guilty!] until the end of days.

“Damn, you can’t even let me have this,” he laughed. “Okay, yeah, not a joke. Sorry.” He finished, lamely.

“Told you we should have killed him,” Rachel said, grabbing her machete.

“No! No killing,” Brian said. He turned to Conway. “You better have a good reason.”

“Full disclosure, I was Protectorate first, then I joined you guys. Miss Militia wanted me to get an in with you guys, you had her spooked after the recent successes.” [flattery? But not trying to deceive us. Genuinely impressed by the bank job.] Saw how great we were and wanted to see how it’s done, huh? [Ribs bruised but healing, blunt force, Glory Girl]. She mentally rolled her eyes at what was, ostensibly, her own thoughts mocking her.

He continued. “-there’s pressure to reveal me to the public. Technically I shouldn’t have even been doing this stuff yet. So, uh, thought it better to air that now rather than you hear it from the TV.”

“So what now?” Taylor asked.

“I think that depends on Conway,” Brian said, eyeing the man warily.

“I can’t be an Undersider, officially. As you know, hero and villain organization membership is pretty mutually exclusive. And, no offense to you guys, but they cover healthcare. Also, I’d rather not put ‘that bank that just got robbed’ as my income source on the W-2, you know?”

Brian spoke up, “actually, our finances are handled by… friends in very high places.”

“Shit, you guys have Number Man? Hm.” He sighed. “No, sorry, healthcare wins out. But what I wanted to get at is, there’s nothing stopping us from working together unofficially. People, who may-or-may-not-be Miss Militia have heavily implied they will look the other way as long as I’m not killing or maiming people. Frankly, I was already planning to abide by that rule.”

“But there’s nothing stopping you from selling us out.” Rachel said.

“Sure, but why would I? It’s only been a week, but I get the impression you aren’t doing this out of sadistic pleasure. It’s not like I get any money or fame from taking you down, either.”

“No. Did I mention my sister?”

“In passing, but I think I got the idea.”

“I mean, it seems obvious to me,” Alec said. “Either we say yes, or we say no and have one extra cape to deal with.”

“You… might be right” Taylor said.

“I’m always right, dork.”

“Don’t fuck with me, I won’t fuck with you.” Rachel declared, returning her machete to its resting place.

Lisa turned to the one voice that hadn’t spoken yet. “Sam?”

“Yeth?” This girl is a nightmare to talk to. I get the feeling this will happen a lot.

“Conway, he cool or not?”

“Yea, I mean, he did help me meet you guyth. And before it didn’t work out, he wath gonna help me get into the Protectorate, too.”

“What?” Brian said. “Okay. You considered it but decided against it, I can live with that. Is anyone else a Protectorate mole?”

Lisa turned to Taylor. Come on, show me the money!

“Actually…” YES! “I wasn’t a member… But… I may have had a very tentative plan to sell you guys out. Briefly.” [she was planning on it up until two minutes ago].

Alec started laughing again. “Alright, guys, guys, I’m so sorry, but I have a confession-” Lisa stared daggers at him and he raised his hands. “Okay, not funny. Fine.”

Rachel traded in her coke for a beer but appeared otherwise unshaken by the news. Huh, I would have thought at least one of these would get to her. Did Conway manage to confirm her suspicions yet provide a valid reason to still trust him? And maybe she’s extending the benefit of the doubt to the other two because of that? Color me impressed, he might not be entirely incompetent. She looked at him. [Surprised at how well it went] Fine, but I’ll accept that accidental brilliance is valid, as long as he keeps pulling it off.

Lisa looked back to Taylor. “Not still planning on it, though? Remember, I’ll know.”

“Stop threatening me with lie detectors and you’ll be better than Armsmaster was.”

“Touché. So, Gatecrasher, what do the horrible folks at the PRT have planned for your costume redesign?”

“This is it.”

“Now that is the most surprising thing I’ve heard all day.” Alec interjected. “No black-and-white like Cinereal? No comically oversized cigar and list of noir-themed zingers to quip at your foes? Or a complete overhaul? I always thought that coat would look great in pink, by the way.”

“Assault gave me a lot of advice for swaying the PR department to keep it this way. I didn’t want anyone messing with my style.”

“Hah, you mean Madcap gave you advice. He sticks to the rules like glue so they can’t claim he’s ‘violating probation’ or some shit, but will take every chance he gets to mess with the suits.”

“Or powered armor suits, in Armsmaster’s case.” Taylor added.

“Hold on. When you say ‘Madcap’…” Conway said.

“You didn’t know? Jeez, man, you really are out of the loop. I know they don’t advertise it, but the guy was a pretty notorious villain before. Identical powers, it’s hard to miss.” [First capes, then the Simurgh. How does he not know?] I thought I was the one asking questions. [A Socratic question.]

“Well, that clears a lot up. What was he known for? Couldn’t have been serious for them to take him in.”

“Sprung people en route to the Birdcage.” Taylor said, matter of fact.

“Bear with me for a moment. When you say ‘Birdcage’…”

Alec let out a chuckle. “Now, Alec, don’t make fun of people for not knowing things,” Brian admonished him, even as he had a grin of his own.

Lisa braced herself emotionally. Maybe he didn’t know the colloquial term. “The Baumann Parahuman Containment Center?”

“Nope. Heard the term earlier but forgot to ask about it.” What the HELL.

“Conway, I have to ask. How have you not heard of anything important going on? This is beyond someone simply not reading the news,” Brian said.

“Look, I don’t know! Lisa said, what, amnesia? Sure, let’s go with that.” [Cautious. Not entirely sure of the answer, afraid of what it might be.] It might not be some great conspiracy. She considered. Case fifty-threes lose most memories yet retain speech and abilities, and not to get all theory-of-knowledge on myself, but if you know how to use an entire language, you must have some general understanding of the world.

“I’m inclined to believe him,” Lisa said. “I don’t like not knowing, but I can’t say we’ll ever find out for sure.”

“Thank you,” Conway replied.

“With that out of the way, we have heists to plan. Not that I don’t trust you, Dick, but what you don’t know can’t hurt you.”

“I’ll take my leave, then. Don’t let me catch you!” He said on the way out. It was in a joking tone, but Lisa could tell there was a very real meaning behind it: With Gatecrasher under the Protectorate, he was now obligated to fight them. Perhaps they would pull their punches, or make dumb mistakes on purpose, but they couldn’t outright ignore each other without attracting suspicion. It would be nice to work together during truces, but sadly those were few and far between.

After a few minutes to let everyone settle, she spoke: “Alright, gang. Who wants to visit an art gallery?”

Chapter Text

Conway

Since learning that his combat effectiveness was severely reduced when fighting capes, Conway had taken to exploring the more complex applications of his “powers,” in hopes they produced viable strategies. As a starting point, he worked under the assumption that the namesake Gatecrashers augment of his Bullfrog hypertrousers was his most powerful weapon. Different methods of leaping and pouncing would generate and impart greater force, up to the experimentally determined limit of “sometimes tipping a tall vehicle if hit properly.” Tweaks to the tension limits and alterations to the way the fabric settled eked out small improvements, but that would be the upper limit for the foreseeable future. While enough to tackle anyone not a brute or in breaker form, the move did leave him incredibly vulnerable for the positioning and charging period, as well as upon contacting the foe. A few times practicing with Battery, she had managed to “parry” the leap by performing an extremely well-timed grab with humorous results, throwing Conway out on his ass.

A melee weapon would improve the chances of a leap neutralizing a target without getting taken down himself, but at those speeds, most options tended towards lethality. Blades and spears were a non-option. Tasers could work, but without tinkertech (and the subsequent reliance on a tinker), they were still relatively weak. Fast-acting tranquilizers were penned in as an option, but he didn’t foresee being able to use them, and opted to not run the risk of a vial breaking and dosing himself.

When considering options that didn’t rely on Conway using himself as a battering ram slash payload delivery system, there was the Crosslink. An excellent tool against those with the right vulnerabilities for it to exploit, but utterly useless against flesh and blood. Well, directly, at least. It was more than capable of harnessing electricity to incapacitate opponents, as long as they were close enough to exposed wire.

And, of course, there was the Rooke-manufactured G43 “Resolver” now residing in an ankle holster, unbeknownst to anyone but Conway. A precision-tooled steel receiver, chambered for ever exotic 10mm rounds, it was touted by Melanie Rooke as the sledgehammer of semi-auto pistols. Much like back in Boston, the day this thing got used, heads would turn.

Unfortunately, Conway thought, seems like that day is today. He raised himself up from the ground and leveled the Resolver at its target, as electricity crackled in the air.

Conway, that morning

Assault passed by Conway in the hallway of the PRT building. “Heads up, Gatecrasher, we’ve got a fundraiser going on later today. Forsberg, that massive stack of bricks that looks like ready to fall over at any moment?”

“Oh, my debut? I’d joke about needing to see the stylist, but the full-face covering has its bonuses, I guess.”

“Ah, I’m not the guy to ask about that. No, I was letting you know because you, mercifully, do not have to go!”

Realizing the conversation would be longer than a few sentences, they both stepped off to the side of the hall.

Assault continued, “You’ll be one of the capes on a more intensive patrol, keeping an eye out in case anyone tries something funny while the rest of us and the Wards are tied up shaking hands with suits. Bad news, it’s you and Dauntless against the city. Good news, Aegis, Kid Win, and Browbeat are getting deputized to help out.”

“Huh, now that you mention it, I haven’t even met any of the Wards yet.”

“Really? We’re technically headquartered off on the rig, but I’m pretty sure all of us sans Armsmaster are here to hang out with them.”

“Huh.” Conway said. “I was just here cause you were, honestly.” Assault faked a swoon, and Conway laughed. “Just that I was following your example.”

“Hah, you picked a great example to follow, friend.” He took a step away. “Let’s get you introduced to those guys so you don’t have to forge a friendship in the heat of battle, eh?”

A buzzer sounded from behind the door of the Wards’ quarters before opening, and Assault gestured for Conway to go ahead. “Hey kiddos, new friend for you! Gatecrasher, Wards, Wards, Gatecrasher. I got places to be, have fun!”

“Uh,” Conway tried, as he turned around to the now-closing door. “Alright. What he said. Being out of the loop seems to be my new thing, so I won’t embarrass myself trying to explain the situation.”

“No worries, you’re in good company,” a kid behind a mask stuck out his hand. “Gallant.”

“A pleasure.”

Gallant gestured to the rest of the Wards, all wearing identical thin black masks, calling off their cape names as his hand passed over them.

“So, you’re the new hero?” The one identified as Kid Win spoke up.

“I hope so, otherwise security messed up big time letting me down here.” He smiled. Right, need to not sound like a jerk. Hopefully he injected enough levity in the statement. “Kid Win, right? I was hoping to talk to you, actually. Along with Aegis and Browbeat?”

They responded “Sure!” “Yes.” and “Huh?” at roughly the same time, before glancing at each other.

“Uh, sorry everyone else,” he said as he glanced around. “More pressing matters. We got a conference room or something?”

“We can use my workshop,” Kid Win offered. Conway nodded and the others followed him back.

The Wards’ quarters were a nice place. Reminiscent of an open floor plan living area like the Undersiders’ hideout, but with a significantly higher budget. Kid Win’s workshop was startling, as it took the open modernism vibe of the rest of the place’s architecture, then threw trinkets, suspended objects, clutter, and scorch marks over it, before possibly being hit with a tornado. Huh, reminds me of my apartment. Or maybe just the clutter, not so much the “high end modernism” part.

“Welcome to my crib,” he said, drawing out “crib” before looking away as if he immediately regretted it.

“So, I take it you’re here to discuss tonight?” Aegis asked.

“Yeah. You guys, along with Dauntless and myself, get the whole city to ourselves. More than normal patrol numbers, at least for us…” He looked at Aegis.

“Two pairs of two, sometimes just one.”

“Thank you. Hm, that means less total capes than usual, then. And assuming villains know the gala will have most of the Protectorate’s and Wards’ attention, we’re expecting something big.

“Like the bank?” Browbeat frowned.

“Yeah. But possibly every group, not just the Undersiders.” He looked at the fear spread across their faces. “Probably not. But we need to be prepared if we’re going to not let this turn into the bank fiasco again. Sorry, not a fiasco, you guys did what you could. But-”

“We get it.”

“Thank god. I was sent down here for a little team-building to make sure everything goes smoothly later. So let’s team-build!” He looked between the kids as they stared at him. “Fine, eldest first, I see how it is. Gatecrasher: I’ve got powerful legs and the requisite fall protection to survive it, can cling to walls and ceilings. More notably, however, I have range-limited total-rewiring abilities on open circuits, and full control over a building’s closed circuit should I get access to it. Just electricity—no fiber-optics—and I have to infer what I’m futzing with from context, but I’ve got a lot of experience futzing with things.”

“Holy shhhh-oot. Remind me to talk about the rewiring later, I’m already getting ideas.” Kid Win replied. “Kid Win: Guns and anti-grav tinker, mostly, I think? Uh, yeah, I guess this is my resumé” He said as he gestured around the room.

“Alright, I’m Aegis, flight and super-redundant physiology. No super-strength, per se, but I can function at the peak of normal human ability without destroying myself.”

“’Super-redundant’?” Conway asked.

“He’s been decapitated.”

Aegis sighed. “Yeah. Not fun, by the way. If I fall apart, would you kindly retrieve my pieces? I don’t need to watch my decapitated self stumble around looking for my head for an hour, again.”

“And I’m Browbeat, I’ve got biokinesis complemented with a sort of… manipulable forcefield. Not quite telekinesis, but it helps when I imagine I’m covered in thousands of tiny arms.”

“For the record, it does not help us to imagine he’s covered in thousands of tiny arms,” Kid Win said, looking a bit unsettled.

Conway pondered the new information. “Interesting. Kid, you might be onto something with us working together. As for you two…” He sighed.

“Hah, I get that a lot.”

“Sorry. I’m open to ideas if you have ‘em, but I’ve got nothing beyond ‘distraction’ and ‘keep enemies off me’.” He added, “in terms of working together, I mean. But I think you’ll be a lot better off ignoring me and just punching the hell out of stuff.” Browbeat and Aegis nodded.

“If you guys want to stick around while Gatecrasher and I work on stuff, though, feel free! Could always use more brains to bounce more ideas off of. Even if it’s not much more.” Kid Win said. “Just kidding.”

Browbeat declined before walking out, but Aegis took a seat and looked on. “Let’s see what the wonder twins can come up with.”

“I suspect I’ll be helping you more than the other way around, want me to just wire stuff? It doesn’t degrade over time or anything.”

“Oh come on, Gate, think bigger than that!”

“My expertise is jury-rigged joy buzzers and being a hassle to electricians! What were you thinking?”

Kid Win tossed him a toggle switch and held up a bulb. Was that a Nixie tube? Kid’s got good taste. “Here, wire this.”

He did, then flipped the switch and the number four showed up. “Okay?”

“Just ‘okay’? Dude, you’ve got wireless wires!” He waved his hand between the switch and light. “I’d bet good money this can’t get jammed, either, right? It’s all the perks of being hardwired with no physical weaknesses!”

Holy shit, he’s right, Conway thought. “Grue can interfere with it, though.”

Kid waved a hand. “Grue interferes with everything. Hell, he interferes with Shadow Stalker.” He continued talking, but not to anyone in particular. “No wires, no degradation. Infinite strength..?” Back at Conway: “Infinite range?”

“Haven’t found a limit yet. At least a few miles.”

He presented a steel bar: “Here, wire this.”

“How.”

“It’s metal, just like any other electric thing!” Conway shook his head. “What? Oh, you’ve got those weird power complications, huh.”

“How about you solder a switch to it?” Aegis interjected. Kid pointed at him with enthusiasm.

A minute of soldering later: “Try now.” Conway gave a thumbs up. “Yes! Brilliant. Aegis, tell me you’re thinking what I’m thinking!”

“I’m probably not, but sure: ‘I’m thinking what you’re thinking.’”

He rolled his eyes before rummaging through his shelving like a madman. “Can anyone tell me what the biggest drawbacks of railguns are?”

Conway, that night

“We’ve got trouble.” Aegis reported. Aegis and Browbeat were one pair tonight, while Kid Win was with Conway. Dauntless opted to go alone, given his experience. “ABB’s out in full force, we caught them just as they started with the theatrics.” He heard an explosion in the background punctuate the statement. “Getting beaten up near the corner of Lord and Gilfeather, close to Arcadia High.”

“Who’s there?” Dauntless called in, worried.

“Uh, all of them? Lung, Oni Lee, maybe Bakuda?” He replied. “They’ve got bombs but no sighting of the lady herself.”

“Jesus! Hold on, I’m on my way, but I’m far. Gate, Win, you should be closer right now? Get your asses over there!” It was strange to hear Dauntless this animated, but Conway decided it was warranted given the situation.

“Roger,” Kid Win replied, and lifted himself on the hoverboard. “Alright, Gatecrasher, grab on.”

Affixing himself to the bottom of the board was not the most elegant method of transport available, but still slightly faster than traversing the rooftops. He tried adopting a cooler, one-handed hanging pose halfway through, and was immediately reminded by his wrist why he never did that. He returned to his previous grip until they arrived above a parking lot surrounded by apartment buildings, in which he could see the two Wards trying their hardest against Oni Lee, as Lung and the unpowered gang members stood back and spectated.

Kid Win called down to Conway, loud enough to get past the hoverboard’s whine but not for anyone below to hear. “Buy them some time while I bring in The Alternator!”

“Turn your earpiece back on!” He called back.

Formerly the Alternator Cannon, “The Alternator” was the product of Kid Win’s mania earlier in the day, inspired by Conway’s appearance and subsequent offer to assist in upgrading it. Previously a pure-energy weapon which got its name from the alternating current generated by an impossibly-tinkered inertial power source inside of it, the entire weapon (or, more aptly, “weapons platform” given the hovering, manned nature of the device) was retrofit in an afternoon to become what Kid Win was calling an “energy lance”. Rather than a railgun’s metal slug, the energized rails generated a projectile akin to ball lightning. Concepts taken from his personal laser gun allowed for variable cohesion in the energy, producing effects ranging from a fast, long ranged taser to a slow, small “ball of ionization.” Kid Win explained that, regrettably, the lack of any physical ammo meant producing equivalent results with pure energy requires obscene amounts of it. It was now wired up to the PHQ’s emergency generator (an action done only because Kid promised to take the fall if it went wrong), but it could only do so much before exhausting the thing. Didn’t he mention the Director warning him about unverified tech? Particularly this very weapon? Ah, well. He wasn’t going to let lack of a field-test keep it out of use. Against a beast like Lung, it might be their ace in the hole, if only it could teleport into the fight in time.

“Showtime.” Conway let go of the hoverboard, jumping into the fray.

His superhero landing paused the fight between Oni Lee and the two Wards. Still without an official cape debut, the ABB likely hesitated on the minuscule chance he was sympathetic to the gang. When he did not opt to attack the Wards he was now standing next to, Oni Lee took it to mean otherwise, and sprang into action as Lung watched from a distance. Conway did not have a solid plan for dealing with the teleporter, but he was close enough to recognize the trigger mechanisms near the grenades strapped to the man’s bandolier. Then the second set, which sprung off in a separate direction as the original lunged toward him. He leapt away as the first lit up, seconds before the grenades detonated.

“You alright?” Aegis asked over comms. “He’s gonna keep doing that: teleport, bomb, hide. We need t- behind you!” He shouted, causing Conway to leap forward to his original position moments before another explosion went off. “Need to get him right as he teleports, before he can do it again.”

“I’ll need a moment to prepare if I’m trying to deactivate the grenades.” Maybe when this is over, Kid can give get my Crosslink a head-operated upgrade.

“Don’t bother! He’s good as new every time he teleports.” Browbeat added. But if I can get the real one...

Oni Lee continued trying to close the distance with Conway, as he leapt across the parking lot and between the surrounding buildings. Whenever he touched down, Lee was there waiting with his double. If he figured out Conway’s timing, he’d be able to detonate the grenades right as Conway landed. He had to figure out something soon.

“Why the hell isn’t he after you guys?”

“We’ve proved we’re resilient. He’s trying to go for the fresh meat.”

“Any chance of some backup? None of us are designed for this kind of fight!” Conway called into the earpiece.

“I contacted the rest of the Protectorate, but they’re in a tangle of their own. Undersiders are trying to rob the Forsberg from under their noses!” Dauntless said. Well, that’s just fantastic. Conway took a second to lament that he couldn’t be forewarned about their little heist, but such was the cost of the alliance.

“Incoming!” Conway said, as he jumped to where the pair were standing at the ready. “I need him off me!”

Lee teleported to Conway’s next location, possibly focusing too much on timing to acknowledge the Wards there. Conway bounded up onto a fire escape as soon as possible, as Aegis tackled the newest Lee form from the front. He better be as redundant as he claims, he thought. Focusing on fiddling with the Crosslink, he managed to rewire the triggers from the explosives to anything that isn’t the explosives, please. The first viable targets he spotted were the sparse few streetlamps illuminating the lot. Aegis braced for his imminent destruction, but when Lee escaped his grasp and teleported again, the lamps flickered in triumph.

“Got you now, bastard.” Conway said to nobody in particular. However, on the teleport immediately after his escape from Aegis’ embrace, Oni Lee was once again on top of Conway and, before he realized it, had taken a knife and stabbed Conway in the gut.

Even if it was technically a de-escalation from lethal explosions, those at least felt like Lee testing the waters. Dangerous consequences, but almost as if he expected the attempts to fail. The knife was more personal. He thought of Gessler, the coward, pistol ready to fire the moment Conway walked into his office. Oni Lee had drawn blood trying to kill him and for the first time in a long time, Richard Conway, leapfrog champion, was pissed. His good hand already detached from the wall, he swung at the man as soon as he appeared and the mask cracked, a portion on the left socket broken inward, obscuring the eye. Lee stood next to him on the platform instead of attempting anything. Was he stunned? Then the man dissolved into ash. Fucker! That wasn’t even the real one? It was just not a hard enough punch to dispel the clone. He glanced at the Crosslink wires emanating from the streetlamps, triangulating the assassin’s new position. But as he saw the mask, it was also cracked.

“Got a hit in! He’s down an eye for the moment!”

“Fuck yeah!” Kid Win whooped. “Hang in there, I’m almost- oh hell…”

He tuned out Kid trying to troubleshoot The Alternator’s growing pains and looked back to the lamps. One of them had been destroyed at some point in the chaos. Did he know about the wires? Or just collateral damage? In any case, let’s wrap this up. Though he was down one lamp and only three more could broadcast Oni Lee’s location, the exposed wiring gave him an idea. Close a door, open a window… He prepared a leap down to the exposed stump of the lamppost, and Lee, finally having gotten used to the one eye, teleported to it try and intercept him. But Conway bunted his leap, falling short of the target. With the stomach wound his landing wasn’t as graceful as it usually was, but he managed to get a hand in his pocket and set off a prankspasm from the Crosslink.

Against Crusader, with his armor half-acting as a Faraday cage, from a house outlet? It was comedic genius. Harnessing the city streetlamp circuit with a massive current, for use against a nonconductive ninja suit with a more-conductive person wearing it? Stunning. Literally. Still crouched on the ground, hoping to move slow enough to not spill any more blood than necessary, he noted how close his other hand was to his ankle holster. That bastard tried to explode me, and now I’m surrounded by gang members, with a knife wound in one of the best knifing locations other than the femoral artery or neck. He knew there would come a day when he faced an opponent too dangerous to keep alive. One that would kill him personally once the stun wore off. He reached for the holster.

It seems like that day is today. He raised himself up from the ground and leveled the Resolver at its target, as electricity crackled in the air.

“Didn’t they ever warn you? It’s not the volts that kill you, it’s me.”

One hand bracing the gut wound, the other on the trigger, he fired. Oni Lee collapsed, and this time, his body didn’t turn to ash.

Lung bellowed. “Enough! Your words grate my ears, hat man. You fight well, you killed my lieutenant. I hear you blinded the other. I reward this audacity... with death. I will enjoy this.” He stepped away from the crowd of gang members looking significantly more relaxed, and towards Conway, with his muscles shining from the remaining streetlamps.

“Not so fast, big guy!” Kid Win shouted from above, a godawful coil whine ramping up as he lowered the weapons platform. He had backed up far enough to not be directly over the area, and now trained The Alternator on Lung.

“Whelp!” He yelled up to Kid. “You are like a wasp. Painful, nimble, but easy to crush. This is no contest.”

“Not right now, pal. I’ve got the entirety of PHQ’s onboard generators diverting all of their power into this thing, and sure, it still wouldn’t be enough to take you down in your bigger forms. But right now? You’re just a man. And this thing will vaporize you if you take one more step.”

Lung flexed his shoulders, in what Conway would perhaps call glee, if the man even had that emotion. “Silly child, you would not. What would your Director think?”

“I haven’t even approved this weapon yet! I’m sapping the PHQ’s entire power supply, and you’re one bad day away from a kill order. Maybe tonight, even! I’ll take my chances.”

Lung paused. Hell of a gamble, Kid. You piss him off enough and you lose the advantage. But it paid off. If Lung resigned himself to his fate already, it would explain why even this antagonism wasn’t ramping up his growth.

With a sigh that sounded almost cathartic, he looked down to Conway and the pair on the ground. Possibly so he didn’t have to shout his next words to the gang watching from the distance.

“I surrender.”

Über

With nothing better to do following the ass-kicking at the hands of the Undersiders, Über and Leet resigned themselves to studying their defeat so that they may learn from it. It was not just an excuse to eat junk food and not do difficult work, he reassured himself. Careful, don’t want to accidentally get too good at doing jack shit. He got up and set himself to working on one of the more productive-sounding tasks he had given himself, reviewing the footage of recent battles. The ever-helpful snitch camera not only streamed their escapades to fans, it also served as a way to review fights (and to double check if Leet had made a device already).

Über couldn’t get his mind off the outsider who finished off Bakuda and saved the Undersiders. Gatecrasher kept nagging at him day and night. Sometimes he would say it out loud, just to try and fit it into a phrase he heard at one point or another. He was almost certain it wasn’t d éjà vu. Maybe it was from a movie? An old game? Tonight, he had sent out the snitch upon hearing explosions of Bakuda’s nearby. If nothing else, to get advance warning to get the hell away. He watched the screen as Oni Lee made a blunder, falling into Gatecrasher’s trap. Stunned, with brilliant electricity coursing through and around the creep, Gatecrasher got up and said a mildly witty one-liner as he pointed… his… gun…

He couldn't believe it. “Leet! Get your ass over here!” No fuckin’ way, man...

Chapter Text

String Theory

“Aaaa-ttention, ladies, gentlemen, and non-binary friends!” String Theory’s voice crowed from the speakers of the Birdcage. “This is your pilot speaking.”

She paused for effect, as six hundred of the aforementioned dignitaries of little dignity who filled the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center broke out of their droll routines. For the first time in many years for some people, something was happening. Murders were frequent, and general bodily violence moreso, but that was merely the expected result of putting hundreds of the world’s worst, most powerful criminals in a hotel together. This? This is going to shake things up.

Of the inmates who realized who was speaking (or rather, that it wasn’t the cold tone of Dragon), they stood, stunned, expecting the warden to retake control any second. Dragon would let them kill each other, but never dared to let them mess with the facility.

“I’ve taken up programming recently! My good pal Teach’ gave me a little kick in the noggin, and I up and injected the systems with a little ‘Dragon detox,’ if you will. She may be omnipotent and scary here, but she’s only human. Just a little connections jamming, don’t you worry, babygirl.” Well, maybe it eviscerated any live code inside this place, but there’s no need to incite needless panic now, is there? She would have preferred to avoid that scheming prick Teacher entirely. She’d seen his little thralls cooing over him, after all. But time was running short and coding guides were hard to come by down here, and ultimately sacrifices had to be made to meet the deadline.

“So, while our glorious overlord is pissing herself trying to get back in, let’s have some fun!”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Marquis inquired from across the hall. He wasn’t outraged, only curious about the disruption. They were both in their cages at the moment: Cell block divisions meant little when only the inmates were around to enforce them, and she had since taken up residence closer to him as a part of her plan.

“Leaving!” She said cheerfully. She grabbed her satchel and unlocked the door. Well, “unlocked,” it was already unlocked a while ago. I merely dropped the illusion of it being locked. It was almost like they designed this place so that any regular joe could scan and resend operational commands to these doors. Fine, maybe the average psycho doesn’t know how to magnetize their own metal scraps to emulate an unlock signal. She swapped with a prisoner near him (who was all too happy to get away from Brockton Bay’s former villain baron) just to get a cell with, ironically, better door security; Easier than brute-forcing a code lock. Sitting around pretending to develop a tic where she hit the cafeteria utensils against her rusty new necklace would cost some dignity, but she would defend her honor later. “Real programmers use a magnetized fork and a steady hand!” She thought to herself.

Marquis looked amused, and she took the opening: “Say, bone-boy, why don’t you come along for the ride?”

He laughed. “I appreciate the offer but no, my place is here. Best of luck, String Theory.”

She peered over her glasses at him. “You know, I hear there’s a little girl working herself sick back home. You sure you don’t wanna say hi? Just for a night? Hand yourself in after, say I kidnapped you. I’ll even give you some bruises to make it believable, on the house!”

Marquis looked away for a second. Oh, that got to him alright. He glanced around, as if to check if Dragon was looking, then relented. “Fine. What’s the plan, O kidnapper mine?”

“You eep the wannabe hitchhikers from attacking, let me handle the rest.” She grinned before running down the hall to the next objective: An antigrav drone. Thousands of the things kept the ‘cage precariously suspended above a chasm, designed and produced by Dragon herself. Perfect for keeping large structures afloat, or people.

Dragon was a tidy woman who did not leave her drones lying around, of course. But if you listened closely, every four-ish days—a hundred hours—there was a little orchestra of machinery going on behind the metaphorical curtain. Tinker-goddess or not, like all tinkers she had to manage repairing her tech at some point or another. Maybe she was in the Birdcage with them? Criminal mastermind strongarming her way to the top of the ‘cage and into the Guild? Stranger things have happened. Now, she just had to get past the physical curtain of the damned floors to reach the drone area.

In her quest of asking prisoners seemingly-random questions to gather intel, she discovered that one particularly bad fight damaged a floor tile in Block S greatly. Dragon replaced it, of course, but not the surrounding ones. Those tiles? Still weakened. She just needed a good hit from, say, an elephant.

Or something approximating one. “Alrighty Lab Rat, showtime!” She shouted to the second floor of Block S, where a grotesque isopod slash mantis hybrid brooded, clicking its mandibles.

It spoke back in the negative. “No, I’ve changed -y plans, aCKtually.” The mms and nns not quite coming through its crude vocals. “It will a-use… It will hu-or.” It clicked in annoyance. “Will tiCKle -e to watch your plans cru-ble. Fail.”

“Dammit, Rat! I’ll get you what I promised, now’s not the time to change the deal.”

“I don’t care about Blasto any-ore, the despair in your eyes is reward enough,” it clicked and chirped with glee.

“Marquis?” She turned to her new enforcer and pointed at the most prospective tile: “Bone him. There.”

He looked at her, incredulous, then sighed and put a hand to his nose. A moment later a cacophony of clicks and chitters fell from the railing right onto the ceramic, shattering it. No confoam burst forth, immediately confirming her theory that it wasn’t an external wall. Or not disproving that there’s actually no foam at all.

She beckoned to Marquis and jumped in after the isopod, landing in a series of very non-human-habitable maintenance channels. As they did, a familiar voice returned. “Stri?”

“Hey there, darling. Miss me?”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dragon’s voice asked.

“Oh, you know, the usual. Some jerk is breaking out of the Birdcage, I just came down here to check out these sweet drones.”

“Who’s breaking out?” She said. The voice was ever monotone, but she could tell when Dragon was anxious from the speed alone. She glanced at Marquis. What? Dragon didn’t ask questions sarcastically. Stri panicked and replied with the first cape that came to mind.

“Lung.” She winced and Marquis shook his head. He was about to open his mouth when Dragon cut him off.

“Troublesome. I thought I put every measure in place to make sure the latest arrivals didn’t try to leave the moment the van doors opened…” A second of silence broken only by lethargic chittering from Lab Rat’s form. “Stri, I need to… Deal with the issue topside. Please do not break anything and I will reward you.”

Hazarding she didn’t have cameras down here, Stri mouthed “What the fuck?” to Marquis, who shrugged.

Marquis followed her through the bay, while she rapidly tried to find anything resembling an exit. They ducked past low hanging girders, pipes, wires and tripping hazards only a drone would have the luxury of avoiding, dashing through the maze of poorly lit metal and electronics.

“There!” She said. A drone primed to exit the hangar door. Why break through a wall when the door’s right there? Something like a sedan-sized quadcopter with a flat top, only with gimbals inside the curved parts where the rotors should be, which showed no trace of thrust other than the faint hum they emitted.

“Lung hasn’t arrived yet.” Dragon’s voice returned.

“Holy shit, was that today?” She tried to high-five Marquis, who left her hanging. Dick.

“You are breaking out.” It wasn’t a question anymore.

“Yep, sorry darling. Not sure how you didn’t piece that together before, with your super brain speed.”

“I was… indisposed…” She paused. “If you keep going, I will be forced to detonate this facility.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“There’s hundreds of people that are still trapped in here. I’m just one. The damage I do from escaping will be nowhere near the damage villains worldwide will cause, knowing the one place that can hold them is out of commission.”

The drone’s hum increased until it raised into the air in preparation as the door began to unseal. Dragon was silent. Then:

“You are right, unfortunately. I only regret you didn’t bring this to my attention sooner. If you survive what’s next, please do not cause too much trouble, Stri.”

Marquis interrupted. “I would be remiss if I didn’t remind you-”

“The vacuum?” She shouted over the hiss increasing in volume. She reached into her bag and grabbed a handful of medical syringes with a trace of bubbles suspended in teal liquid, before passing one to him. “Oxygenated. Rat said too much will stop your heart. Don’t do that, please.”

They leapt onto the top of the drone, and she gestured for him to lay down. “This is going to suck.” She tried to add “hah,” but the vacuum in question sucked the air from her lungs.

Mercifully, the vacuum surrounding the Birdcage was not as inhospitable as space. But in total darkness, devoid of breath, her body quite unhappy with the lack of pressure, it sure as hell feels like it. The oxygenated fluid would give them just enough time that, instead of worrying about asphyxiation, they could look forward to enduring an embolism, burst blood vessels, swelling, cramps, nerve damage, and probably a dozen more emergent complications. But it’ll be worth it. She kept repeating the mantra, even as her muscles cried out in pain, which exacerbated her skin already crying out in pain, as she turned herself over and pried open a panel on the drone. She reached for a small, glowing orb courtesy of Lustrum offered in return for ‘exploding a few particular men’ upon her escape, using the light to see what she was messing with.

In addition to helping her see, a small modification to her glasses that had slipped in back when she first arrived was a little “hint” in the form of seeing electromagnetic radiation. As long as she was close or the current was strong enough, some small wires would reveal themselves with a faint glow. As she moved around, some activated in response to weight being shifted between the thrust units. Cutting open the insulation (and a little of herself accidentally), she fought against her body’s complaints to try and short the wires. No prison break is complete without using a shiv. There were wires she gathered in the satchel, but right now, even attempting to reach for it made her want to throw up. Which would probably get in the wires and doom us both. But she was bleeding… She mentally shrugged, conductive enough.

The ceiling of the cavern started to be illuminated after only a minute after telling the drone up, up goddamn you! But the climb felt like hours, and she used the third and final syringe halfway through. Marquis wordlessly objected, as many tend to do when denied oxygen, but he seemed to recognize that fighting would only weaken their chances, and relented. She found an intake system on the ceiling, presumably for maintaining the vacuum, with bars covering it. She tapped Marquis, who looked at her in confusion. Maybe that’s just the lack of oxygen. How the hell do I tell him to… Ah. She made a crude gesture with her hands and hoped he remembered the reference in his current state. He nodded, hallelujah, and raised his arm, bone structures shooting forth from parted skin to wrangle their way into the bars and tear them open. She raised the drone up a few feet more, then, with herculean effort her body would absolutely not be capable of, if not for the fervor and adrenaline coursing through her, pulled herself up and assisted Marquis.

One more bone-door conflict resolution later, they were assaulted with sweet, glorious one-atmosphere of pressure! Oh, I missed you! She would sing if she could. How could the moon live without you? They collapsed in equal parts relief and agony; they were alive. They were free.

Sam, last night

The party-crashers had made it out of the Forsberg, for better or worse, and Ratcatcher whooped as Bitch’s dogs leapt from rooftop to rooftop. This must be what Conway feels like, only with more muscle soreness. It reminded her of the time her parents let her onto a bucking bronco at the fair one year, except now she was in control, not flung about at the mercy of an unfeeling machine. I’ll have to ask Rachel about doing this more often, she mused. It was not a job she expected to be taking on, humiliating heroes with absolutely zero theft, but the pay being offered was more than enough to convince her.

She felt somewhat vestigial, during the gallery battle. The rest of the group had their methods of working together, executed plans almost wordlessly. They could trade off combatants or pull off combos, while she was stuck trying to communicate the old-fashioned way and suffering the consequences of enemies listening to the whole plan one was describing. At one point, she tried to have Regent trigger a muscle in Armsmaster’s knee, which elicited a confused look from him. She explained one of the bearings in his armor was bad, Armsmaster overheard, and dammit, now he’s going to fix that! I could have exploited that on my own later! He didn’t have to say “thank you for the warning,” though, that’s just rude.

Staying focused on that very same deformed bearing, though, allowed her to keep track of his location as they made their escape. However, it only let her say “I told you tho,” when Armsmaster reappeared at the mouth of the alleyway they retreated to. Apparently only Tattletale was a trusted news source around here. One combat interlude later, and they were left standing in the alley while Armsmaster was unconscious, knocked out from a darn impressive Judas-tackle. Or it would have been impressive if she could have seen it through Grue’s darkness. They left the hero in the alley and arrived at the parking garage to meet…

“Coil.” Tattletale acknowledged the snake in snake’s clothing. Creepy, and not just because they eat rats.

A clown, a copper and steel golem, and a retinue of four other capes stood behind him, all in various poses best described as “at-attention casual.” Other than the shadowy tentacle monster, of course.

“Good evening, Undersiders, so glad you could join us.” He said, a hint of playfulness in his voice. “May I ask what that commotion was?”

“Armsmaster followed us, he’s unconscious in the alley now.” Skitter answered. Coil motioned to the jesterly-looking person, who left to deal with the hero.

“You may be wondering why I’ve gathered you all here tonight…” He continued.

“You’re going to reveal the big plan. Sorry, boss, but it’s been a night. Can we get on with it?” Tattletale said.

He sighed. “Not even a little theatrics? You wound me.” He opened the doors on a very boxy limo. “Shall we?”

“Allow me to perform a demonstration,” Coil said, after a short while of silent driving. Handing a quarter to each Undersider, he instructed: “Flip once, catch it under your hand, tell me the result.”

“Heads,” everyone who received a quarter eventually called out. Ratcatcher already knew the result as it happened, and it was entertaining to watch everyone’s reaction as each consecutive “heads” was called.

Skitter grabbed a silver dollar out of a purse which also held an incredible assortment of gadgets. A bobby pin (but no tensioner, Ratcatcher noted. And i t’s bold to assume one pin would be enough ), various pouches of unidentifiable substances, something insectile that wasn’t moving enough for her to tell what it was. She really did pack everything. Maybe not as much as me, though. Ratcatcher’s jacket, shorts, socks, and massive utility belt allowed her to carry anything she could care to. Nothing particularly synergistic with her power, and not much of anything else save for lockpicking and first aid, but she would fix that soon after payday.

Skitter flipped her personal coin and got heads. While Coil wasn’t looking at her, so Ratcatcher flipped her quarter again. Tails. It was a relief to know he wasn’t totally in control.

“Probability manipulation?” Skitter asked, “Enhanced luck?” Nope.

He shook his head, “Just the opposite, Skitter, I control destinies. Decide outcomes.” That you know of. She smirked behind her papier-mâché mask. Tattletale glanced at her, but said nothing.

The chat with Coil continued for some time, complete with all the vaguely threatening statements that come complementary with every villain meeting. She felt a pang of sympathy when Skitter revealed her ambition to fix the city. It’s a hellhole, but it’s our hellhole, right? After you get past the drugs, criminals, villains (current company included), and the de facto class system… There might even be some good things, somewhere.

“And of course, everyone’s favorite little wildcard-” Even if it wasn’t intentional, she winced at “little.” “Ratcatcher, what is it you desire?”

“Love.” Okay, could have thought that answer out more. “But, ath for dethireth you can actually provide?” She gestured to her face: “Fixth it, and I’ll murder or theduthe ath many rivalth ath you need.”

Regent chuckled. “Power and money and all you have to do is build a supervillain harem? That sounds like a pretty good bargain, Rat!”

“Pleathe do not call me that.” She said, before turning back to Coil.

“Yes, I can do that. Provided you aren’t a case fifty-three under there?” She shook her head. “Splendid. My doctors are good, but they are mere mortals.”

The limo came to a stop in the Docks, next to a fleet of vans. “Additionally. You will be receiving new bank accounts, managed by a banker who goes by ‘the Number Man.’ Paying for tonight’s job in bills, naturally, was unfeasible.”

“Number Man? Gatecrasher mentioned that when we were discussing finances.” Regent added. “I thought it was a joke, you know? ‘Oh, yeah, good money. Is managed by number man. Big whoop.’ You mean that’s a real cape name?”

“A supervillain mathematician extraordinaire. I can’t see a more fitting title, truthfully. He provides reliable money management for those who don’t wish for extralegal assets to be seized by the bank.” Coil explained. “But tell me. How does Gatecrasher, Protectorate hero, casually drop the Number Man in conversation?”

Regent shrugged, Tattletale spoke up. “He was trying to be undercover as a villain, it could have been part of the briefing.” She didn’t sound convinced.

Coil hummed. “Perhaps I should keep an eye on him. He may not be as straight-laced as he wants people to think…”

“Does he want people to think that?” Regent asked. “He threw Krieg out a window and robbed Medhall blind.”

“Allegedly,” Tattletale added, trying to put the cat back in the bag. Apparently he didn’t remember we’re the only ones who knew that.

“Interesting.” Coil said, and didn’t elaborate. The limo came to a stop in the Docks, alongside a fleet of vans. “Well, I believe that concludes tonight’s festivities. I’ll be in touch.” He closed the door of the limo as the gang made their way to the vans, Bitch walking ahead to reunite with the dogs stored inside.

“So, supervillain harem, huh?” Tattletale asked.

“Regent thaid that, not me.”

“Sure, but you said ‘seduce as many rivals as he needs,’ no?” Grue added.

“I thought it would be, like, two or three rivalth. He’th barely known in Brockton Bay! How many can he have?”

“Did you hear what he was saying about taking over multiple cities and Protectorate groups? That’s a lotta capes, you sure you can handle that?” Regent asked.

“I altho thaid murder! I might murder them!”

They laughed. Fine, maybe I will, just to spite them! She sighed. Hey, it’ll at least be possible, when those doctors fix me up.

Chapter Text

Assault

“How are you lovely ladies doing today?” Ethan asked, taking a seat directly between Miss Militia and Battery. Jamie rolled her eyes at the audacity of his choice in chair. Being among the first ones to the meeting (save for Armsmaster, naturally), there were enough seats available that, if picked, would maintain generous space between attendees. Miss Militia spared no feelings and immediately moved one seat away, causing him to slump in defeat towards Jamie, and coming to a stop once his head was nestled on her shoulder. No, not even a smile? Fine. He returned to standard sitting posture as Armsmaster looked on with disappointment.

The meeting being called was marked “Critical,” not to get people to show up who otherwise wouldn’t, but to attempt to curtain nonsense such as Assault’s. Luckily, not a moment later, backup in the War on Seriousness arrived as Gatecrasher entered the meeting room.

Assault was conflicted on the man. At first glance, the two of them seemed similar, but under the surface? Well, we still seem similar. It troubled him. Was Conway the same kind of animal as Ethan? Since hanging up the Madcap persona, he thought he was doing good on his promise to embrace being a hero. Less graphic violence, more noble ambitions. But when one lives for the thrill of battle and the ire of one’s enemies, and your whole life has been a fight for survival? It’s hard to keep things PG all the time. He could see Conway falling into the same pitfalls he had early on as Assault.

He and Jamie decided if he was going to stay hero, he would do it to make a difference he believed in. Sure, he needed money, but it wasn’t a goal that would encourage good behavior. Keeping people safe was an agreeable goal, he figured, and it became his reason to keep going with a smile through PR events and unfair fights, even when he wanted to give up most. To that end, keeping people safe meant attacking all the bad guys, right? Apparently, “no” was the answer from up high. Reprimanded for being too violent, and his newly-claimed status as reformed hero in question, he was under pressure to keep the suits happy and not concerned about him “going villain again.” Conway seemed like a good guy, and Ethan didn’t want him to take things too far. Throwing Nazis out of windows on skyscrapers? He smiled internally at the image, but he definitely couldn’t encourage that to escalate. He would- oh shit, pay attention! The meeting had started.

“What?”

“Thank you for joining us, Assault.” Armsmaster said, with the smallest hint of disdain. “As I was saying, there are four topics on today’s agenda. We’ll tackle these in ascending order of importance: Last night, the Forsberg Gallery was attacked during the mayor’s fundraising event.” He scratched at his chin, where the marks of insect stings still lingered.

“Why were we even holding that gala, anyways?” Assault thought aloud, though nobody replied.

“That fight was the least important thing that happened?” Velocity asked. “I went through hell during that!”

“Yes, we all saw,” Battery replied, “but your crotch is of less importance to this city’s well-being than you think.”

Miss Militia spoke up, “Battery, please. We all got hurt last night. The Undersiders didn’t steal anything, from what we can tell. It’s very likely they did the job with the intention of wounding our bodies or pride.” She glanced at Velocity, “-pride in the general sense. Not…” he gestured for her to disregard him as she trailed off. “I mean that we can’t let what they did divide us, it works to their advantage.”

“While you were occupied at Forsberg, Gatecrasher had an ordeal of his own.” Dauntless said. “I apologize again for being unable to get there in time.”

“No problem, I tried asking nicely for a pause but they were against the idea of reinforcements, for some reason. Me and those Wards handled it pretty well, though. Hey, how’s Kid Win doing?”

“What Gatecrasher avoided mentioning just now, remarkably humbly, I’d like to bring up,” Dauntless added. “If not for his pride, for the Wards: They took down, effectively, the whole ABB. Lung’s in custody again, Oni Lee is dead, and Bakuda is…”

“I imagine it will be hard for her to make bombs at the same rate she used to.”

“Yes, that. I won’t lie, Gatecrasher, you had me scared, but you got those kids out safe, so thank you.”

“Yes. Although Oni Lee did not have an active kill order out, he has killed before, and nobody is going to miss him.” Miss Militia said. Gatecrasher nodded. “And Kid Win is…” she sighed. “I really wish you didn’t help him attach an experimental railgun-”

“Energy lance.”

“-experimental energy lance to the PHQ backup generators. Armsmaster would have more colorful words for you, which I’m sure is why he asked me to raise the issue.” she said, and Armsmaster grunted in response. Good call. If he got on a tirade about that now, it’d probably double the length of this meeting. Even he’s not that stupid to give himself the opportunity.

“Kid Win was reprimanded for intending to use an untested weapon but, in my personal opinion, that is likely because Piggot did not enjoy him directly challenging her authority on the matter. But even she can’t argue with Lung offering his surrender.”

“Oh, also, check this out,” Assault said, sliding his phone over to Gatecrasher. On it, images of him and Kid Win side by side during the fight, weapons readied, captioned: “Gunpoint” and “Cannonpoint”, respectively, in classic ten-percent outline Impact font. “Über and Leet had a stream running on the fight, though we don’t believe they were working with the ABB at the time. Certainly not anymore. They posted this after.”

Gatecrasher looked at the meme and huffed in amusement.

“Even with the ABB gone, and as much as I look forward to retaliation against the Undersiders, it’s come to my attention that there are more relevant issues.” Armsmaster said. “Second—and I will remind you this information is privileged—there has been an escape from the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center.”

“How?” Battery asked, she glanced at Assault. “The whole idea is you can’t escape from there. If it was even close to happening, the whole damned thing would just explode, right?”

“I believe I can shed some light on the topic,” a voice from a conference speaker in the middle of their table spoke.

“Thank you for joining us, Dragon.” Oh, come on, he says it like it’s a pleasure when it’s her?

“Hello, Armsmaster,” Dragon replied. “As you may know, the house program which monitors and controls the Birdcage autonomously was developed and deployed by me. Yesterday at 15:37 local, mad scientist String Theory ‘held hostage’ the rest of the world, under threat of the destruction of the Birdcage inciting a global rise in crime.”

“The hell does that mean?” Velocity asked.

“She explained that the damage she would do while running free would be, quote, ‘nowhere near the damage villains worldwide will cause, knowing the one place that can hold them is out of commission.’ I had no choice.” She sounded like she meant it.

“So what now?”

“We recapture her, contain her somewhere. Somewhere she is unable to keep holding us hostage.” Dragon’s let a little humor into her voice. “Unfortunately, due to said habit of hers, it is unlikely she would be so careless as to not immediately implement contingencies in the event of her recapture.”

“Dead man’s switches.” Armsmaster clarified. “Same trick that made her so slippery during the… moon incident. If she’s incapacitated, captured, killed, if we jam signals, that itself may be a trigger for whatever device she builds next.”

“When you say trigger…” Gatecrasher asked.

“My thoughts exactly, Gatecrasher. I’ve read your file, you’ve quickly become something of an expert in bomb defusal, whether you intended to or not.”

“I did not.”

“Ah. My condolences. But I believe you will ensure a high chance of success, should you join the capture operations, regardless of what Stri attempts to pull.”

“No need to convince me, I accept. I’m a big fan of inhabiting the Earth. The moon is nice, too, I’ll save it if I can.”

“I speak for a great many astronomers, when I say it would be appreciated if the moon remained intact.” A stilted laugh emitted from the speakers.

“Sorry, did you say ‘Stri’?” Assault butted in.

“I must have misspoken, I mean String Theory.”

“I think she said ‘Stri’,” he said to Battery. She raised an eyebrow.

“I can assure you, ‘Stri’ was not the name I intended to say.” Dragon said.

He muttered under his breath, “The lady doth protest too much…” Battery mock-pushed him away.

“Moving on...”

Armsmaster spoke: “Third, there’s the matter of Gatecrasher’s… earlier forays as a member of the Protectorate-”

“Here we go again,” Gatecrasher said.

“If you will let me finish?” Armsmaster grumbled. “Killing Krieg, and going over our heads to do so, was out of line. However, the information your little excursion dug up was not without merit. Documents you found within the Medhall building provided key pieces needed for our thinkers in Watchdog to divine the identity of every major player in Empire Eighty-Eight.” He said it quickly, as if he was trying to avoid giving Gatecrasher any more time in the spotlight than strictly necessary.

And just like they were picking up from the last meeting, the shouts erupted again. They were all for, against, and mostly about the topic at hand. Except for Gatecrasher, who was taking the opportunity to quietly sing a shanty of some kind instead of arguing. I have to give him credit, Assault thought as he was busy shouting, it probably is just as useful as all this yelling is.

“Enough!” Armsmaster yelled. “It is precedent that we do not go after civilian identities, yes. However, I believe we can all agree that in some circumstances, we are required to go beyond what is expected of us, so that we may do what is right.”

“What’s stopping them from going after us? Our families? How are we supposed to keep Brockton Bay safe if we can’t protect loved ones?” Triumph said.

“Triumph, you are the only one here whose family is explicitly protected by the PRT.” Armsmaster retorted. Low blow. We mention “civilian identities” just once, and he’s already using them as debate points. How many people would have tried to stop Ethan from becoming Assault if they knew about Madcap? Would they go after Jamie? What if they, for some reason, ever had a kid? The last thing he would want to do, after bringing a child with powers into this world, would be to make them an immediate weakpoint for any and all villains to target to get to him.

“We have an opportunity to fracture one of the biggest power blocs of this city. It could be over in one night-”

“And if it isn’t?”

“We go into the following fight with a massive advantage, then! And if it’s not us who takes them down, what, more power to the villains that do?” Battery shook her head. “I’m sorry, but now I believe we have to take this opportunity.”

“Your window of opportunity is running short, then.” Dragon announced. “Webcrawlers are showing activity broadcasting from the rig to an unregistered location.”

“The fuck?” Assault shouted. He looked around the room. A bug? Mole? Why do it this very minute? “Fine! Fine, you win, fucking send it!”

Dauntless, the other holdout, rubbed his temples for what felt like an eternity. “Okay.”

“Dragon-”

“I heard them. Already done, Armsmaster.”

“Christ, that was fast. I’m glad she’s on our side.”

“Glad to be here, Assault.” I could almost hear that smirk.

He sighed. “Okay. Good. Glad that’s over. There’s four things, right? Can’t we take a breather first? I can’t believe these meetings get worse every week.”

Assault got up to go grab a coffee from the machine in the next room over, Gatecrasher and Battery joined him, Triumph and Velocity stood to stretch, and the rest stayed seated.

“So,” Gatecrasher started. He took off his headwrap and Conway was there, as the coffee grinder whirred to life. “What was that about?”

Ethan grabbed his face with his hand, more to convey the idea he was contemplative than currently contemplating. “I don’t like this. I feel like our hand is being forced. How did that info start getting released as we were talking about it?”

Conway glanced at the coffee grinder. “If you’re worried about bugs, I didn’t see any.”

“You can check for that stuff?” Jamie asked. She had grabbed a bagel for herself and offered another to Ethan, and Conway feigned outrage at the slight against him. He raised his voice as he walked to a counter on the other side of the break room to grab one of his own. “Sure can, it’s a lifesaver, being able to detect that stuff! You wouldn’t believe how many people think they can get away with it.”

“You ever use ‘em to your own advantage? Y’know, since you’re the only one that can detect them. Aren’t you the guy…” she trailed off as Conway walked back, with purpose.

“I… am Richard Conway, incredible moron.” He elaborated when they looked at him. “I bugged all four of the penthouse rooms when I left that night.”

Assault tried his hardest not to bury his face in his hands and failed. Through his palms, he murmured, “how are you so brilliant, and yet…”

The man fished around in his massive coat, pulling out a handful of four perforated pucks slightly smaller than in hockey. Popping in new batteries sourced from another pocket, they came to life with the voices of very angry Nazis.

“Let’s get back to the meeting, quickly?” Battery suggested. Conway nodded and started putting his mask on as they walked back over.

“Minor development,” Gatecrasher said as he re-entered the room. That man really needs to learn when to get serious, Assault thought. “I remembered I bugged the Medhall penthouse—thank you Battery—and they’re talking with great vigor, if you’d care to listen in.”

“How the hell- okay, quiet everyone.”

They sat almost wordless as they spectated the real-time breakdown of Empire Eighty-Eight, save for minor quips from the less serious members at the table. Armsmaster (and presumably Dragon) heroically offered to take notes, while everyone else sat and listened in fascination. Schisms were forming, members were walking out, and then it was just Kaiser and Purity talking to each other, plotting. Although “plotting” might imply they were enjoying it. Sitting at the desk, right next to the bug, man sounded… Tired? If it wasn’t for everything the man was and is, and what he stands for, I would pity him. Holding the entire organization together by himself. Like Abraham Lincoln. Or the CUI Huángdì, for a less flattering comparison. Assault was much happier letting someone else deal with the tough decisions. Maybe they didn’t always do what he thought was best, like Piggot, but as long as they were trying he could be content with “good enough.”

Eventually it was just Kaiser—CEO Max Anders—left, who fell silent with a long sigh. After that, everyone leaned back from the receiver they inadvertently found themselves crowded around.

“Well, that was entertaining.”

“We need to move on, now.” Armsmaster said. “As important as this is, it remains only the third item on our list. Fourth, and finally: Me and Dragon have been working on programs which attempt to predict major threats based on patterns in geological, meteorological, and societal data points. One of these programs has recently flagged anomalous activity in the Atlantic, and it is headed in our direction.”

After the end of the Empire fiasco, everyone was so used to remaining quiet that nobody said anything for a long while. Eventually, Gatecrasher spoke first: “Isn’t there always anomalous activity? You know, tectonic stuff happening?”
“If you’re in Chicago, yeah.” Assault said. Battery elbowed him. “Hey, that was good!”

“These sorts of indicators show up when there’s something beyond normal activity,” Miss Militia said. “In this case, I assume we’re referring to Leviathan?”

“That is the understanding at this time, yes.” Armsmaster said.

“The guy that’s similar to the Simurgh, right?” Gatecrasher asked. Triumph flinched at the mention of the psychic.

“She-who-shall-not-be-named is more focused on brains rather than brawn but, yes, same general category of threat.” Assault said.

“Have we ever gotten this much advance warning of an Endbringer attack before?” Dauntless asked.

“No, so I suggest we extend this meeting and make the most of our time.” Miss Militia said.

This time, Assault did not object.

Chapter Text

Tattletale

“Why are you here, Conway?”

“It’s not enough to kick me out of the club, I can’t even hang out here now?” Conway looked up from the island of the Undersiders’ hideout! He, one of the heroes, in our hideout!

“We’re enemies, you know. This could be seen as declaration of war.” she said.

“Nope, I brought tribute. It’s parlay at worst, and a house par-tay at best.” [He’s inebriated]

Alec raised a glass of wine. “Sorry, Lise, I thought it was only vampires I couldn’t invite in.” [He is too]

She looked at Conway. “Now you’re supplying alcohol to minors?”

“He thaid pleathe!” Sam protested.

“What, you worried I’ll damage my brain development? That ship already sailed a long time ago.”

Lisa sighed. “Are you just here to get drunk with Alec and Sam, or are there more pressing matters?”

“Little of column A, little of column B.” He said. “Hey, who beats who in a fight: Leviathan or String Theory?” [He’s being hypothetical/he’s afraid] Does being drunk make them harder to read? How have I never noticed this before? [Never used power on a drunk person] Huh, guess I haven’t.

“What do you mean?” She said.

“Like, both of them get released. Who ends up on top?” Alec replied. “Gate says String, Sam and I say Leviathan.”

Fine, let’s get this over with. “What’s your reasoning?”

“String Theory can destroy the moon! Leviathan can manage, what did the reports say... A fraction of a city before the capes put it down?”

“Yeah,” Alec said. He gestured to the coffee table. “The required reading he gave me. We finished the bottle maybe halfway through.” [They’re anxious/resolute?]

She grabbed the top packet of paper on the stack, thick as a newspaper.

“These are PRT documents.”

“Yup.”

She raised an eyebrow at Conway. “We aren’t supposed to see these.”

“Nope.” He took a gulp of wine.

Leviathan. Jörmungandr. The Slippery Bastard. It didn’t have the raw strength of Behemoth, or the cunning of the Simurgh, but holy fuck, that does not make this better. One of the three new anthropomorphic forces of nature introduced to humanity, and It was headed for Brockton Bay, according to the summary at the top of the report. It went on to explain the devastation of Oslo, the fracturing of Kyushu, the sinking of Newfoundland, and now? “Brockton Bay [...] classified as a soft target […] expected that the underground aquifer will become a sinkhole in the event of a prolonged engagement.” [Extinction]

“This…” Can’t be happening, she wanted to say. The hell do we do? [Run away, twenty hours until predicted landfall] And get hunted down by Coil? [Run faster than him, keep running] You’re useless.

Alec poured her a glass.

“The hell happened here?” Taylor asked as soon as she stopped by. She might have been flanked by two others, but at this distance it was hard to tell.

“Leviathan.”

“Ha ha.” She looked between the four of them. “Are you..?”

“Drunk off our asses? You bet, kiddo.” Lisa said, gesturing at the papers on the table. “Hey, seventeen hours to live, have a little fun!” Sam leaned up from her side of the couch and offered a fist to bump, Lisa accepted.

Taylor mimicked the same actions Lisa did earlier: Grabbed the paper, skimmed it, flipped through frantically, and then…

“This-” Bingo. “-is bullshit.” What? Lisa repeated the question out loud.

“You think just because the Endbringers exist, that’s an excuse to give up?” She continued, “Conway, you’re supposed to be a professional, what are you doing getting drunk? Lisa, you should know better than to follow along! And Alec?” She paused as she turned to him. “…I guess I’m not surprised. But, guys, they always attack! That’s what they do! And you know what we do?”

“Die?” Alec added. Nice one.

“We fight them.” Taylor said, throwing the paper on the table. “Besides, if you’re gonna die, the least you can do is show them how kickass you are in the process.”

“Hey, you exthpected me to be drunk?”

“I haven’t known you very long, sorry,” Taylor said. Sam waved her off, giggling. Lisa thought she was exaggerating the severity of the scars. Maybe the resting bitch-face got worse because of them, or maybe Sam always had that, but when she was laughing it was like the lines moved out of the way to show her face. It would almost be cute, if I didn’t know everything else about her already, Lisa lamented.

“I am pretty kickass,” Conway mused. “Maybe you have a point. But I’m not fighting that lizard.”

“Like hell you are!” Alec yelled. “We’re gonna show it who’s boss and you’re gonna wimp out like that?”

“No, no,” he scratched his head. “String Theory. The moon girl, info packet under Leviathan’s. They want me fighting her instead.”

“Why?”

“What do I do against Leviathan?”

“What do any of us do?”

He shrugged. “I know I can’t rewire anything. And if pistols worked, this would have been resolved twenty years ago.”

“So you really shot Oni Lee then, huh.” Taylor said.

“Yeah, you didn’t see the video?”

“I guess I thought you were putting on a show. Make a gunshot noise then taze the guy? I don’t know.”

“He was already sufficiently tazed, I assure you. It wouldn’t stop him from coming after me.”

‘Show them your gun!’ No, don’t do that. Just because you made it sound like the voice in your head, that doesn’t make it a good idea.

Brian—oh shit when did he get here? [With Taylor and Rachel] that’s it, I’m never drinking again—walked over to fill a pitcher of water and made a round to fill the glasses in various spots around the room. “I definitely won’t complain about what you did but I agree, it’s a change, knowing that you have a gun on you at all times.”

“Not like I really used it before,” he shrugged.

“Right, and now that you’ve used it once, you’re more likely to do it again.”

“Nope, Miss Militia ‘confiscated it.’ I think she just wanted to get her own hands on it. But unless I’m ‘on duty’ I don’t have it anymore.” He looked down at his now-alcohol-free glass. “Gonna suck next time I really do need it, and don’t have it.”

“We can go shopping for a new one!” Sam beamed. Sheesh, Lisa thought, Conway needs to take her up on one of those shopping offers soon, before she explodes.

He shook his head. “I tried, they’re don’t make ‘em like back in Boston… I should go back some day.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it regardless of how you feel on the situation, but I digress,” Brian said. He looked at Taylor, who flinched under his gaze. “Taylor, you had a plan?”

“Uh, not… necessarily.”

“Big talk from the dork trying to tell us to stop moping around and come up with a plan. And you’re completely sober!”

“Leviathan is the problem. Not her.”

“Thank you, Rachel.”

“You know, I see why they don’t give people advance warning of Endbringers, now.” Lisa sat up from her position on the sofa. “Fine, I agree with Taylor, let’s plan this out. Kill it? No. Run from it? It’ll catch up. Survive. How do we survive?”

“There’s the Endbringer truce to worry about, too” Brian added.

“Okay, so we have to fight it: make an appearance, but don’t go all out. Don’t be a big damn hero.” With a good problem to tackle, her brain was already ramping up to normal capacity again. A mild pressure in her head reminded her a headache would eventually show its face later, but for now she was lucid enough to get down to business.

“Sounds good. We show up, keep our distance. Support roles?” Taylor suggested.

“Brilliant. Rachel?” She looked over. “The dogs, you’ll be using them to transport whatever needs it. People, supplies-”

“Now?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tell me tomorrow.”

Fine, be that way. “Okay. Taylor, bugs: Any fun new tricks you’ve been learning?”

“No,” she said, sheepishly. After a moment: “Range sucks right now, too. Here’s hoping it’ll be better tomorrow, I guess? What would I even do against a water monster?”

“Don’t think about attacking it. Think about how you can help people.” Brian said.

“Right, right. I can know where everyone is? Communication, if they take time to learn to read the bugs? No…” She trailed off.

“They’ll have communicators to distribute to everyone,” Conway said. Taylor looked at him, confused. “In the report? Understandable if you missed it, it was right after ‘Section one, Subsection two: We are so Fucked.’ If your bugs can give you info, use those communicators to get the info where it needs to go.” She nodded.

“Lookth like we’re all thupport, really.” Sam said. “I can thee Leviathan ath well ath everyone elthe. Yay.”

“Don’t discount yourself, Sam, you did well at the gallery. Remember working in the darkness?” Brian said. “You and Taylor can move in it almost as well as me. Maybe not as useful here, but I’m sure the opportunity will arise.” She made a pleased noise.

“If we survive,” Alec said. Brian shot him a look.

“Well, if we’re all going to be glorified spotters, I suppose I should throw my hat in the ring,” Lisa said. “Guess you’re right, it’s time for the Undersiders to become private investigators. No offense, Dick.”

“See, you say that, but then you immediately call me a dick!” Conway said.

“It’s a term of endearment! Or a nickname, Richard.” She said, with a snobbish inflection.

“Okay fine, you win, ‘Dick’ is good.” He said. Alec snorted, and Taylor tried to hide a grin. Conway sighed.

After a few minutes of lighter conversation, Conway’s PDA buzzed. She originally thought it was a phone before (because why wouldn’t it be?), but upon closer inspection it really was a Zaurus SL-5500; A name entirely unknown to her before, recent research had since mythologized it. On a whim, she looked into it and found a company destroyed by Leviathan some twenty-five years ago. Never released to the public before the company literally went under, this man must have somehow acquired one of maybe a dozen prototype models. Now he used it like a phone, checking a notification without any reverence for the device in his hands.

“Well, I should get going. The Protectorate really doesn’t like when you play hooky the day before an Endbringer attack, apparently.” He headed to the door, then turned around. “Don’t die, I'm starting to like you guys.”

String Theory

“Please!” She shouted, whirling around to the cashier. “Be. Quiet! I need to think, and you’re terribly disruptive.”

“I’ve got two kids, please…” He continued, tears now rolling down his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know-”

“Oh, you didn’t know you were messing around with the most brilliant mind of my generation. That’s pathetic, dear, Do you know who I am? I’m the gal that held the goddamn moon hostage! And here you are, trying to upsell a coffee to the five people that must come through here every month just to get your kicks! You make me sick. Now be quiet!”

She turned to Marquis. “No manners, kids these days…” He raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. She continued thinking aloud to drown out the mewling cashier: “How the hell do people function with a brain like this? Huh? Why is my brain so small! I’m a moron, it’s like I’m churning butter through a- a… what the fuck is the word? Sieve? Strainer! How do you people do it?”

“If I may,” Marquis spoke up, “I’ve managed quite well with my brain for some time, perhaps I can offer some advice?”

“Oh good, the mortals are proselytizing me now. Oh, the irony! Can you believe this guy?” She asked the cashier, who hesitated before shaking his head.

“I believe I understand why Teacher is so powerful, now.”

“Explain yourself, Socrates.”

“Either the individual affected by him, or those around them,” he said, sighing, “experience a strong desire for them to go back to how they were, under his influence. Chemical or not, its addictive, the feeling.”

“Yeah, I know this. What’s your angle?”

“This is the effect in question.” He gestured vaguely to her and the shopkeeper. She was quiet for a moment.

“I see. My apologies, Grant.”

“It- it’s Geoff, but apology accepted.” Geoff answered. He seemed to calm down by a fraction.

“You need to stop thinking about Teacher, I’m saying. The ‘gal’ who… ahem, ‘held the goddamn moon hostage,’ as you put it, did so without Teacher’s help. I believe you can do it again. Not that I suggest you do so.”

“No, you’re right, there are much better things to blow up.”

“I mean,” he said, “your ‘tinker restrictions’ aren’t thematic, right?”

“Sure. Wait, you mean do things that aren’t blowing things up?” She said in a tone as if she was just asked to stop breathing. Marquis nodded. “You’re terribly dull, you know. Fine, I’ll find something more extravagant than mere explosions!” She didn’t notice him shudder, and instead walked off to peruse the snack aisle.

Her eyes landed on a bag of mooncakes. It’s like the universe wants me to keep doing this. She snorted and kept looking. Let me show them what I can really do.

Chapter Text

Sam

To say that this was the most anxious Sam had ever been in her life would be an understatement. Fear? Sure, there’s plenty of worse events that come to mind. Dread? Absolutely. But the ever-unnerving sensation that hundreds of eyes might be looking at you? It doesn’t get better when those eyes belong to the world’s strongest, most powerful people. So there she cowered, in the lobby of a six-story building, packed with folding chairs and heroes and villains, feeling as if she were still in high school and had walked into a lecture hall by mistake. She would have liked to go back outside to the parking lot, maybe walk down to the beach, but that would mean missing out on vital information. How does one ‘fight’ an Endbringer? was the question of the hour, and one that Legend, who was now walking up to the front of the room and backed by screens projecting a slide deck, would hopefully answer for her. The man saved the world countless times as his day job! The only entry on her cape-resumé was “tripped a few heroes at a banquet.” Even with an unbroken team of six now-infamous (though small-time) villains, it didn’t help her feel less out of place.

When they met with Coil after the Forsberg job, he had taken them back to his “lair,” because what else was one supposed to call a secret underground base? It went well right up until one minor hiccup, where Coil prepared to reveal something, then glanced at Sam and reconsidered. She had no idea who or what caused the issue, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that things would have been different if she weren’t there. But despite their wildly different motivations, the Undersiders escaped the snake’s den intact, if a little distrustful of their employer.

A bump from Skitter knocked her out of her thoughts. “Ratcatcher, you alright?”

“Yeah. Thinking.” Well, now I’m thinking, ‘how the hell is she so stoic?’ A vibrant (if quiet) girl out of costume, Taylor became a completely different person under the mask. She said it was something to do with shunting emotions to her bugs, but Sam believed that was just the girl speculating. Probably just really damn good with her emotions, and Sam was going to figure out how to replicate that, hell or high water. It would be a lifesaver in countless social situations, if only she could keep her emotions to herself. But for now, speaking of high water…

Legend had started: “We owe thanks to Dragon and Armsmaster for their early alert. With it, we have had more time to prepare and brief for an Endbringer arrival than ever before. We believe this will be one of the good days. Unfortunately, a ‘good day’ still means that one in four of the people in this room will likely be dead before this day is done...”

If people hadn’t stopped talking when Legend started, they shut up now. Ratcatcher shared glances with her teammates. Twenty-five percent. At least one of us. Maybe two. The rest were likely thinking the same thing. She tried to look outside to take her mind off that. A downpour had picked up as the Leviathan-brewed storm grew closer, and it was now buffeting the glass walls of the lobby.

“…he feels pain, he does bleed…” Badass line, kudos, she thought. Tattletale had stifled a groan when Legend started speaking, but to Sam, a speech seemed accurate for such an event. How many times was the pre-battle speech just, “oh shit, get your asses over there”?

“…Brockton Bay is classified as a soft target…” This is what spooked everyone, she recalled. Conway had arrived at their hideout, mildly disheveled and clutching the reports and a bottle of wine. He, Alec and herself read through the papers, periodically refilling their glasses, until interrupted by Lisa. Dammit, she had almost been doing well with alcohol, since her trigger. Likely because she had been so preoccupied with keeping up appearances for her new team, but it had been working up until then, when seeing Alec and Conway indulge like that got to her. Fucked up, that now the Endbringer would serve as the perfect reason to stay sober. Looking around, it seemed like a lot of others would have liked a stiff drink, after learning that Brockton Bay might be, as she termed it, “Newfoundlanded” if the fight went on too long.

An unfortunate downside of her vision was that as skilled as she may have gotten at parsing where objects were, she could still get overwhelmed. In this case, rain; perhaps more distracting than it would be for the average person’s sight, as she could see every raindrop behind every other raindrop and even through walls. An endless ocean of static which required conscious effort to ignore if she wanted to focus on things like other individuals. So when Bastion shouted “Forcefields, up!” she was caught off guard by the ensuing chaos as much as everyone else. Glass shattered, water rushed into the building from nearly all sides, metal groaned, and concrete cracked. Leviathan’s storm must have accelerated, and now it would cause much more damage than expected.

“Strider, get us out of here!” Legend yelled, as the teleporter prepared to evacuate the group. Whoever you are, Strider, you damn well better do that, she hoped.

Tattletale

The moment Strider had teleported them out of the lobby, Tattletale’s brain was already ramping up to full capacity. The air was ripped from her lungs as a thunderclap shook her entire body. It was over in less than a second but, like a needle from an untrained phlebotomist, the experience was so visceral that she had to take multiple seconds to come to her senses and recognize that the ordeal was over. She bounced questions off The Voice in quick succession to reorient; thinking was faster than moving her head, and she could deal with the headache later, when she was alive to feel it. Where am I? She felt pavement on her hands and rain in her hair. [Parking lot.] Where is my team? Strider teleports fast, but he would evacuate everyone at once in crisis. [Nearby. Same orientation as inside.] Where is Leviathan? [Trajectory wouldn’t change, charge aimed at-] here.

“Scatter!” she shouted, followed by Legend yelling “get ready!” Most capes were disoriented by the teleport and desperate for any guidance, and they started to follow her order as soon as they heard it. But not all, evidently, as names started to get rattled off by the electronic voice on the armband.

“Carapacitator down, CD-5. Iron Falcon down, CD-5. Resolute deceased, CD-5.  Woebegone…” Need to figure out how to mute this damn thing, she thought to herself. No tactical advantage to knowing how fucked you are. Before that, though, she had to figure out how to escape her current predicament alive. Those who were lucky enough to avoid Leviathan’s initial impact now had to deal with the monster in their immediate vicinity. Of the capes present, perhaps a third could “handle” something like Leviathan, and that was a generous estimate. The now quickly moving, swinging, and hydraulic-afterimage-smashing beast was trying its best to kill them, and it's not feeling generous, she inferred.

The violence had split up the army of capes into four smaller contingents, certainly not organized the way Legend was hoping. Most of the movers (and some that were ‘moved’ with them via their powers) had retreated to the rooftops. Those stuck on the ground had either run off in different directions or used everything from breaker to brute powers to try and survive. Even Clockblocker was frozen, likely after getting too close for comfort. Then there were the thinkers. Presumably, that is. And formerly. Will be difficult to ask the deceased what their PRT classification was, but I’m sure it was nothing useful if they’re laying in puddles of gore right now. Hey, that’s me next! She cut out her internal monologue to Leviathan staring her down. Or someone near her, perhaps, but that wouldn’t improve the odds much. What I wouldn’t give for Bullfrog hypertrousers, TM, right now. She had asked Conway about the peculiarity one day, trying to reconcile why the hell a wire-manipulating cape could also get a bonus leg-strength bonus. She eventually weaseled it out of him that it wasn’t a product of physical strength, but technical. He had acquired them from “a tinker”, he claimed. A lie, but how it could be one was beyond her. She gave up the line of questioning, but her current situation had her regretting the decision. If I get out of here, I’m getting myself a pair of those pants, dammit. Leviathan charged.

Best escape plan? [Standing next to Strider] Right, of course. She turned to the teleporter.

The man was facing Leviathan just as she was. Yet he was stalwart. despite his impending death. Oh. At least we’re in this together, huh? Then, he raised his hands, outstretched- [about to teleport] -as the amalgam of green, scale-covered muscle prepared to destroy them.

“Where’re you going?” She shouted, as he brought his hands together.

If she planned to say anything after, it was no longer a possibility. The unpleasant pain of teleportation overtook her again, and she closed her eyes as she winced. But the noise faded to silence.

“Home.” He said quietly. Tattletale opened her eyes.

Looking around, she found herself in a broken down townhouse, something straight out of the Dustbowl. She and Strider were now at the threshold of the front door looking in, and as her brain processed what just happened, the man sat down in a rocking chair inside the parlor adjacent to them, leaned back, and sighed.

Ignoring everything she was telling herself only moments ago, she shouted at him: “We need to go back!”

“No,” he said, with finality. “I’m done.” [Everything. Given up.] His face revealed his thoughts.

“Done? Buddy, I don’t know if you noticed, but we were right in the middle of an Endbringer fight!” She shouted. “You’re just going to let them die? I’ve got teammates there, and if you don’t-”

“Lady, you think I don’t know that?” Strider retaliated. “Every fight, every little conflict, I’m sending people to their death. Leaving the fight now doesn’t change the fact that I brought everyone there in the first place.” Tattletale didn’t think someone could look so hostile while leaning back in a rocking chair.

“What the hell is stopping you? Why now? I need-” she almost choked on her words. I need to get back to my friends, she thought, followed by holy shit, I actually care about those morons.

“It’s an obligation, our powers. You should know that. Every day I’m not the worldwide chauffeur, it’s always lives on the line. Sometimes money, or power, or love, but always lives in the end. I’m supposed to hold up the world on my shoulders? No. So ‘Strider’ dies, and my obligation dies with him. It’s over.”
“You sound a lot like this bratty teen I fought recently. She’s always complaining about having the ability to literally cure cancer at her fingertips, you know? You know how petty that is?” She could care less about Panacea, but she needed every bit of ammo available to convince this man to teleport her out of where-ever the hell I am right now. Somewhere between one and three-thousand miles away, maybe?

“Panacea? Yeah, I’ve heard. We’ve talked, actually. I’ve seen what she’s capable of, and that’s why I’m stopping. She could kill us all if she snaps! Now, me? I don’t know what I’ll do, but it has a chance to be awful, too. Let me quit while I’m ahead, huh?”

Well, shit. She hadn’t really thought about it beyond a barb to throw at Panacea. She was just relaying information that day, at the bank, she didn’t stop to think about what that information meant. Maybe she had just added more stress to a walking timebomb. Oops. She pinched her nose in an attempt to regain sanity.

“Since you seem to have interrupted my teleport and found yourself far beyond Brockton Bay, let’s say we make a deal,” he said. She looked up and met his gaze. “Don’t tell anyone I’m not dead. Let me enjoy my life, and I’ll send you back.”
“Fine.” No sooner did the word leave her mouth was she hit again by the thunderclap of agony, and shouting and falling water reminded her (far more quickly, this time) that she was capable of thought and movement and fuck I need to move now. Where am I? [Right where you left]. Where is Leviathan? [Right where it-] Ah. Damn.

Chapter Text

Conway

Per the briefing, they were calling her a “Mad Scientist”: Capable of conceptually massive feats of engineering, mechanics, biology (for the wet tinkers), or any other field, yet almost always invariably obsessed with one thing. String Theory managed to escape Baumann with what investigators were calling a mix of structural, electrical, and social engineering—Conway scoffed at that one, anyone can do that, you don’t need powers, he thought to himself—and did so with minimal trouble, despite her entire known criminal history being focused on exploding things. There was little the woman couldn’t do, if only she felt like doing it. Thank god nobody seems to be telling her that. Though bittersweet that it seems to be a recurring theme.

He thought back to the report he read on Bakuda (it was the least he could do, after knocking her lights out): An entire life of people telling you what you can’t do and assuming you never will succeed, it was a dream scenario for triggering a tinker. Hm, imagine what Melanie Rooke could have done in that position. Gun tinker? He mused. The Resolver was an already beautiful piece of engineering, in his opinion, and he had confirmed it wasn’t tinkertech after Armsmaster first confiscated and scanned it. Why wasn’t she a tinker, actually? He considered, one time. If my employees were committing suicide, getting bombed by snide competitors, and I was under investigation, that damn well sounds like a trigger event would get queued up. Trigger theory was a fascinating thing, and he perused the PRT research on it more than he would ever admit. Richard Conway, esteemed intellectual? He balked at the title.

In his reading there was a sobering revelation, however. The more he looked into parahumans and the more he heard the news, a thought formed in his mind: If I go to Boston, it won’t be my Boston, will it? Too few things lined up. Even if Brockton Bay was the outlier of a global cover-up conspiracy (not the first time he had to deal with one of those), no shadow-government could hide something like Kyushu sinking. Or every other Leviathan/other Endbringer disaster. He couldn’t voice the concern, however. A traveler from another world? Impossible. Even if they believed him, what then, lockup and testing? No, this was something to keep under wraps for now. Soul searching under threat of becoming a test subject was not the most exciting prospect.

Conway stood up from his shiny new desk on the PHQ oil rig and stretched. Third floor: Not a swanky workshop like Armsmaster, but not a glorified broom closet like Triumph was stuck with. Maybe it was just luck that some other worker cleared out of here between when the second-newest Protectorate member and himself joined, but he wouldn’t complain.

He looked out the window. Normally, a beautiful view of the Atlantic bared itself for him to look at, in all its horizontal glory. But today? Mist in the air from the approaching storm off the coast blocked the view. Leviathan’s doing, he was informed.

He protested to Miss Militia that morning. “I can’t just sit this out,” he said. “I’m needed for String Theory, yes. But I’m here!” She shook her head.

“Perhaps they did not stress this enough: Your proficiency with wires is like nothing we’ve seen before. Metal manipulators? Sure. Tinkers that can disrupt electronics? Doing it is like their rite of passage. Even Blasto, the biotinker, made a creature whose shriek emulated an electromagnetic pulse. But you know what you can do, even more so now that you’ve read up on other capes, I suspect. Bakuda’s bombs are designed to go off when tampered with and yet you reported, what was it?”

“Eighty percent.” He offered.

“Eighty percent defused safely. Hell of a lot better than anyone else managed that night. I was shooting them that night, you know, because it was decided an immediate, controlled explosion was better than an unpredictable one.”

“Okay? If I die, what stops someone like you doing a controlled explosion on String Theory’s shit?”

She glared at him through lowered eyelids. “The Earth.”

“Sure, the Earth exploding is not good. But remember our chat about the smaller things? I think we can agree the Endbringers are a little bigger than ‘a small thing.’ I mean, Jesus, you saw Leviathan-” She put forward a hand, interrupting him: “Officially, Leviathan does not have that aspect of anatomy.” Conway glanced away in surrender.

“My point, though,” he continued, “is yes, I might be good with ‘Stri,’ but someone will always be the best equipped to deal with a threat. My existence doesn’t change that.”

“It does. Our next ‘best equipped’ is Über.” She sighed. “Please tell me you see the issue with that.”

Not entirely convinced, he nodded. Miss Militia gave him a smile of acknowledgment before walking away.

He returned his gaze to the window’s view. Buildings were falling, lasers streaked across the sky, fires were simultaneously breaking out and being extinguished by massive waves while one particular patch—likely from an oil spill—remained on fire in the water. Respectfully, fuck that, he decided. He pulled his coat from the room’s newly installed coat rack, then the fedora from a newly installed hat rack. I can’t kill the bastard? Fine. But I’m not going to sit here and let more people get taken from me.

Regent

Regent pulled himself up off the ground and made a pointless show of dusting off his formerly-white tunic. Looking around, nobody had watched him get slammed in the face with a rogue wave. Marvelous, he thought, as he limped back to the edge of the rooftop he was situated on.

Though Leviathan was unaffected by his nerve hijacking, humans remained as pliable as ever. He had taken it upon himself to 'flinch' people for their own benefit. And my own, as, if he survived this, it would mean dozens of capes were that much more vulnerable to his powers. Against the spirit of the truce, certainly, but nobody could prove that it was happening!

Every time a strike from Leviathan would have hit a stray limb, or a shot fired by a cape would have missed, he corrected the movement slightly to compensate, and help make sure only their own attacks were landing. A delicate thing, trying to help someone aim a gun, cannonblade, or railgun when he wasn't even in earshot of the marksmen in question, but he was picking up the skill swiftly. Like his life depended on it. Hah.

If a few capes could be easier to body-snatch, well, that was just the price of business. Better to live a life sometimes interrupted by me than to die here and now, right?

He backed away from the edge of the roof again, right before a wave hit. It was absurd that they could reach a second-story building that was already elevated above sea level, but then again, many things relating to Endbringers were absurd. With no regard for what was “fair,” sometimes a stray spasm would hit him when he tried to adjust a movement. In that case, it was better to hold back, rather than than risk falling off the building.

He noticed Chevalier was about to lose his footing, and Regent reacted to prevent a faceplant by the leader of the Philly Protectorate by involuntarily shifting the man’s leg.

"Motherfuck!" He shouted, as a particularly strong backfire hit him, tripping him despite standing still.

A voice behind Regent startled him, though he didn't show any reaction on the outside: "Need a hand?"

Regent didn't feel embarrassment, but he did feel another emotion in its place: Abject negativity stemming from a possible undermining of his reputation. But much like embarrassment, he reasoned it away that a friend wouldn’t exploit that, and swallowed his pride.

"Hey Gate, nice of you to show up! Took String Theory out behind the shed already?"

"Haven't started, unfortunately," came the reply. "More pressing matters, right?"

"Thought you said you couldn't do jack against Leviathan!" He gestured at the giant lizard homunculus and flicked a wrist, causing a flier to dodge past a claw that would have otherwise bisected her.

"You found a way, it seems, I'll try my luck,” he said. Regent shrugged, and winced at a nerve in his shoulder.

He pulled out a lightswitch. Well, it had to be a lightswitch by definition, but it looked nothing like what one would find in a house. Over the past week, the man had taken to finding smaller and smaller switches to fit as many as he could in his pockets, for whatever toggling purposes he had. At some point, he must have relayed the request to Armsmaster, because the switches he now had were unnaturally small. Almost like little thumbtacks, except the pin was a lever and the plastic part was what must have housed just enough electronics for his power to count the thing as a device.

“So why me? We haven’t come up with any awesome plans where we combine our powers, yet.”

"You were the closest. Figured you might be able to let me know why Tattletale's inside Leviathan?"

Jesus fuck, he thought, followed by: "how do you know that?" That extra gruesome detail of her demise didn't phase him as much as the original declaration of “Tattletale deceased, CD-5…” that came from his own armband earlier.

"Ah. Must've forgotten that part. So you know how I can see wires?" Regent nodded. "If I put a wired device on each of you..." Gatecrasher’s blank white mask looked away as Regent stared at it.

"Spying on us." He said, eventually.

"Keeping tabs.” Gatecrasher replied. “Protectorate wanted me to do it. Info was there if it was needed, otherwise never divulged it. Never revealed personal info or anything that would weaken the team."

Regent filed away that for an argument later. For right now: "Fine. But, about Tattletale…"

Gatecrasher looked back at him. Regent made a throat cutting motion. For a moment he saw Conway falter, as if he didn't even consider it a possibility before now.

“Shit,” he said, finally. “I’m sorry.” Regent shrugged.

“Not like you could have done anything. She got whisked away by Strider, few seconds later appears right next to Leviathan. If anyone’s to blame, it’s that asshole. Strider got the same fate it seems. Leviathan?” He glanced over the rooftop. “Not so much. If you’ve got any aces up your sleeve, I think now’s the time.”

Conway let out a single, sharp laugh, and sighed. “Sorry kid, I’m just a guy with a wiring tool.” He followed Regent’s gaze toward the beast. Most of the tallest buildings that made up Brockton Bay’s skyline were gone, now, and the circle of waves around Leviathan continued to grow larger. Buildings were getting eroded or slammed into by parts of other buildings without even slowing the tide by a fraction. The weather had long ago blotted out the sun, but as it started to set, the city was bathed in a monochrome gray-red hue. He laughed again, more this time.

“Tool? Hah, too bad Lisa never found that out. Would’ve driven her mad. Not the legs, not the wiring… The hell is your power, anyways, super-snark?”

“Nothing.”

They both sat on the ledge of the building—the now former home to Fugly Bob’s Boardwalk location—and watched the whirlpool grow. Alec’s laughter joined Conway’s for a while, until they both fell silent.

“Mind if I borrow that handgun? I heard drowning sucks.”

“Sorry, no. I’ve caused enough problems, but that ends here. Consider it a learning experience.” He must have tried to push humor into that last part, but it didn’t come out.

“Eh, fair enough.” He watched the flier he saved earlier make a similar dash, expecting to survive the dive-bomb again. They were cleaved into two pieces as Regent looked on.

“No idea why I came out here. I just… wanted to make a difference, you know?”

Regent didn’t answer.

Approximately one mile away, a gold- and red-clad hero hefted a metal slug into his railgun…

Chapter Text

Kid Win’s logs

Workshop Journal – 5/5/2011

I met Gatecrasher today! Never heard of the guy before, apparently he joined the Protectorate recently. Apparently Aegis and Gallant were aware, but either they didn’t tell us or I forgot about it entirely. Miss Militia wants us to keep it hush-hush for now, so maybe that’s for the better, but I suspect that it won’t be the case for long: Tonight, we’re going out on patrol with him and Dauntless!

Right, I wanted this book to be work-notes specifically, but it was important context! After meeting with Gate, he stuck around to shoot the shit breeze and we started talking shop. Apparently, he can wire anything. No strings attached, literally! Wireless, unlimited wires, as far as our initial testing shows. It looks like the wires can work as substitutes for anything up to and including high-voltage cables… Which is only the best we could get on short notice. Maybe it’s higher, maybe it’s really limitless! I can see why they might want to keep that part quiet, Toybox would be all over a guy like that.

TODO: Talk to Armsmaster about more intense Crosslink power testing.

He calls his power “Crosslink” which has, confusingly, nothing at all to do with cross-linked polyethylene. He’s got the power to turn things on and off wirelessly, anywhere, anytime, with no bulky cables to manage! Somehow in addition to it, or maybe because of it(?) He also has some general mobility powers, too, but that’s basically irrelevant compared to that possibly thermodynamics-breaking ability.

TODO: Get contract for all future wiring projects thru Gate.

I've got him helping pro-bono, under guise of “team building” for our upcoming patrol. Piggot’s gonna hate that we’re using up resources under the table like this, but hopefully she won’t ever find out. Good thing this journal isn’t digitized (anymore). From what we can tell, because of Crosslink’s incredible capabilities, it would be able to power the perfect railgun! I considered a prototype before, “P-671-1,” as the impossible number system decided to call it, but they thought it would be a “bad idea for me to have.” Like they don’t have us already fighting villains that have been all but officially given kill orders!

TODO: Get started on railgun blueprints. Get approval?

For now, he’s helping with parts on a version 2.0 of the Alternator Cannon. If Piggot’s gunning for it to get scrapped anyways, might as well beat her to the punch! It feels like it’s always easier to modify and reconfigure existing components of my projects rather than start from scratch, anyways, so it’s no big deal to do this. All I’ll need to do before tonight is switch out the power source, install Plasma-Thrower instead of Stunner, give it a new paint job…

Requisition Form P#671-2

Member: Kid Win (WARD)

Subject: Railgun components

Project Notes: Gatecrasher’s abilities allow for the previously-denied Project 671-1 to be built at half the original cost estimate. Because cables are no longer an issue, it can far exceed the capabilities of the old proposal.

Supply List: See P#671-1, minus Item 8 – 1,500ft of HV transmission cable

Estimated Cost (Pre-Tax): USD$10,330

Additional Notes: Please?

Status: DENIED

Reason: My stance on the Wards operating a railgun remain unchanged. Also, I have relayed this additional info on Gatecrasher’s abilities to Armsmaster for further testing.

Workshop Journal – 5/7/2011

The Alternator was a success! I think. I didn’t actually fire the thing in combat, but from the testing I did afterwards, it totally could have vaporized Lung. Maybe not in his “final form,” but he wouldn’t have surrendered unless he knew he couldn’t survive. I’ve been working on the railgun project in my free time, and it’s so liberating to be able to work on it without any mental blocks getting in the way! I feel myself starting to slow down since the process of converting The Alternator (again) was finished, but Gate promised to help me out on this, and I can’t let that opportunity pass by! The materials form I submitted got denied, despite showing what I consider to be excellent maturity in the fight with Lung. Yet again s omething about “no railguns,” which isn’t explicitly in the rules! Maybe it’s a PR thing? Maybe they don’t want the Youth Guard finding out they signed off on it.

TODO: Ask Clock if I can use his father as an excuse (wow, that sounds bad).

This design is already looking so much better, though, now that power isn’t an issue. While The Alternator was energy-based, this is a true railgun, using power to drive a kinetic slug. A whole world of possibilities. Things to launch really fast at other things! I haven’t been this excited since the original Alternator Cannon idea came to me…

Requisition Form P#892

Member: Kid Win (WARD)

Subject: Linear Accelerator

Project Notes: As you may know, Clockblocker’s father is dying of leukemia. I believe I may have devised a linear accelerator that, when used to treat individuals, will achieve permanent remission in their body.

Supply List: (1x) K-2090 vacuum chamber, (2x) Lorentz quadrupole amplifiers, (10x) EL-4 electromagnetic coil. 55kg carbon steel, 10kg aluminum bronze, 20kg pure copper, 5kg neodymium. Additional metal casting and machining (see addendum).

Estimated Cost (Pre-Tax): USD$10,331

Additional Notes: It’s a long shot, but I believe it is worth it.

Status: APPROVED

Reason: Excellent use of our resources to help the civilian population. I offer my condolences to Clockblocker, and wish you the best of luck in this endeavor.

Kid Win – 5/15/2011

When Kid Win heard an Endbringer was on its way, he should have felt dread. A force of nature capable of wiping out the entire city? Not a thing to inspire excitement in anyone, other than those looking for total anarchy. And those with a brand new railgun that needed live-fire testing.

Officially, Wards did not fight Endbringers. The one thing parents wanted to hear about less than children fighting supervillains—perhaps noble for some—was children fighting the humanoid equivalent of a hurricane. But hometown pride (and said parents being in danger) meant that the Wards were on call by their own decision, no matter which Endbringer reared their ugly head.

To the extent anyone could be thankful for an Endbringer, Kid Win was thankful that Leviathan showed up after he recycled The Alternator. While the Cannon could have dealt damage, the second-latest incarnation as an energy lance was useless against a massive hydrokinetic monster which would absorb or redistribute any electrical attack thrown at it. But a railgun? Well, a railgun would work. He just needed to get a shot lined up.

Even with the entire PHQ’s power supply routed to the railgun (asking nicely for permission worked a lot better when the excuse was “It’s Leviathan, and I have a big gun.”) The Railgun—such a direct name is an honor only given to devices which embody it to the fullest extent— was still only barely denting Leviathan. Kid Win hovered over the wave-ravaged wasteland that used to be the Boardwalk, trying to distract the thing whenever possible without risking others in the crossfire. It was a losing battle, and one not helped when every death was getting announced to him via armband.

But his armband never got turned off or discarded. When he heard it call his name, the whole clusterf... udge looked just a little bit brighter.

“Kid Win,” an artificial voice addressed him.

“Yeah?” He replied, then realized the response was not automated. “Dragon? Yes! What?”

“I have Flechette on the line, requesting you.”

“Can you hear me?” A girl’s voice came through. He confirmed. “Your cannon-”

“It’s a railgun, now.”

“Railgun?” Her voice had a glint of hope. “My question was if it used physical projectiles.”

“Yep.”

“Are you familiar with my power? I can force objects to ignore the laws of physics. Specifically, the laws that prevent things going through other things. Projectiles.”

“Oh shit. Oh shit!” he exclaimed. “Where are you? I can hover over-”

“Down here!” He heard a yell. “What’s safe to grapple on to?”

Kid Win gestured at a rung on the base of the platform, and a few seconds later a hook embedded itself with immaculate precision. Flechette appeared shortly after and hauled herself up, rejecting his extended hand.

“So how does this work?”

He pointed at the breech, “I manually load the slugs in there, aim with this-” he pointed to the targeting laptop (formerly a full targeting computer, but sacrifices had to be made in the interest of time) “-and fire with that button there. Nothing fancy about it except under the hood.”

“Okay, good. And it suspends the slug, right?”

“Uh… No. It touches the rails, that’s what propels it. You might be thinking of a coilgun, where-”

She interrupted him. “Dammit! Sorry, my power will tear it apart as soon as I try.” When he looked at her, she elaborated. “The instant the rails touch the projectile they’ll just be destroyed.”

“I mean, it’ll fire, though. If we time it right.”

She raised an eyebrow under the mask. “But still destroy it.”

“Well, yeah, that sucks. But like, it took me a few days to do this and it was at the PRT’s expense anyways—sorry, Dragon—so it would be worth it, if it’s only one shot we need. It should rip into the rails as it fires, but they’ll still keep pushing until the thing destroys ‘em or it flies out.” He pondered for a moment. “Maybe we just step back when it fires, though.”

She sighed. “Alright. Let’s go, then. I overheard a moment ago Geomancer, Kaiser, and Clockblocker are gonna try to trap it, and that’s our best shot.” He reached down to the milk crate containing the remaining slugs, and offered one to her hand wearing an archery glove. She passed it into the breech, but didn’t shut it. Instead, she let the hand linger as she studied the battlefield, watching Leviathan tear into a group working in tandem with the entrapment team.

“Ready?” She said, as the team moved forward. As soon as one set of earthen and metal walls were being erected, her hand lowered. “Go!”

They fired The Railgun, and the subsequent silence from the capacitors’ coils was almost as as jarring as the sound of the discharge itself. What felt like an eternity later, sound returned to them, starting with a roar from Leviathan and ending with an assault of voices both below them and over comms.

“Geomancer deceased, CD-5.”

“Holy shit, what was that?”

“Jesus!”

“Leviathan appears to be retreating,” Dragon announced.

Kid Win and Flechette stared at the scene: One of Leviathan’s legs was removed, a clean shot through the thigh which uncleanly removed the rest of it via momentum transfer. Now prone, the still-massive monster was clawing its way back to the ocean. It attempted to attack anyone that got close to it, and some of the fliers like Legend tried to harry it with strafing runs. The combat died down when it reached the shoreline and it ungraciously pulled itself underwater with its arms.

They looked back at the impact site, where red-tinted water swirled and mixed with jet-black fluids seeping from the severed leg. Half of the body formerly inhabited by Geomancer remained stuck at the impact site, while water rushed into what was, presumably, a foot-wide and arbitrarily deep puncture in the Earth.

“Shit…” Flechette managed to say, eventually.

Kid Win put a hand on her shoulder, as much to support himself as her. Rain continued to fall, tapering off as the distance between them and the monster increased.

Damsel of Distress

In a run-down warehouse in Stafford, New Hampshire (not to be confused with the slightly-smaller Strafford, New Hampshire or smaller-still Stratford, New Hampshire), a girl was beside herself recuperating from the day’s events, when a metal door disappeared.

“Yo.”

Ashley Stillons whirled around from the counter she stood at, sending a half-reheated, half-frozen box of Chinese food across the floor of her domicile. Across the table from her, a short and stringy woman was at the entrance, with the door nowhere to be found. A playful smile danced across her face as she leaned against the doorframe and kicked a foot back on it.

“Who the fuck are you?” She asked.

The woman clapped—or rather, thumped, as her hand hit against what was mostly ribs—a hand to her chest in mock disdain. “Kids these days already forgetting about me? I’m disappointed.”

“I’m not a kid, and until you tell me who the fuck you are, I’ll assume your disappointment doesn’t mean shit,” Ashley growled. “And where the fuck is my door?”

“Quick and dirty little teleporter. Built it for Fort Knox, actually. I needed some funding, and getting backers is hard these days. How do people even do shit without grandiose threats? Ugh,” she grumbled. “I can put it back, after we’re done here.”

“You’re holding my door hostage?” She scoffed. I’m going to enjoy ending her.

“Don’t hate on my style! Come on, what was I supposed to do, not hold something hostage? Nah, funnier this way.”

The dots connected when she stared at her taped-bridge glasses. “String Theory.” The woman beamed.

“Attagirl! Listen, I’m having a comeback, and I need your help. Maybe I can help you, too.” She gestured at Ashley’s hands, which mere minutes ago had disintegrated one of the chairs of the table she now stood at. Ashley gestured to the other of two surviving chairs, and took a seat across from String Theory. I just want to sit down, that’s all. If she wants to think it’s a proper meeting, fine, but my legs are tired, she rationalized. She ignored the thought trying to assert itself that she may have even considered doing it because hearing about a fix for her hands excited her.

She deflected the conversation away from her hands, for the time being. Can’t seem too eager. “So,” she said, as she slipped into her best villain voice, “how can I help you?”

String Theory smiled again. God, if she keeps doing that, I’m going to erase that smirk from her face. “I’ve got plans. I’d say ‘big plans,’ but for me, that’s redundant. Naturally.”

“Naturally.” Ashley echoed. Who didn’t remember the moon incident?

“Perhaps you would be interested in a little symbiotic relationship? You scratch my back, I scratch yours. No, hm, scratch that,” she chuckled. “I’ll ask you keep your hands away from my back. For now.”

“What do you want?” This woman was now interrupting her designated “eat shit food and think about how shit the day was” time.

“I’ve been thinking—I do that a lot, these days—and I bet we can get your power under control. Your control. No promises, but a little more control at the very least. But I want some of it for myself. You can choose not to, of course, and I know you’ve got a habit of doing that. So, all I ask in return is you consider offering me your services in return for adequate compensation.”

She just stole from Fort Knox? Fine, consider my interest piqued. “What would you ask me to do?” Not tell her to do, of course. Her pride was fine with contract work, at least for now.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. May I invite a friend in?”

“Who?”

“My… surgical assistant. You may recognize him, though I don’t believe the two of you have formally met. He knows all about decorum and respect and so forth,” she waved a hand. “I think you’ll get along!”

“Fine.” Ashley said, and a man previously waiting on the outside of the door walked in.

“Damsel of Distress? I’m Marquis. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He made a smaller bow, instead of offering a hand like most morons. It’s like they all want their hands mangled!

“Ah, Marquis. I’ve heard of you.” But not too much, don’t flatter him.

“Marquis will be my nurse for tonight, if you agree to this. You may know he’s quite proficient when it comes to these things. I wasn’t sure of the specifics of your power, but I believe I’ve come up with enough possible solutions that, well, one of them’s gotta work, right?” She plopped down a bag of gadgets on the table with an awful clanking.

“No ‘Doctor’? After everything I’ve done?” He tutted.

“Osteopathy is a sham!” She said, in an impression that must have been a reference between the two of them. She laughed.

Ashley was quiet for a minute, posing in a manner more brooding than the eager contemplation bubbling under the surface. Finally (with a few added seconds, for drama) she spoke: “String Theory? Marquis? I accept your offer. But we’ll do one hand at a time. You try anything funny, I disintegrate you with the other.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way. But please, all my friends call me ‘Stri,’” she said. “Alrighty, let’s hop to it!”

Chapter Text

Aisha

Damn, I’m starving. There’s gotta be food here, right? It’s possible there may have been more important things to worry about. However if Aisha Laborn, professional-est spy, was hungry? Well, one could hardly be expected to succeed at espionage on an empty stomach. Conway might’ve been all the rage in the Undersiders before, but it was time for her to prove to big brother Brian that she was capable of pulling her weight, too.

“Hello,” a stilted voice came from the door on the opposite side of the room of her. A chorus of grumbles that might graciously be described as “greeting” sounded off in reply.

Aisha rummaged through various drawers and cupboards, ignoring the introduction. Pantry, pantry… Where are you, pantry? A cabinet full of cookware. Come on! Brian made a point of keeping her separated from his villain life, but he couldn’t keep her out entirely. She picked up bits and pieces of his team, who they worked with, et cetera. Now, with powers of her own? She knew what was up, and there was no excuse for him to exclude her!

“Welcome to the team,” another replied. A deeper voice, but there was a hint of tiredness in it. The guy had an arm missing and was laying down on the couch. “I’d get up to greet you, but I’m supposed to be taking it easy. Gallant.”

Finally, a cabinet with food inside opened itself. Bingo! Free food where-ever she went may have been the one good thing about her power, she decided. Brian always made sure there was food on the table, but that meant eating what he wanted her to eat. Sure, rice is a powerful foundation for food, but every night? Jeez! It was nice to switch things up when possible.

“I’m Weld,” the newcomer said. “Flechette told me she will be stopping by later, but for now you just have to put up with me,” he tried a small chuckle, but stopped when nobody played along. “The two of us are transferring here to help keep things under control while you recover from Leviathan. I’m excited to get to know you all when we get the time, and… Yeah,” he finished, lamely.

“Woo! Yeah!” Aisha clapped to nobody in particular, then returned to the cabinet. Hm, PB&J? Hell yes.

“Oh, good, we get to know you right away, fill in the hole the others left behind!” A girl matching Brian’s stories of Shadow Stalker said, with absolutely no effort to hide her disdain. “Glad we got Piggo running damage control. ‘Two replacement teammates, coming right up!’”

“Shadow Stalker,” Gallant interrupted. “Sorry, Weld. We lost Aegis and Browbeat to Leviathan. It’s… been a rough few days. We’re all a bit cranky, I think. I’m sure we’ll be happy to get to know you later, right guys?” He looked around at the others, as if it were an order and not a question.

A swish of peanut butter, a swipe of jelly… Per-fect. There were plenty of problems with the power. Friends and family just… forgetting her. Even Brian and Dad. But the juicy gossip potential was unparalleled. Make that two good things ! The group standing before her masked up when Weld appeared, but I’ve already seen all your faces, mwahaha! Unmasked, Gallant had almost looked like that rich Stansfield kid, if she squinted. Bastard, she thought. Belatedly, she remembered he could read emotions.

“Who…” Gallant started, then trailed off. Huh, interesting. Sending spikes of emotion would be a hilarious way to mess with the guy, but probably would get her caught if she tried too much. Oh well…

The team continued their introductions with reluctance, but once it had concluded they started to relax again. From what she gathered, Weld was new and from the Boston Wards. A Case fifty-three, they called him. Being entirely metal was often to his detriment, as she witnessed a handful of “attachment incidents” happen through their discussions. It didn’t help matters when Clockblocker took up the challenge of freezing an object and getting the poor kid to touch it, which would have ended with gruesome results if the same stunt happened with flesh and blood. Gallant was displeased, to say the least.

After grabbing more snacks, Aisha sat down on the couch opposite Gallant, who was now… Is he texting someone? Oh no nonono NO!

Suddenly, the door Weld had entered through shut behind him and the lock clicked. A crackle of audio came to life as the Wards glanced around them, searching for potential danger yet finding none.

“I apologize for the interruption, but a little birdie told me there was a Stranger problem.” A voice said through the console in the middle of the room. Dragon.

“Ahhhh, fudge.” Aisha said.

“Stranger? Who?”

“That’s the point, dummy.” Shadow Stalker chided Kid Win.

“Hello little girl, I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Dragon, what are you doing here?”

“I’m not ‘little,’ you-” Vista started to reply, but gave up when Dragon continued talking without her.

Aisha held up the half eaten PB&J. “Hungry.”

“Thank you for the alert, Gallant. Definitely an interesting power.” Then, to Aisha, “I’m afraid I can’t let you leave, you know. Perhaps we could chat some more, in a place where I don’t look like I’m rambling to myself?”

Aisha nodded. Brian is going to be piiiissed.

Conway

“Microphones and cameras disconnected, we’re good, now.”

Miss Militia probably would have been fine cultivating a good working relationship with the Undersiders, but officially (-ish, the woman never actually sanctioned it in the first place) his alliance with them was over, and there was no need to keep adding marks on his already troublesome reputation.

“Holy shit, I am so sorry.” Aisha said. Conway hadn’t actually met Brian’s sister, he only heard about her in passing. It wasn’t a fantastic first impression, and hell, had he seen bad first impressions. Hightower threw me through a window and beat me half to death, for Christ’s sake. He shuddered at the memory.

“Walk me through what happened. You’re lucky I was around to take this off Dragon’s hands. And from what she told me, you’re lucky I can even see you right now. What the hell was that?”

“It’s uh, my… Power.” She bowed her head. “Unless if I try really hard, people don’t remember me. They don’t even remember seeing me right in front of them. She had to calm me down a ton before anyone else could become vaguely aware of another person present, and I think you can only see me because I really need you to see me.”

“Damn straight.” He sighed. “Sorry, this is a lot to take in at once. But yes, please try to keep the disappearing to a minimum, I feel a migraine coming on every time I try to re-stitch the events that brought me here back together. It’s like someone finished a jigsaw puzzle and then just went to town on it, but in your brain. Terribly unsatisfying. At least with alcohol, you can give up knowing the info didn’t matter anyways.” He paused. “Don’t drink, kid. Pro tip.”

“Right. Back to the…” She gestured at the synecdoche for Stranger Protocols that currently chained her to the table. “How do I get out? Even if they forget about me, I- I’m still… Oh, God, I’ll-”

Conway sighed. When the hell did I get here? He glanced at his watch. According to Dragon, he entered the room with nobody in it five minutes ago. Why did I sit here for five minutes, is someone coming? Dragon said they would already be in the room, though. He looked behind his back: Still nobody there. What did she say? “Stranger, stranger. Knock things over: You’ll only hear the clangor. On the field: They’re a flanker. In a locked room: They’ll cause you rancor.” She wasn’t wrong about that part, that’s for sure. He closed his eyes, and tried to concentrate. Years of detective prowess pulled upon to reconstruct the scene. Stranger? Here. Interrogation room: Caught by PRT. I’m not dead? They must like me. Undersiders? Brian? Ai-

“Aisha.”

“Welcome back, dummy.”

“How many times was that?” She gestured to his hand: Five pen marks. He added a sixth with an exaggerated sigh. “Okay. Good thing I’m not forgetting the whole plan every time that happens, otherwise we’d be here a week, at least. They aren’t going to let you walk out, unfortunately. Any other power? You’d be free before I could finish saying ‘Youth Guard,’ but they’re calling this a security risk. Truthfully as a Protectorate member, I’m inclined to agree, but I trust Brian and he trusts you.”

“Aw, thanks.” As soon as the immediate waves of fear washed away, she went right back to the same, unserious self.

“So, I break you out, you do the forget-y thing, Armsmaster probably will try to catch me in a lie.” He saw her raise an eyebrow. “Oh, he has it out for me, I think. He’s been all mopey since Leviathan, and before that? We don’t uh, work well together, let’s just say. But I remember what forgetting feels like, and if I’ve forgotten about you I know I can get past the detector honestly.” He stood up, and unlocked the handcuffs. “I believe knowing more will worsen the chances of that working, though, so you should really just go now. Pleasure to meet-” He put out a hand to shake.

Okay, that was weird. Why did I do that? Am I the Stranger, does it even work like that? I should probably ask Dragon. He unlocked the door of the interrogation room and stepped out to go meet with her.

Chapter Text

Conway

Owing to the forewarning from Armsmaster and Dragon, and a prompt cape response, Leviathan itself ultimately claimed fewer lives than anyone had expected it would. But people still expected it to claim a massive amount. In the aftermath of its colossal devastation, looters were out in full force. Desperate, and yet strong enough to act on that desperation, all of Brockton Bay’s factions—hero and villain alike—were operating full-tilt. Maybe it was cockiness from a swift Endbringer battle, or maybe things were as bad as they always seemed to be, but by the end of the week casualties were looking to be as bad as a typical Endbringer event. More capes around (including those from out-of-town looking to get in on the frenetic opportunity) meant plenty of destruction to go around.

And of Conway? Miles from home, and miles from my new home, too! What am I supposed to do, read the news hard enough to cause something to change? Until he achieved some sort of perception-based omnipotence, that was unlikely to happen. For now, his job was to bring in String Theory as fast as possible so he could go back to the city which welcomed him with open arms (which, to stretch the analogy, seemed to be holding knives in each hand currently, but welcomed him nonetheless).

A lone cape by the name of Damsel of Distress was reported to have left her usual haunt in Stafford, a little ways north of Brockton Bay. Dragon recommended Conway check her place out to see if anything was amiss that the local duo, Edict and Licit, failed to recognize. Of course, there was nothing they could have found that suggested String Theory’s involvement. But Conway knew Dragon was one of the few privileged with knowing where, precisely, Baumann was located. Unless String Theory found a way to book long distance travel with no resources and only a bad reputation, she must be near it. It wasn’t a particularly useful revelation for Conway—he wasn’t planning on any breakouts of his own, any time soon—but it was nice to have. Good to know the deductive parts of my brain still function, at least.

For his groundwork, he had taken up residence in the local coffee shop. A quaint little place in walking distance of Damsel’s warehouse, though that wasn’t saying much when everything in the town was in walking distance. Stafford was, generously, two miles wide, and somewhere under fifteen thousand people. More than one could be familiar with in a lifetime, sure, but he was certain he would memorize the coffee orders of at least a dozen regulars here before his investigation was over. If, by some bizarre twist of fate, he ever became a second-home owner, then sure, this town would be the place to buy one. But for now? If I learn any more about this lady’s garden, so help me god…

He packed up his PRT-issued laptop and bid the barista good-day, taking off before he inadvertently learned any more horticultural fun facts. One short stroll later, and he was ducking under police tape surrounding the pile of rust and scrap generously called a warehouse. Just like old times, he thought, reminiscing about the former job he left only a few weeks ago. I’ll have to visit this world’s Boston for closure, eventually. He couldn’t find any mention of Rooke, Gessler, or their respective companies anywhere. Miss Militia had been called up to see if she could help locate anything resembling the Resolver, but came up empty-handed. She agreed to keep knowledge of the now one-of-a-kind gun under wraps, in exchange for getting allowed to use it at the range, of course. Apparently, they didn’t have as many 10mm firearms around these parts. Conway kept it on him now, though, as he was technically on the clock the entire time he was in Stafford investigating. It accompanied him via waist holster now that his secret weapon was not-so-secret, but he didn’t intend to use it any time soon, if he could help it.

When in training, the PRT was very explicit about killing as a last resort, but it didn’t make him feel any better about being forced to use it against Oni Lee. Murderer or not, Conway was here to reduce casualties, not cause them. Old missions in Boston rarely required lethal force, and he would frequently challenge to himself to keep things fair. It made the somewhat-monotonous tasks he was given a little more bearable. He was being serious when he offered Miss Militia the idea of him taking up the smaller-scale side of things; it would be a breath of fresh air to be an above-board detective after lurking in the shadows for so long. This is nice, he thought to himself as he strolled the building, even if I am on the hunt for a mega-terrorist.

From what little of the warehouse and attached lodging-area were intact, there was no sign of forced entry. Plenty of fighting, but none of it recent. Scars of eroded black matter twisted through walls, and he suspected they were caused by the same thing that left the traces of ash and metal where dust otherwise indicated objects had rested. But the metal was cold, and the scarring had become part of the building; particularly horizontal gashes in the walls had long since been repurposed as shelves. Records agreed these were the aftermath of Damsel’s power, but it was unlikely he would find anything from String Theory. What I wouldn’t give for Tattletale’s help right now, he lamented. The Undersiders’ lieutenant (or equivalent thereof) was presumed dead after the Leviathan battle, and confirmed shortly after when remains matching the DNA of one Lisa Wilbourn were found in a crater left by the monster. He only knew the kid for a few weeks, but it still stung. It wasn’t right that kids were on the frontlines of these battles, and even worse that he couldn’t see a better option. She didn’t have to die, but the others? Kid Win and Flechette were responsible for the blow that caused Leviathan to finally retreat. How many more would have died if they hadn’t been there?

It was a poor idea for Tattletale to be there in the first place, she knew she didn’t have any way of helping, but was effectively forced to show up for the sake of reputation. And now? Aisha tried to step up to provide intel in her place, having triggered during the battle, but Brian’s sister still had much to learn. She learned about the group and how distraught Brian was over Lisa’s death without their knowledge, and acted out without it, too. He couldn’t deny the ambition, but she was jumping right into the deep end. If not for Conway, her career could have ended as soon as Dragon caught her snooping on every single Ward, new recruits included. She claimed it was her own decision, and Conway didn’t doubt that, but the little power-grab game that every cape in Brockton Bay was playing certainly played a role in her decision.

Conway stepped into what must have served as Damsel’s bedroom, a barricaded alcove in the warehouse’s loading dock. Nothing left behind, it was all either taken or obliterated. He shivered at what her power could do to a human. No need to imagine it, it was known that her energy ripped through all materials this way, in a manner much the same as the scene around him. Sometimes fragments of a twisted, indestructible metal were left behind, but otherwise? Nothing was known to stand in its way.

And yet, in the middle of the destruction, a coffee cup. Pristine.

His hands were always gloved on the job, so there was no need to add a pair before touching anything. He picked it up, revealing a slip of paper underneath: “Catch me if you can! -ST ;)”

Conway sighed. Never a dull moment.

Aegis

[LOCATE]

[LOCATE]

[COMBINE]

[COMBINE]

[FAILURE]

[FAILURE]

Carlos gasped for air with lungs a mile away. The last thing he remembered was Leviathan’s claw aiming to bisect his head. Now he was… Somewhere. Two somewheres, in fact. He could feel the distance from the rest of his body—whichever section counted as “the rest,” as his mind held them in equal regard—but he couldn’t discern any clues from either part. One was wet, and one was only damp. One cold, one freezing. Both had the equivalent of eyes, yet neither could see. Unfortunately, between the two halves, his mind remained in perfect condition.

He thought back to the battle, and where it all went wrong. I spent so much time wondering what could kill me, and I never even thought about what I could survive. I just have to wait, right? He assured himself. They know this is a possi bility. They’ll find me, or at least one of me, and this will all be over.

Maybe if he didn’t flinch, the hit would have connected. Maybe it could have killed him, instead.

Leet

He looked on with dismay as Über once again fell flat on his face. Once Leet confirmed his friend was not fatally injured, he slow-clapped the attempt.

“Hey, I’d like to see you come over here and learn how to use these godforsaken pants!”

“No thanks, man!” Leet called back, “I put in the hours building those ‘godforsaken pants,’ my part’s done!”

Über grumbled as he dusted off the imitation BULLFROG™ Projectile Hypertrousers, codename Toadstep, and matching matte-black wool trenchcoat, codename “sweet-as-hell coat.” Quite proud of those things, if I do say so myself. If they were going to take revenge on the city that laughed at their downfall, they would do it in style, dammit! Über even helped out with R&D, for once, applying his skills (or rather, one skill at a time) to ensure the pants lived up to the real deal. Fashion was the easy part, but getting them to launch their wearer was an entirely different beast. Metamaterials tinkers were hard to come by, and not a single tinker in the Toybox enclave was willing to help, given their past interactions. The duo tried their best to emulate the fibers, trying every loophole and combination of their powers possible, but nothing was durable or powerful enough to facilitate the inhuman velocities. In the eleventh hour, however, someone pulled through.

Leet suppressed a laugh as Über again tried and failed to launch himself onto the roof of their workshop. Closer to an alright landing, this time, but the guy was clearly letting his perfect agility atrophy. Instead of energy-storing fibers like Richard Conway had the privilege of using, the knockoff hypertrousers propelled themselves using nanofluids. Impossible hydraulics linked and laced themselves through the fabric and around the legs of the wearer, allowing powerful yet safe rapid extension and—as Über so ungracefully demonstrated—massive bounding jumps. Leet found a kid online trying to make some seed money to get his team off the ground, went by the name Withdrawal. Couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen, from the voice on the phone when he called for a consultation, but Leet couldn’t argue with the results he was shown. A few business days later and he had received a shipment of pristine hydraulic fluid which nearly shattered the apparatus it was stored in upon attempting to open the thing. Somehow (Leet learned long ago not to question how his or others’ tinkertech worked) it amplified momentum as it sloshed around, and was just the thing needed to get the project off the ground. Literally.

He watched Über try again, and finally-

“Hell yes, dude, you’re victorious over gravity! I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Oh shut up,” the man shouted down from the rooftop. “It worked, didn’t it? This calls for a celebration!” He leaped down to land in front of Leet, and awkwardly stood up to receive a fist-bump.

Chapter Text

Sam

Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap.

“Do you mind?” Taylor said, irritated. She looked up from the kitchen island and her eyes went over to Sam, who arrested her fingers immediately.

“Thorry.”

Taylor sighed. “No, I’m sorry. Drum as much as you like.” They sat in silence for a moment when Sam didn’t resume. Taylor continued to talk: “It’s… Fucked! Why did she go off and do something stupid like that? Knew it was dumb to do, and thought she’d get away with it anyways.”

Sam couldn’t help but remember when Taylor opened up about her family earlier: Her late mother, the professor, texting and driving. Best not to mention the parallels, she decided. She tried to come up with something better to say.

“We thtill have each other.” Sam said. Taylor raised an eyebrow. “All of uth. I mean. The team. Not-” She stopped trying as Taylor giggled. Eh, that works, too. It was true that this was hitting her less than the rest of the team. From what she had learned, they hadn’t been together for long before she joined. But unlike the rest, she still had five new friends coming out of this, whereas they just lost one. Or we break even if they include me, I suppose. They were nice, but Sam couldn’t tell if it was professional courtesy that was expressed, or if they actually considered her a friend. She didn’t connect with the rest of them like she did with Gatecrasher. It could have been that they were all younger than her, but it could very well be they just didn’t like her as much. Which is fine. She reassured herself. You don’t have to be friends. People that tolerate you is already a step up from before. And hey, if she could make them laugh, maybe that was good enough.

Switching the subject, she asked, “have you met Ratbert and Ratilda?”

“Your rats, I assume?” Taylor said. Sam nodded. “No, not yet.”

She switched her seat to one closer to Taylor, and reached into her jacket. Dozens of pockets now lined the thing—a trick she learned after seeing how much Conway could carry in his coat—and two were reserved for her murine companions. She pulled them out and placed them on the counter, where they patiently awaited orders before realizing none were going to be given, at which point both relaxed and started to explore. She smiled at the show of discipline they already managed to acquire, then watched as the pair scurried to Taylor, who tentatively studied them.

“They won’t bite.”

“You keep nicer pets than Bitch, then,” she said as she gently moved a hand towards Ratilda, who crooned as she nestled into it. “Brutus, uh, he’s a tough interviewer.” She laughed. “Better now, though. Would you like me to get rid of the fleas?”

“Uh, thure.” Sam said. I swear I just groomed them! How did they get more already? She silently chided the pair. What they got up to off-shift was none of her business, but it was a pain in the ass to clean them almost daily. Fun, too! But a pain in the ass.

“So,” Taylor started, “where do we go from here? As a team.”

“Ith there any reathon not to continue?”

“Hey, I thought it was fun!” Alec interjected from across the room, lounging by the windowsill like a cat.

“It’s just… Is it the same? Is anyone actually here to be on the team? Bitch just needs the money, Brian isn’t going to need to worry about custody for some time with the whole…” She left ‘Leviathan destroying everything’ unspoken, probably for her own sake more than Sam’s. “Hell, up until a few days ago, I was going to turn them in! Why are we-” Taylor choked back a sob.

Sam didn’t know how to respond. Alec didn’t either, but that didn’t stop him from doing so: “Holy shit, am I the only one gunning for the whole ‘team’ idea? When the hell did that happen?”

“I like it too!” Sam said. “I don’t know, we’re only a team becauth of Coil. I thought it wath fun, but you guyth were tho…” She gestured vaguely. Cold? Distant? No, that’s not it. Professional? It was like every member had their dedicated role, even out of costume. With Lisa gone, there’s no ‘next job’ to focus on, they’re just kids in an oversized treehouse with nothing to talk about. Huh. Is that why I’ve been so comfortable? In an inversion as strange as Alec’s, Sam realized she felt much more included, now that everyone was as disinclined to talk as she was. The difference is she found comfort in the silence, while everyone else only got more restless.

“Maybe we’re better off ath jutht friendth.”

“Tryna let us down easy, huh?” Alec laughed. “Relax, I get it. Don’t tell Bitch, but I think we’d kill each other without one of you guys in the room with us. I’d win, of course, but that’s besides the point.”

Taylor let out a sad chuckle as she watched the two rats play across her hands. “I guess I succeeded after all, taking down the Undersiders. Doesn’t feel like a victory, though.” Sam put a hand on her shoulder. “Do we call Brian and Rachel? Er, Conway, too, I guess? Would be weird for him to show up here and have it abandoned.”

“Hey, you kidding me? This place is sick, I’m staying. You guys can room with me if you want.”

“Thure.” Sam didn’t technically have a room in the hideout, but perhaps she could get Lisa’s. She didn’t even know if her apartment was still standing, she’d been sleeping on the couch here since Bakuda. As an afterthought, it reminded her she didn’t know if her parents survived that ordeal either. Not that it would have changed anything. Maybe it was for the best: It would let them cut ties without remorse, and Sam wouldn’t have any civilian connections threatening her new… position. Damn, Conway’s right, ‘criminal’ doesn’t count as a job, huh.

Lost in thought, she almost missed Taylor packing up and walking out. She called out before the girl closed the door.

“Yeah?”

“Are you… thtill gonna try to join the Wardth?”

“Not sure. Why?”

“Maybe we’ll thee each other around.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe. See you guys.”

In a rare bout of confidence, Sam smiled and started to consider what came next. It’s not like the Protectorate is any position to turn down a new cape. Not after Leviathan, right? She pulled out her phone and dialed Conway.

Conway

Conway’s PDA chirped a little tune. Fuck. Goddamn ringer, I thought- String Theory turned around, and stared right at him. A smile crept across her face.

Shit, okay. He stood up. “Alright, I know this looks bad…”

Conway, fifteen minutes ago.

Despite the extraordinary circumstances he continually found himself in, Conway was just an ordinary man. But with great joy, he recognized that an ordinary man could still have a talent for detective work. In the era of Protectorate’s Watchdog, thinkers and precogs tracking every move, people got sloppy. After all, if someone could simply divine where a criminal was headed, why even bother taking care to not leave fingerprints or paper trails? For String Theory (or perhaps Damsel of Distress), it was footprints: One track became nearly unreadable, but another alongside it took no precautions, which led him outside the warehouse and down the street, to a spot where all signs pointed to they entered the car here, and left down… That road! Oh, how I’ve missed this. In Boston, a road was useless for the pursuant; every road connected to every other in the city and no direction would indicate a further route. But northern New Hampshire? A road was as good as confirmation they had traveled to the next town over, or at least to a handful of side-roads along the way (which were really just alternate routes to the same destination, to anyone who didn’t live on them).

Like much of rural New England, it wasn’t an unpleasant drive; for his assistant, of course. Unable to drive himself, Miss Militia made sure to set him up with hard-ass Detective Roche, of the BBPD. PRT agents were in short supply following Leviathan (and an extensive usage against new capes cropping up in its wake), none could be spared and yet, as a somewhat humorous obstacle of bureaucracy, they absolutely would not let him drive himself. Conway was not entirely sure the arrangement was useful, when he could smell the alcohol on her breath still, but he wasn’t going to try and complain. She nearly snapped at him before they even arrived in Stafford, and the assignment only made matters worse.

Once again, he took the time spent traveling to make another attempt at small talk. “Can you keep a secret?”

“I’m a detective. I’m on the clock.”

“Okay, ‘no’ would have worked, too.”

She didn’t reply, instead letting the tapping of her fingers on the wheel grow a little more impatient.

“How do you normally handle these things?” He tried again.

“How do I take down people that threaten the world and try to destroy the moon? Gun, usually.”

I swear the file said ‘knock it out of orbit,’ not ‘destroy,’ but whatever. “She doesn’t have a kill order. Cause of-”

“She did before she got ‘Caged, don’t see why it’s not still valid. She got lucky with who captured her last time. Not this time.” Roche interrupted

“Fine, if we need a last resort, we won’t split hairs over pulling the trigger. Until then? We’re trying to capture her. As you’ve been briefed on already, she likely has a dead man’s switch. If we shoot her, everyone might die.”

“She might not, and we stop her for good.”

“Yes, or we stop her and nobody is around to congratulate us on her swift end. I don’t mean to pull rank-”

“I outrank you. You’re a two-bit private investigator with PRT backing.” Conway bristled at that.

“Okay then: I have PRT backing. You don’t. With that backing, I’m saying we don’t shoot her.”

Roche shrugged. He made a mental note to keep her away from any possible confrontation. The rest of the drive the two sat in silence.

“So, to recap.” He ignored her scoff. “You stay behind, watch the building. Make sure Damsel doesn’t come back. If she does? Intercept her, distract her. Injure her pride without angering her, and you’ll be safe.”

In the isolated corner of a new town not dissimilar to Stafford, the villain had walked out of a new warehouse that the pair started staking out a few minutes ago, presumably to run one villainous errand or another. However long it took didn’t matter; so long as she was gone at the outset, he could meet String Theory on even ground. “And let me know if that happens, too.” He said, as he handed Roche an earpiece. She nodded. Slightly fancier than anything she might have used before, but only by a level of anti-tinker hardening for subverting jamming or anyone listening in with a scanner.

“Good hunting,” she said, as he exited her car.

In his escapades, Conway had learned that no two warehouses were ever the same. It was a feat of architecture, really, that their identical metal facades could hold countless combinations of rooms and equipment inside. Unlike the old welding building the Undersiders inhabited, or Damsel’s dilapidated roost in Stafford, this place’s well-maintained set of walls meant there were disappointingly few sightlines perforating it. But when life closes a wall-peephole, it opens a… junction box. He winced at the adage, and quickly forgot it as he got to work jacking in to the closed circuit of the refreshingly modern building. It’s always so nice when they put this box on the outside, he mused. Copper gridwork illuminated his vision, and unlike the last few times he needed to infiltrate a building, this one was up to code, and a glance at the wiring was enough to inform him of the entire layout. Wires arched around what must have been doorways and zigzagged through radiant heating in the floors. The place must have featured wall-mounted lighting, too, judging by the eye-level wires that cordoned room-shaped areas.

The best part? String Theory was clueless to the threat he posed. Without fuses, switches, or other grid-severing mechanisms, wires traced all the way into the electronics she must have been working on. It was impossible to miss the dense mass of wires a few hundred feet away, various segments moving as she must have been transporting the components housing the wires, all while they were still plugged in to the building’s circuit. She should be thanking me for shutting this down, he thought, even I can tell that room is a fire hazard!

Conway set to work and idly strolled into the building, doing the groundwork necessary for infiltration as he went. CCTV was looped into itself, electronic doors were brought under his control (He was certain nobody was monitoring the place, but that was no excuse to get cocky. Not after Krieg), and thermostats were set to sixty-five degrees. He was a seventy-two guy, usually, but if there was going to be fighting, it was nice to keep things on the chilly side. From room setups alone, the place must have belonged to a shipping company: A handful of small office rooms, other areas with spaces more suited for storage than people, and the section String Theory took over must be a wide open loading dock.

“Mic check, one-two?” Conway whispered. String Theory wouldn’t hear him, this many walls away, but there could always be others.

“Five-by-five,” came the reply. Showoff.

As he made his way to the loading dock, he gradually became more confident that it was the only inhabited room. Nothing beyond it showed any signs of activity; not even lights or thermostats were active for most of them. If anyone had been in the rest of this building, it was back when they first took over. His target being in a two-story-room, he elected to make his way to the second floor to enter it. No need to risk detection if his end goal was the ceiling, anyways. Entering the loading dock, he leapt to the gantry above to get a better look at what his quarry was up to. As much as the wires revealed to him before, they still didn’t prepare him for what he saw: Massive coils of wire attached to a stator the size of a truck, fifty-five gallon drums hooked up in a way that suggested they were comically oversized capacitors, curved panels of sheet metal in the process of being put together like a parabolic dish. Conway way no electrical engineer, but it didn’t take one to see this was some kind of energy weapon so eclectic it bordered on satire. Perfect for a mad scientist, he thought, as he looked on in wonder. Hell, you’d need the resources of a small country to get this much copper wire. Below him, String Theory danced between tables, working to assemble the affront to physics that lay before them. Swishing behind her was a braid of dark hair that must have been a foot longer than the photos from before she was locked up, and even though no chemicals were in use, she wore a massive, synthetic labcoat that flowed as if it were made of silk. Finishing up a project at one table, Conway watched her start to move to the gantry crane’s control panel, and he decided to hop off it. She strikes me as the type to proudly watch her creations rise into the air. No need to get spotted because of that. He jumped down and landed behind a palette of cardboard boxes. Despite the near-silent landing, she paused when he fell. Did I disturb the air? Conway breathed a silent sigh of relief when she returned to operating the crane and, true to his prediction, the two of them looked on in reverence while the coil caught the light as it was lifted into the air.

“Isn’t it a beauty?” His blood froze. How did she play that so smoothly? Or is she talking to herself?

“You and I might have different definitions of beauty, but I’ll concede the design has merit.” A deeper voice replied. Oh, good, it’s someone else, he thought, simultaneously realizing oh, shit, who else is there? Peering past the boxes, Conway confirmed his fear: the voice belonged to none other than Marquis, the gentleman villain suspected of having escaped with String Theory. It was unconfirmed in the reports, and he half-hoped the man died in the Birdcage amid the chaos, rather than serving as an accessory to her flight. Unfortunately, it seemed he was quite alive, and continuing his alliance with the tinker. He returned to a crouch, and settled in for the rest of their conversation. As it dragged on, Conway felt the boredom of their discussion and the adrenaline in his veins begin to fight each other. After a few minutes he decided to shift his footing, and she stirred from her work, almost imperceptibly. If she did notice him, she didn’t act on it, at least. It unsettled Conway that he might be walking into a trap but, well, if it’s a trap, I’m already in it. No escaping now. A minute later and she was back to talking with Marquis.

Then, in an impeccable feat of bad timing, his PDA chirped a little tune, and String Theory turned around immediately. She stared right at him, and a smile crept across her face.

Shit, okay. He stood up. “Alright, I know this looks bad…”

She cast aside a soldering iron and spread out her arms. “Ah, at long last! I’ve heard a great deal about you, Gatecrasher.” Marquis moved to act, but stopped when he saw String Theory remained unconcerned.

“I am- wait what?” He fumbled the introduction. “Sorry, not used to people actually knowing. Usually it’s ‘hey, asshole!’ or ‘ghkhhg -ack’ followed by a thump as they hit the ground.”

“But of course! What kind of supervillain would I be, if I didn’t know who the Protectorate enlisted to try and stop me?”

“Probably a-”

“Silence, worm!”

“Hey that’s-”

“Ahp-bup-bup!” she tutted. “You’re still interrupting me!” Conway fell silent. “Christ, why bother with villainy if you aren’t allowed your monologues? Hm, you know what? Since you went through the trouble of meeting me alone, it’s only fair I honor that. Marquis?”

Marquis raised an eyebrow, but nodded and walked out.

“Let’s get down to business, then.” String Theory said after he left.

In his ear, Conway heard Roche. “I have eyes on one- Jesus, is that Marquis?” A sigh was clipped off by the earpiece transmission halting. So much for backup. Conway settled in for the monologue, and prayed Roche knew what she was doing.

Nicole

“Freeze! Detective Roche, BBPD. Hands away from me, bonehead.”

“Brockton Bay sending me a welcoming party already? Sorry dear, but I’m afraid you’re out of your jurisdiction.” Marquis was all too casual for a man with a gun pointed at him.

“Bet.” She spat, reaffirming her grip on the pistol. Marquis sighed, complying. Too easy, she thought. Focusing, she felt a sensation in her trigger finger. She swapped hands. “Don’t. Only warning.” Raising her hand up to eye-level, she could see the finger was shorter by half an inch already. After raising it up, it began to return to its original length. “S’what I thought,” she growled.

“You sure about that?” A voice behind her said. Damsel. FUCK! If not for the tactical disadvantage it would cause, she could have punched a wall. On the outside, she remained still. Not lowering her gun, but not turning to acknowledge the new villain either. Damsel raised her voice. “I’m talking to you, coward. Face me! I want to see the fear in your eyes, before I snuff your sorry life out for this transgression against my team.”

‘Injure her pride,’ Conway’s advice entered her mind. Damn him, the moron might actually have a clue.

“You gonna last long enough for that?” She shouted back. “Or you gonna lose control before I can turn around?”

She heard Damsel huff. “The thought!” But Nicole could hear her walking forward already. As soon as Damsel was in front of her, though, any hope of holding the pair at gunpoint drained away.

Tinker mechanisms wreathed her arms, for starters, and she was nowhere near as disheveled as the hobble in Stafford or Edict and Licit’s reports on her would have one believe. What the hell, she actually looks regal! And not in a ‘queen-of-the-hobos’ kind of way.

“You know, a week ago, that might’ve gotten to me. You’ve done your research. But I’m afraid-” Damsel drew out that last part, raising one of her hands to point at Nicole. Oh god, Everlyn, I’m so sorry. Her daughter entered her mind as she accepted that the instant this lunatic finished raising her hand, whatever dark powers crackled within would leap forth and devour her, leaving no trace. Maybe one of those wrought-metal splinters, if she was lucky.

“-that’s old news.” Damsel finished. No tremors, no erratic movement. And as a finger lingered inches away from Nicole’s head, it did an admirable job of not obliterating her.

“You’re fine.” Nicole finally breathed.

“Never better.” Damsel smiled, and lowered her hand. “Why don’t you put that gun down, and join us inside for a little chat?”

Chapter Text

String Theory

“Let’s lay some ground rules, shall we?” Stri said. She was ecstatic at the new development! Not one, but two intruders coming to try and mess with her? The added pressure set her brain positively buzzing with ideas. Almost as good as being back in the Birdcage! Still not as brilliant as I should be, but we’re getting there…

“Me first: You fuck off,” the woman growled.

“Roche, maybe not the time?” Gatecrasher said.

“Feisty, this one!” Stri walked over to ‘Roche’ and held up her chin. “Roche, is it? What’s your power, darling?”

“Kicking your ass.”

“Now, now, that’s not nice.” She whipped her hand back, twisting Roche’s neck at an unpleasant angle. “Let’s try that again! ‘Roche.’ ‘Revenge.’ You’re angry. Ah! Like Lung, right? The more mad you get, the stronger you become. Of course. Maybe you will be my worthy opponent, then! I’ve always been told I have a punchable face, but nobody’s managed to do it yet. Gonna try to be the first?”

She spat at Stri, and Stri slapped her in retaliation. Oh, this is so much fun! She’s just like Lab Rat, how adorable.

“S’my name, moron. Detective Nicole Roche, Brockton Bay police. You must be some thug with a hard-on for copper wires?”

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but I thought you were supposed to be good with interro-” Roche kicked Gatecrasher in the leg. Stri ignored it. She’s trying to play me? Let her try! A pathetic unpowered human like her can’t stop the likes of me anyways!

“We’re getting off track,” she drawled. “You know why I despise people like you? You keep trying to get under my skin! That’s my shtick! Now then, rules:” She walked between the two of them. “First off! No outside communication.” She plucked the earpieces off their ears with more force than necessary.

Gatecrasher spoke up. “Okay, fair. But can I make a request, too?”

She shrugged. “Generally, it’s not in the position of the kidnapped to make requests. But perhaps I’m feeling generous today.”

“I’m pretty sure that vet in New Altham is the closest medical care. Me and my assistant would be much happier if you assured us-”

She scrutinized Gatecrasher with her glasses. The clothing was too well insulated to reveal specifics, but definitely more circuitry in there than the average joe.

He stared at her innocently. “Something I said?”

“No outside communication.” She repeated, digging into the coat. Out of every pocket—god, how many pockets does this coat have?—came heaps of tech. Transmitters, receivers, light switches? She gave him a look. He shrugged as best he could with his hands tied. Finally, two handheld gizmos were retrieved from inside: Something resembling a phone, and the other…

She jumped at the information flooding into her mind. “What the fuck?” She shooed away Marquis as he stepped toward her. “I’m fine, thank you very much!” Now, as she looked all around the building, wires were revealed to her in incredible fidelity. Not just those in front of her (the wiring inside her glasses had been what started her the most), but everywhere in the building. Every wall, every device? I am the god of wires! She thought to herself. But there were buttons on the offending gadget as well. “What do the buttons do?”

“The heck do I know? I just collect rand- AH!” He looked at Marquis, who whistled his innocence. Roche had raised an eyebrow at the exclamation. “Fucker just… God, what the hell? That was like my-” he hissed as, presumably, whatever Marquis did before began again. “fffFINE! It rewires things! Jesus, dude, really? I need my femurs to live.”

“Don’t think you do, actually…” Damsel hummed. “Do I have enough precision to remove specific bones now?”

Stri’s little modification might not have worked if not for her master plan, but Damsel’s arm braces had so far showed incredible promise with how they could be used. Everything from holes in walls that didn’t collapse the building, to destroying a pen while leaving the paper it rested on intact. If her power was scary before, when it attacked almost at random, well, intentional deletion of matter would be much more horrifying.

“Do not obliterate our guests. Yet.” Stri ordered. “Rewires things, hm?” She fiddled with the buttons, and connections were created and terminated between various objects before her eyes. God of wires indeed. “Yes, this will do nicely, I think.” One hiccup she had encountered with getting the G-driver’s motor working was getting wires small enough that could still supply the rotor coils with the power needed, but this new device could sidestep the issue entirely. And then some! It could make the control panel wireless, and even supply the encabulators with capacitive directance…

Roche seemed disapproving of how quickly Gatecrasher folded. Or did she think that was his power? Ohoho, this just got fun! Stri leaned in. “ You are the gift that just keeps on giving, aren’t you? So many secrets, so many… Lies?”

Gatecrasher frowned. “I’m not having fun anymore.”

Roche rolled her eyes at him. He rolled his eyes harder at her. Children, both of them…

“What do you mean, ‘lies’?” Marquis asked.

She chuckled. “See, our friend here bills himself as a wire tinker of sorts. But check this-” She threw the device to Marquis, who almost dropped it, much to the chagrin of Gatecrasher.

“Ah. You think someone else is giving him a little help?”

“Or a lot…” Damsel added, as she looked over Gatecrasher’s outfit. “After all, what kind of tinker specializes in wires and pants?” She yanked at the fabric, which snapped back into place with more force than she could have put in. Roche was looking more hopeless by the second. They’re so cute when they’re terrified!

“Color me impressed. Not one, but two pretenders managed to make it this far? Not an easy feat.” She crouched in front of Roche. “What do you say, what’s your prize for making it this far?”

She jolted forward, hitting Stri in the face with her forehead. Stri reeled back as pain flared from her nose, and fell on her ass. Damsel retaliated by hitting Roche with a fist that, thankfully, did not disintegrate the target. I really hope those modifications hold up, she thought. Marquis held Gatecrasher with minimal effort. It looked like the man did not have a particular plan for this, and took the opening Roche made to mostly flail around in an attempt to break the restraints.

Stri got up and dusted her labcoat. “That’s enough of that. Marquis? How creative are you feeling today?”

“How do you mean?”

“I’m not enjoying the lip from this one.” She nodded at Roche. “Shut her up, somehow?”

“I’ll f-” Roche flinched, “ffk. RGH! Fckrng-” She continued to try and force words out, but from what Stri could make out it was just expletives, anyways. A “crrt” directed at Damsel got her another punch from the woman. Damsel continued to harass her target, at which point Stri turned her attention back to Gatecrasher.

“I take it you’re the guy in charge of this whole fuck-up?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a ‘fuck-up,’” Gatecrasher smiled weakly. “You didn’t ever turn off the transmitters.”

With her newfound wire senses, she quickly scanned the perimeter of her workshop to see… Nothing. If there was a surprise team of PRT agents sent to put her down, they must have been Luddites. No movement of wires beyond power lines swaying with the wind.

“And? There’s nobody coming to save you.”

Gatecrasher frowned. “You sure? Check again.”

On the fractional chance he was right, she wasn’t going to be caught off guard as a point of pride: She scanned the premises again, and shook her head.

“Damn.” He looked to Roche. “Any suggestions on how to pass the time? Wait, you can’t- nevermind.” The detective looked at him with fury in her eyes even stronger than the moment before Stri’s own nose got bloodied.

She rubbed her nose. “Yes, right, about her. Say, she’s something of a liability, hm?” She stared Roche down. Neither flinched, even as Roche’s gaze nearly bored through her skull. “Damsel, if you’d be so kind as to remove our guest?”

At that moment, her mind was assaulted with visions. Not with wires, but blades. Thousands of them, sharp and tempered, shining red and blue from lights that couldn’t possibly be in the room. The thing cut the world until only they remained. Stri focused. It was something predatory and menacing, an idea in the shape of a wolf. And it was a hell of a lot more free than Roche could have possibly been.

A blood-curdling scream assaulted her ears, and she blacked out.

Conway

“Welcome back.” He said, as Roche was the first to stir.

A groan came in reply. “What the hell was that?” her voice was, understandably, quite hoarse. “Gonna kill the fucker that did this to my jaw.” Conway elected not to mention she might be referring to him. After she screamed something that sounded like death, hatred, and some other awful mix of emotions all at once, she and the three other capes fell unconscious for some time. All he could remember in the moment was that he finally had the upper hand, and he used that to his fullest ability. Closest to him, Marquis received the brunt of his fury. Instinct tore him out of his wrist-ties and he pounced on the man, punching him until he became cognizant of the others. He leapt to String Theory and Damsel of Distress like a man possessed (and on reflection, perhaps he was), punching until his fists were bloody. By the time he got to Roche, her bound position gave him pause. Does she really pose a threat? He remembered thinking for a split-second. He ended up punching her once, just to be safe. There was a sickening crack that came with it, though, and on reflection he concluded that was what really undid Marquis’ osteomancy. However, “undid” credited the action with more elegance than it should have, he realized, as Roche now sat on the ground nursing her jaw.

“We need to go.” He offered a hand. “I only stuck around waiting for you, but that means they’re not far behind. If I can break through zip-ties, I don’t think Damsel of Distress will have much trouble either.”

“They’re right here.” She argued, with a voice that was closer to a whisper than her usual tone.

He yanked her to her feet. “Yeah? What are we gonna do, ask three capes to kindly not use their powers while we wait for backup? We’re beat, come on.” They broke into a brisk jog as they exited the warehouse, heading back to the car. It wasn’t until they were driving away that they spoke again.

“So you’re not a cape.”

Conway sighed, and for once, he didn’t immediately reply. Instead he looked out at the forest they drove through. Finally, he pulled out the Crosslink and held it up. “I am.” He gave her a look that he despised even as he did it. It was one he saw all too many times back with officers in Boston: One that said ‘the truth got messy back there, but this is the story, now.’

“Alright.” She replied, and a light died inside of him. She didn’t even need it explained. He looked away to try and hide his shame.

Despite only knowing each other for two days, now, Conway had the impression he knew her well. He thought he had finally found a cop with a good heart, albeit a brusque way of showing it. Now he was the one fabricating the story to his own ends. He could have agreed with her, said he wasn’t a cape, and come clean. But he chose to sweep it under the rug, and she let him. Business as usual, for her. She didn’t ask for details, and he wouldn’t be obligated to give them. Hell, he couldn’t give them, now, because it would be seen as him faltering. There was one thing he had to know, though:

“When you screamed bloody murder back there, and they blacked out…”

“Trigger event.” She said, terse.

Conway nodded. The paperwork for this is going to be a nightmare.

Chapter Text

Assault

Though an extraordinary amount of things were ruined by the arrival of Leviathan, the PRT was not one of them. Even if they came out of it exhausted and short-staffed, it was a huge PR win for the regional department which had otherwise been under substantial scrutiny lately. Capes survived, the population survived enough to keep cheering them on, and now Assault and most of the rest of the ENE Protectorate were stuck dealing with the massive influx of potential recruits. Not that he minded, of course, but there were only so many wide-eyed interviewees one could turn down before it started to drag on.

Which is why when a familiar rat mask showed up at the door, he was all too excited for the change of pace that it took a few moments before he thought to himself, wait, did I just welcome a villain into the PRT offices with open arms? Too late to back out now, and it’s not like she was attacking, anyways. He defaulted to keeping the interview as professional as possible, in hopes of not scaring her back to a life of crime. Naturally, that ended up becoming a point of discussion one way or another, and soon they were talking about her last visit to the building.

“A PRT commander insulted you for no reason? Do you remember the name?” Assault asked.

“I… don’t know.”

“Hm.” He tapped his pen.

“What ith it? I know it thoundth-”

“I’m not doubting you, I’m wondering who was responsible, that’s all. That comment might’ve cost us a good cape.” He sighed. “If you did join us, your power would make for an impressive addition. Although we didn’t personally fight at Forsberg, my teammates certainly complained about your attacks a lot.”

She lit up. “Really?”

Assault chuckled. “Just don’t tell them I said that.” She nodded. “So you’d be looking to join the… Wards?”

“Protectorate.”

"Really? Huh. It's just from what we know of the rest of the Undersiders, they're all between fifteen and nineteen, and- nevermind. So, the Protectorate!"

Ratcatcher nodded, and the floppy rat mask bounced with the motion. Assault continued. "It's, well, mostly the same as the Wards. I won't run through the whole spiel, for both our sakes; you clearly have experience holding your own against us. Though, I do worry about how you might stand up against less... Charitable foes."

She cocked her head. "You mean you were going eathy on uth?"

"No, not at all, we were trying our best to capture you. But, notably, we weren't trying to kill or maim. Can't say the same for the villains of this town." She nodded in recognition. In particular, Bakuda's bombs still lived in people's heads. He suppressed a shudder at the pun. It was substantially more dangerous in Brockton Bay than even New York or Boston, and those places had capes that, on paper, should be hell to deal with. But, Games-era Boston excluded, those cities remained civil in their warfare. Hell, even Accord knew to restrict his murderous feelings to other villains, or else pay the price.

"You know, we have a prospective new member of the Protectorate at the moment, who isn't suited to direct combat-"

"Gatecrasher?"

"What? How- nevermind. Possibly. I can't confirm that."

"Right." Behind the mask, he could see her eyes roll.

"Okay. In that case, let's skip the explanation. You could take on a similar role to this unnamed cape and stick to low level business: From what I hear, you'd be perfect for searching persons of interest, sniffing out bombs, that sort of thing.”

“Oh! That remindth me: Waiting for thith interview, the kid nexth to me had tonth of tinkertech on him. Totally a rat.” She tapped the nose of the mask. “I would know.”

“Thanks for the heads up. I can’t officially act on that, but I’ll be sure to keep an eye on him, after we’re done here. Back to the matter at hand, though: With this gig, we would try to keep you out of direct confrontation, but you would still be a cape in Brockton Bay, and that comes with risks. I want to make sure you know what you're getting into."

"I know," she said, letting exasperation seep into her voice.

"Alright, alright.” He raised his hands. “I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to train at least, after the two-for-one catastrophe we just suffered through. Should be quiet for the foreseeable future."

A phone buzzed. Assault only had a PRT-issued pager on him, so he looked to Ratcatcher to make the move. She rifled through her pockets before finding it.

"Gatecrasher!" She said, merrily. "Oh. Thring Theory, Damthel oth-" she grunted. "Damthel of Dith- Damthel… Ooh, and Mar-keeth!” She looked at Assault: “You were thaying?"

Assault buried his head in his hands. "Why did I even… What did he say?”

She hummed. “You know, not being a member of the Protectorate, am I thuppothed to read thith?”

Assault sighed.Mad scientist on the loose, and this girl’s got the audacity to- oh, what the hell, I’d do the same. “Fine, I'm deputizing you, we can sort out paperwork later. Talk to me, what's going on?"

"Gate and hith friend beat them up, and now they're probably heading to Brockton Bay and definitely mad. Probably here thoon. How far away ith 'New Altham'?"

"Ah, shit." He fished out his pager. "Couldn't say, maybe half hour as the crow flies, an hour if there's mountains in the way? I forget.” A beep signaled that his message sent. “Okay, notified the rest, they'll be here shortly. Do you know why he wouldn't have called us directly?"

She shrugged. His pager immediately got a beep back from Gatecrasher, outlining roughly what Ratcatcher had received. "Alright fine, looks like he cares about you more, that’s all. No, I'm not hurt!" She let out a small giggle. “Here they come…”

Armsmaster barged in, never not suited up. Velocity waited to walk in behind him. Trying not to further damage the poor guy's pride, I see. Armsmaster had been in something of a funk ever since Leviathan. If it wasn't a patently preposterous idea, Assault might've thought he was disappointed that the monster got driven back so quickly. But now? That gloom was gone, the man walked with purpose again. Good for him, Assault thought.

"I've already copied Dragon in on the situation. Though she normally has more pressing issues, in this case, String Theory is that issue."

"Good afternoon," the ever-present tinker called in via conference room speaker. Spooky, really, that she was always available on short notice. Did the lady ever sleep?

“And who is this?” Armsmaster said, gesturing at Ratcatcher with his trademark subtlety.

“You don’t remember me?” She made a show of looking hurt. “Forthberg? We were… Very clothe.” She snickered. Assault vaguely recalled her working within Grue’s darkness to knock the man down.

“Close?” Dragon interjected.

“Ah.” He turned to Assault. “I don’t recall allowing you to let the villains join us.”

“Oh come on, Armsy, you forgetting who you’re talking to? She’s on our side now.”

“Are you trying to ‘put your past behind you’ or not?”

“She wants to help! Look, I was right about Gatecrasher, yeah? Trust me on this.” Assault said. Armsmaster shook his head but said nothing further.

“So, Ratcatcher, how close is ‘very close’..?” Dragon teased. Armsmaster hit the mute button on the speaker, but it turned itself on again. “Don’t shut me out, this is important!”

“More important than String Theory?” he huffed.

“Fine. Later, then,” Dragon said. Ratcatcher maintained her silence, but Assault could tell she must be grinning under that mask.

The other two members in the building—Dauntless and Triumph—showed up, and Armsmaster looked up to address the new arrivals. “In case you didn’t read his message, Gatecrasher had a run-in with String Theory. Apparently, she’s now allied with Damsel of Distress and Marquis.” He said the last name with a hint of distaste. “He reports they’re working on what appears to be a massive energy weapon. Last time String Theory was left to her devices, we got the Firmament Driver. We can all agree that can’t happen again.” He stated, to various nods of approval.

“So what do we do?”

“We know the F-Driver worked with destabilizing frequencies. If we’re assuming she’s doing the same thing—which we should not, for the record—this could be an upscaled version of that. If not? It could be anything.”

“Right. We all saw what Kid Win’s ‘energy weapon’ did to Leviathan.”

“With assistance from another cape.” Yep, he’s still bitter about getting one-upped like that…

“Let’s work with what we know. If we try to speculate all day we won’t have any plan at all!”

“Fine. What do we have that counters something like the F-Driver?”

“What about Uppercrust’s shields? Any chance Armsmaster can refit them?”

“Not unless he’s been working on time manipulation while cloistered in his workshop this last week.”

Armsmaster frowned at the comment, but otherwise ignored it. “Radiation and water are two different things.”

“Both waveth.” Everyone looked at Ratcatcher. “Waveth? You know-” she waved an arm. “No? Okay.”

“It was a good idea,” Assault said. No need for her to get beat up in her first team meeting.

Assault know Armsmaster was about to tear into the suggestion with more rebuttal than was necessary, but at that moment, the discussion was interrupted by a very feral and very distant “Hey!” that met their ears.

For an instant, Assault froze. He felt like he wanted to attack every other person in the room, and was barely able to hold back the urge to leap out of his chair right then and there. Armsmaster got to his feet, Velocity phased out. Ratcatcher pulled a pair of rats out of her jacket to keep them apart as they tried to claw at each other, in a display that shocked everyone else into the room into avoiding something similar.

“Talk to me, what’s going on? You look like you’re all about to kill each other.”

“Someone just tried to fuck with our emotions,” Armsmaster said, looking at Ratcatcher. “Anything you’d like to share, new girl?”

“Wait!” She said. “That wath outhide! Right?” She looked to Assault for backup.

He nodded. “Not her. Who would put themselves next to the city’s foremost heroes and hit everyone with a blood-rage beam?”

“Surprisingly astute.” Dauntless said.

“I’ve been in my fair share of blood-rages before.” He looked around. “Is everyone feeling alright, now?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good,” Velocity added. Others nodded in assent.

“Right, then let’s go see what the hell that was.”

Conway

It would be considered bad superstition to celebrate an escape before it was over and done. For precisely that reason, Conway remained tense the entire ride back to Brockton Bay. Nicole was tense, too, and though she wouldn’t admit it, he suspected for much the same reasons. Neither mentioned Nicole’s powers or Conway’s lack of them. One or two times, he almost laughed at the situation and Nicole shut it down by staring daggers at him, as if she were expecting it. It was scary, stuck in a car with a woman whose scream could make you lose all sense and reason. Conway was just happy there was nothing to incite a bout of road rage from her on the way back.

Finally, as they were driving down Brockton Bay’s Ellory Street, PRT building in sight, Conway breathed a sigh of relief. Home, sweet home, he thought.

Which is, of course, when it happened.

A black shape struck the middle of the roadway in front of them—with a pose that Conway would have called a “superhero landing” and what the locals would have called an “Alexandria landing”—and stood up to face the car. Black fedora, a black trenchcoat flapping in the wind (wind that Conway was certain wasn’t actually there), a doppelganger imitating his own style stood before him. Nicole had already stopped and exited the vehicle by the time he processed who he was looking at, and, with perhaps more rage than her, he followed suit.

“Hightower!” he shouted as his foot hit the pavement. The road was silent, the few other cars on the street stopped to avoid the imminent trouble. The man in black stood there, impassive.

“Good afternoon, Richard Conway! Or is it ‘Gatecrasher’ now?” The man chuckled to himself, at a joke that wasn’t there. Conway noted this was his first time hearing the man speak. God, he even sounds like an asshole. Nicole looked to Conway. In the face of such absurdity, impossibility, and blatant disregard for the sanctity of his new identity, he shrugged.

“Work friend.” He turned back to Hightower. “Aren’t you supposed to be busy being dead?”

Hightower scoffed. “You punched me once, moron, you’re not that powerful!” He started walking towards the pair.

“External communications down.” Nicole reported, gruff. “Earpieces fine. You got this under control?” He nodded, and leapt at Hightower as fast as possible. If it worked before-

His double dodged to the side at inhuman speed, arresting his momentum with a streetlamp. Conway landed where he stood and, before he reoriented, Hightower was already jumping back to him. The man tackled his side, and the two tumbled across the pavement. Did I punch him only once? Conway tried to recall that fateful night at Intex. This bastard deserved more than that. He can’t even leap properly… He embraced the roll, and Hightower was caught off guard by Conway’s sudden agreement to the maneuver. He ended up on top of Hightower when they came to a stop. People who had stopped their cars earlier or were walking down the street when the altercation began were now closing in, excited to watch the beatdown between two unknown capes.

“How did you find me?” He punched Hightower in his face, which was obscured by a black bandanna. “I don’t even know how I got here, and you managed to tail me?”

“Just a short drive away, you know?” I don’t, actually, he thought. Did he follow me across universes? Up until now, he had been almost certain this wasn’t his world. But if Hightower was here…

He got lost in the thought for too long, and found himself pinned down, trying to deflect Hightower’s fists. Where’s Nicole? Hightower’s coat obscured the view of the road, and of the detective’s car. All Conway could do was rely on his oldest trick in the book: Just keep punching. It knocked him out cold, last time. How the hell is he so strong, now? Conway tensed his legs and leapt to try and launch himself out from underneath Hightower, but the man grabbed him by the ankle. The scuffle knocked the bandanna loose, revealing a face that, while familiar, looked wrong in that outfit. Was it really so long I forgot what he looked like? Where have I seen that face before? He couldn’t think on it further, as a punch to the jaw blasted his mind with pain. He retaliated, but he was now at the disadvantage. Black encroached at the edges of his vision, and he steeled himself to stay awake a little longer. If nothing else, just to spite the man. Let him break his knuckles on my face.

“Goddamn gun locks…” a grumble came through the earpiece. The hell was Nicole doing? Conway vaguely recalled she had one when they first prepared to arrest String Theory, but it was lost in the ensuing chaos. He glanced behind Hightower to see her rummaging in the side of her car. Can’t fault a lady for having a backup gun, he thought.

“I’m the best in the world at hand to hand combat, you really think you can win?” No, he’s not. But who is? That face, that snide voice…

“Über.” He said.

“What?” His opponent paused. Conway pressed the advantage to get a punch in and flip himself back on top. His vision came rushing back, and a fresh breath of air brought him back to his senses.

“Hightower’s the best in the world at jack shit,” he said. “Maybe imitation, but even then he got the coat wrong. One punch did take him down, and you’re too good at this. Too durable, too.” He hit Über’s face again, for emphasis. “You were there, when Bakuda blew up half the city, right? Is that what this is, revenge for a half-assed bomb plot gone wrong? I’ve read the reports about you, you couldn’t take all this time to get good at letting shit go?”

Über kicked Conway off, and leapt to the opposite side of the street. “Hey! I’m cool as ice, I’m only here for the bounty on your head!”

“String Theory do that? And what, you made that costume in a few hours?”

“So what if I did?”

“Who the hell do you think you are, digging into my past? Imitating Hightower to, what, get under my skin?”

“That’s kinda hypocritical, don’t you think? You took that game and made it your whole personality!”

Game? He paused for a split second. Right, that was a thing, in this world’s Boston. “The Boston Games? I had no part in that! I was just a detective!” But he couldn’t ignore that someone here knew a person from his past. Does Hightower exist here, too? Do I? Is another me in Boston, right now? Multiversal theories were dismissed abruptly as Über leapt onto the wall of the building behind him, preparing another attack. Just then, Nicole pointed the backup gun at Über from behind her car’s door.

“Hey!” She roared, with a thousand voices. An impassive observer would have reported that this is when the situation deteriorated:

Conway zeroed in on the [THREAT] leaping down to [KILL] him, and prepared to neutralize it first. He was only vaguely aware of the two-dozen other [WITNESSES] around him, clawing at each other. The [BACKSTABBER] held her fire, focusing instead on keeping [COMBATANTS] away from herself. Conway raised a fist and threw it with more force than one should ever use, connecting with the [THREAT] and causing it to fall onto him, instead. The two landed against the wall of a building, and the [THREAT] stayed unmoving. Conway hoped it was [DEAD]. No, I don’t! He realized. Negativity and adrenaline were still flowing through him, but he had recognized what just happened again. Oh, hell…

He looked around. Some bystanders were coming to their senses, others continued fighting. Nicole looked on with horror at the scene around her. They both would have a lot to explain once other capes got on the scene, Conway figured.

Then, Nicole got in the car and sped off without even a glance.

Okay, just me then. The worst part of whatever she was trying to pull was that the work of debriefing fell entirely on him; Being the sole witness played hell with trying to recount what happened. What I wouldn’t give for another person to help explain!

Über groaned and rolled himself off of Conway, spitting out teeth. “What th’hell, man,” he mumbled.

Conway sighed. Nope, that’s even worse.

Chapter Text

Leet

dude, what the hell happened out there?

lady screamed so hard yall lost your shit??

last time i let you go off solo

…

dude?

I’m here, chill

Armsmaster brought Conway and me in for questioning

Or just me. I think he’s Protectorate for real

so is he real-real or what?

guy fr thought you meant boston games not video games

This ain’t the multiverse bro

so what, we got someone just really committed to the bit?

Shrug

Either he is and pretending he isn’t, or isn’t and pretending he is

Honestly not sure which is more concerning

Also he destroyed my jaw

just get good at lie detecting lol

and what? jesus

I would but I can’t tell what this dude is thinking!

Is he a poker champion or delusional?

Yeah, you saw when I leapt at him? Face-first

Got a photo with him holding the teeth tho, not all bad

file: hightower_gatecrasher.jpg

lmao

even through the mask you can tell he wants to punch you again

Worth it

Should be out of here tomorrow

Shit brb Armsmaster coming in again

gl man

Taylor

Resting on her bed, Taylor idly flipped a coin-like object as she reflected on the extraordinary chain of events that brought her here. It took only a month for her full on descent into villainy. Do I even plan on stopping now? She thought to herself. Her life had been on the line no less than a dozen times, hopes and dreams were formed and shattered, she gained friends and just as quickly lost one. And most of that was just last week!

The not-coin was, in fact, a radio device. A “gift” from Conway she eventually discovered stuck to her armor. Tattletale- Lisa mentioned that he must have slipped one onto each of them to keep tabs on the Undersiders. A revolting breach of privacy if they had ever been activated, but as far as she could tell, they remained dormant. It’s something about how his power works, Lisa had said. Keeps track of where we are, serves as an emergency communicator, and it’s not like he’s turning us in anytime soon, right? She must have known even at that point that turning them in was her very same plan. Taylor shuddered. Even then, she gave me the benefit of the doubt? And Conway, who is literally a member of the Protectorate! Was it stupidity? Did she actually care about us that much? At this point, exhaustion was the only thing that kept her from another breakdown.

The hell am I supposed to do now? She wondered. Sam mentioned the Wards were an option, but could she honestly walk in and apply, as if the past month never happened? She didn’t exactly have any alternatives, considering the state of Brockton Bay’s power bases. Empire, or Merchants? No way in hell. ABB? Gone. Coil made it clear he was not going to be rehiring any of the Undersider remnants anytime soon, which also locked her out of the groups adjacent to him. Even alleged-good-guys New Wave were a non-option, ever since winning the award for “most colorful threats against her.” Who the fuck threatens a villain with obesity? She could go independent, sure, if she wanted to get steamrolled by Coil’s eventual takeover. And then there’s Dinah, she thought, with a pang of regret. If she laid down now, (metaphorically speaking, though the thought did prompt her to sit up) that girl would still be held captive, a tool for whatever Coil’s plans needed her for. Fine. If I save her, I can say it was all worth it. Then I’m out for good.

She looked over the device in her hands. A little switch rested in a groove on the side, its purpose as a power button only indicated by a lack of any other mechanisms to press. She flicked it.

“Hello?” She spoke into the microphone holes. Or were they speaker holes? Both?

No response. Maybe it is just one way. Or he didn’t have the other half on him anymore. She could be speaking through a paperweight on a desk, for all she knew.

“Hello..?” She tried again, and waited.

Then, just as she was about to give up, “Hello?” came through, incredibly compressed and quiet. “Who might this be?”

“Skitter.”

“Oh, huh. Guess you found that, then. Saw it light up, had to get out of a… meeting, before I could answer. To what do I owe the pleasure? Actually- no clue when I last swapped batteries on these, you might wanna talk fast.”

“Could I get an interview? With the Wards?”

A moment of quiet. Oh come on, don’t die now! Then: “Yeah, yeah. I think I can make something work.” The device clicked off.

Taylor wasn’t the type to outwardly express enthusiasm, but she felt the weight on her shoulders lighten by a fraction.

Coil

In one reality, he called into the intercom: “Trickster, meet me in my office in five minutes.”

In the other, the man was already there:

“If I wished to take full control of Brockton Bay, how should I go about it?”

“Wha- that’s the plan? That’s insane!” Trickster exclaimed. “How-”

“Humor me. And… let’s assume I always make the right decision. How do I do it?”

“Jesus, okay. Helluva way to start this meeting, but fine. What are we workin’ with, here?”

“You and the Travelers, of course. Trainwreck, Circus, and let’s say Faultline’s crew, for good measure.”

“I take it the Undersiders didn’t renew their contract after Leviathan, huh.”

“No, I’m afraid not.” Coil frowned. His last meeting with the group went poorly, he saw now. If he didn’t make a point of immediately snubbing them for the sake of pride, he could have convinced them to stay on board, even without Tattletale directing them. Damn him for not investing in a reality split to play things out, but it was needed elsewhere at the time.

“Is… is it even possible? I mean, the ABB getting taken down helps, but we can’t take on the Empire or Merchants without the other pulling something on us. Not unless you got a whole deck of aces up your sleeve.”

No, I suppose not, he realized. The benefits of an outside perspective he could confess all his problems to. Coil originally thought a release of a full Empire dossier would cripple the organization. Maybe it was the PRT’s half-assed release alongside his own that softened the blow, or perhaps the public just didn’t care that the CEO of the biggest company in Brockton Bay was a Nazi, he would never know. Nevertheless, after that blunder, Coil was certain Leviathan would shake things up, even as his pet’s odds were against it. How could an Endbringer attack kill so few capes? Kid Win and impossible ammunition, I suppose. But it changed nothing about the political climate! It fucked his entire timetable, truly. Trickster seemed to pick up on his disappointment. “You don’t have a plan, do you? I mean, do you even have a plan for us? For Noelle? Or you just stringing us along with bullshit?” He mentally sighed as the recurring drawback of these confessions made itself known. There was distrust between the Undersiders and Travelers, but he could have used their mutual distrust of him to, conveniently, further their loyalty. If they were still around, maybe back up his claims- No, no point in dwelling on that.

“Unfortunately, yes.” He raised a finger. “Up until this point. I do have a prospective solution, but I have been holding off on it, for reasons which will become obvious.”

“Try me. What, you need us to sell you our souls? Fine, mine’s not much good anyways,” he spat.

“Nothing of the sort.” He took a breath. Was this really a good idea? Hell with it, all the other plans are fucked. “But it requires working with some unsavory individuals.” He could see Trickster roll his eyes. “Yes, yes, you’re a devil in your own right. I’m talking about String Theory and her little gang she’s building, she’s willing to move heaven and Earth to make things happen, as they say.” Maybe not the Travelers’ little issue, but they don’t need to know that.

“Th’fuck you mean, ‘String Theory’s gang,’ that lunatic got locked up ages ago! Christ, you really don’t have a clue.” He stood up to leave.

“Ah, you haven’t heard?” Coil smiled. “She’s free.” Trickster turned around. “Yes. Birdcage? Free. And I have it on good authority she’s coming to pay us a visit soon.” The man sat back down. Coil’s grin grew wider. This might just work, after all.

He collapsed the reality, and split a new one. He plan may be reckless, but it was no excuse to be stupid. This time, he would go through the pertinent points of the meeting and ignore divulging extraneous information.

Trickster, from his perspective, entered the office for the first time today.

Coil steepled his fingers. “How would you feel about working alongside String Theory?”

Marquis

Riding shotgun in a stolen hatchback with a maniac at the wheel, a maniac languishing across the back seats, and a trailer housing a weapon designed by a maniac, which also required a city’s worth of copper wire to function, Marquis could not feel less dignified. He had to pick up smoking again, just to get a modicum of refinement back. He managed to acquire a suit off of a kind volunteer in the last city they visited, but he had not the money to tailor it properly. Instead, he opted for an old-fashioned sweatervest. He was nowhere near sweatervest age, but sacrifices had to be made, it seemed.

“What do you plan to do, once we arrive?” The passenger princess behind him asked. It was implied the question was for him, as String Theory was busy muttering to herself and obscenely gesturing at any traffic lights that dared to impede her.

“For one, I will have to see my daughter.” He replied. “Though I’m not sure if it would be wise for it to be the first thing.”

“Hmph. I was thinking I would rob that bank. Y’know, the one those kids blundered? Show ‘em how its really done!” How does one pride themselves on dignity so much, yet possess so little of it?

“Perhaps it would be best to wait for our current plans to play out, first.” He said, careful not to offend Damsel.

“Perhaps.” She echoed. “Stri!”

String Theory turned around—“The road?” he reminded her—to answer: “What?”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What are your plans for Brockton Bay, other than the one at hand?”

“Take on Fugly Bob’s Challenger, duh.”

Damsel gave a short “hm,” which Marquis took to mean, “disappointing.” He looked out at the road ahead of them. I must visit the mansion again, too. Perhaps some of the floorboards still hold treasure. Perhaps he could reclaim the house, too, but only once he established himself again.

“Actually, you said your daughter, right?” She turned to Marquis. “She do brains?”

“I can’t see why not, though I haven’t heard much in the way of her doing so.”

String Theory hummed. “Might have her take a look at mine, if you don’t mind. Fix whatever Teacher did.”

“I do believe your complaint is that ‘whatever Teacher did’ got fixed? You mean fix the aftermath?”

“Sure, whatever. Get her to grease the wheels, put me back to normal.”

“You are normal-” He explained. Damsel let out a soft chuckle. “-you want her to improve your brain. I’m sure if she hasn’t done so already, she has her reasons. Trust me, those might be difficult to sway.”

“S’long as I’m not trapped in this stupid little pea-brain anymore, I don’t particularly care.”

“She does,” Marquis said, stern. “You might want to care more.”

She raised her hands in surrender- “Hands on the wheel,” he chided her. She rolled her eyes as she complied.

This is going to be a long ride.

Doctor Mother, a few weeks ago.

She could have knocked on the door to Contessa’s office, but it would have been pointless. The woman had already looked up from her desk.

“How are things going?” Doctor Mother asked. Truthfully, even speaking was pointless, but when one sequesters oneself in a near-desolate facility day-in, day-out, she needed what little social interaction she could get.

“The stranger website: it’s been published. Now we have to wait.”

“Stranger website?” Doctor asked.

“The tragedy is that the irony will always be lost on you.” Contessa grabbed a piece notepad-sized paper and handed it to her. Doctor recognized her own handwriting.

“For as much power as we can exert over the rest of the world, strangers remain a point of difficulty,” she started. It appeared Contessa was tuning her out. Very well- she glanced down at the paper and was met by the exact same phrase starting the next sentence. She continued reading silently. Very well, we must figure out a way to rectify this blind spot. No current tests have provided reliable methods for subverting… She raised her head to ask-

“Mantellum remains strongly uninterested in a working relationship at this time.” Contessa said.

She nodded. Certainly not perturbed by the invasion of her train of thought, she continued: …to expand efforts into countermeasures, we might find success in creating a bait that only certain individuals are capable of taking. A beacon, of sorts, one that only those with anti-stranger powers could notice…

“I suggested-”

“A website only those with stranger-countering effects can see, yes. Anyone else would either forget or ignore it completely. It appears the secondary effects are now functional.” She gestured to Doctor. When she began to speak, Contessa pre-emptively answered the question again: “I’ve been doing this without knowing why, yes. I put the project down and it exits my head. Eventually, while probing what paths to take, I am compelled to work on it, realize the work I’ve already done, pivot to continuing that, then forget again.” She sighed. Doctor Mother could sympathize; seeing her own handwriting appear foreign to her was disturbing enough.

“How did you start…”

Contessa shrugged. “No idea. Perhaps forgetting that was required. But point is, it is done. Now we wait.”

“Wait without knowing we’re waiting.” Doctor rubbed her temples. “Fine, whatever. On the topic of waiting, how goes our ultimate goal?”

“We are-” Contessa blinked. A second passed. She blinked again. “It’s different.”

“What do you mean, ‘it’s different’?”

“Our timeline.” She spoke slowly, figuring out her explanation as she talked. “Not two years. Shorter than that. Something recent must have changed the numbers.”

“The world ends in less than two years?” When in an occupation as esoteric as the Doctor’s, most things became unsurprising, but she couldn’t help but raise her normally cold voice at the information.

“Our plan ends in less than two years. Hopefully in our favor. If I-” Contessa stood abruptly. “Hold on. Door: Leviathan.” What? Glancing at Doctor Mother, she added: “Bandage, letter opener.” Doctor knew her well enough to grab the supplies off of Contessa’s desk, and offered them to her as Contessa pulled out not a massive Endbringer, but a screaming girl through the doorway.

“What the- oh, hey, you’re not Stri-” In a single, fluid motion, Contessa slammed the letter opener into a device attached to the girl’s wrist, whirled her around, placed her hand on the table, and brought down the letter opener. “-FUCK!” Doctor winced as Contessa inflicted what must have been unimaginable pain with total impassivity, then cast the device and the finger through the portal before it closed.

“Custodian: Painkillers.” Contessa ordered, as Doctor handed the bandages to her free hand and she restrained the frantic girl in the other.

“Goddamn lunatic teleporting motherfuckers! Who the hell-” Contessa covered her mouth.

“Not going to hurt you. Not anymore. Unless you try to hurt me,” she said.

“Sounds like a shit deal! Jesus- Why?” The girl hissed as the bandaging was wrapped around her hand.

“Doctor Mother would like to hire you.” I would?

“Ah- yes. Apologies for the rough introduction.” She extended her right hand, then switched to her left when she recognized the other hand wouldn’t work. “Welcome to Cauldron.”

“What if I say no?”

“We send you back through the doorway.”

The girl grumbled, but eventually she shook her hand.

Not even the worst interview we’ve had, the Doctor mused.

Chapter Text

Taylor

As she walked through downtown Brockton Bay, Taylor idly wondered what it was like to have a breaker power. Shadow Stalker could leap from rooftop to rooftop with barely any regard for gravity and paid about as much attention to the walls that got in her way, and here Taylor was, as mobile as any other pedestrian. That girl could probably complete the patrol route in a tenth the time it would take Taylor. Why pair us together? Gallant explained (after very brief introductions) that it was just the way schedules worked out that week. But perhaps he hoped her lack of mobility would force Shadow Stalker to slow down? Or do they just want to keep the ex-villain out of the public eye, so they stick her on the night missions? The only similarity she found so far between herself and Shadow Stalker was an apparent affinity for dark costumes and lurking out of sight.

“How many times have you run this route before?” She asked into her earpiece. Taylor had been making attempts at small talk throughout the patrol, to little success. She might not have tried so hard in any other situation, but there was only so much one could do to keep occupied while walking a not-insignificant chunk of the city on foot. If she were promenading as a villain, she might have been more callous with her use of bugs to inspect every person and building she passed, but she had been advised against doing so for patrols. ‘Not a great look, bringing a swarm of locusts everywhere you go,’ they said. Most of the time, her attempts at conversation got an answer that indicated Shadow Stalker did not particularly care, or at least a grunt of acknowledgment. Nothing this time.

“Shadow Stalker?” Still no response. Shit. Where did she go? Taylor honed in on the flies dedicated to tracking Shadow Stalker and from what she could tell nothing was out of the ordinary, aside from her deviating from the rooftop route to get down to ground level, on the street running parallel to Taylor. She took the next available opportunity to cross over and check, just to be sure. As she turned the corner, she found the cause of the silence: A familiar cloud of darkness blanketed the side of the street right where the bugs indicated Shadow Stalker to be. Oh shit. She sent the rest of the swam ahead into the void as she ran towards it. What do I do? She tried to formulate a plan before she dove into the cloud. Shadow Stalker was at a disadvantage in the dark, Taylor recalled from Brian’s tales of previous encounters with her. But Shadow Stalker at a disadvantage is also a threat to everyone around her! As if it wasn’t bad enough that she already had a vendetta against him.

Taylor entered the cloud just as the swarm was starting to build a picture in her mind: Grue was slowly encircling Shadow Stalker, trying to get her from an angle she wasn’t expecting, while Shadow Stalker was doing everything a blinded person could do to ward off an attack. Namely, moving erratically and firing a crossbow bolt whenever she seemed confident in Grue’s location. A handful of bugs also located two civilians caught in the darkness, but they had enough sense to duck behind the cars next to them and stay put. Or they were already there and just frozen in fear, either works.

Running in, she tripped over… Something? Her bugs hadn’t detected it before, and Taylor fell to the ground as it scrabbled away. She was about to stand up when a bug on Shadow Stalker’s crossbow felt a jarring movement as the lock released, and Taylor chose to stay prone, just in case it was pointed in her direction. Grue took the opportunity to close the distance and grappled Shadow Stalker, who immediately dissipated. It must have been his plan however, for as soon as she did so, Grue did his best lunatic impression and waved his hands around at what must have been wisps of her shadow. A moment later, the darkness cleared.

“Nice of you to drop by, Skitter.” He addressed her. She looked up, and saw him watching the wisps working their way back together.

There had been brief discussion among the folks at the PRT over whether ‘Skitter’ should change her identity after joining the Wards. On one hand, a dark costume made sense for a cape that relied heavily on sticking to the shadows. No point in making it harder for her to hide, after all. But it was too good at its job, in a way, for it was entirely conspicuous when alongside almost any other Ward, who were all much more vibrant in their attire. Even Shadow Stalker’s costume leaned heavily into purple, and only resorted to black as an accent color. In the end, they settled for an updated paint job that was more gray than black (“it would be difficult to color the silk anything else,” she claimed) yet otherwise remained the same. After all, it wouldn’t be too difficult to reinvent the reputation of a fairly unknown villain at the start of their career, and ‘Skitter’ had a nice ring to it. Grue likely knew none of this, and only used the name because he had no reason not to.

“What are you doing?” She replied.

“I was in the middle of something, but she just had to interrupt, it seems.” He said, gesturing at the shadows, which were now almost in a human shape. “Don’t suppose you could lend a hand?”

“I- uh…” Well shit. Technically he was the enemy, here. And he was fighting her patrol mate. There was no good way to explain it all, even if she had more time. “I’m with the Wards, now.” She hoped her body language conveyed the regret better than her unmoving mask could.

“That’s unfortunate. You-” he was interrupted by an awful scream as Shadow Stalker finished reconstituting herself. Hard to tell if it was more from pain or anger, really. No longer stuck in Grue’s shadows, the scream also transmitted directly into Taylor’s ear, which was doubly unpleasant. Shadow Stalker leapt at Grue as she pulled out a knife, and they were once again thrown into darkness.

“Wait!” Taylor called into the void. “Don’t do that again, just- can we talk this through?” If there was any response, she didn’t hear it. It looked like the two of them were preparing to re-enact the exact same events again. She tried putting a large fly on Shadow Stalker’s hand, anything to let her know Taylor was there, or to otherwise switch the scenario up. It wasn’t immediately crushed, but a lack of action on Shadow Stalker’s part meant she was either too overwhelmed or too confused to interpret the signal as anything. Taylor lamented being unable to discuss her entomological methods of communication with the girl prior, but was not entirely apologetic. Her fault for brushing it off, I guess.

Another circling maneuver, another charge from Grue, another dissipation of shadows. “Shadow Stalker, stop!” She cried, hoping the agony of exiting the breaker state wasn’t so harsh she couldn’t hear. This time, when the girl reformed, she let out slightly less screaming than before, and looked at Taylor.

“About time you showed up.” She growled.

Are you serious? “You didn’t say anything! I came over because you stopped responding!”

“I did! If it didn’t get through it must have been because of this asshole!” She pointed to Grue, who was looking entirely too pleased with himself. Unfortunately, that explanation did not stop the misdirected anger. “Now are you going to help me, or keep sitting on the ground like a child?”

“Grue, would you mind, uh, letting Shadow Stalker go?” Well, I was going to lose the ‘ex-teammate goodwill’ eventually, might as well spend it now.

“Just as soon as she returns my haul. And promises not to murder me when we’re done here.”

“You think I’m going to give this back?” She spat. “You stole it!”

“And you stole it from me.” He said.

Why, of all people, did the first villain I have to run into be my former teammate? She couldn’t attack Grue, and she had no intermediate options between attacking with the swarm and hand-to-hand combat, which Taylor wasn’t even sure she could win. After all, he was the one who molded her entire fighting style; he would know exactly how to counter her.

“We can’t win,” she said to Shadow Stalker. “If you want I can leave, and you can keep getting torn apart over and over until Grue loses interest.” She glanced at him. “And I think he’s been waiting for this for a long time.” He shrugged.

“You bitch,” she growled.

“Ooh, trouble in paradise?” A fourth person cackled. Taylor turned to see-

“Imp? What the hell are- ah, right.” Grue sighed. So that’s who I tripped over!

“God, I’ll never get used to that. Look, now we definitely can’t win, if Imp’s also here. Come on, we’ll get them next time.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Grue said playfully.

“Sorry, I think we do actually.” This is already bad enough without word getting out that I’m friends with a villain. Wait, are we friends, still? She dismissed the thought, she certainly wasn’t going to ask with Shadow Stalker and two other potential witnesses there.

After a moment, Shadow Stalker relented and unclipped a bag from herself, throwing it in Grue’s direction and putting zero effort into making it easy to catch. She flipped the two off before going breaker again and darting up to the nearest rooftop. Taylor gave a defeated wave to her former teammates and walked back to where she abandoned her route earlier, as Shadow Stalker started accosting her over radio. At least now there’s something to talk about.

Sam

In a room she could best describe as a concrete gymnasium, Ratcatcher and Assault were working to better understand the former’s powers. Which is totally overkill for a power that’s ‘good vision,’ she thought. She couldn’t tell if Assault thought the same or if he was just obligated to do this for everyone. He seemed happy enough throwing various sized objects around the room, though.

“Why are you here? I mean, no offenthe, but how are your powerth needed to tetht mine? What if I had, I don’t know, a checklitht? ‘I can thee thith thing, thith thing, that thing, thith thing if it’th not raining…’”

Assault shrugged. “Maybe not, but in case you haven’t noticed, our team is…” he searched for word a second longer than one normally might. Sam didn’t interrupt. “I’ve noticed we usually face threats solo, even when we probably shouldn’t. Hell, myself included. So if I’m going with this whole ‘self improvement’ thing, I might as well lead the charge with actually improving, right?” He was now behind a massive pile of rubble and other objects piled up from around the room. She saw him hold up three pens, which were physically obscured by the clutter, and she called out such. Four paperclips… or is that five? Four. She gave up when he held what might have been ball bearings. If she knew where she was looking, they discovered it didn’t matter as much as what she was looking for. One or the other was enough, both was even better.

“I keep hearing about that. What did you do that needth tho much thelf improvement?”

Assault sighed and didn’t immediately reply. She considered expanding on the question when he finally spoke: “Can you keep a secret?”

She tilted her head, a mannerism learned in place of the mask hiding all facial expressions. It was bound to be thrown out with the rest of her costume, once the PR team figured out what the heck to do with her. She would miss it.

Assault had quickly learned if her silence was in approval or not. He continued, after making a show of looking in every direction for eavesdroppers. “You ever hear about a fella named Madcap?”

Madcap, she thought. Who hadn’t heard of the infamous prison break specialist? PRT would probably call him a striker: Kinetic energy shenanigans, could throw rocks like buses and buses like rocks. Bright red armor… Ah.

“You..?” She took a guess.

“Me!” He grinned. “But that’s all behind me now. New leaves and all that, you know? Part of why I was excited to get you on board, actually. I’m not him anymore, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it. Wish I had more people I could talk about it with, though. It’ll be fun to have you and Skitter on our side! And… Gatecrasher?” He looked at her expectantly. She shrugged.

“Dang, thought you might know more about him. Nevermind. Almost wish it would come out to the public already, rather than it being this big scary secret hanging over me. But that’s not for me to reveal.” He paused. “Or you, to be clear. Armsy would not be happy about that loophole. But let’s just say I’m not itching to stop anyone who makes the connection.” He gestured to his armor which, now that Sam thought about it, really was just begging to be compared to Madcap.

“Hey, you wanna see something cool?”

Sam nodded. Assault turned around and-

The lights went out. “That wasn’t me! What the hell..?” The emergency lighting kicked on, and with more concern than confusion, he repeated, “what the hell?”

“Come one, come all, to an afternoon of thrills, violence, and general all-around mayhem!” Announced the intercom. “See the sights, battle great foes! And of course, tremble in fear at the might of yours truly!”

“String Theory.” Assault said to Sam. How did she get access to the whole building?

“One point to Assault!” She announced. Then: “Sorry, Gatecrasher dear, second place this time.”

So she can hear all of us. Well, glad someone with experience with her is also on site, at least, she thought. Assault got closer to Sam.

“You remember where the Wards’ place is?” He whispered. She nodded. “Console in there has access to building cams; You’re our eyes. Rest of us will deal with whatever she’s got planned. At least, I hope she has something planned, something that doesn’t involve leveling this place… Come on!” He started running to the stairwell, and she followed.

Five flights of stairs later, Sam found herself in the common room of the Wards HQ. To her right, Skitter and Weld stood facing the wall of monitors, watching the scene unfold.

“Oh, uh, hey.” Skitter briefly looked over to her. Hmph, are we not supposed to know each other? Whatever, we’re all on the same team now, anyways.

Sam held a finger up to the general location of her mouth. Skitter shook her head.

“It’s safe to talk. Gatecrasher was just here, he disconnected the mics before he left.”

The metal kid turned around. “Ratcatcher, was it? I don’t think we’ve had a chance to meet yet. Sorry it’s not under better circumstances.” He said. “I’m Weld, and I’m afraid I’m at a bit of a disadvantage here. Haven’t gotten the lay of the land yet.”

“I jutht joined too.”

“Shit.” He muttered. “Skitter here is also new. Nobody else is around except for Chariot who is, you guessed it, also new! This is fantastic.”

Chariot? She looked around but saw nobody else. And then he came out from the bathroom; Rather, she knew it was him by that telltale tinkertech around his body, filled with so many tiny components it stood out like a sore thumb. The rat! She thought. Not good. Very not good, actually! Assault took her earlier warnings about him into consideration, and then he decided to hire the kid anyways! ‘To feed him false information,’ he explained. He unfortunately did not, however, explain who exactly knew of this development, and how the fuck she was supposed to handle this kid! Fine, not my problem, let him do whatever as long as it doesn’t screw me over.

A soft rumble passed through the building. Sam headed over to the monitors. “Athault wanth me on the conthole. Everyone elthe ith fighting.” She informed them.

Weld raised an eyebrow, which reflected the light of the monitors. “You uh… Sure about that?” He pointed to one camera view: The front door of the building. A group of four, and one… thing were entering. She recognized Trickster and Ballistic from the one time she met them as an Undersider, and reasoned that the thing with them must be Genesis, then. If she had to describe it, it was like a two-legged centaur with the body resembling a bull and… well, the top is also a bull, I guess. But to call the whole thing a bull discounted its uncannily humanoid appearance. From what she could see, the thing had one pair of legs and one pair of arms, but when it fell down to all fours, she doubted the arm-ness. Nevermind, not important right now.

“What about thothe two?” She said, pointing at the two unmasked individuals. One wore a breathtaking black ballgown, shortened, probably to facilitate combat movement, with metal reinforced arms featuring wires draping off of them from the center of body, giving the impression of wings. The other was a particularly baroque but otherwise unremarkable man, likely the oldest there.

“The only girl I know dramatic enough for attire that impractical is Damsel of Distress. Why she’s here? No idea!” Weld was starting to sound more exasperated. “And that’s… Just some guy? I don’t know. Skitter? Chariot?”

They both took a look and shrugged.

“What about reinforcements?” Skitter asked.

He sighed. “They’re all either off duty or tied up in some Empire-Merchant fiasco.” Sam wrote off his dismissal of the two biggest power blocks in Brockton Bay as him being new to the area and not having to live his whole life in fear of both. He probably doesn’t even have to worry about getting stabbed with random needles! She shivered at that memory.

“Guess we don’t have a choice,” Chariot said. “But I do kinda have to get my armor, first. It’s all the way in the garage.”

“What about the…” Sam gestured at him and his obscured mechanical frame.

“The hell? How did you know?”
“Good eyethight.”

He huffed. “It’s to interface with the armor,” he said, giving no indication how. She waved him off and he made his way to the door. Good riddance.

“No use standing around, I guess,” Skitter said, following him. “Weld, come with me to the lobby.” It almost sounded like a question, but he agreed anyways, leaving the console to Sam.

She dug into her pockets to pull out reinforcements. “Ratilda? Guard.” She ordered, pointing at the door the others left through. She posted Ratbert at the door at the opposite end of the room, then attempted to make sense of the twelve feeds of information before her. Thirteen, counting her own sight. This is going to be a mess.

Chapter Text

Conway

Building lobbies are always an excellent place for a showdown. The lobby of the PRT HQ in particular was perfect: Conway descended from one of the staircases at the back of the room, meeting Assault at the bottom as he emerged from the hallway on the ground floor. Opposite them, A group of five had entered the building, and were waiting expectantly for him and Assault to make their way to them.

“Thanks for not attacking on sight, by the way,” Conway said, as he landed at the base of the staircase. “Really, quite rude when people do that.”

“I still know my manners,” Marquis responded, stepping out in front of his group.

“And yet here you are, anyways.” Assault said.

“You expected me to walk back into the Birdcage, after all I went through?”

“It would have been nice, yes.”

Marquis chuckled. “Never thought I’d hear that, coming from you.” Assault shrugged.

“Okay, just to be clear: That’s not what you’re doing right now, walking in to this building and everything?” Assault looked at Conway as he suggested it. “Maybe String Theory was talking about an entirely unrelated afternoon of violence. It happens.”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Marquis replied.

The entire time, the rest of Marquis’ group—Damsel, two capes Conway didn’t recognize, and a grotesque bull-human—had been remarkably patient, but now started to shift their footing.

“Do we have time for introductions? How about a little about yourselves? I’ll start: I’m Gatecrasher, and-”

“You’re stalling.” The man in the top hat put out his cigarette.

“Duh. I mean, come on, you expect me to fight that?” Conway gestured to the cen- no, minotaur? No, that’s not right either. Huh.

“Genesis.” It rumbled. It sounded like its vocal cords had been neglected in favor of other muscles.

“Hello?” Came from Conway’s ear. He flinched at the noise, but disguised it with the shiver he already planned in response to Genesis. “Oh good, you can hear me. I’ve got eyeth everywhere. I don’t know how helpful I’ll be, but I’ll try my betht. Top hat guy ith Trickthter: Teleporth thimilar-thize thingth. Boxy-guy ith Ballithtic: Think like Athault.” Behind his mask, Conway rolled his eyes. If I had a nickel for every kinetic-energy manipulator… “And Genethith… big muthelth? But thath not her, feel free to kill it.” Huh, guess having an insider pays off sometimes. Returning his focus back to the conversation in front of him, Assault and Marquis were now bickering.

“-would destroy the whole city!” Assault exclaimed.

“Huh?” Conway said, in a tone completely non-indicative of comprehension.

Trickster sighed. “He wasn’t even listening, Marquis. Gatecrasher: You let us waltz in here, or we destroy the whole city.”

“We are here-” Marquis glared at Trickster, “-to requisition all information and technology stored in this building. Only if these fine gentlemen do not comply will we resort to unleashing the G-Driver.”

“String Theory’s G-Driver,” announced the intercom, with particular emphasis on the name.

“String Theory’s G-Driver.” Marquis amended, looking slightly annoyed.

“That sounds like a stupid plan. What if we negotiate?” He patted his coat pockets. “I’ve got… twenty bucks. All yours if you walk away.”

“Gatecrasher…” Assault said.

“What? That’s not an ultimatum. The options are ‘lose now’ and ‘lose later.’ String Theory just wants an excuse to level the city.”

“They aren’t asking for much, really. Most of what’s here is replaceable or backed-up-”

“Right.” Conway held up a phone-shaped hand to his ear. “Hello, Director? We just let a band of supervillains trounce over us. Yeah, there’s three major villain groups again. Sure, yeah, we’ll sit back and do nothing, thanks.”

As he wrapped up his mock-conversation, Conway heard clanking footsteps and a swarm of bugs loudly approach. He didn’t need to look up the stairs to tell who just arrived.

“I can’t believe you blatantly announced a stall tactic and it actually worked.” Ballistic spoke, more bewildered than annoyed.

“Don’t beat yourself up, it’s a specialty of mine.”

“Stall tactics or beating people up-”

“Both.”

“This is frivolous, they’re still stalling. We attack now or more reinforcements will come.” Damsel said. Damn her, this plan was working!

“Yeah, alright.” Trickster said. As Conway was about to reply, he suddenly found himself facing the exterior glass wall. Before he could reorient, a punch to his side sent him flying into the concrete wall on the side. A remarkable feat, given it was a few meters away. The buzzing of Skitter’s bugs increased and a massive thud shook the room as Weld dropped to the ground floor. Taking a second for blood to return to its normal circulation, Conway assessed the situation: Nothing special to rewire here, other than… Lights, Trickster’s gun, Damsel’s… Arms? Arm-braces? It was a shame that the Crosslink didn’t specify how rewiring affected objects. He set the gun’s trigger to the lights as insurance, but didn’t dare touch Damsel’s tinkertech. Better to have controlled destruction than uncontrolled, even if said controller was no shining example of mental stability. He doubted his decision as the girl ran off down one of the hallways, but couldn’t spare it further thought.

Getting harried by a swam of bugs, Trickster got away by swapping with Weld, and he ran off down a separate hall while Weld was now face-to-face with Genesis. Hopefully he could hold his own against the bull-human. Feeling fit enough to fight (though probably concussed), Conway leapt away to give chase to Trickster. He could have (and perhaps should have) chased Damsel, but his only options for fighting her were a lucky shot with the Resolver or getting reduced to ash, and he favored his odds against the teleporter more. After all, he’s basically a more limited Oni Lee, right? He trusted Assault would come out on top with his tennis match against Ballistic, and although Marquis might be besting Skitter in their knife fight, he couldn’t do whatever it was he was doing to Skitter’s bugs forever. Conway was just glad he didn’t personally have a chitinous exoskeleton to tear off.

Conway almost tripped while running as another tremor shook the ground. It was stronger than the first one he felt earlier, but not awful. If one didn’t know better, they might assume it was one of the stronger New England earthquakes. Of course, such a rare event happening on the same day, no, the same hour, as String Theory threatening to ‘level the city’ could not be coincidence, however.

“What the hell are you doing…” he said to himself.

“Oh, you thought I wouldn’t really do it, did you? Sorry pal, I’ve got a reputation to make good on! That’s a ‘two,’ on this dial, by the way, and it goes up to twenty! And by my calculations, physics starts getting fucky around ten. You sure you don’t want to surrender?”

He didn’t reply. As Conway ran in the general direction of Trickster, he was trying his hardest to study the wiring of the building. Having spent most of his waking hours around the building—damn, I really need to get an apartment—he was quite familiar with the electrical layout. With luck, maybe he would spot how String Theory was getting in to the intercom system.

“Where next?”

Ratcatcher spoke up in his ear: “Right, then down the thtairth. I think he’th going to the garage?”

“And Damsel?”

“Who are you talking to?” The intercom inquired.

“Your mom!” He shouted back.

“Heading to the Wardth’ block.”

“But that’s where you-”
“Yup. Don’t worry, I’ll keep out of her way.”

As he exited the stairwell and made his way through the maze of medical rooms and holding cells, the intercom piped up again: “Oh no, that won’t do at all, Assault. Just for that, let’s see what ‘three’ does!” Wondering what the man could have said to cause that kind of retaliation, Conway was again disrupted by a more violent tremor that brought him to the ground. The red emergency lights did no favors making the place easier to navigate. Assault must have asked her the same question Conway was about to, as she added: “The whoooole city. Imagine how they’re taking this! So many tall buildings, so many still weakened by Bakuda and Leviathan. You sure you don’t want to surrender?” After a moment, she replied again. “A friend offered me a marvelous deal: I do what I already planned on doing, and I get to keep a piece of the city as a souvenir!”

Conway made it to the last door separating him and the garage, already opened by the man he was tailing. Running inside, he took in the sight before him: Everything not bolted down (and a few things that had been) were in the process of being loaded onto the fleet of PRT vehicles present. A suit of power armor kept leaping onto the flatbed trucks, after which it would disappear and a new piece of gear would take its place. A handful of office workers were unwillingly loading banker’s boxes and weapons crates into waiting vans, an operation overseen by mercenary-types and PRT troopers that Conway suspected were no longer affiliated with the PRT. All were armed.

Some of them turned their guns to Conway as he entered.

“Gatecrasher.” One of the mercs addressed him. And not even lowering their gun. Rude.

“Sorry, you got the wrong guy.” Conway replied.

“Nope, that’s him!” He heard Trickster shout from somewhere.

“Can’t blame me for trying.” He looked around as subtly as he could manage. Lights, garage door, vehicle ignitions. I wonder what the wires in those crates do...

The merc didn’t show any reaction. “Our boss has an offer for you.”

Conway waited, then gestured with his hand. “Yes? Go on?”

“You are to come with us.”

“What is it, ‘give-Gatecrasher-dumb-offers’ day? Why would I do that?”

“To hear the offer.” Oh lord in heaven, the most obstinate mercenary in the world. Luckily someone smarter must have been listening in, as the merc raised their hand to their ear, then nodded. “Our boss offers you territory in the city. You defect and report to them, you control a piece of the city.”

So that’s the deal String Theory took, huh? Even if I did want to become a petty warlord, there’s no way I could deal with her as a coworker! He raised one hand to his chin to ponder, while the other rested on a lightswitch in his pocket.

“Hey String Theory?” he called out.

“What? Finally want to surrender? I knew you’d cave.”

“Nah, just wanted to say hi, that’s all.”

“Moron. Just for that, you get to see what ‘four’ feels like!”

Maybe it was wrong to antagonize the woman with the doomsday device, but she was bound to use it eventually. Conway crouched, and as the ground shook he hit the switch, killed the lights, and leapt at the now-stumbling mercenary. A punch to keep them down, then he was jumping away to the next closest. Leap, punch, repeat. In the chaos, his opponents didn’t realize he was the cause of it, and it wasn’t until four or five had been taken down before they figured out what was happening. In total darkness, they couldn’t risk shooting without knowing for sure where Conway was. Unfortunately, Conway couldn’t see jack shit either, and when they started moving from their positions he could no longer rely on memory to plan the next takedown. He leapt to the ceiling and with a quick rewire opened the garage doors, hoping the slowly-entering light would illuminate his enemies before it revealed himself. He dropped onto the closest merc, and jumped back up to the ceiling. From his current position he could see two armed individuals remaining. The trucks and vans had started up by now, and as soon as the doors’ clearance allowed them, they exited with haste.

Conway dropped down to the next target, and rather than go up again, he leapt straight to the last remaining merc. Maybe he took a second too long, or maybe it was just luck on their part, but they managed to let off a burst of gunfire before he made contact. Two of three bullets missed, but Conway registered pain bloom from somewhere as he finished the last round of punching. In fact, it got much worse after he tried to punch. Resorting to his left hand, he managed to knock his opponent out before they could retaliate. Right shoulder, he noted, spotting the blood seep into the coat. Dammit, I just had that cleaned!

Looking back at the garage, all of the vehicles had left, Trickster and the person in power armor along with them.

Battery

A small patrol boat was needed to get Battery to the Protectorate HQ, in the center of the bay. There was nothing wrong with the hard-light bridge normally used to access it, but the unfortunate thing was the public knew that, too. The rig wouldn’t be able to support hundreds of panicked civilians, and they weren’t going to risk dumping the amassed crowd of people into the water just to let the heroes get across.

She could hear the arguing before she even entered the room. Opening the door to the cafeteria (or was it the mess hall, since this was an oil rig?), Battery was entreated to yet another shouting match between Assault and Armsmaster:

“-have to wait here and regroup!”

“We can’t!” Assault yelled. “You all felt the tremors, if we wait, she’ll destroy the entire city!”

“We don’t know that! Right now, all we have is that she’s capable of causing somewhat large—but survivable—tectonic disturbances.”

“She wanted to blow up the moon!”

Gatecrasher raised a finger. “Knock it out of orbit, actually.”

“That’s not better! And Gate, you said it yourself: She’s going to do this no matter what, so why are you backing down now?”

“Not exactly. String Theory wants an excuse to use her new toy, yes, but I don’t think she’ll use it for no reason.”

“Uh,” Triumph started, “wasn’t her whole thing blowing up places at random?”

Battery spoke up: “It was a gimmick to amass funding, I believe. Before her incarceration, she had moved more towards the ‘hostages and ultimatums’ sort of thing.”

“That lines up with her behavior in Baumann as well,” Dragon added. “She tended to only lash out when boundaries were crossed, or when her demands were not met. Though the latter occurred less as time went on.”

“Maybe Marquis had an effect on her?”

“Maybe, but it’s just as likely this was always her approach, and the bombings were the exception.”

“I don’t think she’s in charge, actually. Remember that deal she mentioned, about getting ‘a piece of the city?’” Gatecrasher looked at Assault.

“I was a bit occupied, getting concrete thrown at me.”

“Point. The thing is, what’s a person like her doing, making deals for only a ‘piece’ of the city? I think someone else is pulling the strings here.” Gatecrasher said. “Could even be what stopped her from turning the city into dust.”

“Coil.” Armsmaster said, in his ‘I just figured everything out’ voice.

Battery and Armsmaster had been a part of the group called in to deal with a growing battle between the Empire and the Merchants, out by the Docks. The Merchants had been emboldened by Leviathan’s damage to the area, and sought to expand within it. Though an outsider would certainly bet that a well organized Empire would win, it seemed that home-field advantage and a surprisingly large amount of nascent Merchant capes meant the fight was expanding far beyond its intended scope. Battery hadn’t been entirely sure that adding even more capes would resolve the situation, but damned if she was going to let Armsmaster try to intervene on his own. Triumph and Velocity joined them, though only Triumph returned. Velocity… she didn’t know what precisely happened. The ball of lightning that hit him might’ve teleported him, interacted with the breaker state somehow, or a third possibility she didn’t want to dwell on. They eventually pulled out of the fight after orders from above, when the tremors started.

“Coil? What does he have to do with any of this?” Triumph asked.

“Exactly. Empire and Merchants were tied up with us. In fact, I suspect that battle was incited specifically to distract us and those groups so that he could make his play. It can’t be anyone else, I’m certain. Unless the Undersiders are back?” Armsmaster shot Gatecrasher a look.

“Hey, don’t give me that, I agree!” He chuckled. “Plus, who the hell else would have the guts to try and turn me to their side?” Everyone in the room looked at him. “What?”

“Coil offered you a deal.” Armsmaster said. “You didn’t mention that before.”
“Slipped my mind, was busy getting shot.” He stared for a moment. “I didn’t take the deal! Jesus.”

“True.” Armsmaster grunted. Gatecrasher moved his head in a way that suggested his eyes were rolling behind his mask.

“Okay, fine. So Coil, what, wants to take over the city?” Battery said. “What’s our plan?”

“If String Theory isn’t imminently going to destroy us all—I’m putting a lot of faith in you on this one, Gate—then I guess I have to agree: We lay low, regroup, maybe we try and ally with the Merchants and Empire-”

“No.” Gatecrasher said. Huh, I think that’s the first time I’ve seen him actually look serious.

“No? Look, I know you’re not a fan. Believe me, they’re not my favorite either, but if things are really this bad, we need all the help we can get.”

“That’s insane! Sorry, but- no, no that’s insane. When you first dismissed it, I thought you guys were just ignoring a little group that popped up, waiting for them to quietly go away. But the CEO of Medhall? I mean Christ, guys, how long have they been here?”

“It’s been only a few years-”

“Years?” Gatecrasher exclaimed. “Nuh-uh. If there’s one thing I can respect about String Theory, she’s not a Nazi. Sure, it would be great if she and this Coil guy didn’t do-” he gestured out the window to the Brockton Bay skyline which, despite the sunset an hour ago, was conspicuously missing lights in many of its buildings. And missing some buildings, too… “-but if they’re taking out Empire in the process, awesome. I’m not letting them come back.”

“We may not have a choice.” Dragon sounded unhappy with the admission. “I’ve been talking with outside groups, and after both Leviathan and now this, they’re not keen on sending help. You may be on your own, here.”

“What about you, Dragon? Anything you can do to help?”
“If I could, I would. But orders are orders.”

“We were just talking about Empire-”

“No.” Dragon interrupted him. “Don’t say that. It’s more complicated than you think.” The anger in her normally impassive voice must have stopped him from saying anything more.

“O...kay.” Triumph eventually said. “So, plan: Lay low, regroup, possibly ally with other groups, then..?”

Assault continued his earlier explanation: “Then take Coil down. Lock up String Theory, lock up Coil, probably, after what he just pulled. Rebuild.”
“It’s just that easy!”

“Thin ice, Gatecrasher.” Armsmaster growled. “We also need to make contact with Miss Militia, Ratcatcher, Dauntless, and the Wards that are not already here.”

“And Velocity,” Battery added.

“And Velocity,” Armsmaster said, though not with as much confidence as Battery would have liked.

Chapter Text

Conway

It was impressive, how a city could be taken over in just a week. Conway didn’t know where he would even begin if tasked with performing such a feat himself. It was one of many thoughts he had plenty of time to ruminate on as he and the other Protectorate members were tasked with reconnaissance of the city, and were out every day doing ‘patrols’ which were nothing like what Conway had gotten used to. His outfit now featured a gray shell for his coat and a less-familiar mask to disguise his identity (or at least maintain some deniability if recognized), and a distinct lack of hat which made him feel quite exposed as he went about his work. Armed with his usual gadgets and a coffee-filled thermos (which became more cappuccino than latte after a few hours of building-based acrobatics), he had spent the week making his rounds through the territories which established themselves immediately after String Theory’s debut of the G-Driver.

In the northernmost part of the city, Chariot—who Conway recently learned was the bastard that helped Trickster rob the PRT blind—had taken up residence around the trainyard, while Trainwreck controlled the main area including the train station, for reasons Conway could only assume were thematic. From what he could tell, they were positioned there merely to have bodies in the area; an obstruction to prevent anyone else from getting a foothold there. When he had visited, it was still the same old industrial wreck. Some people holed up there purely because it was unoccupied, but the quality of life was low enough that there wouldn’t be any major communities forming anytime soon.

Below the trainyard, Marquis had taken up residence in a particularly fancy house upon Captain’s Hill, which naturally evolved into him controlling the area around it. Minimal damage from Leviathan and only a little rattling from the G-Driver meant most of the buildings were intact. Of course, there was only a small scattering of buildings there to begin with, but those who managed to keep (or steal) houses seemed to have it pretty good. As long as they managed to find food. The Docks were allegedly under the control of Ballistic, but Conway noted that between throwing shit and controlling territory, he was much better at the former. The region was noticeably worse since he took over. Objectively better than the mess Genesis presided over, but far from ‘safe.’ And what was known as the ‘Boat Graveyard’ was as good as empty, but that was nothing new.

Genesis’ territory was undoubtedly the worst place to end up. In the southeast section of the city, formerly controlled (informally) by the Merchants, things only stood to get worse under the current circumstances. Conway noted that the only time the place quieted down was when Genesis was out prowling in one monstrous form or another, likely because everyone was frozen in terror by the creatures. But she couldn’t be everywhere all the time, and it went right back to chaos as soon as she left to go anywhere else. Conway thought that String Theory would fare just as poorly given that the heart of the city had to deal with Empire remnants and a much larger population, and she didn’t even have giant monsters of her own to keep them in check, but the downtown region managed fine. Or, as fine as a Leviathan-battered and G-Driver-shaken cityscape could. Perhaps the reminder of the damage she was capable of kept people in line.

Which left only the southwest part of town, where Conway now was. It was doing comparatively well under its new warlord which, having met her, was not surprising. Jumping down to the street, the gray-clad definitely-not-Protectorate-cape ditched his mask to transform into Richard Conway, inconspicuous pedestrian. Most of the other warlords had nebulous or hidden away bases that they operated from. It made sense: if you were ruling over a recalcitrant population, you wouldn’t want them knowing where you slept at night. Definitely a smart move for Coil, who must have known he needed to hide from the Protectorate, even if the public wasn’t yet aware of his involvement in the recent shift of power.

It made it all the more impressive that Faultline stayed right where she was: the Palanquin nightclub. She and her four teammates held on to the region, Conway learned, as part of a contract with Coil. It seemed the elusive puppetmaster wasn’t keen on personally claiming territory, and was more than happy to pay for their cooperation. It was a risk waltzing into the den of someone who was, on the Protectorate’s paper, his enemy, but the information he got out of his drop-in chats was worth an entire night of surveillance.

Entering a nightclub during the day, Conway had little reason to worry about unwanted attention hanging around, so he walked right in the front door.

“Hey there, Fitts.” Conway announced as he entered.

The woman behind the counter looked up. “I’m charging you an extra hundred every time you say that.”

“What? Come on, there’s nobody else here!”

“It’s basic operational security, Conway.”

“You think I would just walk in and start saying sensitive information without checking beforehand?”

“Yes.”

“Fine, fine.” He sat down at the bar. “So what’s new?”

Faultline pinched her fingers together. Conway placed a stack of bills on the counter, then repeated the question.

She sighed. “Ballistic keeps asking for assistance holding his territory, Coil keeps telling him to find it.” She paused to take a drink. “Genesis seems to have wiped out the drug trade happening in her territory, by way of killing most of the drug dealers.”

“That’s all common knowledge at this point, I’m paying you for more than that! What about the big man himself?”

“You’re not paying me enough for me to rat on my employer, that’s for sure.”

“No fair, I want a refund.”

Faultline pointed to the ‘No Refunds’ sign behind her. “You should be happy I’m even letting you visit, instead of killing you on the spot or handing you over to Coil. He would not be pleased to know about this.”

“How about Damsel, what’s she up to?”

She shrugged. “From what I can tell she was supposed to split or share another section of downtown with Stri, but got bored with it quickly. Now, she’s mostly acting as extra muscle when its needed. Or rather, whenever she feels like it. I’ve got people coming in soon, so unless you want to declare war on the city I suggest we wrap it up.”

“Well, that was a bust. What about Ratcatcher? Y’know, if you aren’t gonna give me anything, I’ll just stop visiting.”

“Alright, fine. She’s… okay, as far as I can tell. After Damsel took her, Coil’s got her locked up in his base now, I think he doesn’t really know what to do with her. Definitely not cooperating with him, but she’s also passive enough he may just be forgetting about her. That’s all I’ve got, sorry.”

“She’s with Coil now? Interesting.”

She glared at him. “That’s just for you to know. Don’t try anything stupid, it’s only going to cause problems for both of us.”

“Aw, it’s nice to know you care about me.”

“I care about your money, that’s for sure. Now scram.”

Despite being a mercenary, Faultline seemed to have at least some sympathy for the situation. Conway suspected that was better than he would get with any of the others, but it wouldn’t do him any good in the short term. Not unless he emptied the rest of the PRT’s budget outbidding Coil for her services. He got up and exited the club, mask on, just as a group of thugs came in. Luckily, none of them paid him any mind. On the street, he dug into his pockets to pull out the radio labeled ‘Ratcatcher’ and took a look at it with the Crosslink. He noted that the wire coming out of the one labeled ‘Tattletale’ was off in a completely different direction than last time he checked. Leviathan sure does move around, he thought solemnly. Could be useful to track, but that was a project for another day. He didn’t dare activate Ratcatcher’s radio, in case it would reveal its existence to Coil, but he traced the direction and noted it down to scout out later. It would still be a long time before they could reclaim the city, but it was a step in the right direction. Feeling the exhaustion one who has woken up before the sun a few too many times, he decided to call it a day and make his way back to PHQ to debrief.

Taylor

The Wards were in limbo. The city needed heroes now more than ever, yet while a handful of Protectorate capes were going out to do what little they could the Wards remained at PHQ, forever on-call and still unable to go out. Officially, at least.

“You mean to say you’ve been going out in costume still?” Gallant asked Shadow Stalker. The group was set up temporarily in a room originally converted to a conference room, now converted to their makeshift base of operations.

Shadow Stalker shrugged. “You expect me to sit here all day?”
“I expected you to follow the orders given to us, for once, given the circumstances.”

“Yeah, the whole ‘if you get caught, the evil overlord decimates the city’ circumstances? Those circumstances?” Clockblocker added. “I didn’t think you of all people would be so gung-ho about fighting crime.”

“She’s got a point,” Taylor said. “There’s still criminals out there. Other than, well…”

“The ones we can’t deal with.”

“Yeah.”

Shadow Stalker gave a nod in her direction. “Sure, that. Y’know Dean, I’m surprised you’re so against this. Where’s that ‘save everyone’ attitude you’re always showing off?”

Hey, I got a nod, that’s progress! Taylor smirked behind her mask. Maybe it was because of the challenge, but she was enjoying trying to get Shadow Stalker to crack her ‘quiet evil bitch’ persona. There wasn’t much else to do to pass the time. Sure, she could go home, or go on an unsanctioned jaunt around the city like Shadow Stalker was apparently doing, but as long as they were getting paid to sit on an oil rig all day she might as well stick around to earn it.

“It’s still there,” he replied. “But you also gotta know when to hold back.” He gestured to his arm. Taylor had since learned it was broken in the Leviathan fight and healed by Panacea some time after. It was an especially pertinent example now that Brockton Bay’s resident miracle healer was much harder to access, with New Wave hunkering down to avoid sparking any conflict. Not that Taylor would trust her to get healed properly, given their history. Looking back, she was much more thankful that she wasn’t seriously injured from her involvement with the Endbringer. If only other people were more lucky… She shook her head. Nobody else had anything to add, and the conversation died off for a minute.

Then Clockblocker, or Dennis, rather—Taylor was finding it much more difficult to separate identities, in the strange in-between of being ‘casually’ masked—turned to face her. “So Skitter, when you gonna finally give us the big reveal?” He gestured to her face.

She shrugged. “Is there anything wrong with being careful? Feels like there’s a lot of people out there against us right now.”

“Sure, but not in here, right? Dean? Shadow Stalker?” She grunted in reply. “See? That’s better than what she gave me.”

Was there any harm? She wondered. He had a point: she was among other heroes, now. She trusted villains more in the past, and that worked out okay, right? Clockblocker, Shadow Stalker, and Gallant were probably as good a test run as she would get.

“Alright, fine.” She glanced to the door to check if anyone was nearby, then removed her mask. “Uh, hi. I’m Taylor.”
Shadow Stalker tensed, but otherwise didn’t react. Dennis gave her a dumb grin and a thumbs-up. Dean, also unmasked, gave her a wave. Well, that was less painful than I thought. She was about to replace the mask when Kid Win walked in, but by then it was too late.

“Hey does anyone- oh, shh…oot. Uh.” He looked as though he might hide behind the doorframe, but instead stood still and glanced at the rest of her outfit. “You’re… Skitter?”

“Taylor. Hi.” Sure, what’s one more? She mentally sighed.

“Dammit, now I’m gonna look like the asshole if I don’t unmask.” He lifted up his mask (which admittedly didn’t hide much, but it was a nice symbolic gesture, she thought.) “Hi, I’m Chris.” He gave a timid wave which Taylor returned. “I was going to ask if you guys had seen Gatecrasher anywhere, I wanted to talk to him about something.”

“You rang?” A voice in the hallway said.

Chris jumped. “Jeez! Don’t sneak up on me like that, also don’t-” he turned to block the door. “No wait, they-” Gatecrasher appeared behind Chris as he came into view past the doorway, sightline not blocked at all due to the man towering over Chris by at least a foot.

“Hey, Taylor.” He said.

“Sup.”

“Wait,” Chris looked between them. “How the heck do you guys know each other?”

“Long story. What did you need?”

After taking a second to collect himself, he looked back to Gatecrasher. “I was going to talk to you about wiring stuff, actually.”

“Perfect, I wanted to talk about wiring stuff too. My favorite thing, actually. The rest of you can probably help, mind if I come in?”

Chris looked at the others, who seemed to have no opinion on the matter. Except Shadow Stalker, who had been unnaturally rigid for the past few minutes. If Taylor noticed it, Dean definitely did, as he watched her walk past Chris and Gatecrasher, and out the door without saying a word.

“Might be a good idea if we just-” Gatecrasher closed the door behind him as he entered the room. “Perfect.”

“Can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” Dennis said, sounding the closest thing to apologetic Taylor had ever heard from him.

“Happens to the best of us.” He pulled a seat up to the table in the middle of the room, unmasked, and sat down. “Guys, I’ve got a confession.” Dean raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got no clue how to use my powers.”

Dennis snickered. “That’s it?”

“No, seriously. I’m fighting capes pulling out a hundred flavors of death ray, grafting bone wings to themselves, and-” he gestured to Taylor, incredulous, “-you’ve come up with more uses for household bugs than I know ways to cook an egg!”

Dennis sat up. “How many ways do you know how to cook an egg?”

“Three, but that’s not my point.” Conway ignored the laughter. “Everyone’s got all these tricks, and I’m stuck here flicking lightswitches at people! How do you do it?” He slumped back in the chair and spread his arms out. “Teach me your ways, o wise ones.”

“I don’t think there’s really a trick to it,” Dean said, after a moment. “Sometimes you just get these ideas, you try them, and if it works you expand on it.”

Taylor nodded. “Yeah, they sort of just come to you whether you want it or not.” She was, on multiple occasions, terrified at how well her brain came up with new ways to incapacitate or maim people. From what she heard it seemed to be a common theme among capes.

“A lot of it comes from being around other capes, too.” Dennis said. “I got into a little, uh, skirmish with Ballistic—don’t give me that look, Dean, you thought Shadow Stalker was the only one?—and thought ‘damn, I could really use some shields right now.’ And then I realized that, hey, my power literally makes shields out of anything! Even something as thin as paper would stop his attacks if it was frozen! And boom: new ability.”

Conway frowned. “I rely almost entire on my opponents to give me options, though, and they’re all wiring. It’s only a matter of time before someone goes ‘hey, what if we just stab this guy?’ and they stop using electronics I can disable.”

“Did Krieg use electronics?” Taylor asked. The rest of the table looked at her. Oh, they weren’t told who did that.

“Okay, that was an exception. But he would have trounced me in any other situation. I’m embarrassed to say this, but there was this incident a few days ago where Über of all people put up a decent fight. I’d rather not cut things that close all the time.”

“Oh, I saw the stream of that!” Chris said.

“The… stream?”

“Yeah, Leet was broadcasting it, you didn’t watch it after?”

Conway brought his hands to his face. Whether in exasperation or prayer to some higher power, Taylor did not know. “You know, I thought I was doing a pretty good job with the whole ‘secret identity’ thing.”

“Huh, I figured you knew.”

“I thought it was a New Wave kind of thing,” Taylor said. “Didn’t you first announce yourself to the Undersiders unmasked?”

“The Undersiders..?” Dean muttered to himself.

“Hey if it’s any consolation, I’m sure if someone wanted to go after you, they would have already.” Dennis said.

Conway extracted his face from his hands. “Okay, this is a nightmare.” Dean nodded. “Nevermind. Back to ideas. Anyone got ‘em? I’ve got zero flashes of inspiration and I’m gladly accepting donations.”

Chris spoke up: “No offense, but do you even need them? Sure, you’re no Armsmaster-”

“Thanks.”

“-but the fights you’ve been in seem to go well, at least from what I’ve heard.”

“Because I’ve had others backing me up.”

“And?” Dean said. “Nothing wrong with that. Pretty much every tinker needs to rely on their teammates.”

“Am I a tinker?” Conway said, with what looked like genuine confusion.

“Are you?” Dean replied, looking just as lost.

After an awkward pause, Conway carried on. “I haven’t had any issues working solo before. I was taking on dozens of people at a time and not getting punched even once! Well, sometimes once. No more than once.”

“But that was against people without powers, it’s not the same,” Taylor said.

Dean cleared his throat, and Conway gave him a look. “Yes, I’ve been told that’s bad form, which is why I’m not doing that unless they attack first.”

“Regardless, if you’re outmatched now, you should really consider how you can work with the team. That is part of the reason we’re a team, you know.”

“Well what have you got? I’m already slated to improve the earpieces, and I’ve hooked up our generators to a few places in town, but beyond that there’s, what, tidying up the lighting in this place?”

“Armsmaster want anything? His tech still needs power. Dauntless has the arclance—I mean, it’s right there in the name—and even though she’s not around right now, Dragon might accept help with her mechs, I don’t know.” Chris said. “Like, for me, you ramped up my combat potential so much I don’t even know how to quantify it.”

Conway groaned. “And Piggot is still on my case for helping you with that… Okay, fine, if this is how I contribute to the team, so be it.”

“Don’t sound so excited.” Dennis said.

“Just leave a few bad guys for me to punch?”

“Sure thing. Hey, speaking of the punching, what’s the deal with that? You can knock people out with just one, it’s impressive.”

“Eh, just a skill like any other. Also, it helps when you have your entire body weight behind it.” Conway stood up. “I appreciate the insight, you guys. Going to go sleep for as long as possible now, wake me when the world starts ending again.” And with that, he was gone.

Chapter Text

Conway

Most capes were difficult to reach people. They were always busy with a battle or scheme or somesuch while in costume, and impossible to find otherwise. The go-to for Conway was his radio discs, but those had the downside of needing to plant one first. Unfortunately for him, he had never met Dragon in person, thus never had the opportunity to plant one. Fortunately, that wouldn’t be necessary.

“Dragon?” He called out to the meeting room. He had a call with her here once or twice before, getting assigned to search out String Theory, and probably for… something involving a detainee he couldn’t recall at the moment.

He waited a moment. Okay, if this doesn’t work, I’m going to look like an idiot.

After a few seconds, her face appeared on the wall. “Hello, Gatecrasher. You have something to discuss?”

“Nope.” He stared at her for a second. She stared back, unblinking. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. Yes, I wanted to know if there was anything you needed with regards to my power. Building things that use it, and so forth.”

“I see. I was not going to inquire about it, but since you’re offering, I was interested in the finer details regarding it. You still haven’t done that testing with Armsmaster.”

“Right, and there’s certainly no time for that now. But since you’re here, ask away.” He still held a healthy fear that Armsmaster knowing about the Crosslink would inevitably lead to the reveal that Conway was just an ordinary man. As annoying as it might be, he needed to remain the intermediary for the tool.

“First of all, I want to ask why you’re coming to me now. Not that I don’t appreciate the offer.”

“I was talking with the Wards about powers, how to use them, et cetera. And they suggested I should help out other capes more if it was needed.”

“That didn’t occur to you before?” She sounded more surprised than sarcastic.

“Not really, no. I mean Kid Win had his project, but that practically had a very big ‘this could use a wire’ sign floating above it. Then I dedicated most of my time towards pugilism after that, but there’s not many things I’m allowed to punch right now and I have some downtime.”

“Right.”

“Also, if you could build me a little remote control spider drone thing, that would be awesome. Just something small.”

The speakers crackled with her sigh.

“You aren’t joking.” She said. “You know everything I build requires active maintenance by me, right?”

“That’s fine, hopefully this is a one-time thing. Sure, keeping it as a pet after would have been nice, but I’ll manage.”

“Okay. On the topic of reliability, how long do your wire connections last?”

Conway shrugged. “Infinite, I guess? As far as I know. Haven’t had them fail since I first had ‘em.”

“When was that, may I ask?”

“Few years ago, by my count.”

She looked stunned for a moment. “Range?”

“Infinite, too. Ah- that reminds me. Due to, uh, unfortunate circumstances, I have a wire connection to Leviathan right now. Or his stomach, probably.” He shuddered. “Currently in…” He looked at the ground. “Probably Australia? Yeah, that’s about an Australia-ish direction.”

“According to my data, the Endbringer should be in the Romanche Trench. Atlantic Ocean.”

“How reliable is your data?”

The projected face looked ready to scoff. “Accurate.”

“Huh. Okay, nevermind. Point being, it’s on the other side of the world and working as intended.”

“And what precisely can be transmitted? I saw your assistance with those new earpieces, and there’s the earlier incident with the backup generators. Is that all?”

“Honestly I have no fucking clue, pardon my French. Really, it’s a crapshoot. I thought it was just electricity, but then it goes and connects to guns. TVs, sure, but sometimes it changes the channel, or turns them on, or breaks them? However, similar objects always work the same, it’s not completely random.”

“But you can send data.” There was a hint of excitement in her voice.

“Sure. Fiber-optic connections don’t seem to work, by the way. Tried to skirt my cable bill one time and- nevermind. Shouldn’t be an issue though, since whatever you can send is instantaneous anyways.”

“Instantaneous.”

“Yeah?”

“You-” She paused. “Instantaneous.”

“That’s what I said, yes.”

“Gatecrasher. When you say instantaneous, do you mean ‘really fast’ or do you mean instantaneous?”

“I wouldn’t have said instantaneous if it wasn’t! Kid Win and I ran a test and it’s instantaneous. Can we stop saying ‘instantaneous’ now? Why do you care?”

“Because, notably, that is faster than light.”

Conway scratched his chin. “Yeah, I guess so?”

“How do I put this: I am not able to make anything with instantaneous communication.”

He shrugged. “Well, now you can.”

She blinked. “Send me a list of as many unique connections as you know how to make, I’ll be sending something your way soon. And you may have your pet robot spider. Thank you, Gatecrasher.” The face disappeared. He smiled as the first piece of the plan fell into place.

The very next day, lunch was interrupted by news of a Dragon-craft arriving at the rig. On the smaller side of what Conway had seen of her work, probably to avoid causing any incidents if spotted. Meeting it on the rig’s helipad, it presented him with an absurd amount of switches, connectors, and assorted electronics that he had mentioned the Crosslink working on, as well as plenty of others he hadn’t. He connected what he could, explained to Dragon what worked, and bid her good day.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” The machine called out.

Conway turned around, and from inside the container that stored all the electronics a small mechanical spider hopped out, holding its own remote control.

“Jesus, I didn’t think you’d put something together that fast. Did you even sleep last night?”

“It’s not a concern,” she said.

“Alright then, uh, thanks. I will put this to good use.”

“As will I. Good day, Gatecrasher.” Doors and components rearranged themselves on the craft, and it took off once Conway backed away.

It couldn’t have been more than a few hours of work, but the matte gray machine in his hands was still remarkably well made. Vaguely tarantula-like and, most importantly, large enough to hold the Crosslink between its forelegs and chelicerae. Excellent.

He called Taylor up to meet him on the deck, and after a few minutes she joined him by the railing, looking out at the Brockton Bay skyline.

“How did this happen?” She gestured towards the shore. “Did someone anger the wrong god recently? Did I somehow cause this? It feels like everything went downhill after I became a cape.”

“Hey, I’m pretty sure I showed up around the same time, maybe it’s my fault.” Conway shrugged.

“Well, String Theory was your fault.”

“Yes…” He paused. “Shit. Yeah, that’s definitely on me.”

“Hm. But I guess Coil would have found other people. He originally planned for the Undersiders to be in charge, before the whole…” She trailed off.

“Think you could have done it?”

“Better than Ballistic, at least.” She gave a single dry laugh. “You said he offered you the same deal. Why didn’t you take it?”

“Why didn’t I become a villain?”

“You could have taken the offer and been good still. It was my plan for a while.”

“No, I’ve seen people in these sorts of positions before. Your hand gets forced sooner or later. Besides, it’s not like I could hold an entire population under my control, unlike little Miss Bullshit Cannon over there.” He gestured vaguely towards the downtown area.

“I was thinking I might put bugs on everyone to keep track of them.”

“See? Going right for the surveillance state option, classic good guy move.”

“Right, because you’d never do such a thing.”

Conway sighed. “Okay, that’s not fair, I had good reasons to-”

“Of course you did, cause it’s a good idea!”

“Wow, I really need to start setting better examples for people.” He paused. “Hm.”

“What?”

“I was going to ask for help, but now it’s sounding like a bad idea.”

“You get a lot of those and it hasn’t stopped you before.”

Conway glared at her. “Fine, you wanna hear it? I’m saving Ratcatcher.”

“But she’s-”

“In Coil’s base.” She turned her head towards him. “I have good sources.”

“Alright, I’m in.”

“Just like that? You’re not at all concerned that I haven’t mentioned any other teammates, assets, or other advantages, and you’re agreeing to attack someone who just might be the most powerful man in Brockton Bay right now.”

“Well I would assume you had some sort of plan before suggesting this. And I think Shadow Stalker might be right, we should be doing literally anything other than give up the city. One thing, though: We’re rescuing two people.”

“Two?”

“Dinah Alcott should also be there. Mayor Christner’s niece?” Conway shook his head. “Right, you wouldn’t know.”

“Don’t suppose you mentioned that to… Anyone, before now?”

“Um.” She stopped. “It may have slipped my mind.” He raised an eyebrow. “There was a lot going on! She’s not in imminent danger, it was more of a long term goal of mine, I guess.”

“Don’t think most people ever had ‘saving missing persons’ as a long term goal, but I won’t judge. Yeah, double rescue mission, perfect. We got this.”

“When were you planning to do this?”

Conway checked his watch. “Tonight, I guess. No sense waiting.”

“Do you always jump into things this quickly?”

“One of my main abilities, actually.” He patted the hypertrousers. “Ready when you are.”

“I don’t even have my costume on.”

“You know your way around the city, right? I’ll scout ahead, give you a rendezvous to head towards. Grab as many bugs as you can along the way, too, I’m sure we’ll need them.”

“As many as I- Yeah, I can do that.”

Tattletale

It was unnerving how much confidence the members of Cauldron had in their plan. They kept most of their secrets from Lisa and restricted where she could go and what she had access to, but their discretion left very specific holes in her knowledge that could be inferred. Given what she had observed so far, it was entirely plausible that such a small organization could effectively puppet, well, the entire world. Especially when Contessa could open a door damn near anywhere and enter, gun in hand, ready to threaten (or follow through on a threat with) whoever was on the other side. Crude, but effective, she thought, with a strange mix of disgust and awe. Not her style, but what was she going to do about it, stand in Contessa’s way and die, too?

Insane as it sounded, Lisa had to concede that the plan had some merit. And honestly? It’s a lot better than any other plan. Ignoring the fact that nobody else could work on a plan, of course, as the imminent end of the world was being kept under wraps remarkably well. She gathered from hints in conversations, statements made in passing, and oh-so-many facial tics that the group was somewhat agitated about a shift in their timeframe (and she could sympathize, it was unpleasant knowing the end of the world just shifted forward a year for no discernible reason), but they remained confident. Or resigned, it was hard to tell sometimes. As Lisa spent another day—a day which existed only in her mind, due to the lack of windows anywhere—walking aimlessly through the parts of the complex she was allowed in, the one thing she couldn’t figure out was, what the hell am I doing here?

‘It’s necessary.’ Contessa explained, in her trite and oh-so-helpful way of speaking. Any combat ability Lisa had was dwarfed by the woman, the technical side of things was firmly in Number Man’s grasp, and she certainly wasn’t going to join Doctor Mother in the room where strangers occasionally entered, and screaming occasionally came out of. Not that the Doctor expected her to help, luckily. Am I a pet? A prisoner? Did they just need me alive, but don’t know what to do with me? When she was ripped away from her imminent death, Contessa and the Doctor looked particularly unprepared for her arrival. Something to do with their plan, of course, but beyond that she had only speculation.

The whole damn thing was a puzzle, and with nothing better to do she mostly spent the days thinking about powers. It was, after all, the perfect place to study them; the utter lack of stimuli did wonders for her headaches. Is that it, that’s the plan? Are they waiting for me to come to some world-saving epiphany? How do I think of it exactly at a specific time, and did Contessa revealing that change when it happens, or did she plan for that, too? A dull throb forming in the back of her mind reminded her to give up trying to think for some time.

At least she had a plan of her own which helped her stay sane during her confinement inside an inconceivably large and aggravatingly boring series of rooms and hallways. She didn’t dare take the thing out, hoping Contessa was still unaware of its existence, but feeling the tiny radio disc stuffed in her shoe provided some comfort. She was familiar with Conway’s plan by now. Or at least, fairly certain she was. It might not even be a plan at all, knowing the man, but she elected to not believe that interpretation. She may be vital to saving the world, according to three (or four, counting the Custodian) lunatics in a bunker, but she would much rather contribute to the effort from outside the confines of the damned place. Just a matter of time before someone shows up, right? Any day now… Maybe she would try and pester Contessa into revealing what ‘Project Terminus’ was while she waited.

Chapter Text

Conway

He heard the swarm long before he saw it. Perched on the roof of a townhouse within binocular range of one of perhaps many entrances to an underground base, he was glad he picked a location this far away. The sound was an ungodly mix of chittering, buzzing, clicking, and a thousand other things in a slowly approaching ball of noise that made his skin crawl. Luckily, it hit a crescendo before reaching levels damaging to his eardrums, and died down once the procession stopped moving.

If the sight wasn’t enough to make him shiver in disgust, Skitter emerging from it definitely was. He leapt off the roof to meet her.

“Skitter. What the fuck.”

“You said ‘as many as you can,’ no?” She said with a hint of humor in her voice. “I’m not going up against Coil with only one teammate and not bringing every advantage I can! I was feeling motivated tonight.” The swarm flowed behind her, giving the impression of cascading ocean waves. Only so much more disgusting. “So, what’s step two?”

“Right. Come with me.” He leapt back onto the roof.

“How?” She called. Oh, right. He dropped back down, grabbed her, and returned to the roof. She was lighter than other people he had tried that trick on, and thankfully he did not slam into a wall. He passed the binoculars.

“See that big metal door?”

“I’ve been in the base before, you know.”

“You… What the hell am I doing all this work for?”

“Thought you asked me along cause you wanted someone who knew the place?”

“Actually, I wanted someone who wasn’t going to rat me out to Armsmaster, but that is a nice bonus. Saves me explaining all this, then. Step three,” he pulled out the mecha-spider, provisionally named Harold, and showed it to her. “I send Harold in, you find any junction boxes with your bugs, direct him to them. He’ll take this-” he relinquished the Crosslink to the spider “-and do a little wirejacking for me.”

“Where did you get that? It’s kind of beautiful, I have to admit. Really got the details down.”

“A favor from Dragon.”

“Wow. I mean, you could have used one of my spiders too, but this is definitely cooler.”

Conway was silent. He carefully placed Harold on the roof, then brought his hands to his face in defeat.

“Are you sure you still want to go through with this plan? Like, we can take a rain check, plan it out more…”

“No, no, we’re already here.” He sighed. “Actually, yes, this is part of the plan. I have no idea how animals would react to holding that device, but if it works how I think it does, it’s definitely not ethical.” How does it project the wires into my eyes just from holding it, anyways? Am I giving myself cataracts? He shook his head. “I trust Harold more, anyways.”

“Suit yourself. So, after that…”

“Right. Then I’ll have a much better idea of what I’m dealing with. I sneak in, you find Dinah and Ratcatcher with the bugs, I break ‘em out. Simple, really.”

“You’re going in alone?”

“Yep. No way I’m letting you die for a plan this half-assed. That privilege is mine alone. You can manage controlling the bugs from above ground, right?”

“Yeah. Sorry, that was just very candid, coming from you. Thanks? And as long as this is just below the surface, it’ll be fine.”

“Perfect, let’s get to it! Just fill the place with as many- Nope, not making that mistake again. Use enough bugs to get a good sense of everything happening, but without it drawing suspicion. As for areas which aren’t inhabited, those you can fill with bugs if you are so inclined. If this all goes to hell, it will be nice to have reinforcements surge from the walls.” He visualized what he just said. “Maybe not ‘nice.’ Unpleasant for me, and very unpleasant for everyone else.”

And with that, Conway picked up the controller and sent the spider towards the seemingly abandoned metal door. He tried to tune out the cacophony of noise increasing in volume behind him.

One grueling game of telephone played by a swarm of insects, two vigilantes, and a mechanical spider later, Conway was confident he found every circuit system possible. He had to tip his (currently absent) hat to Coil, the man didn’t do things by half-measures. There ended up being five separate closed circuits, overkill for anyone except the most enterprising of supervillain lair designers. But following careful direction by bugs that went unnoticed by the many guards patrolling the base, Harold was nimble enough to jam the Crosslink into every one of them before returning the tool to its owner. Tragically, Dragon was not exaggerating about the degradation: the thing was malfunctioning so much by the end that he didn’t even bother bringing it all the way back; he left it and the Crosslink at the door to pick up in a moment when he entered.

“Now for the fun part,” he announced.

“Don’t die.”

“Thanks, I’m relying on you for that, though. Stay in contact, and if bad things happen, sting everyone you can. Everyone other than me. I hope that goes without saying.” Skitter nodded, returning her focus to her newly established insectoid surveillance network.

Under the cover of darkness, he bounded over to the entrance of the lair.

“Plainclothes guard still behind the door, facing it. No others in room.”

Conway could already tell from the highlighted gun, but good to get communications down early. He disconnected the trigger and slowly opened the door, staying outside so as to not reveal himself. The guard readied the gun, but stayed still, waiting. Come on, pal, investigate! Suspiciously opening doors were the oldest trick in the book for getting someone to move where one wanted them to. Unfortunately, this guard must have read such a book, and refused to move. Conway leapt up to the ground above the door, waited a moment, then dropped in past the door and immediately onto the guard. One down… one-hundred-and-change remaining. Where do you even find a hundred mercenaries to hire?

“Two directly behind the next gate, covering each other. Two more on far side of area.”

The first proper segment of the entrance tunnel, wide enough to fit a van and twice the length. Two on the far side was inconvenient, but far from impossible with the element of surprise and guns out of the equation. He wired one trigger to the lights, for fun, and disconnected their radios. The gate was electronic and would have posed an issue without circuit access, but he merely connected a lightswitch to it instead. Open door, four quick pounces, voilá.

“Same thing two more times,” Skitter informed him. Conway sighed. “And these guys heard the gate open. Better make it quick.”

Up to a dozen punches now, Conway knew the main garage was behind the last gate. Even without prior insight, the massive reinforced door gave away that the next room would be unlike the others. His shoulder started to ache, reminding him he really shouldn’t be punching with a fresh wound still there.

“Don’t think your current strategy will work here, I’m counting ten guards, all spread out.”

Truthfully, he planned to disregard the warning and stick to his usual strategy. But something feels off…

“Skitter, do the guards in the next room have guns?”

“Yes?”

“I can’t see them…” He muttered.

“I’m sure that once you open the gate-”

“No, normally I can,” he said. “I can see guns through walls, but not these ones.”

“Huh,” she replied. “Tattletale mentioned something about the mercs having tinkertech guns. That got something to do with it?”

Just my luck, he thought. There was no stealthy way to avoid the problem on the other side of the door, as soon as it opened the garage’s occupants would be on high alert. Then even higher alert, once they saw the trail of unconscious bodies lining the tunnel.

“I can still disconnect their radios, at least, and let’s hope nobody’s monitoring those cameras. Got any tranquilizer bugs?”

“Do you know where to find ‘tranquilizer bugs’? I don’t. Your options are pain and venom. I can go for the eyes, if that helps.”

“What? Jesus, no, how do you keep coming up with these ideas?”

“I think they’re going to shoot you otherwise.”

“You can’t go for the eyes, that’s a fate worse than death.”

“Eyelids?”

Conway sighed. “Fine. Do it two seconds after the door starts to open.”

From the wires embedded in the ceiling and walls, Conway could tell the garage opened up on both sides. One-point-five floors, with what must be a catwalk suspending the guards on the far end. Vehicles would block direct line of sight, but that hindered him as much as them. He hadn’t wanted to go loud, and certainly not this early, but there was no backing out now. Evidence of an attempted attack would already be reason enough for Coil to reinforce or relocate, after which there might not be a second chance. He waited until two guards were about to walk past the garage door before opening it and simultaneously disabling the room’s cameras. Two pounces, two punches, then wave of screaming which came from the guards still standing. Conway carefully circled the vehicles and crates littering the room, taking down the rest as fast as he could, saving the guard by the next door for last. But his last target didn’t immediately fall when Conway jumped at him.

Enforcers back in Boston were as sturdy as brick walls, and just as impossible to tackle to the ground; this guard was much the same. Conway made contact, but the bulky guard parried his entire body straight into the wall. They remained calm despite the stinging, and opened one eye enough to point the rifle in his direction. Conway leapt to the ceiling in hopes of buying a few seconds, then fell back down, aiming to hit the rifle instead, and it clattered to the ground. Skitter must have realized what was happening by then, as more bugs started to dart at the guard trying to find ways under the armor. He picked up the rifle and swung as hard as he could manage, knocking the guard out.

“Two in the corridor past that door, heading your direction. Not alerted yet.”

“How does their armor feel? Heavy or regular?”

“Similar to that last guy, if that’s what you mean.”

He grimaced. No quick solution for this new problem. He inspected the freshly acquired rifle: Batteries in place of a magazine, and a trigger mechanism that must have been just foreign enough that the Crosslink didn’t recognize it. Hey, might manage to keep this non-lethal! More than anything, he was glad it justified the extra time taken to keep the earlier takedowns above-board. Conway aimed down what he assumed to be the corridor in question, and remotely opened the door. The guards reacted, and he pressed the trigger, but nothing happened. Wrong button? He glanced down to see the device sparking, unhappy with being used as a bat. The two mercs reached for their rifles and Conway had no choice but to leap forward anyways. If nothing else, the guns would be impossible to use at close distance. They predictably did not fall over from his tackle, but he spotted an open door in the corridor. Too flustered to switch to melee, he kicked both into the room and found a switch to close the door after them.

“Skitter, we’re working on an accelerated timetable here, be prepared.”

He started running down the corridor towards what he remembered to be the main stairwell. A quick fall past the stairs and he would be at the bottom level, where Dinah and Ratcatcher were kept. Along with an ominous looking vault that they had been unable to probe inside before. As soon as he took the leap, he wondered to himself, before I locked those two in, did I- a blaring alarm interrupted his train of thought. No, I did not disconnect the radios.

“Skitter, update: We’re working on a very accelerated timetable.”

“Already attacking. Don’t walk into the swarms and you’ll be fine.” He could hear a mix of screaming and shouting echo through the complex.

At last, after walking over too many writhing bodies for his comfort, he found the containment cells and unlocked the relevant doors. Ratcatcher immediately peeked her head out, holding her rats in her arms.

“Conway!”

“Good to see you.” He gestured to a flashing light on the ceiling. “Let’s skip the pleasantries for now. Can you shoot a gun?”

“No.”

“Wonderful.” He threw a recently acquired rifle to her. “It’s electric, just point in the general direction. Skitter! Direct Ratcatcher towards the exit, I’m grabbing Dinah.”

“Thkitter? Heh, that’th why I thaw bugth everywhere!” Despite the chipper attitude, she looked incredibly tired.

He looked in the other cell to find Dinah curled up in the corner, hands covering her ears.

“You must be Dinah. Sorry, I tried to keep things quieter. I’m Gatecrasher, from the Protectorate. We’re gonna escape now, okay?”

“Where is Coil?” She whispered, sound nearly drowned out by the sirens.

“Not here, probably? Don’t know what he looks like, anyways.”

“Not good… He knows…”

“Yep, alarms tend to do that. Speaking of alarms, time for us to go!” He did not have the luxury to stick around and calm her down, so he picked her up and started making his way back.

“Other staircase! Avoid that vault room, Trickster’s there now.”

“What’s so special about the vault room?”

“Not our problem, leave! Get to Ratcatcher, she’s got guards incoming.”

Conway cursed under his breath, and sprinted for the stairs as fast as one could while carrying a person.

“Does this mean we doomed the city? String Theory didn’t mention what would happen if we went straight to Coil.”

“Worry about that later, there’s reinforcements incoming!”

“What, you set up an entire bug perimeter around this place?”

“I see them with my eyes, Gatecrasher. Big vans coming down the road.” Ah, yeah, fair enough. He quickened his pace. God, stairs suck when you can’t fall past them.

He met Ratcatcher in the garage, with thankfully only incapacitated guards in sight.

“We taking one of thethe?” She pointed to a parked truck.

“Too easy to follow. We’re hoofing it!” He called back as he kept running towards the exit.

“I’ve barely even walked thith week!”

“Skitter, get over here and help Ratcatcher, we’re going to head towards the woods!”

“What happened me not getting involved?”

“Now there’s a much lower chance of dying trapped in a bunker!”

“Because we’re no longer in a bunker? Fine, I’m coming, but don’t complain about the swarm.”

“The swarm?” As she ran to meet the trio, Conway came to realize what she meant.

“Seriously, don’t complain, they’ll get in your mouth,” she warned, as the swarm engulfed them. “Just keep running.” He heard engines in the distance which were quickly drowned out by buzzing as they got further away. “Sent out two others swarms in different directions,” she explained. “We’re almost to the trees now, going to split this swarm again.”

After what felt like an eternity of running, they stopped.

Conway sat on a fallen tree, and called for a pickup. The Protectorate was bound to find out eventually, no point meeting them after exhausting himself further. “You know, that could have gone worse.”

“I’m terrified of what you think ‘worse’ is,” Skitter replied.

“We got what we came for and nobody died.”

“Yet.”

“I’m starting to think if String Theory hasn’t leveled this place already, she probably still won’t. You don’t kill your hostages, that’s just bad business.”

“How can you put so much faith in a hunch?”

He shrugged. “It’s a good hunch. There’s a time for thinking, and a time for action.”

“Seems like a lot more action than thinking.”

“Hey,” Ratcatcher spoke up. “For what it’th worth, I liked the idea a lot.”

Conway gestured to her. “See? At least someone appreciates it. Dinah too, I think.”

The girl managed a weak thumbs-up in response. They sat in silence as they waited for transport to arrive.

Coil

Awoken in the middle of the night, Thomas Calvert sat in bed with his laptop and watched the scene unfold as one man and a swarm of insects managed to take down his main base of operations. The timeline where he remained in the lair and talked to Gatecrasher in person was enlightening, right up until the swarm of bugs descended upon him. He shivered at the memory of what-could-have-been. No, there was no benefit great enough to justify enduring that kind of hell any further. He terminated it and split again: One hoped he could get some sleep without nightmares of what he just experienced, and the other booked it straight to PHQ.

Either way, it would be a long night.