Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

January 17^th, Arcadia High School

“Alright, you’ve got your lunch?”

“Check.”

“Paperwork?”

“Yup.

“Pepper spray?”

I shook the little black cylinder clipped to my keyring. “Present.” I was still surprised that Dad had bought it for me- Arcadia was in a much better part of town than Winslow. Nevertheless, I appreciated the gesture.

“Pepper spray,” a man’s raspy voice sneered; “fuckin’ useless shit. Get a knife or something-”

I pushed the voice back down into the darkness, as easily as turning down the volume on the radio. By this point I could do it without showing it on my face.

Dad reached across to put his hand on my shoulder. “Hey,” he said gently, “it’s gonna be okay, kiddo.”

I just nodded, unsure of what to say. The better part of two weeks at home and away from the bitches had given me a chance to actually talk and rebuild our relationship, but things were still stilted between us- like we were actors who’d forgotten half their lines.

Dad took his hand away after a second and opened his door. I grabbed my bag and followed him out into the cold January air. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground, not enough to be anything other than a vague annoyance.

“Christ, we used to get a couple of inches back in the day,” a fluting male voice said. “Global warming in action.”

I left the voice alone- he wasn’t saying anything bad at the moment- and crossed the street with Dad.

I knew Arcadia was a good school- not just good compared to Winslow, because that was a low bar to clear, but an actually good school. Still, even after filling out the paperwork for my transfer and reading through all the pamphlets and guides, seeing it in person was getting the message across.

Four stories of red brick- no graffiti on the walls, no dirt on the windows. Even the grass we walked across was better than the scraggly weed-filled mess at Winslow.

“Eyes up,” a firm tone chided. “Look out for the other students- the Wards go here, remember? They’re the biggest threat to you right now.”

“Stop giving her fucking advice, Tac!” a woman screamed, smooth voice made rough by fury. In fairness, she did have good reason to hate me. I pushed her into the darkness as well, but I kept Tactical up.

He was right about the Wards- whoever they were, they were the ones most likely to puzzle out my identity. I didn’t want to figure them out though- better for all of us if I didn’t know. I would just have to be careful with everyone.

There were a few groups of people standing around outside in coats and hats, chatting before classes started, breath fogging in the air. I glanced vaguely at them as Dad and I approached the front doors, then turned my eyes forward.

I flickered my sight for a second- silhouettes of people jumped into my vision, swirling red patterns that glowed through the walls. I could make out other kids standing in the halls, and adults in some of the classrooms.

Mistake. I blinked hard, washing the bloodsight from my eyes. I was trying not to use my powers at school, and I’d slipped up not five minutes into the first day.

Dad glanced at me as he grabbed the door handle, a faint look of concern on his face. “Taylor, are you alright?”

I nodded quickly, even as he flickered red in my vision again. I forced the power down, and Vladimir along with it, even as he cackled at my slipup. “Just nerves,” I said simply.

Dad nodded back, then pulled the door open. A rush of warmer air breezed past us as we stepped through.

The inside was nice-looking too- the posters didn’t have dicks drawn on them, the lights didn’t flicker. There were more kids inside as well, clustered into little groups, but not with gang colours.

“Oh, they’re in here. Fuckers just know how to hide it better,” an angry woman interjected. I pushed her down enough to ignore her. She was right, but I didn’t need to think about that right now.

After a few minutes of walking, Dad knocked on a door with ‘Office’ on the front. Once a muffled voice answered, he opened the door.

There were several desks in the room, and doors at the far end leading off to more rooms. The desk nearest the door was occupied by a handsome Asian woman who glanced up from her computer as we walked in.

“You must be the Heberts,” she said warmly, standing up to shake our hands. “I’m Ms Fincher, I’m the school registrar. Basically, I do most of the paperwork here.” She scooped up a cardboard folder and passed it to me. “Here’s your class schedule, map of the school, and some information on clubs and after-school activities.”

I flipped the folder open and started sorting through it as she retrieved a stack of books from a shelf behind her with a grunt and set them on the desk. “Here’s all your textbooks, brand new, delivered just yesterday, I’ll just need you to sign for them here,” she held out a sheet, I read and signed, she dropped it into another folder, “ Great! You’ve got homeroom with Mrs Williams and then a free period to get settled in! After that it’s right into the swing of things. Any questions?”

I had several, but I wasn’t sure how to respond to such relentless peppiness. “Uhm… No- Wait, yes.” I gestured to the pile of textbooks in front of me. “Where do I put these?”

Ms Fincher tapped her forehead with a finger. “Knew I forgot something.” She swung back down into her seat and clicked a few things. “Okay, Taylor Hebert, locker number is 434, that’s just left from here and hang a right, and your combination is here-” she scribbled something on a sticky note and passed it to me. “Okay, that should be everything, really this time.”

I already had a vague outline of the school in my head- a few points of light under the ceiling tiles in that corridor twitched at my thought. Reluctantly, I broke my no-powers rule for the second time today- as much as I wanted to avoid anyone seeing this power in particular, I couldn’t shake that little bit of fear of the unknown.

I stuck the note on the folder, put that on top of the books, and then faked a grunt of strain in what I hoped was a convincing manner as I lifted the stack into my arms.

“Laying it on a little thick there, four-eyes?” a young woman taunted. I shoved her down in a burst of anger- it must have showed on my face, because Dad stretched a hand out with a worried look.

“You want me to hold those, kiddo?” I shook my head, even as I cursed myself for worrying him again. I shoved all the voices a little away from me to clear my head a little.

“I think I can manage. Thanks though.”

Ms Fincher waved as we headed back out and down the hall; Dad cast a glance back at the door.

“Geez,” he muttered, “how much coffee does she drink?”

“School with multiple capes attending, I’m guessing a lot,” I replied, shifting the books in my hands. Dad nodded thoughtfully.

“The New Wave kids go here, don’t they?” he asked as we finally stopped in front of locker 434. I put the books down to grab the combination note, taking the opportunity to sneak a fly down the wall and inside the locker. All it picked up was metal and cleaning products.

I checked the note, set my hand on the dial, and ran through the combination, and then again just to double check.

I’d have to open it to put my books away, instead of hauling them around all day.

I couldn’t just keep standing here.

I needed to open it but I really didn’t want to I really didn’t want to-

Dad put his hand on my shoulder again. “I can open it if you want,” he offered awkwardly.

I seriously considered it. I knew full well that this locker was empty and clean, that the bitches weren’t anywhere near here, and that I could fight my way clear of anyone who wasn’t a particularly strong cape.

“Fear like that doesn’t go away easily,” said a stern woman in clipped tones. I still had trouble telling if she was lecturing me or sympathizing with me. “That does not mean you can let fear win.”

I clenched my teeth for a second, then spun the dial left-right-left-left-right, twisted the handle and stepped sharply to the side as I swung it open.

Nothing but bare metal, and the fly I’d sneaked in, hiding on the underside of the shelf near the top. I quickly picked up my books, picked out the ones I needed for today, dumped the rest inside, and very deliberately did not slam the door shut.

Dad shuffled his feet as I slung my bag over my shoulder. “I’ll see you after school,” he said eventually. “Hope everything goes well.” I mumbled something vaguely affirmative.

Dad took a couple of steps down the hallway, then suddenly paused. I was about to ask if something was wrong when he turned back and gave me a slightly stiff hug. “Have a good day, Taylor,” he murmured into my hair. I tentatively hugged him back, enjoying this quiet moment.

Finally he let go, and headed back down the corridor without looking back. I pulled out my schedule and started walking, sorting through my thoughts. Idly, I picked out a few hundred more bugs in my range and sent them crawling inside the walls of the school, outlining the building in my mind’s eye.

I made it to homeroom a few minutes before the bell, picked a seat near the back, and sat down. I tried to occupy myself by checking the school map and my schedule. By now I had bugs along the edges and corners of most of the building, giving me a decent map in my head. I was trying to use that to figure out where I needed to go, but I kept glancing up as people filed in, sitting with their friends or typing on their phones. More than a few of them gave me curious glances, but thankfully none of them tried to talk with me.

Mrs Williams turned out to be a short woman with gray hair and a cardigan that looked thick enough to stop a bullet. She walked in and clapped her hands for attention just before the bell rang.

“Okay, everyone!” she called briskly. “A few things for today, the yearbook committee needs volunteers-”

There were a couple of other announcements of things I either didn’t know or didn’t care about before she picked up the register and a pen. Something in there made her frown for a second before she scanned the room, until her eyes landed on me.

“Ah, that’s right.” She raised her voice. “Everyone, we’ve got a new student starting today, I want you all to make her feel welcome. Taylor Hebert? -” She pronounced it Heb-hurt- “Stand up now, dear.”

I suddenly disliked Mrs Williams intensely for putting me on the spot. Nevertheless, I stood up, conscious of everyone in the room staring at me.

“Tell us a little about yourself,” Mrs Williams said insistently, as if there was no possibility of a teenage girl preferring not to speak in front of a whole roomful of strangers. I just wanted to sit down and blend in and have people stop looking at me.

Best to get it over with quickly. I took a deep breath and blurted “My name’s Taylor, I transferred from Winslow, I like reading the classics and-” I stalled, scrabbling for something else to say while everyone waited on me.

“…no, that’s it,” I finished lamely, flopping back into my seat, burning with embarrassment as a few people snickered. Mrs Williams gave me an unamused look, like I’d just bullshitted my way through a presentation, and she was about to give me a low grade.

‘Up yours’, I thought spitefully, glaring back at her; ‘If you hadn’t put me on the spot we could have avoided this.’

I pushed down the voices that were suggesting more open forms of payback, like throwing a pencil through her eye, and tuned out everyone else while Mrs Williams took attendance, half-heartedly answering when she called my name.

Finally, homeroom ended, and everyone made for the door; I hung back a little, avoiding the crush at the door. Then I noticed a couple of kids heading toward me.

“Hi, Taylor, right?” a blonde girl chirped- really chirped. One of the voices imagined little birds flying around her head. “Just wanted to say hi, welcome to Arcadia, all that. Well, that and-”

“Why’d you transfer in?” the boy next to her cut in, leaning forward eagerly. “Was it ‘cause of the Teeth?”

I went still, even as the blonde smacked him in the shoulder. “Christ, Jason! Have some fucking tact!” The boy rubbed his arm, not looking even a little cowed. The look of ignorant eagerness on his face stirred something dark and bitter in the pit of my stomach as my head filled with memories of screaming and gunfire.

“Oh come on, I just wanna know! The Butcher’s been gone two weeks now, none of them have ever taken so long to show themselves! Hey,” he turned back to me eagerly, “how close were they to Winslow? Like, did you see them or anything?”

The voices started shouting all at once at that, roaring, jeering, mocking the horror I felt from remembering, urging me to hurt him. I didn’t realise I’d clenched my hands into fists until the knuckles popped. “No,” I ground out, “I didn’t see them, because I’m pretty sure if they’d got that close I’d be dead.”

Blonde Birdie smacked him in the shoulder again, but Jason was apparently immune to hints. “How about the Swarm? I heard people could see it from like, a block away-”

I jerked towards him, and he flinched so hard he almost fell over. “Listen,” I hissed, jamming my hands into my pockets before I could give in to the longing to crush his skull, “I really don’t want to talk about it, so either back off right now or I will feed your own teeth.”

The voices laughed approvingly as Jason stepped back with a spooked expression. The others were looking similarly scared; the blonde raised her hands apologetically.

“I’m so sorry about Jason, he’s just, he’s an idiot-”

“Then what does it say about you, if you’re friends with him?” I snapped. She winced, but didn’t reply. I grabbed my bag and strode for the door.

Mrs Williams caught me just as I grabbed the door handle. “Taylor, there’s no need to get angry like that,” she scolded. “I appreciate that Jason was being insensitive, but threats aren’t necessary.”

I bit back the first dozen remarks that came to mind. It was always hardest to resist when the voices and I were actually in agreement about something, and we all agreed that Mrs Williams was a pain in my ass. The trouble was that their suggestions for knocking that judgmental look off her face were sounding really tempting…

Instead I started running some cockroaches down in what I thought was the boiler room in circles, while I took another step toward the door. “It’s either that or actually hit him- which would you prefer?”

I spun on my heel without waiting for a response and bolted into the hallway, throwing the door shut behind me. Maybe she’d blame me for acting out or think that I was a troublemaker, like the teachers back in Winslow. I didn’t care. I just wanted people to leave me alone, for their own sake.

Ever since I got powers, I’d felt- skinless, it felt like. As if everything touching me, every little thing people said to me, grated against raw nerves, like salt in a wound.

It certainly didn’t help that I had the voices constantly yelling and screaming, threatening and insulting, suggesting and demanding, and advocating every dark impulse I had 24/7.

“You know you want to go back and hit that little shit,” the oldest and foulest voice growled. “Stop pretending to be so fucking civilized and go hurt-”

I shoved Butcher down as hard as I could and kept walking through the halls. The rest took the hint and subsided to low mutterings in the back of my skull.

Less than an hour in, and it already felt like a long day.

Chapter Text

Monday January 17^th, Arcadia High School

The bell rang for lunch, and I started putting my things away as the classroom erupted into a mad rush for the door. I wasn’t in any hurry myself, even though I’d decided to give Arcadia’s cafeteria food a chance.

I was pretty sure Butcher was lying about having used it to dispose of bodies in the past- if only because he didn’t have the subtlety to actually hide a body.

I idly scanned the room as I zipped up my pencil case. I’d picked out a couple of other kids who’d transferred in today as well- lots of parents had tried to get their kids as far away from Winslow as possible after the incident, and we were only the latest batch.

Just as I finally stood up and started for the door, Mr Jackson looked up from his desk. “Ms Hebert, could you stay a moment please?”

I slowed to a stop, reluctantly. I felt as if I could like Mr Jackson- even if he’d dropped a Math pop quiz on us today, he seemed fair, and actually kept people from messing around in class. He hadn’t made me or any of the other new kids introduce ourselves either, and he’d pronounced my name right first try.

Still, I was too on edge to feel comfortable as I stepped up to the desk. Mr Jackson put his pen to one side and picked up a sheet of paper. I saw my name at the top- the quiz sheet I’d filled out today.

“Christ,” Firecracker moaned. “I dropped out specifically to avoid this shit! Why didn’t you take home schooling or something?”

“Would you want to be stuck at her house all day every day instead of getting out to see the world?” Vladimir answered reasonably.

I tuned them out to pay full attention to Mr Jackson. Something must have shown on my face, because his first words were “This isn’t anything bad. I just wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay,” I said cautiously. “Is it about my work?” I’d been told when the transfer went through that my grades were a bit below the accepted level for Arcadia, and that I’d have to do some extra assignments.

Mr Jackson tapped the sheet. “Well, I haven’t properly marked your quiz sheet yet, but it looks like you’ve earned at least a B grade.”

I’d had a little help from the Butcher’s hazy memories of their own school years, but it still felt like an accomplishment. I didn’t relax just yet though- there had to be something more to this. “That’s… good?” I couldn’t stop it from coming out as a question.

“It is good. Better than I expected, certainly.” He fiddled with his spectacles for a second. “From what I saw of your grades from Winslow, you often missed in-class assignments, and the rest were mostly Cs. And now you’ve managed a B grade on your first day here.”

“Really? One good score and he thinks you’re copying? Are all the teachers this suspicious?” Needler said incredulously. I felt her indignant shock, swiftly followed by my own.

“I wasn’t cheating!” I burst out, slamming my hands on the desk. Mr Jackson leaned back in his chair with wide eyes.

“I wasn’t saying you were,” he said in a surprised tone. “I didn’t see you so much as glance at anyone else during class. I fully believe this is your own work.” He directed a pointed glance at my hands, and I quickly pulled them off the desk, jamming them into my hoodie pockets again. Mr Jackson gave me a heavy look before speaking again.

“I understand you transferred in due to ongoing problems at Winslow. I’m guessing these problems were affecting your grades in some way.”

It took me a moment before I remembered to nod, feeling off balance. I shoved all the Butchers down before they could interfere or distract me.

Mr Jackson opened a drawer and pulled out another sheet with some handwritten notes on it, peering at it through his spectacles. “Decent grades until halfway through freshman year, and then they started declining, or not being turned in at all.” He looked up at me again. “Can you tell me what exactly caused this?”

I almost wanted to look around to see if someone was going to jump out at me as part of a prank, but I held on to the tiny flicker of hope as I explained. “Well, there’s- there were these three girls, in my year, and a couple of others, but they were the main ones. And, yeah, they were messing with me. A lot. Part of that… They took my work sometimes, or they’d drop stuff in my bag, or just steal my books.”

“Didn’t your teachers do anything about them?” Mr Jackson looked faintly aghast. I shrugged wearily, far too used to it.

“I tried complaining a few times, but they never really did anything, and they always believed the other girls.”

Mr Jackson huffed through his nose. “That,” he said crisply, “is a disgusting state of affairs.” It seemed like he wanted to say more, but after a second he just sighed and pushed his chair out.

“Well, I don’t know if I can do much about those girls, since they’re in another school, but I could try and bring it up with the school board. More importantly,” he heaved himself to his feet, “since your grades were effectively tampered with, I can arrange some make-up assignments to get your grades back up, at least in my class. I might be able to swing it so you can re-take a few as well.”

I stood there for a couple of seconds before I realised I should say something. “Uh, yes, thank you, that’d be- that’d be great, thanks.” I floundered for something else to say. “Um, is there… anything else, or…?”

“I think that’s all for now.”

I nodded jerkily and pointed a finger at the door. “Okay. I’m just gonna- get lunch. Bye.”

I walked out the door calmly and easily, although the Butchers compared me to various skittish animals, “or a cockroach when the light’s turned out.”

I pushed Firecracker as far back as I could for that remark and followed the flow of the crowd to the cafeteria, lost in though.

I’d expected things to be different at Arcadia, and I’d hoped that things would be better. But it was the kind of hope that makes you buy a lottery ticket for the one-in-a-million chance of getting rich, not the hope with any kind of evidence behind it. I really didn’t know how to deal with a teacher that combined action with being on my side.

“Seems like a decent guy,” Bearskin agreed. “Could have done with someone like that in senior year.”

“One of the good ones, huh?” Quarrel said caustically. Bearskin winced, as much as possible without a face.

“How many times do I have to apologise before you stop bringing that up?”

“A few thousand more, I’d say,” Muramasa chimed in, voice thick with schadenfreude. I tuned out the by now familiar argument as I made it to the cafeteria.

A couple of gnats outside were crawling along the tables outside, but nobody was going out there in this cold, even with how crowded the cafeteria was. I joined the queue with a tray, looking around as everyone shuffled along a step at a time.

True to what Anchorage had said, there were some subtle signs of the gangs when I looked closely. There was a table of bulky white guys off in one corner with short haircuts that couldn’t quite be called buzzcuts, Empire sympathisers if not actual members.

“Probably more than that around here,” Anchorage noted, uncharacteristically serious. “Maybe twice that many diet racists.”

“Diet racists?” I had to ask what that meant. Luckily, Anchorage kept it short.

“The kind of people who argue there should be a White History Month, or say shit like ‘if you’ve done nothing, you don’t have to worry about being stopped’. The kind of people who’ll stay friends with neo-nazis instead of doing the smart thing and killing them on sight.”

I had no idea how to respond to that, so I quickly looked around for something else to occupy myself.

The other side of the room boasted a table filled only with Asian kids, and while none of them were wearing bandanas or anything obvious, there was a hardened look to them all.

Muramasa sized them up. “I doubt they will be a problem,” he intoned- really intoned, like a sage making a prophecy. “They lack the confidence of dangerous men, so they posture and pose to make up for it.”

“Like peacocks,” Dirty Rotter mocked. That started another argument. I left them to it- as long as it wasn’t directed specifically at me, I could tune them out pretty easily.

Right in the middle of the room was a different kind of danger. Things were more mixed in there, but the tables there were filled with well-dressed kids- letterman jackets and expensive shoes, designer coats and skirts way too short for a day with snow still on the ground.

“Sure you don’t wanna go over there and make some friends?” Firecracker teased. “Some of those guys look like they might be good for some fun!”

I fought the flush in my cheeks, and lost miserably. Dirty Rotter broke away from bickering with Muramasa to chime in with his slimiest tone, that one that made me want to scrub the inside of my skull. “Or try the other half. What’s that quote? ‘High school girls- I keep getting older, they stay the same age.’”

That drew groans of disgust from the others. “You’re sick,” Nemean growled- she always growled, her throat had never been able to do anything else, but this was full of disgust.

“Christ, none’a you buggers can take a joke,” Rotter moaned, but he quieted down without me even having to intervene. I took a second glance as the line moved forward; this time I recognized one of them.

The single biggest threat to me at Arcadia was in the middle of one table, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder. Victoria Dallon, aka Glory Girl. The most active member of New Wave, and the city’s resident Alexandria package. I’d looked her up along with all the other local capes as soon as I’d been able to use a computer again, and from what I got off the internet, she was pretty, popular, and dedicated to her family’s values of accountability for capes.

Quarrel’s memories contained darker rumours in the short time between returning to the Bay and falling to me. Word among the street level crooks painted Glory Girl as entirely willing to interrogate someone from a thousand feet up, or use her emotional aura to have them shaking in fear.

Nemean radiated approval of her as I sneaked glances at the blonde. “She’s tough. You should try to bond with her.”

“Make friends with the unmasked hero? Not happening. I need to keep my identity as far away from capes as possible, thank you very much.” I’d explained it before, but Nemean was insistent on me building bridges with someone, for reasons I wasn’t entirely sure of.

“Why couldn’t we have ended up with her?” Stoneknapper complained. “All it would have taken was one punch to the head! More strength, a forcefield, and some goddamn flight at last! But no, we got stuck with insects!”

Quarrel immediately started raging at him, so I pushed them both back into the dark as the argument built up steam, but privately I wished I’d got something like her powers myself. Flight was the power every little kid dreamed of having at some point in their life.

The line moved forward again, putting me next to the food. I looked it over for a second while the Butchers started making demands- Lasagne!/garlic bread/salad/salad, are you serious?- before grabbing a couple of slices of cheese pizza, an apple, and a bowl of pudding. I paid for it quickly and started looking for a free space.

There was a table off to one side that was half-empty, so I headed for that. The other kids glanced up as I sat down, but didn’t say anything, one of them too busy working on homework spread out on the table.

I kept looking around as I started wolfing down my food. I’d recognized a few kids from Winslow, but nobody that had actively picked on me. There didn’t seem to be any overt gang tensions, or any cliques throwing their weight around.

Hell, even leaving Mr Jackson aside, the teachers I’d had today seemed pretty on the ball. Nobody had called me names or shot spitwads at me, messed with my stuff or ruined my clothes.

It was depressing to realise that I had no idea what to do with myself besides just try to make it through the day.

Maybe I could try making some friends. I could join a club; there probably wasn’t anything like a book club, but I’d picked up some other things from the Butchers besides fighting techniques and anger issues.

“Try learning another instrument,” Tactical advised. “We’ve already got guitar and drums- you learn keyboard and you could be a band all by yourself.”

“She’d have to buy the instrument first though,” Firecracker pointed out. “Do art or something.”

“That’s called art lessons, idiot,” Needler sneered. “I would suggest whatever the local LGBT association is called.”

“Hell yeah!” Anchorage enthused. “Get white girl a cutie!”

“You do realise I’m straight, right?” I interjected wearily as I started on my pudding. Anchorage just cackled horribly.

“Oh, give it time, you’ll be swinging every which way soon!”

I gave her a shove down and refocused. There were some clubs I should avoid- I’d have to stay away from sports completely- but there had to be a few here that’d suit me.

Vladimir nudged at me urgently. “Hey, girl, listen to the guys behind you- don’t turn! They’re talking about us!”

Indeed, as I paused and focused, there was a very spirited conversation going on at the table behind me.

“I’m telling you man, it’s got to be some kind of trick. Nobody’s ever killed Butcher for good, this is just to make the heroes drop their guard.”

“Why would Butcher need people to drop their guard? They’re, y’know, the Butcher,” the other guy countered. “If they were still alive, they’d be setting bugs on people everywhere.”

“That’s what we should be doing,” Bearskin complained. “Go out and pour cockroaches down people’s pants, spread the fear! You’re too damn cautious.”

I rolled my eyes and pushed him back. I wanted to hear what these guys had to say- they sounded unusually well-informed for civilians.

“Okay, but maybe it’s not a Master power like people think- it could be Butcher XV is a Changer- turns into a swarm of bugs, but that means they’re less active in winter because all the bugs are hibernating!” The first guy seemed very pleased with that logic.

“If they’re hibernating in winter, why’d they manage to kill Butcher in the first place, dumbass?”

“Maybe,” a third voice, a girl this time, cut in, “The new Butcher’s actually a Tinker, and the Swarm was a new weapon they were trying out. They could be lying in wait right now, building huge weapons to go on a rampage.”

First Guy hummed. “That… might work,” he said reluctantly, like he didn’t want to admit to them having a point. “I mean, I don’t think there’s ever been a Tinker Butcher, right?”

“Excuse me?” Tock Tick screeched. “What am I, chopped liver?”

The entire conversation was getting to me- it had to be a coincidence that they were sat behind me, but paranoia was beating a tattoo inside my head. I scooped the last spoonful of pudding into my mouth and got up to get rid of my tray. Being a functional member of society would have to wait another day.

Dad was waiting with his truck in the same place he’d dropped me off. I shrugged my bag off my shoulder and slid into the passenger seat in one movement, rubbing my hands together like they were cold. I didn’t really get uncomfortable about temperature anymore, but I needed to keep up the act.

Dad was looking nervously hopeful as I pulled my seatbelt on. “So, how’d it go?”

I’d been figuring out what to say ever since the final bell rang, so instead of my usual evasive remark along the lines of ‘same old, same old’ or ‘not too bad’ where I was lying through my teeth, I made eye contact as Dad started the engine and gave a small smile that wasn’t even forced.

“Pretty good. The teachers are nice, and the other kids seem okay. I’m not the only new kid in school either, so I don’t really stand out much.”

Relief flashed across Dad’s face as he pulled out. “That’s good to hear. Uh, did you talk to anyone much?”

I shrugged. “A little. Mostly introducing myself a bunch. They’re nice though.”

There was quiet for a moment while we both thought of something to say. I felt like I had the harder task, since I had to tune out the Butchers so I didn’t say anything they were spouting by accident. Once was enough. After a moment’s though, I remembered my thoughts at lunch.

“I was thinking I might look at the clubs they’ve got, think about joining one,” I ventured. Dad glanced at me as he made a turn.

“That sounds like a good idea. Any idea which one?”

“Maybe if there’s a literature club or something, that’d be my first pick. Otherwise, some kind of arts and crafts?” Stoneknaper relayed the image of me using his power to do some sculpture work or something. I fought down a smile at the thought of walking into class with a massive battleaxe over my shoulder.

Dad nodded, tapping the wheel with a finger as we paused at a light. “I think that’s a good idea. You’ll have people to talk to, and you might get a new hobby out of it.”

“I could maybe see if there’s a sewing club or something.” I at least had a head start on that; absorbing bits of memories from Needler, of her mother teaching her to darn clothes, had been very disorienting at first, but it was practical, especially now.

“I think there’s an old sewing machine up in the attic, we could maybe dig that out. Anyway,” Dad changed the subject in time with the traffic light, “I was thinking something easy for dinner tonight. Takeout sound good?”

The clamour started immediately- nothing got the Butcher’s attention like food- since I’d denied them all their other vices. I barely kept my face clear as I wrangled them into some sort of order and worked out what the majority were clamouring for.

“Can we get Chinese?” I said at length. “I’m suddenly craving the stuff.”

Dad’s mouth twitched a little. “Me too. I’ll dig out the menus when we get home.”

“Is Canton Star still open?” Needler wondered. “They did great sweet and sour chicken.”

“After 16 years? I doubt it.” Tactical mentally shrugged. “At least Fugly Bob’s is still around. We never did get to try the Challenger.”

“Sounds good,” Nemean rumbled. “We’ll do that some time.”

I pulled myself away from the discussion as several hundred particular bugs entered my range- the ones I’d kept stashed in the house. I rounded up all the flies and midges in my radius, including the ones I’d stashed in the truck bed, sending them walking into the jaws of the more important spiders, even as Dad pulled into the driveway and killed the engine.

I made to open my door, but Dad’s expression made me hesitate. “Taylor…” he drummed his fingers on the wheel, not looking at me. “Do… Do you want me to keep driving you to school? I mean, it’s not a big deal, you can take the bus if you want-”

I unclipped my seatbelt and leaned over to hug him. After a few seconds of him sitting there while the handbrake dug into my ribs, Dad slipped his arm around me and squeezed back.

“I’ll take the bus,” I said, “but thanks for offering. And thanks for taking me today.” After a minute I let go and straightened up, reaching a hand under my glasses to wipe at my eyes.

“So, Chinese?”

Szechuan beef and prawn fried rice had worked their magic on Dad to make him turn in early. A moth perched on the wall above his bed was keeping track of his breathing, slow and steady, and a quick glance through the wall with bloodsight showed him as still and peaceful as he had been since I’d checked on him 30 minutes ago.

I’d waited long enough, so I slipped a bookmark into my copy of The Great Gatsby and slid out of bed on thick-socked feet.

In the days after getting out of the hospital, I’d tweaked the hinges on certain doors to remove the creaking, so there was barely a whisper as I crept out of my room and downstairs, or as I opened the basement door and padded down the steps.

A steady drip of insects continued to crawl down the coal chute from outside and join the massive piles against one section of wall indistinguishable from the rest. I’d thought for a long time how I was going to hide my work from Dad, until Stoneknapper had shown me that the best kind of lock is one that only exists for you. I rested my hands against the cement and let the fizz of Stoneknapper’s power surge out into the wall.

The concrete slowly rippled and split open in a wide rectangular seam, outlining the door I’d cut into the wall and then sealed over. I moulded a handle out of the surface and pulled the door open, opening up the alcove cut into the soil behind the foundation.

The loom I’d built with Tock Tick’s clockwork Tinker power was working away on its shelf, no louder than a Swiss watch, even while its arms zipped back and forth weaving threads into a pair of leggings that was- I held up the trailing piece of cloth- about halfway done. I gave the handle a few twists to keep it going until tomorrow night and kept looking.

The shelf below that was dedicated to making the thread itself. A horde of black widow spiders were lined up on the wooden plank, pulling silk thread from their spinnerets, while lesser spiders led the silk through a simpler device that stretched out the threads and wound them onto reels. I’d made another dozen since I’d made it home, by rotating the widows through shifts to either spin thread or feed off the other insects. I marched the new insects I’d gathered into the space and added them to the rotation, directing the excess into jars and containers that would dispense them to the black widows while I was home.

“Can I just say, for the record, this is still really gross,” Dirty Rotter complained. I rolled my eyes even as I loaded the new reels into the loom.

I’d been looking for any way to use my power constructively- a sort of personal pride- when Tock Tick had speculated on the tensile strength of spider silk. A little research at the library had confirmed black widow silk as almost as strong as steel, but much lighter, and I’d built the weaving equipment out of scraps around the house. I didn’t have enough widows to make the silk more than one layer thick if I wanted to get to the action any time soon, but it was only really meant to be an undersuit. My real costume was going to be a full suit of plate armour, the single biggest use of Tock Tick’s Tinkering in over a decade.

Wearing armour with my new durability was kind of superfluous, but after my little stunt at Winslow, people would be suspicious of anyone with powers that matched those of the Butcher, insect control in particular, but a high-level Brute popping up would raise suspicion as well.

Luckily, Tock Tick’s time as the Butcher had been short enough most people weren’t even aware of it, so if I presented myself as a Tinker, nobody would make the connection. It still hurt the man’s pride, but it was my best bet at avoiding a witch hunt.

So, layered silk as an undersuit, and thick steel plate on top. It’d keep me safe, misdirect people about my power, and look pretty cool too. The fact that it was almost completely opposite from the Teeth’s usual aesthetic of spikes and bones on leather was an extra bonus.

“But it’s so boooorrrinnng,” Firecracker whined. “You’ll just look like a little wind-up soldier- you need to jazz it up! Add some blades, or some creepy symbols!”

I pushed her down as I finished checking the cloth and moved downward. The armour pieces that I’d finished were on the bottom shelves, along with the materials that I’d scavenged over the last two weeks. I knew enough from Tock Tick’s experience not to make the rookie mistake of ordering everything online, or to scrounge too much from scrapyards, since gangs watched them specifically to snatch up Tinkers.

Stoneknapper’s power had proved its worth there- I’d simply located a condemned warehouse, ripped out one of the girders, and brought the pieces home a bit at a time to mould into the pieces I needed. Since I no longer required sleep, thanks to Nemean, I’d managed to work through the nights and get the breastplate and legs done. It wouldn’t be very good quality compared to other Tinkertech, but that would further my image as a new, unexperienced cape.

“Please tell me we’re going to upgrade it soon though,” Tock Tick pleaded. “This stuff could be so much better if we use the right materials.”

“I promise, Tock,” I replied wearily. I liked the guy, but after I’d started using his power heavily, he’d begun getting really pushy about trying to incorporate the ideas he’d had over the years as a disembodied mind.

I grabbed a chunk of metal, some tools, and a music player I’d found, and carried them over to Dad’s old workbench. As an afterthought I set the ants I’d collected to start tunneling further into the soil, digging out chambers I could store more black widows in. Larger insects were tasked to carry the soil out for them, and to reinforce the tunnels with various secretions; there were even some worms breaking up the soil for the ants.

The rustle of the swarm and the soil added to the ticking of the loom as I slipped on the headphones and hit play. After several solid days of arguing, bargaining and outright pleading from the collective, I’d given the Butchers a choice of music as something to keep them occupied, since I wasn’t planning on drinking or starting fights, let alone their more disgusting habits. Tonight was Vladimir’s turn, which meant a weird mix of jazz and disco.

I hit play and laid a hand on the metal, letting the shapes I needed bloom out of its surface. I plucked the first segment off with tweezers, a wide piece to go on the back of the hand, and fixed it on to a stand as the next segment started to form, picking up a couple of pins to link them together.

A sense of peace settled over me as I worked away, adding tiny pins and rivets to each new joint, while the bugs wove and dug and carried and ate. The music flowed into my ears, with the ticking of the loom a muted metronome at the edge of my hearing. Tock Tick watched through my eyes as the index finger started to take shape, offering tips on how to layer the plates to balance flexibility with durability.

I loved these moments. I didn’t have to deal with kids at school that I suddenly felt so much older than, or worry about how to rebuild my relationship with Dad. Even the Butchers were more subdued after I’d made it clear I would shove away anyone who interrupted, talking among themselves or just listening to the music.

Ever since I’d woken up in the hospital with voices raging in my head, and heard from a gossipy nurse how Butcher had died, these moments were the closest I’d come to being alone.

Chapter Text

January 21^st, Arcadia High School

The computers in the school library were leagues ahead of the outdated clunkers and Winslow, and certainly better than the computer at home. I had several tabs open to work on my current project, zipping back and forth between them while I scribbled ideas into a notepad.

The costume was nearly finished by now- I just needed to finish the left leg of the leggings and the left gauntlet tonight, and I’d be ready to go out on the street and kick ass.

But before all of that, I needed a name. If I didn’t pick something myself, I’d be stuck with whatever the PRT or PHO gave me, and I remembered awful things about that. Vladimir had literally had to spell his name in blood on a billboard before they stopped calling him Sanguine.

The Butchers weren’t making this any easier on me- their suggestions mostly consisted of profanity. Tock Tick was the only one trying to be helpful, and that was because I would be effectively claiming his powerset.

“Gearhead?” I hummed a negative. Tock Tick tutted, then tried another name after a moment of thought. “How about Flywheel?”

“Christ you suck at this,” Firecracker grumbled.

“Name yourself for a quality, perhaps,” Muramasa said reasonably. “This city has Gallant and Dauntless after all.”

“How about you name yourself after a-” Quarrel’s sentence dissolved into a storm of profanity; I just rolled my eyes and pushed her down again, then clicked over to a different tab.

Synonyms for Brave: Courageous, Plucky (“What are you, five?” Bearskin demanded), Fearless, Valiant was already taken by a hero in Florida, Intrepid-

I paused to write the last one down- that actually sounded pretty good, even if the Butchers disagreed. Still, I needed more options.

I clicked on the next tab, open to synonyms for hope. Aspiration, want, belief- nothing good there. A link lower down did catch my eye- a site for myths about hope. I clicked on it out of curiosity.

The page loaded with a slight flicker on the screen, to a website in black with blue text. The page I was on had a picture of an old clay jar at the top.

“Pandora’s box?” Needler queried. “What on earth does that have to do with hope?” I remembered something about hope in the myth, but I didn’t know the specifics, so I started reading. Pandora the first woman, created by the gods as a bride for Epimetheus, the brother of Prometheus. The gods had set her up by creating her to be curious and then giving her a jar full of horrors and evils, which was later mistranslated as a box.

“Damn. I always thought she was just a moron,” Firecracker commented cheerfully. “I mean, someone tells you, ‘don’t open this box, it’s full of evil’, ya gotta be pretty dumb to open it.”

“As if you wouldn’t do it just for fun,” Bearskin snorted. Firecracker shrugged, or at least gave off the feeling of a shrug.

“Fair enough.”

There was more to the myth- the one thing left in the jar after disease, famine, cruelty, sadness and everything else had escaped was the spirit of hope, who refused to abandon humanity.

“Gee, stuck in a jar with a bunch of assholes, wonder what that’s like,” Tock Tick groused. The rest started yelling at him, and I started shoving down the ones that got too loud, but the majority of my attention was on the myth.

Tock Tick did have a point- there were some parallels to my situation. I’d been thrown into the Butcher’s shoes without any real choice in the matter, acting as a container for some of the worst of the worst. I clicked on the link for the spirit of hope, which took me to a page with only a few lines of text and a picture of some old coins.

The spirit was named Elpis, usually depicted as a young woman carrying flowers, as the coins showed. I rolled it around on my tongue even as I opened another tab and started a search. How would people say that? ‘The new hero Elpis’? ‘Elpis is a Tinker’? ‘Oh, Elpis couldn’t possibly be the Butcher’?

Butcher himself pulled away from the argument as he noticed what I was doing. “No! You are not embarrassing us by picking that shit! If you’re too dumb to go back to the Teeth and accept what you are now, then you’re not ruining us by calling yourself Hope-!”

I shoved him down reflexively. Honestly I was weirdly impressed that he’d managed to say that much before I’d pushed him back into the dark. The rest went quiet at that- Butcher spent most of his time in the dark by now, and they’d gradually learned not to mouth off too much.

“Just throwing it out there,” Stoneknapper began cautiously, “but naming yourself after hope seems kinda… cheesy?” I nodded vaguely as I scrolled through image results for ‘hope’- mostly artsy pictures of landscapes with ‘hope’ written over it, or flowers growing out of cracks in concrete. I added ‘symbol’ to the search and tried again.

Stoneknapper had a point, as he usually did. Naming myself Elpis would be a little tacky- it took serious power to be able to name yourself after a myth and not look stupid. The heavy hitters like Legend or Myrddin could manage it, or even Panacea, but being a street-level hero with that name sounded a little silly.

Except- I hesitated as the idea formed in my head- that was what I wanted. I wanted to distance myself from the Butchers and their legacy. Having a name so trite and sappy would go a long way toward that. I’d insult their memory every time someone said my name.

“You’re a spiteful little bitch, you know that?” Anchorage commented cheerfully. She felt more amused than anything else. I didn’t bother to deny it, too focused on a new page of quotes I’d opened up.

Then there was a stirring in the dark of my mind. I stopped everything else and focused on the presence I’d heard only a few times.

Flinch had had the worst of it in his time as the Butcher- nobody had really believed Vladimir’s claims of gaining Butcher’s powers and mind at the time, but once the two of them had been transferred to Flinch, and broken down his mind and will to live over the course of two weeks, the Butcher’s legend had begun. As for Flinch himself, he’d spent the last 20 years as an unwilling witness to every atrocity the others had committed, until he’d curled in on himself and shut out everything.

I pushed everyone else to the side before they could say anything, and let Flinch take his time, like a wounded animal. Eventually he managed to muster up the words “H-hope. It s-sounds nice.”

“I’m glad you think so,” I said gently. That one sentence seemed to exhaust him- he slipped back into the dark again and clammed up. After a moment, I let the others rise up again.

Bearskin broke the silence. “We’re not talking you out of this, are we?”

“Not a chance,” I said. A fly I’d hidden on the minute hand of the library’s clock felt it tick forward, so I got up, closing the tabs and shoving the notes into my bag. I felt strangely light as I made my way to the last class of the day.

I had horrible memories of Gym class ever since I’d started high school; If there was a game, I’d be picked last, and targeted with the ball by the opposing team while the team I was on tripped and pushed me at every opportunity. If we were just doing drills or planned exercise, I’d just have to deal with insults thrown at me every few seconds.

My good mood had steadily evaporated as I’d got changed and filed into the gym. Then the teacher announced that we were doing dodgeball, and my stomach dropped like a bowling ball.

Even if I was bulletproof now, even if I didn’t feel pain, that didn’t stop the dread I associated with Sophia aiming for my face for a solid hour. I’d mostly just covered myself and taken a hit as soon as possible so I could sit out, and even then they’d ‘accidentally’ manage to hit me on the bleachers sometimes.

“Don’t forget that you’re stronger now,” Tactical reminded me. “You’ll have to hold back extensively.”

“Yeah, or someone’s gonna be all over the wall!” Dirty Rotter cackled. I shoved him down as hard as I could, wishing for the hundredth time that I could bring something more unpleasant to bear on him.

Two girls were picked, seemingly at random as opposed to ‘most popular’, and they started going back and forth picking teams while the teacher lined up the balls on the centre line. I stood at the back of the group, trying to blend in while I fretted.

“Yo, tall girl!”

I’d managed to hold back my strength the last few weeks without any major incident, other than crushing a fork accidentally, and I’d used Stoneknapper’s power to fix it immediately.

“You in the back, with the glasses!”

But besides Tactical’s memories of first aid, I didn’t have anything that could fix a person if I broke them- everything I had was geared for brutality and bloodletting in some capacity.

“Hey, you deaf or something?”

No, no, I’d be fine. I just needed to get out as soon as possible, not let myself even touch the ball. And I’d have to fake a reaction when it hit me. God, would I even feel it? Nemean’s invulnerability was weakened from her, but it was still enough to take a shotgun to the gut without flinching-

Someone pushed at my shoulder gently, startling me out of my thoughts. Literally everyone was staring at me, and I felt myself starting to hunch up under the attention. One of the captains beckoned impatiently.

“C’mon, you’re on my team, let’s go already!” I blinked in surprise and hastily jogged over. The captain rolled her eyes as the pickings continued.

The girl to my left looked at me confusedly. “Uh, you alright? You were really out of it.”

I shrugged and hunched my shoulders a little. “Yeah, just… lost in thought. I, uh, didn’t really do too well in Gym before.”

“How come? I mean, you look fit.” I glanced down at my arms- I’d always been naturally skinny no matter what I did, which meant that the results of the various Brute packages and Needler’s regeneration stood out like rocks on a string. I wasn’t exactly disappointed at gaining muscles with minimal effort, but the change was too sudden for me to be used to it yet.

“Dallon, let’s rock!”

I glanced up at the name- a mop of brown frizz with a freckled scowl underneath walked over to the other team. A shock ran down my spine, while the Butchers started chattering away. There was a world of difference between seeing Glory Girl across a crowded room and seeing Panacea not ten feet away from me.

“That’s Brandish’s daughter? Damn, she really doesn’t get it from her mama,” Firecracker mocked.

Vladimir radiated agreement. “She’s definitely familiar though. Maybe it’s that Dallon brand of bitchiness.”

“She looks tired,” Nemean grunted.  I had to agree with her the most- secondhand memories of tangling with New Wave weren’t particularly clear, but I could see the slump in her posture and the bags under her eyes for myself.

The last girl went to our team, and I shook myself out of my thoughts. I could speculate about other people later. Right now I just had to get through this without hurting anyone.

Dad had a bemused expression as I dug into the pasta. “Built up an appetite today, huh?” he asked awkwardly.

I nodded while I finished my mouthful. “Mm. I had gym today. Dodgeball. It was fun.”

It actually had been- despite my worries about not being able to control my strength, I’d managed to be involved. I’d even enjoyed myself towards the end. That, plus finally taking the plunge and making small talk at lunch had left me in a good mood by the time I’d got home.

I’d still had to let myself get hit early on in the games though, just to avoid standing out as overly athletic so I’d let myself get hit in the leg and faked a whine of pain as I’d left the court. Not too loud though- I wasn’t sure if Panacea would volunteer to help someone who got hurt in Gym, but I figured I’d be better off if I never got close to her.

Dad looked pleased as I recounted how I’d been drawn into gossip at lunch about the shops down at the Boardwalk- apparently there was talk of a cape opening a business down there. “That cape with the dolls,” I waved my fork vaguely, “Parian? I think she donated some dresses to a charity auction and got a lot of business from the publicity. So now she’s opening a shop.”

Dad whistled. “That’s impressive. Clothes made by a cape. Does that make her a, uh, a Tinker? They’re the ones that make things, right?”

“Really flattering description there,” Tock Tick grumbled.

“Oh hush,” I chided him. Out loud I answered, “I don’t think so. Tinkers make super-advanced tech, like Armsmaster or Dragon. I think Parian can control fabric, so she can just wave her hands and make the clothes like-” I snapped my fingers, “-that.”

“Right, right. I just thought of clothes that’d make you fly or something.” Dad took another forkful of pasta with a shrug.

“That would be kind of cool.” I admitted. “Parian’s stuff is supposed to be really expensive anyway, because it’s- well, not handmade, I guess you’d call it power-made? But Frankie said she can weave something together super-fast with all kinds of really tiny details, like patterns a few threads across.”

“Which one’s Frankie again?” Dad asked as he finished his mouthful.

“The artsy girl. I was sat next to her at lunch.”

“Right.” Dad paused and smiled a little. “I’m glad you’re making friends.”

I fiddled with my fork. “I mean, I’ve only had one conversation with her. Not that I don’t think she’s friendly, just- right now she’s more of an acquaintance.”

Dad looked slightly crestfallen, but didn’t push the point. I hastily changed the subject. “So how was work? Any good news?”

Dad perked up as he started explaining how there were some new contracts coming through for warehouse work, and how he’d been able to negotiate a higher number of placements, while I nodded along.

After dinner, and a few sitcom episodes with Dad, I headed upstairs to finish my homework, slipping on the headphones to play Anchorage’s playlist of rap and metal. At the same time, I checked the map of the city I’d tacked to the wall above my desk, where I’d marked out in a coded pattern where I’d be going tonight, as soon as I’d finished the last pieces of the costume.

Rationally, I knew that I should double-check the armour first, put together some simple weapons, and wait a little longer for the fear of Butcher’s return to die down before I made my debut in costume, but by this point I was as wound up as one of Tock Tick’s springs, as much from my own wish to get out and actually do something as the second-hand tension bleeding through from the Butchers.

The gangs were starting to lose their fear too- my time away was now a week longer than any previous Butcher had managed to resist, and plenty were by now certain that Butcher 15 was either dead or no longer in the city. What I’d read on PHO and overheard on my scavenging missions, filtered through Bearskin’s recollections and Tactical’s Thinker power, suggested that the Empire was gearing up to push the headless Teeth out of the city.

As much as I wanted to jump into the middle of that, taking out members of the Teeth and the Empire both, I didn’t want to start off against the gang who were most familiar with the Butcher, or the gang with the most capes.

Instead, my target for tonight would be the Archer’s Bridge Merchants. Despite the name, they hadn’t held territory around Archer’s Bridge for years, having been pushed out by the ABB; even the bridge itself was smashed to rubble now. Instead they mostly stuck to the Trainyards and the Boat Graveyard up in the north of the city- places filled with scrap and abandoned buildings.Despite Tactical’s grumblings about how broadcasting your location in your very name was a bad idea, the Merchants had survived like cockroaches, beneath the notice of everyone else. Their main, almost sole, source of income was drugs, and they weren’t smart enough to avoid sampling their own product. Plus, the only territory they could really hold was the abandoned industrial spaces in the Docks.

“This’ll work out well for us then,” Tactical mused., more cheerfully. The others turned their attention on him, Nemean speaking first.

“How’s this help us?”

“Less civilians around, no occupied buildings; that means we won’t have to worry about collateral damage?”

“Are you out your gourd?” Dirty Rotter said incredulously. “Since when have we ever given two wet shits about collateral damage?”

Tactical rolled his eyes, or at least the mental equivalent of that. “Never, but Taylor does. She’ll be able to cut loose this way. And before you try to act like you don’t care how she does things, I know you’re all as bored as I am with the lack of action.”

There was a pause, the kind you get when everybody’s thinking the same thing but nobody wants to admit it. Firecracker broke it first with her customary lack of patience.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” She groaned. “Fine, it’s true, we’re al bored as shit. Hey four-eyes,” she directed at me, “Promise me you’ll break some bones tonight, if you’re not gonna use the coolest power you’ve got.”

“Yeah, how about no?” I fired back, splitting my attention between the conversation, the math sheet I was filling out, and the spiders I had running around in my little alcove. I took a moment to scribble a note on a scrap of paper- cut tunnel frm chute to loom, no need send thru bsmnt- before I filled in the next problem.

Firecracker booed. “You’re no fun.”

“C’mon, they’re a bunch of druggie losers,” Bearskin wheedled. I didn’t even know he knew how to do that. “They’re probably getting kids hooked on crack- you’re doing the world a favour by smashing them into the dirt.”

I shoved him back a bit as a warning. “If any of you try to talk me into hurting people unnecessarily again, you can join Butcher,” I indicated the space where Butcher was thrashing and ranting impotently, too muffled to make out his words, “And I won’t let you up until the morning.”

That shut them all up quickly, and I managed to finish the sheet in relative peace.

Four hours later, Dad had turned in for the night. I gave it a little longer to make sure he wasn’t going to get up before I crept down to the basement again.

The loom had finished the last of the undersuit- a mask, long-sleeved top, leggings and gloves- and half an hour of Tinkering finished off the left gauntlet, plus some tweaks to the neck plates that I’d had an idea for during lunch.

I quickly changed into the undersuit, keeping my eyes closed the whole time. The constant presence of the Butchers was most awkward at times like this- the only thing worse was when I needed the bathroom; awkward didn’t begin to cover it.

The silk all fitted well, even the gloves, which had been the hardest to make. I put the mask on last, once I’d pinned my hair up into a tight bun. I’d had to shape the mask and the helmet specially to allow for it, but as much as I would have liked to leave my hair hanging loose, I needed to conceal as much detail about myself as possible. I fiddled with the lenses a bit to make sure they fit over my eyes right- I’d pulled them from a pair of swimming goggles, mirrored prescription lenses that turned my eyes into wide mirrors.

Once the undersuit was fully on, I started on the armour. First the segmented breastplate; I flexed as I locked it into place, to get the supports around my ribs and along my spine properly aligned, so the armour would follow my movements exactly.

The legs went on next, thighs and calves, plus the boots that encased the trainers I was already wearing. Then the arms, from shoulder to elbow, and then the gauntlets locking onto there. I flexed and wriggled my fingers to make sure I had full range of motion, then picked up a screwdriver off the bench and tossed it from hand to hand. The silicone grips I’d added to the fingertips and palms worked well- just plain metal wouldn’t have had much traction.

Tock Tick kept dreaming up ideas for improvements and advancements as I flicked my wrist and twitched my fingers a certain way. The panel on top of the left gauntlet split open and aside, and the grappling hook assembly I’d built in moved up and out. It looked like two crossbows, stripped down and compressed, then stuck on back to back, with reels of cord in the middle.

I retracted it with another gesture, and checked the right assembly before I came to the final piece. The full-face helmet, in two pieces right now, with only a thin slit for the eyes and a grid of holes in the jaw guard as any kind of opening.

I slipped the main part on over my scalp, attaching the clasps under the ears and the nape to the overlapping plates covering the neck, and then the jawguard, locking it on with a J-shaped motion. I took a breath, feeling the pull of air through the outer openings and the filter I’d assembled inside, then let it out- the sound was deeper, with a metallic echo to it.

I spent a couple of minutes flexing my arms, lifting my legs, rolling my shoulders and twisting my neck to make sure all the joints worked. As they all checked out, I advanced to walking around, then a bit of shadowboxing. The armour followed my every movement almost soundlessly, nothing but a slight whisper of steel to be heard. I even turned a cartwheel for the first time in years, feeling light as a feather.

Finally, I grabbed a chunk of steel off the shelf and held it up. Stoneknapper’s power flattened it out, smoothed it to a mirror shine, until I could see myself in it.

What I saw was a slim figure in dull grey armour, silvery eyes peeping out from the visor. Every square inch was covered by overlapping plates. There were raised ridges along the bracers and greaves, and a crest along the top of the helmet. A belt full of useful bits and pieces was slung around the waist.

“Coulda maybe done something with the chest,” Firecracker said slyly. It took me a moment to realise she was making yet another joke about my lack of bust. Unfortunately, she did have a point- with the armour making my shoulders wider and hiding everything feminine about my figure, I could probably be mistaken for a boy very easily.

I shook it out of my head- I could always tweak it later, but for now I just wanted to get out and use my powers more freely. I put the steel back on the shelf, sealed the door shut, and made for the stairs.

“Uh, are you just going to go out in costume like that?” Tock Tick asked. I paused at the foot of the stairs, unsure what he meant. Quarrel snickered, apparently at my expense, but didn’t say anything.

“He means you shouldn’t be seen in costume near your house,” Muramasa explained impatiently. I looked at my armour again. The armour that I’d been planning on walking up the stairs, out the door and down the street in. I hung my head in realisation at my glaring oversight.

“Fuck.”

Chapter Text

January 22^nd, The Docks

Once I was several streets away from the house, I’d stopped in an alleyway, using bugs to check nobody else was nearby. I was getting better at controlling them, using them to monitor people in real time. Still, this was past midnight in January, so there wasn’t really anyone around. Not that there were many people around in the Docks at all.

“This place really has started to die,” Vladimir complained mournfully. “Back in the day, even in snow, this place would be heaving with people. Land of opportunity.”

“Ah, cheer up,” Anchorage insisted. “We’re finally getting some action, even if it’s the kiddy ‘no killing’ kind.”

Despite their enthusiasm, and, admittedly, my own, I’d made sure I was prepared for this. I had pouches full of zipties, a first-aid kit fastened to the small of my back, pad and paper for any details, and my freshly charged burner phone in a reinforced compartment. I was also wearing thermals under the silk for extra insulation; of all the powers I’d gained, there wasn’t anything to keep me warm. Even pain immunity wouldn’t keep me from shivering.

At any rate, I’d snapped every piece into place quickly, and then taken to the roofs. Even weighing about 200 pounds total with the armour on, it was easy enough to jump the gap between buildings, and where I couldn’t, the grappling hooks proved their worth.

I started using them more and more as I went deeper and deeper into the Docks- the warehouses and factories were each surrounded by parking lots and loading bays, now cracked and overgrown with weeds, and that spaced them out more.

The grapplers worked just as I’d designed them. Flick my wrist to extend or retract them, twitch a finger to fire the first bolt, which would hit a wall or roof. The impact would activate the mechanism to fix the bolt in place- if it had sunk through a surface, then it would extend grippers from the head. Otherwise the screw bit would spin up and bore itself into the wall.

Then I’d fire the bolt on the back into the roof I was standing on, hit a switch, let the grappler pull me across as the front retracted and the rear unspooled cable, then detach and retract both while I fired the other grappler. I wasn’t quite moving at Tarzan pace, but it was faster than walking.

“Be faster if you just teleported,” Firecracker grumbled for the fifth time tonight. I rolled my eyes in response.

Even as I moved along, I kept the few bugs I’d found able to brave the cold looking out for anyone on the streets, occasionally adding bloodsight to peek into buildings, but all I found were people sleeping rough inside. A few stirred as I landed on their roof, but nobody woke up.

I was grinning under the armour. I wished I could teleport out in the open, instead of the few times I’d found a warehouse isolated enough to try, but this was a decent substitute. The cold air seemed to find the most miniscule cracks in the armour and worm in like a sadist’s knife, and it was starting to snow, but the feeling of constantly ziplining between buildings was wonderfully fun.

When I’d first decided on taking out the Merchants, I’d only thought of attacking their base and taking out the capes in one fell swoop, until Tactical’s Thinker power had brought up the problems in that. In retrospect, having most of the Butchers agree with me should have been a warning sign.

I still had no first-hand experience in a fight, let alone against capes, and certainly not enough to take on three at once, with one of them a Tinker in her lair. A few dozen baseline gangbangers would serve as good practice before I took out the leadership.

The other problem was that, contrary to the old adage of ‘cut off the head and the body will die’, if I decapitated the Merchants, then all the drug dealers and lowlifes that made up their ranks would simply disperse into the streets. That seemed to be the reason why the Protectorate had never simply rolled in with a couple of squads and flattened them- they served as a collection point for the scumbags that the ABB and E88 wouldn’t recruit, making them one medium-sized problem instead of a dozen little ones.

So tonight, I’d be taking out a production facility I’d stumbled across while I was carving up old factory machinery for the metal- A meth lab hidden in an old factory, in one of the many facilities that dotted the Docks. The fumes coming out of the chimney were a pretty obvious sign, but in this part of town, nobody cared enough to interfere.

I’d sent my bugs out to scout for me as soon as the location came within range, and by the time I stopped on the roof of the factory, I’d managed to slip bugs onto everyone in there, and I was now tracking their movements in real time.

“This is pretty damn useful,” Tactical commented. “Even if we never used the Master power for anything other than this, it’s still a huge advantage.”

“Feels super weird though,” Firecracker noted. “It’s like having thousands of fingertips moving around the place.”

Vladimir spoke up suddenly- “Hey, think we could use this for shooting? Stick a bug on someone, you’ll always know where to aim.”

“Hey, yeah!” Firecracker switched her focus to Quarrel. “Come on, don’t be grumpy, Q. This could work pretty well with your aiming.”

“Piss off.”

I switched to bloodsight even as the conversation continued. There were more people in the factory than I’d expected- a delivery maybe? Or had they just invited some friends around to get high with?

Whatever the reason, there were 18 people in there where I’d expected 10 at most. Several were standing around a bunch of tables set near the factory’s old brick fireplace, fiddling with the various paraphernalia they’d cobbled together to cook, while the rest were scattered around the place, flopped onto various bits of furniture or leaning against the walls.

I almost jumped right in, but Tactical’s Thinker power- which, despite Firecracker’s wheedling, I refused to call strategy-sense- drew me to the edge of the roof, to look down at the doors. The Merchants had apparently had enough forethought to post a lookout, a scraggly looking man smoking an equally scraggly rollup, occasionally shivering as the snow settled on him.

I stepped back and fired both grapplers into the roof, gave a quick tug to make sure they were secure, then simply stepped forward and off the edge of the roof. The speed regulators I’d added kicked in after a few steps, slowing my descent to just above walking pace, letting me literally walk down the wall toward the lookout.

“Okay, I’ll admit it,” Anchorage said grudgingly, “This is pretty cool.”

The reluctant compliment was nice, but I was busy trying to focus as the ground approached. The collection of instincts and reflexes that the Butchers had accumulated was a whole other animal to the Butchers themselves, and not as easy to supress. So when I thought about wanting to take out the guard, I had to focus on the non-lethal method, as opposed to breaking his neck, or driving a knife into his brain, or that sweet spot left of the fourth lumbar down that was practically highlighted by Needler’s minor Thinker power.

Instead I lowered myself down to him, quiet as a whisper, until our heads were barely a foot away. Then in one movement, I released the grapplers, dropped down behind him, and wrapped my arm around his neck. He immediately struggled, but I used my free hand to jab him in the armpit and thigh with stiff fingers, numbing the nerves there, before covering his mouth to muffle his shouts.

“Could just hit him on the head,” Bearskin griped. I rolled my eyes even as the lookout’s struggles slowed.

“Yeah, no chance I’d actually hurt him doing that,” I thought as sarcastically. Eventually the guy passed out, so I gingerly lowered him to the ground and searched through his filthy jacket. There was a length of pipe tucked inside that I liberated, a dime bag of weed, and a burner phone. I pocketed the phone, then carried the pipe to the double doors, threading it through the handles before bending it in a circle.

With the rest of the Merchants unknowingly trapped inside, I slung the lookout over my shoulder and fired my grappler again, swiftly moving back to the roof. I would have just left him there, but in this kind of cold frostbite was a real concern.

“Oh, come oooon,” Rotter complained. “He’s supposed to be the enemy, remember? You don’t have to give a shit about them!”

“Maybe you don’t, but I do.”

Rotter tried to press the point, but I gave him a shove to quiet him as I reached the roof and jogged to the stairwell. The door wasn’t locked, so I crept in and down the stairs to a balcony overlooking the factory floor. I let the lookout down and tied his wrists to a railing for good measure, then checked the Merchants over with my own eyes for the first time.

Most of them were now gathered around a fire in a barrel, passing around a joint and a bottle of liquor. The rest were still busy cooking up the meth, wearing cobbled-together protective gear that somehow made them look even less threatening than the guys getting stoned.

I briefly considered waiting for some of them to get up and wander off so I could pick them off one by one, then dismissed the thought. None of these guys could be a threat to me even if they had heavy weaponry.

“Hey, how about a dramatic entrance?” Firecracker directed my attention upward to the girders holding the roof up. I quickly realised what she meant, and a horrible grin spread itself across my face.

I took a few steps back, then broke into a run and leapt off the side of the balcony. The nearest girder was 10 feet away and two feet higher. I landed on it easily, bending my knees to take the noise out of it. From there, I simply crept along the girder until I was just above the circle of increasingly wasted Merchants.

“God I love these moments,” Vladimir sighed. Of course the ambush specialist would enjoy this.

I put the thought aside, and simply took one small step forward, plummeting off the girder.

I landed just outside the circle, barely bothering to bend my knees. There was a shout of surprise at the loud thump, which was joined with cries of fear when I grabbed the two guys closest to me by their collars and threw them bodily across the circle into others.

The woman holding the bottle of hooch tried to throw it at me, but she was so wasted that she missed by three feet. Meanwhile the guy who’d been holding the joint- he was on his knees, clutching his throat and retching. A wisp of smoke trailed from his mouth.

“Hahahahahaa holy shit!” Firecracker gasped, “He swallowed the fucking blunt! Oh god, we shoulda had a camera!”

I winced at the thought of how much that hurt, even as I brought my arms up. One guy to my right came swinging wildly at me- I deflected the blow and popped him in the sternum, all with my right arm, then threw him into the black guy who was charging at me with a wrench. They went down in a tumble of limbs and groaning.

The woman who’d been drinking last tried to run, so even as I slapped the switchblade out of a guy’s hand and jammed a finger into the nerve cluster behind his ear to drop him, I kicked a chair across the floor to knock her over; she hit the floor hard, but judging by the swearing, she wasn’t badly hurt.

By now, the others had armed themselves, though none of them were attacking, too intimidated by how I’d laid out their friends. I didn’t give them the chance to find their courage, striding forward to close the distance.

A grubby guy with a neck tattoo panicked and dropped his stick, trying to circle around me to get away. I let him go as the others charged forward, riding the instincts to make it through. I slapped one guy out with a backhand, shattered the bottle swung at me with a jab of my fingers, drove an elbow into ribs, headbutted the guy with ratty dreadlocks, then threw a back-kick into the gut of Neck Tattoo, folding him up like a piece of paper.

Two heads clapped together cartoon style, a flurry of jabs to the ribs and a chop to the side of the neck dropped three more. The remaining guy took one look at me as I lowered the last of his buddies to the floor and bolted. To my disgust, the fly I’d sneaked onto his pants reported a feeling of wetness.

The meth cooks had all made for the door as soon as I’d dropped, and had been reduced to banging on it futilely as I strode over to them. I couldn’t even be bothered to run after them- better to let them tire themselves out.

They started turning as I got close, the fear on their faces visible even through the goggles they were still wearing. Wet Pants was still banging on the door, screaming every swear word I’d ever heard of, and a few I needed the Butcher’s memories to understand.

Then one of them, fat and sweaty, pulled the kitchen gloves off his hands and threw them to the ground with a scream. The danger sense pinged, and I hustled forward, but not fast enough to stop him from pulling a gun and getting a shot off.

He was holding it sideways in a way that no actual gunman ever uses, and his arm was waving wildly, so it must have been sheer blind luck that had the bullet hit me smack between the eyes. My head was thrown back from the force, helmet ringing like a bell.

“Holy fuck, the guy actually hit us?” Stoneknapper exclaimed. Nemean was not so calm about it.

“Gut him,” she snarled. I let out a long, rattling breath as I lowered my head to meet his gaze. The gun slipped from nerveless fingers to clatter on the cement, followed by his knees as he collapsed with a whimper.

I turned to the rest of them. “You know,” I said conversationally, “you could just surrender.”

A couple of them looked terrified enough to consider it, until the shortest jumped forward and tried to punch me in the jaw. I leaned back to dodge and slapped him on the back of the head to down him, but the damage was done- the rest bolted forward in a shrieking mass. I groaned in frustration, blocking a fist with an elbow, a kick with a back-hand, and caught a crowbar in my hand before yanking it out of the guy’s palm. I tossed it aside and pushed forward, laying them out with quick punches and a few low kicks to sweep their feet out from under them.

Just as I punched out another guy, another dove for the discarded gun, snatching it up with his left while he pulled his own with his right. I rushed forward as he pulled the triggers, clamping my hands down over the barrels as he unloaded the guns, screaming all the while.

Finally, the gunshots were replaced with empty clicks, and he dropped them, stumbling back from me. I let the guns slip from my fingers, then turned my palms up and opened my fingers, letting him see the flattened bullets I held before I tossed them aside and grabbed him by the collar.

Tock Tick wasn’t so impressed. “God, he ruined the palms. They’re dented all to hell now.”

Stoneknapper shrugged. “So what? She can straighten them out easy.”

“That’s not the point,” Tock retorted impatiently. “The armour couldn’t withstand small arms fire, ergo it’s insufficient.”

“Pistol fire from point blank range to the weakest part of the suit,” Tactical pointed out. “I’d say it held up great.”

Even while I eavesdropped on their conversation, I lifted the wannabe sharpshooter off the floor. “Come quietly,” I said with forced patience. “It’ll be easier on you-”

The guy sneered and spat in my face. “Fuck you, you greased-up cunt! You think you can fuck with Merchants? Skidmark’s gonna pull you apart from asshole to mouth-hole, and I’m gonna watch-!”

I spun and spiked him into the ground so hard he bounced- I caught him by the collar on the rebound, lifted him once more, and let him fall to the ground with a thud and a yelp. Then I dropped to a knee beside him and drew back an arm, ready to beat this stupid bastard into a literal pulp.

The Butchers cheered me on as I curled my fingers into a fist and stared down at his head, the fear blooming on the face of this little shit who thought he could talk shit to us and live-

I rammed all the Butchers down into the furthest recesses of my mind as hard and fast as I could. The sudden loss of mental noise and emotion was like cold water down my back, but I welcomed it. I uncurled my fist and turned the guy over, hands moving in a practiced motion to pull his wrists together and zip them up, even as he struggled some more and groaned.

I let him swear and yell as I grabbed him and a few of the others to take over to the fire, my body going through the motions. Inside my head I was reeling, even with the numbed emotions that came from pushing everyone down.

I’d lost control. Not for long enough to kill someone, but long enough to go too far, to hurt someone just because they’d made me angry.

Worst of all, I hadn’t been thinking in terms of I, Taylor Hebert. I’d been thinking in terms of us, the Butcher. They’d always repaid any slight or insult in blood- and if there wasn’t a grievance, they’d make one up, or just fight for the hell of it.

The collective raged and struggled inside the darkness of my mind as I dragged each of the Merchants over to the seats by the fire and ziptied their wrists and ankles in a numb haze, their groaned insults and moans of discomfort barely reaching me. I had enough presence of mind to take their phones as well before I wandered over to the workbenches.

I relaxed my grip on Flinch as I walked, feeling a measure of emotion trickle into my mind as he came up out of the darkness- I trusted him not to encourage me to maim and murder, at least. He didn’t say anything as I searched through the equipment laid out on the tables, pocketing the contents of the jar labelled ‘Expenses’. Possibly that was their funds to buy chemicals and more equipment.

At length Flinch cleared his throat. “Www- www- wwhat about the other g-guy?” I didn’t remember what he meant until he nudged my attention toward the balcony and the stairwell at the opposite end of the building.

Right, the lookout. Best to keep him with the others. I started toward the stairs.

“Y-you didn’t kill anyone.”

I leapt up to the balcony- only ten feet or so. The lookout had come around by now and was straining against the ties around his wrist- as soon as I showed up he stopped. I cut the ties and slung him over my shoulder, ignoring his renewed struggles while I answered Flinch.

“I came too close. Maybe I’m not ready for this.”

Flinch went quiet for a long while, long enough for me to pop the lookout down with the rest and re-tie his wrists, long enough I started thinking Flinch had curled up again. Then-

“I th-thought that too, m-my first night. Y-you’re doing better th-than I did.”

I sighed and sat down on one of the tables, pulling out my burner phone. “Thanks, Flinch.” He gave a mental shrug and curled up again, that one conversation exhausting him.

I tapped 911 into the phone, but hesitated over the call button.

Even numb as I was, the second-hand anger of the Butchers was seeping in as they inched up out of the dark- still too quiet to make out their words, but close enough to understand the tone. Angry not at the guy who spat on me, but at me for resisting them once again- it rattled around inside me like a lump of hot coal, making every breath taste like fire.

That they were angry at me was a distant comfort- I’d beaten them again, even by a narrow margin, and I’d celebrate that later. But right now I needed a second.

I put the phone down and turned my back to the fire, bringing my hands to my jaw, flipping the hidden catches on the mouth guard to take it off. The feeling of cold air on my mouth was a balm after so long in the stifling helmet- Note to self; improve ventilation and airflow without compromising filter; maybe an automatic pump to regulate it, with a mesh of activated charcoal? But that could wait for later.

I tilted my head back and took long slow breaths, watching them fog in the air as I breathed some of the rage out of myself.

Chapter Text

Saturday January 22^nd, The Docks

“Brockton Bay 911, what is your emergency?”

“Multiple injured criminals in a meth lab, corner of, uh-”

“Broadstreet and Vine,” Vladimir supplied. I repeated the address into the phone; I could make out the sounds of a keyboard as the man on the phone entered the address into the system.

“There’s a lot of drugs in here as well, I don’t know what you guys do for that, but I guess they can be charged with possession at least.”

There was a chorus of shouts from the Merchants, all tied up and dumped on the chairs. I wished I’d had something to gag them with as well. I cupped my free hand around my mouth and the phone to keep out the litany of curse words.

“Just to check sir, are you a cape? Can I get your identification?”

“Sir?” I almost shouted down the phone. The guy backpedalled immediately.

“Sorry, ma’am, I think the line’s not too good. Can I please get your identification?”

“There goes your chance to disguise yourself as the opposite sex,” Stoneknapper pointed out.

“Didn’t ask you, Knapper,” I countered indignantly. It might have been the smarter option to disguise myself that thoroughly, but I wanted to hold onto this much at least.

“Elpis. I’m a new hero, first night out.”

“How do you spell that?”

“E-l-p-i-s, that’s Echo Lima Papa India Sierra,” I recited, the NATO phonetic alphabet rolling off my tongue with ease. Another odd use of Tactical’s power.

More keyboard clattering. “Okay, we can have a couple of patrol cars to you in a few minutes. Are any of them injured?”

I shook my head, then remembered that he couldn’t see that. “No, I checked them all over, nothing worse than heavy bruising.” I mentally crossed my fingers at the slight lie- while they were mostly okay, the guy I’d bounced off the floor would be pissing blood for a day or so. I consoled myself that he’d recover quickly, if painfully.

“See, when you give them to the cops, they just get out on the streets again,” Bearskin sneered. “When we take them down, they stay down. Aren’t you being a better hero if you stop the problem completely- ?”

I pushed Bearskin down for that, hiding my worry carefully. Bearskin wasn’t the most cunning of the Butchers, but if he was changing tack to try and persuade me like that, then the others might start coming up with arguments that would be harder for me to refuse.

“He’s got a point,” Anchorage said slyly, confirming my fear. “You could’ve just torched the place and left them inside- way easier to do, and it stops-”

I shoved her down as well, just as the dispatcher spoke again. “Okay, we’ll have cars at your location in 3 minutes. Can you stay that long?”

“Uh, do I have to?” I didn’t think I was ready to talk to the police, but would it be better for me to give a statement, let people see me, and paint myself as an upstanding hero?

“You don’t have to,” the dispatcher admitted reluctantly, “but it’d help us a lot to get your statement.”

I idly picked up one of the phones I’d confiscated off the Merchants- judging from how he started thrashing about and renewed his yelling, the fat guy who’d shot me in the head was its owner. I fiddled with it as I tried to come up with an answer to the dispatcher.

To my surprise, the phone unlocked with ease. “Not like addicts are gonna be good at thinking ahead,” Firecracker pointed out.

I flicked to the main screen- and immediately recoiled at the sight. By contrast, the Butchers whooped and cheered at the image Fat Guy had set as the background.

“Oh, that’s the best kind of nasty!” Rotter laughed, poring over the obscene sight. Anchorage radiated agreement.

“Reminds me of a poster I used to have in my closet,” she said with a note of lusty nostalgia. “Got it out of a girly mag when I was 14, kept it in there for years.”

“Elpis? Are you still there?” The dispatcher’s voice broke me out of my horrified disgust, and I put the phone back to my ear while I flicked through a few circles of the menu and brought up Fat Guy’s recent texts, ignoring the groans of dismay and demands for more inside my mind.

“Yeah, sorry, I, ah, I got… distracted. I’ll stick around and give a statement, but I don’t think I can stay too long. I might have more to do tonight.” Possibly a lot more. Fat Guy’s texts had lots of map links in them, related to conversations with other people in the Merchants. Clearly Fat Guy was relatively well connected.

This phone alone was a gold mine of information. There was details of drop points, weed farms, places and times for deliveries. I tucked my phone between shoulder and head while I brought out my notepad to start copying down as much as I could. I spared half a second to realise I’d never been able to get the hang of that before- something learned from the collective.

Fat Guy was struggling even harder now, yelling insults at the top of his voice. Pretty brave considering he’d seen me tank a bullet to the forehead.

“Elpis, what’s that noise?” The dispatcher cut into my thoughts again, sounding vaguely worried.

“Well, seems these guys are kind of ticked off that I just took them all down and tied them up.” I finished with Fat Guy’s phone and picked up the next. Nobody reacted when I picked it up, so I wasn’t sure whose it was, but it was similarly without a password. Not nearly as much intel on it though.

“Still got a lot though,” Tactical noted with a satisfied tone. “I always love going up against idiots, especially idiots with no clue about opsec.”

I agreed with him, even as I added a few more notes. “Quick question,” I asked the dispatcher, “How far off are those patrol cars?”

“About- let me see- four minutes.”

“Got it. I’ll have the doors open for you. I’m going to hang up now, just to keep my hands free.” He started to say something else, but I ended the call and tucked it back into its compartment. Technically a lie, but I wanted to concentrate on the phones.

Unfortunately, it seemed Fat Guy had been the one highest in the hierarchy, because the rest of the phones had little to no new info for me. It seemed like most of these guys weren’t Merchants proper but friends invited over to kill their braincells in company. Still, it was enough to point me towards a few more operations I could shut down.

A line of bugs I’d laid out across the road outside was suddenly broken in two places. Car tyres. I tossed the last of the phones onto the table and got up. The Merchants started up again as I headed toward the front door, undaunted by my lack of reaction to their shouts.

There were two police cars and a large van parked outside, as far as the few insects I’d collected could guess, and bloodsight confirmed six people getting out of them as I reached the doors.

“Hey genius, you barred the doors, remember?” Quarrel jeered. “Didn’t think that one through, huh? Now you’re gonna have to go all the way back around and out to-”

I grabbed a door handle in each hand and gave a hard yank. I’d expected the handles would break off, maybe part of the doors, enough for them to open up. Instead, both doors came straight off their hinges, leaving me holding the double doors in their entirety.

Muramasa rolled his eyes. “If you had listened to me and brought a sword you could simply have cut the bar and opened the doors without this mess, but no, you had to insist on nothing but your bare hands, not even trained. Now we look ridiculous.”

Unsure of what else to do, I tossed them to the side with a clatter and turned back to the cops who were now staring at me. I could make out which ones had met capes before by their wary expressions, and which ones hadn’t by their wide-eyed gawking.

I struggled to think of something to say, not helped by the Butchers deliberately recalling all the times they’d beaten, shot, stabbed, and otherwise attacked cops. Anchorage in particular was running the cheesegrater incident through her thoughts on a loop, and she hadn’t even been responsible for that one.

I went with the first thing that came to mind. “Uh, hi?” I said, raising a hand. “Good evening- or, I guess it’s morning, I don’t-” I stopped and tried again. “I’m Elpis. New hero. Got the Merchants in there,” I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder, just as a very loud ‘Fuck you!’ echoed from the inside.

One of the cops nodded and stepped forward. “Alright, we’ll take it from here. Can you stick around so we can get a statement of how you did all this?”

“Yeah, sure.” I waited until he’d started into the factory to follow him, and after a second, so did the rest.

“Sorry about the doors,” I said to fill the silence. “I just built this suit, I’m still kinda getting used to the range of strength. I should probably build some tools in or something…”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” one of the cops said. “Those doors looked like they were about to fall off anyway.”

The first cop whistled as we reached the tied-up Merchants still trying to wriggle free of the zipties. “It take you long to get all these guys squared away?” he asked, raising his voice above the shouts.

I shrugged. “Not really. I spent more time tying them up than fighting them, and more time waiting for you guys than that. Not that I’m criticising or anything,” I added hastily, “I just mean it wasn’t difficult to get them.”

He shrugged right back- I noted from his sleeve that he was a sergeant. “No skin off my nose. Alright guys, let’s get on with it.” He motioned to the other cops, and they moved in closer, hauling the Merchants upright, reciting the Miranda rights and cutting the ties on their legs to march them toward the door. Some of the Merchants struggled and swore some more, but others seemed to realise they couldn’t really get out of it and went quietly.

“Make sure to search ‘em before you get ‘em in the wagon,” the sergeant called. “Remember that, Finster?”

“Come on sarge, that was one time,” Finster complained, hauling the guy with the neck tattoo up and making a show of patting him down.

“Yeah, one time when you missed a matchbox full of snow,” another cop taunted as he prodded the lookout guy into moving. There was a round of laughter from the rest of the cops.

Something occurred to me as I looked over the remaining Merchants. “Hey, that guy there might need to get his throat looked at,” I said, pointing. “He swallowed his blunt when I showed up. I gave him some water and a once-over, but I’m no doctor.”

“He swallowed it?” The sergeant looked confused for a second. “Wait, while it was lit?”

Firecracker started snickering again as I explained. “Yeah, so maybe want to have him looked at? If nothing else, he won’t be able to answer any questions if his throat’s messed up.”

“Hey sarge,” Finster called as he finished searching the guy I’d bounced, “None of these guys have phones on them.”

I raised a hand. “Sorry, that one’s on me. I took them to look through their messages.”

The sergeant turned to look at me with a crestfallen look. “What?” he said weakly.

“Well, I wanted to see if I could get anything on their operations…” I trailed off at the look on his face. It reminded me of Dad when I’d tried to make breakfast by myself as a kid and wound up flooding the kitchen. “Sorry,” I finished lamely.

The sergeant rubbed his forehead. “And I suppose you got your fingerprints all over them too-”

“No, no, I didn’t,” I held up my hand and waggled my metal-clad fingers. I’d even wiped the gauntlets with a cloth after putting them on to keep my fingerprints off the metal, after Tactical had mentioned a guy who’d been caught despite wearing gloves, because he’d left the fingerprints of one hand on the outside of the other glove while putting them on.

The sergeant perked up. “Well, alright then. I guess we can still work out which phones are whose back at the station.”

“This one belongs to the fat guy, not sure what his name is,” I pointed it out on the table, “It’s got loads of intel on it. Delivery times, caches, whatever. Doesn’t even have a password.”

“Hot damn.” The sergeant picked up the phone in one gloved hand. “Glad I sprung for gloves that work on touchscreens,” he muttered as he hit start.

“Uh, you should know-”

“Jesus!”

I winced. “Yeah, that.” The sergeant had gone red in the face.

“I don’t know if it’s illegal to have something like that on your phone, but I’m gonna try and charge the guy anyway!” He stuck the phone in an evidence bag with jerky motions, unaware of how the Butchers were laughing.

“Ahhhahaha! Wassamatta piggy, never seen the good shit before?” Anchorage howled.

Nemean joined in the conversation for once. “Don’t know what he’s upset at. It’s good porn.”

I cleared my throat. “You guys need me to do anything else? I could carry some of those guys if you want.”

The sergeant nodded, still looking disgusted. “Yeah. That’d be a help. And we’ll need your statement.”

“And then I called 911 and started taking notes off their phones, and that’s about it,” I concluded. Finster stopped the recorder he’d been holding and tucked it back into his pocket.

“Okay, that should do it. But,” he fiddled with his flashlight awkwardly, “I mean, you really shouldn’t have thrown that guy like that. His back’s just one big bruise.”

“I know,” I said guiltily. “I lost my temper, forgot how much the suit amps my strength, and…” I shrugged helplessly.

“I still can’t believe you told them,” Needler complained. “All your talk of trying to avoid being associated with us, and you admit to brutalising criminals the first chance you get.”

“I told them because it’s the right thing to do,” I snapped, fed up with the collective prodding at my guilt. “Unlike you guys, I don’t take pride in being a horrible person.”

“Give it time,” Rotter said, laughing even as I forced him down.

“Am I in trouble?” I asked tentatively.

At that, Sergeant Locke walked over from where he’d sat the last of the haul down in the wagon. “You’re not in trouble with us at least. This is a damn good haul for us. Still,” he gave me a stern look, “I may not be PRT, but we are going to be passing this along to them, and I know damn well heroes have to hold back some. This better be the first and last time I hear you spiking somebody like a Thanksgiving football.”

Despite the fact I could have folded this man in half like a piece of dry toast, I felt cowed by the air of paternal disapproval. “Yessir.”

“You fucking traitor,” Anchorage spat. I contemplated shoving her down, but considering her history with police, I decided to leave her be.

Sergeant Locke relaxed. “Alright then. Is that you done for the night?”

I shook my head. “I’ve got some great info right now- I want to act on it before the Merchants move again.”

“Yes!” Vladimir cheered. “More action tonight, folks!” There was a brutal cheer at his words.

Locke huffed in surprise, his breath fogging in the air. “Damn, you’re eager,” he muttered, before raising his voice. “Well, best of luck to you then. Just make sure to call it in when you find something.”

I nodded. “I look forward to working with you guys,” I said politely. It seemed like the right thing to say.

After a second of awkwardly trying to think of something else to say, I gave up on holding a conversation and started walking away across the street.

Just as I’d brought out a grappler to get to the rooftops, I heard Finster call out. “Hey, I forgot to ask! What the heck does Elpis mean anyway?”

I half-turned to see the officers looking at me. Apparently they all wanted to know as well. I shrugged and fired the grappler up and out behind me.

“It means ‘hope’.” Without another word I set the grappler to reel in, and zipped up the wall in one long movement, pushing off the wall with my feet to flip backward and land on the roof’s edge, looking down at the cops and the Merchants.

I took one last peek at Finster’s slack-jawed look of amazement, and then I turned away, heading east.

“So what now?” Tactical said, getting down to business as usual.

“I’ve taken out a lab already. So I’ve hurt their production, that leaves their stockpiles of drugs and their money.” I broke into a run as I reached the other side of the roof, clearing the gap to the next building in one long bound.

“I’m not going to hurt anyone else tonight,” I warned them. There was a round of disbelieving and mocking noises, but I held firm. “I mean it.”

“So what are you going to do?” Tock Tick asked reasonably. I felt my face split into a horrible grin.

“I’m thinking I’ll knock over a cache of money.”

“A cache of cash,” Bearskin commented. Needler turned her attention to him in disgust.

“Are you proud of yourself? Are you proud of that stupid joke you just made?”

I shook my head and continued onward, focusing on the journey.

The inside of my head might look like a madhouse, and I might have slipped up, but I’d caught myself before I could do anything irreparable, and scored some goodwill with the police.

I might be stuck with the Butchers, but I was finally starting to feel like I had them under control.

Chapter Text

Saturday January 22^nd, PRT ENE HQ

Emily rubbed at her forehead. She didn’t drink, couldn’t drink, hadn’t been medically capable of a drink in just over a decade, but a situation like this was making her want one.

“Do we have any idea,” she ground out, “why the Thinkers can’t come to a conclusion on this?”

Neither visitor volunteered a response. Not Armsmaster, sat in front of her desk on a reinforced chair, power armour freshly polished to a glossy blue, with his signature halberd on his back. The head was slightly different from last time she’d seen it- apparently the upgrade to his EMP generator that he’d submitted had been installed.

Not Miss Militia next to him, in her neatly tailored fatigues. Other people in her situation might have fiddled with their hair, the stars-and-stripes scarf around the lower half of her face, or the matching sash around her waist. Instead she was fiddling with her power- green and black energy arcing from one hand to the other restlessly, forming into a variety of different knives before dissolving again.

After a moment, Emily sighed and lowered her gaze to the screen on her desk, showing the message from the PRT’s Thinker division Watchdog, with their answer to what she personally considered a simple question; What is the status of the entity known as Butcher XV?

She hadn’t really expected a response along the lines of ‘Butcher is permanently dead’, but somewhere deep in her soul she’d hoped. Almost as good would have been ‘Butcher is weak and recovering’ or ‘Butcher has returned to Boston’. Mostly she’d been braced for the blow of ‘Butcher is building their strength’ or ‘Butcher is preparing for a surprise attack’.

Still, even accounting for just how notoriously unreliable Thinkers could be compared to every other category of cape, and the nonsensical ways in which powers like precognition and clairvoyance might express themselves, the answer should have been along the same lines, even if that was in terms of ‘2 out of 10’, or ‘purple shading to blue’.

Instead, there were a dozen or so results, and almost no two of them were alike. Butcher XV is active, Butcher XV is inactive, Butcher XV does not exist.

“Alright,” she said finally, turning back to the leader and second-in-command of East-North-East’s heroes, “since we don’t have any clear answers from them, we proceed as if Butcher XV will show up to lead the Teeth any day now, and we’ll keep to that assumption until we get a better answer.”

Armsmaster leaned forward slightly. “I’ve updated the list of possible leads on the Butcher’s identity.” He unfolded a small keyboard from his left forearm and started typing, accompanied by several small twitches on his face as he manipulated his HUD via facial gestures.

Emily clicked on the request for access that popped up on her screen, and the screen changed to show several images of local capes, with Butcher XIV’s face at the top and the long list of Butcher’s known abilities next to it. The display screen on the wall switched on to show the same, so Militia could see.

“There still haven’t been any signs of activity from the Teeth, or reports of extreme violence from new or unknown capes,” Armsmaster began. “However, we have had some changes to the list. For starters, we can eliminate Spektacular from the list of suspects; he’s resurfaced at last and hasn’t displayed any unusual behaviour- more than is typical for him, at any rate.”

Spektacular’s image was highlighted, and a short summary appeared next to it- Stranger/Shaker, a rogue who could create illusions, working at the local theatre. Other than the suspicion that his power extended beyond just illusions, he wouldn’t have been considered if he hadn’t disappeared right around the time Butcher died. The fact that the insects that had killed Butcher were confirmed to be very real had eased their suspicions of Spektacular, but they still needed confirmation.

“Can you elaborate on that? I’d prefer something more concrete than ‘not acting funny’.”

A muscle twitched in Armsmaster’s jaw at the jab, but he ploughed on with his explanation regardless. Possibly it wasn’t wise to needle Armsmaster’s ego, but then again the man was in desperate need of a reality check.

“Velocity found him last night on patrol, coming out of the theatre. It turns out he took some time off for mental health reasons. He quickly figured out that we were investigating leads on Butcher, and actually told Velocity his civilian identity as an alibi- Spektacular had a doctor’s appointment last week, including a blood test.”

Emily caught on to the line of thinking. “And since the needle went in, that means no toughened skin or Brute rating.”

“Precisely.” Spektacular’s image faded from the screen, and the next one expanded to fill the space; this time it was a video, grainy security camera footage, showing one man inside a storeroom of some sort.

“This next one was pulled off Parahumans Online.” Onscreen, the man teleported around the room frequently, each time producing a shockwave that sent the shelves around him toppling.

“Explosive teleporting,” Emily muttered. “That’s a strong possibility.”

Miss Militia spoke up for the first time. “The data analysts are running through the full video, but the quality isn’t good. Still, they think that the cape shown might be exploding as they disappear, rather than at the arrival point. Plus the crime scene didn’t show any scorch marks, or signs of other powers.”

It always had to be complicated. “Alright. We’ll keep an eye out for this one. What’s next?”

The next image was a still from dashcam footage. Several police officers were manhandling what looked like homeless people into a van, while an armoured figure stood off to the side.

“A new cape, reported in the early hours of this morning. A solo hero called Elpis. Claims to be a Tinker, used power armour and a grappling hook to hit a Merchant meth lab and handed them over to the police, then in a separate encounter, she found where the Merchants were storing some of their cash and emptied it out.”

Emily raised an eyebrow. “Unless she handed the Merchants over in pieces, that doesn’t sound like the Butcher.”

“True,” Armsmaster admitted with a shrug. “I included her more for completion’s sake.”

Miss Militia was reading the police report off the wall screen. “Nonviolent takedowns, only exception was a man who emptied two magazines at her, cooperated with the police- that definitely doesn’t sound like Butcher.”

“True. Put her at low priority unless she gets violent,” Emily instructed. “And make sure we get someone to talk to her, definitely try to sell her on joining us. We could always use more Tinkers.”

“Understood.” Armsmaster hit a few keys, and Elpis’s image shrank down to be replaced by the next.

There were several more capes on the list- heroes, villains and rogues, all independents, and none of them with anything concrete to tie them to the Butcher.

The whole thing reminded Emily of a training exercise back when she’d been just a trooper. The training area had been filled with a dozen dummy IEDs, one of which was supposed to be the ‘real’ one. The entire exercise had left her on edge, jumping at shadows, because she’d had to second-guess every choice and double-check every decision.

She’d absolutely hated that exercise.

Finally, Armsmaster wrapped up with the final cape on the list- a vigilante in a massive suit of armour, with a crude club in one hand. The whole ensemble must have weighed half a ton, but he didn’t seem at all encumbered.

“Konnigit has been ranked with low possibility of inheriting the Butcher powers, but his control over his metal combined with the strength to move it was similar enough to warrant a place on the list. He’s also been noted to use excessive force- several of the criminals he stopped were brought in with broken bones.”

Emily grimaced. Another violent vigilante on the streets. “Do we have any idea what the name is supposed to mean? Sounds Germanic- I don’t want to see another new Empire cape.”

Armsmaster shook his head a fraction. “Intelligence is checking the name, but they still haven’t matched it to any European language-” He broke off at the sound of a small but heartfelt groan from Miss Militia; a rare break from her usual professionalism.

Emily regarded her blandly. “Care to share?”

Miss Militia’s file noted that she’d undergone a lot of PR training in order to maximise what expression she had with her mouth perpetually covered. The pained look in her eyes seemed to prove that the training had paid off.

“You said it was Konnigit? Pronounced just like that?”

“That’s right,” Armsmaster confirmed bemusedly. “You’ve heard it before?”

“Yes,” Militia sighed. “It was in a Monty Python film.”

“…What?”

“Monty Python and the Holy Grail. In the scene where King Arthur and his knights arrive at a castle occupied with French soldiers, the soldier speaking to them says, quote ‘Ah blow mah nose at you, so-called Arthur King! You and all your silly English konnnnnigits!’ unquote.”

There was a pause as both Emily and Armsmaster tried to wrap their heads around Miss Militia quoting a British comedy film, including the accents.

Armsmaster cleared his throat. “How-?”

“Mouse Protector.”

“Right.”

“Getting back on track,” Emily said pointedly, “Konnigit is a Brute with some form of metallokinesis and signs of extreme violence, so right now he’s our biggest suspect as Butcher XV. Try to track him down and confirm things one way or another, and for god’s sake avoid provoking him. Keep looking for anyone else that might fit the bill; try looking into possible trigger events around where the Swarm showed up as well, see if anything pops up.”

The two capes nodded in unison. “Alright, I think that’s as much as we’re going to get out of this meeting. Dismissed.”

Only once the two of them had shut the door behind them did Emily let out a groan and rub at her forehead again.

Butcher and the Teeth had been pushed out of the city years before she’d become Director of PRT ENE, seemingly never to return, and she’d been glad of it. Trumps were rare and dangerous, but a Trump that only got stronger and more dangerous when someone killed them was a unique problem. The PRT casefile on Butcher still did not have any definite ideas on how to contain something like that.

One of the few things she’d never envied Director Armstrong over in Boston was having to deal with that walking clusterfuck. Except now said clusterfuck was somewhere in her city, dangerous in a whole new way, with one of the most aggressive gangs on the East Coast waiting to follow their orders, and the bastard was still refusing to send her any reinforcements from his overstocked roster of capes because the clusterfuck still hadn’t resurfaced!

Even if Butcher wasn’t coming back any time soon, the gangs were getting bolder as their fear of the unknown enemy was gradually replaced by their customary arrogance. The E88 were showing signs of arming up and closing in on the Teeth’s last known locations, getting ready to drive them out. The ABB were similarly moving- Lung himself had been spotted a few times, seemingly inspecting the troops.

The thought of what would be created if Lung killed the Butcher was something that Emily avoided thinking about as hard as possible.

Even the Merchants were poking their heads out again, most notably a rash of car thefts that would probably wind up as part of Squealer’s latest monstrosity.

And all that Emily had to stand between them and the city was a handful of emotionally damaged overgrown children, another handful of emotionally damaged actual children, and a few hundred brave troopers who were nevertheless completely outmatched against most of the capes in the city.

Business as usual.

Emily indulged herself with five more seconds of frustration before she straightened up and brought up the latest reports from the Intelligence department. Nobody had ever said this job would be easy, but she still intended to do it.

…God she wanted that drink.

Chapter Text

Sunday Jan 23^rd, The Docks

“Boooooored. Bored, bored, borororororororrred,” Firecracker chanted. I gave the mental equivalent of rolling my eyes even as I kept looking through my scope at the target. I was personally hoping this didn’t take too much longer- I’d told Dad I’d be wandering around the Lord’s Street Market this afternoon, so I wanted to finish up before he started to worry.

Bearskin joined in on the complaints. “We’ve been sat out here for an hour already. They aren’t coming- get off your ass and go crack some skulls!”

“You guys saw my memories of inheriting, remember?” Stoneknapper cut in. “Breaking into a Tinker’s hideout is never an easy thing to do.”

I shifted position from my perch on the edge of an apartment building’s rooftop, but I didn’t bother to join the argument- especially when Tock Tick started sniping at the lot of them. After a second’s thought, I poured myself another cupful of tea from my thermos and took a sip.

The weather was still frigid at best around this time of year, and even though it was early afternoon the temperature was barely above freezing. I’d made sure to wear double layers of thermals under my undersuit, and packed a hot drink. Jasmine tea, at Muramasa’s insistence.

Truthfully, I could have just jumped right into the old mechanic’s shop I was staking out and started taking out the Merchants inside, but I was hoping to make a much bigger catch today. This site seemed to be serving as a place for the Merchants to bring the cars they’d stolen, in order for them to carve them up and strip them for parts. Which meant that maybe, if I was patient, I could take out the Merchant’s most important member by myself.

Skidmark might have been the leader of the Merchants, but a low-level Shaker with terrible choice in names and a severe case of meth mouth couldn’t have kept a gang running in the Bay by himself. The real muscle was Squealer, the only Tinker in any of the gangs.

Her speciality was vehicles, and the images I’d dug up on the web all showed a theme of being grossly over-engineered and heavily armoured to the point of being able to treat small buildings as something to be driven through. But those were her big projects, for when the Merchants wanted to try and push against the other gangs. Most of her creations were regular cars that were souped up to be able to outrun the cops and still haul around the various drugs the Merchants dealt.

“You’re learning,” Tactical noted approvingly. “Tinkers are one of the first enemies to be removed- they can produce such a wide set of options that they’re a nightmare to fight.”

“Well, if she does show up, it’ll be Tinker against Tinker. If I can get her while she’s out of her ride, she’ll be an easy target.”

A couple of insects laying on the road around the corner died in unison as something ran over them. I turned my scope toward the sensation just in time to see what looked like an armour-plated truck cab turn onto the street with incongruous quiet, cutting through the thin dusting of snow on the ground. The snow ploughs didn’t come to areas as shitty as this after all.

“God, it even looks like it was made by someone on drugs,” Tock Tick said with a tone of disgust. The truck was bristling with extra antenna and lights, including a few that looked like disco lights. The wheels had blades sprouting from the axles, the grill had jaw-like plates on the front, and the side had lurid graffiti painted on, including the Merchant symbol of a large blue M with two vertical lines, like a dollar bill. A short, heavy looking trailer rode on the back, ugly welding lines marking out where armour plates had been added on.

It had to be Squealer’s work, which probably meant Squealer herself was driving. I put away the scope as the truck trundled down the road toward the garage and stood up, creeping forward to follow along the rooftops.

The truck stopped in front of the garage and reversed toward one of the doors, then stopped entirely. I snuck a gnat onto the underside to confirm there weren’t any vibrations from the engine.

“I wanna drive that thing,” Firecracker said suddenly.

“Are you serious?” Quarrel said as two guys climbed out of the cab, one blowing on his hands to warm them while the other lit a cigarette.

“Aw, c’mon, look at the fucking thing,” Firecracker wheedled. “It’s built like a fucking tank, with all kinds of cool shit packed in. How long’s it been since we had a good joyride?”

“That’s assuming the thing’s still going to be intact when all this is over,” Vladimir pointed out as I drew level with the garage, and the truck. I could see through the cab’s windshield now- nobody inside. Also a pair of fuzzy pink dice for some reason. No sign of Squealer.

“Bugger,” Rotter said vaguely. “Maybe she’s already gone inside?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. If she was here, she’d probably be driving her own work,” Tock Tick answered. “I guess she built that monstrosity for her help to make supply runs for her.”

“That vehicle is hardly a subtle affair,” Muramasa insisted. “Would she not be better off keeping her deliveries more low-key?”

Quarrel snorted. “Hayaki, that’s assuming Squealer’s got more than a handful of functioning brain cells left. She works for a guy named Skidmark, for chrissakes.”

While the debate about Squealer’s lack of brain continued, I turned and walked to the opposite side of the roof, unclipping a pair of short rods from my belt as I did. The Butchers picked up on the shape of my thoughts as I did so.

“Aw no, no, no,” Firecracker moaned. “Christ, this is gonna be awesome, but I still don’t want you to smash-”

I turned around again and broke into a run, sprinting toward the garage. Right as I hit the edge I pushed off with both feet, hard enough to send me sailing across the street.

“And an excellent launch there, but can she stick the landing?” Anchorage said gleefully as I plunged feet first- right into the engine of the truck, rocking it on its axles. The metal buckled inward with a screech, and I felt something heavier bend under my feet.

“And she’s made it, ladies and gentlemen!” Anchorage crowed. “That’s a 9.2, an 8.9, and a 7 from the Russian judge!”

I smirked as I pulled my feet free of the ankle-deep dents I’d left, idly shattering the windscreen with a kick as I stepped out, before hopping over the top of the cab and the little trailer to land right in front of the open door.

The Merchants were panicking, which was fine by me. A particularly short specimen was running for the back door as fast as his legs could carry him. Before any of them could come to their senses, I flicked the rods in my hands- they telescoped out into long batons, the tips crackling with electricity.

A fairly basic design- I’d bought a couple of wind-up torches yesterday with the money from raiding the cash drop, then ripped out the dynamos and given them a serious upgrade with extra coils and magnets. Extending the batons sent them spinning enough to build up a charge, and then pressing on the triggers in the handle could charge them further.

The two Merchants I caught with the tips helped me test the principle- they both yelled, spasmed, and dropped like sacks of potatoes. Unfortunately, that broke the others out of their panic, and into a mad rush for weapons to deal with me. More serious this time- there were racks of tools all over the place, from hammers to oversized wrenches. One guy picked up an acetylene torch, hefting the canister in the other hand.

While I and the others scoped out the opposition, Tock Tick was practically drooling at the materials inside the garage. There must have been five or six cars disassembled around the room, sorted into neat stacks of parts. Tyres, seats, headlights, batteries, suspension coils, brake pads, canisters of drained engine oil- there was also what looked like a couple of engines in the process of being rebuilt into one monster on a table.

“New plan,” Firecracker said with a tone of glee. “You beat the shit out of these guys, take their money, and use all their nice gear to build us a kickass ride. Deal?”

I spun the batons in my hands, just to give the Merchants a scare. “Deal.”

Without another word, I rushed forward, letting the instincts guide me. Jab one guy in the chest, catch his spanner on the tip as he dropped it, throw it into another guy’s face while disarming a third, drop low and elbow a fourth in the ribs, throw him into more.

“I told you practicing would pay off,” Needler said primly. Her thoughts had an overtone of smugness to them. Not that I could blame her- I’d spent a solid two hours last night practicing the Silat forms she’d mastered, strengthening the half-formed muscle memories I’d inherited. I was still nowhere near as good as her, but now I had actual technique backing me up.

The guy with the welding torch came in close, flame turned up to maximum. I ducked behind a couple of his friends, jabbing them in the kidneys with the batons as I circled around, then dropped one baton to grab his wrist while I elbowed him in the face.

He fell back with a squeal as his nose gushed blood, and I took the moment to turn off the torch and set it on the ground carefully. No sense in burning the place down.

“Duck!” Flinch called out, in synch with his power’s warning. I dropped low, and a sledgehammer whipped through the air where my head had been. The Merchant who’d crept up on me almost fell over from the swing, and then I kicked him in the back of the knee, and he really did fall. I jabbed him with the baton and held it there for a few seconds while he jittered.

I scooped up my other baton as I moved away, mantling over a table to hit one guy with a flying knee, then using my right baton like a rapier to parry the length of pipe his buddy swung at me. I turned it into a riposte, angling my weapon around his to flick it out of his hands before shoving the tip into his belly. The guy behind me didn’t fair any better- I reversed my grip on my left baton and thrust it back, catching him in the ribs.

“Seriously?” Bearskin asked as the guy somehow stayed standing, backing away with a snarl as he pulled a knife to go with his wrench. I was a bit puzzled too, but I didn’t dwell on it, darting forward to crack the batons down on his wrists, driving the weapons from his hands.

He yelped, but still tried to lunge at me, so I whacked him on both knees, then brought my own up to meet his face as he fell. Finally I jabbed him in the shoulders with the batons and let fly with the volts. This time he got the electricity, spasming for a moment before collapsing.

I turned the dodge of a thrown hammer into a crouch, pulling aside the guy’s jacket to see a thick vest wrapped around his chest. Standard bulletproof vest, police issue.

“Where’d some lowlife get Kevlar from?” Tactical pondered. I mentally shrugged as I straightened up to face the remaining goons. One grabbed at a stack of hubcaps and started winging them at me like frisbees. I had to fight back a laugh as I slapped them out of the air and started toward them.

“That may be the single most moronic attack I’ve ever seen,” Vladimir commented dryly.

The others seemed higher up the chain than Frisbee Man, since they all pulled pistols and started blazing away at me. I turned my walk into a run, zig-zagging to mess with their aim, then dropped low and kicked out at the empty table in front of me, sending it skidding across the room towards them. One dodged it, one took the hit and fell under it, and the last two were pinned to the wall by it. I caught the first as he ran for the door and jammed a finger under his sternum to knock the breath under him.

The two against the wall aimed at me again, so I tossed my guy to the ground before he got hurt and crossed the distance with a leap onto the table, grabbing their pistols and ripping them from their hands, tossing them over my shoulder as I did so. A couple of rabbit punches knocked the two of them senseless enough to stop bothering me.

The last guy had wormed his way out from under the table and was running for the back door, screaming his head off. I hopped down off the table, grabbed a wooden chair that had fallen over in all the commotion, and simply hurled it after him.

Even without Quarrel’s aiming power, the throw was a good one, smacking right into the back of his legs. He went over with a high-pitched yelp several feet from the door, struggling to untangle his legs from those of the chair. Before he figured it out, I’d strode over and hauled him up by his collar.

“Now I don’t want this to turn out like the last guy I offered this to, so think carefully. Come quietly-”

“HEEEEELP! HEEEEEEEEELP!” The guy started screaming at the top of his lungs toward the back door. “FOR FUCKS SAKE COME AND HEEEEEELLP!”

“What’s he on about?” Rotter asked. “There’s nobody left standing here, right?”

There was a horrendous screeching of metal from outside. I dropped the guy and hustled over to the door, quickly peeking my head outside.

The sound had come from a dumpster being dragged across the ground, and it had been dragged across the ground by the little guy I’d seen running away when I’d arrived, or at least, one arm of him.

The actual man looked like a pot-bellied shrimp of a man, right down to the boiled pink look of his skin. There was some thin hair visible over the top of his sack-cloth mask; his left arm was skinny, as bare as the rest of his torso despite the cold weather.

His right arm, and his legs, were another story entirely. Even as I watched, tendrils peeled off from his exposed skin, branching and extending to sweep up every bit of junk from the dumpster and the alleyway, pulling it in to join the piles of detritus that his other limbs had already become. A quick flicker of bloodsight showed me that the piles were held together by a network of those same tendrils weaving throughout the mounds.

He caught sight of me as the last of the trash and dirt was pulled into his new form, shifting all around him to form a humanoid figure about 8 feet tall.

“So you’re the fucker who thought messing with us was a good idea,” he sneered as a pile of junk formed around his face like the world’s most disgusting helmet. “Well, I don’t know what you were thinking, and I don’t care. I’m just gonna crush ya.”

I brought my batons up. I’d been prepared to take out a Tinker without any tech, an easy fight. I wasn’t prepared for my first real cape fight to be against a giant trash monster.

“What a glamourous life you live,” Needler sighed, as the figure started toward me.

Chapter Text

Sunday Jan 23^rd, The Docks

My senses had been enhanced and expanded when I’d inherited the Butcher collective. Vladimir’s bloodsight for one, but also the spatial awareness required to steer Firecracker’s teleportation and Quarrel’s warping aim, to say nothing of the senses of every insect within a block radius.

Nemean’s senses came up most in day to day situations though- while the changes from inheriting her leonine Case 53 physiology weren’t too noticeable to an outside observer, longer teeth and sharper nails had made themselves known to me immediately, followed by her sense of smell and hearing. I was vaguely annoyed that my eyesight hadn’t improved, but I’d been living with glasses for years, and I was well used to it.

Being able to smell Dad cooking in the kitchen from my room, or catch the scents from down the block on the wind, were a pleasant enough experience.

The combined scents of the pile of living garbage in front of me was anything but. The filter deadened it somewhat, but I could still pick out overripe banana, coffee grounds, burst tomatoes, rotten fish, and even a hint of dead rat in there. I had to fight down my gag reflex with every breath.

“Trust the Merchants to recruit a literal shitpile,” Stoneknapper complained. Tactical was more concerned with how to take him out.

“Don’t let him get inside the workshop,” he advised. “We don’t know just how much stuff he can pick up, and there’s a lot of metal in there that’d make him way more dangerous.”

I briefly considered the thought of trying to fight an armour-plated trash heap. Agreed.

The good news was that my opponent slammed the door to the workshop closed with a tentacle suddenly extruded from his mass. The bad news was that he was aiming for me, forcing me to dodge back as he whipped it at me, and incidentally cutting off my best escape route.

“Get him talking,” Firecracker said, serious for once, “Maybe he’ll give something away. Or it’ll distract him.”

I checked with bloodsight again to see where his head was- by now it was mostly unravelled, but I could make out where the eyes where, shielded by bits of glass his tendrils were holding in front. The rest of him was spread throughout the pile, except for a clump in the middle that probably used to be his torso.

Another swing forced me to hop back. I brought my batons up, even though I knew they wouldn’t be that effective against him.

“So,” I started, then had to fight down a sudden bought of nausea. I could actually taste the garbage a little- it brought back horrible memories of the last time I’d been exposed to something so rank. It was so bad I could feel the insects in my radius start to come to me, drawn on some instinct.

“This is horrible,” Needler gagged, while I pushed away both the bugs and the urge to vomit. Another swipe from the Merchant cape’s tentacle made me leap back, almost tripping in my haste to get away from the smell.

The move took me out of the alley behind the garage, and the breeze coming down the street brought relatively clean air to me. I took a few grateful breaths and focused on the trash heap shambling after me.

“So,” I started again, “you’re the Merchant’s new cape. Moist, right?”

“Fuck you!” Moist lashed out with two tentacles at once, both tipped with glass shards. I spun out of the way, jamming a baton into the tip of a tentacle as it was retracted. Bloodsight let me target one of the tendrils, drawing a yelp from Moist, but he almost yanked the baton out of my hand as he pulled back.

“About time you got the guy,” Bearskin complained impatiently. “C’mon, get after him!”

I ignored the demand, edging further away from the mouth of the alley. I could still see the mass of tendrils in the heap, glowing red in my vision as it hauled itself along. I kept shouting at Moist, trying to bait him as I reached the corner of the garage.

“That seems like an overreaction,” I called out. “I was just asking your name, and you take a swing at me?”

The head of the pile leaned around the corner; glassy eyes locked on to me. With the banana peel above them arranged like a monobrow, it felt like he was glaring at me.

Moist suddenly slid out from the alley- another tentacle split off from the mass and whipped at me, this time with the lids of used cans at the end like buzzsaw blades. I dodged sideways, ducked under his following swipe at me, then pinned it under a foot as it came back again, ramming both batons into the nearest tendril.

There was a crackle and a smell of burning garbage, even as I held my breath. Moist thrashed and shrieked for a few seconds, before yanking the tentacle from under my foot with a heave. I could see how some of the garbage had come off his pile as he’d spasmed from the pain.

Too late, I noticed the full bins by the alleyway as Moist grabbed them with a couple of tendrils and upended them over himself with angry movements. The garbage spilled onto him, snatched up by tendrils to add to his mass, adding a foot to his height. I backed away further as his form shifted, wrapping rotten fruit and paper bags around and through his tendrils, before grabbing the trashcans and swinging them at me.

“Insulating against the shock,” Tock noted. “So he’s got some brain after all.”

I kicked out at the first one, knocking it away as the hit caved it in, but the second one came down from high up, forcing me to back up even further. The Butchers were all yelling what to do at me.

“Get a blade and cut away at him!” Muramasa bellowed.

“Get in there and tear him up!” Nemean roared.

Rotter was laughing away merrily. “Ah, girly, you’re gonna get your ass kicked by a power even nastier than mine,” he chuckled as I dodged and parried the next swipes. I tried zapping the metal with my batons, but Moist’s improvised insulation held against the charge; then he launched the lids at me like frisbees.

I managed to smack them aside, but there was a lot more force behind them than those hubcaps, enough for me to feel it. One of the batons was bent a little out of shape from the impact, and Moist seemed to notice, pressing the offensive with a gleeful roar.

I thought desperately for a new approach- Moist had both reach and mass, and was unsettling me just with his smell. My batons only worked if I could pin a limb, and his pile was too thick for me to reach his torso. I mentally rifled through my options, searching for something that wouldn’t out me instantly. I even took the risk of having a couple of insects crawl over the tables inside for something I could use.

“Not a bad move there, Moist,” I said, trying to project bravado. “Still, swinging a couple of trash cans around, is that really the best you can do?”

The pile snarled and swung one can into the window next to him, absorbing the broken glass into a third tentacle that lanced out at me. “My name’s! Not! Moist!” he roared, jabbing at me with every word.

I slapped the tentacle aside at the next jab, breaking some of the glass off and clipping a tendril. More burning garbage smell, plus a yelp from Moist- or whatever his name was.

“Wait, waitwaitwait,” I said, blocking a can with my elbow, “That’s not your name? There’s a whole thread about you on PHO-”

“Well they’re fucking wrong!” The pile drew itself up, bunching his tentacles up like he was flexing his biceps. “The guy that’s gonna paste you all over the fuckin’ street is Mush, bitch!”

“…Oh my god,” Anchorage said at last. “Oh my fucking god. I can’t even make fun of these guys. First Skidmark, then Squealer, and now Mush? Mush?! Is that even any better than Moist?”

“I dunno, I think it has a certain flair to it- nope, nope, couldn’t say it with a straight face,” Dirty Rotter laughed. “Holy fuck these guys are dumb.”

Vladimir was a lot less amused. “Taylor, you’d better beat this guy, and you’d better do it well, because I will never forgive you if you lose to this idiot.”

“I’m not sure I could forgive myself.” Aloud, I said “Okay, Mush, if you’re the new cape, one of the big dogs, why are you running errands for Squealer like an unpaid intern?”

That seemed to strike a nerve- Mush roared and charged me with surprising speed, whipping his tentacles back and forth, hard enough to knock chips off the wall, which I saw him absorb as he moved over them.

I ducked and weaved between the tentacle for a few seconds, then punched one can aside and darted forward. The glass-tipped tentacle shot out at me, but I smacked it aside with a baton and jumped up to ram both weapons deep into the pile, right at the dense mass of tendrils that made up Mush’s torso.

He had enough sense to try and move his tendrils aside as I rammed the batons in, but I still managed to clip a couple, sending his whole body jerking. Clumps of garbage sloughed off him as he screamed and thrashed, but I dug my feet into the pile and held on grimly, struggling not to inhale as some of the garbage started to visibly smoke.

Just as I thought I had Mush down, the front of his pile simply fell off like a landslide of filth, pouring down on me. One involuntary sip of air was all it took, and suddenly I was stuck in a memory, trapped in filth, screaming for help-

A coiled bunch of tendrils hit me in the chest, knocking me away. I lost my grip on the left baton, and then Mush’s arm reached down and swatted me, sending me flying back several feet.

I managed to turn the landing into a roll that brought me back to my feet, but Mush didn’t give me time to recover, rushing forward again. For a second I noticed the baton being tossed away over his shoulder, before a tentacle grabbed my ankle and whipped me around.

The garage had two doors for cars to come in through- the Merchant truck was parked in front of the open one. The other was closed by a rolling shutter, and Mush sent me through it like a bullet through paper.

I crashed through a couple of tables before coming to rest right between some cabinets. I didn’t hit any of the Merchants scattered around the room, more by luck than anything else- by this point, several of them had recovered and were making an escape, looking more scared of Mush than me.

Tactical took stock as I climbed to my feet. “So, you’re minus a weapon, your enemy is weakened but not down, and will probably adapt to defend against that move. What now?”

“Some advice would be helpful,” I retorted, pushing the debris of my impact aside and casting about. I picked up Mush with bloodsight again- his network of tendrils glowed red through the wall, branching out and swelling as I watched, presumably reabsorbing his garbage.

“You need a better weapon,” Tock Tick said, ideas pouring off him. “Something to reduce his mass enough to take him out.”

“Yeah, like a sword or something,” Stoneknapper agreed. “If only there was a huge pile of materials you could make a sword from- oh wait,” he shouted sarcastically, “There’s literally piles of steel stacked against the wall!”

I shoved Stoneknapper down a bit to try and concentrate- as tempting as the option was, I couldn’t just pull a sword out of nowhere without broadcasting my powers. Still, I was in the middle of a workshop- there had to be some kind of cutting tool-

My foot clunked against something, and I looked down to see a handheld circular saw with a blade wider than my hand, resting on the floor.

That would do. Snatching it up, I ripped the safety guard off and bent the handle into a new position, then strode across to grab some strips of metal from across the room. I glanced at Mush through the wall- his network was almost back to full size, though he was still moving sluggishly.

I flexed my wrist, panels sliding aside to extend my grappler. I let the cable unspool while I started bending the metal strips around the saw handle, then grabbed the grappler bolt and wound it around the handle a few times before bending the strips over all of it.

“Ooooh, I see what you’re doing here. Copying from my playbook, huh?” Anchorage said gleefully.

The saw now dangled from the end of my grappler cable, the blade fully exposed. I grabbed the handle and yanked on the starter cable. The saw coughed and whirred into life- I used one more strip of metal to hold the throttle at maximum, then slipped the cable into my hand, holding my arm well away from my body. It probably couldn’t get through my armour easily, but I’d rather not cut myself with my own weapon.

Mush rounded the corner, looming in the open doorway between me and the truck. I hefted the saw in my hand and met his gaze. “Mush, stand down. I really don’t want to see what kind of damage this’ll do to you.”

Mush just growled and raised his arms. The trashcans were crushed into crude metal fists on the ends, and the glass flail now had a twin, tipped with rusty nails.

I glanced down at the saw for a moment. “I warned you.” I heaved on the cable and started to swing the saw in a circle, then faster as I built up momentum, until the saw was a roaring blur at the end of the cable, like Anchorage used to do with her anchor. As Mush started forward, I flung the saw forward.

Mush slapped it aside with a metal fist, but it cost him- the blade gouged a deep cut in the can and sent a few scraps of greasy paper falling tom the floor. Before he could recover, I flicked my fingers to retract the cable a bit, spinning the saw in a circle again, then criss-crossing it in front of me to show off.

“Goddamn, this is more like it!” Bearskin roared. “Time to cut the shit!”

“Literally!” Anchorage agreed. “Why’d I never think of adding a saw to my anchor when I had the chance?”

“You did sharpen it pretty well,” Vladimir pointed out. “It’s not like it would have added much more cutting power.”

“No more talk!” Nemean snarled, indicating Mush. “Rip him apart! I can’t take his smell anymore!”

I threw the saw out again- this time Mush tried to grab the cable, and I let him, pulling on the cable to send it swinging up and around his tentacle. There was a screech as the saw glanced off the ceiling before swinging back down again, then I yanked hard on the cable.

The saw was pulled back along Mush’s arm, carving a deep rent in the garbage and clipping at least one tendril. Mush let go with a howl of pain, and I glimpsed a spot of blood drip to the floor.

I pressed the attack, swinging the saw out in front of me in wide, roaring arcs, forcing Mush to back up even as he tried to deflect. I wasn’t actually trying to hit him- I just had to drive him back outside before he absorbed any metal, or either of us accidentally hurt some of the Merchants still inside.

The few bugs I had near me swept over the tools scattered on the floor as Mush retreated. It was interesting to see how I could figure out the shape of each tool by having the bugs crawl over them- a cold round object was the tank for the acetylene torch, a long thing with prongs at the end was a spanner, a right-angled thing with a hole in the end was a gun, rising from the ground-

I pulled the saw back mid-swing to dodge as the Merchant emptied his gun at me- the guy with the Kevlar vest, struggling to his feet. One bullet clipped my wrist, and I almost lost control of the saw’s swing, forcing me to reel it all the way in. Mush took advantage of that to send his smaller tentacles at me, glass shards and nails slashing at my armour.

I snipped the tip off the nail tentacle, driving another yell from Mush, but the glass one ducked under my guard and scraped along my helmet. My vision blurred in one eye, and I panicked until I realised Mush had just scratched the lens.

“Stop worrying, we don’t feel pain,” Nemean ordered, bloodlust clear in her voice.

With Kevlar Vest back on his feet, I made the decision to take the fight outside, diving through the hole Mush had made with me. The trash heap himself swivelled toward me in a supremely unsettling way- I could see how his tendrils simply twisted into a new position instead of turning his body around.

I circled around, dodging some of Mush’s swipes and hacking at others. Unfortunately, Mush was wising up- he reached behind him for a second and came back with tools bunched in his tendrils- wrenches, crowbars, tyre irons. The saw glanced off them with a shower of sparks.

I backed up a step, swinging the saw out to build some speed. If I could cut Mush’s tendril’s further up, toward whatever passed for his shoulder, I might be able to break his defence long enough to taze him again-

Then all my plans went out the window when Mush brought something big around- the partially built engine I’d seen earlier. A few flies I’d sneaked onto it reported the smell of fresh gasoline in it.

Before I could do anything else, Mush hurled the whole thing at me. I felt the breeze of it passing by me as I twisted desperately out of its path-

Then the engine hit a wall across the street, and there was a roar of heat and noise.

Chapter Text

Sunday Jan 23^rd, The Docks

The explosion wasn’t really all that big, by the high standards of the Butchers, or by my low standards. Despite being filled with super-aerated gasoline fumes, the engine must have had some safety measures built in to limit the blast.

Nevertheless, the force was enough to crack the wall the engine hit and knock me off my feet from six feet. My one saving grace was that Mush seemed too shocked to take advantage of my lapse.

I glanced behind me as I made it to my feet- the wall was heavily cracked, blackened by smoke, and rapidly being scorched further as the gasoline spilled from the engine burned fiercely. The engine itself was malfunctioning in the fire- pistons pumping erratically in the heat. Still, not a bad design- Tock Tick gave it a good once-over before I looked away.

Mush had backed away a little, eyes focused past me to the flames.

“He’s scared of the flames,” Bearskin noticed. “Might be a phobia there.”

“Yeah, or maybe it’s because he’s made of flammable garbage,” Firecracker pointed out.

I started swinging the saw around in front of me again. Oh that’s a shame, I left my flamethrower at home.

“There’s gas back inside, and I’m pretty sure I saw some pumps we could repurpose,” Tock volunteered.

Anchorage goggled. “Goddamn, nerd, where was all this when I was in charge?”

“You never bothered to ask,” Tock replied sniffily.

Geez, I was being sarcastic, I thought as I hurled the saw forward, pulling at the last minute so it only made a shallow cut in Mush’s front. He swung back with those spiked tendrils, now lined with scavenged tools- I side-stepped one as I reeled in, then spun the saw in a circle to clip the second in a shower of sparks, knocking a few bits loose.

One was a large bit of cardboard, stained but dry. I caught it under my foot as I advanced a few steps. Mush didn’t back up- instead he started swinging faster, alternating the larger and smaller arms.

I could just about dodge him, but I wasn’t doing much damage in return, other than a few nicks. Without any better ideas, I fired my left grappler down at the cardboard, then retracted the cable a bit, the cardboard stuck on it. Once I swung the saw out again, I threw the other grappler back toward the fire, right into a puddle of gas.

It caught immediately, turning into a blazing sheet on the end of the grappler. I drew the saw back in, simultaneously whipping the sheet forward. Mush threw himself backward with a shriek, batting the flaming sheet away with a trashcan fist.

I meant to press the attack, but Mush shifted some metal to his nail-tipped tendril and swatted at the sheet as I came at him again, tearing it off the grappler before hastily throwing it aside.

“Damn,” Stoneknapper said sarcastically, “There goes that plan. What’re you gonna do now?” he added, in a tone that implied ‘make a sword’ should be right at the top of the list.

Searching for another option, I relaxed the restraint on my bug senses, sending them looking around for something that might help me turn the tide.

A fly perched on fabric was heading out of my range at speed- one of the Merchants making a run for it. More were crawling over the workbenches again, trying to make sense of the shapes they felt and interpret them into objects.

One of Mush’s tendrils curled back on itself as I dodged it, coming back around to hit me from behind. The danger sense twinged a warning, but even before that there was a sense of movement before I backflipped over the blow, pulling the saw back to my hand to slash at it as I went.

There- nestled in the tendril were some maggots, being repeatedly thrown about by Mush’s movements, but still alive, and giving me a constant awareness of their position now that I’d focused on my original power.

“For crying out loud, you’ve used it before- why did it take you so long to figure it out now?” Tactical criticised as I started moving the other bugs in Mush’s pile to map him out better.

“Sh-shut up,” Flinch said with surprising force. “Sh-she’s not used to her power in a fight.”

There was a moment of surprised quiet in my head; I used the opportunity to shift some cockroaches into the base of Mush’s heap, hiding them away in boxes and crevices where they wouldn’t get squashed. When Mush tried to surge forward and rush me, I was able to see it coming and jump out of the way, slashing at his back as I went.

“Damn,” Rotter said finally. “Look who regrew his spine.” I shoved him down into the darkness for that, and the others took the hint, either staying quiet or pointing out ideas for the fight as I spread the bugs out more.

Within a few more moments I was slipping past blows without needing to see them at all, and Mush was getting angry.

Finally, he lost his temper. “Fucking hold still!” he bellowed, slamming his bigger arms together and swinging down. I jumped back, then again as his smaller tendrils lashed out. With only some maggots at the base of those tentacles, I realised too late that they weren’t coming for me- the glass tipped one grabbed at the cable for the saw before I could pull it away, wrapping itself and its garbage around in a death grip.

“Goddamnit, there goes the saw,” Anchorage swore.

The cable could still slide, though. Calling up Anchorage’s memories, I used one of her favourite tricks, yanking the cable so the saw swung up and back to me, then kicking it into Mush’s heap. A wrench stuck in there got cut in half with a screech, and then bits of filth started spraying out from where the blade was still spinning.

Mush started smacking at the saw, trying to knock it loose, but the saw was stuck in deep, and all his appendages were shaped like crude clubs, not hands. One hard blow even pushed it in further, nicking a tendril and driving a shriek from him.

“Dumbass,” Firecracker snickered.

I tried yanking on the cable to free it, but Mush had somehow found purchase on it, enough that I couldn’t pull it free.

No sense in getting stuck on one way of doing things. I ejected the cable from the grappler and bolted for the garage while Mush was still trying to get the saw out.

“Just. Make. A. Sword.” Stoneknapper ground out. Needler rolled her eyes at him, so to speak.

“You know she’s not that stupid, Knapper. Whining isn’t going to achieve anything here.”

“I am not. Whining,” he insisted.

Kevlar Vest guy was just making a run for it as I reached the door- he fell on his ass in shock at the sight of me. I was expecting another bullet from him, but he just rolled out of the way and kept fleeing. I passed into the building without a second thought, making a beeline for the table I’d searched with my bugs.

“Finally, a chance for something interesting,” Vladimir sighed. “Except you’re going to make this complicated, aren’t you?”

Ignoring him and the rest, I grabbed a gasoline canister off one table and a couple of valves of another, plus some tubing, a couple of clamps, and parts of a tyre pump. Almost as an afterthought, I started up a grinder bolted onto a bench, and got cracking while it spun up to speed.

It certainly wasn’t clockwork, but putting my improv weapon together was only slightly harder than attaching the saw had been. In under a minute, I had the canister held by a couple of clamps. The pump had been stripped down, one tube leading into the canister, the other pointed forward by a carefully bent strip of metal holding it in place. I’d clamped a wrench around the pump’s piston to act as a grip; I gave it a pull to test, and a stream of gasoline shot out the nozzle easily.

“This is way less interesting than I thought it’d be,” Firecracker said, disappointed. “This is basically just a super soaker filled with gas.”

“It was created in under a minute out of scraps, what did you expect?” Tock said indignantly. I half-listened to the argument, even as I realised I’d missed a few things. Like a flame, and a back-up weapon. I grabbed a long spanner and pressed it against the grinder a couple of times, putting a crude edge on it before tucking it into my belt.

Inside my head, the argument continued without pause. “Gee, I don’t know, something fun,” Firecracker shot back, “Like that time with Nemean and the oil. ‘member that, Neems?”

“Took forever to get that oil out of my fur,” the Case 53 grunted.

“Okay, but going into that fight on fire was awesome, wasn’t it?”

Nemean gave the question some thought. “Yeah.”

While they were bickering, I’d found a lighter in the pockets of the nearest Merchant- the guy who’d thrown hubcaps at me earlier. Had it only been a few minutes? It felt like so much longer. I grabbed one more strip of steel and bent it around the lighter, then fixed the whole thing to hand just under the front pipe. A flick of the lighter gave me a pilot light for my DIY flamethrower at last.

Not a moment too soon- danger sense twinged in time for me to duck the object that smashed through the window and came at my head, letting it smash into the wall and break into pieces.

The saw. Mush had pulled it out and decided to use it. I’d lost focus on the bugs while I was busy tinkering, and he’d almost brained me with my own weapon. I didn’t need the Butchers to realise how dumb that was.

They still yelled at me anyway.

“Pay attention to your surroundings!” Tactical shouted despairingly as I started for the door, refocusing my attention on Much and the bugs around me as the gasoline sloshed in the canister and the sharpened spanner banged against my side. “For goddsakes, you should have better battlefield awareness than any of us, and you almost fall to that shit?!”

“Tactical is right,” Muramasa agreed. “It is the blow you don’t see that fells you. To have it happen from your own weapon is just ridiculous.”

Yeah, great advice. You guys should write a book. I made it outside, keeping the truck between me and Mush as I sprinted back onto the street. The shape of him in bloodsight’s glowing red-gold was peering into the building for a second, but he swivelled as I came out from behind the truck.

There was a patch on his front where the garbage was more chewed up, and a few larger pieces had been cut up. I felt a weird little rush of pride at doing some visible damage to the asshole.

He started toward me; I hefted the flamethrower and sprayed a line of burning fuel at the ground between us. He slid to a hasty stop and backpedalled quickly- I could see his heart beating faster within the network of tendrils too.

“We can end this right here, Mush,” I said, trying for the persuasive tone hostage negotiators had sometimes used on the Butchers (not that it had ever worked). “I really don’t want to use this. Just drop the garbage and give up.”

I was really expecting him to run rather than surrender, but I expected him to back down either way. Instead, after a wavering moment, the whole pile shifted and- churned, there was no other word for it, pieces and lumps slipping over each other to bring all the harder materials to the front- metal and glass and a few bits of plastic. The trashcan fists uncurled and flattened out to cover further up the arms, and the head gained a covering of broken tools mixed with more glass.

“N-no,” Mush quavered. Then, louder, “No. I’m a Merchant. I’m a Merchant! And nobody fucks with the Merchants!”

“I’m pretty sure everybody fucks with the Merchants, even our little bitch,” Quarrel snorted. Needler was a bit more thoughtful.

“He’s desperate,” she noted, “but his fear of failure outweighs his fear of fire. Perhaps the newest member feels insecure in his position?”

“Or maybe he’s got something to prove,” Tactical noted.

Firecracker groaned. “This isn’t Psych 101, just fucking toast the shitpile!”

“I gave you the option Mush,” I said out loud, working the pump to send another spray of flame closer to him. He backed up for a second, then surged forward.

To our collective surprise, Mush collapsed down and then sprang up as he came; he didn’t so much jump over the fire as bounce over it.

I leapt out of the way and rolled under the swipe of a larger arm, spraying it with flame as I came up. It mostly hit the metal, but a few splashes hit further up. Mush flicked the burning pieces off his arm quickly, but I’d already circled around him, spraying more gas at him.

Mush swivelled on his base to keep the armoured parts facing me, so my shots just splashed off the metal, while he flicked the pieces to knock the burning droplets off. I was still doing some damage though, as Mush had to continually let go of bigger and bigger pieces of his pile.

“Holy Christ this smells awful,” Bearskin complained, as the scent of smoke and burning filth spread through the air, even worse than before. I agreed with him, taking sips of air where the smell was faintest to avoid gagging.

Mush started trying to dodge out of the way, bouncing his pile away from my shots; I sent sprays of gasoline at the ground to box him in; he could jump over them, but once I got him with a few shots in midair, he stuck to the ground.

Larger and larger clumps of trash started falling off him as he backed up desperately, contracting the metal parts into an armoured shell around him, compacting the other trash into a compressed layer under that.

The pressure killed off a lot of the maggots as I advanced on Mush, keeping the flamethrower pointed low. “Come on Mush!” I shouted. “You’re almost out of trash, you’ve got no backup, and I’m still fuelled up. Just drop the pile and surrender!”

The rest of the maggots died off as Mush’s body churned and condensed even further. That was my undoing- only the danger sense warned me when Mush suddenly exploded into a dozen metal-pronged tentacles that spun in a frantic circle.

I leapt back fast enough that they only scored a few scratches on the armour, but a nail jammed into the gas can, tearing a hole in the bottom and sending gasoline spraying all over the place. I hurled it away from me as hard as I could before it could get any on me, drawing my remaining baton and the sharpened spanner.

“Now what you should’ve done is thrown that at him,” Firecracker said. “It’d smell fucking awful, but he’d be finished.” I shoved her down just for that.

“You should have brought blades,” Muramasa chided patiently. “Then this fight would have ended long ago.”

“A couple of sticks aren’t going to beat him,” Stoneknapper agreed with a gloating tone. “You’re going to need our help for this.”

Mush pulled himself back into a more human form, more skeletal than amorphous with all the material he’d lost, but he still stood 8 feet tall. I raised my weapons into a fighting stance in response, beckoning Mush with confidence I didn’t feel.

Every sharp piece seemed to move to the tips of Mush’s hands, glass shards next to nails next to metal scraps next to can lids. Mush lunged forward with a roar-

-And smacked into a bright blue forcefield that blinked into place between the two of us. I backed away in surprise, looking around for the source.

There. Hovering a good twenty feet above us, two teenagers. The boy was younger, maybe 14, with a blue shield on his white jumpsuit, matching his visor and hair. Eric Pelham, aka Shielder, hand outstretched toward his wall.

The girl was already streaking forward, skirt, cape and platinum blonde hair flying out behind her, fists pointed forward in the classic ‘flying bullet’ style every flying brick used at some point. Glory Girl shot right over the shield to hit Mush like a freight train.

“Shit, heroes!” Bearskin called, already thinking of how to counterattack.

“Moron.” Vladimir rolled his eyes. “We’re in a hero, remember?”

“Right. Sorry, I forgot.”

“Panicking at a couple of little kids,” Tock teased.

Outside my head, Mush hit the ground with a clatter of metal, but before Glory Girl could follow up he rolled away, not so much standing back up as morphing into a standing position, with his head drawn down into the torso, bottle-bottom eyes poking out of the front.

Shielder fired a couple of lasers at Mush’s new form, but they barely moved the guy. Mush flicked his arm out, sending a wrench flying with a flick of a tendril. Shielder blocked it with a hemisphere in front of himself.

“So this is New Wave’s next generation,” Butcher mused. “So far, I’m not impressed.”

I thought of shoving him down again, but he might have something useful. Better to keep him up until he said something horrible- which would probably be a couple of minutes.

“I dunno,” Rotter said, having floated back up around the same time, “Decent defense and a respectable Alexandria package. I can see why you wished we’d got her, Knapper. Look at her go!”

True enough, Glory Girl was pursuing Mush with haymakers that tore chunks away from his body and dented whatever remained. Her strength was impressive, probably more than mine, but her technique left something to be desired.

Mush was starting to adapt to her attacks, stretching his body out to sway away from her fists, deflecting her blows with almost fluid arms, then swinging around her next punch to wrap around her like a trash-octopus.

Glory Girl started prising his arms off her with superior strength, until Mush slammed a lump of trash the size of a soccer ball down on her head. She immediately let got to claw the stuff away from her, which gave Mush a moment to morph his arms together and swing the one fist like a spike-studded wrecking ball, sending her flying into the garage wall, bringing it down on her.

“Not so respectable, I think,” Needler sneered.

“Vicky!” Shielder fired off a salvo of laser with an outraged yell; Mush blocked them with his one arm almost negligently, but they were only a distraction. The shield in front of me lifted off the ground, bent outwards into a shape like a plough, then shot toward Mush.

Mush dived out of the way, but the shield clipped his foot, spinning him around in mid-air. I rushed forward as he hauled himself up, lashing out with baton and spanner, shocking him with the one and prising bits off him with the other. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Shielder drift toward his cousin with a scared look on his face.

Mush continually backed away, dodging like a ragdoll on speed- every part of him could bend, twist, and contort in ways the human body couldn’t. I even lunged at him with the baton, and he simply split his torso in half to dodge it. He was small enough now I could have taken him down with one good hit to the cluster that was his head- the problem was landing it.

Holding off three heroes at once seemed to have given Mush a confidence boost; He was getting cocky, putting spins into his moves- he backflipped away from my next baton swipe, his eyes staying fixed on me the whole time.

“Fuck that’s creepy,” Anchorage shuddered. “Can we just finish this guy already?”

As Mush backed away further, maybe looking to run as Glory Girl pulled herself out of the rubble, brushing off Shielder’s concern and flicking her hair over her shoulder. Something twisted in my chest at how annoyingly at ease she seemed.

A massive forcefield popped up behind Mush as he tried to bolt, too tall for him to get over. He yelped as I charged forward, throwing his hands out- not to strike, but to grab my shoulders, vaulting over me. I spun around as he landed and rammed the spanner’s points into the last bit of trashcan armour he had, before tearing it away from his tendrils. He ignored it, breaking into a run, only for Glory Girl to fly into him with a door she’d ripped off the Squealer-truck.

Mush went sprawling, shifting into a four-legged form that ducked under Glory Girl’s next swipe. However, with his head mounted at the front, he couldn’t swivel his eyes around as much- so when I rammed the spanner through his back and up into his torso, he was caught off guard. With bloodsight showing all the tendrils to me, I twisted the spanner like a spaghetti fork, catching half of his major branches around it.

“Yes!” Quarrel crowed. “Let’s see you hop around now, you smelly fuck!”

I pressed the head of the baton against the spanner. “Sorry Mush,” I said, pulling the trigger repeatedly.

The charge hit Mush right in the equivalent of his spine, sending every tendril he had flailing wildly- pieces flew off him as every tendril convulsed, reducing him to a massive heap of fleshy strings, but I kept pumping the trigger until I was absolutely sure he was out, then gingerly untwisting the spanner and drawing it back out.

Finally, I dropped him to the ground, watching as the tendrils slowly began to contract and merge together, pulling Mush back into the form of a man. By some miracle his sackcloth mask and filthy shorts had stayed on, so I was at least spared any further disgust.

“Well, it was far too drawn out, required a great deal of improvisation, and left half the street covered in flaming garbage,” Tactical noted. “Still, not the worst I’ve seen.”

“Plus it’ll get us on the radar of the other capes,” Quarrel pointed out. “Which means less time until someone pops this little shit’s head and gets us a better ride.” I was so used to her bile that I didn’t even bother pushing her down for the comment.

Glory Girl tossed the door aside with a clang and lowered herself to the ground to walk over. Shielder stayed airborne, drifting over with a mildly freaked out look on his face.

Glory Girl nudged Mush’s reassembled body with the toe of one high white boot. “Gross.” She brushed some hair out of her face and shot me a beaming smile. “So! I’m Glory Girl. And you are?”

Chapter Text

Sunday Jan 23^rd, The Docks

I took as deep a breath as I could without gagging on the smell of burning trash. “I’m Elpis. New hero, nice to meet you both.” I nodded to Shielder as I said it; he returned the nod awkwardly.

“Cool! Always good to meet someone new! So how long’ve you been going out? Is this your first time, ‘cause, I mean, that’s some shitty luck if you have to fight this guy straight off-”

“Is, uh, is he gonna be alright?” Shielder asked, breaking through Glory Girl’s stream of overly peppy questions. I was a little surprised at how squeaky his voice was- then again, he was only- what, 14?

“Can’t believe you needed help from some kid whose balls haven’t even dropped,” Bearskin said caustically. I gave him a shove, and he grumbled himself into silence.

I knelt to give Mush a once over as he finished reforming, pulling the first aid kit off the back off my belt. “A lot of shallow cuts,” I noted, “probably from the tendrils that got cut, and a few bits that look like light burns. That, uh, that’s from me,” I added with a wince. “And, y’know, he got tased until he blacked out. Still,” I checked both wrist and neck, then held a hand in front of his mouth, “pulse and breathing are fine, and that’s the main thing.”

“Do you think we should cover him up?” Glory Girl interjected. “It’s pretty cold, and he’s practically naked. Which I really don’t need to see,” she added, scrunching her face up in revulsion.

“Amen to that,” Anchorage chimed in. “I think he was actually better looking when he was a trash heap.”

I nodded. “Yeah, let’s get him inside. I probably ought to secure whatever Merchants haven’t run off too, and call someone to take them.” I gathered Mush up like a pot-bellied sack of potatoes and slung him over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry as I straightened up.

Glory Girl followed me into the garage- Shielder lingered outside for a moment, creating a couple of shields to scrape the bits of garbage on the ground into a neat pile, and then a dome over the pile as it burned. I could see the fire start to die down as it was starved of air.

Very practical of him- I approved.

There were still a few Merchants that hadn’t made a run for it- five in total, all ones that I’d hit with the batons. Apparently, their buddies hadn’t bothered to try and carry them out. Glory Girl lifted off the floor a little and began hauling them up, pulling zipties out of a pocket in her skirt and fastening their wrists up.

Shielder followed behind me, still hovering as I found a relatively clear table and swept the few bits and pieces off it, then laid Mush down in the recovery position. Once I’d checked his breathing again, I started cleaning his cuts and bandaging them up.

“What’re you doing?” Shielder asked, peering over my shoulder. I glanced back at him, vaguely noting that the hovering had thrown off my estimate of his height- I probably had a good three inches on him, even without the armour.

“Pipsqueak’s right,” Dirty Rotter said. “The fuck’re you doing patching up this guy? He was trying to drown you in crap not five minutes.”

“I’m disinfecting his injuries,” I explained to both of them. “Mush here was wallowing in all kinds of filth. Maybe his power makes him immune to bacteria and stuff, but I don’t want to take the chance. Need to show a little mercy to the enemy.”

“Wait, his name’s Mush?” Shielder’s eyebrows drew together over the visor. “I thought he was called Moist.”

I snorted. “Yeah, I thought that too. He got all pissy when I called him that.”

Glory Girl came over with the Merchants being dragged behind her; she dumped them on top of another empty table and showily dusted her hands off. “That’s five scumbags to go,” she announced cheerily. “Want me to tie ugly up too?” she offered, waving a ziptie in her hand.

I shook my head. “I’ve got my own. Besides, I don’t think it would work on him. His power would let him slip right out of most restraints.” I placed the last bandage carefully and started repacking the first aid kit. “We’ll just have to keep an eye on him until the PRT show up.”

“And what, tase him every time he wakes up?” Doesn’t seem very heroic,” Stoneknapper taunted.

“This is why we’re better,” Butcher sneered. “When we take someone down, we do it so they don’t get back up, instead of-” I pushed him down before he could finish the sentence, resigned to his usual spiel of violence and bloodshed.

“And there he goes again,” Rotter snickered. “New record there. He lasted, what, five minutes before he pissed you off?”

Shielder raised a hand tentatively. “I think I could hold him,” he volunteered. I gave him a glance as I clipped the first aid kit to my belt again and took a step back, gesturing to Mush.

“Go for it kid.”

Shielder raised a hand, fingers outstretched. A dark blue dome popped into place around Mush and the table he was on. I prodded it experimentally and felt no sensation from my matter-shaping or decay powers, nor any give to the surface whatsoever. “Impressive.”

He scratched his neck awkwardly. “Well, it’s okay, I mean, I’m the shield guy, y’know? It’s my thing.”

“Hold up,” Glory Girl interrupted, “Why didn’t you just to that at the start? You could have just bubbled him and left him there.”

“Wait, she’s right!” Anchorage said, “Little Boy Blue coulda just locked him down like that!” She snapped her fingers to illustrate her point.

Shielder shrank a little at the comment. “I, uh, I didn’t think of it until now?” He said weakly. Glory Girl put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes.

“C’mon Eric, you gotta use your head in fights or you’re gonna get your butt kicked.”

“Hey, ease up,” I ordered, seeing how Shielder was curling in on himself. “What if he had? Mush might have just broken the shield, and then we’d have had to take him down anyway, but Shielder would have used up a bunch of energy just to buy time.”

“I’ve never made a shield big enough to cover something like that either,” he said weakly. Glory Girl sighed and folded her arms.

“Alright, alright. Anyway, uh,” she hesitated, “Sorry, what was your name again? I’m blanking here.”

“Elpis.” I spelled it out for her. “As in the Greek goddess.”

“Huh. Fair enough. Anyway, I was gonna call the PRT to pick these guys up. Are you gonna take off, or…?” She trailed off, waving a hand vaguely while the other pulled out a cell phone.

“Oh no, we are not walking away from this!” Tock Tick exploded. “The amount of materials here, the tools- we have got to take this for everything we can carry!”

I agreed with him- looking around the garage, even with the tools scattered and a few tables busted from the fighting, there were enough parts for me to make all kinds of things. And if the fight with Mush had shown anything, it was that I was severely under-equipped for facing off against other capes.

“I’ll stay,” I said, making a beeline toward a stripped down chassis held off the floor by jacks. “I want to get some credit for this, and there’s a lot of material I could scavenge.”

“You’re a Tinker then? I mean, I assumed with the armour and all, but I wasn’t 100% sure about it.”

I nodded vaguely as I gathered up armfuls of tools and dumped them on the closest table to begin sorting through them. The larger tools weren’t really necessary for me with Stoneknapper’s power, but there were limits to its precision- to develop any further, I’d need to start building my own tools. Ideas were already forming in my head- upgrades to my armour, designs for weapons- I’d definitely need a ranged option, something non-lethal, maybe a net launcher…

With that in mind, I tossed out the stuff like lug wrenches or hammers that were too clumsy for me to need, but needle nosed pliers and Philips-head screwdrivers stayed.

“Uh…”

I glanced up; Shielder was hovering on the other side of the table, twisting his fingers together nervously. He shrugged at my gaze. “Anything I can do?”

“Don’t you need to keep an eye on Mush?” I asked, trying not to sound dismissive. I wasn’t too sure how well I succeeded, judging by his awkward shrug.

“I mean, I can sense when someone touches my shields, so I’ll know if he tries to punch his way out.”

“Huh. Useful.” A thought occurred to me- the flames starving under the dome. “Wait, does he have enough air in there?”

Shielder looked startled. “Yeah, he’s fine. I can make my shields so they let air through.”

“You can choose the properties of your shields?” I asked, intrigued. “I don’t think I’ve heard of anyone who could do that.”

“It seems the boy’s defence has variety as well as strength,” Muramasa commented. “I wonder if it would be enough to withstand my blade.”

“It’s probably more a matter of total force,” Tactical pointed out. “Forcefields tend to be more susceptible to being overwhelmed than pierced.”

Shielder perked up, blessedly unaware of how the Butchers were speculating on how to break his defences. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot of options with my shields. I can fix them in place mid-air, I can move them around, I can change their shape without having to pop them. I know it’s not as cool as lasers and stuff, but-”

“Well, you did me a solid, stopping Mush,” I said. “If you don’t need to watch him, you could help me with this stuff. I’m thinking I’m going to take as much as I can carry.”

“Now that’s more like it,” Stoneknapper said approvingly. “Take everything that’s not nailed down.”

“Shame none of these cars are intact,” Vladimir noted wistfully. “We could have got ourselves a decent ride instead of walking everywhere.”

Tock Tick rolled his eyes. “You do realise Taylor can probably build three cars out of all the pieces around here?”

“Ooh, there’s a thought…”

“Say again?”

I refocused on Shielder; I hadn’t realised I’d said that out loud. “Just had an idea.” I grabbed a selection of tools and tucked them into my belt. “I’m going to start on a project while we’re waiting. Fancy helping?”

“Oh, hell yeah!”

Glory Girl cleared her throat as she walked over. “PRT says they’ll be here in about 15 minutes. They’re a bit tied up with some other stuff, otherwise they would have already sent somebody to check that explosion out. What was that anyway?” she asked me.

“Mush tossed an engine at me. I think it was one of Squealer’s creations, and it went off like a barrel of gunpowder.”

Glory Girl winced, casting an eye about the workshop. “Yeesh. None of this stuff is going to explode, right?”

“I doubt it. That engine was the only thing that looked like Tinkertech.” I dumped the tools in front of the chassis and walked around to pick up the engine block next to it. It seemed like a low-power model for a family car- I’d have to do some work.

“Hey Shielder, there’s a welding torch over there, could you grab it?” I picked up some suspension coils and a small cutting tool as I gestured vaguely.

Glory Girl handed the torch to him, looking on with vague interest. “What are you doing with this stuff anyway?”

I pulled a pair of gearboxes off the ground and started taking them apart, sorting the gears by size. “There’s enough material here for me to make some serious upgrades, but I need to be able to take it with me. So I need a vehicle.”

 “Wait, can you just take stuff from a crime scene?” Shielder asked as I started cutting some of the gears into finer shapes.

“Vigilantes get a bit of leeway in that kind of stuff,” Glory Girl answered. “As long as it’s not drugs or guns. Or Tinkertech, I think.”

“A shame we couldn’t take that engine,” Tock muttered. “Imagine what we could have done with that.”

“Okay. So, what’re these for?” Shielder pointed at the gears I was rapidly shaping.

“These go on the axles,” I explained as I threaded the gears into place, then took the welding torch off Shielder and went to start it up. “You guys might want to look away,” I added.

Glory Girl turned her back- Shielder went one step further and created a thick, dark forcefield to shade his eyes as he turned.

“So how long’ve you been going out in costume?” Glory Girl asked as I started welding the gears into place, to interlock with the winding system I was going to set in place next.

“This is really only my second time out,” I replied absently, more focused on aligning the parts correctly.

“Seriously? You’re doing pretty well for a newbie,” Shielder said, loudly enough to be heard over the tools. “Second time out and you took out a cape.”

“With help.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you can’t fight worth shit,” Rotter snickered. I shoved him down as I started assembling an armature to mount the secondary gear system on.

The New Wave kids kept asking questions as I welded, cut, shaped and bolted, and I did my best to explain. With them watching, I couldn’t use Stoneknapper’s power to speed up the process, but I instinctively knew which tools to use, how each piece had to be shaped, and where to place them.

By the time I heard the authorities pull up to the garage, I’d combined two engines into a twelve-cylinder beast, custom-built the gearbox, added regenerative braking to the axles, which would help wind the mainspring power source, beefed up the suspension, and pried half the armour panels off the Squealer truck to reshape into bodywork, with a little help from a hastily rebuilt saw and Glory Girl’s strength to pound them into shape.

The end result had two axles at the back, with four tyres on each, a wide front to accommodate the engine, a roll cage over the centred driver’s seat, and every spare inch of space packed with all the tools and equipment that I’d been able to scrounge up.

“Now that,” Vladimir said approvingly, “is a damn fine car.”

“It’s ugly,” Needler sniffed.

“Well, this is only a crude first attempt,” Tock pointed out. “We can start improving it once we get it back… to…”

I know, I know, we need somewhere to put all this, I thought to them all. I’ll drive around and try to find a warehouse I can stash this in, alright?

The conversation was cut off as PRT troopers flooded out of the large van that had pulled up in front of the garage, while cops stepped out of the smaller one. Shielder drifted out to guide the PRT toward Mush, still unconscious under the shield. They flooded over him as soon as the shield disappeared, binding him hand and foot with some complicated shackles, and spraying a few blobs of containment foam over that. I watched that out of the corner of my eye, but my focus was on the woman who’d swung herself off her bike and was walking- marching- into the workshop toward us.

Her costume was army fatigues tailored to fit her figure, with a stars-and-stripes scarf wrapped around her lower face, and a matching sash at her waist. Her power was on display too- a fizzing cloud of green-black energy that flitted from hand to hand, changing into a pistol, a rifle, a knife, a sword. It became a knife again as she reached us, held in a sheath strapped to her thigh.

Miss Militia, second in command of the Brockton Bay Protectorate, and one of the longest serving heroes in the country. No pressure.

Anchorage made a noise like a purring cat. “Girls with guns. Mmm-mmm.”

“She’s strong,” Nemean said. “You can see how she walks.”

“Oh I’m looking!” Anchorage whistled. “Shake it honey!”

I tuned out their conversation as Miss Militia reached us, glancing at Glory Girl standing next to me before focusing on me. “Glory Girl, good to see you again,” she said briskly. “And you must be Elpis. I heard about your debut on Saturday morning.”

“That’s me. Nice to meet you.” Glory Girl added a ‘hiya’ as well, but otherwise stayed quiet.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how long did it take you to make that suit?” I didn’t miss how Miss Militia’s hand rose up, pointed at me. For anyone else that would be reassuring, but I’d heard how she could summon her weapon to her hand in an eyeblink. Which meant that while she seemed to be making a friendly gesture, she was perfectly ready to draw on me.

Her question wasn’t just idle curiosity- it was an attempt to establish when I’d got my powers. It made sense- I was a new cape, popping up only a few weeks after Quarrel bit it. It seemed the Protectorate were maintaining an impressive amount of paranoia; I’d respect it more if it didn’t put me at risk.

“Nnnot sensing a threat,” Flinch managed. “She’s not going to draw anytime soon.”

I forced my hands to remain still, trying for a light tone of voice. “A couple of months. I got kind of perfectionist over it. Took me forever to get the suit to the point where I felt like I could take it for a run, y’know?”

Miss Militia gave me a very searching glance. “I think so. I only ask because we’ve had several new capes pop up since the big fight with the Teeth.”

After a long moment, Miss Militia glanced over at where the troopers had finished covering Mush in the yellow-white containment foam. I knew, more from the Butchers than my own knowledge, that the substance expanded on contact with air, was porous enough to breathe through, and yet elastic and adhesive enough that getting out of it was near impossible without teleporting or blasting out.

“Kinda wondering how you’d try to get your way out of that when you’re holding back like this,” Stoneknapper said slyly.

As long as I keep being the good guy, you’ll never know, I retorted.

“Good work on capturing Mush,” Miss Militia said at last, turning back to me. It still felt like she was looking right through me, and I couldn’t shake the feeling she would figure me out any second. “We’d heard reports of him, but we hadn’t been able to pin down his actual power. What exactly did you see him do?

“I guess he’d be a Changer- he basically unravelled into a bunch of strands and used them to pick up bits of trash and clump them into a body.” I shrugged self-deprecatingly. “I didn’t see that until after he’d absorbed a couple of dumpsters.”

“Because you’re an idiot,” Quarrel said pettily. I pushed her into the dark, rolling my eyes in the privacy of my helmet.

Militia nodded, pulling a phone out of her pocket. “Can you walk me through what happened here?” she said, tapping at the screen- pulling up a recording app maybe.

I cleared my throat, sending a cloud of breath out through the filter. “Well, I was staking the place out after I got intel on my first night out. I heard the Merchants were taking stolen cars here to break them down for parts, so I figured I might be able to catch Squealer…”

I walked her through the entire encounter, stopping to explain a few details as Miss Militia asked for clarification on a few things. I made sure to explain away my knowledge of Mush’s structure as intuition rather than bloodsight, and she seemed to buy it.

The whole experience felt surreal- not just because I, Taylor Hebert, sophomore student, was talking to a woman I looked up to, who’d been fighting the good fight since before I was born, but because the Butchers’ experiences of heroes were so radically different. Heroes were to be fought, evaded, sicced on rivals, occasionally worked with in S-class scenarios. Not engaged in pleasant conversation peppered with what seemed like honest respect.

 However, when I got to the end of the fight-

“A flamethrower?”

I held up my hands defensively. “I know, I know, it was really overboard, but I couldn’t think of another way to take his trash out of play.”

“Oh my god.” Glory Girl was staring at me wide-eyed, mouth open and feet not touching the ground. “I thought that was the engine exploding. You actually set him on fire?”

“I set his trash on fire, it’s not the same.”

“Semantics,” Vladimir scoffed. “That’s like saying you set someone’s clothes on fire, not the person. You’re not being some perfect hero right now.”

“You could have done serious damage though!” Glory Girl put her hands on her hips and gave me a look. “Honestly, what were you thinking?”

“Definitely Brandish’s daughter,” Needler noted. “Snap judgements and criticism.”

It might have been the condescending tone, or how she was using her flight to literally look down on me, or maybe having the pretty popular girl prodding at me hit something sensitive, but I rounded on her like a dog on a rat. “I was thinking that I was disarmed and facing an opponent I couldn’t easily counter. We don’t all get to be wrecking balls in cheerleader outfits!”

“Excuse me?” Glory Girl demanded, rising an inch higher. “I saved your ass, how about a little gratitude?”

“How about a little less judging me for working with what I had? All you did was punch him a couple of times and get knocked into a wall!”

“Enough,” Miss Militia ordered, her weapon shifting into a taser. “The villain is down without serious injury. As someone whose power comes with a lot of lethal options, I can sympathise with difficulty in using minimal force. However,” she added severely, giving me a pointed look, “We do expect heroes to restrict themselves to methods that won’t cause major injuries wherever possible. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” I said promptly.

“’kay,” Glory Girl answered, drifting back to ground and blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “Sorry,” she added grudgingly. “Can we just draw a line under that and move on?” She put a hand out toward me.

What I wanted was to flip her over and use her as the world’s blondest broom to sweep up the trash. That wasn’t even an image the Butchers had provided me.

But I had to be the hero. So I let out a long, hot breath, imagining the anger as smoke drifting out of my lungs, and took her hand. “Okay.” We shook twice and released. “For what it’s worth, I’m planning on building some better weapons after this. The taser batons are pretty good, but I need more options, I think.”

“Taser batons?” Miss Militia cocked an eyebrow, then motioned to a trooper who was carrying something. The trooper jogged over, revealing the baton Mush had taken off me. There was a bend in the middle like an elephant had sat on it.

“Bastard,” Tock Tick muttered.

I took it anyway, tucking it into my belt. “So where were we?”

“The flamethrower,” Miss Milita said, holding the phone out again.

“Right. So I sprayed at Mush a few times, trying to damage the trash so he couldn’t just keep re-absorbing it-”

We finished the report, Glory Girl chiming in with her account of things, sheepishly admitting to being swatted into a wall, and Shielder confirming things once he drifted over from helping secure Mush.

“That should do it,” Militia said, ending the recording and putting the phone back into her pocket. “Thank you for your co-operation. On that note,” she said, shifting to a more professional demeanour, “What exactly are you planning to do, going forward?”

“Ooh yes, do tell,” Bearskin said mockingly. “Tell her how you’re going to help old ladies cross the street and help Girl Scouts sell cookies and shit.”

“Well, I’m planning on focusing on the Merchants for the time being,” I said, feeling the New Wavers looking at me as I spoke, “But I think you mean, am I joining the Protectorate?” I shrugged. “Afraid not.”

Miss Milita kept a good poker face, but I could see her eyebrows draw together slightly. “Are you sure? We do provide excellent support for heroes, especially Tinkers. We can give you access to almost any resource you might need, including components from other Tinkers.”

“Christ, that’d be the dream,” Tock said with a wistful tone.

“Wait, the Protectorate?” Shielder said incredulously. “I thought you were like, our age or something!” He looked like someone had just told him Christmas was cancelled.

“I’m not saying my exact age,” I said carefully, “But yes, the Protectorate.”

“Huh.” Glory Girl was looking at me speculatively. “I’m with Eric, you definitely have more of a teen vibe.”

“Regardless,” Miss Militia cut in, with a tone that was very emphatically not please-stop-interrupting-my-pitch, “If you don’t want to join, that’s your decision. I should warn you though, independent heroes often struggle without backup. It’s rare for someone to make it more than six months without joining some other group. As a Tinker, you’ll be in greater danger than most, given how the gangs would be able to use your abilities; they aren’t the sort of people to take no for an answer.”

She stepped in closer and added in a low voice, “There is some speculation right now as to whether Butcher is actually dead.”

I was certain, absolutely certain, even with the Butchers suddenly yelling and jeering inside my head, that I wasn’t giving anything away, but fear beat a tattoo against the inside of my head. “Shit, really?” I asked. “You think there’s a new Butcher hiding themselves or something?”

“Precisely.” Those bottle-green eyes were boring into me now. “So we have to keep an eye on any new or unusual activity that might fit the Butcher’s abilities.”

“Oooooh, they’re onto you now,” Bearskin gloated. “How long do you think you can last when they’re looking at you properly, eh?”

“Seriously?” Glory Girl asked incredulously, glancing back and forth between the two of us. “You think she’s Butcher in disguise or something? Look, I saw Elpis fighting, and no offence, she wasn’t doing so hot. If she was really Butcher, she’d have just gone ‘Mwahaha, pain blast! Bug swarm! Teleport!’ instead of trying to hit Mush with a spanner, which is what she did.”

“For your information, I had it completely under control,” I retorted, focusing on the reflexive annoyance at her description of the fight, so that I wouldn’t show any of the rush of gratified relief as she vouched for me. The Butchers simply howled in frustration at her interference.

I turned back to Miss Militia. “Well, I’m not going to lie and say that doesn’t worry me, because frankly that’s terrifying. But I’ve made my decision. Besides, while I respect the Protectorate, I’ve got serious trouble when it comes to obeying authority figures,” I half-lied. “I just don’t think I’d be a good fit.”

“HEY MISSY WE’RE IN HERE! COME GET US!” Anchorage yelled at the top of her mental voice. “I’LL SHOW YOU A GOOD FIT! ME AND YOU WITH A BOTTLE OF-”

I pushed Anchorage down with a grimace, refocusing on the conversation. “I’m not planning on joining New Wave either,” I added. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Glory Girl shrugged.

“Well, I suppose that covers everything.” Militia made to turn away, then stopped and faced me again. “One more thing.” She pointed a thumb at the vehicle I’d put together- I still hadn’t come up with a name for it yet. “There is some official leeway for independents claiming salvage from crime scenes, moreso for Tinkers. That said, we can’t turn a blind eye to outright theft, so in future, please clear anything you’re going to take with proper authorities before making off with it. Understood?”

“Got it. Glory girl said the rule of thumb is- what, no drugs, no guns, no Tinkertech?”

“Nothing fun,” Firecracker said, resurfacing from the void.

“Money’s fun,” Muramasa countered.

“Not with Little Miss Boring, it’s not.”

“That’s close,” Militia admitted. “Regardless, we’ll be keeping an eye on your activities.”

I tried to convince myself that there wasn’t an edge in her voice as she said that, that she couldn’t possibly have any reason to suspect me. The paranoia refused to fade.

“Right.” I nodded to the vehicle. “So, I guess I’ll just go then?”

“Go ahead. Best of luck to you, Elpis.”

“See you around,” Glory Girl added. “Message me if you want to team up again, or if you want costume tips or something.”

“What’s wrong with the costume?” I looked over the armour- scratched in places, but well-shaped and functional.

“I dunno,” she shrugged, “It’s just missing some flair.”

“Right.” For a brief moment I dearly wished I’d left part of my face uncovered so I could pull a face at her. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’m going to head off.” I turned and made for the vehicle- Speeder, Tock Tick called it, walking up the hood to drop into the seat. I fastened the harness I’d kludged together, put my feet on the petals, and turned the ignition.

The engine started quickly, then faded to a dull grumble. I took a moment to check over the displays. Fuel, full. Mainspring at 5% and winding slowly while I had it on idle. I tested the brakes, feeling the armatures press against the gears on the axles, revved the engine a few times, then finally disengaged the handbrake and rolled it forward.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Rotter whined. “Let’s frigging go already!”

Some of the troopers turned to look as I eased it out of the garage and onto the road. Miss Militia raised an eyebrow as I drew past her. “How long did it take you to put that together?” she asked speculatively.

I shrugged. “20 minutes-ish. Not being so perfectionist this time.”

Without another word I stomped on the accelerator and went from zero to sixty in about 3 seconds, trailing a whoop behind me.

Later, I would worry about the Protectorate’s view of me, how they hadn’t given up the search for Butcher XV, how New Wave might join in the search and force me to fight against Glory Girl and Shielder.

For now, I didn’t think about any of that. I just drove like a bat out of hell, laughing in tune with the Butchers for one long, carefree moment.

Chapter Text

Monday Jan 24^th, Arcadia High School

A hand waved in front of my face. “Taaayyyloooor?”

I shook my head. “Sorry. Drifted off. What were we talking about?” Tock, try and remember that for me, I added internally.

“No problem. You’re going to need the firepower if you don’t want to get caught out again.”

Stacy gave me a look of patient amusement, one that I’d finally been able to accept as genuine after several classes and lunches together. She’d invited me to sit with her on Tuesday, and every day after, and despite my paranoia, had been nothing but pleasant. “Well, we were talking about how Zenzation cheated on his boyfriend, then we moved to local celebrities, like how the school power couple,” she jerked a thumb over her shoulder, “Is back in their ‘on’ phase.”

“You better not use this as an excuse to put off getting Zenz’s new album,” Anchorage warned. “I don’t care how much of a douchebag the guy is, that man’s got a direct line to my inner funk!”

“Inner funk?” Stoneknapper parroted disbelievingly. “You know you weren’t actually around for the 80s, right?”

While the argument started to build up steam, I followed the line of Stacy’s thumb to the centre of the cafeteria, where Victoria Dallon was indeed cuddled up to her on-again, off-again boyfriend- or should that be on-yet-again? It was weird to see the girl who’d been smashing chunks off a villain not 24 hours earlier now halfway onto a guy’s lap.

“So did something bring them back together, or did they just need time to cool off?” I asked, turning back to the table and taking another forkful of lasagne. Stacy shrugged, sending the beads in her braids rattling. Anchorage had said several times how she missed being in a body with afro-textured hair, especially hair that came down almost to the hips.

“Something about Glory Girl meeting a new hero yesterday. She called him up to share deets, they started talking again, and now they’re sickeningly cute together. Again.”

I hastily popped the lasagne into my mouth before I accidentally said anything I might regret. “Mm?”

Frankie looked up from the doodles she was drawing in her notebook. “Wait, I think I heard about that. A woman in armour, took on that big garbage cape from the Merchants?”

Stacey shrugged. “Something like that, I think.”

“Shit, is that all we get?” Firecracker asked. “We set off explosions, set him on fire, and talked to Miss Militia, and we don’t get any damn recognition?”

“What did you expect from a bunch of school kids?” Vladimir pointed out.

I was a little disappointed that there were so few details- I was proud of having come out of my first cape fight, with several times my own weight in materials for Tinker projects. My fingers still itched to pick up tools and start working on the impact absorption/amplification system that would be critical to one of the new weapons I had in the works-

“So what’re the odds people are going to make a conspiracy theory about the new hero being the Butcher or something?” Callum asked, flicking his bright red scarf over his shoulder for the fifth time since lunch started.

I almost bit through my fork; as it was, I had to use Stoneknapper’s power to straighten the tines out from where my teeth had bent them out of shape before I took it out of my mouth.

Quarrel was cackling at my concern. “Aw, look at that, the little bitch is gonna get found out now! Can’t wait for you to get stuck in here with us so I can tear you apart-!”

I pushed Quarrel as far into the dark as I could and set my fork down, clearing my throat quietly. “Does that happen often?” I asked, as calmly and poker-faced as I could manage.

Callum shrugged, pushing his fringe out of his eyes again. I honestly wanted to tell him to either stop wearing his scarf indoors or cut his fringe or both with how often he fiddled with them both. “There’s like, four or five different threads on PHO where people do nothing but go ‘this guy’s the Butcher because they have super strength’ or ‘this guy’s the Butcher because they’ve got a power that none of the other Butchers did but it kinda looks like one of theirs if you squint’. It’s nuts.”

“Isn’t there some new teleporter in town that people were worried about for a bit?” Frankie asked, tucking her pencil back into her bun of tomato-red hair. “I saw a video somewhere…”

“I think I heard about that,” I said, a little hastily. “Teleportation with an explosive effect, right? Seems rare enough to be suspicious.”

“Bitch, please, there’s nobody like me,” Firecracker said proudly. “Only ones that come close are all theses guys stealing my schtick.”

Needler butted in with some advice while the others jeered at Firecracker. “A little too eager there,” she cautioned. “Best to seem unconcerned with the whole thing.”

“Hey, anybody who’s not concerned about us has a death wish,” Bearskin countered.

“Yeah, but they checked on the guy-” Callum pulled a face as Stacy leaned in to interrupt him.

“Who checked on him? The guys who spend all day saying they banged Alexandria and pretending they’re not 30 year old virgins living in their mom’s basement?”

“The PRT checked on him, actually,” Callum retorted, waving his hand around for emphasis. It would have worked better if he wasn’t holding a slice of drooping pizza in his hand. “Turns out the guy’s just a thief.”

“And his power just happens to look exactly like one of Butcher’s?” Frankie looked sceptical.

“No, see, Butcher created an explosion at the point they teleported to. Boombox blows himself up, then reforms from anywhere the shrapnel landed.”

The other girls both made sounds of disgust. “He makes himself explode?” Stacey made a gagging noise.

“Okay,” Callum conceded, “it’s gross, but,” he held up a finger while he took another bite of pizza, “fhis broofs muh bon.”

Frankie wrinkled her nose again. “God, Callum, close your mouth, you’re an animal.”

“Ooh, are we insulting Callum?” A pale boy with spiky dark hair dropped down next to Frankie.

“And the twink arrives at last,” Rotter snorted.

Nemean snarled like a tiger. “They’re children! Don’t even think about it!”

“Fuck, calm down Neemy! It was a joke! You know I don’t do that!”

“Rotter says the wrong thing once again.” Vladimir rolled his eyes.

“To be fair, we’re stuck in a high school student who hasn’t even had her first kiss,” Stoneknapper pointed out. “Not defending Rotter,” he added hastily as Nemean rounded on him, “but we’re all feeling the urge.”

I tuned out the conversation with growing disgust. I’d never given much thought to… intimate matters, and with these guys in my head, just going to the bathroom was a traumatising experience. I’d basically resigned myself to a lonely life.

Enough self-pity. I refocused on the world outside my head, putting some effort into being sociable.

“Hey T, where’ve you been?” I asked as he picked up his sandwich. I’d had the least contact with T since Stacy had pulled me into her group of friends, but he was the easiest to get along with, mostly because he never probed for details about Winslow or my noticeable lack of other friends. With Stacy, I got the feeling that she’d befriended me because she felt sorry for me, and while I appreciated the gesture, it also grated a little.

T shrugged with the air of apathy generated by someone trying very hard to look too cool to give a shit. “Went outside to get out of the jammer, check my messages. You guys heard about the new heroes?”

“We were just talking about one,” Frankie said. “Some lady in armour.”

T nodded. “There’s a guy in armour too. He’s been kicking ass the last couple of weeks. Named Konnigit.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I asked. Any of you guys know what it means? I asked the Butchers.

“Got me,” Firecracker shrugged. “Sounds German.”

“Sounds close to the N-word,” Rotter said.

“Thank god someone else said it,” Bearskin sighed.

“How do you spell that?” Frankie pulled the pen out of her bun again and wrote it down as T spelled it out.

“Weird how there’s two new heroes in armour now,” Stacey noted, finishing her chicken wrap in two quick bites. “Think they’re related?”

“Oh my god, stop,” Callum begged. “Just because they both wear armour doesn’t mean there’s any connection between them. It’s like saying Armsmaster is Hero’s secret son or something.”

“Christ, Callum, take it down a notch,” T said surprisedly.

“Bite me, Tarquin.”

There was a chorus of indrawn breath at the table. T set his sandwich deliberately. “Callum,” he said pleasantly, “Do you want to repeat that?”

Callum rolled his eyes. “Fine. Sorry T, just…” He waved a hand, still holding his slice of pizza, “Everybody on PHO’s talking about bullshit theories, and it’s getting to me.”

“If you’re seeing stupid shit on the internet, that’s your fault,” Stacy pointed out.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Was there anything about the woman in armour?” I asked, trying to get the conversation back on track.

“You gonna Google yourself too?” Quarrel sneered.

T shrugged. “Her name’s Elpis, hell if I know what it means. Glory Girl and Shielder met her on Sunday, they took down the Merchant’s new cape together. Apparently Elpis used a flamethrower on him or something.”

“Jesus,” Frankie breathed. “Are we sure she’s a hero?” I supressed a wince.

“Yeeees,” Rotter hissed, “Feel the power of the dark side…”

“Miss Militia showed up to take the guy in, and she didn’t arrest Elpis, so I guess it’s okay.”

“Hey, doesn’t Armsmaster have some kind of plasma shooter in his halberd?” I said, a defensive note coming into my voice. “Nobody gives him shit for that.”

Stacy gave me a surprised look. “I guess so.”

“S’probably a good way to fight a guy who turns into a trash heap,” Callum said, cramming the last of his pizza into his mouth like some kind of disappearing trick.

Frankie rested her elbows on the table. “It’s kinda weird how there’s a bunch of new capes showing up in town, isn’t it?” she said contemplatively.

“Hey, I wouldn’t want to go out in spandex in this kind of weather,” T said, nodding to the window, where a fine layer of snow still dusted the grass.

“Yeah, but that’s why everyone’s crapping themselves thinking Butcher’s going to pop back up,” Callum said. “Which is dumb.”

“Callum, if you think it’s dumb to be scared of a reincarnating multi-powered psycho, then I dare to be stupid.” Stacy pulled the top off her pot of fruit salad and stabbed a piece of apple with a little more force than necessary.

I understood where she was coming from, better than I once would have. Being a black girl in a city that was infamous for its roster of white supremacist villains was not easy- keeping track of cape news had a greater degree of urgency when half the capes preyed on minorities. Anchorage and Butcher both had memories of nasty experiences with the kind of people that agreed with the Empire.

Callum was backpedalling from his misstep yet again. “Okay, being aware of Butcher’s a good idea, yes. But,” he added, raising a finger along with his point, “Butcher’s been dead for three weeks today. That’s a week longer than anyone else has lasted before going crazy, and there were always sightings of the others. I keep saying, Butcher’s gone for good.”

Butcher himself descended into a howling rant laden with every obscenity, aimed at Callum, me, and the rest of the world. He didn’t even seem to notice as I pushed him into the dark as far as he could go.

“Strange to think our legend fades so quickly,” Muramasa mused. “The work of twenty years, washing away within a handful of days.”

“Good,” Flinch said with a rare burst of energy.

T swallowed a mouthful of tuna melt. “I still think the idea that Butcher turned into a bug and hibernated is good for a laugh. Big horrible bastard sleeping in a bug about yay big.” He held up finger and thumb held slightly apart to illustrate his meaning.

“Maybe there’s just too many voices in there to make any decisions anymore,” Stacy suggested.

“Maybe Butcher XV offed themselves.” Everybody glanced at Frankie, who didn’t look up from where she was drawing out- I craned my head to look- Konnigit’s name in gothic script.

“Frankie, that’s really dark.” I’d been considering going up for another portion of pudding, but now it felt like there was a ball of lead sitting in my stomach.

Quarrel pounced on the feeling like a cat on a mouse. “Awww, is the little girl feeling sad? Give it a try, bitch. Hell can’t possibly be any worse than being stuck-”

I rammed her down angrily, even further than Butcher, and kept pushing even when she hit the limit. I couldn’t really hurt her like this, but I wanted to-

Stacy laid her hand on my wrist. “Taylor, you alright?” she asked gently. I clenched my jaw and took a couple of breaths, reining in the instinct to shout, to lash out, to project pain, draw a weapon, swing a fist-

I breathed out, and turned to meet Stacy’s worried gaze. “I’m alright. Just… bad memories.”

Stacy didn’t look particularly convinced, but she nodded and took her hand off my wrist.

“Well,” T said with his weird sense of artless tact, “I’ve had enough of cape talk for today. Anybody wanna help me with Mr Jackson’s assignment?”

“Right here,” I said, raising my hand a little, glad for a topic change. I was always decent with math, but now I was great with it, since it was the one topic that had remained relatively consistent over the years, other than Butcher’s vague memories of New Math being phased out. Plus, I could get away with writing out notations for Tinker projects on the side, passing them off as scribbles.

The Butchers were smart enough to keep to themselves as T pulled out his assignment and started pointing out the bits he didn’t get. I switched seats to read over his shoulder, and then Callum pulled out his as well.

I needed moments like this. Moments to remind me to be human; Moments to remind me that there was a life outside of a mask and costume; Moments to keep the pull of the Butchers instincts at bay.

I vaguely wondered how these guys would react if I told them that they were some of the anchors I relied on to keep from following in the Butcher’s footsteps.

“Better not,” Tactical said with dry humour. “Callum’s head would probably burst.”

Chapter Text

Tuesday Jan 25^th, Brockton Bay Downtown South

Pistols, check.

Spare magazines, check.

Knife, check.

Throwing knives, check.

Grenades, check,

Flashbangs, check.

Victor rolled his shoulders to even out the loaded harness he was wearing and stood up.

The rank and file parted for him as he walked toward the front of the empty lot they’d assembled in. He could feel the pools of their skills around him, like pots of many flavours, each flavour mixed with the others, yet distinct.

The stronger flavours, more varied, had loitered at the back, as Kaiser had ordered. Closer to the front were the lower-ranked members, the fighters who had less power in the Empire.

The pawns.

There was little interesting skill among them- no real fighting technique to them, though a few odd sips of skills that Victor had only rarely come across. Victor didn’t bother siphoning them- the benefit to him would be negligible, and they would need their meagre abilities in the fight to come.

At the head of the group were the strongest of the Empire, its champions. Rune was perched on the edge of a massive slab of cement that floated a foot off the ground, lost in the folds of her robe. If it wasn’t for the streaks of red in the black fabric, she’d have blended into the shadows. Crusader was next to her, spear resting against his shoulder, flanked by a couple of his ghostly copies. It was always strange to Victor, to feel a phantom sensation from each of Crusader’s clones- the savoury tones of combat, with an aftertaste that tasted like prawns- Crusader’s spear techniques, as he’d found out one day when he’d siphoned just a little off out of curiosity.

Perhaps the ghosts were derived from Crusader’s mind- echoes of him that carried echoes of his mind in order to function? Victor couldn’t siphon anything from them though, much as he tried.

A riddle never to be solved, he supposed.

Hookwolf was pacing back and forth, metal barbs sprouting and retracting from the man’s broad shoulders. Eager for a fight- the taste of the man’s fighting prowess always put Victor in mind of a rich meaty stew. Stormtiger and Cricket stood by, Cricket checking the edge of one of her kamas.

Alabaster was smoking a cigarette of in a corner. The sight made Victor’s lip curl, but he supposed that if he were able to reset damage as easily as the albino, he might have fallen into bad habits as well.

The twins were easy to spot- Fenja and Menja had grown to 10 feet tall each, looming over the crowd. Their ornate armour covered more than usual- Kaiser had demanded that everybody be properly equipped for this battle, so the girls looked like proper warriors rather than the armour-clad lingerie model look they usually sported. Privately, Victor hoped they kept this heavier armour- leaving large amounts of skin uncovered in combat grated on his instincts, never mind that the twins were virtually impervious at full size, and tantalisingly attractive to boot.

As for the leaders of the Empire Eighty Eight, they stood in the shadow of the twins, discussing final strategy.

As with the twins, Kaiser and Krieg were well prepared for the fight ahead. Krieg had added knuckledusters and a heavy leather coat to the replica SS uniform that served as his costume, and although his gas mask concealed his entire face, his posture was anticipatory.

Kaiser’s changes were less noticeable- since he formed a fresh suit of armour from his blades every time, his appearance in costume changed with every outing. To the untrained eye, he would have been his usual self.

Victor, however, possessed very trained eyes, and to him the thicker plating, the serrated edges along the seams, the spikes on the limbs, and the crown of blades were all obvious. Kaiser rarely took the field himself, and almost never in so ferocious an appearance.

His voice held a current of restrained anger as he and Krieg talked: “-send him into the melee to weaken their fighters, then we can pick them off while they’re flailing about.”

“It’s a good strategy,” Krieg admitted, “Though if you’ll allow me to say so, I think Victor-”. He broke off as he spotted Victor approaching and waved him over. Curious, Victor broke into a jog toward them.

The flavours of the two filled his senses- Krieg had strong tones of kiwi-flavoured accountancy to him, while Kaiser had a stewed-apple streak of charisma. Once again, the temptation to reach out and gorge welled up, though he strangled the impulse with the ease of long practice.

“Victor,” Kaiser said. “We were just discussing your role in the fight.”

There was a noticeable lack of Kaiser’s usual smooth charisma in his tone. Normally he oversaw the functions of the organisation with understated confidence, but in the skirmishes with the Teeth over the past month, ever since the running battle that had been interrupted by a dark cloud of insects pouring down Butcher’s throat, Kaiser had been harsher, more volatile.

The difference here was that it was personal for him. The story of Heith had circulated rapidly after Butcher XV fell- Kaiser’s first wife, who’d only just given him a son before she was mortally wounded in a fight with the Teeth.

“Tell me,” Kaiser said flatly, “Where do you think you’d be best positioned in this fight?”

Victor considered the question carefully. On the one hand, his power worked best at close range, even more so with eye contact and physical contact. Siphoning hardened warriors like the Teeth would strengthen him and weaken them, as Kaiser had apparently already considered.

On the other hand, Victor was under no illusions regarding his abilities. Being perhaps the most skilled man on the planet was not the same as being invincible, even if Othala could make him so for a few minutes- if they could delay him long enough for the gift to wear off, several of the Teeth could counter him at close range, so he might be better served using his acquired marksmanship to pick targets off from range.

Gripping hand, Kaiser seemed in too foul a mood to accept an outright refusal, and frankly, even the uncertain danger of the Butcher’s possible attendance wasn’t enough to make him want to miss the melee. To drain a being with multiple capes worth of memories and experience…

“I think,” Victor spoke, choosing his words carefully, “That I should start the battle in an overwatch position, possibly with Rune and Crusader, to pick off priority targets like Animos and Reaver. Once we’ve cleared out the chaff, I could switch to a battlefield role and take the Teeth’s skills for my own.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Krieg nodded his head ever so slightly, approvingly. Kaiser didn’t seem to notice, eyes focused on Victor for a long moment.

Abruptly, he nodded as well. “Acceptable. Find a rifle and join Rune and Crusader.”

“Understood.” Once Kaiser waved a dismissal, Victor took off at a jog toward the trucks that had brought the weapons, skipping to the head of the queue and grabbing a large hunting rifle. Check the barrel, load the bullets, adjust the scope, find the balance- done.

One last thing. Othala was leaning against a wall not too close to the front, where the lower ranks were milling around, some talking quietly, others psyching themselves up for the fight to come. The more sensible were checking their weapons; Victor made a note of those ones. This fight would be a proving ground for many, and there would be a few promotions in store for those who fought well enough.

His wife looked up as he approached. The movement shifted the curtain of hair hanging over the left side of her face, exposing the Odal rune over the covered eye of her mask.

“Victor.” There was relief in her voice as she stood up, stretching her arms out with a grunt. “Any news?”

“We’re almost ready. The last load of soldiers should be coming in any minute.”

“Mm.” Othala folded her arms, rubbing her shoulders.

“Hey,” Victor said, concerned. “You alright?” Othala had never been very enthusiastic about violence, even before the attack on the meet that had introduced them, granted Othala her powers. Fitting that her power emphasised giving gifts to others, letting them fight for her.

“Just… This is a lot. I mean, the Teeth? These guys are savages. And we still don’t really know about Butcher…”

Victor thought for a moment, then leaned the rifle against the wall and held his arms out. Something in his chest warmed at how readily Othala stepped into his embrace.

“We’ll win this,” he said. “The Teeth are aggressive, but they don’t have any real technique. And they won’t even have that once I’m done with them,” he added, drawing a snort from Othala. “Kaiser fought these fools before he was even leading the Empire. Now we’re stronger than ever.

“As for Butcher- that thing is only strong because people are afraid to kill it, and we’ve got plans for that. Remember, that thing started out as a nigger, and it’s added nothing but chinks, fags and traitors since then. That crazy half-breed isn’t going to beat us, if it’s even still alive.”

Othala was silent a moment longer. Then “Okay,” and she stepped back a little. He let her go- it was fairly well known in the Empire that they were together, but it was best not to push it where people could see.

A harsh scraping sound came from the front- when Victor looked, he could see Kaiser rising from the ground, standing on a podium supported by blades, growing to lift him six feet off the ground. Everything fell silent.

“The Teeth,” Kaiser stated, “are a blight on this city that we drove out years ago. They are murderers, thieves, rapists- they are the epitome of the filth that we work to eradicate, led by a creature formed from the diseased minds of lesser filth.”

The crowd stirred, muttering agreement, but not raising their voices. Kaiser had ordered them to keep the element of surprise as long as possible. Victor listened closely even as he picked up the rifle again and slipped through the crowd toward Rune’s rock.

“Today, we repeat our good work from years ago, and more. We will not simply drive them out- we will crush them.”

Kaiser’s helmet slowly turned to look over the crowd. A good technique- giving time for the statement to sink in, while meeting the eyes of the crowd, to make it seem personal to every soldier. The capes weren’t left out- Rune straightened up as Kaiser’s gaze swept over her, barely noticing Victor as he hopped onto her slab next to Crusader.

“The Butcher is a monster with a power fitting its original user. It only grows stronger by stealing the strength of those who rightfully defeat it, just as the lesser races steal the works of their betters and twist it to suit them.”

The mood was palpable now, a tension in the air. The crowd were struggling not to cheer, to shout. Instead they were brandishing their weapons, snarling, muttering angry words. Hookwolf was growing more and more metal off in his corner, the beginnings of his favoured wolf form taking shape.

“Either the Butcher has finally done the world a favour and died for good, or it has hidden itself in one of its capes. So, to begin with, we must avoid lethal force until we have seen if any of the capes have inherited. Once that is certain,” Kaiser extended a hand, palm up, and curled it into a spiked fist, “I want you, my soldiers, loyal men of the Empire, to crush them to a pulp.

“You know the plan. Go to your squads, ready your weapons, and prepare. Tonight we end the Teeth for good.”

As the crowd began to shuffle into place, gathering into knots of people, Kaiser gave one last command; “Show no mercy. Whoever kills one of the Teeth shall immediately be promoted.”

If the speech had fired them up, that last sentence electrified them. The soldiers rushed into position, and at Kaiser’s signal, stormed out of the lot and down the street toward the building the Teeth had holed up in.

Victor crouched to keep his balance as Rune made the slab rise into the air, along with a couple of wrecked cars that trailed along behind them as she flew them out over the crowd. Fenja and Menja simply strode along at an easy pace, lifting sword and shield and spear, respectively. The others hopped onto the backs of the trucks, Kaiser in the lead as they brought up the rear.

The target was a dilapidated apartment building, at the very north of the Docks. Squat and square,, ugly even before it had been abandoned; half the windows were broken, and the walls were marked with graffiti all the way up to the first floor, but a few lights flickered in the windows.

The Empire had harried them hard over the last month, sending groups of capes out to ensure a numbers advantage, slowly homing in on their base. Victor had been disappointed in the encounters he’d had with them- there was something missing in them, a fire that had gone out. Without their leader, they were lacking.

The army spread out to encircle the building, capes on each side. Fenja and Menja split to take the west and east, Kaiser remained at the south where he’d arrived, while Rune floated them clear over the roof to cover the north.

There were a few moments of quiet as the last few stragglers slipped into place, forming a cordon around the building.

The attack began with a ear-splitting shriek of metal and a crash as Kaiser sent two girder-sized spikes into the front of the building, then two more ploughing into the first floor. Fenja and Menja struck out to carve into the building with their weapons, and Rune sent her two wrecks flying into the façade. This was the first step of the plan, to soften the Teeth up with a massive blow.

There were shouts from inside the building, screams of pain and rage. Now to see how the Teeth would respond.

A huge crowd of men poured out of the massive hole in the north wall, all wearing armour with spikes and hooks. It took Victor a moment to realise that despite the different weapons, the different sets of armour, they all had the same body as they ran straight out, some dropping from the first floor to the ground in a well-practiced crouch, while others fell straight down and were trampled by the next clones, and the next. Dozens of them, with more every second.

The soldiers made to rush forward, but Hookwolf beat them to it, leaping forward with a noise like razor blades in a blender to slam into the clones. Blood flew in every direction as Hookwolf leapt and spun, shredding them into pulp. In seconds he was more red than steel-grey, the ground around him covered with scraps of flesh and bone, larger pieces scattered here and there.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Rune managed, before she dropped to her knees and pulled up the bottom of her mask in time to vomit over the edge of the slab. It narrowly missed hitting one of the squads standing in awe of Hookwolf’s berserker performance.

Crusader shook his head even as ghosts poured off him, drifting down through the slab as easily as the air to form a ring around the building, lying in wait for the rest of the Teeth. “Shake it off kid,” he tutted.

Victor spared him a look, then unclipped his water flask from his belt and wordlessly offered it to Rune. She grasped it eagerly and took a sip, spat that over the side, then drank until it was empty.

On the west side, a dark shape crashed through a window and bolted toward Fenja, the reddish crest of hair along its back highlighting it in the darkness. Crusader’s ghosts poured toward it, but not fast enough to prevent the creature from dodging a swipe of Fenja’s sword and letting out an ear-splitting screech. Fenja stumbled, then stumbled more as she began to collapse- shrinking down in a couple of seconds to her usual height.

Victor brought up the rifle and let off a shot with the ease of other’s long practice- the bullet hit Animos between the shoulders, driving another shriek from him, this time one of pain. The next bullet hit his paw, and he screeched again, limping back at speed as Crusader’s ghosts closed in.

The east side had unpowered combat, Cricket dancing through the crowd to slice away with casual ease, until another woman swung at her with two curved blades the colour of old blood. Cricket blocked and fell back, and Hemorrhagia pursued with wild swings that caught Empire soldiers as Cricket dodged.

The Spree clones were still coming, beginning to slip past Hookwolf at the edges- a dozen bolted toward Animos, smashing into the ghosts surrounding him. Crusader swore as Animos crouched and leapt over the ensuing fight, charging toward his gore-soaked counterpart. Victor sent another shot, but the beast dodged behind a crowd of Spree, and the bullet simply popped one of their heads.

Hookwolf saw him coming too late to dodge the screech- he shrank into a man in an instant, swatted aside with the good paw.

“Shit!” Rune slapped a hand on the slab- a corner of it broke off with a sharp crack and hurtled toward Animos, pursuing him like a wrecking ball.

Crusader slapped her on the shoulder. “Watch it, moron! You’ll hit our guys!”

Victor crossed to the other side of the platform as Animos made for the east, screeching his way through the crowd. One Empire soldier tried to stop him, and was snapped up in his jaws, crushed and tossed aside like a ragdoll.

Meanwhile, without Hookwolf, the Spree clones were charging forward without resistance. Stormtiger flew over from the to retrieve his leader before the mob could trample him, cutting away at the crowd with his air claws, followed by Krieg, crossing from the east in great bounds to land in their midst, throwing attacks that tossed them into the air.

The remaining Teeth capes must have seen the opportunity- with the east side weakened, they burst out from the door, some on foot, others jamming into a battered truck, a fresh wave of Spree clones leading the charge, soaking up bullets. Menja made to step in, but Animos charged her, forcing her to circle around to avoid his screech.

The Teeth burst forward as a column, sweeping up Hemorrhagia from her duel as they went, Vex laying down walls of glittering forcefield razors on either side to protect them while Animos leapt about to keep the Empire capes off balance.

One of the Teeth burst forward in a blur, too fast for Victor to track with the rifle, slashing about with daggers, cutting a path through the Empire’s soldiers. Reaver actually seemed to be laughing as he gutted one man, beheaded another, then stabbed a third in the eye, all within a heartbeat.

Crusader created more ghosts, and Rune pulled her chunk of stone away from pursuing Animos to aim at the truck, only to duck with a scream as bullets slapped into the cement slab. Victor crouched beside her for a second, then rose at the first pause in the gunfire to fire at the truck. One of the Teeth dropped with a scream, but the truck kept going.

 Víctor could see the shape of things-In a few more seconds they’d cross the cordon, and then the Empire would be forced into a chase, with Spree’s clones clogging the pursuit all the while, until the bastards escaped.

Then a wall of spikes swept up like a tidal wave in the truck’s path, more spikes extending from them. The driver braked desperately, only for a spear to shoot up from the ground and through the engine block. Rune’s stone crashed down on it a second later.

Víctor spared a second to search for- Kaiser, striding around the southeast corner, more blades appearing to trap the Teeth as he approached. At his appearance, the Empire soldiers raised a war cry and charged with renewed vigour.

The Teeth began to flee again turning for the north; Víctor raised the rifle again and caught Hemorrhagia with a shot that almost took her arm off at the shoulder. She fell, and her comrades didn’t even spare her a second glance.

Victor’s lip curled. Savages.

Krieg and Stormtiger dropped from the sky to block their path- Reaver bolted toward them, slowing dramatically as he hit Krieg’s resistance field, but he wasn’t looking to fight them head-on- he opened his palm and let the grenade fall to the ground, backpedalling out of the field just before it went off.

Victor shouted a warning, yanking the scope out of his eye just in time- even through his eyelids, with the lip of the slab blocking most of it, the flashbang was blinding. It took precious seconds to blink the spots out of his eyes, time that the Teeth used to keep running, aided by a growing crowd of Spree clones. The older ones were starting to drop already, leaving a trail of twitching bodies that piled ever higher, forcing the Empire to climb over them. Had the Teeth planned that, our was it dumb luck?

Kaiser was raising more blades from the ground, effortlessly cutting through the clones stumbling toward him, but they were blocking his view of the fleeing Teeth, preventing him from wiping them out. Victor searched for another shot-there.

Vex’s head was right between the crosshairs, but the bullet ricocheted off a cloud of razor-sharp forcefields. Of course- Vex knew there was a sniper, so she was covering their heads as well as their sides.

The Empire’s ring was drawing inward, trying to close in on the last of the Teeth before they could escape. Stormtiger somehow re-joined the pursuit, gusts of air speeding him along, though Krieg still knelt on the ground, blinded and bleeding from one arm. A vague memory; Stormtiger had once mentioned how his aerokinesis enhanced his sense of smell.

Menja began to stride after them now that Animos was no longer harrying her, joined by Fenja, shaking off the last of the screech and growing with every step.

Trucks drove forward to block their escape, Crusader’s ghosts chased after them, and soldiers closed in on every side, cutting through the Spree clones, getting closer to the core group.

A voice called out from the Teeth: “SCATTER!” A figure jumped onto Animos’s back, grabbing handfuls of the crest to hang on, even as more copies poured off him left and right. Spree yelped as Animos bounded forward, leaping over the trucks in front to bolt off into the night.

Víctor quickly shot again, the bullet hitting Spree in the leg, but despite his roar of pain he held on as Animos rapidly disappeared down a side street. Reaver followed after them, weaving and zig-zagging, even doubling back, all too fast and too random for Victor to do more than send a few wild shots in his direction before he zipped off.

Two other figures peeled off from the crowd together- one in ivory-coloured armour, limping on a bloodied leg, the other in black supporting them. Victor repositioned to aim at them, only for a huge cloud of white to block his view. He pulled away from the scope to see a white cloud expanding over the fleeing duo, dropping snow all around them to rapidly cover the ground. Those that tried to block them were pulled to the ground and mauled by the dozens of shadowy arms that punched up through the snow, gouging and twisting whatever they could reach.

Snowblind and Sinster then- the two newest recruits, the wild cards the Empire had had little intel on them. Victor hazarded a guess as to the centre of the cloud and let off a shot. There was a crack of an impact under the gunshot, but not one of hitting armour or flesh.

The rest of the Teeth spread in every direction, but with Spree’s clones rapidly dwindling they no longer had a crowd of expendable troops to hide behind. Stormtiger caught up and started tearing into them with blasts of air as the twins hemmed them all in. Within a minute, the last of them were backed up against each other, dusted with white as Snowblind’s cloud continued to expand slowly over them.

“We surrender!” a voice yelled. Vex stepped forward, hands in the air, even as more shards blossomed into being around the group. “We surrender,” she said again, dropping to her knees and tossing the knife in her hand onto the ground.

Rune brought the slab down to hover near the cage, her other chunk of stone drifting over to position itself on the other side. Crusader split off a few more ghosts to ring around the Teeth, each pointing their spears at them menacingly.

Victor stepped off the edge, landing easily, and pushed his way forward through the rapidly growing crowd, until he was close enough to taste the rich flavours of combat coming off the defeated. He circled around them, drawing their eyes to him, siphoning greedily on their skills at hand to hand, marksmanship, athletics, and anything else useful, or that would hurt them- musical instruments, foreign languages, cooking.

The Empire crowded around them, parting along one side as Kaiser strode forward, blades growing around the Teeth to form a cuboid cage eight feet on a side, barbs pointed inward toward the prisoners.

Kaiser stopped in front of the cage, regarding them coldly even as more spikes grew from the bars, branching again to form a lattice that continued to divide and sub-divide by the second. “Where is Butcher?”

Vex grimaced. “We don’t know,” she said. Her voice was pained, like it cost her to admit it. “We haven’t seen anything since those fucking bugs. Swear to god.”

The crowd murmured with surprise. It was one thing to see no sign of the Butcher, and another thing entirely to have the Teeth outright admit that Butcher seemed to be gone.

Kaiser’s head turned toward Víctor as he finished his circuit of the cage, drawing the last of the skills into him with satisfaction. “Well?”

Víctor glanced toward Vex, cold-reading and psychology aiding him in analysing her posture, her tone, her eye movements. “She seems to be telling the truth. And there’s no-one left in there who has massive amounts of skill like I’d expect from Butcher.”

“Unless Butcher already escaped.”

“Possibly, but I doubt it. No Butcher would stay out of a fight like this, one that spells the end of the Teeth.”

Kaiser stood still for a moment, no movement besides one hand curling into a fist. Then, abruptly, he relaxed. “Very well.” He turned back to the cage.

“We will leave you here for the authorities,” Kaiser said smoothly. “I expect they’ll throw you into the darkest hole they can find, if not the Birdcage itself, but it’s more merciful than what I had planned for you.” Some of the Teeth paled at the veiled threat.

Vex started as more metal grew out of the ground either side of where she knelt- this close, Víctor could make out the tell-tale ripple of energy in the ground as the metal grew forth, branching into blunt strips that extended over Vex’s legs to pin her to the ground. In less than a second she was bound securely.

“Consider that a gratuity for telling me the truth,” Kaiser told Vex.

Screams erupted from the remaining Teeth- a forest of blades had sprouted from the ground, right through their feet, more blades extending from the sides to nail them to the floor. Some collapsed onto their hands, some grabbed at each other to stay upright. A few fell against the blades of the cage walls and hurt themselves more, while one supremely unfortunate man fell backward so suddenly that the blades simply split his feet in two, spattering the snow on the ground with red. Victor vaguely heard Rune throw up again.

“That should keep the rest of you in place,” Kaiser continued over the howls and sobs of pain. “We’re done here. Gather our wounded, take whatever trophies you like, return to your stations. If you’re wounded, get in line for Othala to heal you.”

Without another word, Kaiser turned and strode away through the crowd. Víctor followed after him, jogging a little to catch up, just in time to hear Kaiser mutter, “That damn bitch.”

Victor’s brow wrinkled. “Sir?” He could understand Kaiser’s foul mood, given that they hadn’t caught all of the Teeth’s capes, particularly Spree as the leader of the Boston cell, but the comment confused him.

“That damned bitch,” Kaiser muttered, his venomous tone at odds with his regal posture as he strode back toward the truck he’d rode in on, “had the gall to surrender. We had them trapped like rats! Of all the times for the Teeth to show some brain!”

Victor floundered for a response. “I’m not sure I understand?”

“Of course you don’t,” Kaiser said. “Think, Victor. If they’d kept fighting like the mindless animals they are, we could have slaughtered them down to the last man and wiped them off the face of the earth. Instead they scattered like rats, and then they surrendered. That made them hostages, hostages that we couldn’t execute without sending a signal of escalation toward the rest of the city.”

It made a sort of sense to Victor. Killing someone in the heat of battle could be waved aside, but killing hostages was another thing entirely. “Why not just swear the men to secrecy?”

“Over a hundred men came tonight, Victor. Short of killing them all, there’s no way to make that large a group remain silent. All it takes is one idiot bragging, or telling a friend, and then not only does the Empire become known for killing captives, but for trying to cover it up!” Kaiser clenched his fists until the metal plates began to creak against each other. Throughout it all, he kept walking, straight-backed and head held high. Victor could taste the caramel-apple taste of acting and self-restraint wafting off him as Kaiser held himself in check.

Eventually, the faint creaking ended as they reached the truck. A metal step emerged from the ground as Kaiser put his foot out, not even breaking stride as he stepped into the truck bed. “Get Hookwolf and Krieg taken care of,” he ordered, pointing a finger at Victor, “and have Crusader sweep the building for any stragglers, then search it yourself. Find any weapons or funds you can and have them brought back with us. Understood?”

Victor nodded, and Kaiser slapped the top of the truck cab. The driver started the engine, and Victor stood watching as the truck rolled away from the building, down the street, and out of sight.

Chapter Text

Thursday January 27^th, Hebert Residence

“Better, but you need to keep your elbows higher,” Needler said. “The point is to be able to protect your head quickly if necessary.”

“Got it,” I replied, running through the kata for the 50^th time. I’d skipped going out in costume last night, as I had every night since I’d fought Mush; instead, I’d been running through every move Needler had learned from 1am. Her regeneration had let me keep going for hours without pause- even now, reaching 6am, I was only lightly tired, like I’d been for a brisk jog.

“You’re crazy,” Firecracker said flatly. “You just spent your whole damn night practicing technique? What the hell do you need skill for with all of us?”

Vladimir simply pulled up a memory of Firecracker flailing wildly at an enemy not long after she’d inherited, managing maybe one hit in five. Firecracker gave him the finger.

I finished up the last punch combo just as the fly I’d left on Dad’s pillow felt a shift, and vaguely registered a noise that I heard better with my own ears- Dad’s alarm clock.

That spelled an end to my training for now. I grabbed a towel to wipe off the worst of the sweat while I tracked Dad with my hearing, getting out of bed and heading for the shower. I couldn’t wait for my turn in the shower- I’d drank multiple bottles of water over the course of the night, and sweated it all out. By this point my workout clothes were so crusty I could have used them as armour.

“Fuck, even I think this is gross,” Rotter groused. Nemean grunted agreement.

Fortunately Dad was quick in the shower, and I slipped in while he was getting changed in his room, so he wouldn’t ask why I was caked in sweat first thing in the morning.

By now I could get around the bathroom with my eyes closed- not out of familiarity, but because I’d resolved that I wasn’t giving the Butchers an eyeful. So I tossed my clothes into the laundry basket, started the water, washed my hair and scrubbed my skin with as little contact to intimate areas as possible, then dried off, all without parting my eyelids. By the time I opened them, I had a thick towel firmly wrapped around myself as I headed back to my room.

“You should practice using your insects to navigate in low visibility,” Tactical suggested. “You’d be basically immune to blinding techniques.”

“You’d be able to feel enemies coming as well. Block blows without seeing them, hit people without having to look their way. God knows what you could do with Quarrel’s power.” Stoneknapper grinned horribly at the thoughts that occurred to him.

“Eat shit,” Quarrel grumbled.

The various debates, arguments and rap battles (Anchorage vs Firecracker) continued as I dressed, also with my eyes closed, and made my way down to breakfast.

Dad was just plating up two stacks of pancakes as I came in. “Morning,” he managed through a huge yawn.

“Hi Dad. Sleep-?” I broke off as the yawn spread to me, the kind that would have made my cheeks ache. “Sleep well?” I managed once it passed.

“So-so.” Dad shrugged, setting one plate down in front of my usual seat. “You?”

“Forgot what I was dreaming about, but it was fun,” I replied, snagging the maple syrup. “Something about kung-fu movies.”

“Sounds fun.” Dad picked up the newspaper and unfolded it one-handed while he grabbed the jelly.

“Oh my god, this is torture,” Bearskin moaned. “We have to sit here every fucking morning and suffer through small talk? I’d rather watch paint dry!”

“Careful,” Firecracker warned. “She might actually do it. She spent all night practicing Needy’s boring-ass silat, remember? If someone told her watching paint would make her ‘a better hero’,” I could feel the quote marks in there, “I bet she’d be there staring at it.”

There was a sudden lull as the Butchers considered the thought.

“She would,” Anchorage said at last.

“Yup,” Nemean grunted.

“Without question,” Muramasa agreed.

“Very funny, guys,” I rolled my eyes as I finished pouring maple syrup over my stack and picked up my fork.

“Let’s just enjoy the pancakes,” Tock Tick said reasonably.

“Anything in the paper, Dad?” I asked, more to make conversation than anything else. I wanted to get back some of the old closeness we’d had, so I was trying to keep talking to him about anything that came up. It wasn’t like I could admit any of my personal secrets to him, so this would have to do.

“More on the Empire and the Teeth,” Dad said grimly, turning the page with one feeling while he took a bite off his fork. I craned my neck to see what he was looking at.

The picture seemed to be a street in the aftermath of a cape fight- heavy gouges in the walls, broken glass, and a disconcerting amount of blood. There was a corpse laying face down in the street, beyond recognition.

“Did somebody die?” I said faintly. I didn’t really care about what happened to the villains- hell, even the Butchers weren’t exactly close to their subordinates -but I wasn’t comfortable with the sight of mutilated bodies.

“Just you wait,” Butcher leered. “It’ll be second nature before you know it-”

I pushed him down as Dad shook his head. “It says here,” he tapped the page, “the body’s from a guy called Spree. That one who clones himself. A couple of gang members got hurt, but nobody died last night.”

I sank back into my seat and started working on the pancakes before I said something too knowledgeable about the situation, unable to supress the little spark of relief that Spree was still kicking. He’d never held any aspirations about becoming Butcher, preferring to stay as leader of the Boston cell, and his power wouldn’t have been a real threat anyway, so he was probably the closest thing to a friend the Butchers had within the Teeth.

“More of a drinking buddy really,” Knapper said nostalgically. “He nearly outdrank us that one time, remember?”

“When was that?” Bearskin asked, confused.

“Oh yeah, that was after the Egregious thing, right? To be fair, we had lost both legs then.” Firecracker snickered. “And he was the one who ended up legless! Geddit?”

“That’s a shit pun,” Tactical complained. Hardly surprising that he was annoyed by the reminiscing; It had been his legs that had to regrow after that, after all.

Ever since I’d caught wind of the Empire’s initial assault on the Teeth, I’d been following the events as closely as I could without showing up in person. The Empire’s first attack had forced the Teeth capes on the run, while Vex and the unpowered were left for the PRT. Hemorhaggia had been reported dead of blood loss from having her arm shot off, something that didn’t sit right with me. The remaining Teeth had gone to ground, only appearing twice to make quick attacks on Empire locations. Apparently three now, judging by the newspaper.

“Fuckers executed Alice,” Anchorage snarled. “Taylor, you better start fucking them up the first chance you get, you hear? No way somebody with blood control couldn’t stop herself from bleeding out. Those fuckers murdered her.”

“Why didn’t the newspapers report it?” Muramasa wondered. “I’d have thought the vultures would jump on a story like that.”

“You dickless mother-”

“I am not trying to make light of her death,” Muramasa said over Anchorage’s yell. “I agree that it would take more than a missing limb to have killed Hemorhaggia. I am only wondering why her death was misreported.”

“People are idiots,” Nemean said. “Whatever happened, we hurt the Empire, right?”

Anchorage subsided into growls as I kept eating, staring into my pancakes as I wondered what to do. The Teeth were Butcher’s gang, so an argument could be made that I had to clean up their mess. On the other hand, I wanted as little connection to them as possible, and nobody would blame a rookie hero for not jumping into a conflict between two major gangs.

Not to mention my work against the Merchants had been paying off so far. Though I hadn’t been out since fighting Mush, I’d heard through the grapevine how they’d been forced to pull back from the edges of their territory and hide away. If I could pick up the trail again soon I might be able to find Skidmark and Squealer, and without them the gang would fall apart.

I was almost finished on the last of my new equipment as well, some of which I’d designed specifically for taking them down, based on what I knew of their powers. Competent Shakers and Tinkers could be a nightmare to fight, so I didn’t intend to give Skidmark or Squealer the opportunity to suddenly get their game together.

A hand waved between my face and my pancakes. I managed to strangle the impulse to stab it with my fork, instead looking up and Dad’s worried face.

“Are you alright, Taylor?” I blinked in surprise.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, do I not seem okay?”

“You just looked kind of-” Dad waved a hand vaguely, “-spaced out. I know this whole gang fight thing is pretty scary.”

“You’re a n-normal teenager, remember?” Flinch hinted. “Normal g-girls get scared by these guys.”

“Oh,” I said aloud. “Oh, no, I- well, a little,” I changed tack, “It is sort of nuts having capes beating the hell out of each other in the headlines. It kinda doesn’t feel real though, like it’s happening somewhere else. I mean, neither of us have ever seen capes in person, right?”

“Liar liar, pants on fire,” Rotter sang.

Dad was nodding. “True. Still, I remember when the Teeth used to be in the city, back in the bad old days. One of my dad’s friends got held up by some of them, they pulled one of his teeth out with a claw hammer.”

“That’s what you get when you don’t pay up fast enough,” Vladimir shrugged. I sent him into the darkness in disgust while I pulled a face.

“God, that’s horrible.”

“Yeah, and they’ve only got worse since then. Even without Butcher leading them, they’re monsters.” Dad prodded his pancakes with a distant expression for a moment, then shook himself and focused on me. “Listen, Taylor, I know you already keep yourself safe, but I want you to promise me you won’t go anywhere risky while all this is going on, alright?”

“Dad, the riskiest place I’ve been going lately is the library,” I said to an inaudible chorus of boos and laughter at my outright lie. “The Boardwalk’s safe, Arcadia’s safe- and I’m not really going anywhere else.”

“I know, I know, I just… It’s my job to worry about you, you know? Until things have calmed down, I’ll drop you off if you need to go into town again. Deal?”

So much for daytime patrols on the weekend. No way could I sneak all my gear into and out of Dad’s truck. “Deal, but I don’t think I’ll be doing anything like that for a while. Sunday was really just to check some books for school.”

“If by check you mean kick, and by books you mean ass, and by school you mean the cops, that one wasn’t even a lie!” Firecracker mocked.

Dad sat back with a sigh, finishing off his pancakes with one overloaded forkful. “That’s good to hear. I mean, if you want to go out with some friends, that’s fine,” he added hastily, “but I’m glad you’re keeping safe.”

Guilt coiled in my stomach like an ice-cold snake, with spikes on it. I had good reasons for not telling Dad what I was now, or what I was doing. That didn’t stop me from hating myself a little for lying to him so blatantly, and the Butchers picking apart my internal arguments didn’t help.

“Just think, if Daddy found out you were stuck with us, he’d be so scared of you,” Quarrel taunted. I pushed her into the dark, but the others were joining in.

“Ooh yeah, old guy lived through us tearing this city up the first time. Think he’d wet himself?” Firecracker snickered.

“Probably,” Bearskin rumbled. “Guy looks like a stiff breeze’d knock him over.”

“Okay, all of you can shut the hell up,” I snapped, shoving the worst of them into the dark en masse. I managed to keep the anger off my face, but only barely. As it was, I crumpled the handle of my fork in my fist before I managed to calm down.

Dad spoke again as I was unobtrusively moulding the fork back into shape. “If you don’t have any plans this weekend,” he said tentatively, “How about having a day together? We could rent a movie, order some takeout, veg out on the couch. Sound good?”

I opened my mouth, a refusal already prepared- and then I thought. Why the hell was I refusing to spend time with Dad? I couldn’t go out and fight, I didn’t feel like wandering around to window shop, so why not?

“Because you’re afraid he’ll find out what you are,” Nemean said in a moment of blunt insight. “And because you’re used to hiding your problems.” Only the sheer lack of interest in her tone kept me from shoving her away with the others.

“You know,” I said deliberately, looking Dad in the eye, “That sounds like fun. Count me in.”

Dad gave a small smile. “Alright.” He glanced at the clock. “Damn, I need to get moving,” he said, getting up and taking his plate to the sink. “Be safe on the bus, okay?”

“Got it,” I replied, stuffing another forkful into my mouth.

The Docks

“C’mon, you know these babies need breaking in on somebody worth it!” Anchorage wheedled. I didn’t push her down, but I was still doing my best to ignore her as I finished strapping the last of my new equipment to my armour.

“Plenty of Nazi capes out there, all in dire need of an ass kicking,” Stoneknapper agreed. “Not saying you ought to go up against bucket-head himself, but some of the easier guys would be worth the effort of finding them.”

“And the fact that this would draw pressure off the Teeth means never no mind to you?” I replied sarcastically, slinging a contraption shaped like a fat shotgun over my back.

“Aww, it’s like you don’t trust us.”

“Hey Bearskin, you’ve been quiet. Nervous about your old crew?” Vladimir asked.

Of all the varied backstories in the collective, Bearskin was perhaps the most unusual. He’d originally been a part of the Empire Eighty Eight, joining at the turn of the millennium and making a name for himself with his rage-inducing powers to cause havoc.

Then he’d had a massive disagreement with Kaiser over topics so personal I still hadn’t looked at those memories, and been summarily forced from the city. He’d wound up in Boston, trying to re-establish himself, and made the mistake of thinking that inducing others to kill Butcher VIII, Stoneknapper, would leave him out of the inheritance.

The collective had quickly beaten his prejudices out of him as he began leading the Teeth, but they’d never let him forget how he’d started off. He’d been against Quarrel’s decision to return to Brockton, not eager for fights against former comrades, and my inheritance hadn’t really changed that situation for him.

At last he came to a decision. “Purity’s left the Empire now, so try to leave her alone. The rest of them…” He hesitated a second, “Fair game.”

Quarrel snorted. “We’re all gonna be fighting old friends if Skinny Bitch finds any of the guys,” she pointed out acidly. “Anybody consider that?”

“Yes, well, I think Taylor has low odds of getting anywhere near the Teeth by accident,” Tock Tick huffed. “Tonight will be a field test against the Merchants, nothing dramatic.”

“Yeah, if we ever get out of here,” Firecracker whined. Tactical sighed at her impatience.

“Preparation is key to successful operations. Rushing in without thinking has always been your weak point,” he lectured.

“Hey. Before you guys start complaining, I’m done getting ready,” I said, cutting off the impending argument before it could begin. I could have just pushed them down, but I could always feel them still swatting at each other in the back of my mind, like an itch on the back of my scalp.

I strode past the speeder, reminding myself yet again to think of a better name for it. I’d improved it a lot since I’d hid it in this old warehouse, but It was a little too heavy for tonight, more suited to large assaults or transporting salvage.

“Still think you should just smash whatever you find,” Nemean said. “Being subtle’s too fucking boring.”

While the Butchers agreed with her, the order of business tonight was scouting and skirmishing, so I needed a smaller ride. The low-slung bike I’d put together on Tuesday night was bare-bones, a skeletal frame with a beast of an engine and low-profile tyres. I swung one leg over the seat and leaned forward to grab the handles, my boots locking into the footrests as I pressed them home. The engine started with a flick of a switch, a low throbbing I could feel in my chest as I eased it toward the door.

I’d been very careful about securing the warehouse- Stoneknapper’s power had let me seal over every door and window from the inside, moulding the concrete into seamless walls. The only ways in and out would be to either teleport into the soundproof brick booth I’d constructed inside, or to flip the hair trigger switch I’d hidden inside a wall.

Speaking of which, a couple of ants wound their way through the little tunnel in the brickwork, all the way to the platform no larger than a bottlecap. It was set up so that when five or so ants climbed onto it, the platform would dip, releasing the switch for the mechanism that would unlatch the only door I hadn’t fused with the walls, pulling it aside on soundless rollers to let me drive the bike out onto the street.

“We should really find a way to incorporate your power into other control mechanisms,” Tock Tick noted as the door rolled closed equally quietly. “Think how much stuff we could get done if you had your insects operating everything.”

“Maybe for controlling tools when I’m building stuff,” I admitted, “But I couldn’t use that kind of stuff out in the field. What if it breaks and somebody sees my stuff is crammed full of ants?”

“Sounds hilarious,” Rotter sniggered.

I cranked the accelerator and pulled away from the lair, letting the senses of my insects seep in as I went. Even with the weather starting to warm up, most insects were still keeping themselves sheltered to wait out the cold weather. Luckily, plenty of them had found shelter indoors, so I could get a sense of all the buildings within my range almost immediately, and search the place from top to bottom if I was willing to take a few minutes.

The upshot was that if I cruised along at about 30mph, I could cast a very wide net to find anything useful, and if something did catch my attention, I could slow down and look closer, using bloodsight to find anyone nearby. In that manner I made my way along the length of the Docks, trawling for any signs of trouble.

Within 15 minutes I picked up on several people thrashing back and forth and swung the bike around to head for them, quiet as a murmur.

“About damn time we got some action,” Anchorage complained.

Right around where the south end of downtown bordered the Docks, a parking lot was playing host to a battle. Ten Empire soldiers were firing over and around a couple of parked cars at several Asian gangbangers on the other side, yelling slurs and insults with every bullet.

“The ABB must be taking advantage of the situation,” Tactical mused. “With Kaiser’s capes occupied, this is a prime chance to push forward and claim some territory.”

“Except for these guys not bringing anything like enough men,” Vladimir pointed out. “They’ll be dead in a couple minutes at this rate.”

“Count again,” I responded, gunning the engine to burst out from around the corner I’d been lurking behind. I zipped straight past the gobsmacked ABB members huddled behind an ugly sedan, reaching out to slap one unconscious as I passed, then veered around to head straight for the Empire goons.

Before they could start firing at me, I pulled the contraption off my back and aimed it one-handed, toggling a switch with my thumb to select the right ammo type to fire. It resembled a fat grenade launcher in steel grey, with three magazines feeding into the body, a folding stock, and a really complicated scope on top.

A projectile about the size and shape of a slim drink can shot out of the barrel, right into the midst of the skinheads. The second it hit the ground, the impact broke the seal on the pressurised container of air inside, which sent the gas bursting out through the vents along the exterior, along with a mixture of chalk dust and pepper spray. The skinheads were quickly enveloped in a cloud of stinging white dust.

“Booooooring,” Firecracker booed. “You wouldn’t even need Tactical’s thinking to make some bombs- or you could tinker up a spring-loaded grenade full of razor blades, or a bullet that drills into people, or something-”

I pushed her down as the imagery became more graphic and focused on the gangers. The smarter ones had jumped away from the grenade immediately, but more than half were now howling and clutching at their eyes, or coughing violently. Meanwhile, I simply closed the vents of my mouthguard and swung myself off the bike, catching the nearest ganger in the chest with my foot. I slapped him upside the head as he fell over to knock him out, then strode forward to finish the others, firing off another dust round at the ABB across the lot to keep them occupied.

One of the skinheads who’d got out of the cloud fastest charged toward me with a crowbar. I simply flicked to a different ammo type and fired into his chest. The rubber head of the punch round meant the impact didn’t break anything, but the guy must have felt like he was kicked by a mule. It certainly knocked him off his feet.

“Now to the melee,” Muramasa ordered. “The time has come for you to wield your blades at last!”

I mostly wanted to avoid wasting any more ammo I might need, but I still slung the launcher back onto my back and drew the swords sheathed at my hips. They were short and wide, like a roman gladius, with triggers on the handles to control the extra functions.

Crowbar skinhead was gamely struggling to his feet, holding his weapon out in front of him. I tapped one sword against his crowbar and pulled the first trigger, sending a jolt of electricity through the blade and down into him. He dropped the crowbar with a yelp, and I shocked him with the other sword to take him down.

“Doing wwwell,” Flinch praised. “Minimum force, quick and quiet.”

I smiled inside my helmet at the compliment, then turned and waded into the crowd. More guys went down to electric shocks or blows from the flats of my swords, plus an elbow to the face for one stubborn guy.

Within seconds there was only one guy still standing, a man who’d covered his face with a bandana and had just managed to reload his shotgun when I finished shocking one more guy into unconsciousness.

“Don’t fucking move!” Shotgun shrieked, bringing the gun up to point unsteadily at me. At this range I could see the stylised eagle tattoos on his arms, mostly perched on swastikas or similar.

“Sloppy,” Tactical critiqued. “You should have taken him down before he had a chance to bring a weapon to bear on you.”

“And the ABB guys are getting away,” Rotter pointed out. I glanced sideways with bloodsight- indeed, several silhouettes were stumbling out of the second cloud, coughing and retching.

“Awright!” The shotgun guy yelled, bringing my attention back to him. “Drop the fucking swords and get on the ground! A-and take that armour off!”

“Does he seriously think we’re going to do that?” Tock said disbelievingly. Vladimir shrugged.

“Hey, we’ve been standing still, like he said. Maybe he actually thinks Taylor's intimidated.”

“Then we must teach him otherwise,” Muramasa growled, memories of countless sword drills flowing out from him. Reacting to his instincts, I shifted my stance a little and clicked the second trigger on the right sword.

“I said don’t fucking move!” the skinhead shrieked, jabbing the gun at me. I simply swayed out of the way and swung the sword up, pressing the second trigger all the way in. The blade went through the barrel of the gun like a hot knife through thin ice, leaving the skinhead holding the halves of his weapon with a slack-jawed look of fear.

Tock Tick’s power hadn’t gone entirely unused before my inheritance- Muramasa had jumped on a design that had great synergy with his swordsmanship, and had browbeat the others into leaving him alone long enough to build the devices into his swords.

The effect was to oscillate the blade several thousand times a minute, so it would cut through most objects easily. Adding in Muramasa’s own cutting power, the blade would be unstoppable to ordinary materials. I’d re-used the design when building my swords, along with retractable cutting edges to keep the swords blunted until I needed them. With the edges out and vibrating, and augmented by Muramasa’s power, I could have feasibly cut through a building.

If the skinhead had been smarter, he might have realised I’d turned his shotgun into a sawn-off, but I jabbed the other sword into his chest and tased him senseless before he could join the dots. He joined the rest of his friends, groaning and writhing on the ground.

“Hahahahahahahaaaaa!” Anchorage was laughing her metaphorical head off. “Oh god, the look on his FACE! Dumbass actually though he had the drop on her, but NO!”

“Other guys’re running,” Nemean pointed out impatiently. I sheathed the swords again and spun around, pulling the launcher into my hands again and switching to the third magazine. I’d been hoping for a chance to use these ones.

The ABB guys were just managing to get from a stagger to a run when I lined up on the short guy bringing up the rear and pulled the trigger.

These rounds were more complicated than either of the others- the rubber head was linked to the four spring-loaded segments of the casing, which held the packed nylon net inside. When the head smacked into his back, the casing exploded outward and forward, throwing the net and its weighted edges around the guy. He toppled over with a shriek, wrapped up like a burrito.

“After them!” Firecracker whooped as I sprinted back to the bike and flung myself on, gunning the engine to chase after the rest of the pack.

The group split in two as I got close, heading down opposite streets. I fired a net round at the smaller group and chased after the larger, quickly overtaking them to block the road with the bike and wrapping two of them before they could even change direction. The remaining two immediately put their hands up.

“Smart choice,” I said, re-attaching the launcher to my back and dismounting again. The two backed up a bit as I approached them, eyes wide in fear. I ignored them to hunker down and grab the two on the ground. The weighted edges of the nets were made to attach to the rest of the net, and then the central mechanism would draw it in until the subject was too tightly bound to do more than wriggle. The central portion also unfolded into a carry handle for ease of use.

All I had to do was grab one handle in each hand and lift their occupants off the ground like sacks of potatoes, if potatoes could shout streams of profanity in Japanese and what might have been Vietnamese. I turned to the two that had surrendered and jerked my head back toward the parking lot. “Let’s move.”

“Nets and tasers,” Butcher grumbled as we headed back, the captives in front of me. “What the hell have we sunk to that this is the kind of kiddy shit we’re using?”

“Personally, I’m appreciating the greater requirement of skill that goes into non-lethal measures,” Needler mused. “This might be why heroes always had trouble getting the better of us, being obliged to use minimum force.”

“Well, it was only ever the crazies that wanted to kill Butcher,” Knapper pointed out without a trace of irony. “Everyone with a self-preservation instinct had to hold back on us.”

“Hey! I resemble that remark!” Anchorage shouted.

Once we reached the lot, I set the two netted guys down by the car the ABB had been hiding behind. and pulled out some zipties. “Hands behind your backs,” I ordered, cinching them shut around the wrists of the standing two.

“Now then,” I said, pulling out a notepad and pen, “I’m not really going after either of your gangs right now; I’m focusing on the Merchants. I’m sure you can see the upside in cooperating with heroes to snitch on your enemies.” The confusion on their faces was indeed turning to comprehension as I explained.

“So guys,” I flicked to a new page, “Tell me where I might find Skidmark and Squealer.”

Chapter Text

Thursday 27th January, The Docks

In the time-honoured tradition of low-level gang members everywhere, I’d barely had to say anything before the crooks had started talking, offering me rough locations, times and dates, and known members of the Merchants.

<”I’m telling you man, it’s on 89^th Street,”> the tallest ABB member insisted. The guy next to him, propped up against the car in his net, kept shaking his head.

<”Look, I’ve seen their messed-up cars there myself. I’ll bet my right nut they’ve got a place on Wilson.”>

I listened as closely as I could while I was tying up the E88 members. It was getting harder though, with most of them starting to come around and struggle against their bonds, or shout various slurs. I’d held back with the various nerve clusters that Needler’s Thinker power had highlighted, to avoid permanent injuries, which unfortunately meant they wouldn’t stay down for long.

“Next time bring some gags,” Vlad grumbled. Firecracker radiated with sudden inspiration.

“We could just use their socks.”

There was a moment where the Butchers all considered the idea- I used the relative quiet to ziptie another skinhead’s hands and feet and haul him over to where I was lining up the rest.

Stoneknapper broke the silence first. “Kid, that is disgusting, cruel, and degrading. I love it! Hey Taylor, can we-?”

“No.” I grabbed the last Empire soldier as he was trying to get to his feet and got him in an armbar. He started demanding I let him go, screaming slurs at the same time. Apparently neither he nor his friends knew what I looked like under the armour, so they assumed I was a minority.

I put Loudmouth down next to his friends and walked back to the ABB guys, who were still arguing over where the Merchants were storing their cars. Being able to understand Japanese now didn’t make listening to them any more interesting, so I clapped my hands in front of them, hard enough to echo off the buildings.

“Okay guys, one answer. Where are they stashing their cars?” Tall and Wrapped exchanged looks, before Tall shrugged and nodded to his friend.

“Okay, Joji thinks it’s on 89^th, I say it’s on Wilson. We don’t know anything else.” Wrapped shrugged, as much as he could with the net around him.

“It’s a start. Thanks for letting me know- I’ll be sure to tell the cops you guys cooperated.” I made to pull my phone out.

A fly I’d hidden on the jacket of one of the skinheads felt a vibration. I cocked my head like I’d heard something. “Just a moment.”

The skinhead in question was a ratty looking guy, with a terrible attempt at a moustache. He tried to spit on me as I hauled him up- I simply grabbed his belt and collar, then flipped him upside down in one quick movement, and back again.

“Don’t try it,” I advised, setting him back down without further resistance and pulling his phone out of his jacket. The screen was lit up with a text alert.

Frankie:

>Dude herd frm J Mrchnts got some Teeth<

>there sellin them 2 th Empire<

>Strmtger gonna mess them up<

“…What?” Muramasa managed. Without thinking, I started typing a message.

>where?<

I bolted for the bike, barely remembering to loosen my grip on the phone so I wouldn’t crush it. Moustache was yelling at me to give it back, but it barely registered. As it was, I barely remembered to swap it for my phone and dial 911.

“Brockton Bay 91-” I cut the dispatcher off as I started the engine and peeled out of the lot as fast as I could.

“This is independent hero Elpis, I’ve got a bunch of E88 and ABB guys secured in the parking lot on Oakwood, send somebody to pick them up. I just got info that the Merchants are holding a couple of the Teeth at-” I slowed to glance at the phone, relying on the bugs I was sweeping in front of me to navigate, “-a warehouse on Franklin. They’re selling them out to the Empire, they’re sending Stormtiger. Get some heroes over there, I’m on the way now.”

I hung up and jammed the phone into a spare compartment, then gunned the engine as I took a right. Franklin was a way away from here, but the roads were deserted at this time of night and this bike was a beast. I could probably make it in time.

The Butchers were in uproar, shouting back and forth about every detail.

“How the hell did the Merchants capture anybody?” Tactical raged, uncharacteristically furious. “Those addicts lost their one physical cape to us, and Squealer probably couldn’t build something to hold them-”

“Reaver could outrun them, Spree could outnumber them, Vex is already in jail, Hemo’s… gone. That leaves Animos, Snowblind and Sinister.” Needler was biting her lip worriedly. “Skidmark’s power might be able to hold them.”

“No, no, fuck ‘em all! This has got to be a setup!” Firecracker’s denial was so strong it felt almost solid. “No fucking way those shits got the best of any of us!”

The one good thing about this was that they weren’t talking to me right now. Unfortunately that left me to think about my reaction. I hadn’t hesitated to rush into this; to drop everything and race halfway across town because of a couple of texts.

Certainly it was a good move from a tactical perspective. I was focused on the Merchants, and a large gathering held a good chance of their remaining capes attending. Taking out a couple of the Teeth or the Empire could help settle things down in the Bay as well.

But, although it burned to admit, a large part of the reason I’d rushed into this was because I didn’t want the Teeth to die. Arrest them, send them to jail, I could do that. I knew better than anyone the horrible things they’d done, would continue to do.

It wasn’t just because I wanted to keep anyone at all from dying. Some twisted little part of me cared about what happened to the Teeth, the part that remembered parties after jobs and patching up injuries together, the camaraderie of monsters. The Teeth were by no means affectionate, and the Butchers cared more about the gang as a concept than as people, but there was a bond there stronger than anything I’d had in years.

I hated it. I hated that those bastards had more human connections than me. I hated that I felt any concern for people who delighted in causing pain, who were just scaled up versions of the bitches who’d made me into this. I hated that after trying to sever any possible ties between me and the Teeth, I was rushing into this anyway- because they were going to die if I didn’t, and that would be on my conscience.

“Can’t this thing go any faster?” Anchorage snarled. I didn’t bother to respond- the bike was in maximum gear with the engine at redline. The only thing slowing me now was dodging the occasional late night driver.

“That’s Kennedy Avenue, which means- Here!” I jerked the bike into a 90 degree skid at Rotter’s words, screeching to a stop facing a dilapidated warehouse with holes in the roof. I could see the light leaking out and hear a crowd roaring with shouts and laughter, but more importantly, I could see the blood silhouettes of people in a circle, surrounding two figures who were retreating into the centre.

I directed bugs to slip onto everybody in there- the ones I sent into the middle of the ring were swept in, like they were blown by a strong wind. There was another person standing apart from the crowd, up on a balcony or something. Based on the ring, it had to be Skidmark himself.

Jackpot.

I locked the front wheel in place and cranked the throttle- the bike jumped forward a foot before I got it under control, smoke starting to stream from the tyre as it accelerated against the tarmac. I hit a switch, and a reinforced framework folded down from the front faring, locking into place around the wheel. Then I released the brake.

The bike shot forward like a bullet, front wheel leaving the ground. I grimly forced it down to the ground again and hunched down as far as I could, dropping my head at the last second.

The ramming frame punched through the corrugated iron of the wall with ease. Sparks flew as the edges of the hole scraped against the bike and my armour, and then I was through, raising my head to take a look.

Sure enough, a mess of grubby people were surrounding a ring on the ground, purple on the outside, shading to dark blue on the inner edge. Right in the centre were two figures in spiked armour; a slim woman in white, and a bulky man in black, with thick metal plates in places.

A miniature snow cloud hung over their heads, and shadowy left arms grew from the ground around them like nightmarish seaweed, clawing and gouging at the few Merchants who’d wound up inside the circle with them. All of them were turning to face me with looks of shock on their faces as I veered to the left and grabbed the grenade launcher off my back.

“Of course it’s the fucking newbies!” Bearskin snarled as I fired two pepper rounds into the crowd. “A matched pair of morons!”

“How’d they get captured?” Nemean demanded. “They should have torn these guys apart by now!”

They should have- Sinister’s hands weren’t individually strong, but they were fantastic for crowd control, and Snowblind should have frozen these guys solid by now- the gangers who’d fallen into the ring were covered in thick frost, barely moving. Except I could see that while Sinister had carpeted the ground inside the ring with his power, the ones fading into existence from the ring itself were ripped to shreds by the force of Skidmark’s acceleration fields before they could solidify.

Likewise, the snow falling from Snowblind’s cloud and her blasts was being continually pushed back into the ring, forming a knee-high wall of powder inside. By sheer dumb luck and power interactions, Skidmark had managed to trap both of them like rats.

“Okay, so Skidmark’s fields move stuff above them, not just what they’re touching,” Vladimir noted. “Something to keep in mind.”

“We need to take that crackhead out first,” Tactical growled, trying to look around. I flicked my gaze to the fly I’d planted as I circled the crowd, keeping the launcher ready.

There. Standing on a metal balcony above the floor, a dark skinned man in dark blue, wearing a mask over the top of his head that looked like a pair of briefs more than anything else. Skidmark, leader of the Merchants, with a mouthful of some of the nastiest teeth any of us had ever seen.

“Wow. That’s a boner killer right there,” Rotter managed.

“Who the fucking fuck’s this cunt?!” the Merchant leader shrieked. “Somebody shoot them for shit’s sake!”

A couple of Merchants who’d avoided the pepper dust pulled guns and tried to aim at me. I hit the throttle and looped around the crowd before any of them could squeeze off a shot, taking aim with a punch round as I came back around.

Skidmark had enough sense to dodge the round, so it bounced off the wall behind him and pinwheeled back into the crowd; somebody shouted in pain as the round hit them, but I didn’t look to see who. Instead I switched to pepper rounds once more and launched one just over Skidmark’s head, enveloping him in a cloud of stinging white dust. I felt the fly on his back struggling to breathe through the cloud. Something to remember there- pepper was supposed to be an insecticide after all.

A stray bullet smashed the wing mirror on the bike, and I immediately changed course, switching back to punch rounds and firing at the larger guns. A woman with a shotgun keeled over clutching her gut, while a fat man who’d somehow got an AK47 almost flipped right over when the punch round hit him in the face. I winced at the blood that spurted out from the impact.

“Might need to tweak the rounds to spread the force better,” Tock Tick mused. “Maybe change the magazines too- we’ve only got two of each ammo type left; well, one pepper round. A helical design would let us fit more in, though the weight distribution would be a problem if we’re storing ammo along the length of the barrel-”

“We’re in the middle of a fight, you prick!” Quarrel raged. “It’s bad enough the twig isn’t using my power, we don’t need your nerd babble making it worse!”

“I’m trying to help!” Tock protested. “I’m the Tinker! This is all I can do!”

I accelerated toward the body of the crowd, racking the launcher again before I threw the bike into a drift, bleeding momentum just before I crashed into the front. The force wasn’t enough to break anything, as far as I could tell through bloodsight, but getting sideswiped by a bike was enough to put half a dozen on their asses.

Before anybody could recover, I leapt off the bike with swords set to blunt and taze, jabbing and swinging my way through the remainder of the crowd, whoever wasn’t downed from the pepper or running for the exits.

More went down as Sinister’s arms began hurling whatever debris they could high over the ring to hit them in the backs. Some was thrown too low and was pushed back in, to be scooped up and thrown again.

The few people who fell in were immediately dragged to the ground and pinned by dozens of arms as Snowblind hosed them with frost. I’d have to see to those people as soon as possible- Snowblind’s frost didn’t just encase people, it actively leeched the heat out of whatever it touched. Too much could cause dangerous frostbite if left for long enough.

“Th-the fields are getting weaker,” Flinch called. “Maybe S-s-s; he needs to concentrate to keep them up.” Bearskin grunted an agreement.

“Look at the ring- it’s starting to fade, and there’s uneven bits. My guess, he needs to layer the zones to get them this strong.”

Muramasa scrutinised the arcs of the objects that were being thrown over. “The field seems to cut out at about ten feet,” he announced. “In theory we could jump over it.”

The two Teeth capes shrank back from me as I made it to the edge of the ring. I vaguely noted that their costumes had been updated since Quarrel had seen them last. Sinister now had spikes only on the left side of his outfit, heaviest on his arm, while Snowblind had spiked cleats and a mask that opened from eyebrows to cheekbones

An incoming bug alerted me to easily duck a swung pipe from a scrawny guy that really should have known better and repaying it with a side-kick that knocked the wind out of him. He toppled sideways onto the ring, shooting him into the centre like he’d fallen on a treadmill.

The pair in the middle hastily stepped aside as he skidded between them, only to reverse direction and slide straight back when he hit the other side, finally stopping right in the middle with a whimper. A few arms clamped down over his limbs almost perfunctorily.

“…Okay, those fields are stronger than I was expecting,” Stoneknapper admitted bemusedly.

“Wait!” Firecracker jolted in sudden realisation. “We forgot to wrap the guy!”

I swivelled on the spot to see Skidmark staggering down the steps leading from the balcony, snatching up a bottle of something to wash his face. I swapped a sword for the launcher and fired one-handed at him.

The net round took him in the chest, pinning the arm with the bottle to his chest and sending him staggering as the net constricted around him, but he didn’t fall. Instead the air around him shimmered like a heat haze, and the ground under him swirled with colour. Skidmark stepped onto it and slid slowly forward, more shimmers appearing in front of him as he began to skate forward on his fields, making a beeline for the door a couple of fleeing Merchants had left hanging open.

“He’s skating away,” Anchorage stated flatly. “The fucker is skating away. I don’t believe this shit.”

I switched to punch rounds and drew a bead on the Merchant leader, who was now shooting along, head down and legs pumping like a hockey player headed for the goal. Just as I was leading the shot, something bounced off my head with a dull clunk.

“Who the fuck?” Nemean snarled as I turned. Sinister was taking a beer bottle off one of his shadow arms with a defiant expression, Snowblind shrinking back behind him.

“Did we really recruit somebody that stupid?” Needler asked incredulously. I wordlessly switched to my last net round and shot him right in the chest. Sinister went over with a curse, only the carpet of hands preventing him from hitting the ground. With all the arms holding him up, he looked like he was crowdsurfing in hell.

“What sounds better, being arrested by me or having the Empire come down on you?” I asked them over my shoulder as I turned and re-aimed at Skidmark with my last punch round. He was almost to the door when I pulled the trigger.

Somehow, the bastard managed to spin to face the round as it came, and the net around him shimmered into colour. The punch round simply skipped off it and shot up toward the ceiling, spinning merrily.

“Oh that is it!” Bearskin roared as I ran back toward the bike. “We are crushing that son of a bitch right now!”

“Can we catch up with him?” Tactical demanded. Tock Tick snorted.

“He’s leaving a trail of acceleration fields behind him, of course we can!” An old memory of a racing video game flickered in the dark for a second.

“So long assholes!” Skidmark shouted cheekily as he skated toward the door, blowing a raspberry as he slid outside-

-and hurled back inside as a blow took him off his feet. He landed on his trail of fields, crushing the fly I’d planted, and slid forward again, coming to a stop by the bare feet of the man who’d just strode through the door.

The guy had the kind of physique you saw on bodybuilders, muscles rippling beneath the pale skin of his bare chest. All he wore were tattered black slacks, chains wrapped around his hands, forearms and calves, and a blue-white tiger mask.

“Well shit, this just got harder,” Stoneknapper commented. Quarrel shrugged.

“Hey, look on the bright side. I’d rather lose to him than Mush.”

“Ooh, good point. We might get some real fun now! Nothing personal, kid,” Rotter added almost as an afterthought.

Stormtiger pinned Skidmark’s ankle beneath one large foot and leaned over with a smug air. “If it isn’t the dumbest named cape in town. Hey, Skidmark.”

“The fuck? The fuck? The fuck are you doing here?!” Skidmark shrieked, spittle flying from his mouth.

Stormtiger’s voice was loud in the warehouse, nothing but the groans of beaten Merchants and the bike’s engine to add texture to the quiet. “See, we got a tip from one of your guys,” he said teasingly. “Something about you cockroaches cornering a couple of Teeth, wanting to sell them to us?”

“I never said shit to you guys! This is my turf, my crew, my prisoners! You guys can go home and fuck your cousins some more!” Skidmark struggled inside the netting, to no effect.

“I can’t deny the guy’s got guts,” Vladimir admitted.

“Yeah, and we’re probably going to see them in a minute,” Anchorage countered. “Black guys being held by racist capes don’t have much lifespan.”

Stormtiger ignored Skidmark’s ranting to glance around the room, at the Merchants strewn over the floor, the dust settled everywhere, before stopping on me, and the Shakers a bit behind me, still stuck in the ring.

“Now this is unexpected,” he rumbled, flexing one hand. The air around it swirled and condensed into a bunch of translucent blades jutting from each knuckle. “Don’t think we’ve been introduced.” He reached down with his free hand to grab at the handle on Skidmark’s net and hauled him up like a novelty suitcase. “Name’s Stormtiger, of the Empire Eighty Eight.”

“I’ve heard,” I said politely, arms hanging loose at my side, not close enough to my swords to seem threatening.

I’d actually heard a lot more than most. Stormtiger had been making his name in New York years ago, in a parahuman fighting ring along with Hookwolf and Cricket. The Teeth had actually considered trying to recruit them, admiring their power and unrestrained brutality, before Hookwolf had shredded the fight promoter and made off with the vault’s earnings. The three had joined up with another group of white supremacists for protection before moving to join the Empire in Brockton.

I knew Stormtiger could form those claws out of the air and explode them at will to create blasts of air. I knew he could at least hover in the air, if not actually fly, and I knew his power formed a shell of air around him that could deflect bullets.

Really not what I was expecting to fight tonight. The launcher was down to one net round, and the other weapons I’d brought were more to disable machinery than capes.

“Looks like it’s going to be blades then.” Needler rifled through the katas I’d drilled the last few days. “He is more agile, but you have the advantage of strength.”

“It depends how durable his claws are,” Muramasa said thoughtfully. “If we can break them, victory is more certain.”

“Hey girl, why not just tell the newbies who you are?” Butcher said as slyly as he could manage. “All three of you could crush this guy.”

I pushed him into the darkness before he could say anything else, keeping my focus on Stormtiger as he slowly padded my way. The others were thinking something similar, I could feel it in the shape of their thoughts, but they were anticipating the fight to come.

“Don’t think I caught your name,” Stormtiger continued, perfectly at ease as he strolled toward me, Skidmark dangling from his hand.

“I’m Elpis. Just starting out, been focusing on the Merchants. Didn’t want to get mixed up with the big dogs.”

“Too fucking late for that,” Sinister muttered as Snowblind pulled him to his feet. “Bitch.”

Stormtiger glanced past me at the pair, then refocused. “Well, I don’t have anything against you right now, so I’ll let you go. I only came here to get him,” he shook Skidmark, starting him on another torrent of profanity, “and them.”

I was speaking even before the Butchers started screaming at me, demanding I hurt him, kill him, drink his blood and feed him his own eyes, all of it centred on not abandoning their crew. “If you’re planning on killing them, I can’t walk away.”

“G-good. You’re doing a b-brave thing,” Flinch praised. That made my decision a little easier- not for the horrible little knot in my soul that actually cared about them, but because I had to be the good guy, even if it hurt.

Stormtiger cocked his head, slowly waggling his fingers, the claws moving with them. “You a hero?”

“Yup.” The others all gawked at me like I’d just grown another head.

“Well.” Stormtiger’s jaw worked behind the mask for a moment, then he nodded. “I can respect that.”

I saw his shoulders tense at the same time that the danger sense blared in the back of my head, and threw myself sideways just before he dropped Skidmark and swept his free hand up toward me. A hurricane rush of air tore past me and slammed into Sinister and Snowblind, tossing them back until they reached the boundary and simply bounced back onto the floor. The snow inside was thrown up into a storm as the ring flung it back and forth, only to fall back onto the pair.

I’d already rolled to my feet and drawn my swords, moving into a stance. Stormtiger rushed at me, feet leaving the ground as he swiped at me with those claws. I parried both, feeling the air around him turning the swords aside, and swept a leg low to hit his ankles.

“What was that supposed to do?” Firecracker demanded. “He’s floating, remember?”

Stormtiger hopped over it easily, but I could see how his manoeuvrability wasn’t that good in the air- he didn’t fly, he floated and drifted. I backed up as his feet touched ground again, sending a few clumsy swings at him that he leaned away from, before bursting forward to sweep the leg again.

Like before, he jumped over the swing, but this time I swung one sword up and lunged forward with the other. He avoided the first with a twist of the hips, but the lunge plunged deep into the whirling air around him, almost hitting him before he swept his arms and flung himself back with a burst of air. I could see a reddening spot on his chest from where a few sparks had jumped the gap.

“So close!” Anchorage crowed. “Let’s mess this guy up!”

I rushed forward, bringing one sword up to smack aside a claw he threw at me. Danger sense flared again, and I threw myself into a roll as the claw exploded with a burst of air that tossed me forward. I managed to land on my feet, but Stormtiger was already swiping at me.

The claws scratched lines into my breastplate before I could block them, but I forced him back with a wild swing. The bastard actually looked cheerful as I glanced at the shallow gouges in my armour.

“Okay, so we know the armour can stand up to his claws.” Tock Tick winced at the damage. “Partially, at least. We probably shouldn’t take many more attacks like that.”

“So we need to pin his arms and get rid of his claws,” Bearskin said.

I raised my swords again. “Great. Nothing difficult about that.”

Stormtiger made the next move, tossing a claw from each hand at me. I zig-zagged to avoid them, feeling my ears pop from the explosions of air as I closed the distance. Stormtiger backpedalled, parrying with his claws and joyful roars as we traded blows, neither making headway.

Then I saw the ground change colour behind him as he tried to slash at my stomach. A familiar block of purple-to-blue, getting darker and darker. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Skidmark wriggling around like a worm, struggling to his knees with a furious expression as he layered fields behind Stormtiger.

“Well, not the weirdest three-way I’ve been in,” Anchorage announced. “Maybe we won’t break the guy’s face after this.”

“Did you mean fights or sex back there?” Needler asked with a kind of revolted curiosity. Anchorage snickered.

“Either/or. Remember that time Blasto made those octo- croc things?”

I tuned out the weird anecdote as I brought both swords down in a x-shape that would have broken Stormtiger’s arms if he hadn’t hopped back smartly.

A massive, over-committed blow like that would normally be a bad move in a fight, because it took time to recover, and your opponent could exploit that opening ruthlessly.

Except as Stormtiger raised a handful of claws that seemed to thicken as he channelled more air into them, his heel landed on the layered field, and his foot shot sideways, dragging the rest of his body along with it and throwing him into a cartwheel.

“Not so smug now, you stripey fuck!” Rotter shouted gleefully.

“Get in there!” Bearskin roared as I lunged, with both swords at maximum voltage.

Somehow, Stormtiger managed to stop himself, upside down mid-air and deflect my blows with his claws, but I could see how he strained as his arms were forced back to his body.

I pushed forward, letting my right arm fold to swivel and smash my elbow into his sternum. Stormtiger made a strangled noise as he fell back into the field- the force swept him to my right, still upside down.

“Your boy’s running,” Stoneknapper said suddenly. It took me a split-second to realise he wasn’t talking about the Nazi.

I had some more bugs heading over to Skidmark just as he managed to hop from his knees to his feet and started for the door again, laying more fields to speed himself up. Stormtiger flipped himself over and chased after him, making for the trail Skidmark was leaving behind him.

“Looks like we’re playing chase!” Firecracker shouted. “Sure would be a good time to be able to teleport, huh?”

I ignored the jab as I pounded after the both of them- Stormtiger was hampered by the hit to his chest, and the gap between him and the Merchant leader was growing by the moment. Instead he came to a halt and brought up a handful of claws.

“He’s going to kill him!” Flinch yelled. I threw myself into a tackle at Stormtiger, slamming into his waist. His claws flailed mid-throw, spiking into the ground as I bore down on Stormtiger.

Then the claws exploded all at once.

For a second there was noise too loud to actually be understandable, louder than gunshots and grenades or much of anything the Butchers had felt. I felt myself hurtle up and through the air until I hit something that dented at the impact and fell to the floor.

I’d never been more thankful for Nemean’s immunity to pain. As it was, I could feel the tightness in my muscles of deep bruising, the vision in one eye was blurry, and all I could hear was a loud ringing. When I shook my head, I felt hot wetness running out of my ears. Blood.

“Eardrums burst,” Nemean spat. “Bastard’s going to pay.”

I managed to raise my head off the ground. The warehouse had been tossed by the explosion. Some of the Merchants had been thrown about from the force, writhing in pain from broken bones. The pepper dust had been kicked up as well, hanging in the air as a white haze.

Most of my bugs had died from the pressure, so I glanced about with bloodsight. Nobody was bleeding out at least. As for the capes-

Sinister and Snowblind were hobbling out of the ring- where the ring used to be. The fields had faded to nothingness, and Snowblind was sawing at the net around Sinister with a small knife, the man himself trying to use the barbs on his armour to help.

My ears popped unpleasantly- I could feel the tissue growing back into place. My hearing started to come back. Close to me was a deep retching. Stormtiger was on his knees, clutching at his nose and sobbing in pain.

“Shot in the dark; he’s got enhanced smelling,” Firecracker said. That would certainly explain his current predicament.

I cast about for my swords in the haze. One was halfway across the room, away from the door, but the other had fallen close to me. I got to my hands and knees and reached for it.

The ground under it turned purple-to-blue; the sword slid away from my hand with a scrape of metal. Then another patch appeared under me, the colours going the other way. I tried to grab onto something, but the floor was smooth, and I slid back until my feet bumped the wall.

Skidmark was standing next to the door, holding a rag over his nose and mouth. He made several one-handed gestures with his free arm, then turned and jogged out.

“Fuck! Fucking fucking fuck!” Bearskin raged and thrashed, gnashing his teeth, wanting to hit something, bit something, anything.

“We had him! We could have just knocked him out and dealt with the rest, but we didn’t focus!” Tactical fumed, already picking apart all the mistakes I’d made tonight. Now Skidmark would know who I was, what I could do, and he would know to expect me.

Muramasa was angry too, but he kept a better hold on it. “There will be other opportunities. We can interrogate these Merchants here, learn from them, and continue to pursue-”

“Knock it off with the ‘noble samurai’ shit, ‘masa! We got hosed and you know it! We got our collective skinny white-girl ass beat by a crack head and a Nazi!” Anchorage’s anger made my knuckles itch, brought the urge to find something heavy and swing it at something soft.

I gritted my teeth and pushed them all down, all but Flinch and Tock Tick, taking deep breaths that pulled at the filter in my mask. Calm. I needed to be calm for this.

I stood up, avoiding the field in front of me, though I could see how it was already fading, and headed over to where Stormtiger knelt, vaguely noticing that one of my ankles was sprained, though almost healed.

Stormtiger glanced up as I approached and pushed to his feet, trying to leap away with a burst of air. I snatched at one of his ankles as he jumped and yanked him back, slamming a fist into his diaphragm.

Even with the breath knocked out of him, Stormtiger tried swiping at me with half-formed claws- I grabbed his wrist and let Needler’s Thinker power draw me to the weaknesses that stood out like diamonds on black velvet. I dug my thumb into the pressure point between the tendons, then twisted it up behind his back and jammed a finger into his armpit, hitting the brachial plexus and numbing the arm.

I stamped on the back of his knee, forcing him to the ground, then simply clapped my palms to his temples. He swayed for a second, then flopped back, unconscious.

“C-careful,” Flinch said worriedly.  “I know it’s hard right now, but-”

“I know,” I said dismisively, then blinked at my own tone. More quietly, I repeated “I know.”

I knelt to tie Stormtiger up, hands and feet, using extra ties to be sure he wouldn’t be able to reach his restraints with his claws.

I felt a cockroach die across the room. When I looked up, Sinister and Snowblind were standing halfway across the warehouse, staring at me while Sinister’s arms dragged the Merchants into a pile of pained groans.

“What?” I asked after a long moment.

“What now?” Sinister said. I’d forgotten how nasal his voice was.

“Now?” I rose slowly, avoiding sudden movements. Snowblind looked jumpy nonetheless, eyes wide under the mask. I could feel heated disapproval from the other Butchers in the back of my head, disdain for her lack of nerve.

I might have been able to take them. Snowblind’s power took time to put someone out completely, especially someone who could smash through the frost before it was fully formed, and Sinister needed to lay a trail for his arms to sprout from anywhere outside his six foot radius. He was also inexperienced enough to have summoned hands out of everywhere he’d marked instead of keeping some in reserve, meaning I knew exactly what areas to avoid.

But I was tired, and low on ammo. My swords were across the room, and I’d wasted a lot of energy tonight. The thought of letting them go felt like edging toward the rim of a bottomless pit, but it appealed to my exhaustion.

“Now, I call the authorities and hand over what I’ve found tonight. You can either leave or stick around.” I shrugged my shoulders, wincing at the scraping noise one of the plates made. I’d have to bend that back into shape later.

Snowblind took a few steps back, clearly preferring the first option. Sinister didn’t move, slowly summoning more arms from around his feet. A couple more slid out from the heavy plates on his armour, giving him about a dozen extra arms from his shoulders, forearms, knees, hips, chest and back.

“How many shots you got in that thing?” He nodded at the launcher’ stock poking over my shoulder.

“Enough,” I said flatly, not sure if Sinister was actually going to be as stupid as I expected he was.

“See,” Sinister’s shadowy arms reached to various sheathes and pulled a variety of knives, “You did us a solid by coming when you did. Kept us from being sliced up by the Nazi.

“So I’m going to give you this one freebie. You walk off, wait five minutes, then call the cops to pick up the bodies. You get to see another sunrise.”

Apparently, he was going to be that stupid.

“This is a bad matchup,” Tock Tick fretted. “They’ve got range on you, your armour’s damaged, and nobody else can help fight.”

“T-taylor, these two are new, but they’re vicious. Don’t g-get yourself killed.” Flinch winced at his own warning. “Maybe you should go.”

I sighed, long and deep. “I can’t.” I took a step to the left, blocking Stormtiger from view. “I have to be the good guy.”

“I wasn’t going to let him cut you up,” I said steadily, putting my hands on my hips. “I can’t let you guys do any killing either.”

Sinister’s eyes bulged. “Do you not know who the fuck we are?” he spat. “We’re the fucking Teeth! We’re the nastiest motherfuckers around! And you’re gonna stop us? With your fucking trashcan armour and no weapons?”

“Never said I was happy with it,” I said, with the resigned facade I’d had to cultivate to survive Winslow. Bad as the situation was, I’d still rather fight these guys than deal with that again. Barely.

“Taylor, if they kill you, you’ll be stuck in their head forever,” Tock insisted. “This is too dangerous.”

The other Butchers, meanwhile, radiated approval at this course of action. Fighting two members of the Teeth gave them a chance of a host who would return to be the rightful leader of the Teeth.

I could leave. The only people here were gangbangers and a white supremacist with a double-digit body count. Nobody would mourn them.

But was that my own thought? Or was that the callousness of the Butchers seeping into me? Either way, I couldn’t let myself listen to it.

“I have to do this Tock.” I reluctantly pushed him into the dark, gently, and felt my emotions numb a little bit more. I’d need that coldness for this.

Snowblind stepped up next to her lover, raising her hands to about hip height, palms down. Her cloud started to form over her head, about the size of a frisbee, dropping a light dusting of powder onto her head and shoulders. “You know what really bad frostbite looks like? When they have to saw your toes off because they’ve gone black? That’s what I’m gonna do to you if you don’t move.” There was a nervous edge to her voice, like she’d either really do it or chicken out. That unpredictable bravado had made her someone the Butchers had kept an eye on. Pushing hard might make her back off.

“You know what getting your face kicked in looks like?” I retorted. “That’s what I’m going to do if you try it.”

What I could see of her face flushed red; her hands came up in a flash, and a blizzard spewed right at me.

Chapter Text

Thursday January 27^th, The Docks

I snatched up Stormtiger as I threw myself sideways, the chill of Snowblind’s blast seeping in from where it’d clipped my feet. The stream of frost followed us, but not before I’d dashed far enough to put one of the girders that held up the roof between us.

The two quickly broke into a run as I shifted Stormtiger to one arm and raised the other, firing the grappler. It lodged neatly in the corner of two struts, and I hit the retract function, zipping toward the roof fast enough that Snowblind’s shriek of anger dopplered behind me.

I managed to swing both Stormtiger and myself up onto a central beam thick enough to support both of us and laid him along it as I grabbed a spare grappler cable off my belt.

“So what’re you going to do now?” Tactical demanded as I quickly wound it around Stormtiger and the beam. “You’re going to fight both of them? You could barely handle Mush or Skidmark for god’s sake! And these are our people!”

I pushed him back into the dark again, unsettled by how quickly he’d managed to resurface. Then again, Tactical had always been one of the calmer Butchers.

He did have a point. Once again I was against opponents that I hadn’t specifically prepared for, who knew the Butcher’s capabilities better than anyone else. They might have been idiots, but they worked well together.

Proving the point, Sinister was manifesting arms from the base of the beam, spiralling up and around to form an unsettling staircase. As I watched, he took his first tentative steps, then grew bolder as his power supported his weight. Snowblind followed behind him, holding one of the shadowy hands that sprouted from the armour on his back.

On the other hand, I couldn’t back down from this.

I wanted to be a hero, or at least not be the Butcher, and if I let members of the Teeth execute people in cold blood, I’d be taking another step toward the abyss. That was how it always started- being worn down by their influence until whatever was left was corrupted, easily driven.

I refused to let them win; I refused to be worn down.

Instead I released my grappler and fired across to the next beam, then simply stepped out into open air.

I’d timed it just right- I swung down just as the villains were on the opposite side of the girder from me. Snowblind leaned out to try and aim at me as I passed, but I simply released the grappler and fell the last ten feet to the floor, rolling with the landing to come up running, dodging around the trail of Sinister’s arms, or just jumping over them.

There were almost no bugs left alive in the building- Stormtiger’s air bomb and the wave of pepper dust had killed off almost all of them. The survivors were damaged or slowly succumbing.

I chose to push them on anyway, searching across the floor. Even as they struggled and stopped, my will overrode their instincts to survive, driving them to search for me.

The fly on the hilt of the sword closest to me died just as I picked it up, asphyxiated by the dust. I brushed it off and continued to the other sword at a run, scooping up a few other items along the way.

“They’re c-coming,” Flinch warned. True enough, Snowblind had come back down her lover’s creepy staircase. Sinister had simply grabbed at the girder with all the arms sprouting from his armour and walked himself down like a man-sized spider.

I could feel the shape of the Butchers’ thoughts in the back of my mind- they were split between derision for his showboating, and appreciation for the aesthetic.

With all of them pushed down, my emotions were dulled too. Right now I mostly felt cold. The thought of fighting them wasn’t intimidating, and the thought of losing was only an abstract concept.

 I had both swords in hand by the time their boots hit the floor, cutting edges out as I began walking toward the lovers, slashing through the arms that got in my way. The shadows wavered and melted away as they were severed.

“Really wish we could have done more tests with his power,” Tock pondered. “They can’t form on an unstable surface, and impacts dissipate them, but I wonder what else affects them.”

“Really not the time, Tock,” I thought back. I was close enough now to see Sinister’s furious eyes under his mask as he paced back and forth, letting his power soak into the areas he hadn’t already covered.

Still, out of idle curiosity, I pulled the taser trigger on my next swing. The arms burst apart at the touch with a crackle of electricity. Sinister’s stride faltered as he stared at the spot where the arms had been.

“Huh.” I turned my head towards him. “That’s something.”

“Fuck you,” Sinister snapped. A couple of arms started to form from where I’d burst them. “I can keep making my hands all night, and you still have to get close to stop me. You ain’t winning this.”

I shrugged. Then I threw the sword to land between his feet. Sinister fell over backwards with a yelp, the arms on his armour keeping him from sprawling.

Snowblind immediately shot at me, a blast as strong as a firehose, but I was already dodging, pulling the launcher off my back to point at her.

I’d used all my pepper rounds tonight, and all but one net, but the punch rounds were re-usable. I’d simply picked up the ones I’d fired as I was getting my swords back.

The first round hit Snowblind in the stomach; she doubled over with a choked sound, her frost splashing across the ground. Sinister grabbed the sword off the ground and rushed forward to stand between me and her. “Come on you bitch!”

I shot at him too- the shadowy arms on his suit all folded themselves over in front of him, grasping at each other and intertwining to form a barrier. The impact dispelled a couple, but Sinister barely moved, and the punch round was quickly passed to the arms on the floor and ferried away.

I replaced the launcher and lunged to meet him, bringing the sword up to parry his wild swing. I could tell right away he didn’t have any experience with a sword, while I had experience from Stoneknapper onwards, and especially Muramasa’s Kendo memories.

What really made him a challenge was the arms sprouting from him that swung wildly with a variety of knives, some nicking at my armour, and the dozens more that bloomed from the ground around him, grabbing at my armour, failing to find purchase, but still slowing me down.

I turned the parry into a riposte, flicking the sword out of his hand and into the air, then jabbing him in the chest. The arms slowed it with their knives, and his suit insulated a lot of the electricity, but he still shrieked in pain, letting himself fall back to be carried back by the carpet of left arms behind him.

“What I wouldn’t give to have that many hands to tinker with,” Tock Tick mused.

“Are you seriously hoping he’ll kill me just so you can tinker more?” I demanded as I caught the falling sword in my off hand. I thumbed the taser functions to maximum and dropped low, spinning in a circle to clear an area around me.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Tock protested- I grumbled at him while my arms swung in wide arcs, hacking a path through the arms as I advanced toward Sinister.

Sinister backed away toward Snowblind, his feet passing through the arms like they weren’t there. A part of his power- he could choose how the arms interacted with him, solid or intangible.

The arms were growing more thickly, more of them sprouting to fill the gaps between us as Sinister drew on his power. The plates on his suit were boasting two or three shadow arms apiece.

“S’like spaghetti made of bad dreams,” Firecracker commented as she resurfaced at last, not as boisterous as usual. I could feel the others bobbing back into the light as well.

I wasn’t pushing the Butchers down as much now that they’d spent their anger on losing Skidmark, but there was a new irritation directed at the pair of Teeth with me. Angry that they didn’t run, or didn’t fight harder, or didn’t kill me so they could return to their gang.

“Don’t count me in that,” Firecracker insisted as I kept swiping my way through the jungle of shadows. “These guys are too dumb to stick with the Teeth if they don’t know when to run.”

“What, you’re not wishing they’d kill me and take you all back to your gang?”

Firecracker shrugged. “I mean, you’re boring, but you’re a different boring. Fresh boring. I get that’s a oggy-mon or whatever-”

“Oxymoron,” I corrected absentmindedly as I did another spin to wipe out the arms sprouting around me. Sinister had taken long enough to try and attack me from behind, but now he was going full force, desperation in his actions.

“What I mean is, being stuck in here, I know things always end. Everybody thinks they’ll be the guy who lives forever, and they aren’t. You’ll get offed at some point, and we’ll go back to the Teeth, even if we have to start it up all over again, but for now?” She shrugged again. “It’s something new.”

“What a ringing endorsement.” I eyed the support beam to my right as unobtrusively as I could, about halfway between me and the pair. “Maybe this’ll keep your interest.”

I threw myself into a leap, slashing away the arms that tried to clutch at me, throwing a leg out to land on the side of the beam, then pushing off again before I could fall.

I landed just behind Sinister as he started to turn; The right sword swept out behind me to clear the area, while the left whirled in front of him, tearing the shadows on him to shreds.

Sinister fell back again, that same crowd-surfing trick, but I followed this time, leaping up to land on him with both feet, driving him to the floor as I rammed the swords into his chest. This time he had no extra arms to deflect the blow, and nowhere to go, pinned to the concrete as he was. Within a few seconds of pained shaking he’d passed out, the arms all over the building bursting into wisps of darkness that faded into nothing.

Danger sense flared, a feeling behind me, and I rolled forward, grabbing Sinister’s costume to drag him with me, flipping him over me so the blast of frost from Snowblind splashed over his back. Her attack cut off with a frantic apology as she tried to move around us, attack from an angle where I wasn’t using her boyfriend as a shield.

Stoneknapper had just bobbed to the surface, and his thoughts weren’t complimentary. “Really? Friendly fire? Why’d we let these idiots in again?”

“A matched pair of Shakers doesn’t come by often,” Tactical grunted. “We’ve always been lacking in battlefield control.”

Rotter snickered. “After how he just got buzzed, he’d prolly be glad for the icepack!”

I rolled sideways, taking Sinister with me as I rose to my feet, holding him by the armpits as an unwilling shield. His head lolled back and his limbs dangled limply, thoroughly out of it.

“Let him go!” Snowblind shrieked, the cloud over her head visibly growing with her anger, snow falling from it faster and thicker.

“Sure.” I pulled him in toward me, then hurled him at her. His unconscious form bowled her over with a cry of surprise. She didn’t even manage to untangle her limbs from his before I took two smart steps forward and jabbed her with the sword.

It was about two minutes later when one hero in red smashed through the wall, and another in grey dropped through the skylight. “Nobody move!” the first one bellowed.

“Loud much?” Firecracker commented.

I looked up from where I was crouched next to the last of the Merchants. I’d moved them all around a couple of trashcan fires I’d started to warm them up while I brushed the frost off them and used bloodsight to check for any tissue damage.

I recognised the guy, obviously. Assault, one of the local Protectorate heroes, respected and well-liked. Red body armour from head to toe, with a matching visor that covered everything from the eyes up. His power was some kind of kinetic manipulation, touch-based, that made him a very flexible combatant.

The other guy was harder to make out, grey and dark grey in the shadows of the rafters, but I recognised the silhouette. Still, Assault was the one to talk to right now.

Under better circumstances, I would have been polite. As it was, all I could do was wearily gesture to the wall- specifically the hole he’d made, above the hole I’d made and across from the door. “Did you have to go through the wall?” I asked wearily.

Anchorage gasped mockingly. “Oh, heroes causing all that horrible property damage, whatever is the world coming to?” She couldn’t possibly have sounded more sarcastic.

Assault eased out of the fighting stance he’d dropped into upon landing. “Right. Sorry, we were kind of expecting… more.” He sniffed, then winced and gagged. “Gah, what the hell is that?”

“Pepper dust,” I explained, picking up the unconscious Merchant gingerly and placing him a bit closer to the fire in the recovery position. Only then did I straighten up and walk a few steps toward him. “I’m Elpis, good to meet you.”

“Assault. I’ve heard about you. Good work on Mush.” He stuck out a hand, and I shook it briefly.

“Thanks. That means a lot.”

“Quick, rot his hand!” Dirty Rotter blurted, as if I’d actually listen to what he said. I pushed him out of the light a bit as a warning.

“So,” Assault asked, letting go, “pepper dust?”

“Yeah, I made a couple of canisters of the stuff for dealing with large crowds.” He followed as I started walking over to where I’d tied up the capes, the Teeth to one support beam and Stormtiger to another. “It’s just pepper spray and chalk dust, really. There’s still a little in the air though, so you might taste a bit of spice.”

“More than a little.” Assault spat off to the side as we reached the captives, turning his head back and forth from Stormtiger to Snowblind and Sinister in an almost cartoonish manner; then he gave a long, loud wolf whistle.

“Well, this is a lot better than I was expected tonight. Hey, Gargoyle!” he yelled into the rafters, “Quit skulking around and get down here!”

The second hero dropped from the rafters, drifting down a lot slower than an actual fall. Up close I could make out the suit; slate grey on the chest, forearms and shins, and a lighter, almost silver colour on the thighs and biceps, with the lightest part being the mask that wrapped around his head from hairline to lip, with pointed earpieces and white lenses.

Of course, that was the second thing to notice about him- the first thing that really sprang to mind was-

“It’s the stone man again,” Nemean exclaimed.

I dipped into bloodsight for a half-second. Sure enough, nothing in him lit up. All I could see was the smooth grey surface of his skin, like polished marble. Even the hair poking out from the top of the mask was rigid grey spikes.

The figure extended a hand politely. “Uh, hi. I’m Gargoyle, you probably already guessed that, Assault just said- anyway.”

I gripped his hand and pumped firmly. “Good to meet you. I’m Elpis.” I’d already heard of him, of course. The news had made a big deal about the small-time independent hero who’d decided to join the local Protectorate in the aftermath of Quarrel’s death. It probably had something to do with how a thrown sewer lid had broken one of his legs off.

“This dumbass,” Quarrel griped. “I should’ve aimed for his head.”

“Would that have even killed him?” Vladimir wondered. “He wasn’t bleeding when the leg came off, and he seems to have stuck it back on okay; Maybe he can reattach parts when he’s made of stone.”

Needler disagreed. “He certainly screamed as if it hurt, I doubt that it was that easy for him. Most likely that New Wave healer fixed him up.”

“So,” Assault said, unknowingly interrupting the conversation, “Can you walk us through what happened here? I really want to know how you took down three villains all at once.”

“It wasn’t really all at once,” I admitted. “I got a tip that the Merchants were going to sell those two-” I pointed, “-to that asshole-” pointed with the other hand, “-so I rushed over to bust it up. Skidmark had them in a ring of his fields, and I tried to take him down, but Stormtiger arrived and knocked him over. So then I had to fight Stormtiger, which let Skidmark escape, and just when I’d got him tied up, Snowblind and Sinister wanted to fight me, so I had to take them on as well.”

“Like you weren’t enjoying it,” Bearskin snorted.

“Getting the shit kicked out of me isn’t my idea of fun,” I shot back.

“Damn.” Assault’s expression was sympathetic. “Well, that’s a rough night alright, but I’m still damn impressed you managed to pull this off.” He swept his hand around to indicate the piles of restrained and unconscious Merchants, and the three villains. “Hell of a haul. You should be proud.”

“Yeah, I’ll feel that when I’ve got all the dents out of this armour,” I said snippily. One hand went to the claw marks on the breastplate. “And this.”

“What the hell did that?” Gargoyle sounded faintly horrified.

“Pussy,” Butcher grunted.

“Wonder if my power could work on him like this,” Stoneknapper pondered.

“Stormtiger’s got claws, and he knows how to use them. Plus they can explode.”

“Jesus.”

“Good to know your armour can take a hit though,” Assault said cheerily. “I’m liking the Mandalorian look you’ve got going for you.”

“Like in Star Wars,” Tock Tick said when I didn’t understand the reference. “Boba Fett, Jango Fett, all those guys. A clan of armoured warriors.”

“I was really going more for function than looks,” I admitted. “Might be time to spruce it up a bit.”

“Yeah, it’s not really that heroic,” Gargoyle blurted. Assault shot him a venomous look.

“Sorry about him, he’s new. Doesn’t know when to shut up.” His expression smoothed back into a boyish grin. “Anyway, we’ve got troopers following behind us, should be just another minute. You want us to help get everything cleared up?”

True enough, two vans of troopers showed up within 30 seconds, as well as several police cars. I stood back and watched as they loaded the villains onto stretchers, covered them with containment foam, and then loaded the resulting piles into the vans.

I had to give a more complete account of how things had gone; Assault proved to be a great audience, oohing and aahing at all the dramatic moments. I found myself opening up about how frustrated I was in losing Skidmark, the sheer stress of trying to keep anyone from dying, and some plans I had for upgrading my equipment.

“I wish I had one of these,” Assault said wistfully, holding the sword up to look at it closer. The lights of the police cars flashed red and blue off the blade.

“I still can’t believe you let him hold it!” Knapper exploded. “He’s the enemy, remember?”

“Nah, we’re an upstanding, respectable hero now, remember?” Anchorage said. “It’s our duty and honour to keep the peace and- pffffffhahahahaahahaa! Ah fuck, couldn’t, I couldn’t say it!”

“You’ve really made a splash so far,” Assault said, handing the sword back carefully. I’d locked all the functions down before I’d let him handle it, but it was gratifying to see him be cautious with it.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gargoyle finish helping to carry the last of the Merchants into the back of a paddy wagon, shivering from the aftereffects of Snowblind’s blasts. A few others were having their eyes washed out before being loaded in- that pepper dust had really got in everywhere. Dusting his hands off, Gargoyle turned toward us and made his way over in a couple of long slow bounds, like he was walking on the moon.

He reached us just as Assault asked “So I know Miss Militia already gave you the sales pitch-”

I held up my hands apologetically. “Sorry, I’m really not looking to join up. I appreciate the offer, but…” I trailed off and shrugged in what I hoped was a what-can-you-do sort of way.

“You sure?” Gargoyle said quizzically. “’’Cause I’ve only been in for three weeks and I’m loving it. Didn’t know how much I wanted somebody to talk about this stuff with until I had ‘em, y’know?”

Assault made a chopping motion in front of his chest to cut Gargoyle off, before turning back to me. “It’s okay; We’d rather have you friendly with us than pressure you and ruin that. I was just wondering if you’d be okay with some time working together.

“See, it’s mostly low-level stuff right now, but the Teeth are either running from the Empire or hitting them around the edges, and every so often that turns into a huge brawl that wrecks a whole street. They always fade away before we can catch them, or they use Spree’s clones to bog us down.

“And the other gangs aren’t staying still either. The ABB’s pushing into the west and south where they can- hell, you saw that tonight, right? Because the Empire’s got every cape trying to pin down the Teeth, so we’re getting more clashes like that.

“Downtown’s about the only place that isn’t seeing action, because Coil’s holding that.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard almost nothing about him,” I broke in. “Nothing about his power, he’s got no other capes working for him- what’s his deal?”

Gargoyle opened his mouth, finger raised in a lecturing manner- then lowered his finger again. “I’ve actually got no idea,” he admitted. “Don’t think we’ve even had a briefing about him.”

 Assault hummed. “Yup. Honestly, we’re not sure about him. He hires mercenaries, all of them ex-military, all in serious gear. Body armour for them, automatics for other gangs, and some Tinkertech lasers for anything else.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tactical muttered, “Where the hell’s he got the money for that from?” I repeated the question aloud out of curiosity.

“No idea. We thought maybe he’s making the tech himself, but no sign of material deliveries. Heck, some guys think he might not even have powers.”

“A normal man could not hold such territory in this city,” Muramasa proclaimed. “You mark my words, there is something subtler at play.”

“The Merchants aren’t doing anything with a visible direction- not that they ever had much territory either, so right now they’re just a nuisance.” Assault waved a hand to indicate the troopers and cops finishing up everything. “Case in point.”

“So basically you want to be able to call on me for some unofficial backup if things get hot between the big guys,” I summarised.

“Fuckers need help to do their jobs for them,” Quarrel sneered. I gave her a light shove and tuned her out.

Assault chuckled. “Well I wouldn’t call it out quite like that, but yeah, pretty much. You can definitely handle yourself, and we’d love to see what you can do. I know Armsmaster’d love to talk shop with you, maybe swap some ideas.” His cheeks twitched slightly, and I realised he was waggling his eyebrows under the visor.

I chewed my lip. “Guys, thoughts?”

Tock Tick rolled his eyes. “Like you have to ask. Take it! Armsmaster’s one of the best Tinkers on the continent! Just think what we could pick up from him!”

“There is no fucking way you’re helping these shits fight our guys, you shit-stained toothpick-” Butcher’s thoughts seemed to doppler away as I shoved him back down again. In a perverse way I admired his commitment to spewing insults at me at every opportunity.

“Yep, there he goes,” Tactical noted. “Teeth aside, if the guys are keeping to hit and run tactics, we’re more likely to take the fight to the other gangs. We could soften them up for when we finally get out of here.”

“We took down two of our own like, twenty minutes ago!” Firecracker protested.

Nemean snorted derisively. “Morons,” she grunted simply. The shape of her thoughts had already moulded to the new situation- as loyal as she was to her people, she had no patience for fools.

“You know what? I’m in,” I said out loud. “Do you guys have a hotline I can call to get in touch or something?”

“Sure, let’s trade.” Assault pulled a sleek phone from a concealed pouch and we traded my number for a PRT direct line- then Assault gave me his work number as well ‘just in case’, and showed me how I could request a special cape line when I called emergency services to report something.

“Right, that should do it,” he said at last. “We need to take these guys in for tonight, so,” he pointed finger-guns at me, “you stay safe out there, Elpis.” He walked off without another word, chuckling as if he’d made a joke.

I noticed Gargoyle was lingering, fiddling with his fingers. “You need something?”

The hero sighed and ran a hand over his hair- not through it, his hand simply slid along the spikes with a faint clicking noise. It seemed to annoy him, because he dropped his hand with a grimace.

“Listen, I know you said you don’t want to join, and they already tried the speech, but,” he hesitated, grey teeth worrying at his lower lip. There was no give there either, just a faint clicking. Then he started speaking again, in a rush of words, like he had to get it out as fast as possible.

“Look, I did the whole lone wolf thing myself, and it was good for a while. Or at least, it felt like it. But,” he waved a hand, “I never managed to pull off anything like this. Three villains in one night, that’s,” he made a mind-blown gesture on either side of his head, “boosh, that’s awesome, better than I ever did.”

 Gargoyle licked his lips for a second. “But I didn’t really start making a difference until I joined up, and maybe you’ll do better than me, but I didn’t consider joining until I got my leg smashed off.” He stuck out his right leg and waggled it demonstratively.

“I guess I’m saying, don’t wait until you’ve had the shit kicked out of you to think about getting some backup, because I was dumb enough to do that and it really fucking sucked.”

“He’s a good k-kid,” Flinch said approvingly.

It struck me that I really wasn’t sure how old Gargoyle was. He was the same height as me in the armour, and the all-grey skin didn’t give any clues, but the way he spoke, and just how uncertain he sounded, made it seem like he was barely out of his teens. For one brief moment I felt sorry for the kid.

“I’ll keep it in mind, Gargoyle,” I said gently. After a moment, he nodded to me and walked off to join Assault.

I made my way to the edge of the crowd of law enforcement, where a couple of troopers had moved my bike. I gave myself a once-over before I hopped on.

The dents, the scuff marks, the patches of pepper dust, the claw marks on the chest, the ammo I’d need to replace, the maintenance checks I’d need to perform on the swords after the beating they’d taken, and last but not least, the blood I’d need to wash out of the undersuit.

All that, balanced against the dozens of gang members I’d brought in, the Empire cape and two Teeth. Intellectually, I knew it was a good night. Emotionally was a different matter.

I swung my leg over and started the engine, rolling away before I’d even locked my feet in. I’d had enough for tonight. Spend a few hours tinkering, then go on home.

“You’re going to need to wash yourself as well,” Needler noted. “I think your father might notice if you’re bloodstained and smelling of pepper spray in the morning.”

Chapter Text

Monday 31^st January, Downtown South

“I swear to fucking God, I don’t know where they aaaaarree!”

I sighed frustratedly, then let go of the man’s ankle. He already had his hands pressed to the ground of the alley to try and steady himself as I’d questioned him, so he was left doing an impromptu handstand for a second before he overbalanced and flopped onto his back.

I knelt to tie his wrists together just as a ‘Hey,’ floated over to me. I glanced up as Battery walked over.

“Shorties in skin-tight suits,” Anchorage hummed appreciatively. “If Assault isn’t tapping that, he’s a damn fool.”

Battery’s suit was pretty flattering- a form-fitting mix of white and dark grey, with cobalt blue circuit board lines running along it, still lit up from the little bit of charge she still had.

As much as the Butchers leered and shouted demands for her to shake her hips more, I respected the woman’s career more. She’d transferred over from New York, been leader of the Wards around here for a while, back when I was in junior high, and then she’d joined the Protectorate. Despite the ambiguity in her relationship with Assault that the gossip columns liked to jump on, she was pleasant, hardworking, and level-headed.

Right now, she was looking disapproving as I put the guy over my shoulder and stood up. “You really aren’t supposed to intimidate prisoners like that.”

“Fucking right!” the man shouted from over my shoulder, kicking his legs for emphasis.

“Are you serious?” Stoneknapper said. “All we did was turn him upside down! No knives, no pliers- just shaking him a bit! What does it take with these guys?”

Nemean snorted. “No wonder we keep beating these guys if they have to hold back like this.”

“You called me to help out with these assholes,” I said, gesturing to the other Empire members we’d found selling truckloads of stolen goods, and their unlucky customers. “So I’m helping. I’m just trying to get some information for my own work, and it’s not like I’m hurting them. Besides, it’s for a good cause.”

“We can’t condone that kind of behaviour,” Battery insisted. “I’m glad you’re trying to help-”

“Trying?” I said incredulously.

“-that you are helping,” Battery continued without missing a beat, “but we have limits, and they have rights; like the right to remain silent.”

I bit my tongue before I could say anything I might regret, taking a few deep breaths. The Butchers were finally learning to avoid comments that would have me push them into the dark, but I could feel the amusement coming off them at my frustration.

“Okay,” I said after a long moment. “Okay, I’ll go easier on them. How would you do it?”

The uncovered part of Battery’s face radiated approval. “For starters, don’t dangle them upside down by their ankles. Try it the same way a police officer would- you can lay out the consequences if they don’t talk, you can offer incentive to talk, but don’t get physical with them.”

“Like the coppers never put the boot in on guys they nick,” Rotter snorted derisively.

I kicked at the ground. “Yeah, okay.”

“Good.” Battery gave me a smile. “For what it’s worth, it says a lot that you’re willing to listen. You’re doing well.”

“Yeah, thanks.” I started toward where Battery had tied up most of the other gangers we’d caught. Battery sped past me after a moment to charge, scooping up another guy in a glowing blur and depositing him with the rest.

“God, super speed is such bullshit,” Firecracker said cheerfully. “Only power that’s almost as good as mine.”

“My god, do you ever shut up about that?” Quarrel demanded.

“Really, I mean it. You’re already making waves.” Battery snorted. “Heck, it took me a while before I managed to bring in a villain.” She muttered something else with an odd expression that I couldn’t quite decipher.

“Not the villains I want though,” I groused, sitting my non-informant down next to his buddies.

Despite using every night since then to scour the city, I hadn’t seen hide or hair of the Merchants since I’d faced off against Skidmark. I’d stopped a bunch of muggings, a break-in, and a guy trying to steal a car, but not one dope-dealing dirtbag.

On the other hand, the Empire were still scouring the city for the Teeth, and being increasingly heavy-handed about it. There weren’t as many fights in the streets as the Teeth retreated further and further, but collateral damage was increasing. The Teeth had even resorted to arson, torching a restaurant used for laundering Empire money.

The Protectorate were chasing down every lead they could, and when they didn’t have a lead, they were trying to squeeze the gangs as much as possible to slow them down, which was why Battery had called me in to help with a routine bust- to be absolutely sure none of the dirtbags got away.

“And because they’re still trying to recruit you,” Vladimir pointed out. “This is the third hero they’ve introduced you to now.”

“Well, that too,” I admitted.

“I almost want to see what’d happen if you actually said yes to joining them,” Dirty Rotter snickered. “Imagine the looks on their faces when they realise!”

“There any more news on the Empire?” I asked as I checked the restraints on the gang members. “Or the Teeth?”

Battery glanced at the Empire goons. “Not in front of them.” She beckoned to me as she walked to the end of the alleyway, so I followed quickly.

“Word is that the Teeth are packing up,” Battery whispered once I’d reached her. “There’ve been sightings near car lots and the like- when we gave that to the Thinkers, they figured the Teeth are looking for vehicles to get out of town.”

“So much for a triumphant return to Brockton Bay,” Tactical said dolefully. “Now look at us: stuck in a teenager while the gang falls apart.”

“Bitch, I swear, when you get offed, I’m gonna-” I pushed Quarrel into the dark yet again and refocused on the real world.

“Trouble is, the Empire doesn’t just want them gone, they want them dead. Kaiser’s whipping them into a frenzy, and now they’re all out for blood.” Battery grimaced. “Plus Lung’s pushing south to expand into Empire territory, so there’s that to deal with.”

“Why does Kaiser hate the Teeth so much anyway?” I asked curiously, pretending that I didn’t know damn well why.

“Part of it’s probably that they were around in the early days of the gangs, before Kaiser took control of the E88. The other part,” Battery winced, “well, the Teeth killed an Empire cape called Heith years ago. Everybody speculated that she and Kaiser were an item, so…”

“Revenge for his lost love? I wouldn’t have thought he had it in him.” I shook my head. “So now he’s tearing the city apart trying to finish them off.”

“And we’re stuck trying to stop him,” Battery concluded.

“See, we could be having fun doing the tearing ourselves if you weren’t such a killjoy,” Firecracker remarked.

“Hell, taking the fight to the Nazis would make us look like heroes by comparison,” Tactical said.

“I am taking the fight to them,” I replied, “And I’m doing it without risking passing you guys on to someone like Hookwolf.”

“Ah, we can take him,” Bearskin said dismissively.

Muramasa tsked. “We can defeat such as he- Elpis lacks the will to take a life.”

I gave everyone talking a quick shove as Battery cocked her head. “You alright?”

I sighed. “Yeah, just… lost in thought. This whole situation’s a lot to deal with. Not exactly fun times fighting the good fight.”

“True. Never thought I’d miss Assault’s bad jokes on patrol.” Battery cracked a smile as she started back toward the Empire members. “God, he had this thing today about-” she snapped her fingers a few times, “-Ursine fractals, that was it.”

“What’s that mean?” I asked, nonplussed.

“He said it bears repeating.”

The Butchers groaned with me at the crappy pun. “I know, I know,” Battery said. “Do me a favour, never let him know I thought his puns were funny.”

“Crappy puns seem like more of a sibling vibe to me,” Tock Tick said. “Anybody want to change their bet? I won’t judge.”

“Oh please.” Needler rolled her eyes. “Sharing bad jokes is practically traditional for couples. You’re not winning this one, Tock.”

“Where is Assault anyway? I kind of thought he’d be the one calling me for a team-up first.”

Battery winced. “Keeping an eye on things in downtown. They can’t spare the manpower to have us paired up in quiet areas.”

“So that’s why you needed me for this,” I concluded. “Actually, do you still need me here, or can I go now?”

Battery shrugged. “Up to you. I can take it from here if you’ve got somewhere to be.”

“See you around then.” I launched a grappler upward and zipped up toward the top of the building next to us, dropping down next to my bike on the other side.

“Back to uselessly looking around then,” Vladimir said. “I know Skidmark’s been frying his brain with god knows what, but he wouldn’t have survived this city without knowing when to keep his head down. If you weren’t so determined to ignore when we give you actual advice, you’d be fighting the Empire right now.”

I started the engine and took off without replying. The annoying thing was that he was right, and I knew the smart thing to do was to focus on the Empire and the Teeth to actually get results. It was what I wanted to do, even.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d be putting myself closer to what the Butchers wanted me to be. So instead I was running myself ragged looking for the lowest gang in the city, and finding only petty crooks who couldn’t tell me anything.

It was taking its toll on my attitude- I’d been getting increasingly bad-tempered over the weekend, and downright pissy all through school today. I’d have to remember to apologise to Stacey for snapping at her at lunch.

“Don’t let it g-get to you,” Flinch said gently. “There’s plenty of times when I felt like I was stuck. This’ll p-pass too.”

“I hope so,” I said as I pushed the bugs I’d collected further out from myself- moths and flies mostly, at this time of night. As I did, something caught my attention- a bright light several moths were focusing on. I turned towards the sensation at the next intersection.

I moved more bugs in as I got closer, picking up on great patches of light and heat. Some of the bugs were dying just from getting too close, cooking where they stood. I killed the engine and switched the bike over to the mainspring, the escapements I’d built in keeping the wheels quiet as a whisper.

One more turning, and I could see flickering light coming out of an alleyway with my own eyes. There were shouts of alarm, and then a gunshot and a scream.

“That’s fear, not pain,” Stoneknapper opined. “Bullet didn’t hit anyone, but whoever it is, they’re either a civvie or a fresh cape.”

Charging in against an unknown didn’t sound like a good idea, so I brought the bike to a stop and swung myself off, firing a grappler to pull myself to the higher roof, and then creeping to the edge to catch a glimpse of the scene.

The back end of the alley was blocked by a high brick wall, and the open end by a couple of rough-looking white guys, one fat and bearded with a leather vest covered in patches, the other skinny with a moustache and a denim jacket. At a closer look, every patch on them had something to do with white supremacists. Fat one was pointing a gun down the alley, badly aimed.

“Oh wow, a couple of dumbass neo-nazis, never seen that before,” Firecracker said sarcastically.

The middle section of the alley was where things got interesting. A wall of white-hot flames separated the two goons from a smaller figure in ragged clothing, radiating enough heat to make me sweat from ten feet away. The flames were splashed along the ground in long streaks, along the walls, and across a dumpster. As I looked closer, I realised I could see the steel and the bricks melting under the sheer heat of the flames.

“Holy mother of fuck!” Firecracker yelled. “Who the hell is this guy and how do we get him to work for us?”

“Maybe he already is,” Bearskin said. “Remember, the guys burnt down that restaurant?”

“Oohohohoho!” Rotter rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Gotta love the pyros!”

Fat Beard raised the handgun- in his meaty paws it looked like a toy- and fired off a shot. By my estimate, the bullet missed by at least two feet, but the cape ducked down behind the dumpster with a high-pitched shriek, then stuck their head out for a moment.

The cape spat a stream of something liquid about ten feet, landing just past the far edge of the flame barrier. Where the liquid hit the ground it immediately burst into more flames. Another spray of liquid followed, filling in a gap in the wall. The Empire goons backed up a few steps, squawking in fear.

“Five buck says new guy’s called Spitfire or some shit,” Stoneknapper said cynically.

“No bet,” Tactical replied.

“Could be something like Firehose,” Anchorage suggested.

The attacks from either side changed the situation; A couple of Empire goons going after a new cape was bad, and against someone who was rapidly melting a dumpster like wax, even more so.

But if the Teeth had someone like this on their side, the amount of damage they could do would be bigger than ever. At worst, they could take out entire blocks.

Just as I thought that, I felt a tremor in the wall I was leaning on. I laid a hand on it and let Stoneknapper’s power fizz through my fingers into the brickwork, giving me a rough idea of its condition. The fire was eating away at it, breaking down the bonds through sheer heat, cracking the cement and making a wider and wider hole with every second. I needed to stop this before the whole building went up.

“Oh, I see what you’re thinking,” Tock said as a plan unfolded in my mind. “That should work well.”

“Whatever you intend to do, I suggest you do it quickly,” Muramasa insisted. “It is only a matter of time before one of those idiots manages a lucky shot.”

I was already walking away from the edge, drawing my swords ands thumbing them to maximum cutting power. The bugs had mapped out this rooftop, and all the neighbouring rooftops, so I knew that the water tower on the corner was full.

The swords were giving off a slight whine at the edge of my hearing- I let the sharpening power flow over them, and then swung them together as hard as I could. The swords went through the side of the metal tank with barely any resistance, and water started spurting out. I slashed again, perpendicular to the first, and a rough square section was cut out of the metal, letting the water out in a torrent.

“Tut tut, and there’s that horrible disregard for property damage again,” Anchorage teased. Being able to feel her amusement kept my old cringing reaction from surfacing.

“Pretty sure letting a building or two burn to the ground would be worse,” I countered, striding through the gushing water back to the edge and giving it a sharp kick, knocking out a large chunk to the street below, right into the largest patch of fire.

With a clear path, the water poured off the roof in a waterfall; it flashed into steam at first as it hit the flames, but gallons upon gallons more followed it, smothering the flames with sheer volume, even the patches along the walls.

The Empire guys panicked, Fat Beard firing randomly into the alley. It took bloodsight to see the cape through the steam, diving behind the remains of the dumpster and curling into a ball. No danger of them getting shot just yet, but as soon as the water ran out they’d be vulnerable.

“You gonna get those guys or what?” Firecracker said impatiently. I sheathed my swords without a word and stepped off the corner of the roof.

Skinny Guy shrieked in surprise as I landed next to him, and then yelped as I brought a foot up and into his chest, kicking him into his friend, which knocked both of them into a streetlamp. Before either of them could say a word I brought the launcher up and around to hit them with a net round, pinning both of them to the lamp and each other.

I stepped forward to pry the pistol out of Fat guy’s hand as he struggled to aim it at me, giving it a cursory glance before I jabbed a finger into the nerve point behind his ear, making him go limp. The gun was a Cobra Arms Freedom .380, seven-round magazine. Lightweight and damn cheap, exactly the cheap crap a low level moron would be packing. I quickly pulled it apart and aimed the launcher down the alleyway while the thugs groaned semiconsciously.

I could see the blood silhouette behind the dumpster slowly unfolding, making as if to peek around the edge. I could have just nailed them with a net round the moment they popped their head out, but I decided I should at least try to appeal to a peaceful solution. Battery’s earlier warnings echoed in my mind for a minute, much to the displeasure of the Butchers.

“God, how goody-two-shoes can you get?” Quarrel complained.

I raised my voice and projected down the alleyway as hard as I could. “You in the alley! Come out with your hands up and I’ll go easy on you! Don’t make this hard on yourself- I already took down Snowblind and Sinister at the same time, you won’t be a challenge.”

There was a pause, then the cape’s head leaned out slightly. “Who the fuck are they?”

I was thrown off for about half a second. The cape was a girl- about my age if the voice was any indicator, though it was rough, like she’d smoked a couple of times. She coughed as she finished the sentence, waving her hand in front of her face. Possibly the steam and ash wasn’t quite so easy for her to deal with.

More importantly, if she didn’t know who they were, she might not be a part of the Teeth after all.

“So who the hell is she?” Vladimir wondered as the steam began to clear.

“Actually,” the girl called, shrinking back a bit, “Got a better question. Who the fuck are you?”

“Name’s Elpis. Independent hero. And to answer your first question, they’re from the Teeth. Now come on out, or I’ll have to come in and get you.”

A hand emerged from around the dumpster, middle finger jabbing at the sky. “Come get me then. One loogie and you’ll be charcoal.”

“Holy shit, she is sassy as fuck, I like her!” Rotter laughed.

Needler snorted. “You certainly can’t deny her spirit.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see lights going on across the street. The fire, the gunshots and the water tower had all made a hell of a noise- frankly it was a surprise nobody around had woken up before. Then again, this was Brockton Bay after all.

I still wanted to wrap this up before people worked up the nerve to come and see for themselves. Having to deal with rubberneckers when a jumpy fire-spitting kid was on the street could get messy easily.

“Listen,” I said impatiently, “You almost demolished a couple of buildings. By accident.” A piece of charred brick fell off the hole on the right wall, neatly punctuating my statement. “If you try to fight your way out, you’ll just make yourself look worse. This is the easier route, okay? This is me trying to help.”

“They started it!” The girl shouted. “I was just trying to get warm, and those fuckers came up and tried to grab me, ‘cause they figure if you’re not with the Empire you’re just another target, and now I’ve got some tin-can asshole trying to arrest me ‘cause my fucking stupid spit power doesn’t have a ‘stun’ setting!”

“…Who the hell tries to get warm with that kind of firepower?” Tock asked at last.

Firecracker rolled her eyes. “Somebody who can’t spend the nights indoors, dickhead.” A brief memory of the overpass she used to sleep under flickered briefly before vanishing. “Hell, I tried stupider shit to keep warm when I was sleeping rough.”

“Sh-she needs help,” Flinch insisted. “It’s the right th-thing to do.”

I ground my teeth for a second. Even if she was just a victim of circumstance, I still wanted to shout at this girl some more, yell at her for being careless with her power. She could have hurt so many people in her one moment of panic.

“Says the murderer,” Quarrel spat.

The thought was like ice water down my back.

I was a killer. I’d been out of my mind with despair and sensory overload when I’d swiped at the shape and sounds of Quarrel with my bugs, a semi-conscious flailing, but the end result had been her death.

“You had an accident,” Flinch said. “So did sh-she. She’s like you.”

“It’s not the same,” I protested feebly.

“Sc-scary power, nobody on her side, it’s c-close enough. If you want to do the right thing…” He wordlessly indicated the girl.

What would someone like Miss Militia do in this situation? A fresh trigger with a lot of power and a cornered mentality?

“Talk to her,” Tock suggested. “Build a connection.

I cleared my throat. “I always wanted to fly. When I was a kid, I mean.” I shrugged, even though the girl couldn’t see me with her head turned away. “We don’t get to choose our powers, fair enough. You probably didn’t want to be a squirt gun filled with napalm.”

“Fuck you,” she said. The tone of it was subdued.

“I’m sorry you went through that shit. But these guys are down, and you’re still in one piece. I’m still mad at you, but I’ll put that aside for now. I’m not sure you deserve it, but I’ll listen.”

The girl’s silhouette fiddled with her hands for a few seconds before she spoke again. “You know I can burn you if you try anything, right?” She would have sounded bold and brazen if her voice hadn’t broken on the word ‘burn’.

“She doesn’t have the balls,” Butcher sneered. I rolled the thought around in my mind for a second.

“You could. But I don’t think you will. You could have barbequed these assholes, but you didn’t. You’re not a killer, at least. Just kinda stupid.”

“Hey, no, you don’t get to use me to sound like a damn-” Butcher kept ranting even as I pushed him down just far enough that his voice was a dull buzz.

“Hey, shut it! Not a lot I can do if I don’t wanna set people on fire!” The girl seemed offended at the implication that she ever would want to.

I grudgingly admitted her point. Fire was a pretty villainous power- dangerous, damaging, easy to lose control of. If she didn’t have something between retreat and lethal force…

An idea hit me like a lightning bolt. I crouched down and set the launcher on the ground. “You can take this if it makes you feel safer,” I said, and shoved the launcher so it slid down the alley, coming to a halt next to her.

“The hell is that?”

“A launcher. All non-lethal rounds. The switch above the trigger changes the ammo type. Net, pepper, rubber bullets. Okay? Now you’ve got a weapon, and I don’t.” Not that I was telling her I had several other weapons on me, or that none of the ammunition types would actually be a threat- I wasn’t that trusting. Hopefully the gesture would be enough to convince her.

There was a long, tense moment, before the girl snatched up the launcher and hefted it with a bit of strain. “Okay,” she called, “I’m coming out.”

I took a few steps back and kept my hands out to my sides as the silhouette came through the steam, the launcher pointed at my head.

She was about average height, several inches shorter than me in my armour, pale hands holding the launcher at her shoulder. Purple raincoat over grey hoodie, tattered jeans, a balaclava over her face. Every item of clothing was singed or outright burned in places.

“Kid must’ve had a couple accidents, huh?” Bearskin grunted.

“She looks hungry,” Nemean said. “Get her some food. She’ll be less angry.” Sure enough, when I looked closer, I could see how the girl was subtly straining to keep the launcher steady. She’d been sleeping rough after all- food must have been hard to come by.

“When’s the last time you ate something?” I asked. The brown eyes behind the balaclava blinked, then narrowed.

“What’s it to you?”

“Just that there’s a decent all-night coffee shop a few streets that way,” I pointed with a finger, “And if I’m going to get your story and figure out what we’re going to do here, I’d rather do it with a drink and a snack.”

The girl jabbed the launcher at my face. I didn’t flinch- hell, it was hard not to laugh. “No tricks.”

“No tricks,” I echoed. “I’d offer you a ride, but…” I nodded in the direction of the bike.

The girl glanced at it. “No way.”

“Right. Let me just call the cops to pick those guys up, and then we’ll get something to eat while we talk, okay?”

The girl stared at me for a long moment, and then let the launcher barrel drift down to point at the ground. “Okay.”

I puled my phone out with slow, careful movements, and dialled 911, requesting the special line like Assault had showed me. Within a minute, the operator confirmed a squad car moving to pick up the idiots.

“So,” I said, pocketing the phone, “Doughnuts?”

Chapter Text

Tuesday 1st February, Downtown South

“Man, what did that poor sandwich do to deserve that?” Anchorage asked.

“Did something bad in a past life,” Needler replied. “Perhaps someone choked to death on it.”

“That kid’s gonna choke if she eats any faster,” Stoneknapper said. “At least none of us went out to something like that.”

Spitfire, as she’d insisted on being called, was currently wolfing down her second sandwich of the night like someone was coming to take it from her. At this point I wasn’t sure if the few other people in the diner we’d found were staring because we were capes or because Spitfire had managed to get mustard smeared all the way up to her ear.

When she paused to breathe and take a sip of her cola, I spoke. “Can you tell me why those guys thought you were in the Teeth? You really don’t give that kind of vibe.” I indicated her layered, damaged clothing with one hand.

“Damn right. This kid doesn’t look like she’s a danger to anyone except free food,” Vladimir noted.

Spitfire shrugged. “They saw me making a trash can fire, figured I was the one who burnt down that restaurant of theirs.” She took another bite of turkey and lettuce and mumbled, “Jfust muh luck thuy were right.”

My mug stopped halfway to my mouth. “What?”

“Hey, hang on, let me explain,” she said hastily, putting the sandwich down and finishing her mouthful. “The whole thing was a big fucking accident, alright? They were saying something about giving free food out- leftovers and stuff, y’know? So I went over to try it out, get something to eat in the warm; next thing I know this guy with a swastika on his shirt stands up and starts going on about how the Empire needs support from ‘real Americans’.” The air quotes she made could not possible have been more sarcastic.

“Sounds about right,” Bearskin rumbled. “They did that in my time, too. Get the no-hopers in with free food, make them an offer. Standard recruitment strategy.”

Tactical agreed absentmindedly, his thoughts awhirl with his Thinker power. “They might be trying to increase their numbers as fast as possible to try and fight us. The Teeth, that is. Untrained homeless wouldn’t be much, but quantity has a quality all its own.”

“What did you do then?” I asked, raising my mug again. Spitfire shrunk in on herself a bit, and when she spoke, her voice was subdued.

“I tried to leave. Couple of big assholes grabbed me when I got to the door, said I couldn’t leave until the talk was done. I tried to push them off, so they dragged me into the kitchen. I got loose, and then…” She trailed off, staring down at her sandwich.

“You don’t have to tell me,” I said hastily. “I’m not going to ask you to talk about that, I know how bad that is.”

“Yeah…” Spitfire took another bite in silence, chewed and swallowed. “Y’know, on TV they always talk about getting powers like it’s some huge thing. I was just scared out of my fucking mind.”

“They can’t tell people the truth,” I explained quietly, glancing at the other customers, a few tables away from us. They hastily went back to their coffees like they hadn’t been trying to eavesdrop.

“They can’t let people know what trigger events are really like,” I said, turning back to Spitfire, “because then we’d get morons killing themselves because they tried hooking their dick up to a car battery to get superpowers.”

Spitfire suddenly snorted, then giggled, then burst out laughing, a rib-clutching laugh that rolled out of her so hard I thought she might fall out of her seat. “Car battery!” she wheezed, then dissolved into another flood of giggles.

“Damn, that’s an image,” Rotter chortled. “Didn’t know you had it in you, girl!”

“I don’t. You guys did that, remember?” I answered.

“She’s right,” Tock Tick said. “That guy who sold us those booby-trapped guns, when Bearskin was driving? You cornered him at a chop shop and got creative.” The memory made him shudder.

“Oh yeah. Man, that guy could scream,” Bearskin said.

I decided to focus on lighter subjects, so I sat and waited for Spitfire to finish, sipping my coffee through the opened mouthguard of my helmet while the Butchers reminisced. The other customers gave us more weird looks, and I saw the waitress falter midway as she came over to us with the coffee pot.

“Uh, can I get you guys… anything else?” she asked awkwardly, looking sideways at Spitfire, who’d finally clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle herself, shoulders shaking.

“We’re good,” I started, then added as the Butchers quickly clamoured, “Actually, could I get a refill?” I raised my mug toward her.

“Sure.” The waitress quickly topped up my mug, and then scurried off back to the counter.

Spitfire finally pulled herself together, drinking deep from her bottle of cola to sort herself out. “Okay,” she said, wiping her mouth, “I’m okay. Just had to get that out.”

“No problem. So, that’s when you started spewing napalm all over, right? That’s how the place burnt down?”

Spitfire shrugged, good mood fading at the reminder. “Yeah. Don’t think anybody died, and I got away, but the place burnt to the ground, so I wound up with everyone thinking I’m a villain, and the Empire looking for the fire girl so they could string her up. So I’m basically screwed.”

“Damn.” I thought for a moment. “Look, if you really want, I can vouch for you with the PRT. You’re not the first person to have accidents with their power, and certainly not the worst.”

Spitfire blinked in surprise. “Seriously? After all that?”

“Hey, they’ve got good reason to not want you not to end up as a villain. So do you want me to put a word in for you?”

“Hell yeah! I kinda like not having a criminal record!” Spitfire took a massive swig of her cola and banged it down on the table with a gasp.

“Aw, that’s cute, she’s acting like it’s a grown-up drink!” Firecracker cooed sarcastically.

“Shame on you, Elpis.” Rotter shook his head mournfully. “To think you’re turning this fine, fledgling cape away from the bright and exciting world of villainy, and toward the boring as fuck life of a hero. For shame.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Nemean told him bluntly.

“I’m amazed he said that with a straight face,” Quarrel added. “So to speak.”

I cleared my throat. “So, what do you want to do then? If you don’t want to be a villain?”

Spitfire shrugged. “Dunno. I’d kinda wanna just do something for the money, stay out of all the fighting, but I don’t think anybody needs stuff melted.”

“The Protectorate seem like good people,” I volunteered. “They’d probably love to have a powerhouse like you in the Wards. They’re not really supposed to fight anyway.”

Spitfire gave me a sceptical look. “Yeah, they’d love to have the arsonist on their team. ‘sides, I like doing my own thing. Government’s never done shit for me.”

Flinch radiated sympathy for Spitfire. “Talk to her. She n-needs someone watching her back.”

Before I could say anything, Spitfire jabbed a finger at me. “And if they’re so good, how come you didn’t join them?”

I couldn’t stop the shudder before Spitfire saw it. “Besides my laundry list of issues?” I said as jokingly as I could manage. “I prefer to be able to walk away if I want to. No strings, you know?”

That, plus the flashes of anger I still got, all the ways I thought about how to fight them, and just the fact that they were Authority with a capital A. Memories of uncaring teachers letting me suffer mixed with racist cops, apathetic bureaucrats and abusive parents. The heroes might have been good people individually, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe in the system. I wasn’t even sure how much of that was me, and how much was the Butchers.

“Don’t kid yourself,” Butcher sneered. “All those memories of yours, you hate the people in charge too. All they’ve done is hurt you, ignore you; so why are you on the same side as them?”

I shoved Butcher down as hard as I could, too late to stop his words from making sense. I took a big gulp of my coffee, and I had to force myself to relax my grip so I didn’t break it.

Luckily Spitfire didn’t pursue the conversation any further, taking another bite of her sandwich. We sat in silence for a minute, while the diner moved on around us. The trucker at the counter finished off his doughnut and motioned to the waitress to pay his bill, giving us another glance as she came over.

“Makes you wonder what he’s doing in here,” Tactical said suddenly. “It’s 3am on a Tuesday. Is he setting off, arriving, taking a break? What’s he driving?”

Firecracker gave him a weird look. “You feeling alright, Tac? You sound all… philosophical.”

Tactical shrugged. “Liminal spaces, or something. Just about everyone walks into a diner in the daytime at some point in their life, but 3am? Makes you wonder.”

Nemean snorted. “We got enough people living in here without thinking about random strangers.”

Spitfire finished off her sandwich and chugged the last of her cola. “Okay, I’m gonna head off. Thanks for the food.”

“Speaking of random strangers,” Dirty Rotter said as the pyrokinetic got up from her chair.

“Don’t l-let her leave,” Flinch said suddenly. “She’s all alone, she’s homeless, the Empire’s h-hunting her- she needs help.”

My knee-jerk reaction was dismissal- Spitfire had incredible offensive power, and she was streetwise. She wasn’t looking for a team or anything like that, and I had enough on my plate to deal with. The pragmatic thing, the sensible thing, would be to just let her go on her way.

The pragmatic thing was what a lot of the Butchers had done too- when they’d unexpectedly inherited, they’d all chosen to kill rather than be killed, to give in to the demands of the Butchers rather than try to weather their screaming, to turn on everything they’d loved and hurt it, to enjoy the violence.

This wasn’t like that. But it felt like a step toward that.

“Fuck.” I drained the mug and slapped a couple of twenties on the table, then added one more as a tip, snatched up the launcher from where Spitfire had leant it against the table, and followed her out the door, closing my mouthguard as I went.

“Wait a second.” Spitfire jumped at the sound of my voice, dropped into a fighting crouch before she recognised me.

“What? You forget something?” Her tone was defensive, like she was expecting something bad. Now that I was looking closer, I could see how her shoulders were hunched in, ready for a blow, ready to break into a run.

“She is no fighter,” Muramasa noted. “Terrible stance, her power is not readied. The girl lacks instinct.”

“If this is going where I think it is, we can fix that,” Needler purred.

“You said you don’t want a team, or fighting. And that’s fine,” I added hastily, seeing her expression, “But I was thinking, uh-” I invented desperately, “-you’ve got information, right? You know what’s going on at street level.”

“Yeah. Gotta know the territory so you don’t run into trouble. So what?”

“So, I need intel. And maybe some backup.”

“Okay, were you not hearing the part where the Empire’s after me?” Spitfire demanded. “The fuck makes you think I’m gonna fight them?”

“I’m not going after the Empire; I’m trying to fight the Merchants. Trouble is, they’ve all gone to ground since the last time I hit them. I almost had Skidmark, but,” I shrugged, “Things got in the way.”

Spitfire straightened up a little. “Okay, I can do that. But what’s in it for me?”

“I can pay you, for one. Or I could make you some stuff to keep you safe: you liked the launcher, right? Something where you don’t have to burn people.”

“It’d have to be something low-maintenance,” Tock noted, spinning off ideas already. “A melee weapon maybe, something that doesn’t need ammunition. Hmm, if we can reduce it down to something she can wind, or if we make something that could use her flames as a power source…”

“Yeah, but no matter what Taylor makes her, she’ll have to keep coming back to get it repaired, and that gives us time to win her over. Devious,” Vladimir said approvingly.

“Not what I meant to do, Vlad,” I said, giving him a warning shove.

“That’s what you did though,” Anchorage teased.

“Plus,” I said out loud, keeping my tone light, “If you come with me, I can cut you in on whatever we get off the Merchants. Vigilantes get to take some cash off criminals. Imagine how much folding money a bunch of dealers have stacked up.

“And it’d help show the PRT you’re not a villain if you’re working with a known hero to take down an entire gang. You think your flames could damage Squealer’s rides?”

“Uh, maybe?” Spitfire looked a little dazed. “I haven’t really tested it on a lot of metal- I mean, I know I melted that dumpster, and some of that kitchen stuff, so, I dunno, maybe?”

“So you get money, rep, tech, and a chance to go all out with your fire. Interested?”

Spitfire shuffled her feet. “I guess?” She pointed a finger at me. “Just don’t try to screw me over. We split money 50/50.”

“Deal.” I opened a compartment and started pulling some cash out. “You got a phone?”

Spitfire gestured to her tattered clothes. “The fuck you think?”

“Yeah, figured I should ask anyway.” I held out the money to her. “Consider this an advance. Get yourself a place to sleep or whatever you like, and meet me here at midnight tomorrow. Or I guess it’s today, whatever.”

“And then what?” Spitfire didn’t look up from counting the cash, but I could see from the set of her shoulders that she liked what she saw. “We go out fighting?”

“Aw yeah!” Firecracker whooped. “Out on the town with our first new minion!”

“Not yet. First, we’re going to test how hot you can burn. Then,” I looked her up and down, “If you’re going to be a hero, you’re going to need a better costume.”


Wednesday 2nd February, Downtown North

One thing I liked about my schedule for Arcadia was that I got every other Wednesday afternoon off as a free period. In theory I would be using it to study, but in practice I was using my spare time today to do some cape work in daylight hours.

I’d tweaked the speeder a little bit more after the testing session with Spitfire last night, so now it had a passenger seat and a proper roof, plus wing mirrors and indicators and the other stuff I needed for when I was moving through traffic at a normal pace instead of engaging in a high-speed chase or whatever. We were still getting astonished looks from everyone we passed, but I’d expected that at least.

“In future a normal-looking car would be better if you’re trying to be discreet,” Tactical advised. “Everyone’s going to be paying attention to this vehicle after today.”

“Any car a cape gets out of is gonna get attention,” Firecracker pointed out.

Spitfire herself had set the passenger seat as far back as it would go and dozed off almost immediately. I didn’t begrudge her taking a nap- we’d worked until 2am to get a handle on the limits of her power before we’d called it a night, so she’d had to sleep through the day to catch up. Another reason I was glad I didn’t need to sleep anymore.

I pulled into the parking lot near our destination and got out to pay for our time. I saw people pointing and taking pictures as I bought a ticket and walked back to the speeder.

“Man, this is surreal. We’re paying for parking, in costume, in broad daylight.” Stoneknapper shook his head. “Crazy stuff.”

Muramasa hummed. “The strangest part is that we are paying for it.”

I stuck the ticket in the windshield and prodded Spitfire’s shoulder. “Wakey wake-”

Spitfire jolted up at my touch, slammed into the limit of her seatbelt and flailing about for a second. “Gaah- Oh, right. Yeah.” She glanced about for a second. “We there yet?”

I snorted. “Almost. No parking right by the shop. Come on.”

I’d searched around for any advertising firms or design companies that might take on the challenge of a cape costume. Unsurprisingly, there’d been no real results. The Protectorate had their own PR department, New Wave had hired a discreet tailor before they’d gone public, and everyone else had to make their own outfits or buy pieces online. The Teeth, for instance, had mostly used sports pads and leather, studded with spikes and gruesome trophies.

That might have worked for Spitfire, but considering how her power could easily set fire to any loose folds of clothing, a tailored costume seemed best, and the perfect solution had presented itself when I’d glanced at the gossip page yesterday.

We stopped just by the edge of the Boardwalk, in front of a shop with a large plate glass window with a couple of mannequins posing for the window shoppers: one in a dinner jacket, the other in a slinky dress. The sign hanging out over the door and its larger counterpart over the window displayed the same name in flowing gold script.

Parian’s.

“Pretty well set up for a couple of weeks work,” Vlad noted. “Could do with another coat of paint.”

“It needs cleaning,” Needler said, focusing on smears at the bottom of the window. The way they cut off suggested they were the remains of larger stains someone had wiped off.

Nemean made a rumbling noise. “Someone marking territory.”

“Empire perhaps? Parian does not seem to fit the standards of Lung or the Merchants.” Muramasa mulled the thought over by himself while I made for the door.

“You sure this is a good idea?” Spitfire asked nervously. “I could just get a jacket and put a patch on-”

“It’s better to just get you a costume that works from the start instead of constantly replacing it,” I said over her protests. Without another word, I pushed the door open, a bell jingling merrily as I went in.

Rotter whistled loudly as I took in the interior. “Fuckin’ ‘ell, looks like a little doll house in here,” he said crudely. “All tea cozies and lace doilies.”

“Okay, true, but you saying ‘lace doilies’ sounds so creepy,” Anchorage admitted.

“That’s how I do, luv.”

Rotter did have a point though. Parian’s shop could be described as sumptuous, or decadent, or a dozen other words to mean really fancy. More mannequins were spaced along the walls, with bolts of cloth resting on racks in between or hanging from the ceiling. The lights were actual chandeliers hanging from the stucco, the carpet was dark red and deep pile, and there were even little side tables spaced around with picture frames and catalogues neatly stacked.

Spitfire was scrubbing her sneakers on the mat inside the door hard and fast. “I feel like I’m going to leave smudges or something,” she said, looking around wide-eyed.

I sensed the movement through a couple of ants I’d slipped inside the shop before I heard the muffled footsteps. “No need to be shy,” the owner trilled brightly.

Parian was short, maybe five foot even in her flats, but the old-fashioned frock she wore was so full of ruffles and pleats that it filled her out from side to side. She really did resemble a doll, from the expressionless china mask and a mass of golden curls too perfect to be real, all the way down to the lacy gloves on her clasped hands. Watching this cape walking over from the back of the shop felt less intimidating than people I talked to at lunch.

The real display of power came from the seven foot denim teddy bear waddling along behind her. Parian’s power let her control cloth, and while she could use it to quickly create exquisite, high quality clothing, she could also use it to make and animate puppets. She’d had a bit of a side business doing children’s shows before her break into fashion, but no fights whatsoever, so nobody was sure how tough the things actually were. Considering the nervous edge to her voice, she might not know either.

Bearskin looked her up and down despairingly. “I like people being scared of us as much as the next guy, but this is just pathetic. Little slip of a girl trembling at us.”

“I mean, it is two against one,” Tock Tick pointed out half-heartedly, even as Parian’s hands trembled in front of us. He didn’t sound like he believed his words. Parian definitely wasn’t a fighter.

I racked my brain for a way to put her at ease, but nothing came to mind. “Any suggestions? Useful ones,” I added warningly.

“Be p-polite,” Flinch said. “Maybe show a bit of your face, like when you and Spitfire were talking. The armour makes it look like you’re here for a fight.”

The others shouted various crude suggestions, but nothing I could use, so I went along with Flinch’s idea, bringing a hand to my face to lower the mouthguard. “Miss Parian,” I said, trying for smooth and clear. “Thank you for having us.” On impulse, I gave a shallow bow as I spoke.

“Ooh la la, aren’t we fancy?” Firecracker snickered. “You sound like one of those boring old dramas.”

“Pride and Prejudice, that kind of thing?” Tock asked. “It might fit, since we’re talking to a Victorian doll.”

Strangely enough, it did seem to work. Parian relaxed a fraction, waving a gloved hand. “Of course, of course. So, you must be Elpis then?” Her head turned towards Spitfire. “I don’t believe you mentioned your friend’s name…?” Parian left the question hanging in the air.

“Spitfire.” She stuck her hands in her pockets. “No prizes for guessing my power.”

Parian seemed taken aback. “Right. Well, you’re here for your fitting, then? Right this way.” She gestured to the back, where a little platform was placed in front of a set of mirrors. Spitfire shrugged and walked toward it. I expected Parian to follow her immediately, but she stood still until I started after Spitfire; then she trailed after me, her teddy bear bringing up the rear with clunky movements.

“Smart girl,” Tactical said approvingly. “Doesn’t want us behind her. Little paranoid, but smart.”

“I think it’s just paranoid, Tac,” Knapper pointed out.

It stung a little to think Parian was scared of us. I’d called ahead yesterday specifically to keep her from freaking out at the armoured figure arriving on her doorstep, explained very patiently that we only needed one costume made, and emphasised that we weren’t trying to recruit her. Parian had continually stated to the press that she was avoiding any sort of conflict, and I didn’t want to offend her; even if she wasn’t technically on anybody’s side, I didn’t fancy pissing off any more capes than I had to.

Spitfire had stepped up onto the platform and pulled off the raincoat she’d worn over her clothes. “So how’s this work?” she asked, looking around. “I hold still while you stick a bunch of needles into a sheet or something?”

“Not quite,” Parian said, circling around. “If you could give your coat to the puppet?” she asked as the teddy reached its nubby arms out. Spitfire shrugged and draped the coat over its arms.

Parian opened a box at the base of the platform and took out a notepad, pencil, and a tape measure. “If you could just put your arms by your side, please?” she asked. Spitfire shrugged again and let them dangle at her waist. Parian put the tape to Spitfire’s shoulder and measured down to her wrist, making a note of it, then from shoulder to neck.

“Could you hold your arm out slightly?”

“Now hold your arms up please.”

“To shoulder height please.”

“Don’t hold your stomach in or the outfit will be too tight there.”

Parian seemed to settle into an understated confidence as she took down Spitfire’s lengths and circumferences and whatever else went into making clothes. Maybe this sort of thing was routine enough to override her reaction to a couple of capes in her shop.

“Have you done costumes before?” Spitfire asked suddenly, as Parian was holding the tape measure from waist to knee. Parian stiffened slightly, not enough that I’d have seen it if I wasn’t watching.

“This is actually my first commission from heroes,” she said lightly. “Of course, it can’t be any more demanding than a three piece suit.”

“She can’t even lie with a full mask.” Quarrel rolled her eyes. “This kid’s so goddamn spineless.”

I realised I should probably try to reassure Parian. “We’re really going for function more than form. It doesn’t need to look fancy.”

“Probably just gonna get dirty anyway,” Spitfire added cheerfully. Parian stepped away to write the last measurement in, not looking at either of us for a moment.

Finally, she cleared her throat. “Right. We’ve got your measurements, now we just need an idea of how you want your outfit to look.”

“I was thinking a jumpsuit, in thick fabric, with a bunch of pockets. A mask that leaves the mouth open, obviously-”

Spitfire cut in. “Don’t I get a say in this?” she asked, annoyed.

I held up my hands in a placating gesture. “Sorry. We know you don’t want loose fabric on your outfit though, right? We saw that last night.”

I’d driven Spitfire up to the Docks for her power testing last night, to the area everyone called the Boat Graveyard. With that whole section of shoreline blocked off by the rusting hulks that gave it its name, it was a good place to cut loose without being disturbed by anyone but homeless and seagulls.

Over several hours, we’d learned that Spitfire could vary the viscosity of her spit with some effort, from flowing to adhesive. Similarly, she could roughly decide how hot the flames would burn, from campfire to blast furnace. At her hottest she’d left patches of glass in the sand, and molten holes in the hulls of the ships.

We’d also found out Spitfire was in fact resistant to all but her hottest fire when the trailing edge of her previous coat had brushed through a puddle of napalm spittle and immediately burst into flames. After a minute of panicked flailing and me ripping the coat off her, Spitfire had realised she was completely unharmed, and worked up the nerve to discover that fire felt like a hot bath to her.

The Butchers still thought it was hilarious though.

“Of course it was!” Rotter laughed. “Running around like a chicken with its head cut off, that’s comedy gold!”

“Aahh! I’m on fire!” Firecracker added mockingly.

Spitfire grumbled something but didn’t argue the point any further. Parian looked between us, then tapped her notepad. “So something like overalls, and a mask to match? And what sort of material would you like?” She flipped a page and started drawing something with quick strokes of her pencil.

Spitfire shrugged.

“Wool’s supposed to be pretty flame-retardant, especially if it’s tightly woven.”

Both the girls turned to look at me quizzically. “How’d you know that?” Spitfire asked.

“I did some research on this stuff yesterday. We can treat it with some chemicals to improve it some more.”

Spitfire nodded. “Cool. Can I get some armour in it or something?”

“Smart kid,” Tactical praised. “Always good to have defence.”

Parian’s fingers twisted together for a second. “I’m afraid I can’t make anything like that,” she said apologetically. “I could design your suit so it’ll fit over any armour you decide to add to it, if I know how it’ll be shaped.”

“I’ll handle the armour,” I said, idly thinking of a design for a simple breastplate and some pads for knees and elbows. A utility belt could be good too- if I used a vacuum flask design on the compartments, the contents should be safer from high temperatures… I puled out my own notepad and started sketching the basic designs out with a pencil.

“So long as it’s something I can still run in,” Spitfire said, stepping off the platform. Something seemed to occur to her, and she snapped her fingers. “Hey, why don’t you just tinker me something fireproof? Or armour like yours?”

“Oh, here we go,” Tock rolled his eyes. “People always want the Tinker to make them something.”

“Because” I said with a long-suffering air that was more Tock Tick’s than my own, “Tinkertech takes effort to make, and effort to maintain. I’m already making you a weapon anyway, I won’t have time to maintain anything else.” My creations were actually pretty low-maintenance compared to other Tinkers, but I didn’t want to get tied down making too much stuff for her.

Spitfire scratched the back of her neck awkwardly. “Yeah, okay.”

“Wool overalls, tight weave, plenty of pockets,” Parian muttered, adding details to her sketch. “And the mask to cover everything but the mouth- actually, I’ll need to get measurements of your head if I’m making that as well,” she added, picking up her tape measure again.

Spitfire held still as Parian reached up to run the ribbon around the circumference of her head, then along her scalp. She scribbled the results down into her notes, then turned to her design sketch again.

“Holy fuck, this is the most boring shit ever,” Butcher complained. “Having you listen to you lot bitch about your outfits-” I shoved him lightly, enough to keep him out of the light for a few minutes.

“Some of us care about our appearance,” Needler sniffed.

“Says you. You were mostly just wearing knives,” Bearskin pointed out.

“A costume is supposed to be more than jeans and a furry jacket, like some people I could mention!”

“Oh, knock it off, you two,” Stoneknapper complained. “Besides,” he added slyly, “We all know I had the best costume.”

“Wearing scraps of cement as armour? Bitch, please.” Anchorage tossed her hair. “I was killing it, and you know it.”

“With that raggedy old trenchcoat?”

I gave everyone in the argument a warning shove just as Parian turned her notepad around for us to see. “Will this do?”

Spitfire peered at it. “Looks kinda boring…” she hummed. “Can we add some flames on the legs? Maybe some spikes?”

“Now that’s someone with taste,” Rotter said approvingly.

“Flames yes, spikes are probably too aggressive. Plus, we need to work in the armour.” I held out my pad to both of them- an armoured vest to cover the front and back, and the utility belt.

Parian glanced at it for a moment, then flipped her pencil around to scrub out the pockets on the chest. Spitfire grabbed at the pad to look more closely. “Sweet. Can we paint something on the front? And on the arms and- oh shit, waitwaitwait, not the arms, I don’t need the sleeves,” she said suddenly. “I just had the best idea ever.”

To my confusion, she started rolling her sleeves up to her elbows. “What if I use my spit to set my hands on fire?” She held up her fists in a boxer pose. “Then I can go all flaming fists of fury!”

“Oh my god,” Firecracker breathed. “I love this kid! Taylor, you have got to keep her!”

“The girl is mad,” Muramasa said flatly.

“All the best people are!”

I stared at Spitfire. “No, absolutely not. You are not going to punch people with fire, Jesus Christ!”

“Aw, come on!” Spitfire pleaded. “It wouldn’t set them on fire, it’d just scorch them a bit, right? They’d all be too scared to get near me anyway!”

“What if you do set someone on fire anyway?” I retorted. “And what if you want to do literally anything with your hands? Go ahead, try to pick up money with burning hands, see how that goes.”

Spitfire paused. “…okay, that’s a point.”

“And we’re getting you a fire extinguisher,” I added. “Two of them. I’ll strap them to your hands if I have to.” Something about that sentence flickered in my mind for a second, related to Flinch’s power. I put the thought to one side for later, too exasperated with Spitfire at the moment.

“Hey, I’m not going to burn stuff for fun,” Spitfire protested, “give me some credit!”

“Fine. Still, flaming fists bad. I’ll give you some knuckledusters if you want to punch better.”

“Fire’d still be better,” Nemean rumbled. “Give her spiked knuckles at least. Or let her set those on fire.”

Parian’s head was turning back and forth between the two of us- I got the feeling that her face was probably looking increasingly horrified under the mask. “Will there be any other pieces you want to add?” she asked, in a tone that clearly said she hoped the answer was no.

I hesitated for a second. There was one more idea I’d had while I was researching, but I still wasn’t sure if I wanted to put it out there.

“It’ll be f-fine,” Flinch soothed. “You’ve got a good cover story for it. Besides, you know it’ll help keep Spitfire safe.”

“There’s one more thing,” I said slowly. “I was thinking, I could maybe- maybe,” I held up a finger warningly, “make a sort of undersuit to wear under the costume.”

“Okay? And what would that do?” Spitfire asked sceptically.

No going back from this. “It’d be a fabric that’s basically cut-proof. It’s similar to nylon,” I explained, the lie rolling off my tongue easily, “but it’s a lot stronger. I haven’t tested its absolute limit, but this stuff could conceivably keep a small calibre bullet from penetrating.”

This was all technically true. I’d read somewhere that nylon was originally an attempt at making an artificial form of silk, so genuine spider silk could be considered similar. I’d had the black widows I’d collected constantly spinning thread just to build up a stockpile for grappler cable, or to repair my undersuit: I had just enough to spare to make one for Spitfire.

“I hope she understands how valuable that is,” Tock Tick said. “That stuff’s worth half its weight in gold.”

Spitfire whistled. “Well, shit, yes please I’d like some of that.”

“Wait a moment.” Parian was staring right at me. “Did you say you can make Tinkertech fabric? Bulletproof fabric?”

“I mean, I don’t know if it’s really bulletproof, like I said, I haven’t tested-”

“Would you be willing to organise a trade deal?”

I stopped mid-sentence. “What?”

“I have to agree with the twig,” Quarrel said. “What?”

“Would you be willing to sell me some of your fabric?” Parian said insistently. “The market for something lightweight but so durable would be fantastic-”

“Hold on,” I interrupted. “Look, Parian, that sounds like a great idea, and I could use the money, but this stuff’s really difficult to make in large quantities. It took me weeks to make enough for myself, and I’d be using a lot of what I’ve built up since then just for Spitfire.”

That, and I was worried that the Protectorate might get hold of a sample and test it. Armsmaster was one of the best Tinkers in North America- he’d definitely notice that the silk was genuine spider silk, and then I’d be outed as fast as a bullet.

Parian’s shoulders slumped. “Ah. Never mind then, forget I asked.”

“Probably should have seen this coming,” Tactical noted. “Tinker fabric to a fashion designer, that’d be like a red rag to a bull.”

Spitfire glanced at Parian awkwardly. “Uh, so this stuff, you’re wearing some of it too?”

“Yep. Under the armour. Sort of a last line of defence.” I noticed Parian’s fingers twisting and untwisting again, and felt a rush of guilt at turning her down. Her whole demeanour was like a kicked puppy.

“Letting her take a look can’t hurt, right?” I thought.

Anchorage faked a scandalised gasp. “Whah, Miss Hebert!” she said in a very Gone With The Wind sort of voice. “Ah declare, to show your underclothes so brazenly, ah nevuh-!” She broke off in floods of laughter, and most of the rest joined in.

“Okay, fuck all of you,” I thought, undoing the catches on my left gauntlet and sliding the entire thing off. Parian and Spitfire both leaned in to look at the greyish silk glove underneath as I flexed my fingers to demonstrate.

“So I’d make you a one-piece of this to go under your costume,” I explained. “Just remember, it won’t absorb the force of a hit, so if you get stabbed or shot, you’re looking at deep bruising, broken bones, stuff like that.”

“Maybe get her some chainmail if you’re going this far,” Stoneknapper suggested, still snickering from Anchorage’s bit. “That’s pretty good for armour as well, less traceable.”

“Better than bleeding,” Spitfire said, prodding at my wrist. “This is kinda cool. I didn’t think you were into stuff like this.”

“What do you mean by that?” I said puzzled. Parian reached out a hand to touch the fabric as well, but hesitated at the last inch.

“C’mon, in for a penny,” Rotter urged. “Little doll’s not gonna do it by herself.”

I moved my wrist to meet Parian’s hand- then I changed my mind and just pulled off the silk glove to give to her. She dumped her notepad into the arms of the teddy and peered at the glove closely, rubbing the fabric between finger and thumb.

Spitfire shrugged, slipping her hands into her pockets. “Little stuff. You got the armour like a tank, you got the huge car and the big-ass launcher- you’re really going for the ‘large and in charge’ style.”

“Not really? I’m just trying to keep it practical.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining, I think it’s badass- all intimidating, like Robocop or something.”

I frowned. “I really wasn’t going for intimidating. Honestly, I tried for Chevalier’s style when I put this together, a sort of courtly knight aesthetic.”

“Okay, tiebreaker. Parian, do you think-” Spitfire broke off as she saw what Parian was doing with the glove. I stared as well.

“Anybody getting Addams Family vibes from this?” Anchorage said, as the glove wriggled in Parian’s grip independently. Looking closer, I could see how she’d used needle and thread to stitch the wrist of the glove shut; presumably she needed a closed shape to animate with her power.

“Right, the hand,” Vladimir said. “What’d they call that thing?”

“I’m fairly sure they just called it It,” Needler said.

“No, cousin It was the hairy blob,” Tactical said. “The hand was named Thing.”

Parian finally broke the silence. “I, I just wanted to test. With my power, I mean. The fabric works well with my power.” The glove gave a thumbs up as she spoke.

“That sure looks like a Thing alright,” Bearskin said, unsettled.

Spitfire wordlessly help up a hand in a peace sign. After a second, Parian made the glove do a peace sign as well.

Spitfire gave a wide grin. “Awesome.”

“That is kind of cool,” I agreed as Parian started unpicking the stitches she’d made.

“Just a simple trick,” she demurred, tugging the thread out in one long pull. “What were you saying before?”

“Do you think Elpis’ armour is intimidating?” Spitfire blurted. Parian fumbled and almost dropped the glove.

“Uh, well, I don’t really think it’d be fair for me to comment,” she stammered, jabbing her sewing needle into the teddy bear’s arm. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to be rude-”

“She is too afraid to even say she is afraid,” Muramasa said unnecessarily. Even I could pick up on how uncomfortable Parian was right now.

I opened my mouth to say something, just as the spider I’d positioned inside the door felt its thread snap. I strangled the urge to reach for a weapon, forcing myself to wait until I heard the bell ring before I turned around.

“I knew I recognised that helmet!”

“What is she doing here?” Needler asked as Victoria Dallon strode into the room, sparing a glance for all the outfits on display. She was out of costume today, in a white padded jacket and jeans.

Over her shoulder I could see a smaller figure in a thicker coat shove the door closed and shake out a mass of brown frizzy hair- which meant Victoria had brought her sister along. Amy followed along with a grumpy look on her face that changed to surprise as she noticed me and Spitfire.

“Elpis, how’ve you been! I heard about how you took down Stormtiger! High five!” Victoria gushed, holding a hand up. It took me a second to muster a response in the face of such intense cheer, but I eventually raised a hand and slapped it to hers.

“Miss Dallon,” I said formally. “Shouldn’t you be in school right now?”

Victoria shrugged. “Well, I have these classes on Parahuman Studies up at Brockton U, but the lecturer called in sick today; so I gave Amy a lift into town, and I detoured to check out Parian’s on the way, and then I saw you, so here we are!” she finished brightly.

“Jesus,” Spitfire said, staring at Victoria, “How much coffee did you drink this morning?”

“I’m with the minion; Blondie’s way too peppy to deal with,” Firecracker said.

Victoria turned to look at Spitfire speculatively. “Enough. And you are?” She said it with a challenging tone, cocking her hip to strike a pose. Spitfire folded her arms in response, unimpressed.

“Spitfire. S’up?”

“Never heard of you,” Victoria said dismissively. “You’re new then?”

“Yes, she is,” I broke in, before the posturing could get any further. “We were just sorting out Spitfire’s costume with Parian here,” I gestured to the dressmaker, who shrank back under Victoria’s sudden gaze.

“Throwing her to the wolves there, huh?” Tock snickered at Parian’s reaction.

“Oh, cool. I wanted to come see your place the literal second I heard about it, but life’s been getting in the way, y’know?” Victoria stuck a hand out to shake.

Parian hesitantly returned the grip, then let go after two pumps. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said uncertainly. “We were actually in the middle of a consultation, but if you’d like to wait a moment, I can be right with you.”

“Nah, that’s fine, I was just window shopping, then I saw Elpis and I had to catch up!” She playfully punched me in the shoulder. “Too busy to say hi?”

“Come on Vicky, reel it in,” Panacea said tiredly. I’d almost forgotten she was in here, standing just behind her sister, overshadowed by her intensity. She was huddled into her coat, hands in her pockets, looking like she wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“Yeah, we were actually in the middle of something before you barged in,” Spitfire said rudely. “So, y’know, you can leave any time you want?”

“Excuse me?” Victoria said in a brittle tone of voice. “I’m not sure what your problem is-”

“I’ll give you a hint: it smells like hair bleach and teen spirit.”

“Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!” Stoneknapper started shouting, others joining in the chant to beat a drum tattoo on the inside of my head. My patience broke.

“Alright, both of you, knock it off!” I shouted, stepping between them. “Spitfire, this is Glory Girl, she helped me out in a fight about a week ago; and this is Panacea,” I gestured to the younger sister, who seemed startled to be mentioned, “the city’s resident healer, so be nice. Ladies, this is Spitfire, I’m helping her get started, we came here to sort out a costume for her. Everyone got that? Good. Now act your goddamn age.”

There was a moment of silence while everyone gawked at my sudden outburst.

“Aw come on, you never break up a girl fight!” Dirty Rotter complained.

“Look on the bright side,” Quarrel said with vicious satisfaction. “Twig just lost her temper. Not as calm as you want to be, huh?”

I shoved both of them into the dark and took a deep breath, visualising the anger as red smoke leaving on the exhale, an anger management trick I’d learned weeks ago. Flinch supported me wordlessly, radiating sympathy for my temper. The rest of the Butchers stayed silent, not wanting to be pushed down as well.

Spitfire cleared her throat. “Let me be the mature one,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m Spitfire, nice to meet you.”

Victoria took it and shook. “Call me Vicky.”

“Sure. Hey to you too,” Spitfire added to Panacea. “Uh, big fan of your work.”

Panacea nodded wordlessly, still glancing between me and her sister uncertainly.

I turned to Parian, who’d retreated several steps to stand by her teddy bear. The fear in her posture made my stomach twist with guilt. “Sorry for shouting like that,” I apologised.

“It’s fine,” Parian said in a small voice that piled on the guilt. I’d spoken like that back in Winslow, a defeated little tone from having all the fight stomped out of you. “I think we’ve got all the details of Spitfire’s costume now.”

“Uh, we were actually talking about Elpis’s costume before you guys came in,” Spitfire said in a transparent attempt to change the subject. I jumped on it with pathetic gratitude.

“Yeah, apparently my armour’s intimidating. Do you two have an opinion?”

Victoria- Vicky- shrugged. “I mean, it is kind of,” she jerked her arms around stiffly, “clunky, I guess?”

“No ornamentation,” Panacea volunteered suddenly. “it needs details.”

“Yeah,” Spitfire nodded. “Like, my costume’s not just gonna be a suit, I’m gonna have flame designs and stuff all over it.”

“Wait, so you’ve literally got fire powers?”

“Duh. I spit fire. Clue’s in the name.”

Vicky glanced at me with a look of horrible glee. “You know, when I first met Elpis, she’d put together a flamethrower to fight Mush. Maybe she’s got a type?”

Spitfire caught on quickly. “Oh, so that’s how it is?” she asked, turning to face me. “You only want me for my flames?”

“Okay, no, we’re not doing this,” I protested. “I’d rather have you guys insult my armour, thanks.”

“I could stand to hear them make fun of you some more,” Knapper sniggered.

Tactical groaned. “They’re laughing at all of us too, Knapper. Quit sounding so happy about it.”

Parian hesitantly raised a hand. “We’ve actually still got some time for your appointment, so, I mean, if you want, I could help you with designs at least.”

“Vicky, we should get going,” Panacea cut in insistently. “You said you’d get me to the hospital by 2, it’s-” she rolled her sleeve up to check her watch, “-2:20.”

“You spend too much time at the hospital anyway,” Vicky said dismissively. “C’mon, this is helping too! We’re supporting Brockton’s latest heroes in establishing an approachable identity to connect with the public.”

Panacea rolled her eyes. “You just want to pick out outfits, but with capes.”

“A little bit. C’mon Ames.” Vicky clasped her hands together and made puppy-dog eyes. “Please?”

Panacea wilted under the sustained pleading assault. “Fine.” She looked me up and down. “I don’t know, some colour besides steel?”

“Gallant’s suit’s all silver,” I pointed out indignantly. I knew the girls weren’t being malicious, but I still felt the need to defend my appearance. If a local Ward could pull it off, why not me?

“Yeah, but he’s got those lights and stuff in there too,” Spitfire pointed out. “Kid Win’s red and gold, Armsmaster’s blue and silver- and you’re just grey. Not even cool grey, it’s Just Grey™.”

“This is better than TV,” Vlad smirked. “Everybody talking about your crap sense of fashion in real life.”

I gave him a warning shove, but Parian was joining in the conversation. “Some accents would help,” she offered meekly. “Some secondary colours to break things up.”

Glory Girl pointed to her. “She gets it. And you could get a symbol too, splash it over your chest.” she pointed to her own top, and I almost followed her gesture before I managed to wrench my gaze away with burning cheeks.

“We saw that!” Anchorage cackled.

“It wasn’t like that!” I protested.

“We can tell when you lie,” Muramasa said in a rare moment of humour.

“Maybe I should add a cape as well, really push the envelope,” I blustered, trying to move the conversation on.

“Why not?” Spitfire said with malicious amusement. “You could pull it off.”

Parian flipped to another page on her notepad, scribbling some ideas down. “If you and Spitfire are pairing up, it might be worth choosing contrasting colours- cool to warm, your grey to Spitfire’s… uh.”

Spitfire blinked. “Wait, did we not decide what colour my costume’s going to be?” she asked incredulously.

Vicky threw up her hands. “Okay, that tears it. You guys need serious help. Lemme see that,” she insisted, rising an inch of the ground to peer over Parian’s shoulder.

Panacea glanced at her watch again with a huff. “Great. Vicky’s got a project now, nothing’s going to stop her.”

I winced. “I’m not getting out of this, am I?” I said to Panacea as I stepped back next to her. She just shot me a commiserating look.

Glancing up from the notepad, Vicky beamed. “Nope!”

Chapter Text

Saturday 5th February, Southern Docks

Spitfire rolled her shoulders a few times, crossed each arm over her chest in turn, waggled her ankles, and finally did a couple of jumping jacks. “Okay,” she admitted at last, “this fits pretty good.”

I rolled my eyes at her antics. “Glad you like it.”

“You know people can’t see when you’re rolling your eyes under the helmet, right?” Vladimir pointed out. I rolled my eyes again, just for him.

“Hey, come on,” Spitfire wheedled as she noticed my tone. “I mean, it might’ve shrunk after you did your thing with it, or whatever.” She flicked her arms out to the side to illustrate her point. “And I’ve got all the armour on too.”

Parian had done a great job on the suit- simple, but effective. Thick wool overalls in a deep orange, deep pockets on the hips and thighs, and the flame designs on the cuffs that Spitfire had insisted on circling the wrists and ankles in red and gold. A cowl and mask extended from the collar to cover everything but her mouth and chin, with dark lenses I’d provided to protect her eyes. I’d soaked the whole thing in a bath of chemicals last night that would make it way more flame-retardant as well.

I’d managed to get the armour to work with it- a thick black vest made of woven steel cable covered her torso, with a stylised spiralling flame painted on the front. A metal belt made of fist-sized containers chained together hung on her waist, armour pads covered Spitfire’s elbows and knees, and a pair of thick gloves with metal plates on the knuckles protected her hands.

“It does look kinda badass,” Firecracker admitted grudgingly. “Probably would’ve worn something like that myself.”

“Sort of paramilitary in shades of traffic cone,” Tactical snarked. “And the chest symbol just gives people a bullseye to shoot at.”

“Means they’ll all be trying to shoot at her strongest point instead of her head,” I pointed out. Out loud I asked, “So the armour’s fitting alright? Not sliding about, not too heavy?”

Spitfire shrugged, lifting her arms to twist at the waist a few times. “Nah, all good. And the undersuit’s so damn comfy.” She slapped her vest for emphasis. “How ‘bout you? Liking the new look? Because I am. Very slimming.”

“Yeah, I’m a little impressed by how much I managed to reduce the suit’s size,” I admitted, glancing down at myself.

Wednesday’s brainstorming session had produced some good ideas, even if I’d had to repeatedly shut down Vicky’s attempts to get me to add a skirt. The ideas of a symbol and some secondary colours had sounded best to me.

I’d moulded a symbol of my own into my breastplate- an abstract pithos, the sort of Greek storage jar that had been part of the original Pandora myth before the detail was changed to a box. I’d outlined the symbol in lines of sky blue, and then painted more lines swooping down my arms from my shoulders, along the ridges on my forearms, down to the backs of my hands. Together with the less bulky design, I did look pretty good, though I wasn’t yet used to leaving my jawguard open.

“Can’t believe you picked Legend’s colours for this,” Dirty Rotter grumbled. “All the times we fought that sparkly ponce, and now we’re dressing like him.”

“We’re as flat as him too,” Quarrel said meanly. “Pushing the armour out doesn’t change the fact you’d need two pushup bras to look-”

Whatever she was going to say next was cut off as I shoved her into the darkness. I had added a sort of keel to the breastplate to change my silhouette a bit more, but I still didn’t have to take that from her.

“Anyway,” I said to Spitfire, carefully keeping the irritation out of my voice, “now you’re all dressed up, let’s hit the party. You’re sure the info’s good?”

“Positive. Filthy Sam couldn’t lie to save his life. That’s why everybody asks him about stuff.”

“Filthy Sam?” Anchorage sounded amused. “Friend of yours, Rotter?”

“Get fucked.”

“Party it is, then.” I jerked my head toward our ride. “Let’s go.”

Spitfire followed me across our parking lot-meeting place to what I’d finally decided to call the Chariot. The former speeder had been tweaked in a bunch of little ways- nothing massive, but enough to make it a lot more impressive overall.

“We have to try and salvage some of Squealer’s tech if we can,” Tock Tick insisted. “Imagine how we could upgrade this thing if we copied from a vehicle Tinker.”

“Yes, but she’s usually out of her mind on drugs,” Needler countered as we climbed in, Spitfire only reluctantly fastening her seatbelt after I gave her a look. “How much worthwhile tech can there be?”

The streets were quieter past midnight, even on a Saturday, and certainly in this part of town. We only saw a few other cars on the road, mostly taxis ferrying home various drunks. I caught glimpses of their astonished faces through the windshields as we passed them easily, our engine barely straining.

Spitfire had spent the last couple of days casually asking around for any info on where the Merchants were holed up, even using a couple of small bribes with money I’d given her. As she’d eventually found from Filthy Sam, the Merchants were throwing a private party to drum up new business, recoup their losses, and do some recruitment. Word had finally spread around of how the Merchants had managed to corner Snowblind and Sinister, boosting their standing in the city somewhat.

Therefore, the party: held not in an abandoned warehouse for once, but in an office block on the same lot as one. It was supposed to be held on several floors, with your status in the gang determining how far up you could go and what kind of delights you could get.

“That’s actually not a bad move,” Bearskin admitted. “Gives people a reason to prove themselves, try to impress the leadership. Take your licks and get the fun.”

“On the bright side, it also means the guys in charge are going to be even more wasted than everyone else when we get there,” Stoneknapper pointed out.

I checked the next street we passed. “Okay, that’s 56th, so we’ve got three more blocks to go… Time to stealth it.” I flipped a cover up and clicked the switch inside. The engine cut out instantly, replaced by a quiet humming as the mechanical power source took over, quiet as a whisper.

Spitfire leaned back in her seat. “Time for some ass-kicking,” she said nonchalantly, polishing her knuckles on her vest. Despite her confident tone, I could see her leg jiggling up and down as we approached.

I took a moment to dip the headlights as I thought of what to say. The Butchers offered unhelpful advice that I ignored, until Flinch came up with something. “Don’t tell her it’s okay to be scared. She’ll just get defensive and try to overcompensate. Relate to her instead; open up a bit.”

As much as I disliked the thought of looking vulnerable, it was solid advice, so when I got us to within a block of the location, I rolled us into an alley just around the corner, parked, and turned off everything, letting all the little noises die down for a few seconds before I spoke.

“I think this might be the biggest move I’ve pulled yet. Building full of Merchants, both their capes, right in the middle of their turf. This could get messy.”

“You call that opening up?” Bearskin said incredulously. “You’re supposed to encourage the kid, not scare her even more.”

Spitfire looked as sceptical as Bearskin, not that she’d know it. “You suck at pep talks, you know that?”

I winced. “Okay, yeah.”

“Why’re you saying this shit anyway? Not like you get scared, right?”

I couldn’t stop the laugh from bursting out, sudden and bitter. “No. God no, I get scared, believe me. I’ve just got better at handling it.” Scared of dying, scared of being found out, scared of Dad finding out, the list went on.

Spitfire went quiet at that. I forged on before I lost my nerve.

“I mean, I guess it’s a good thing. It’d be dumb not to be scared of something like this, right? So,” I floundered for a second, “just… watch my back, alright? And I’ll watch yours. Deal?” I held a fist out toward her.

After a second, Spitfire reached out and bumped her knuckles to mine. “Yeah. I gotcha.” Her voice steadied noticeably even as she spoke.

“Good speech,” Nemean said simply.

Without another word, I popped the doors, and we both clambered out, walking round to the hatches on the back to get out our gear. I’d rebuilt my launcher after a lot of thought- now it was one large barrel as wide as my fist, and a thinner one below, with a helix magazine on either side feeding in. I’d also put together a couple of smaller devices for tonight, specifically for anti-Tinker use.

“Just remember n-not to underestimate Squealer,” Flinch cautioned. “She might be a Merchant, but her t-tech is damn tough. She won’t go down easy.”

“So long as we get to see some fireworks,” Stoneknapper said dismissively.

“And so long as you use my baby!” Anchorage insisted. “I’ve been waiting years for this shit!”

“Little help?” Spitfire asked, holding up a steel framework helplessly. I racked the launcher onto my back and came over to help.

“Okay,” I said, taking the framework from her and opening the canister on the front, “this is the power source. Just spit into this, medium temperature, low viscosity.”

Spitfire obediently hawked a burning loogie into the intake, and I closed it as the engine inside started to spin up to speed. “Arms out.”

I lowered the whole thing over Spitfire’s head, engine on the front, water tanks on the back, and frameworks locking over the arms, then started fastening everything into place while Spitfire fingered the triggers that flipped into her palms.

The obvious problem with Spitfire’s power was how easily fire could spread out of control, and the obvious solution was to equip her with an extinguisher. Since I’d also needed to make her a weapon, I’d killed two birds with one stone. The engine was fuelled by her own spit, providing power to both the hoses on her wrists, and the pneumatic frames over each arm that boosted her upper body strength.

“Except now she’s not going to set people on fire, so what’s the point?” Rotter said. I gave him a quick shove as a warning as I fastened the last clasp at her wrist and stepped back. “Okay, try a short burst. Nothing too big.”

Spitfire gingerly raised both arms and pointed them at a trashcan a few feet away, then jammed her thumbs down on the triggers. Sprays of water shot out like riot hoses, and the side of the can crumpled in from the force, before the whole thing fell on its side with a thunderous clatter.

I winced as the sound echoed off the buildings. “I said nothing too big, not ‘wake up half the neighbourhood.’” The Butchers were killing themselves laughing at the whole spectacle.

Spitfire hissed through her teeth for a second. “You know,” she said at last, “this is kind of your fault for giving it to me.”

Anchorage dissolved into giggles, laughing too hard to say anything. Firecracker managed to force out “I-love-this-kid!” before falling apart herself. I gave them both an exasperated shove so their mirth wouldn’t bleed into me. “Let’s just get on with it,” I muttered, flicking my jawguard up and closing the hatch.

Spitfire followed me as we crept closer to the Merchant’s location. The building was five stories tall, a squat grey cube, every window covered from inside or outside, and the top floor had metal plates along the walls. Light leaked through the cracks in a variety of colours, and I could just make out music at the edge of my better-than-human baseline. Something with a lot of drum and bass.

“Guards,” Tactical pointed out. Sure enough, there were a couple of guys outside- two flanking the front door, looking around nervously with hands on their weapons, and a couple more circling the perimeter.

“Y’know, I didn’t think those guys’d be so alert,” Spitfire mused. “Like, villain guards, you always think they’ll be just huddled up in the office playing poker or something, not actually doing their jobs.”

“Maybe they heard something,” I said acidly. Spitfire wilted at the barb: Vladimir wordlessly expressed a lack of sympathy for her.

I watched the guards for a little longer, tracking the runners through bloodsight and a couple of bugs I managed to move into position. Hundreds more were slowly creeping through the building, dodging between feet to put themselves at the edges and corners of the rooms, marking out the dimensions for me. Ideally I’d mark everyone in there with bugs, but I doubted I could pull that off in so large a space without someone figuring it out.

“We circle around and take out one runner,” I said eventually, Tactical’s Thinker power thrumming through my mind as I considered lines of fire and possible cover, “then the doormen, and then we jump the last runner. Fast and quiet, before they can raise the alarm. Then we seal the doors and rappel in, take the capes by surprise and leave everyone else penned in for the cops. Got it?”

“Sure. This kinda feels like a video game,” Spitfire whispered as we slipped through the shadows, avoiding the eyes of the guards. “Huge enemy stronghold, bunch of levels with worse and worse guys, with the boss fight right at the top, 'cept we got a cheat code to skip to the end. We should get, like, power-ups or something.”

“You guys work great together,” Stoneknapper enthused. “She’s tons of fun, and you’re no fun at all. It balances out.”

I hushed both of them as we reached the edge of the building’s parking lot. The place was half-full of various crappy cars parked wherever, and a few right up against the building that were covered in asymmetrical armour plates and technicolour graffiti; Squealer’s work, no doubt.

I hunkered low and started stalking my way around the cars, Spitfire following wordlessly. Within a moment, we reached the back of the building, out of sight of the doormen, just as the first patroller rounded the corner.

I waited a moment, then silently loped out, matching his pace for a moment, footstep for footstep, before lunging to wrap my arms around his neck and cover his mouth. He struggled immediately, thrashing with manic energy, but I simply held the sleeper hold, not even breaking stride as I carried him along. By the time I’d turned the corner, he’d stopped struggling.

At my signal, Spitfire jogged out of her spot, catching up to me as I stopped to lay him down and tie his wrists and ankles. “Doormen next,” I breathed, checking the guy’s pulse quickly. Spitfire nodded, then pointed to her lips and mouthed “Holy Shit,” at me. I snorted silently and beckoned.

The doormen were just starting to relax when I burst around the corner, launcher up and firing a net round into the furthest guard. He went down with a strangled squawk and a thump.

The closer guard yelped and fumbled for his gun, just as Spitfire sprinted past me and slammed a fist into his chest. I closed the gap to twist the gun out of his hands while Spitfire bent him into a full-nelson, then clapped my palms to his temples to knock him out.

The first guard had somehow managed to palm a switchblade and was frantically sawing at the net when I grabbed him and forced him to the ground. “I can beat you unconscious, or you can give up and just be tied up. What’ll it be?” I hissed.

After a moment, the Merchant dropped the knife. “Smart man,” I praised, tossing the knife away and shoving a ready-made gag into his mouth. Spitfire was hesitantly doing the same with her guy, fiddling with the ziptie to secure his wrists.

A quick glance with bloodsight showed the last patroller walking along the back wall. I put my guy down and slipped round the corner to grab the first guy we’d dropped, dragging him over to the front door.

Half a minute later, the last guy rounded the corner, and had just enough time for his eyes to widen and the cigarette to fall from his cracked lips before I fell on him like a tonne of bricks.

“Hahahahahahaaa! Oh, his fucking face!” Rotter was doing the unrestrained laugh of someone who doesn’t need to breathe as I forced the guard into a hold.

“You’re scary sometimes, you know that?” Spitfire said as I finished putting him to sleep. “Like, huge respect, but you’re scary.”

I shrugged, tying the last up and setting him next to the others. “If I’m only scary sometimes, I’m doing better than I’d feared. Come on, let’s get the doors.”

It was the work of a few minutes to seal the ground doors, despite my misgivings of blocking fire exits. I also placed a quick call to 911 to let the authorities know we were about to raid a Merchant party, making sure to specifically mention Spitfire as my partner. They promised to send a couple of cars to make the arrests, and divert a hero to us, but it’d take a couple of minutes. Apparently the Empire was acting up tonight.

I also took a moment to pop the hoods on the Squealer-made cars and pull out the engines, along with some of the armour plates, then pushed the gutted vehicles together and let Spitfire go full force on them, covering them in her hottest flames to melt them into uselessness. I could feel the heat from yards away as the parking lot rapidly became a bonfire.

“So are you gonna use these in the chariot?” Spitfire asked, kicking one greasy engine block for emphasis. I shook my head, wiping my gauntlets on a rag.

“We can’t take Tinkertech as salvage, more’s the pity. I’ll definitely take these apart when we’re done though, get some ideas.”

“It’s crude, but there’s good work here,” Tock enthused. “Look at the differential bearings here- I never thought to use interlinked drive exchanges! And the alloys! So simple!”

At last, Spitfire and I stood before the door, guards neutralised, and escape routes closed. With bloodsight and bug senses, I estimated there were at least 200 hundred people inside the building, and no idea how many of them were armed.

“Oh, to have a cock again,” Bearskin said wistfully. “I’d be hard enough to cut glass at this shit.”

“Classy,” Vladimir said, voice dripping with sarcasm. I wordlessly agreed, pushing Bearskin into the dark.

I held an arm out to Spitfire, who stepped in close and grabbed on to me, just like we’d practiced. I raised my other arm, flicked the grappler out, and fired the bolt toward the top floor.

The bolt flew straight up and hit the wall easily- then there was a sound like a power chord on an electric guitar, a flash of purple light, and the bolt was flung back off. I quickly hit the retract as it fell, reeling the bolt back in.

“What the hell was that?” Spitfire demanded, stepping away from me to peer up. “Seriously, what the shit was that?”

“Tinkertech,” I said grimly. “That must be what the panels are for. The Merchants put in a defense mechanism.”

“I’ll wager Squealer found a way to mimic Skidmark’s power,” Needler remarked. “That light certainly looked similar to his power.”

“I can’t tell if that’s sweet or not,” Tactical added. “On the one hand, letting your significant other study your power is certainly a gesture of trust. On the other hand-”

“On the other hand, it’s Skidmark and his sewer-mouth getting busy,” Firecracker said with a shudder. “Let’s just not think about it anymore, ‘kay?”

I drew my swords. “Looks like we’re doing this the hard way,” I said, advancing toward the door.

“Woah, what?” Spitfire protested. “You want us to fight our way up? Are you nuts?”

“There’s probably alarms going off in there from when I hit that wall, and the longer we wait, the more time they have to prepare a defense. Skidmark will have time to layer his fields, and Squealer’s probably already building something to smear us all over the asphalt. We either sit here and wait, or we take the fight to them.” In fact, I could see people rushing the doors through bloodsight, pounding on them frantically; and although I couldn’t really interpret insect senses well, I could tell there was a lot of frenzied activity on the top floor.

“Damn right,” Nemean snarled. “Let’s get in there!”

Butcher radiated eager agreement. “It’ll be a fucking meat grinder,” he cackled. “Let’s see how long it takes before you hit someone too hard, little shit-”

I pushed him all the way down and turned to Spitfire. “I know this isn’t what we planned, but no battle plan survives contact with the enemy. You got my back?”

Spitfire wavered for a moment. “Ah hell. Fine, I’m in.”

I nodded, then turned back to the door and flicked the grappler out again, firing it into the door. I flexed my toes, and felt the drill bits in my boots bore into the asphalt, pinning me to the ground. Then I simply wound the cable around my hands and yanked as hard as I could.

The double doors came right off their hinges, falling forward as the crush of desperate partygoers behind, now without an obstacle holding them back, surged out in a wave of humanity. Spitfire ducked behind me as they stampeded past us in ripped jeans and skimpy dresses, some girls throwing off their high heels to run faster.

The Butchers leered at some of the more outrageous outfits, including one guy who was shirtless under his leather jacket, showing off a massive skull tattoo. I found myself following him with my eyes for a second as well.

“Ooh, nipple!” Anchorage yelled, indicating a girl whose breast had bounced right out of her tube top as she ran. I quickly looked away, unfortunately not fast enough to keep the rest from unloading various lewd comments.

In a few seconds, the rush began to ease off as people made it out to the parking lot and started frantically driving away. I wasn’t interested in most of them- they were users, the Merchants’ customers, and no real threat. The actual members would probably still be inside, grabbing weapons to fight us off.

I looked back over my shoulder at Spitfire. “Stay close to me, and be careful with your water. We’re probably not going to get a chance to refill you tonight.” Once she nodded, I retracted the drills and led us into the building.

The first floor was surprisingly mundane- Bare cement floor and walls, a few folding tables with drinks and snacks, speakers against one wall and a disco ball on the ceiling. With the room empty of people and the floor strewn with dropped drinks and personal effects, it just looked pathetic.

There was music playing through the sound system, but I could barely here it over the sound of Skidmark’s amplified voice shrieking orders to all his underlings; “-find them and fuck them up, you hear me?! You shitlickers want a bonus, you bring them to me dead! You want a promotion, you bring ‘em alive, so I can feed these horsefuckers their own nipples for thinking they can mess with the Merchants!”

“Too noisy,” Nemean complained. “Make him shut up.”

I pointed to a stairwell. “This way. Watch yourself, there could be traps.” I glanced with bloodsight- there were a bunch of guys gathered around on the floor above, their stances suggesting bats and pipes. “Or an ambush,” I added, as if I was going off intuition rather than knowledge.

I swapped my swords for the launcher as we approached, setting the main barrel to charge while I selected a pepper round. A few steps up, then I vaulted over the railing to face the clustered Merchants at the top. The pepper round smacked into the chest of the middle guy, and then they were all coughing and shrieking as a stinging white cloud covered them all.

I pressed the initiative, barrelling up the stairs with Spitfire on my heels to hit the Merchants like bowling ball on pins. Spitfire went with body blows, putting her enhanced arm strength to use on the coughing gangsters, while I mixed quick jabs with blows from the stock of my launcher. We’d reduced them to a groaning pile within seconds.

“Not a bad appetiser,” Firecracker said, “but we’re all eager to get to the main course. Something more robust, with a hint of, uh… Fuck, I can’t think of anything.”

“Don’t bother trying to sound snooty, ‘cracker,” Stoneknapper said. “You’re more fun when you’re yourself.”

“Was a good bit though,” Rotter praised. “hey, if Skidmark was food, whatcha think he’d be?”

Needler snorted. “One of those rancid burgers where the cook has undoubtedly sneezed on it before serving it to you.”

I tuned them out with the ease of long practice as I glanced around. This floor was noticeably better equipped- the speakers were bigger, and the tables were stocked with better drinks, as well as a couple of plates piled high with what must have been pot brownies. There were a couple of ratty couches off in one corner, with a couple huddled behind them, only visible through bloodsight.

“Nothing else here,” I said out loud, for their benefit. “let’s move-” Danger sense pinged, and I threw us both sideways as a chubby guy in a baseball cap rushed down the next stairwell, brandishing a sawn-off. “Eat shit!” he squealed, pointing the wavering barrel in our direction.

I grabbed a table and flipped it over just as the gun went off, spraying shot everywhere, but failing to get through our makeshift shield. Spitfire shrieked and covered her head as Chubby fired another round, as ineffective at first. There were another couple of sorry clicks as Chubby suddenly realised the limitation of a double-barrel shotgun.

“Guess nobody told him sawn-offs are crap for anything past short range,” Tactical said as I popped out of cover with the launcher. Or rather, the former launcher.

I hadn’t had enough sensors in my armour when I’d tangled with Stormtiger to get any decent data on his power, but seeing how he compressed air into compact shapes for melee/ranged attacks had sparked a few ideas from Tock Tick’s Tinker power.

With side vents constantly drawing in air, a fat compressor at the back, and some adjustments to the rotating inner barrel to shape the rush of air, the effect now was to launch a ball of compacted air that could, for example, knock Chubby off his feet with an effeminate squawk and a comical thump.

“Ha! Ah, look at him,” Anchorage jeered. “Like a beached whale. Or a pig. Or something fat, whatever.”

I stomped over, launcher slowly recharging, and grabbed his wrist while he floundered weakly. One of my minor devices was locked around his wrist, then I jabbed the spike on the cuff into the wall, holding it long enough for the spike to bore into the cement, and then extrude two more spikes at right angles inside the wall. The only way Chubby was getting out now was with boltcutters.

“Don’t forget about Spitfire,” Flinch warned me. I shook myself a little to clear my head, and crossed back over to the busted table. Spitfire was just starting to uncurl herself when I popped my head over the edge.

“You alright?” I asked gently. Spitfire gingerly sat up, then took my outstretched hand to get to her feet.

“That was,” Spitfire fumbled for words, “a lot. A lot. Fuck, it was so loud.” She rubbed at her ears under her cowl.

“See, that’s why I had you wear earplugs,” I pointed out.

“Not just that,” Spitfire protested. “I mean, it was just,” she waved her hands vaguely, then dropped them to her sides. “Fuck.”

I bit back my instinctive retort that getting shot at is one of the least things that can happen to you as a cape. It wouldn’t help right now. Spitfire was still new to all this, and I’d dropped her in the deep end.

Muramasa snorted. “She hasn’t even shed blood yet,” he said derisively. “The girl needs this to toughen-”

I shoved him and his unhelpful comments away, then laid a hand on her shoulder, trying to be comforting. “We’ve got two floors down already. It’s just a little further to finish these guys off, and I’ll take point all the way, okay? I’ve got your back.”

Spitfire took a couple of deep, shuddering breaths. “Okay. Okay. I’m alright.” She slapped her cheeks a few times and brought her fists up. “I’m ready.”

“Atta girl.” I pulled my launcher again and checked the dial for the airblast. Almost full. “Hey,” I added suddenly, “I was thinking I should name this. Any ideas?”

Spitfire blinked. “Uhhh. Iunno. Something about wind? Like, if you’re doing the Greek thing, just name it after a wind god or something. Or just call it an air cannon? I mean, I don’t think you gotta name every little thing.”

“She’s right about that,” Vladimir said. “It’s kind of pretentious to give your weapons names.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Tactical demanded. “You never complained about Caroline. Anyway, lots of people name their weapons.”

“Lots of morons,” Nemean grunted.

“I’ll look it up when we’re done then,” I said, bringing it to my shoulder as the argument began. The question had served its real purpose anyway- taking Spitfire’s mind off things, just a little. “Next floor then. Ready?”

Spitfire levelled her water shooters. “Yeah.”

Two stairwells to choose from, both with Merchants stationed at the top, about half of each group pointing guns down the steps, ready to be our personal firing squad.

I didn’t give them the chance. Instead I passed Spitfire a couple of toys for one set of stairs and positioned myself at the bottom of the other. At my signal, we both lobbed a small flashbang up the stairs.

Once I heard roars of pain, I added a pepper grenade to the mix, then fired my left grappler and swung my way up to hit my group like a wrecking ball. A whirlwind of blows had them disarmed, with a couple of nets for the tougher ones, and then I wrapped a couple of Spitfire’s group from behind as she advanced up the steps.

A couple of the Merchants who were still standing fired at her. The bullets simply rattled uselessly off the collapsible round shield I’d passed her, and then I grabbed the two idiots and banged their heads together until they stopped.

Spitfire hit the last few with quick bursts from her hoses and a couple of punches. The last one came at her with a bat, but she caught it on the shield and then swung it into his face.

“Nice job,” I praised as he dropped like a sack of bricks. “Come on, let’s get the guns.” I started picking up all the weapons I could find, ejecting magazines and clearing the chambers.

Spitfire slipped the shield back onto her forearm with a critical air. “Man, this thing’s all beat up.” She traced a finger over the dents in the metal, and the bullets that were still caught in the surface.

“Yeah, not really my best work,” I admitted, glancing up from the Uzi I was taking apart. “It’s really just something to use a couple of times and then recycle. At least it held up, right?”

“Yeah.” Spitfire passed me a couple of pistols for me to take apart. “So what’re we doing with these?”

“No sense in risking anybody picking them back up before the cops get here. So,” I tossed the last bullets aside, and dumped the empty pistols onto the pile I made in the middle of the room, “We’re going to destroy them. Have at it.”

“Waste of good weapons,” Stoneknapper griped. “Could’ve saved a couple for later.”

Spitfire cracked a grin as wide as a banana. “Sick.” She hawked and slurped loudly, then spewed a massive blob over the pile. The liquid immediately became white-hot flames, and the polymer parts started to visibly soften.

“Man that’s satisfying,” Spitfire said, taking a few steps back. “God, they really did a number on this place,” she added, glancing about.

I had to agree with her- This floor was even more lurid than the lower two put together. More lights, more speakers, more tables of booze and snacks. The snacks were name-brand now, and the drinks were a lot stronger- bottles of tequila and vodka. One table had stacks of joints, next to a hookah surrounded by cushions.

“Guess these wankers really can throw a decent party after all,” Rotter said. “We shoulda just come along and got wasted. Hell of a night.”

“Could be. You think that hookah would be enough for us to get high?” Firecracker wondered.

The speakers crackled to life suddenly. “Alright, you cock-garglers,” Skidmark’s nasal voice announced, “you just beat up a fuckload of my boys, and I’m through with just waiting for you bitches to do the world a favour and catch a bullet. So I’m gonna be reasonable to ya.”

Spitfire and I exchanged glances. “This has to be a setup, right?” she said, raising her fists.

“If both you jizz-banks strip down and surrender, I’ll let you lick my taint to prove how sorry you are, and then I’ll let you go,” Skidmark explained cheerily. “So what’s it gonna be?”

Needler gagged. “Oh that is vile,” she complained. “Please tell me we’re killing him.” Nemean just roared, too angry to manage words.

I raised the launcher. “I’d rather try to spank the Siberian, shit-for-brains. How about you give yourself up, and we’ll only kick you in the nuts a little?”

“Cunts!” Skidmark shrieked. “Fucking get her! I’ll have every one of the guys take turns with your holes, you little piss-ants!”

“Was it really a good idea to make him mad?” Spitfire asked, putting her back to mine and raising the shield. I snorted.

“As opposed to having to lick his taint?” A couple of cobwebs laid across the stairs snapped as someone started coming down- one from each side. I swivelled and put a pepper round into the one Spitfire was facing, then turned back to fire a net round at the guy coming down my stairs.

The guy grinned and dropped through the floor, the net round sailing over his head to burst open on the stairs.

“Look at the floor,” Bearskin said as he rose out of the dark. "Looks like a portal.” There was indeed a shimmering shape on the floor, reflecting the party lights oddly. The guy’s head slowly poked out, like an alligator in the swamp. Now that I was looking at him properly, I could see the black bandanna tied around his head Zorro-style, and the snorkel strapped over that.

“Skiddie’s been recruiting,” Anchorage said unnecessarily. “Looks like things finally got fun.”

The portal guy rose a little higher, enough for me to see his gap-toothed grin. Then he turned his head and spat. The glob expanded as it left his mouth, expanding to the size of a basketball before it splashed on the floor, forming a shapeless, oily puddle on the floor. Still grinning, he sank into his puddle, then emerged from the new puddle a second later.

“Spit portals,” Vladimir managed. “That’s… new.”

Quarrel rose out of the dark, buoyed by sheer indignation. “If you lose to these guys,” she threatened, “I swear I’ll kick your ass.”

Chapter Text

3.7

Saturday 5^th February, Southern Docks

The spit guy smirked at me from his oily rainbow portal, everything from the sternum up sticking out into reality. Where the rest of him was, I couldn’t say for sure.

“If that means his portals have some kind of space between them, we could exploit that,” Tactical noted. “Drop a grenade in there, force him out.”

“Hey, thought- can he make his portals on walls, or is it just puddles on the floor?” Vladimir asked. “Be a lot easier if it’s just the floor.”

I mulled it over while I risked a glance behind me at the guy Spitfire was facing. Something thick and brown was oozing out of every bit of exposed skin, expanding as it dripped down, and hardening into craggy splotches all over his body like armour. That explained why the pepper round hadn’t worked on him- even his face was hidden behind increasingly stony armour.

“So, Spit and Shit,” Firecracker commented. “Guess they fit the Merchant look.”

I turned back to my guy and raised the air cannon- he dropped down into his puddle until only his eyes were poking out. “So what do we call you guys?” I said in a loud, clear voice. “Mush was pissed when I got his name wrong- figured you guys would want to introduce yourselves.” In a lower tone I muttered to Spitfire, “These guys are just stalling for Skidmark. We need to take them down fast.”

The diver raised himself out of the puddle a little. “The name’s Spittoon,” he said in a surprisingly deep voice, “And my boy here is Mudslide. And you’re the dumb fucks who thought crashing our party was a good idea.” His tone was full of projected bravado, but I could hear the nervousness in his voice.

“New cape,” Needler stated with certainty. “Probably hasn’t had more than a few fights against people with powers of their own, if any. I doubt he’s much good with his power yet.”

“Let’s give him a lesson then,” Anchorage said, projecting the sensation of cracking knuckles. “Sink or swim,” she added, laughing at her own joke.

“I don’t suppose you guys would just step aside and let us go up?” I asked. I didn’t expect them to say yes, and frankly, I was hoping they wouldn’t.

Spittoon snorted amusedly- then suddenly spat at my feet and dropped down completely. I leapt away from the puddle expanding at my feet, just as his grubby hands popped out, latching on to Spitfire’s ankles and pulling. She toppled forward with a yelp, catching herself on her arms as Spittoon started dragging her into the puddle.

Mudslide charged forward, the muddy armour all over his body adding weight to his stride. I fired the air cannon at him, and he just shielded his face with one arm as the blast of air splashed off him uselessly.

I dropped the cannon as he came close, catching his swing by the wrist and ramming a punch of my own into his gut. The armour cracked with a noise like shattering pottery, but Mudslide didn’t so much as flinch, swinging at me with his free arm.

I pulled my fist out and caught the second swing as well- there was barely any force behind it. Apparently Mudslide didn’t have any added strength. Instead of wasting another punch, I simply twisted at the hips and swung him with me, throwing him across the room to smash into the far wall. The shattering noise this time was like a whole china cabinet falling over.

“Anyone else get a real satisfied feeling from that noise?” Stoneknapper asked while I bent down and grabbed Spitfire’s hands to help pull her out of Spittoon’s clutches. “It’s just a really crisp cracking sound, y’know?”

“Oh, for sure,” Firecracker agreed. “Like stepping on a frozen puddle.”

“Exactly!”

Spittoon was pulling harder than I’d thought, but between Spitfire’s thrashing legs and my strength I was steadily pulling her up and out, revealing his hands still holding onto her. I aimed a kick at one and he let go hastily, disappearing into the puddle. I popped Spitfire down on solid ground and scooped up the cannon, firing it into the puddle. The surface rippled violently, but shallowly, as if it was just surface-deep liquid.

“Bugger,” Rotter said with feeling.

Bearskin was more verbose. “Guess it only works if he brings stuff in himself. You gotta wait for him to come out of hiding.”

“You alright?” I asked Spitfire, just as I heard a symphony of clattering, cup-on-saucer noises. Mudslide was up and running again, bounding over one of the Merchants we’d beaten a moment ago with surprising grace as he came at us again.

I didn’t waste a shot on him- just took two steps forward and spun into a kick that caught him in the middle of his chest with a ‘dropped-a-stack-of-plates’ kind of noise. He went sailing back again, landing on his back and sliding a few feet, leaving streaks of mud along the floor that swelled and hardened into rocky growths.

“Check your feet,” Nemean said suddenly. Sure enough, when I looked down, my left foot had traces of mud on it which were also growing into tiny crags on the metal.

“You’ll have to t-take him down with as little contact as possible,” Flinch advised, “otherwise he’ll start to weigh you down.”

“Fair enough.” I switched to net rounds, aimed and fired.

A gob of spit splashed onto Mudslide as I aimed, instantly trickling off him to pool on the floor- and then he disappeared into it like it was a trapdoor, while the net round simply bounced off it and burst open fruitlessly in mid-air.

“Eyes up,” I ordered, training the cannon on the direction the spit had come from. Nothing there but a rippling puddle. “Guess Spittoon’s faster than I thought.”

Spitfire raised her arms and gripped the triggers for her extinguishers. “Stealing my schtick too,” she hissed. “And now my ankles are killing me.”

I made an agreeing noise while I slowly walked forward through the room, glancing at every puddle. It seemed the duo had hit on a strategy- hit and run tactics to wear us down and spread Mudslide’s power on us. Time was on their side after all.

“You need a way to limit his movement,” Tactical said. “We can’t enter his portals ourselves, but maybe we can block them off, or disrupt them.”

I gingerly prodded at one puddle with my clean foot, sending it rippling as it hit the floor underneath. “Hey Spitfire,” I said aloud as an idea came to me, “do you think you can-”

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye; I spun just in time to see Mudslide come shooting out of a puddle with a roar, aimed straight at Spitfire. I fired an airblast immediately, knocking him off course as Spitfire dodged, then hit him with a burst from her extinguishers. To my surprise, the mud on his chest started to soften and run as the water hammered against it.

Danger sense pinged- I looked all around, then down, to see Spittoon’s grubby hands grab my legs, and the puddle he’d spread under my feet, just before he pulled me down with him.

I sealed my helmet filter as I fell into thick liquid. When I looked around, I could see clearly- it looked like a grey-white void, pierced here and there with shafts of light from the portals into the world. They were getting further away as Spittoon pulled me down and down.

“Oh Christ, does this mean we’re swimming in spit?” Firecracker asked in a nauseous tone.

“Oh, you just had to say it,” Bearskin said, revolted.

Quarrel was radiating smugness at my predicament. “Not so fun to be on the receiving end, huh?”

I growled inside my helmet and kicked out at Spittoon- he jinked several feet right without moving a muscle and grabbed at my other leg. I tried pointing the cannon at him, and he just zipped around again and grabbed it with both hands, yanking at it so suddenly I lost my grip.

Spittoon tossed it over his shoulder, and I saw it begin to float up toward a portal. Without him pulling me down, I began to rise up again. Spittoon darted around behind me and started pushing on my shoulders.

“So he’s trying to drown us in his portal,” Vladimir said. “That’s a new one.”

It was looking like it might work too- I hadn’t thought to put an air reserve into the suit, so I was running on the air that was in the helmet before he’d pulled me under, and I was almost out now. I quickly swung a punch at him- It didn’t connect, but then I didn’t need it to. I just needed a moment to raise my arm and fire my grappler at the portal directly overheard.

The extra buoyancy worked on the grappler head as well- it shot up like a firework, right through the middle of the portal. As soon as I felt the head hit something, I hit the retract and let it pull me up.

Spittoon came after me at once, grabbing at any part of me he could reach to try and drag me down again. I drew a sword with my free hand and slashed wildly to scare him off; then I broke through the puddle’s surface, and I pulled my helmet open to take the sweetest breath of my life.

For a moment I just hung from the ceiling with sword in hand, getting my breath back. Then I heard Spitfire shout “A little help here?!”

Spitfire was backing away from Mudslide as he stomped after her. She kept firing blasts of water at his feet and face, presumably trying to mess with his balance or rattle his brain a bit, but it wasn’t doing much.

“And she’s not setting him on fire, why?” Rotter asked.

The question was answered as Spitfire dodged around the pile of melting guns, putting them between her and Mudslide; he simply kicked his way through, scattering the weapons around as the flames licked uselessly at his mud before going out.

Still hanging from the ceiling, I hefted my sword and hurled it right at him. Even blunted, it slammed into his shoulder and stuck there, drawing an angry roar from him as he fell to one knee.

Spitfire dodged around puddles as I swung myself forward and released the grappler to land on solid floor. “Where’s the other guy?” she demanded as she reached me.

“Somewhere in his own little dimension, but I think I know how to draw him out.” I briefly explained my idea to her, glancing behind her as Mudslide pulled the sword out of his mud and got to his feet, mud bubbling and expanding along the blade to turn it into more of a club. A quick glance with bloodsight showed me I hadn’t even broken the skin.

“Get to it: I’ll deal with ugly here.” Spitfire nodded and ran off as I reached to my belt.

“Oooohohohoh,” Anchorage chortled as I unclipped the weapon I’d finished building last night. “About damn time you brought out the good shit. Come on, whup his ass with it!”

 I took a couple of long slow steps toward Mudslide, letting the round head of the flail droop toward the ground as the cable spooled out; then with a quick jerk of my wrist, I started swinging it in a circle, slow at first, then faster and faster, until it was humming through the air. Then I began swinging it in an x-pattern in front of me, fast enough to blur in the air.

Mudslide raised the sword he’d taken, holding it like a baseball bat; through bloodsight I could see his eyes darting around in an attempt to keep up with the speed of the head as I approached. I gave him a moment to get used to the pattern, then yanked on the cable mid-swing, sending the flail hurtling toward me; I side-stepped, spun with it, and swung the flail around as I completed the turn so the head crashed right into Mudslide’s chest.

Mudslide hit the wall so fast the two impacts almost mixed together- I saw pieces of his mud crack and fall off him before fresh mud bubbled up to fill the gaps. I quickly spun the flail back up to speed and hurled it forward again, this time smashing into his knee as he tried to stand. He fell over with a pained shout.

Anchorage whooped with delight. “Hell yeah! Cave his freaking skull in! I told you this’d be good, and I was right!”

“There’s mud building up on the head,” Bearskin warned; there were indeed splotches of mud that were expanding into rocky protusions.

“Then I suppose we should clean it up a bit,” Tock Tick said with an uncharacteristically bloodthirsty tone. On the other hand, he’d been seriously satisfied with working on this project.

I’d decided to create something similar to Anchorage’s signature anchor as an extra melee weapon a few days ago, but with a lot of Tinkertech to augment it. What I’d come up with was a flail with a head the size of a cantaloupe, filled with an ingenious weight-shifting mechanism that effectively allowed me to steer it in mid-air, rather like how Anchorage had used her mass-affecting powers to pull off tricks with her anchor.

“Man, studying our own powers to make tech,” Knapper said admiringly. “Why the hell’d we never think of that?”

“I can think of a few reasons,” Tock said caustically.

It certainly seemed to have put Mudslide on the back foot- rather than try to tank my next swipe, he threw himself under it, belly-sliding on a trial of slick mud toward me. I reeled in the cable to bring the flail back toward me, then swung it underhand as he stood up.

This time he threw himself forward and grabbed the flail in a bearhug, letting the impact push him back on his trail of mud. More mud oozed from the cracks of his armour to coat the flail completely. A gurgling laugh came from under his armour as he held the lump of rocky dirt to his chest.

“Oh that poor fool,” Muramasa snorted as I hit a button on the handle. The flail didn’t hit so hard just because it was heavy and fast- the outer shell was composed of dozens of small segments attached to pistons, all of which fed into the kinetic battery at the centre. It meant I could let the flail absorb part of the impact to recharge and avoid hurting someone too much- or, if used in reverse, it could create a massive pulse on impact.

All the mud encasing the head, and the whole front of Mudslide’s body, exploded off as the pulse ripped through it, splattering the walls and floor with thick brown muck. Mudslide himself crashed to the floor, groaning weakly. I could make out his ragged t-shirt between the remaining patches of dirt that were sluggishly expanding again.

“Now that,” Needler said in a pleased tone, “was a joy to watch.”

“God DAMN I missed that!” Anchorage howled. “Fuck, I wish we could’ve seen the look on his face when that went off. All over the fucking wall!”

I retracted the flail completely and brought it back to my belt as I walked over and slapped a cuff on his wrist. Holding the other end, I dragged him over to the wall and jammed the drill into the wall to secure him.

“Spitfire, how’s it going?” I asked as I turned to check on her.

Spitfire spat another stream of fire over a puddle, leaving a line of intense flame slashed across it. “Think I’ve got all of them,” she said, looking around. Just as I’d asked, she’d put a line of flame over every puddle in the room. Spittoon couldn’t exit any of them now without setting his head on fire; I noticed that Spitfire was holding my cannon to her shoulder, and looked ready to use it.

“Smart move,” Nemean said. “Can’t make him come out to fight, just stop him from fighting at all.”

“Nothing like fire to keep people back,” Vladimir agreed. “We need to keep this kid around.”

“Yeah, but she’s too soft right now,” Quarrel pointed out. “It’d take forever for her to be okay with burning people.”

I very carefully didn’t react to possibly the first thing I’d heard Quarrel say that wasn’t an insult at me or an angry rant- even if it was still about hurting people. Instead I looked around the room for any clear puddles, or any other sign of Spittoon. Nothing at all- just streaks of flame and two piles of groaning Merchants by the stairs.

“I think he’s basically dealt with,” I said at last. “If he escapes, that’s not on us. Let’s move the captives away from the fire, then get upstairs and finish this.”

“Just a sec,” Spitfire said, jogging to the table filled with weed at the end of the room. She grabbed a cashbox and quickly emptied the bills inside into one of her belt punches.

“Atta girl,” Firecracker praised. “You gotta take what you can before it’s gone.”

I felt like I should say something, but I had promised Spitfire money from this operation, so I wordlessly began hauling the Merchants down to the landing on the stairs. Once Spitfire had gathered all the cash she could find, she joined me in shifting them.

I checked with bloodsight and bugs as we worked- no sign of any more ambushes. Sending his new capes must have been Skidmark’s last gambit. Everybody left on the upper floors was huddled away from the stairs or scurrying about frantically at something at the very top. I sketched out a quick plan as I kicked out a couple of windows to let the smoke out of the room.

“This could get dangerous,” Flinch warned as I took my cannon back from Spitfire and smashed the rock off the sword Mudslide had coated. “Skidmark’s c-cornered now, and he doesn’t seem like the kind of man to worry much about collateral damage.”

“He’s probably had time to turn the top floor into a killing field, too,” Tactical pointed out. “It’s going to be tough.”

“Ah, you two worry too much,” Rotter said dismissively. “We burst in, beat him ‘til he pisses blood, hand him to the coppers, then split the money and leave. Easy-peasy lemon-squeezy.”

“Aaaand you just jinxed us,” Firecracker deadpanned.

I motioned for Spitfire to get behind me as I stood at the bottom of the stairs; she hefted her shield nervously. The cannon was charged, the swords were cleaned, and the flail had passed its field test with flying colours.

I counted down on my fingers for Spitfire’s benefit, then rushed up the stairs with her on my heels. The fourth floor was baggies of cocaine and pills, and an overturned DJ setup, with a pair of stripper poles in the middle. I was pretty sure the women hiding behind a curtain were the entertainment for tonight.

“Man, we should’ve just shown up to party,” Stoneknapper said frustratedly. “Booze, drugs, girls- we could have got seriously fucked up on all this.”

“And to think there is one more floor above this.” Muramasa had a note of lust in his voice.

I looked around the room to make sure there weren’t any more guys waiting to fight us, or booby traps to slow us down. Spitfire took the time to pocket some more cash- though I saw her slip a few wads under the curtain and whisper something to the ladies behind it.

“Smart girl,” Rotter said. “You always want to tip the dancers.”

“Honestly Rotter, every time you open your mouth,” Needler complained.

I signalled Spitfire over to the last set of stairs. “Last floor. Hope you’re ready for this.”

Spitfire took a couple of deep breathes and raised her fists. “Hell yeah.”

I nodded. “You look ready.”

Just as I turned toward the steps, there was a tremendous boom that shook the room. The dancers screamed as dust fell from the ceiling and a table full of drinks fell over to smash on the ground. I pounded up the steps without a second thought, Spitfire shouting something after me before she reluctantly followed.

The top floor was a gaudy mess- disco lights warred with black lights, and the walls were solid banks of speakers. Tables of every kind of drug the Butchers could name were scattered about, and the corners were curtained off. To judge from the blood silhouettes I could see of cowering people, there were large beds behind every single one.

“The more I see of this party, the more I wish we hadn’t busted it up,” Rotter admitted. “I mean, how often have you found a tasty piece, and then you’ve had to spend forever trying to find some quiet corner to shag? Here they’ve got beds! That’s just fucking considerate, that is!”

“And fucking in a crowded room with just a curtain for privacy is better how?” Bearskin asked.

The back wall had a wide platform with a throne-like chair on top of it, and Skidmark was planted firmly in it. He’d switched his flimsy cape out for a lurid purple fur coat with matching feathered hat, and he had a jewelled cane clasped in one hand. The other held a gorgeous Smith & Wesson revolver unsteadily.

Even with all that, it was hard to focus on him, because behind him was a short truck that throbbed with power; literally. The engine was powerful enough I could feel the vibrations in my chest, and the armour panels covering it had a faint glow to them, just like the panels that had stopped us from rappelling in. The wheels were massive, with spikes coming out of the hubcaps, and a thick bundle of cables led from the back of the empty trailer to the walls, and down through the floor, presumably to power the whole building.

It would have looked more intimidating if every corner and edge wasn’t made of thick weld lines and wide rivets; every surface had some kind of graffiti on it, from a pin-up girl on the driver’s door to a shark mouth on the grill, and a couple of bullseyes painted on the armour panels, as if to goad people into trying to hit them.

“Okay, but how the fuck did they get that thing up here?” Quarrel demanded. “We’re inside! Five storeys up!”

Tock Tick shrugged. “Damned if I know. Maybe the damn thing can drive up walls.”

“You,” Skidmark slurred, “have been the biggest fucking pain in my ass.” He raised the gun a little higher, pointed at my head. “The fuck did I ever do to you, huh? All I ever did was shift some product and throw some parties. I even had those Teeth shits dead to rights- that’s practically a public service!”

“It’s nothing personal,” I explained, keeping the cannon ready as I worked my way forward, weaving between tables and beds. “It’s just that you’re a disgusting waste of a person.”

Skidmark threw himself to his feet and squeezed off a shot, but danger sense had me already leaping out of the way. The bullet hit a table and smashed it into two rough halves and a cloud of splinters, and took a chunk out of the floor as well.

“What was in that gun?” Tactical demanded. “A Magnum isn’t that powerful!”

Vladimir gave the answer as I peered through table legs. “It’s his fields,” he explained, indicating the deep band of purple-blue that stretched from wall to wall in front of Skidmark. “It’s accelerating the bullets. We get hit with that, armour’s not going to matter.”

“I am conflicted,” Muramasa admitted. “That does make his power seem more impressive, and no doubt with all of us thinking we could find greater use for it. On the other hand, being hosted by that man is an unpleasant prospect.”

“I’m not dead yet,” I snapped as I burst from cover across the room and fired a shot off at Skidmark’s face. He had just enough time to sneer ‘Dumbass’ before the airblast hit him in the face and knocked him back into his throne, which fell over.

I’d mostly chosen to build the air cannon because it was less lethal and didn’t need ammo, but another reason had been something I’d noticed when I’d tangled with Skidmark and Stormtiger- namely, that Skidmark’s fields didn’t repel air. So now I had a weapon that could ignore all his defenses.

Firecracker was killing herself laughing. “Oh god,” she gasped, “I would pay actual money to get video of that! Ah, Jesus!”

“Oh, and there’s the wannabe pimp’s main ho,” Anchorage jeered as Squealer hopped out of the truck cab to check on Skidmark. “What kind of drugs do you have to take that fries your head enough to want to shack up with that?”

“All of them?” Nemean suggested. I tuned out the argument to take another shot at the Merchants, but Squealer ducked behind the upturned throne, before hauling Skidmark to his feet and bundling him into the cab.

“Spitfire, where are you?” I called over my shoulder. “They’re getting away!”

The reply echoed up from the stairwell. “I’m not coming up until I know I’m not getting shot at by a fucking tank or whatever the hell that was!”

“I get what you were saying, Quarrel,” Bearskin admitted. “She’s missing a bit of spine.”

“I think it’s reasonable not to want to be shot,” I retorted. Out loud I shouted “He’s dropped the gun, now hurry up!

Spitfire edge out, holding the shield in front of her gingerly while I kept firing at the truck, cursing the cannon’s slow recharge rate. “The hell is that?” she asked.

“Squealer’s latest creation. And I’ll bet my ass it’s powering those panels outside,” I said grimly, firing another shot at the windshield. The force rattled the glass, but nothing else. Squealer shot me the finger from where she’d belted herself into the driver’s seat, then pulled a lever.

The walls shook again, and then I saw the wall behind the truck start to shift and move, breaking into sections that arranged themselves onto a rack on the trailer.

“Oh, that’s clever,” Tock Tick praised as cables retracted into the trailer bed and the last of the panels slotted themselves into the trailer, leaving the top floor massing about two-thirds of the walls. “The truck isn’t just the power source for the panels, it’s a mobile headquarters. You could park that anywhere and use the panels to set up a fortress.”

I saw Squealer glaring at us one last time before she shifted the truck into gear and rolled it toward us.

“Move!” I grabbed Spitfire and flung us both to the side just as the truck hit Skidmark’s fields and shot forward like a cannonball, ploughing through tables with ease before driving right off the edge of the building.

I pulled Spitfire up and half-dragged, half-carried her across the room to look out, and see the truck easily driving down the side of the building.

“Huh,” Needler raised an eyebrow. “You were right, Tock.”

“I was joking,” Tock Tick admitted.

I racked the cannon onto my back and fired my grappler into the roof, then reversed it and fired the other side down to the other side of the street. “Get a good grip,” I ordered, slinging my arm around Spitfire’s waist and grabbing onto her belt.

Spitfire looked at me, looked down at the truck, looked at the cable stretching across and down, and flung her arms around me. I took one big step forward, and then we were ziplining down to the street, just fast enough to overtake Squealer’s truck as it slowed and tilted 90 degrees to land on the street with a thump.

“Whee!” Firecracker called out.

I hauled on the brakes as we reached the ground and took the landing on my feet as I retracted the cables, then tossed Spitfire over my shoulder and made for the alleyway where I’d parked the chariot.

Spitfire pounded on my back as I ran along. “They’re-back-there-asshole!” she yelled, punctuating every word with a fist.

“We need the chariot to keep pace with them!” I explained as we reached the alley. “We can’t beat them in that, and we’d just waste time trying!” I set Spitfire down and leapt over the hood to yank my door open and fling myself into the seat just as Squealer roared past us.

Spitfire piled in as I started the engine and stomped the accelerator hard enough to throw us both back in our seats. I fought the steering wheel to turn us around after the Merchants without losing speed.

Vladimir couldn’t resist. “I feel the need!” he called.

Tactical joined him. “The need- for speed!” they chorused.

Spitfire hastily belted herself in as I straightened us out and shifted gears. Unfortunately, the truck had a good head start, and as proud as I was of the chariot, I just wasn’t specialised in vehicles like Squealer was. The gap was widening.

I reached behind me, grasping blindly until I found a handle, and tugged. A length of pipe with an upturned hatch slid forward between us, and I flipped it open. “Spit!”

“What?!” Spitfire shrieked.

“Thruster!” I shouted back. “Same as your harness engine! We need a boost to catch up!”

Spitfire goggled at me for a second, then leaned over and pressed her mouth to the pipe. I’d had the foresight to add a shaped mouthpiece to it, so there wouldn’t be any chance of her flames leaking out when- I turned the wheel sharply- Squealer took a sudden left.

Butcher finally rose out of the dark, cackling horribly. “This night is finally being fun! New capes to pummel, and now a car chase!” I could feel his dark glee seeping into me as I roared after Squealer.

I checked a gauge on the control panel- there. I jabbed a button, and the thruster spun into motion as the napalm-hot spit reached the container. “Sit back,” I told Spitfire, “and hold onto something.”

Spitfire finished pouring fiery loogies down the pipe and closed the hatch. “How bad is this gonna be?”

I clicked a second button, and a rush of heat intense enough to soften steel rushed through the turbine mounted on the back of the chariot, spinning the blades to the limit of the inbuilt cooling system and sending a long tongue of superheated air licking out behind us.

The chariot leaped forward, slamming the two of us back into our seats as another 40mph was instantly added to our speed, shooting us up the long straight of 56^th street. Spitfire screamed through her teeth as we hammered along at triple the speed limit and Squealer’s truck grew closer in the windshield.

“Hooooly hell,” Tock Tick breathed. “I don’t remember the last time I had a power source like that to work with! This thing’s a monster!”

The burst began to peter out, but we’d closed the gap on Squealer now, close enough to make out the words of the graffiti on the rear fender before the truck made a sharp left.

I twisted the steering wheel a certain way, splitting it into four semi-independent sections, then swung the chariot into a drift, turning each tyre to angle around the corner perfectly before pumping the accelerator to chase after them again.

A dozen more quick turns followed, and one advantage of the chariot made itself clear- though it might have been less powerful, my creation was lighter, better suited for taking corners at speed than Squealer’s armoured slab; Although using bloodsight to see Squealer’s movements as she steered didn’t hurt.

“Nice driving, but how the hell’re you going to bring them down?” Bearskin demanded. “You didn’t put any weapons on this thing!”

I fished my phone out of its compartment as Squealer turned onto a straight and hit the gas, passing it to Spitfire. “Call the PRT, tell them we’re in pursuit, maybe they can set up a roadblock or something.”

Spitfire grabbed the phone and punched in the number, quickly asking the operator for a special line like I’d shown her. “Yeah, we’re heading down- what street is this?”

“Maple Avenue!” Rotter said- I repeated it aloud, and Spitfire said it into the phone.

Just as the operator was replying, I saw Skidmark’s blood silhouette sit up and do something to the window- then the maniac leant his entire upper body out of the window and waved his hands forward.

A huge patch of purple-blue appeared on the road ahead of us, and Squealer steered right over it, instantly jumping forward. I steered after them on instinct, and felt the field shoot us forward as well.

“Cool! Like Mario Kart! We’ve got speed zones now!” Anchorage was giggling manically. “All we need now is fucking Bowser!”

Skidmark waved his hands again and again, throwing down more patches for Squealer to speed up; and I swerved back and forth to catch each one, playing a desperate game of keep-up. Spitfire kept shouting directions into the phone, asking me for street names as we turned and doubled back.

We’d just hit the edge of downtown, hammering down a main road, when Spitfire held a finger to her ear. “Say again? …With who? …Ah shit.”

“What?” I asked tersely, not taking my eyes off the road as the Butchers whooped and cheered inside my head. “What’d they say?”

“There’s another chase going on tonight,” Spitfire explained hastily, “they think Squealer’s trying to drive past them and lose us or something.”

“So who’s chasing who?” I asked, just as I followed Squealer onto the raised road that lead to the freeway. Then I saw what Squealer was aiming at.

Two pickups were roaring along, swerving back and forth across the lanes. A couple of people were standing up in the bed of each, being held by others as they threw out obstacles. The front car had a man standing tall as copies of himself burst from his body, pouring off the back to fall into the road, mindlessly struggling even as they were dashed against the asphalt.

The second pickup had shadowy hands sprouting from all over it, and a dozen of them were holding up a short woman whose armour had little bits of jagged glass embedded in it. She was flicking her hands out to the sides, and clouds of tiny, razor-sharp forcefields appeared wherever she pointed, swiftly left behind as the truck kept driving.

Their pursuers were stranger still. One was a flatbed truck, driven by a man in a domino mask who swerved around the pulped clones and banks of razors with insolent ease. A man so white that it went beyond albinism was standing on the back, elbows resting on the cab as he aimed a rifle at the trucks.

The other was a wide slab of cement that raced through the air with disturbing speed for something so massive. A girl in a red and black robe was tied to its surface, shouting wildly as the slab flew along. A woman with a cage on her head and sickles in her hands balanced on the slab with inhuman grace.

Squealer’s truck forced itself into the middle of the chase, several clones bursting under its wheels as it swerved between the two gangs. Skidmark hastily pulled himself back into the cab just before a cloud of razors scraped along the passenger side, scoring the paint.

Quarrel broke the stunned silence inside my head. “WAAAHHHHHOOOOOOO!” she hollered. “WE’RE COMING HOME, BITCHES!”

My grip tightened on the steering wheel, even as I boggled at the sheer mass of bad luck that had led to all this.

“Uh, Elpis?” Spitfire’s voice broke into my thoughts. “What do we do now?”

I swallowed. Then I shoved down the rowdier half of the Butchers, and pressed the accelerator down.

Chapter Text

Sunday 6^th February

Spitfire gripped the sides of her seat with an increasingly high-pitched whine of terror. The gap between us and the rest of the chase was steadily shrinking.

Squealer’s abrupt entrance had shaken up the order of pursuit. Spree’s car was barely keeping ahead of her, Spree gesticulating wildly as he fired off manic clones that turned to pulp under the wheels of Squealer’s panel-truck.

Behind that, Vex and the Empire truck were neck and neck, slamming into one another aggressively as their riders tried to aim at each other. However, Alabaster was being held back by the shadowy arms that had sprouted all over the truck’s body- evidently, Victor had strayed close enough for Sinister’s power to spread. Vex was trying to throw razor-clouds around, but at the speed they were going, she couldn’t aim properly.

Floating to the side of Squealer’s truck, Rune and Cricket seemed to be at a loose end. Cricket was a close-combat cape stuck at a distance, and Rune was struggling to keep pace. As I watched, the slab of cement veered away from the truck- then suddenly swung back to slam into its side.

The impact briefly brought Squealer’s truck up on two wheels before it came crashing back down again. Cricket took the opportunity to hop from the slab to the top of the rack of the panels, balancing there with insolent ease. I shifted the few bugs I’d managed to sneak onto the truck into more secure spots before they could be shaken off.

“Faster, damnit!” Butcher demanded. “We have to get in the middle of this!”

I gave him a shove- I couldn’t physically push the accelerator any further, but-

“Spit, we need another boost,” I urged, pulling the turbine feed pipe forward again. Spitfire shook her head frantically.

“No, no-no-no, fuck that! I didn’t sign up for this shit!” She pointed a wavering finger forward, just as Vex managed to put a cloud of razor-fields in front of Alabaster’s raised head. Half the skin came off his head as he slammed into it.

“Huh, white blood,” Tactical noted as Alabaster keeled over. “Interesting.”

“Yeah, now hurry the hell up and get us into the fight!” Anchorage bellowed.

“Spit, listen- I know this is more than you were expecting, and I’m sorry to drag you into this, but these guys could do all sorts of damage if they keep running loose. I just need you to boost the chariot, and maybe drive it a little.” I swerved briefly to avoid a Spree clone that was less pulped than the rest. “I promise you won’t get any closer to the fight.”

Spitfire stared at me- I could see through bloodsight how her eyes were wide as dollar coins. “I don’t know how to drive,” she protested weakly.

“Seriously? That’s what she focuses on?” Firecracker asked incredulously.

“Leave her alone- she’s still new,” Nemean grunted.

“I’ll set the controls, it’ll be easy, just make a decision fast.” The situation was devolving even as I spoke- Victor’s truck was swerving out of control. His blood silhouette jerked and thrashed like he was being pulled by dozens of invisible hands- Sinister again.

Spitfire swore and bent over to spit into the boost pipe. I steered us into the outside lane, then slammed the ignition button the second she was done. The turbine flared once more, sending us speeding along, past the duelling pickups, between Squealer’s creation and Rune’s rock, drawing level with Spree’s truck. For one brief second, he glanced up as I turned my head, and I felt a shiver run down my spine, thinking that this was it, that he’d see me and know in an instant.

“We’re in here!” Quarrel screamed. “Come on Spree, you know us! Come get us!”

A second later he turned his head back and continued firing clones out- Squealer’s truck was close enough now that some of them were able to cling to the hood and try dragging themselves up the body, forcing Squealer to jink back and forth to shake them off.

I quickly fiddled with the controls, locking the accelerator and sliding the boost pipe back. “Just keep following the road, I’ll handle the rest,” I explained, taking one hand off the wheel. Spitfire quickly leant over and grabbed it with her own hand. “Actually, give me your shield while you’re at it.”

“Oh this is going to be so fucking rad,” Vladimir crowed delightedly as he saw the shape of my thoughts.

Spitfire shot me a look, but passed over the collapsible shield, now dented and battered almost beyond recognition. I took it with my free hand, then in a few quick movements, I let go of the wheel, undid my belt, and opened the door, swinging myself out and up onto the roof, crouching there as we hurtled along.

“I think this might be a genuinely new experience for us,” Stoneknapper pointed out as I slid one foot into the shield’s strap and fired my grappler at the side of Squealer’s truck. The bolt hit home on the side of the hood, just in front of a very persistent Spree clone.

The Butchers whooped as I leapt off the chariot, landing on the shield as I was pulled along, throwing up a mass of sparks and a horrific screeching noise as the asphalt ground away at the metal.

I quickly started reeling myself in, knocking aside the Spree clones that fell into my way as Squealer shook them off. I’d just managed to get a hand on the truck’s bed when the danger sense flared behind me.

I swung myself around and under the body of the truck in a hanging plank, just in time to see Rune’s slab smash into the truck again. The robed teenager sat up and gave the truck the finger with both hands.

“That kid’s gonna be a problem,” Rotter opined. “How’re ya gonna take her down, eh? Kinda hard to shoot like this.”

The few bugs in the cab sensed movement- and then the panels, all neatly lined up and dark, began to glow and shift around, locking together to form walls along the truck’s sides.

Rune seemed to hesitate for a minute, before gamely swinging her slab at the truck. This time, there was that massive power-chord noise and purple flash, and Rune’s rock was flung away from the road entirely, trailing a high-pitched scream.

Bearskin shook his head. “Goddamn idiot. How do you not know not to mess with Tinkertech?”

“Well, she’ll learn it now,” Tock Tick pointed out. “More pressingly, this puts a crimp in climbing up the side, doesn’t it?”

I dug my fingers into the undercarriage and began working my way hand over hand toward the cab. Conveniently, there was a little step under the passenger door, and I managed to slide one foot on there, then grab the door handle while I pulled the shield off my foot. The road had scraped it shiny across half its surface.

“It certainly did hold up well for something put together in a half hour,” Needler admitted.

Spitfire was keeping pace with Spree’s truck, nervously bent over the steering wheel. I gave her a thumbs-up, then slid the shield onto my arm and threw myself onto the hood.

Skidmark shrieked as I landed and punched the windscreen hard enough to crack the glass- Squealer simply jerked the wheel again, swerving the truck so sharply I had to grab the windscreen wipers to stay on. Then she pulled a lever, and the hood sprang up like a catapult, throwing me back over the cab.

“Okay, why did she have a switch just to do that?” Tock Tick asked.

I came down awkwardly on my shoulder and tumbled over and over, until I hit a metal ridge and fell over it- and down. There was another blaring noise and a purple flash, and pressure slammed into me on both sides, cancelling out and pushing me up.

“The hell is that?” Firecracker exclaimed as I was tossed into the air yet again. I saw- most of the panels were arranged into the walls on the sides of the trucks, but a few were spaced out between them, perpendicular. The effect was like looking at a ladder laid flat.

I managed to get my feet under me and land on the top of one panel- it was only an inch wide, and I wavered for a moment, windmilling my arms before I caught my balance. I glanced back toward the cab, only to see the tell-tale glow of Skidmark’s fields.

“Guess the guy’s got enough brain power to keep us away from him,” Vladimir admitted.

“So the panels only produce the repulsion effect along their sides, not their edges. And being caught between the two pushes you up- that means there must be a general upward bias in their design, interesting choice-”

“Focus, Tock,” Tactical scolded. “We’ve got more important problems.”

When I raised my head, I saw what Tactical had noticed before me. Cricket was standing at the other end, perched atop another panel in a vest and loose pants that showed off her dozens of scars. As I watched, she straightened out of her crouch and pulled her kamas from her belt. What little I could see of her face under the cage she wore like a helmet was twisted in a bloodthirsty grin.

“How many people do you think have tried to tell her that the kama is a traditional Japanese weapon?” Muramasa wondered with a tone of derisive amusement.

Flinch shrugged. “I d-doubt she lets them talk long enough to explain.”

“True enough. I suppose we shall simply have to beat her. A duel atop a moving Tinkertech vehicle!”

I tried to collapse the shield, with no success. The rough treatment I’d given it on the road had bent it out of shape all over. Instead, I drew one sword and beckoned, advancing along the tops of the panels cautiously. There was roughly a foot’s space between them, illuminated by a faint purple glow. It was made even harder by the way the truck randomly lurched from side to side or shook as it ran over obstacles.

Cricket had no such problems- she simply bounded forward from one panel to the next, spinning her kamas around as she lunged high and low in a pincer movement.

I swung the shield down to block her low strike while I stabbed with the sword, forcing her to catch the blade in the crook of her kama. We both disengaged at the same time- I settled into a low stance to keep my balance while she simply bounded backward, balancing on her toes like she’d been doing this all her life.

I moved first this time, stepping forward as quickly as I could to lunge at her. Cricket twisted away from the sword and hooked one kama around the edge of my shield, pulling it away from my body. I pulled right back, hard enough to throw her off-balance for half a second- then she planted a foot on my leg and heaved herself onto my shoulders, swinging a blade down at my face.

I barely got the sword up in time to stop it, and Cricket didn’t stop there, hooking the other blade around the straps of the shield and tugging hard. The straps were just nylon webbing, and the kama went right through them as it scraped up my arm.

I grabbed the shield as it fell and swung it up at her- Cricket batted it aside almost dismissively and hauled on my sword again. I twisted my grip to force it away from my face, then threw myself into a half-spin that threw her off me.

Even that wasn’t enough to faze her- she simply caught herself on her hands and flipped in place to land on her feet, facing away from me.

“Okay, this is some bullshit. How’s she doing this?” Anchorage asked.

“Hell if I know,” I admitted. On a whim, I shifted some bugs to start moving toward us. I wasn’t sure what they could do, but they might give me an edge in awareness, or help me to keep my footing.

Cricket glanced over her shoulder at me, and twitched a kama.

“Cheeky shit,” Butcher snarled.

“Pit fighter,” Bearskin countered. “She’s used to making a show.”

I threw the shield like a frisbee, drawing my other sword as Cricket spun under it and came toward me again, lunging for my face. I parried hard, using my strength to push her back. This time I pressed the attack, driving her back with wide swings that forced her to give ground even as she deflected them. I stabbed forward with my next attack, pulling the taser trigger as I did.

Cricket caught it with the crook of one kama- and then gave a strangled yelp as the charge hit her. The wooden handles were decent insulators, but the way she almost dropped her kama was a pretty good sign to me.

I pumped the triggers and swung for her shoulder- this time she gave ground, desperately dodging the blades. I followed with a lunge, and she almost tripped over herself in her haste to avoid it.

Even better, the bugs I’d moved had made their way up the edges of the panels, so now I could feel where the tops of the panels were as easily as I knew where my fingertips were. Although they were picking up some kind of odd noise that my own ears couldn’t quite make out-

A wave of nausea suddenly came over me- my bugs suffered too, their movement slowed and their senses disrupted. On the edge of my hearing, enhanced by Nemean’s abilities, I could hear a constant warbling screech.

“Oooooh, I get it now,” Stoneknapper exclaimed. “Cricket, she makes noise. Obvious really.”

“Not helping, Knapper!” I snapped, bringing my swords up as Cricket attacked with a strangled snarl. The sound was throwing me off, and her right kama wove through my defence to jab into my side. The blade didn’t puncture my armour, but it did dent it.

I shoved at her with both hands- she simply ducked low and hooked both of my knees, yanking hard. I toppled, and then Cricket leapt on me, still giving off that horrible noise as she jabbed all over, searching for an opening.

In desperation, I flicked my wrist and pointed at her chest as the grappler extended. Cricket immediately leapt back, long enough for me to get to my feet. Not that the grappler would have done much more than bruise her- I’d spent some time specifically designing the drill function so that it would stop at materials similar to human flesh, to avoid any accidents.

The sound was still going, and I felt myself weakening further.

“So, what tricks up your sleeve do you have that could beat her?” Rotter wondered innocently. “Maybe festering wounds?”

“Or make her too angry to fight smart,” Bearskin chimed in with uncharacteristic slyness.

“Just fucking pain blast her!” Butcher snapped, not even trying to be subtle.

I growled out loud, wracking my brain for any ideas. The flail wouldn’t work well here, and the air cannon definitely wasn’t suited for close-up fighting. I tried picking at Tactical’s Thinker power instead.

I glanced down. If I couldn’t take advantage of my weapons, I’d take advantage of the environment.

I charged forward, bringing the swords into a ready stance. Cricket slid into her own pose as I came, radiating confidence.

I kept moving until I saw Cricket tense up- then I pulled my foot back mid-step and let myself fall between two panels. I fell maybe six feet before the repulsion effect kicked in with that blaring noise, throwing me back up like a trampoline, swinging my swords as I rose.

“Wheee!” Firecracker whooped.

Whether the noise threw off Cricket’s sonar or she was just taken by surprise, I managed to catch one of her kamas, knocking it out of her hand. It flew off the side of the truck to disappear into the night.

Cricket snarled as I caught my footing and lunged again, making that horrible noise again- but a second’s reprieve had done wonders for me, and I was back to good condition, even as the noise whittled away at me again.

Cricket dodged to the side, backed up against the side of the truck. Then the noise shut off, she glanced back, and simply stepped off the truck.

“NO!” Flinch shouted, distraught.

Needler rolled her eyes. “For goodness’ sake Flinch, use your brain.”

Sure enough, when I ran over and looked down, Cricket had landed on the back of Victor’s truck next to Alabaster as they sped past the Merchant truck. She paused in cutting the last few Sinister arms off her comrade to give me the finger.

I quickly glanced around with bloodsight to check on everything. Skidmark and Squealer were still driving along, Spree’s truck in front. Spitfire was parallel to them, staying clear of the fight, and Vex’s truck was lingering behind the Merchants, the passengers shuffling around as Vex swapped places with someone else.

A gunshot rang out, and Spree ducked as one of his clones took a hit. Victor was leaning out of the driver’s window with a pistol, firing at the lead truck. The constant flood of clones was soaking up most of the damage, but not all of it.

“Do something!” Vladimir insisted.

I glanced forward. The field Skidmark had laid on top of the cab was dimming as I watched.

I sheathed both swords and started toward the front, unlocking a reinforced compartment on my belt as I went. There were two locks, because I really hadn’t wanted to risk this particular gizmo falling out or being used against me, considering how hard it was to make, and how dangerous it was.

Just as the field ran out, I leapt out over the cab, hand clutched around the grenade. I could see Spree’s eyes widen before I twisted myself in midair to ram the spike-grenade down into the hood of the truck as I landed.

The drill on the business end was similar in design to my grapplers, but stronger, built for a single spectacular use. I heard the motor whine as it struggled for a second with the armour plating on Squealer’s truck, before it finally bit through. I quickly twisted the timer on top, simultaneously activating the matched one in my helmet, and threw myself to the side as Skidmark waved his hand from behind the windshield.

I grabbed at the wing-mirror for a handhold, batted aside yet another Spree clone as it fell to the road, then pushed off as hard as I could, landing on top of the chariot. Spitfire shrieked at the impact, and the chariot swerved for a second before she got things under control.

Something rammed us from behind, and the chariot jolted forward.

“Oh come on!” Quarrel howled. “What now?”

Victor glared at us from his seat. Behind him, Alabaster levelled his rifle at me and squeezed off a shot.

I was already ducking as the danger sense flared, and I swore I felt the bullet whizz over my head. I pulled out the air cannon and fired at Alabaster, knocking him back before he flickered back to normal a second later.

“Bloody hell that’s annoying,” Dirty Rotter remarked nonchalantly.

“Pretty sure he still feels pain,” Bearskin interjected. “That’s something at least.”

Cricket gave me a look, then took as much of a running start as she could and leapt across the gap to the Merchant truck, her one kama hooking around the wing mirror to anchor here. I could just make out Skidmark’s astonished expression as she nimbly worked her way around to balance on the front fender, clinging with fingers and blade despite the flood of clones still being dashed under the wheels of the truck.

Cricket swung her kama out in a wide sweep- at her signal, Victor leaned out of his window and fired a shot that hit Spree in the shoulder. He dropped to one knee with a yelp, the flood of copies briefly interrupted. Cricket used that moment to leap across, stepping on one of the clones mid- leap to land in the bed of the pickup and swing at Spree.

The bones laid along Spree’s forearm snapped as he blocked her swing, and then Spree straightened up enough to launch a pair of clones that nearly bowled her over.

“Come on Spree!” Butcher roared. “You can take this Nazi bitch!”

“Taylor, you gotta get in there!” Anchorage urged me frantically. “Spree’s good, but he’s not a close-in fighter.”

Victor took the opportunity to close the gap some more, threading his flatbed between the Merchant truck and the chariot until he rammed the bumper of Spree’s truck. A second later, the Merchant truck accelerated until it slammed up against Victor’s, trapping it in place.

“Clustertruck,” Rotter said, giggling manically.

Alabaster turned and fired at the Merchants, the bullets leaving spiderweb cracks in the glass without breaking through. Skidmark ducked down, hands over his head.

More Spree clones scrambled over the hood of the middle truck, flooding their way toward Alabaster, forcing him to turn around and start fending them off, using the rifle like a staff. Cricket was carving her way through the clones at the source, slamming her kama into Spree’s wounded shoulder. This time his howl was so loud his voice cracked.

As much as I’d tried to deny it, as much as I wished it wasn’t true, this was personal to me. I knew the Teeth- knew them like old friends. I couldn’t stand by.

I raised an arm and fired the grappler- the bolt sank into the back of Victor’s truck just as I leapt across, yanking the cable taut to clothesline half the clones and throw Alabaster off his feet.

“Yeah, nice move, now hurry up!” Firecracker shouted. Cricket was raising her kama to deal a death blow.

The blade came down- and was caught between two long daggers. Reaver shoved her back and swung himself the rest of the way out of the cab, taking a stance in front of Spree as his outline started to blurr.

Alabaster lunged for me with a snarl, dropping the rifle to pull a pistol and knife. I grabbed his wrists and forced them down as he let off a shot that hit nothing but air.

“Cunt,” Alabaster spat at me, “we’re cleansing this city of their filth! Why stop us?”

I didn’t dignify that with an answer, too incensed by his insult. Instead, I slammed my head into his, producing a crunch as his nose broke. While he reeled back, I yanked the knife out of his hand and rammed it into his shoulder as I kicked out his knee, forcing him to the bed of the truck as the blade punched through into the metal. He howled as I tossed the pistol over my shoulder and drew a sword.

Cricket backflipped over the cab as Reaver chased her, his feet hammering out a drumbeat on the metal with each step as he vibrated faster and faster. He struck his knives against each other for dramatic effect, giving a screech of tortured metal.

“We will have to break him of that habit,” Muramasa noted. “Foolish.”

“Oh, like you’ve never postured during a fight,” Tock said as sarcastically as possible.

Danger sense flared again just as I saw Alabaster reset, roll, and come up with the rifle, firing at Reaver. I stepped into its path in time for it to glance off my shoulder, jolting me like a hard punch. Cricket took the opportunity to step past me, kicking me in the chest as she went. I overbalanced, and only the grappler I’d forgotten to retract kept me from falling.

Reaver spared a glance at me, but still kept his daggers up as I regained my balance and drew my other sword. For a moment that was the tableau, Reaver in front, Alabaster and Cricket behind, me in the middle with the Butchers whispering and demanding and offering advice.

Alabaster broke the silence, brandishing his rifle. “You knew Hemorhaggia?” he yelled over the roar of engines and the wind.

I barely kept myself from reacting. Reaver’s vibration made it hard to read him, but the surprise was clear regardless.

“The fuck is he talking about?” Nemean asked.

“Oh no,” Flinch murmured. “Oh no, no, no,”

Alabaster grabbed at something hanging off the stock of his rifle. “Look familiar?”

For a moment I didn’t understand. Then the shape clicked into my head like a jigsaw puzzle, and brought a cascade of memories from Quarrel.

Watching horror B-movies and laughing at the terrible acting.

Feasting on packets of every kind of candy and bottles of stolen liquor, bitching about whatever came to mind.

Trash-talking the other Teeth, making mocking jokes about Spree’s acne or Muramasa’s moustache.

Watching TV, eating dinner, guarding each other’s backs in a fight as she formed blood into swords, axes, shields and armour.

And always, Hemorrhagia- Alice- had kept that little keychain on her, worn around her neck. A four-leafed clover with Kiss Me, I’m Irish written on it, that she’d used to try and flirt with Quarrel a dozen times, smiling so hard her freckles all bunched up together.

Alabaster had taken it off her corpse.

Quarrel screamed long and loud inside my head, full of rage and pain. “KILL HIM! KILL HIM! MAKE HIM DIE!” The rage flooded me from all sides as the Butchers demanded Alabaster’s head.

Reaver lunged forward with a roar, too angry to see Alabaster pulling a second pistol out of his white suit-

My first sword cut Alabaster’s arm off at the elbow. The second one went through his chest, before I heaved it upward and split him in half from sternum to scalp. Both halves of his face had an astonished expression as I sliced his rifle in two and grabbed the half with Alice’s keychain.

Cricket lunged for me, but Reaver forced her back with lightning-quick swipes. She retreated up the hood of the Merchant truck and over the roof toward the panels. Reaver came after her, just as Skidmark poked his head up and waved his hand.

A field appeared across the hood, and Reaver went sliding off, barely catching himself on the driver’s mirror, then slamming a dagger into the metal to steady himself.

Something grabbed at my ankle as I yanked my sword free of Alabaster; I looked down to see one of Sinister’s arms poking out of the metal, a second before danger sense flared again. I reflexively dropped low and pocketed the keychain before impact.

Vex’s truck slammed into the side of us, forcing the Empire truck into the concrete barrier with a horrible screech of metal. I could see Sinister at the wheel, and Vex beside him, and Animo’s Changer form in the bed, a blunt-snouted creature with a shark’s mouth and a red crest atop the brown fur. I saw the muscles in his legs bunch up before he leapt across and landed foursquare in the bed of Spree’s truck, directly in front of us.

Skidmark stuck himself out of the window, holding his awful pimp coat like a shield as it glowed with the light of his power, and waved a hand. A field sprang up, pushing Alabaster and me toward Animos, Alabaster resetting as he was forced along.

Animos’s maw opened wide, rows of pointed teeth exposed as he inhaled. Too late, I realised what he was doing.

“Ah, fuck,” Firecracker managed before Animos screamed.

The scream hit me as a wave of distortion in the air, an excruciating physical noise that only emphasised the instant mental silence. Suddenly I was weak, half-blind and half-deaf. I couldn’t feel my bugs, my strength was gone, my body twinged in various places as pain reasserted itself. My sword dropped from numb fingers as the biggest effect hit me.

I couldn’t hear the Butchers, and the silence was deafening.

Animos swatted me with a paw, and something in my arm gave way at the impact, more painful than anything I’d ever felt. The world dropped away from me as I screamed, falling sideways onto hard metal. Something flashed past my eyes, and then something stabbed into my palm. I screamed again, barely making out the metal cage as Cricket pulled the blade out of my hand, raising my own sword for a killing blow.

Reaver blew past her in a blur, one blade snaking out to slice Cricket’s leg open before he hurdled the truck cab, a struggling Squealer over his shoulder. Animos pinned her with a paw as Reaver dumped her down and turned to me, flipping one dagger around.

I barely registered the timer in my helmet finally reaching zero, or the hissing sound as the grenade on the Merchant truck ignited, dumping its payload of burning thermite powder directly into the truck’s engine. All I really understood was the sudden jolt of deceleration as the Merchant truck lost all power, no longer pushing the other trucks along.

I fell off the side of the Empire truck into the back of Vex’s truck, sending a dozen new bolts of pain through me as things inside my body broke further- then a dozen shadowy arms grabbed me and shoved me off the back.

I hit the road all wrong- something in my knee broke, then my shoulder as I rolled, all while my arm and hand burned with pain. I knew I was screaming, but the pain in my throat wasn’t even in the top five.

My eyesight started to waver as I came to a halt, vision dimming, but I could still make out the roar of engines mixed with the squeal of braking tyres.

Things blurred and fragmented- flashing blue lights, being lifted, snatches of Spitfire’s worried voice as I was moved along.

The only constant as I drifted in and out was the pain. Everything hurt, and all I could do was try to scream and struggle incoherently as hands grabbed at my face.

Something soft laid against my face, and I heard a voice. I couldn’t make out the words.

Something changed, and I sucked in a breath. The pain was gone like turning off a light switch- I felt like I could float away in sudden euphoria.

The voice came again, and this time I understood. “Do I have your permission to heal you?” said Panacea wearily, fingers pressed to my jaw.

“Panacea,” I breathed, grateful as a prayer. “Yes please.”

Panacea let out a little huff through her nose. “Dislocated elbow, bruised spine, cracked ribs, compound fracture in the patella, through-and-through of the right hand, bruises all over, and a huge concussion. Nothing I can do about that last one, I’m afraid, but the rest’ll only take a minute.”

I felt my body start to return to normal- the strangest thing, to feel a hole in my hand seal up, my ribs slip back into place, my knee shift slightly so there wasn’t something digging into the tendons. Even with my past experience of Needler’s regeneration, it felt odd, but that absolute sense of well-being and bliss was too nice to question. I sighed deeply, relishing the sensation, and the absolute quite with it.

“That feels so good.”

“It happens,” Panacea said with a shrug. “When I cancel out the pain and start healing you, all the adrenaline and endorphins stay. Simple side effect.”

I hummed agreeably. After all that horrendous pain, I wouldn’t have cared about any side effect.

As the endorphins started to fade, I remembered with a jolt. “Where’s Spitfire?” I asked, trying to sit up. “The Merchants? The Teeth?”

Panacea pushed me down with a light touch. “Lie back. You’ve still got a lot of damage to your lower spine I need to fix.”

I lay down again, taking the opportunity to glance about. I was in a hospital room by the looks of it, all clean white walls and monitoring equipment. I managed a look at my armour- half the paint lines were scraped off, and I had scuff marks all over, some with bits of grit embedded in the metal.

“Spitfire’s just outside,” Panacea said, her gaze distant as she focused on whatever her power was doing. “She called the PRT, told them where you were, ambulance brought you both here.”

“As for the villains, they caught Skidmark- foamed him while he was trying to run away. The Teeth got away though, and they took Squealer with them.”

“Fuck,” I muttered, troubled by that, though I wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Miss Milita chased the Empire, but they slipped away. Good news is that Victor and Cricket were pretty torn up, so hopefully they won’t be back on the streets for a while.”

“Good,” I said. “Especially Cricket.” I raised my hand and flexed the fingers, staring at the hole that had been punched in the metal. When I turned it over, there was a smaller hole on the back of the gauntlet. “Bitch stabbed me with my own sword.”

“Sounds bad.”

Something in her tone caught my attention. I twisted my head to look at her.

This close, I could make out the individual freckles on her face, splotchy as they were. I also realised for the first time that one of my lenses was scratched up, blurring my vision in my left eye.

I could still see clearly enough to make out the downturn of Panacea’s mouth, and the dark rings under her eyes. I glanced to the side, at the little clock I’d built into the inside of the helmet. It read 3:24 am.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

Panacea gave me a weird look. “What?”

I fumbled for the words. “Just- sorry. That you got dragged out of bed at 3am to heal me.”

Panacea ducked her head, pulling up the red scarf around her neck so that it covered her mouth. “I was already here when the call came in. It’s not a big deal,” she muttered.

I stared at her. “Yes, it is. It’s not fair to you, having to come here and put people back together instead of getting some sleep-”

“I choose to do this,” Panacea snapped suddenly. “Would you rather have waited another half-hour while they called me and drove me over, with a hole in your hand and broken bones all over? No? Then shut up and let me work.”

I sat back, utterly blindsided by her sudden anger. I tried to summon up anything else to say, but the words wouldn’t come, so we sat in silence as she worked.

Abruptly, I grew aware of something- like an itch, except without any physical component, growing stronger and stronger-

Awareness exploded into my head- every insect within a block, scuttling about in the dark; the metal and fabric against my skin, ready to be shaped or decayed;  the feel of Panacea’s skin against mine, pulsing with rich warm blood.

“Ffffffuuuuuuuccckk!” Nemean bellowed. “That’s what pain feels like? How the fuck do you deal with it?”

“You spoiled bitch!” Firecracker said good-naturedly. “We grow up with that shit! Lucky you, a whole life without feeling that!”

Nemean snorted. “Two years on my own isn’t a lifetime.”

“Well, now we know what Animos’ scream does to us,” Vladimir noted.

“At least the guys got away,” Stoneknapper said optimistically.

“Yes, but now the world at large will believe that we are gone for good. We were the nuclear deterrent that prevented other gangs from trying to wipe us out, and without that-”

“They’re tough,” Bearskin interrupted, “They’ll figure it out. Besides, they got Squealer, right? Maybe they can force some work out of her.”

Tock Tick shuddered. “That poor woman.”

“Didja miss us, girlie?” Dirty Rotter said, his very voice bringing oil and grime to mind.

“About as much as a wart on my ass,” I grumbled.

Panacea cleared her throat above me, and I refocused on her face. “Okay, you’re all fixed up.”

“Thanks,” I said, sitting up and swinging my legs off the bed. Panacea quickly put her hand back on my jaw.

“Hold on,” she ordered, “I’m not done with you yet.”

“But you said I was done,” I replied, confused.

“Yes, you’re completely healed. Including the concussion, which I didn’t do anything about.”

The fear was like a bucket of cold water over my head. Needler’s regeneration must have kicked in while Panacea was healing me, and a concussion fixing itself in a matter of seconds might as well have been a signal flare to a healer.

“Oh-ho-ho-ho,” Butcher chortled cruelly. “You’re in the shit now, you thin streak of piss! Let’s see you-”

I forced Butcher down into the dark and readied myself. I hadn’t found any instances of Panacea using her power in a fight, but that didn’t mean the Striker holding my face wasn’t dangerous. Teleporting would get me out of reach immediately, but I might as well have started juggling bee swarms for all the good it would have done my identity.

“Hey, relax.” Panacea’s voice broke into my thoughts. “I’m not going to tell anyone unless you want me to.”

I stared at her stupidly. “Wha?”

“I’m with the kid. What?” Quarrel asked.

Panacea held up her free hand, fingers crossed. “Doctor-patient confidentiality. I mean,” she admitted,” I’m not technically a doctor, but I do have an honorary degree; and I guess cape powers are kind of a grey area-”

She shook her head, sending wisps of frizzy brown hair flying as her hood fell down about her shoulders. “Point is, I’m not going to spread this around. You’re not the first hero to keep parts of their power hidden.”

I sagged forward, almost as relieved as when she’d turned my pain off. “Oh, thank you so much.”

“To be honest, I was going to ask you even before your powers came back. There’s a few differences in your body I was wondering about.”

“Differences?”

“Me,” Nemean answered.

“For starters, you’re in phenomenal shape. Fresh cartilage, no toxin build-up, no internal or external scarring whatsoever, and that’s pretty consistent with regenerators. I could bring somebody to that level of health with my power, but it’d start to wear down almost immediately.”

“Interesting to know,” I acknowledged, squirreling the thought away. All the Butchers since Needler had been bursting with rude health, but it was interesting to have it confirmed.

“Then there’s the other stuff,” Panacea went on. “Your skin’s way tougher than should be possible, even when your powers were off. Plus, your hair’s stronger, your eyes have more photoreceptors, your ears are more sensitive. And then there’s the Teeth.”

I froze up. Panacea frowned.

“The extra row of teeth in your mouth? You can’t tell me you didn’t notice them.”

Tactical whistled. “Dodged a bullet there, huh?”

“Uh, yeah, that was kind of a surprise to find,” I said. That was certainly true- finding a row of small fangs nestled behind my regular teeth had been a shock when I’d woken up from the locker. Nemean’s extras had been about the size of her first teeth; at least mine were small enough that other people wouldn’t be able to find them without a dentist’s mirror, although the damn things lengthened slightly when I was agitated.

“Told you she was seeing my stuff,” Nemean said, radiating vindication.

“Anyway, I was basically curious about all that. It’s pretty rare for capes to be physically changed by their powers, and it’s especially rare for Tinkers to have extra powers.”

I casually shrugged as the idea that I might make it out of here without being outed begin to grow in my head. “I did a lot of research after I got my powers, trying to make sense of things. From what I can tell, I’m what’s called a cluster cape, or Grab-Bag or whatever.”

“Hey, that actually works,” Tock Tick said in surprise. “It explains the power mix, the solo act- hell, it could even explain any personality changes.”

“So I’ve got the Tinker power, the regen, the other stuff. The trouble is there’s people with similar powers who all hate my guts.” Metaphorically speaking, this was true. The Butchers had similar powers, and they despised me, even if it wasn’t the result of what the scientific community often called Kiss-Kill dynamic. I was mildly proud of myself for such a fitting explanation.

“From what I read, it’s pretty common for clusters to want to kill each other; so I hid all my other powers, so I don’t have people trying to hunt me down and kill me.”

Panacea gave me a long, slow look, then took her hand away from my face. “Close enough,” she said, standing up from her chair and making for the door.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, feeling vaguely insulted as I slid off the bed and stood up, rolling my shoulders. The left was catching at the top- I’d need to fix that when I got back to base.

Panacea turned and waggled her fingers. “I read your whole biology. Heart rate, breathing, nerve signal, the works. No amount of poker face can hide when you’re lying to me- which was about half your explanation.”

I swore internally, but Panacea was still talking.

“Still, I believe the bits you were being true about. You’ve got several powers: you’re hiding from people. I can respect that, especially with things the way they are right now.”

She snorted. “Hell, if you’d just popped up with a bunch of different powers a few weeks ago, people might have thought you were Butcher or something.”

“God, so close and yet so far,” Anchorage hissed.

Panacea started for the door again. “I mean, one of the Butchers was a regenerator, and another was a Case 53, so you’d… really… be…” She trailed off as she looked at me, eyes widening.

I made a conscious effort to relax, to appear unworried, but it was too late. I saw her turn on her heel, almost slipping as she reached for the door handle.

I lunged.

Chapter Text

Sunday 6^th February

My left hand reached around and clamped over Panacea’s mouth just as her fingers brushed the door handle. She immediately started screaming through my fingers, thrashing around in my arms, but I just tightened my grip and hauled her backward, closing my jawguard as she tried to claw at my face.

“Oh-ho-ho-ho, let’s see you get out of this one!” Dirty Rotter whooped gleefully. I forced him into the dark as unpleasantly as I could, then the other Butchers as they cheered for my failure, letting the numbed emotions slow my panic.

“Stop screaming,” I hissed in her ear, looking past the wall with bloodsight. A handful of pulsing red silhouettes were standing a little way away from this room, one leaning against an invisible counter, and more silhouettes were laid out in the rooms on this floor, but none of them were looking this way. Maybe the walls were thick enough they hadn’t heard.

Panacea yanked at the hand over her mouth, then the arm around her waist- then she yanked at my left again, while simultaneously twisting her body around. Her head slipped out of my grasp, and she sucked in a breath-

I threw her onto the bed and grabbed a pillow, pushing it down over her face. She struggled even harder, muffled shrieking leaking out. I scooped up both her arms and pinned them above her head with my right arm, careful to keep my damaged gauntlet away from her bare hands. If her power had an offensive aspect, and I was willing to wager several internal organs that it did, I really didn’t want to find out what it could do.

This only made her struggle even harder. I felt a stirring of panic as I realised I wasn’t sure how easily she could breathe through the pillow.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” I hissed again. “I’ll take the pillow away if you stop making noise, okay?!”

She struggled for a few more seconds, thrashing her body from side to side, kicking her legs in every direction, until she finally seemed to realise she wasn’t going anywhere. All the tension went out of her body in bitter defeat, and I felt her head nod under the pillow.

I gingerly raised the pillow, expecting her to start screaming again as soon as her mouth was uncovered. Instead, she simply glared up at me wordlessly, taking deep breaths as she narrowed her eyes so intensely it looked like she was trying to set me on fire with her mind.

“Okay,” I began, then stopped, realising I had absolutely no idea what to say next. I’d just outed myself and taken her hostage in the span of a few seconds; the Butchers had never bothered trying to ingratiate themselves with their captives, and I had trouble keeping a conversation going myself.

“Listen,” I fumbled for words, “I… reacted badly, and I’m sorry. Please, just let me explain.”

Panacea’s glare somehow intensified. “Explain?” she snarled venomously. “You’re the fucking Butcher! You’re an insane monster!”

I winced, and deep in the darkness I felt the Butchers stir at the insult, mostly out of amusement. “I swear I’m in control. You’ve met me before, you’ve seen me shopping for god’s sake.”

“Oh, so you don’t have the voices of all the other Butchers screaming inside your head?” came the acidic response.

“I can shut them out if I want to- look, not 30 minutes ago, I helped chase the Teeth out of town. Why would I do that? How could I possibly benefit from that?”

Internally, I was hoping she would start to consider it. From the little I’d seen of Panacea in our two face to face meetings, she’d seemed like a decent person, even without her reputation as one of the most powerful healers in the country, if not the world, who cured cancer-ridden children in the morning and AIDS patients in the evening. Having someone like that believing in me would be an enormous boon.

One thing the Butchers had learned over the years was inevitability. The smarter Butchers had lasted longer because they’d accepted that they weren’t invincible, and had planned accordingly, taking precautions when someone crazy enough to go lethal came along.

In the same vein, I knew that at some point I would have to teleport out of danger, or be caught regenerating injuries at an inhuman pace, and I would be a target. If I could last long enough, prove myself enough, I hoped that I could convince the heroes to give me the benefit of the doubt. To that end, her trust would be a massive advantage.

Panacea, however, seemed determined to despise me. “I’m not going to believe anything you do is for anybody but yourself,” she spat. “I don’t know what you’re doing by pretending to be a hero, but I’m not going to let you get away with it!”

“I’m not-” I broke off, gritting my teeth as my anger started to rise, along with the Butchers; I gave them another shove as they started to float up to the light again.

“I’m not pretending to be a hero,” I said with forced patience. “I am being a hero. I’ve spent weeks driving out the Merchants, I went up against Stormtiger- I fought Sinister and Snowblind, remember? And like I already told you, I just helped get rid of the Teeth. Wouldn’t it be easier for me to just go back to the Teeth and lead them instead of getting thrown off the back of a moving vehicle?”

“You’re holding me hostage,” Panacea snarled. “And what I see is you softening up the city. Push out some of the competition, let people get comfortable thinking you’re dead, then come back with your gang and attack.”

I stared at her scowling expression for a moment, then wordlessly took my arm off her wrists and moved back one pace.

Panacea stared at me warily, glanced at the pillow I was still holding, then sat up, rubbing at her wrists. I let the silence draw out, trying to work up the courage to say something that hurt in a confusing way.

“Hemorhaggia’s dead. The Empire killed her in that big attack, because there wasn’t a Butcher to help fight. Alabaster murdered her and looted her corpse.” I opened my belt compartment and extracted the cheap little keychain with two fingers, holding it up to the light. “If I’m a Butcher, then I’m a really fucking crap one.”

The Butchers were still too far down to vocalise, but Quarrel and Anchorage were both dimly radiating a sullen, angry sadness, the kind when you were angry with someone but too upset to lash out. Sort of ‘We agree that you’re shit, but it hurts too much for us to really rip into you.’

Panacea peered at the keychain, then scoffed. “As if Butchers care about anybody,” she said dismissively, but her tone had a trace of uncertainty in it.

“They do. Not a lot, but some. And getting turned into this didn’t stop me from caring.” A thought occurred to me. “You said you could see all my reactions when you used your power, right? What was I feeling when I asked about Spitfire?”

Panacea shook her head roughly. “No, no, you’re not going to make me believe that you have a heart. You’re probably trying to groom her into joining the Teeth!” she said, jabbing a finger at me.

The accusation and the way she phrased it stirred up some anger. “I fought the Teeth! Tonight! You remember, that’s why they brought me in with broken bones and a hole in my hand?” I held up my right hand and flipped it back and forth to show the puncture on both sides.

“I- You’re a regenerator! You knew you’d survive that!”

“Not without my powers. Animos nullified my regeneration, remember? Why would I take such a huge risk? Face it, there’s no scenario that makes sense for me to still be with the Teeth.”

Panacea shook her head again, clutching at her temples. “No, no, this is insane. You can’t be Butcher and be- be fucking reasonable! You murdered the last Butcher just to get the powers, you don’t get to act like you’re a good person!”

Before I could try to explain further, there was a buzzing noise from the door, and I whirled around, pillow at the ready. A second later I realised how stupid that looked and lowered it, pointing at Panacea. “Quiet.”

She glanced between me and the door as a male voice came out of the speaker next to the door that I’d somehow missed. Bloodsight showed a broad-shouldered male silhouette was standing on the other side, holding a finger to what must have been the speaker’s counterpart.

“Everything alright in there? We heard a bit of noise.”

I put a finger to my lips to shush Panacea again, then pressed the button helpfully labelled ‘Talk’. “Yeah, sorry, things got a bit personal. Feminine hygiene and such,” I said cheerily, invoking the trick the female Butchers had used for ending conversations quickly.

“Ah. Right. Let us know when you’re finished.” The silhouette let go of the button and retreated down the corridor.

“That was too- too close,” Flinch said as he came back into the light. I wordlessly agreed as I let out the breath I’d been holding.

“Look,” I said, shoving the clover keychain back into my belt and turning back to Panacea, “I’d love to sit here and argue the point all night, but we don’t have much time. You need to decide- quickly- what you’re going to do.”

Panacea snorted. “There’s no way I’m letting you walk out of here. You might as well make it easy on yourself and give up now, before you have every hero in the city after you.”

“I’ll have everybody after me, you idiot. What do you think the villains are going to do when they find out the new Butcher’s sane? How many people do you think will want the Butcher powers, hold the crazy? Half the villains on the East Coast will come here and duke it out over me. You might as well unmask me and paint a target on my back.”

“Not my problem.”

The callous look on her face was like a match to dry paper. The anger flared up, and I couldn’t stop the next barb before I said it. “It goddamn is your problem. You remember what happened to the last capes in the Bay that unmasked? You remember how one of them died?”

Panacea physically recoiled as if I’d slapped. “You- bitch,” she said breathlessly.

I felt disgusted with myself, and the vicious approval of the Butchers wasn’t helping, but I pushed on anyway. “If you let the secret slip, then I don’t get to be Elpis anymore. I have to be Butcher. And then it’s goodbye shiny hero, hello monster, and then death after that. And it’ll be your fault. Got it?”

Panacea had gone pale. “No,” she mumbled.

“Yes,” I retorted. “So,” I held up a finger, “you can rat me out and bring that whole shitstorm down on us all, or,” I put up a second finger, “you can keep that doctor-patient confidentiality you were talking about, and we all go on with our lives.”

Panacea swallowed, kneading the sheets between her fingers. For a long moment, neither of us said anything.

“Damn, we should have brought popcorn for this,” Firecracker said cheerily, rising out of the dark. “I haven’t seen shit like this outside of soap operas.”

Nemean hmmed. “It feels bad,” she admitted. “She’s just a kid.”

“You going soft, Nemean?” Vladimir asked incredulously. “We’ve done worse to each other every time somebody inherits, why do you give a shit about some little hero bitch?”

“Doesn’t feel right, is all.” Nemean said it in a way that clearly said to drop the subject.

“Alright.”

Panacea pushed off the bed and stood up. “Alright, you colossal bitch. I’ll keep your secret. But you stay the hell away from my family, okay?” she demanded, jabbing a shaking finger at me. “You so much as scratch them and I’ll shout it from the rooftops, no matter what.”

I slumped in fervent relief. “That’s fair. That’s totally fair. Look, I want to explain the rest of this shit to you. Can you meet me tomorrow?”

“Do I have a choice?” she snapped.

I blinked, then reminded myself I probably shouldn’t be surprised at the venom in her voice. She still had plenty of reason to dislike me. “Yeah, you do. But I want to give you the full story.” I opened a different compartment on my belt, extracted pen and paper, and quickly wrote an address and time. “There’s a Pancakes Worldwide on Sycamore. We’ll meet up there, have a talk, sort the details out. Okay?”

Panacea barely glanced at the note before crumpling it in her fist and shoving it into her pocket. “Fine.”

“God fucking damn it! We were so close!” The rage coming off Butcher was like a heat lamp. “We could have got back on the streets! How the fuck did you talk her out of it?!”

I shoved him down, rolling my eyes inside my helmet. “Thank you,” I said out loud.

“Go fuck yourself.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I just grabbed the door handle and swung it open.

Spitfire looked up from where she was leaning against a nurse station with a paper cup- Miss Militia was standing in front of her with her phone out. “Oh thank fuck,” she blurted, charging toward me, neatly skipping around the broad man from before- an orderly in blue scrubs.

I met her halfway in a few quick strides. “Just like new: not even a scar.”

“Good.” Spitfire raised her free hand, balled it into a fist, and banged it down on my breastplate, the nozzle of her framework knocking against the metal. “Don’t. Ever. Do. That. Again,” she said, pounding my chest with every word.

“Alright, alright,” I said, holding my hands up in pretend surrender. After the nerve-wracking conversation with Panacea, getting back into the easy back-and-forth with her was a relief. “Relax; I wouldn’t want to go through all that twice.”

“Better not,” Spitfire mumbled. “There was so much blood.”

“Aww, she was worried about us,” Anchorage cooed sweetly.

“Not like she knows how tough we are,” Bearskin pointed out. “She still thinks we’re just some squishy Tinker.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Tock Tick said indignantly.

“Spit, I’m fine,” I soothed. “Panacea does great work. I was all better in a couple of minutes.”

“Really? Seemed longer than that,” Spitfire said curiously, absently taking a sip from her cup.

I shrugged, drawing a horrible scraping noise from the left shoulder as a bent plate ground against others. “Had to talk with her about some personal stuff.” I glanced back at Panacea as I said it; she just shot me a scowl and walked off.

Miss Militia approached the both of us. “I’m glad to see you’re alright, Elpis. I caught some of the aftermath of that fight- nasty business.”

“Better now that you’re here, baby,” Stoneknapper said. “Let that hair down and let’s get it all hot and sticky!”

I pushed him into the dark with a disgusted expression, glad yet again my helmet was closed.

“Yeah, Panacea mentioned you chased after the Empire- can’t have been a fun thing to do on the graveyard shift.”

Miss Militia waved a hand negligently. “Late shifts are all part of the job- it’s not as if the villains work 9 to 5. And frankly, I volunteer for the night shifts. I actually don’t need to sleep, so it only makes sense.”

“You’re a Noctis cape?” I said, surprised. “I never knew that.”

“There’s some kind of joke about how patriotism never sleeps, but I can’t be bothered,” Vladimir admitted.

“Every possible gun ever, in a woman who can kick ass 24/7.” Tactical sighed. “If only she was a villain…”

“What’s a Nocturn cape?” Spitfire asked with a puzzled look.

“Noctis capes,” I said, putting emphasis on the word, “are capes who don’t or can’t sleep,” I explained. “They’re named after a vigilante called Noctis who was up all hours.”

“You’re well informed,” Miss Militia said, impressed. I shrugged the praise off awkwardly.

“Not exactly. I mean, I just wanted to know if there was a word for capes like me.”

Miss Militia’s gaze sharpened. “You’re a Noctis cape too?”

“Uh, yes?” I replied, suddenly wondering if I’d given the game away. Panacea had known about Nemean and Needler- the Protectorate would know even more. I felt my heart speed up in anticipation, ready to fight or flee.

“Did you see it?” Miss Militia asked.

I stopped, dumbfounded. “Come again?”

The older hero paused a moment, then shook her head, sending the loose end of her stars-and stripes scarf fluttering. “Never mind.”

“What on earth was that all about?” Needler asked.

“Capes who don’t need to sleep get strange dream when they do. Maybe she meant that?” Muramasa ventured. “A shame that Nemean lacks her earlier memories.”

Nemean growled at him, but said nothing else.

I took the hint and changed the subject, nodding at her phone, “I’m guessing you wanted us to answer a few questions?”

Two hours later, after I’d given my statement to Miss Militia and dropped Spitfire off, I silently eased the chariot into the lair, the mainspring ticking over noiselessly as a few ants on the right pressure plate rolled the doors shut. I locked the handbrake and turned off the engine, then just sat there for a long moment.

“Fuck me, that was a lot,” Stoneknapper said at last.

“The Teeth are still together,” Muramasa said. “As long as they are alive, we have a hope of returning.”

Quarrel made a small, pained noise. Muramasa immediately realised his mistake.

“Yuki, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- We will all miss her.”

“She was a fucking terror,” Anchorage said fondly. “And someday we’re gonna make that chalky shit suffer for taking her away.”

“…Thanks,” Quarrel said. It was strange to feel her this despondent- like the truth about Hemorrhagia’s death had left her hollowed out.

I undid my seatbelt and slid out of the chariot, walking over to the wall. I laid a hand on it and exerted Stoneknapper’s power, feeling the brickwork respond to my will as I drew some of it out into a small ledge.

My other hand went to my belt, pulling out the keychain. Sometime in the night, one of the corners had been bent forward. Stoneknapper’s power straightened that out too; then I placed it on the ledge, drawing a bit of brick up to hold it at an angle.

Hemorrhagia had not been a good person by any stretch of the imagination. She had stolen, maimed and killed with a smile on her face, and worn the bones as trophies. Few people would mourn her.

But most of those people were inside my head- the ones who knew how she snorted when she laughed, the shuffling dance she did when she made her mouth-watering chili, and how she sang along to every bit of Irish music she could find, whether it was traditional Celtic music or the Dropkick Murphys.

At the very least, she deserved some little acknowledgement that Alice Kelly had lived, and laughed, and fought, and bled.

All the Butchers went quiet as I placed the clover on its stand. Even the bugs in the glass tanks against the far wall stilled as I made them stop moving, so as not to break the silence.

“…thanks,” Quarrel said. I nodded slightly.

Without another word, I turned away and moved toward the workbench, undoing the catches on my armour. The left shoulder was too dented to come off, until I angrily grabbed it and ripped it away, flinging the metal onto the tabletop.

This had not been a good night. I’d intended to take Spitfire and quickly finish off the Merchants, collect some cash, examine Squealer’s tech, and then hand them over to the PRT. Easy.

The right gauntlet wasn’t articulating properly- hardly a surprise with the massive hole in it. I moulded the metal away from my skin slightly and yanked it off my hand.

Nothing had gone according to plan. The Merchants had been stronger than any of us had been expecting, and far better prepared. I never would have credited Squealer with the inspiration, or maybe the sheer recklessness, to ram into another car chase to shake us off.

I laid my remaining sword on the table. I’d need to check it over, repair whatever needed it. And I’d need to make a new one to match, since Miss Militia had confirmed Cricket had run off with the one that she’d put through my hand.

At no point had I wanted to come into contact with the Teeth, and yet I’d found all the remaining capes at once. Probably they would never make the connection between me and the Butchers, but splitting Alabaster in two had been a mistake. The Empire might wonder why I’d gone so hard against one of their capes, even considering my fight with Stormtiger. At the very least, they would consider me a proper target now, and my identity was shaky.

Taking off the armour was tedious to do piece by piece. Maybe I could join it into a single piece that could be shucked off like a coat. Though I’d have to keep some of the connections for when I wanted to work on just one part.

Worst of all, I’d been made. I’d had to attack the most untouchable hero in the city, and throw her aunt’s death in her face to keep her quiet. I felt like I’d betrayed a fundamental part of myself in doing it- dredging up painful personal memories and using them to attack. For a brief moment I remembered Emma laughing at me, wielding the happiest moments of my childhood like a scalpel.

I stepped out of the leg armour and tossed the legs carelessly on the table, then sat down on the one chair and rested my head in my hands.

What now? Both the Teeth and the Merchants were gone. That left the Empire, the Azn Bad Boys, Coil’s organisation. To a lesser extent, there was also Uber and Leet, possibly even Faultline’s Crew; but probably not. Faultline rarely caused trouble within city limits, and her reputation preceded her. They’d gone up against Protectorate leaders and escaped cleanly.

More to the point, I didn’t want to fight right now. Putting Hemorrhagia to rest left a weight in my stomach, and the whole thing with Panacea had added more on top of that.

I needed time. Time to find my balance, to fix my equipment, to see how the status quo would change after tonight.

“It’s- it’s okay to take care of yourself,” Flinch said kindly.

I sighed. “Maybe later.” I’d have to get home soon, get up in a few hours, and figure out what the hell I was going to say to Panacea. Probably an apology, but that felt hard to do. I’d dodged a bullet with her, and just thinking about her brought back creeping thoughts of my own mortality.

I straightened myself up and stared at the parts of my armour, then picked up the notepad I kept to the side and started noting down what would need repairing, what materials I’d need, the improvements I planned to make. Tonight had exposed a few weaknesses in my fighting style that I needed to shore up.

Weaknesses.

I needed to apologise to Panacea.

I pulled the pad all the way toward me and began to write, shutting out the protests of the Butchers as they saw the shape of my thoughts.

Butcher, I wrote on the first page.

Chapter Text

Sunday 6^th February, Boston, Massachusetts

Spree slammed a fist onto the table. “Enough.”

It wasn’t a shout, but it didn’t need to be. Everyone stopped talking and turned towards the head of the table.

Spree sent a long, slow gaze around the room. Animos was to his immediate left, worrying at his thumbnail, and didn’t look up to meet his gaze. Next to him, Vex was leaning back in a chair, boots on the table. She gave him a jerky up-nod.

At the opposite end of the table stood Sinister and Snowblind, cuddled up together as usual. The sappiness of it irritated Spree. The pair acted like they were joined at the hip, like they were Bonnie and Clyde, lovers against the law. Or that couple from Pulp Fiction. Either way, it made Spree want to knock some sense into them.

On the right side of the table, Reaver stood ramrod straight, arms folded. He knew he was in trouble, and he was bold enough to act like he didn’t care. Spree had noticed the truculent look in his eye the past few months, and figured Reaver was planning on trying to become the next Butcher.

Not that he could get a shot at that now. Which was just one small part of the honking big problem that had dropped into their laps like God’s own turd.

“Alright,” Spree began, shifting his left arm in its makeshift sling with a wince, “we need to talk about what we’re doing next.”

“Running away,” Reaver said snidely.

Spree jabbed a finger at Reaver. “Don’t start with me, you little shit. You’re on thin ice as is.”

Reaver rolled his eyes, but shut up. Spree gave him one more glare for good measure, then addressed the room.

“Butcher is gone,” he slapped the table again as the protests started up once more,” Butcher is gone! We need to face facts- if Butcher didn’t come for us when the Empire attacked, or when we got chased out, they aren’t coming at all. We’re on our own now.”

At last, everyone accepted his words without comment. Grudgingly, by the looks on their faces, but they accepted it.

Spree hadn’t wanted to believe it either. Butcher was the heart of the Teeth, a shifting but constant presence that held them together, and in a morbid way, gave the best of them something to strive for.

Spree had served as second in command of the Teeth for years, leading the secondary cell of the Teeth, and felt he was maybe one of the few, maybe the only person on the planet who could call the Butcher a friend.

Now they were gone.

Vex slid her boots off the table and let her chair touch the floor. “So what do we do?” she asked quietly.

Spree chewed his lip for a moment. “We hunker down,” he admitted eventually. “Stay under the radar, pull some small jobs, start recruiting. Maybe do some mercenary work if we have to.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Reaver demanded, uncrossing his arms to slap his hands on the table. “Now we’re whoring ourselves out? Did you leave your balls back in Brockton, Spree?”

Spree growled, reaching for the pry bar hanging from his hip- Maybe a broken leg would puncture Reaver’s attitude. His fingers barely brushed it when clouds of glittering edges flickered into being on either side of Reaver, and then a third behind him.

“Shut up,” Vex said, dropping her hand into her lap. “Shut the fuck up, Frankie. We lost. We lost Butcher, all the normies, we lost…” Vex slumped back into her seat. “We lost Alice.” Animos laid a hand on her shoulder, which she shrugged off.

Reaver sighed and slumped a little. “Awright,” he admitted. “That was a dick move. ‘m sorry.”

Spree glanced between the two of them, then continued once he was sure they were done. “Right now, we don’t have the muscle for a fight. We rest up, heal up, recruit and re-arm. Then…” he paused, floundering for words, “…we figure out how to make the Teeth work without Butcher.”

Snowblind hesitantly raised a hand. “What?” Spree barked.

Snowblind flinched slightly. “Uh, for the recruit part, do you mean normal or capes?”

“Literally whatever we can get our hands on,” Spree ground out exasperatedly. “Any more dumb questions? Or a smart one for a change?”

There were a few cleared throats and a few shaken heads, but nobody said a word. Spree grunted and flicked a hand. “We’re done. Go do whatever.”

Snowblind hopped to her feet, tugging Sinister out of his chair behind her. Reaver glanced back at the razor fields around him, then simply hopped onto the table, walked across it, and jumped back down and out the door.

Animos unbuckled his mask and pulled it off, vigorously scratching at his beard. “Fuuuuck,” he grumbled. “I’m gonna go get breakfast.”

“There’s food in the fridge,” Spree said, “and I don’t want us going out too much.”

“I’ll behave,” Animos said. “I just gotta get out of here, y’know? I feel like I’m gonna bite someone if I don’t get some air.”

Spree sighed. “Fine. Grab me something with bacon while you’re out.”

“Fine,” Animos agreed, already making for the door with a backwards wave.

That left him and Vex, who was now resting her head in her arms. She’d taken off her helmet without him noticing and placed it on the table. A snarling face made of shards of glass stared back at him.

“Vex,” he said. She stirred briefly.

“G’way.”

“Not happening.” He grabbed a chair and spun it around so he could sit in it backwards, resting his bad arm across the back with another twinge of pain. “Let’s talk.”

Spree would be the first to admit that he wasn’t great when it came to emotions in general, or dealing with loss. He’d mobbed his uncle to death with clones without so much as a twinge from his conscience.

Still, right now they needed Vex, so he took a deep breath and plunged forward. “I know it hurts. And that’s fair.”

Vex grunted from inside her arms, but didn’t actually say anything.

“Look, you want to be miserable, go for it. We’ve got the time. But try to work through it, okay? Shit’s going to start happening again sooner or later, and the assholes aren’t gonna wait for us to be ready. So drink some of the booze, start a fight, get laid, whatever you want. Just handle your shit.”

There were a few seconds of silence. Then Vex lifted her head to stare at him incredulously. “Holy fuck,” she said, tucking a few braids back behind her ears, “you suck at being comforting.”

Spree snorted. “Never said I wasn’t.”

Vex huffed a laugh. “No, Spree, you are like, really, really fucking terrible at it. Like,” she waved her hands, eyes brightening as she built up momentum, “when my cat died, and my dad told me ‘it’s just a dumb cat’, that was pretty bad. But he wasn’t even trying to be comforting. You actually tried with that, and you sucked so hard.”

“You’re smiling,” Spree said laconically. Vex stopped mid-rant and stared at her outstretched hands incredulously.

“That doesn’t count,” she said lamely.

Spree snorted. “Whatever you say, kid.”

Vex groaned and grabbed her helmet. “Whatever. Guess I’ll go whale on Fatty for a bit.”

“Try to leave it so he can speak,” Spree yelled after her. She kept walking without any indication of hearing him.

After a moment, Spree sighed and hauled himself out of the chair. It was a damn nice chair, red leather and mahogany. Shame it was too bulky to take along when they left. Still, years of moving around had let him learn not to bother too much with things that couldn’t fit in a backpack.

Absently, he strolled out of the dining room, stopping to push over a delicate glass vase full of flowers. It toppled off its little table to smash on the tiles with a satisfying sound.

Sinister looked up from the hob, where he was frying up what looked like all the sausage and eggs in the fridge. Snowblind jumped a little, glared at Spree, then went back to chugging the fancy bottled water Fatty had stocked the fridge with.

Speaking of, there were muffled grunts of pain coming from the study. Spree wandered over and cracked the door.

Fatty was still strung up by his wrists, forced to stand on tiptoe. Vex was slinging punch after punch into his flabby belly, making it jiggle unpleasantly.

Spree pulled a face. They really should have let Fatty keep his shirt on. All that blubber was just horrible to look at. He clicked the door shut and wandered back over to the breakfast bar.

Snowblind paused in her painstaking perusal of the fruit bowl to glance up at him. “So you’re in charge now; does that mean we have to call you Lord Spree or something?” Her nasal Brooklyn accent could have cut glass. It certainly had Spree wincing.

“Jesus fuck, no.” Spree grabbed a banana for himself and started peeling it. “Just call me boss, or whatever.”

“Okay, Mr Whatever,” Snowblind replied, biting into a picture perfect apple with a crunch that damn near echoed. “Mm. Fuck, the rich sure know how to live.”

“Hey babe, how many eggs you want?” Sinister asked, turning away from the hob again. One of his shadow arms held the frying pan, while another poked the spatula at the contents. A few more were blindly sorting through the spice rack for the various jars and containers.

“Gimmee three. And I’ll be wanting plenty of sausage too,” she added suggestively, running one foot up Sinister’s leg toward his crotch.

“And I’m out,” Spree announced, tossing the banana peel at Snowblind’s face and delighting in the squawk she let out. “Just don’t leave any spunk where I might step in it.”

A couple of Sinister’s arms popped out of the wall to flip him off as he passed.

“Hey, I saw caviar in th’fridge. Wanna try it?” Snowblind asked as Spree walked through to the living room.

The lovers were probably going to be one of Spree’s biggest pains going forward. They didn’t just have to be lovey-dovey, they also had to be as randy as rabbits, and disturbingly public about it.

They also compounded the insult by actually being useful. Snowblind’s frost had been critical in icing the roads behind them to throw off the cops chasing them, and Sinister had scored them their cushy new place. The penthouse apartment had been scouted out weeks ago as a possible target, but they’d only made it in with Sinister using his arms to climb the outside of the building and let them in from the inside. Now they had a decent place to crash, a food supply, and as much of Fatty’s money as they could carry, once they’d finished working all his PIN numbers out of him.

Honestly, money was wasted on the rich. Some rich corporate bastard with a wallet the size of a brick, and the best he could do with the place was some boring modern art and a couple of vases? The man deserved to be used as a punching bag.

Still, at least he had good taste in entertainment. The TV in the living room was 80 inches of plasma glory, with huge speakers and a bunch of boxes plugging into it to play anything reasonable.

Spree’s other major pain was firmly ensconced on the overstuffed leather couch, bare feet propped on the glass coffee table, holding a lighter up to-

“Where the hell’d you get a cigar?” Spree demanded.

Reaver looked up. “Found Fat Boy’s stash.” He held up a fancy wooden box. A dozen more cigars nestled inside. “Want one?”

“Damn right.” Spree grabbed one and patted his pockets for a lighter. He only smoked occasionally, but arson was old business for the Teeth. It paid to be prepared.

For the next few minutes, Spree and Reaver sat in companiable quiet as sweet blue smoke gradually filled the air. Reaver eventually started fiddling with the six remotes, trying to figure out the TV and its various accompaniments, while Spree got up and wandered over to the drinks cabinet.

A blare of noise came on as Spree poured himself a glass of brandy into a fat glass. Reaver hummed with satisfaction and started flicking through channels, eventually settling on the morning news. Apparently things had shifted around while they were gone. Accord and his Ambassadors had pushed a little to the south, while Blasto had dropped a bunch of horrible creatures into Chain Gang territory. The image behind the newscaster looked somewhere between an orangutan and a parrot, with some horns for flair.

Reaver eyed him as he sat back on the couch. “Pretty sure you’re only supposed to fill the glass a little,” he said, nodding toward Spree’s brimming glass. “You’re supposed to sniff it or something.”

“I’ll just keep putting it in my mouth, thank you,” Spree replied, taking a good swig. The brandy burned on the way down and warmed him to the core. Fantastic stuff. That and the cigar really took the edge off.

The two of them sat wordlessly for a while longer, listening as the newscaster went over road closures and some teacher at Harvard that got caught sleeping with his students. Eventually Spree sighed, tapped his cigar into an ashtray, and set down his glass.

“Reaver,” he said, stretching his free hand across the back of the couch.

“Yeah?” Reaver didn’t look away from the screen.

Spree’s palm smacked into the back of Reaver’s head with a loud clap. The blow threw Reaver forward just as he was taking a puff of his cigar, and he coughed and choked for a second trying to avoid swallowing the damn thing.

Spree quietly picked up his glass again and took a sip as Reaver hacked and retched. That really was a fantastic drink. Maybe he’d take some of the drinks with him when they had to move. No sense in leaving it all to be burned.

“Reaver,” Spree said at last, once the younger man had regained some control of his breath, “do you mind telling me what the hell you were thinking?”

“The fuck,” Reaver wheezed and spat something unidentifiable into the ashtray, “the fuck you talking about?”

“I’m talking,” Spree said with worn patience, “about the Tinker you decided to bring along with us last night.”

Reaver stared at him through reddened eyes. “You couldn’t have just asked?” he hissed.

“I think you’ve forgotten how we do things, Reaver,” Spree said, setting the glass down once more and standing up. He put his hands to the small of his back and pushed with a groan, letting his spine pop and crackle.

“We’re not in the business of taking prisoners, Reaver. Oh sure, we’ll hold normals for ransom, send their ears along to their families until they pay up. But there’s a distinction between kidnapping and taking prisoners. We certainly aren’t in the business of taking Capes hostage.”

“She’s a Tinker,” Reaver growled, standing up as well.

“And that’s what took you from an idiot to a complete idiot,” Spree explained, blowing a cloud of smoke into Reaver’s face. “Tinkers are a nightmare to keep locked up. Leave them with a couple of paperclips and a stick of butter, wait an hour, and they’ve built a flamethrower out of it.”

“She builds cars, asshole; so unless you left her some tyres and an engine block I really doubt-”

Spree threw a punch to the sternum. Reaver bent double, wheezing for the second time in as many minutes.

“I don’t care about how you try to cover your ass after the fact, dumbass,” Spree said plainly, taking another drag of the cigar. “You grabbed her. What, right then, were you thinking?”

Reaver managed to look up at him. “I was thinking,” he forced out, “that we were fighting Nazis and some bitch who split Alabaster like a wishbone. I was thinking that we needed to grab everything and go. And I was thinking that Squealer might be useful. ”

Spree paused. The Teeth had never really had a Tinker. Oh, Butcher had picked up a weak Tinker power from that Tock Tick asshole, but they never really used it much, certainly not for the others. Tinkers needed a base, materials, and time. The Teeth moved once or twice a month, and only brought what they could carry on their backs.

On the other hand, they were going to have to change things up a little to adjust for the loss of Butcher. And Squealer made vehicles. Her stuff could effectively carry itself, and the rest of the Teeth with it.

Spree entertained the idea of commanding the Teeth from atop a tank a moment longer, before looking back down at Reaver again, who was starting to get his breath back once more. For all that he was a contrary little prick, the kid could certainly bounce back.

“Quick thought,” he said genially, tapping the ash off his cigar into Reaver’s hair. Reaver yelped and swatted frantically at his scalp, scrubbing it all out.

Ignoring that, Spree leaned in closer and said hoarsely “When you decided to bring her with, did it have anything to do with her dressing like a party favour?”

Reaver looked away. Spree chuckled horribly at the kid’s discomfort and leaned back.

“Alright kid,” Spree said, grinding his cigar out in the ashtray, “I’m gonna go talk to your girl. Maybe she’ll be useful after all, who knows? Stranger things have happened.

“But,” he added warningly, pointing a finger, “you don’t pull this kind of shit again, alright? And don’t bother saying the heroes scared you, alright? We’re supposed to be the scary ones. Next time you think, do it with the right head. Or better yet, don’t think at all. Got it?”

Reaver mumbled an assent. Spree pointed his middle finger at his ear. “I said, got it?”

“Yes. Spree,” Reaver spat sullenly.

Sherryl put her elbow on the back of the big chair and rested her cheek in her hand. It was always kind of fun to be higher up than other people- to literally look down on them.  Having the two supposed capes looking up at her and Skidmark on the platform was a real power trip.

“So,” Skidmark said, leaning forward in his big fancy chair, “what can you two assholes do?”

The black guy gave a long, rumbling snort, then turned and spat a wad of something across the room. By the time it hit the floor it was the size of his head- that made for a pretty big puddle.

Another wad landed at his feet, and then he dropped straight down, disappearing into the oily pool in an instant. After a few seconds, he rose up out of the far puddle.

Skid nodded. “Okay. If you can use it in a fight, you’re in. Just don’t ever spit that shit at me or I’ll tie you to a car as a hood ornament. Welcome to the Archer’s Bridge Merchants…” Skidmark hummed and took a drag of his pipe. “Loogie,” he said at last.

The spit guy chuckled. “Ah, that’s funny, man. Real funny. You call me that again and I walk.”

“Listen, you cock-gargler, no other gang in town’s gonna take your black ass.” Skidmark gestured grandly to his sunken, pitted, but obviously black, face. “All we care about is how much you wanna smoke at a time. But that means you take what you get, and you act nice about it.”

He glanced back at Sherryl as he said it, and she gave him a wink. Skidmark might not have been a looker, but he was decent in bed and fantastic with weed, which was what she really looked for in a guy.

Spit guy snorted. “I’m calling myself Spittoon. You don’t like it, I’ll go do my own thing.”

Skid rolled his eyes. “Fucking fine then. And you?” he asked the skinny white guy. “Lucky us, getting two capes at once, but if one of you turns out to have a shitty power, I can just toss you out and keep the other.”

The skinny guy pulled a face like he was concentrating- or taking a really uncomfortable shit. Sherryl started to think it was the second thing when fat brown globs began oozing out from his skin, spreading and hardening at the top. In seconds he was covered in what looked like inch-thick cracked mud.

Skidmark leaned forward and blew a cloud of weed smoke thoughtfully. “Gross.” Sherryl pulled a face behind her welding goggles.

Spit guy- Spittoon- pulled a baseball bat out of his dirty jacket, took a batter’s stance, and then swung right into the top of the mud pile. There was a massive crash like a bunch of dropped plates, and the mud guy staggered forward a step, but he straightened up a second later looking completely unbothered.

Skidmark slapped his knee excitedly. “Damn! That’s more fucking like it! You got a name yet, or do I get to pick?”

“Mudslide,” burbled the brown blob. Sherryl idly wondered if the stuff was getting in his mouth, to make him sound like that.

“Sounds dumb, but awright. I guess if you kick enough teeth in it’ll start to sound good. Now listen, both of ya,” Skidmark put his pipe down on the platform and stood up, sweeping his cape out with his hands. Sherryl straightened up from where she’d been leaning against his chair and sashayed forward to stand next to him, wrapping her arm around his. She noted with some amusement that Spittoon’s eyes wandered across her body for a second before Skidmark spoke again.

“Business is pretty good for us right now, since word’s got round about the fight last week. Two of the Teeth, Stormtiger, that new hero, and me. The rest of those shits got arrested, and I walked out.” Skidmark puffed himself up importantly. “People are finally seeing what the Merchants can do.”

Sherryl noticed Spittoon subtly rolling his eyes. It wasn’t like they needed reminding about that- it was the reason they’d come to join up in the first place.

“We need to make some money to make up for what that Elpis cunt’s been doing to us, so we’re throwing a party. With the rep we’ve got, we’ll rake in cash and recruits, and after that we’re just gonna keep on going up.

“Thing is, even our regular parties get pretty wild, and with that tin-plated twat running around, it’s a sucker bet that she’s gonna pull some shit. You guys want to prove yourselves? It’s up to you to keep things from going to hell. And if you see El-Piss show up, you stomp her flat and bring what’s left to me.”

Mudslide’s head-blob swung about weirdly, making some muffled clicking noises. It took Sherryl a moment to realise he was popping his neck. “You got it, boss.”

Skidmark gave them a yellow-brown grin. “Good. Go talk to Dougie, he’ll get you guys set up. And try to figure out some kind of costume before the party, awright?”

The new guys nodded and shuffled out, Mudslide leaving a trail of thick footprints that expanded and hardened behind him into rocky slabs.

“Looks like we’re moving up in the world, huh Skiddie?” Sherryl pressed herself a little closer to her squeeze, letting her breasts rest against his shoulder. He grinned and slid a hand on her waist.

“You know it baby. So what were you saying about the new truck?”

Sherryl groaned and rolled over. She barely had a hangover compared to some of the benders she’d been on, but she ached all over, and her wrists were really sore.

Light shone through her eyelids, and she tried to throw her arm over her face. Who the fuck was dumb enough to try and wake her up after a party?

Her arm wouldn’t move around- something was caught around her wrist. Actually, both her wrists. And something else was holding her ankles together. She sat up, blinking blearily at the man standing in front of her-

“Fuck!” Sherryl toppled back onto the bed, kicking out with both feet at the spiked mask leering at her. He simply grabbed her feet and pushed them to the side dismissively.

“You done?” He asked simply. There wasn’t anything threatening in his words, but his stance radiated a sense of ‘I don’t have time for this shit’.

Sherryl gaped, floundering for something, anything to say, as last night came back to her in bits and pieces.

That hero bitch had shown up after all, with help; and they’d gone through the party like a razor through coke. They’d chased after her and Skid, got them caught in a high speed chase…

And now she was being held hostage by the fucking capital-T Teeth.

The man sighed and lowered himself into a chair across from the bed. “My name’s Spree,” he said simply. “I’m the leader of the Teeth now.”

Sherryl regarded him with bewilderment for a second, then decided to assume that he probably wasn’t going to try and kill her right just now, and also that she was getting a crick in her neck from trying to stare straight down her tits at him. With a grunt, she managed to get her legs under her and slowly roll upright, carefully testing the rope around her wrists. It was all coming back to her now.

“Why ‘m I here?” she asked cautiously.

Spree shrugged. “Because you might be useful. You’re a Tinker without a gang, and we’re looking for new talent.”

“Yeah, fuck that.” A second after she’d said that, Sherryl realised she probably shouldn’t have said that. Oh well, might as well go for broke. “The Merchants always bounce back, and Skidmark’s gonna come and get all up in your business if you don’t let me go.”

Privately, she doubted that Skids could actually pull something like that off. His power was good, but he wasn’t a bad-to-the-bone monster like these guys. She was fairly sure he’d at least make the effort to try and get her back. And if she made an effort to get out, maybe they could meet in the middle.

Spree shook his head. “Yeah, he isn’t. Look.” He pulled a battered smartphone out of a metal pouch on his hip and tapped at it, swiping through the circles on the screen for a few seconds before turning it to face her.

The phone showed a news article. A picture of the building they’d thrown the party in was just above the title MERCHANTS AND TEETH REMOVED FROM BROCKTON BAY.

The rest of it was boring details about people giving quotes, and stuff that she’d already lived through, but one sentence caught her eye.

‘…Skidmark, leader of the criminal organisation known as the Archer’s Bridge Merchants has been taken into custody following a prolonged escape attempt.’

Fuck.

Fuck-fuck fuckity fuck.

Skidmark wasn’t coming for her.

The old feelings welled up inside her, the way they had every time she’d felt scared since she’d got her powers- the urge to run away, to wrap herself in armour, to build something that would carry her to safety and protect her from all the horrible shit that life kept dropping on her. She had to force away the idea of a segmented tank that would be able to ‘walk’ over obstacles.

“So,” Spree said, pulling the phone back, “you’ve got two choices. You can get dropped off for the cops, or you can join us. We’re not in the habit of leaving our enemies around to come back and mess with us.”

“The hell do you want with me?” Sherryl asked, well aware she was whining, and too upset to care.

“Like I said, we’re looking for more capes,” Spree said patiently. “I’ve seen the stuff you build, and it’s definitely our style.”

Sherryl blinked, surprised. “Really?” Everything she’d heard about the Teeth suggested that they’d drive around in cars with skulls mounted on the grille.

“Big, fast, and heavily armoured. You sure handled yourself against those Empire fucks,” Spree added. “Plus you were crazy enough to jump into the middle of us in the first place.”

This was a very surreal conversation to be having with someone who had finger bones stitched across his chest like medals. Sherryl decided not to mention that crashing into the chase had just been a crazy idea in the heat of the moment, or that she’d have happily left the Teeth, the Empire, and those hero bitches to beat the hell out of each other. Instead she shifted a bit and rolled her shoulders- the rope around her wrists was really starting to pull on her arms.

“Uh, no offense, but you guys are way more hardcore than I’m used to. Like, I just want hash, cash, and a couple of fights. Maybe some coke on the weekends. I’m not a-” she floundered, “-not a ‘drink from the skulls of my enemies’ kind of girl.”

“We’re not as bad as you think. And you’re tougher than you think.” Spree leant forward. “You build trucks with deflector shields and put rocket boosters on sedans, and you’re okay with being a footnote? An afterthought?”

Sherryl wanted to argue back, but she was still afraid of pissing him off. Instead, she sat quietly, unable to stop the feeling of doubt. True, a lot of the bigger stuff she’d wanted to make lay out of reach- not enough materials, or enough money for materials, or Skidmark would say something about staying under the radar.

Staying under the radar kept you alive though. Okay, people didn’t talk about the Merchants like they talked about the Nazis or the Asians, but who wanted to be mentioned in the same sentence as bastards like that? So what if people said ‘Oh, there’s also the Merchants’?

“If you want recognition, you need to build it,” Spree said, watching her carefully. “The rep you have right now is as Skidmark’s chick. And that’s if people are being polite.”

That stung. Skidmark was a decent enough guy, and she was happy to let him lead- more time for her to tinker and smoke- and he’d made sure to kick the crap out of anyone talking shit about her. Still, she knew people saw her as Skidmark’s woman before they saw her as her own.

“People never respected the Merchants. Not their strength, not their goals. You want respect? You need to think bigger.”

The question of how much respect the Teeth would get without Butcher was on the tip of Sherryl’s tongue, but she wasn’t hungover enough to be suicidal. Instead she bit the inside of her cheek and tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t get her tossed out the window.

“Bigger like wearing bones. And, y’know, killing enough people to get those bones.”

“Yup.” Spree looked completely at ease with the idea. “If you’re gonna kill someone, why not take a trophy? No sense in pretending to be civilised.”

Plenty of sense in holding back. But holding back against people in Brockton Bay was a good way to get mulched. She’d had plans for something that could have chewed up Hookwolf and melted him down for scrap, but Skidmark had argued her down because the rest of the Empire would come after them.

How civilised were capes? Hookwolf ran dogfights and murdered people for being the wrong colour, Lung’s guys pulled girls off the streets and sold them. They got away with it because everybody knew they never held back- they went for blood every time. What could she do if she really pushed her limits?

“You guys kidnapped me,” Sherryl said feebly, her last line of her defence as she felt her resistance crumbling.

Spree shrugged. “Reaver took initiative last night. It wasn’t what I would have had him do. But,” he held up a finger, “if he hadn’t grabbed you, you’d have been caught, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation, because you’d be in the slammer.”

Sherryl couldn’t think of a single damn thing to say. Her wrists hurt and her shoulders were going stiff from having her hands behind her back. Her head still ached, and her mouth tasted horrible. Maybe if she felt better, she’d be able to come up with a decent argument.

“One job.”

“Say again?”

“One job.” Sherryl lifted her head and looked Spree right in the eye- or at least, the dark holes of his mask. “I do one job with you guys, and then I- I figure it out from there.”

Spree sat back and tapped his fingertips to his knuckles for a second.

“Fine,” he said suddenly. “One job, and then we discuss it. But one condition.” He stood up, and his face was thrown into shadow as he loomed over her. “Don’t try to fuck us over. Got it?”

Sherryl gulped. “Got it.”

“Alright then. Up you get.” Spree hauled her up by the armpit and quickly cut the ropes off her with a few efficient movements from a small knife.

“Hey,” Sherryl ventured, rubbing at her wrists, then pushing until the joints popped, “There anything to eat around here?”

A door slammed open outside the bedroom, and a loud Boston voice bellowed, “Daddy’s home!”

“Probably,” Spree said, not even reacting to that. He opened the door a little and stuck his head out. “Masks on, assholes! We got company!”

Chapter Text

Sunday 6th February, Brockton Bay, Pancakes Worldwide

Two Gangs Down! was splashed across the top of the Brockton Bay Tribunal. I could almost feel the writer’s enthusiasm radiating off the page as I read my way through it.

The article stated- or maybe shouted- that after a lengthy series of ‘violent conflicts’ with the Empire, and ‘engagements’ with the local Protectorate, the Teeth, formerly one of the worst gangs to have ever set foot in Brockton Bay, et cetera, had finally been forced out of the city, unable to hold their ground with the ultimate death of the entity known as Butcher.

“Entity? Bitch, what?” Firecracker demanded. “We’re a- a collective. Or a badass.”

“I’m more surprised that they said the Protectorate had anything to do with it,” Vladimir said frankly. “It seems like an exaggeration. They seemed to be keeping it contained more than anything else.”

“How is that the thing you’re focused on?” Tactical demanded, uncharacteristically agitated. “Have you forgotten what’s going on here?”

“Shut up,” Flinch said, equally unusually irritated. “This is happening, and I’m n-not passing up the chance to send something to my family.”

The article went on to mention me and Spitfire by name, as a pair of independent heroes who had ‘conducted a raid against a gathering of the minor street gang known as the Archer’s Bridge Merchants’. I wondered if Skidmark was reading the paper in his jail cell, and how angry he would be to have his gang called minor.

The text got a lot more descriptive then, despite lacking any concrete details. Probably a high-speed chase with fourteen capes was the sort of thing that brought in the readers. The writer managed to suggest his idea of what happened at least.

Skidmark was in custody now, awaiting transfer to a parahuman-rated prison. As Miss Militia had said, the Empire had escaped, though Victor and Cricket had visible injuries. The police had been quoted on how they were going to mop up the last of the Merchants, and the unpowered Teeth members were all being processed.

I thought for a moment, then checked near the top of the page. I’d somehow missed a paragraph- Vex, Snowblind and Sinister had been broken out of the convoy that was taking them out of Brockton that night. Spree had hit with a wave of clones, Animos had jumped Dauntless, who’d been escorting the convoy, and then Reaver had cut them all out.

“Nice and easy does the trick,” Dirty Rotter enthused. “Spree’s still got a good loaf.”

I absently radiated agreement while I popped the last bite of pancakes into my mouth. By now the syrup had soaked all the way through and made it a bit soggy, but I didn’t mind. I slid the plate to one side and turned the page. There were some more details about the Protectorate and PRT efforts to capitalise on the situation, and a separate section on the history of the Butchers.

The TV in the corner was playing a similar story on the news, but they were basically repeating the same details, intercut with interviews of random people that didn’t seem to have any actual relevance to the story. Janet, 33, was currently giving her opinion despite not being law enforcement or anywhere near any capes ever.

The waitress came bustling over, notepad and pen at the ready. This time I checked her nametag- it said Anna. I also realised the studs in her earrings were made to look like golden screws.

“Ooh, we should get some of those,” Firecracker broke in.

“Yeah, it’s a cool style,” Stoneknapper agreed. “Guess we’ll have to see if these ones heal up.”

“Okay, second plate done, can I get you anything else?” Anna said brightly.

I glanced at my empty plate like I was making a decision. “Yeah, I think I can go for another stahck,” I said at length, in the thickest Boston accent I can muster. “An’ can I get another coffee?” I held my mug out and gave it a shake.

“Sure, no problem!” Anna chirped, taking plate and mug in hand to zip back toward the counter.

Bearskin snorted. “Someone’s angling for a tip.”

“That, or she’s had a lot of coffee herself.” Tock Tick paused reflectively. “We could give her a tip just for the view.”

“True. Never thought I’d be getting horny over waitress uniforms,” Bearskin muttered.

Something caught my attention through the senses of my bugs. Before even entering the diner, I’d spent a good twenty minutes using teams of flies to carry spiders between the buildings, trailing lines of silk in a grid pattern, and I’d only continued to add more lines as I’d worked my way through my food.

Several species of spiders used their webbing as tripwires or snares, using the vibrations to alert them to prey or threats. I’d taken the technique and simply applied it on a greater scale. One of the rookie mistakes the Butchers had learned before me was that people rarely expected threats from above.

Several of the lines had just broken as something plunged through them from above, a block away. I didn’t look up, because a normal person can’t pick up on something like that, but I did slip a few small insects onto the figures that had just landed on the street, attracting plenty of attention from passers-by.

I couldn’t really see through any of my insects, but I could make out a few things by positioning a few flies. Both had long hair, so probably women. One was short, with hair that fluffed out in a tangled mess of frizz as she stepped out of the flier’s arms. Panacea had arrived.

The flier was taller, with straight hair. I had trouble placing bugs on her; there seemed to be some kind of surface covering all of her, glassy smooth and utterly impenetrable. Like a forcefield.

“Glory Girl.” Needler tsked. “Panacea talked.”

“She- she might have just needed a lift,” Flinch said weakly. I felt a pulse of irritation; I understood that Panacea didn’t fully trust me, but dropping out of the sky with her sister was pretty damn far from subtle.

The Dallon sisters shared a quick hug, and then split up- Glory Girl wandering off to the other shops around, while Panacea made a beeline for the Pancakes Worldwide.

“Hehe, beeline,” Firecracker snickered.

I waited until the bell over the door rang before I looked up, waving a hand. I couldn’t make out the look on Panacea’s face when she spotted me, but the way she stomped over said plenty.

“Is it me, or did she recognise us strangely quickly?” Muramasa asked.

“We’ve got the red scarf like Taylor said she’d wear,” Vladimir pointed out. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“I just mean that she has never seen Taylor out of her armour, but she did not hesitate to head for the first person wearing a red scarf.”

Anchorage snorted. “Because Taylor waved her over, dude. What’re you getting at?”

“Never mind,” Muramasa sighed. “I will explain it when I can articulate it properly.”

“Morning,” I said neutrally as Panacea flung herself into the booth. “You want to order anything while you’re here? My treat.”

“I’m not eating anything bought by dirty money,” she sneered, slouching lower in her seat. “Just say what you want and let me go.”

Anna took that precise moment to bustle over with another stack of pancakes and a steaming cup of coffee, plus a little jug of cream.

“Thanks, ma’am,” I said with cheer I didn’t feel. She smiled and trotted off, skirt swishing around her knees enticingly.

I shook myself and turned back to Panacea, ignoring the grumbles from the peanut gallery at the less interesting view.

“So,” I began, picking up my knife and fork, “I wanted to apologise, first of all. I stepped over- a bunch of lines, actually. I’m sorry for manhandling you, and for bringing up your aunt.” I paused in cutting a bit off the stack to reach into my bag and bring out the notepad, sliding it across the table toward her. “I hope this’ll show I’m serious.”

Panacea straightened up, going from sullen to angry with a flush that made her freckles stand out. “You think you can apologise for threatening my family?” she hissed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Wait, what?” Anchorage asked. “I’d swear you didn’t make any threats.” She radiated confusion, enough to briefly forget her surly attitude towards me.

I leaned forward over my pancakes and lowered my voice. “What the hell are you talking about?” I questioned. “I never threatened your family, I swear.”

“Yes you did! You were being all ‘be a shame if something happened’! You said ‘goodbye hero, hello monster, and then death’; don’t try to act like that wasn’t a threat!”

I frantically gestured at her to keep her voice down. There weren’t any occupied tables next to us, but we were getting a few glances from people.

“Maybe they think you girls are breaking up,” Rotter leered. I gave him a short push into the dark with a scowl and tried to think back on what I’d said last night.

“I was trying to persuade you,” I recalled slowly, “and then I said something about Fleur dying after unmasking, and then I said people wouldn’t let me be a hero if they knew who I was, and that people would try to kill me.”

“You said heroes would die if I said anything,” Panacea countered. “You were talking about New Wave.”

“I meant me!” I spluttered, dropping my cutlery onto my plate with a clatter. “And you thought…”

I groaned in sudden realisation and rested my head in my hands, while the Butchers broke into hysterical laughter.

“Oh my fuck!” Quarrel bawled. “You threatened her family- by accident!”

Needler tittered in sheer schadenfreude. “Oh Taylor, you are terrible at this.”

“Who’s on first!” Vladimir hooted. “What’s on second, and Somebody’s going to die!”

“Are you seriously telling me,” Panacea asked with mounting incredulity, “That you managed to threaten me and my family… by accident?”

That got another groan from me and even more laughter from the collective.

“Hey Quarrel, jinx on you and Panacea!” Stoneknapper chuckled, ignoring Quarrel’s snarl at him.

“Just…” I slid the notepad across the table. “Just read this.”

“You’re a goddamn idiot,” Tactical snarled. I shoved him into the dark, not wanting to hear his complaints again. The rest of the Butchers had largely stopped after 8 hours of persuasion and argument, but Tactical always loathed giving up a strategic advantage.

Panacea snatched it away from me and opened it slowly, like she was expecting it to explode. I managed a few more bites of pancakes while my face slowly cooled from my tomato-red blush. Unfortunately, none of my powers could hide that.

Panacea finished the first page, then flicked to the second- then flicked through the whole thing rapidly, barely stopping to look. Several envelopes fell out onto the table as she scanned the pages, face twisted into disbelief.

“This can’t be real,” she said finally, putting it down. She picked up one of the envelopes instead and slid her thumb under the flap-

I whipped the envelope out of her hand so quickly that she yelped in surprise.

“I was going to ask you about that, actually,” I said with forced patience. “If something happens to me, could you pass these along to the PRT? They ought to be able to get them delivered.”

Panacea rubbed at her fingertips. “What the hell are they, anyway?”

“Famous last words. PRT’ll probably read them anyway to make sure I’m not ordering a hit or something, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.” I put the envelope back down, with a significant look at her. She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t reach for it again.

“So these are all some P.S. I Love You kind of thing? Why are there so many?”

I popped another forkful of syrupy pancake into my mouth, clicking against the stud in my lip as I did; holding up a finger for a pause while I chewed and swallowed. “They’re not all mine,” I said finally, pausing again to sip my coffee. “Actually, only one of them’s mine. The rest are from,” I hesitated, looking for a way to avoid speaking about the Butchers in public, “my predecessors.”

That had been an emotional couple of hours. The Butchers almost never had much of a civilian life to begin with, and sharing a headspace made it very difficult to remain articulate enough to have an extended conversation without someone butting in.

They had their moments, certainly- Muramasa still visited his mother’s grave every winter, and had extracted a promise from Quarrel to continue in his stead; Tactical insisted on celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day at full blast; Anchorage would occasionally check in on her parents and leave a bundle of cash at the door. Flinch spent more time thinking of his wife and daughters than he did paying attention to actual events.

But speaking, writing; no. The Butchers had to debate and argue just to agree on a few short sentences for the current host to say. Managing a sincere note was out of their grasp.

Except for me.

So after I’d filled up the notepad with entries on all of them, I’d decided to write out a letter to Dad that explained what had happened and all the things I wished I could say. When I’d dotted the last I and crossed the last T, I’d asked the Butchers if there was anything they wanted passed on.

They’d mostly declined. Actually, declined was too soft a word. Tactical had gone on a rant over how idiotic I was being, a far cry from his usual bloodless pragmatism, virulent enough to force me to push him down. Several more had said no in various ways. Nemean hadn’t even bothered to respond.

But Flinch had leapt at the chance to send something to Angie and the girls, and had dictated to me through two and a half pages of emotional writing in what, I’d only realised when I’d signed the bottom, was his handwriting.

Stoneknapper had managed a quick note to his old curmudgeon of a boss, and Bearskin had embarrassedly requested a letter to an old flame. Anchorage had grumpily put down a message to her parents, and I’d very carefully not said anything about her words to Pop and Mama.

One rule of sharing a brain- family was off-limits.

Panacea poked at the envelopes with a slightly dazed expression. “You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

Panacea held up one letter and stared at it like it held God’s own autograph. “Why?”

“I can’t send these on while I’m alive, obviously; I want people to think I don’t exist, and mysterious letters turning up would be kind of a hint. So, if and when some bastard gets a lucky shot in, I’d like you to send these off. Please,” I added belatedly.

“I somehow doubt that’s going to help,” Needler pointed out.

Panacea rubbed at her temples with a groan. “This is so messed up.”

“Try living it.”

“Just- how? How did this happen? All the other-” She broke off mid-sentence at my frantic gestures, then continued “-nobody else stayed sane. And you’re just sitting here eating pancakes!”

I tried to think of some sort of witty, fitting response. Nothing came to mind, so I took another mouthful of pancake.

Panacea rested her elbows on the table and put her head in her hands, staring at the notepad. “I need an explanation. How you got like this. How you’re still sane. What you’re doing.” She glanced up at me, and did a double take. “And when did you get so many piercings? Those weren’t there last night.”

“Took her long enough,” Dirty Rotter sneered, already bobbing back up into the light.

My hand strayed to my lower lip, and the steel stud poking out of it. “It’s a disguise. People see loads of piercings, and they remember that. They’ll heal up when I take them out.”

It was a trick that the Butchers had used since Needler, though it had got easier with Stoneknapper’s power to shape the metal. Simply poke a needle through whatever you wanted and let the regeneration seal up around it. Of course, Nemean’s toughened skin wasn’t so easy, even if the pain immunity helped- unless, like Muramasa had done to inherit, you used his sharpening power on the metal.

I had three rings dangling from each ear, a bar through one eyebrow, a stud in one nostril, and the lip stud. Pinning my hair up, using a different pair of glasses, and the Boston accent, had completed the disguise, turning me from geeky Taylor Hebert to some nameless outgoing punk.

“You could try dressing like this normally,” Anchorage suggested. “Maybe not punk, but you could do goth.”

“Pale, skinny, dark hair, dark clothes- it fits,” Vladimir agreed.

“You would say that, you Dracula-knockoff,” Nemean sniped. The two dissolved into bickering.

“It probably would have worked better if you hadn’t come slamming out of the sky in your sister’s arms,” I added, mood souring as I remembered. “What part of discreet is hard for you to understand?”

“The part where I’m supposed to trust you.” Panacea’s glare returned in full force. “If I scream, Vicky’ll rip your arms and legs off.”

“We can take her,” Nemean said dismissively.

I blinked, feeling a sudden rush of apprehension. “Did you tell her?” The bugs on Glory Girl were currently meandering through a shop a hundred yards down and on the other side of the street. I could make some guesses at her posture, and she didn’t seem wary or tense. Still, I started shifting insects closer to her. Even if I couldn’t hurt her with them, I could block her vision, maybe misdirect her.

Panacea hesitated. “She didn’t,” Firecracker said immediately. “Kid’s got a lousy poker face.”

“Kid? That’s rich,” Tock Tick replied.

“Bite me, old man.”

“Okay, so what did you tell your sister then? Might as well get our stories straight.”

Panacea blinked at my non-sequitur, then leaned back in her seat. “I said I was meeting a patient with ongoing brain problems. Nothing about you or your ‘predecessors’. Though she might have figured out I was meeting you, after last night,” she added quietly.

I jabbed my fork into the pancake with a bit more force than necessary. This whole meeting was going a lot worse than I’d hoped.

“I mean, you are technically crazy,” Anchorage snickered. “You’ve got brain problems alright.”

“Yeah, the terminal kind,” Butcher cackled nastily. I rammed him down hard and fast, and he laughed all the way.

“Fine,” I said at last, taking another bite. “So long as she isn’t coming after me. What did you want to know?”

Panacea flicked back to the first page of the notepad. I didn’t need to read it- I’d written it. Butcher’s name, powers, a rough estimate of the upper limit of his strength both before and after his death, the range of his pain inducement ability. Every page had an entry for each of the Butchers, listing their powers, a brief history, how they’d inherited, how they’d died.

Tactical had every reason to be pissed- it’d be a serious information windfall for the PRT. I’d managed to talk the others around by pointing out they already knew the vast majority of it anyway, and some of them had taken a perverse satisfaction in having their lives going on proper record. Tock Tick particularly wanted me to list his various creations down so people would remember that he was in here- he’d always felt like he didn’t get enough credit.

“How did it happen?” Panacea looked up from the pad, looking very lost and bewildered. She looked younger than I’d ever seen her before, and strangely vulnerable.

“She is young,” Muramasa said.

“So’s Taylor,” Vladimir pointed out. Muramasa was already shaking his non-existent head.

“Taylor has not been young since she joined us. She had our memories. And Panacea-”

“Panacea,” Stoneknapper interjected, “is soft. You keep the healers away from the fighting, right?

I grabbed my mug and chugged the last of the coffee, briefly wishing it was something stronger, then set it down with a gasp.

“It was my Trigger Event,” I said hoarsely. Panacea’s eyes widened, but I didn’t stop. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to start again if I stopped.

“Suddenly I could sense all the bugs around me for- a block, I guess. Everything they heard, saw, smelled, tasted- you don’t want to know the kind of stuff cockroaches can eat.

“And the absolute loudest thing was the fight going on about half a block away from Winslow. Shouting, gunfire, explosions. Quarrel was all of that at once.”

“Quarrel?” But Panacea had already found the page. “Right. XIV.”

“Cunt,” Quarrel spat.

“That’s right,” I said. “She was teleporting around in explosions, firing off a minigun, tossing a couple of grenades- she was the loudest, most dangerous thing around. And I didn’t know what was going on, I thought I was having a nightmare, or hallucinating, or something. You ever wake up from a nightmare and lash out at whatever woke you up?”

“So that’s what the Swarm was? That was you lashing out?”

“Mm.” I scooped up a massive forkful of pancakes and shovelled it in.

“Hell, that’s what I call throwing a wobbler,” Rotter said. His tone was teasing, but I could feel the mild sympathy behind it.

Panacea flipped the page to my entry and stared at it for a while. “How are you still… stable, I guess? How does it work?”

I swallowed what felt like a softball of pastry and syrup. “I can kind of- push them down.” I waved my fork vaguely. “They’re still connected to my senses, but they can’t talk to me, and I don’t feel their emotions as much.”

“I’m waiting for the ‘but’.”

“I’m waiting on the boobs,” Anchorage said, almost reflexively. Firecracker snickered.

“She’s more perceptive than I thought,” Needler admitted.

Bearskin snorted. “When she’s got her head out of her ass.”

I nodded slightly. “But. My emotions get dulled the more of them I push down. I shoved them all away as soon as I started hearing them, and I was just,” I waved a hand, “numb. On autopilot. The paramedics thought I was in shock.”

Dad had thought that too, when he’d rushed over. I’d had the filth cleaned off and been given some spare clothes, but I was as unresponsive as a mannequin when he’d wrapped me in a desperate hug. Even now, that memory was an apathetic blur. It took a long time, focusing on the gentler emotions of Flinch and Tock Tick, to let them rise back up, and bring some feeling with them.

Panacea looked from the notepad to me, and back again. Then she gathered up the envelopes, stuffed them in, and closed it with a soft snap. “Alright,” she exhaled, “where do we go from here?”

I shrugged. “I keep doing what I’ve been doing. Chase the bad guys, help the good guys.”

“And then what?” Panacea tapped the notepad. “I don’t think you’ll stay hidden forever. The regeneration alone is a pretty big giveaway. What am I supposed to tell people when they ask why I’ve got a book full of B-” she stopped herself, “-of your secrets? They’ll think I was working with you.”

“Oooh, imagine the scandal!” Rotter said horribly. “New Wave’s precious healer consorting with the likes of us! The tabloids’ll have a field day!”

I paused and laid down my fork. “If I’m being really optimistic, I’d like to think I’ll have done enough good, for long enough, that people could give me the benefit of the doubt. But,” I indicated with a hand, “you didn’t trust me. With good reason,” I admitted, “but still…”

Panacea shrugged, not seeming at all embarrassed. “So how do I avoid getting lumped in with you? No offense,” she added carelessly.

I nodded in acknowledgement. “If people are going to think I’m the stuff of nightmares anyway, might as well use it. Worst case scenario, you say I threatened you to keep quiet. Apparently, I already did.”

Panacea suddenly snorted and clapped a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking with supressed laughter. I found myself snickering along for a moment. It wasn’t even that funny, but I needed a laugh.

At last, Panacea managed to stop laughing, just as Anna came over once more. I crammed the last of the pancakes into my mouth and set the cutlery down on the plate, which she swept up with a smile. “Okay, anything else?”

I shook my head, mouth too full to speak, and signalled for the bill. She promised to bring it right away, and trotted off again.

“Definitely give her a tip,” Stoneknapper said absently.

“And ask about the earrings,” Firecracker insisted.

Panacea cleared her throat, drawing my attention back to her. She fiddled with her fingers and took a deep, nervous breath. “I,” she stopped, and started again. “I believe you. Mostly. But if I’m going to keep this quiet, I need solid evidence.”

“The hell’s she-” Quarrel broke off as Panacea laid her hand on the table, palm up. “No. no, no, no fucking way, no!”

“Taylor, this isn’t a- a good idea,” Flinch said urgently. “She might be able to disable you, try to take you in. She could call her sister in, and then you’d be trying to fight two heroes at once.”

“Don’t you dare do it,” Tactical demanded, finally rising back into the light. “You’ve done enough damage without shaking hands with a Striker.”

They were completely right. Panacea’s power was used for healing, but I doubted it was just healing. The Butcher’s rule of thumb was to assume that a power could do three times more bad than good. Whatever a world-class healer could do didn’t bear thinking about.

Against that was one small, slightly pathetic truth.

I didn’t have anyone else to talk to. Nobody else on the planet knew my secret identity, let alone my role as Butcher XV. I hadn’t been that good at introspection, but sharing my mind with the Butchers meant they could see everything I did, and in turn I could see their reactions, and understand myself through them.

I was lonely.

I took a deep breath and put my hand on hers, shutting out the demands and outright screaming by pushing half of them down. Panacea seemed surprised that I’d actually done it, but her gaze quickly sharpened.

“Do you promise that you won’t return to the Teeth?”

“Yes.” A flare of anger from the Butchers.

“Are you going to keep being a hero?”

“Yes.” Derision from most, though I could feel a small kernel of pride from Flinch.

“Are you going to hurt me or my family?”

“Not unless they attack me first and I have to defend myself.”

Panacea frowned. “You could have just said no.”

I shrugged. “You wanted the truth.”

She scowled, but didn’t argue the point. She slid her hand out from under mine, and I pulled my arm back to my side of the table.

“I believe you,” Panacea said at length. “I still can’t trust you completely though. Or,” she flicked a hand at my head, “I guess I can’t trust- them.”

“Don’t trust the devils inside,” I muttered. More clearly, “Okay.”

The conversation dropped when Anna came over to drop off the bill. One order of never-ending pancakes, two cups of coffee, plus tip. I pulled a twenty out for the bill, and after a second’s thought, added another twenty for her tip.

“I guess that’s it then.” Panacea slid out of the booth, tucking the notepad into her jacket. “I’m going to visit the hospital. Behave yourself,” she said wearily, already turning away.

“Wait.”

“Oh my god, what now?” she demanded, turning back to me. “I swear, if there’s some other shocking thing you want to reveal-”

“Actually, yes.” I laid a hand on my chest and swallowed my nerves. “Taylor Hebert. We’re in gym class together.”

For a second Panacea’s expression was blank. Then her eyes went so wide I thought they might fall out of her head.

“Okay,” she said faintly. “Okay. I’m- I’m going to go now,” she pointed in the vague direction of the door. “Bye.”

She turned and almost ran for the door.

“Smooth,” Stoneknapper snickered. I shoved him into the dark, picked up my bag, and headed out the door to figure out what to do now I’d dodged that bullet.

Monday had certainly gained a new sense of terror to it, for one.

Chapter Text

Monday 7th February, Arcadia High School

The usual ‘Oh-god-Monday-I-hate-school’ mood wasn’t as strong as usual when I made it through Arcadia’s front doors. Kids were clustered together in groups, and the most popular topic I could make out was capes; the Teeth, the Merchants, the Protectorate; I heard someone on the other side of the hall mention Elpis. I managed to restrain myself from twitching.

Enhanced hearing was a mixed blessing in school. I couldn’t really move my ears like Nemean’s big top-of-the-head radar dishes, but I could still pick up things from all around me and focus on particular noises. I’d accidentally eavesdropped on so many conversations that I probably could have run my own gossip column.

“Hey, there’s Dumbass,” Firecracker pointed out. Jason from homeroom was leaning against the wall, distractedly chatting with another boy while browsing his phone. He looked up just in time to catch my glance, and rolled his eyes.

I glared back and walked faster. Ever since his dumb questions on my first day, Jason had treated me like I’d said something about his mother. To hear him tell it, I’d lashed out at him for a polite hello, and he was just popular enough that the story had started to spread. A lot of people now seemed to think of me as ‘touchy’, or ‘bitchy’ when they thought I was out of earshot.

“God, I didn’t miss all this popularity contest bullshit,” Anchorage grumbled. “I swear there were villain meetings that weren’t so full of bitching and whining.”

“That is probably because villains know they can resort to violence for an insult,” Muramasa pointed out.

Vladimir made an agreeing noise. “I reckon my younger years would’ve been easier if I’d just knocked Seth Anderson’s teeth out.”

I made a left toward my locker, stepping around a couple of football players, and spotted a familiar head of scarlet hair with pencils sticking out of the bun. “Hey Frankie,” I called as I closed the distance.

Frankie looked up just as she shut her locker. “Hey Taylor. Good weekend?”

“Pretty good. Got all the homework done super fast, so I hit the Market on Sunday. Got this,” I held out the new hoodie I was wearing with finger and thumb.

I’d let the Butchers talk me into some retail therapy after my meeting with Panacea, and allocated each of them some cash for small purchases. Most of them had chosen samples from the various food stalls, but Nemean had insisted on some big earrings made of dark wood that I was definitely going to wear another day.

I’d vetoed the suggestions for clothing, since it was mostly spiky or skimpy or related to metal bands, and when they’d started complaining, I’d bought a lemon yellow hoodie out of spite. Far from my usual style, but it was warm and comfortable, so I’d kept it.

“Looks good on you,” Frankie praised sincerely. “Really cheery, goes with your complexion. Just like my jacket fits my face.” She gestured grandly to her patch-laden denim jacket, then pointed to where a couple of zits peeked through the layer of concealer on her features. “A crowded mess.”

Stoneknapper chuckled. “I knew there was a reason I liked this girl.”

“And it’s not just because of your instincts as an ‘artist’, huh?” Quarrel heckled.

“Kiss my ass,” Stoneknapper replied cheerily.

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with either,” I defended. “Actually,” I took a second look at her sleeve, “did you add a new patch?”

“Yup! Grandma finished this one on Saturday.” Frankie pointed to just above her elbow, where a grey rabbit in profile lay over the letters R.I.P. “In loving memory of Mr Herriman.”

“Who?” I said in synch with the Butchers, taking a step toward my locker further down.

“Grandma’s old rabbit. He died last summer, Grandma had me bury him in the yard, had his picture on the wall, it was a whole thing,” Frankie summed up, falling into step with me. “I never liked the little guy that much, but, y’know,” she shrugged expressively.

“I think so,” I said as we reached my locker. “We never had pets, but I kinda get it.”

Butcher’s fuming impatience was like the heat off a glowing coal in the back of my mind, but he was finally holding in his usual stream of insults rather than going off on a rant about how I was wasting time making small talk and pretending to be a normal person.

“Ooh, progress,” Rotter said.

“Anyway, the big topic.” Frankie leaned in. “Please tell me you’ve heard the news about the gangs.”

“Yeah?” I asked, delving into my locker for the books I needed before lunch, not trusting myself to a longer response.

“Coward,” Anchorage said bitingly.

“So?” Frankie spun her hand impatiently. “Reactions, opinions? This is kind of a big deal?”

I pulled out the books, closed my locker, spun the dial, and slotted the books into my backpack, all while Frankie stood there vibrating with energy. “Okay,” I said at last, breaking the suspense, “do you want my personal opinion, or do you want a really deep analysis?”

“Both, either, whatever!”

“Well, pretty much the whole city is glad that the Teeth and the Merchants are gone,” I started, ignoring the Butchers’ usual flare of annoyance. “Neither had much ideology, so they didn’t have a lot of followers. The Merchants were just drug dealers, and the Teeth are just-”

“Mon- monstrous?” Flinch suggested.

“Violent,” Needler stated.

“Predators,” Nemean rumbled.

“Roving marauders,” I said, ignoring their immediate complaints. “Everybody’s glad to see the back of them.”

“Amen,” Frankie agreed, blissfully unaware of the vitriol inside my head. “We got rid of, like,” she counted on her fingers, “eight villains in one night.”

“What’s all this ‘we’ business?” I said archly. “Are you going to tell me you’re a hero on the side?”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“That is a terrible joke and I respect it,” Firecracker admitted.

“Hey guys!” came a peppy voice and a gust of lavender scent.

“Hey Stacey,” we chorused as she came up to us.

“Did you guys hear about the Teeth?” she asked excitedly.

“We were literally just talking about it,” I answered.

“You’re doing this to torture us, aren’t you?” Bearskin demanded. “You’re making us suffer through this on purpose, right?”

“Well, that’s not the only reason,” I said with a small smile.

“God, it’s so good to have less villains for a change,” Stacey said dramatically, flicking her braids over her shoulder. “I mean, we’ve still got way too many, but it’s a start.”

“Pretty sure we’re still in the top 10 cape cities,” Frankie pointed out.

“This is probably going to have large effects going forward,” I agreed. “E88’s been attacking the Teeth since they arrived, so they’re probably going to try and take credit for it to boost recruitment. The ABB’s harder to guess, but they’ll react to the Empire for sure. And all the extras who would have joined the Merchants or stayed solo might decide to band together for safety in numbers. We might get a whole new faction in a couple of weeks.”

Stacey visibly wilted at my words; Frankie nudged me with her elbow, muttering “Way to kill the mood, Tay.”

“This might be an opportunity though,” I added hastily, drawing on Tactical’s Thinker power to analyse the situation. “The Empire’s taken some damage from all the fighting, and I did hear a couple of their capes got hurt, so they probably won’t be able to move right away. There might be an opening for the heroes to push back while the villains are adjusting.”

“This has been your daily cape nerd forecast,” Frankie said jokingly.

“You may want to downplay your knowledge of the cape scene in front of your friends,” Needler suggested. “You sound suspiciously well informed right now.”

I bit my tongue at her words. Infodumping about the situation in the city wasn’t something anybody needed to hear from me.

Stacey was looking more cheerful though. “Yeah, that’s true. Gotta keep your hopes up.” She snapped her fingers. “That reminds me, I was going to ask you guys; Do you want to come over to my place for a slumber party? My parents didn’t want me going out while the gangs were all,” she waved her hands around frantically, “but now the Teeth are gone, they’re cool with it.”

I blinked, surprised. I liked Stacey, and I could certainly call her a friend, but I didn’t think we were at the point of having slumber parties. That seemed more like a ‘best friends forever’ kind of activity.

“You’re just saying that because you haven’t had friends in a year,” Quarrel said, harshly but not cruelly. “We get it, your Emma was a bitch.”

“One betrayal does not mean that all are traitors,” Muramasa agreed.

I could feel they were sincere, but I still hesitated. As I’d told the girls, there was a narrow opportunity to hit the gangs while they were adjusting. It’d be irresponsible of me to take a whole night off with no Tinker work, no patrolling, no action- not even making more silk with the black widows. My armour still needed repairs, I had a couple of new gadgets to work on-

“It’s okay to-to spend time with your friends, Taylor,” Flinch said kindly. “You’ve worked so hard. You deserve some fun.”

“Sounds good to me,” Frankie enthused. “We haven’t done anything like that since before Christmas.”

“Sweet. Taylor, how about you?” Stacey asked.

I bit my lip- then made my decision. “Uh, when? I mean, what day?”

“I was thinking Friday. We could rent a movie, get some snacks, the whole nine yards.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll need to check with my dad, but that sounds fun.”

“Cool.” For a second, there was something searching in Stacey’s expression. Then it was gone, and she was all smiles. “So! Anything fun on the weekend?”

Conversation turned to the book Stacey had finally got around to reading, Frankie’s attempt to listen to all of Queen’s music, and the movie I’d watched on Sunday night with Dad. The Butchers had fallen into hot debate about whether the Aleph version of The Breakfast Club was better.

Personally, I’d thought that Judd Nelson had done a better Bender than Nicolas Cage, but Dad had insisted Bet’s version was superior.

As we talked, I simultaneously organised the thousands of insects within my range. The vermin were rounded up and marshalled toward the spiders, which I spread around the building in small clusters. I’d clear everything out at the end of the day, see if I could discreetly take them home. I needed more black widow silk for one project I had in mind, but I could use lesser species for the throwaway stuff like nets and cables.

One insect stood out among the rest- a spider, but one that wasn’t responding to my commands. Or rather, it couldn’t- its body was locked up, completely paralysed. Not entirely unusual, since plenty of bugs got disabled or hurt every day.

This one was tucked away in a warm, soft space though, and periodically a finger brushed against it. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

“Son of a bitch,” Tactical swore, speaking for the first time in hours. “It’s Panacea.”

“Dude, you think maybe you’re being paranoid?” Stoneknapper asked.

“Oh, my mistake, it must be the other cape who goes to Arcadia with biological powers. Touch-based biological powers! I kept telling you idiots it was a bad idea to tell her anything, but you wouldn’t listen!”

“Wait,” Tock interrupted, “You think she’s worked out how to use her power to detect us?”

“YES!” Tactical roared. “Because Taylor,” he sneered my name derisively, “was stupid enough to tell one of the heroes how all our powers work, including her own! Automatic control of all insects within range! Panacea must have found the part of bug brains that light up when Taylor’s controlling them.”

“…well, shit,” Vladimir pronounced.

“Guys, it’s not a huge problem,” I argued, even as I juggled a conversation about who the best guitar players were. “Panacea already knew I go to Arcadia, this doesn’t change anything. It’s not like she can track a block’s radius with one spider.”

The outer conversation was heating up as we turned to walk past the office. “Look, Brian May is good, but Eric Clapton was better than him; he didn’t have Freddie on vocals to make everything sound better.”

“Okay, but May built his own guitar, you can’t tell me that’s not cool.”

Stacey held up a finger. “Are we arguing on sound or coolness? Because those are separate criteria.”

Frankie blew a stray bit of hair out of her face. “Okay, fine. Jimi Hendrix is the absolute best though.”

“No question- Oh, sorry,” Stacey said belatedly to the small girl she’d almost bumped into. I almost walked into Stacey, too caught up in my own head to watch out.

“Oh, it’s okay. Uh, actually, do you know where Mr Jackson’s room is? I’ve got him for homeroom.”

“Yeah, you just go down that way-” Stacey turned and pointed back the way we’d come, “and turn left, and it’s the door next to the corkboard.”

When Stacey turned, I got my first proper look at the new girl. A bag with a dozen textbooks crammed in, a puffy pink jacket, and mousy brown hair held back with sky blue pins.

My breath left me like I’d been punched in the gut. My hands curled into fists, so tight I could feel the nails dig into my skin.

Butcher snorted, then chuckled, and then burst into booming, clutching-your-belly rolling-on-the-floor laughter. “Oh this is too good!” he howled. “Whatcha gonna do now, girl? You gonna be the better person?!”

“Taylor, just get out of here and go,” Flinch warned. “Just leave, that’s the smart option-”

“See, the problem with being the good guy,” Butcher said in a smug, unctuous voice, “is that you can’t have any fun. Go on,” he urged. “Hit her. You know you want to. You know she deserves it. A little bit of payback, that’s all.”

The Butchers shouted, demanded, cajoled and howled inside my head, but I couldn’t stop staring at Madison Clements, cute as could be, chatting with my friends in my school like she hadn’t spent over a year ruining my fucking life-

“-and this is Taylor- Taylor? You feeling all right?”

I unthinkingly grabbed Frankie’s wrist as she reached for my shoulder, digging my thumb in between the tendons on the underside. I could feel her pulse sending her blood through her veins; I could feel how a quick twist would snap her ulna and radius like dry twigs; I could feel Dirty Rotter’s power leap to my control like an eager dog, raring to be let off the leash and turn her flesh into a suppurating mass-

“Ow! Shit, Taylor, what the hell?”

Frankie’s voice hit me like ice water- I let go in shock and slammed down on all the Butchers as hard as I could, forcing them into the dark in a chorus of wails.

Stacey was looking at me with confused shock. Frankie was hissing as she rubbed at her wrist.

Right in front of me, Madison stared blankly. Then her mouth twisted at the edges for a second, before turning into a concerned smile.

“Are you feeling okay, Taylor?” she asked, in a honeyed voice full of sympathy. “Are you having problems again?”

With all the Butchers down, my emotions were cooling rapidly to nothing, but I still felt a dull throb of anger at her fake kindness. “Gotta go,” I grunted, stepping around all of them and bolting for the end of the hall at a fast walk.

Stacey called after me, but I just headed straight for the girl’s bathroom. A quick glance with bloodsight showed nobody inside, so I shoved the door open and swung myself in front of the first sink, jamming the plug in and ramming both taps open.

I didn’t take my glasses off or wait for the sink to fill- as soon as there was a depth of water in there I simply bent forward and stuck my whole head in the sink, letting the water wash over the back of my head. I let out a breath, long and slow, feeling it trickle out of my mouth in little bubbles.

One of the Butchers had read something about this, years ago. A reflex in all mammals caused the heart rate to drop in response to feeling water on the face while holding your breath, as well as a bunch of other minor effects. There was something about the spleen in there, part of the half-memory, but I didn’t care to think about it.

I didn’t want to think about anything at all, because then I’d get angry again.

I pulled my head out once I needed to take a breath, turning off the taps and pulling the plug out. My glasses were so wet I couldn’t see myself in the mirror, and drying them on my sleeve just made them smear.

After a couple of deep breaths, I reached toward Flinch, Tock Tick, and Tactical, and pulled them up. It wasn’t easy- I hadn’t practiced this, and it felt more difficult. Moving the Butchers around in ‘the dark’ was like handling oiled balloons under water. Easy to push down, but they would eventually bob back up on their own, and getting a grip on them was a chore.

Nevertheless, I managed to bring the three of them back into the light. A subdued sense of anger came with them, but low enough for me to control.

“I’m p-proud of you, Taylor,” Flinch said immediately. “You got out of a bad situation without losing con-control.”

“Yyyeeah,” Tock allowed, “but Madison’s still in this school. You’re going to need a plan for actually dealing with her.”

“Plus,” Tactical began in a laborious tone, “Since you TOLD PANACEA, if you cause any trouble where she can find out, she’ll call the heroes down on your ass. With that full list of all our weaknesses. That you gave her-”

“Oh my god, Tac, I get it, you don’t like my decision, but will you please shut up about it?” I demanded, resting my forehead against the mirror. Absently, I turned the cold tap on and put my hand under it.

Anchorage’s power mainly reduced the effective mass of an object, but it also reinforced it inside and out. Applied to water, it increased surface tension to practically solid, which was how her trick of walking on water worked.

In the same way, I used her power on the water as it poured into my hand, gathering into a shapeless mass in my palm that felt more like a water balloon. When it was about the size of a softball, I turned the tap off, brought the water blob to my lips, and slurped it down in a few quick swallows.

“Okay,” I said at last. “Madison’s here. That’s not good, but it’s manageable. I’m not the same beaten down girl I used to be, and she doesn’t have the other bitches backing her up. If she tries anything, I can stand up to her.”

Tock Tick cleared his throat. “Listen kid, you’re doing great at managing your temper, but do you really think you’re going to be able to handle her without taking a swing at her?”

I paused. “I… don’t know,” I admitted at last.

There was another part of the problem too, one Madison couldn’t know about. I’d gone along with Winslow’s efforts to hide that final prank from the world because if it had got out, anybody who knew about Trigger Events would look at something like that happening within an hour’s time and a block’s distance of Quarrel dying, and put two and two together and come up with a witch hunt.

The warning bell for homeroom rang, so I straightened up, scrubbing at my wet hair with my sleeves to get the worst of it out.

The idea of my past intruding on the better present I was building for myself left a weight in my stomach. I felt that exposed feeling again- of being skinless, unable to withstand any irritant. And in that metaphor, Madison was a whole block of salt.

I refused to let her win though. I’d fought villains that would tear her in half with ease. I’d made new friends, I’d started talking to my dad again- hell, I was getting along with most of the Butchers!

“I’d say half,” Tock estimated.

“That’s being generous,” Tactical jibed.

“Oh, you guys are no goddamn help,” I snapped, pushing the bathroom door open.

Chapter Text

Monday 7th February, Arcadia

“Uh, mind if I sit?”

The guys glanced up, and then Stacey immediately shuffled a foot to the left, until she bumped up against Callum.

“Bet he’s okay with that,” Firecracker snickered, indicating his sudden blush.

I slipped into the free spot, placing my tray of lasagna and salad down gingerly. There was an awkward silence where nobody said anything. Stacey fiddled with one of her braids, Callum scratched his neck, T lazily drummed his fingernails on the tabletop, but there were no actual words.

By now I’d let the Butchers back into the light, but with how nervous I was, I seriously considered pushing some of them down to kill my emotions a bit.

“Come on kid, you gotta say something,” Stoneknapper urged, uncharacteristically serious. Usually he was one of the more laid-back Butchers, enjoying the show of my life and offering occasional suggestions in an unconcerned way. For him to be so insistent was unusual.

I cleared my throat- when everyone’s heads swung toward me, I almost gave up then and there.

Still, I pushed forward. “I guess you guys want an explanation for this morning?”

“That’d be nice,” Frankie said, rolling her wrist. As her sleeve rucked up, I could see a faint yellow bruise on the inside, and a wave of guilt rolled over me.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Stacey said hastily, putting her hand over mine.

“It’d be better for you to open up,” Vladimir admitted. I shouldn’t have been surprised by his support- growing up as a gay teenager in the late 80s did not make for a happy school experience.

I blew air through my lips and fiddled with my knife for a second. “Okay,” I began, “Madison probably told you a whole mountain of bullshit.”

“Yup,” Frankie said casually, twirling her fork into her spaghetti. “Load of stuff about you lying for attention.” She popped the spaghetti into her mouth. “Aw hat hoolfhit.”

“She could at least cover her mouth,” Needler complained.

“We don’t believe any of that,” Stacey broke in. “I mean, we’ve known you for weeks, and you only started acting strange when you saw Madison.”

I ducked my head as a warm, embarrassed yet happy flush spread across my face. I’d wanted to believe that my friends would trust me, but I wasn’t prepared for the sudden rush of affection I felt at such a simple act.

“You’ve got good friends,” Nemean stated.

“So the new girl’s covering her ass then?” T drawled. “Try to undermine Taylor’s side of the story in a-” he snapped his fingers, “what’s it called, it’s a fallacy, ad something.”

“Ad hominem,” Bearskin said. I repeated it out loud, and T pointed a finger.

“That’s the one.”

I breathed in through my nose, and then out through my mouth. “I’ve got two conditions for telling you guys this. First, I don’t want you guys to get involved, at least not right away. I know that sounds dumb,” I added hastily as Stacey opened her mouth with an indignant expression, “but I want to at least try and stand up for myself for once. Okay?”

“What’s the other condition?” Frankie asked, winding her fork into her spaghetti again.

“When we’re done talking about this, we change the subject. I don’t want to be talking about this all lunch.”

Once everyone agreed, I took a sip of water, cleared my throat, and took the plunge.

“I was… being bullied. Back at Winslow.”

Frankie slowly set her fork down and leant on her elbows.

“Madison was one of them. She never did anything physical- obviously, I’ve got 5 inches on her- but she’d always do something like dump pencil shavings in my hair, or steal my worksheets, or just make up dumb insults and rattle them off when I walked by. Every day.”

Stacey rubbed my hand comfortingly. I twitched a finger in acknowledgement, but didn’t stop talking.

“I tried asking them to stop, telling the teachers, avoiding them. Nothing worked. And then I managed to get a transfer to Arcadia after the whole thing in January, and I thought I’d never see any of them again.”

Frankie laced her fingers together, rested her forehead on them, and emphatically said “Fuck.”

“That to-took a lot of courage,” Flinch reassured me.

“So that’s why you rushed off? To get away from her?” Frankie shook her head. “That’s rough.”

“It’s worse than that,” I muttered. At her questioning look, I elaborated. “I’ve had a month away from those bitches, to start sorting my head out. The thing is, I’m not afraid of them anymore.”

“Good for you,” Callum started, before I shook my head.

“Honestly kid, I think you should just do it. Nobody’s gonna miss the little streak of dog piss,” Dirty Rotter said frankly. I gave him a hefty shove, too strung out to push him all the way down.

“I hate them,” I admitted, surprised at how easy it was to say that. I’d disliked the Trio, certainly, but I’d never really had the energy to truly hate them at Winslow; I’d hated them like I hated a storm- something that ruined my day, without me having any way to stop it. “And I’m pretty sure if any of them started up that shit again, I wouldn’t bother asking them to stop or telling a teacher. I’d just attack them on sight.”

T leaned across and met my gaze with a frank expression. “Taylor, I think I speak for everyone at this table when I say that if you decided to fight them, we’d hold them down for you.”

“Jesus Christ, T!” Stacey blurted as Callum burst out laughing. I couldn’t stop the corners of my mouth from quirking up as the Butchers roared their approval.

“Now that’s a real friend!” Anchorage cheered. “Helping you wreck someone’s shit!”

“How’s that saying go?” Quarrel asked. “A good friend will help you move house-”

“-A great friend will help you move a body,” Stoneknapper finished with a grin.

“Thanks, guys. And I’m sorry about snapping at you, Frankie.”

Frankie waved her free hand carelessly as she picked up her fork again. “No prob, just warn me if you’re having a moment.”

“Deal.” It felt like an easy promise to make. For the first time in years I had people- actual friends- who were on my side. The whole thing felt- dreamlike, in a way.

Regardless, I wanted to hang on to these guys with everything I had. I would have said that I’d take a bullet for them, but that saying lost a lot of its impact when you were bulletproof.

“Anyway, you wanted a change of subject, right? Who’s got a good one?”

“Ooh, ooh!” Callum waved his hand. “Hypothetically, if a shapeshifter copied you and tried to steal your identity, what would you say to your family to prove you’re the real one?”

-----------
The Lair, The Docks

My phone started vibrating, juddering its way along the workbench. I glanced at the clock on the wall- 2.16am- then set it to speaker.

“Didn’t think she’d call until morning,” Firecracker said, surprised.

“Hey Spitfire,” I said, turning back to the cables I was weaving together. “Didn’t think you’d be up at this time of the night.” I refocused on the magnifying lens I’d clipped to my glasses, and through it to the wafer thin gear I was currently grinding.

“Yeah,” Spitfire said, her voice raspier than usual. “Couldn’t sleep, and this motel’s got no decent late-night TV. Figured I’d see what you texted me about.”

“Sorry you’re having trouble sleeping,” I said, sending a couple of ants scurrying forward inside their compartments, and several more scurrying back. Their movements shifted the switches they were standing on, moving joint, rotator cuff, and pincer simultaneously. “I guess I’m glad I didn’t wake you, at least.”

“Yeah, lucky you, not having to sleep,” Spitfire groused as the skeletal waldo arm bent, twisted, and closed its grippers on the next control cable I needed to install. More commands to the ants had the waldo lift the control cable and begin sliding it into the space in the weave I’d created.

Three more waldos danced over each other on the table, threading strands of steel wire into a five-by-two foot rectangle. All Tinkers had to build their own tools at some point, for the fine manipulation necessary to create the really esoteric stuff; Tock Tick had filled several tool chests with his. However, the multitasking aspect of my insect control gave me control of as many systems as I could install hair-trigger switches into. I was still clumsy with the finer movements, but I’d come a long way from the first awkward fumblings as I’d assembled the air cannon.

“You missed that,” Muramasa chided. I glanced at the phone, then picked it up with my actual hand and brought it closer to me.

“Sorry, can you repeat that last bit?”

“I said,” Spitfire grumbled, “What’s this about? Call me when you’re awake is a weird text to get. Also, have I mentioned it’s weird that you use capitals and punctuation?”

“I think you might have said it before,” I answered, ignoring Rotter’s snickering. “Anyway, I know I said we’d take a break after the whole thing on Saturday, and I’m not going back on that, but there’s some things we need to sort out.”

“Shit, that’s right, I forgot to split the cash with you,” Spitfire exclaimed. “No worries dude, I got it safe.”

“Wait,” Vladimir asked, “did we just… forget about the money?”

“How’d you useless fuckers forget about the money?” Butcher demanded. “You never forget about the money!”

“Butcher, you forgot too!” Anchorage ‘turned’ to me. “Seriously though, kid, you gotta get the money.”

“The money’s part of it,” I said, picking up a pair of angled tweezers, “but did you see the papers? We had our names printed.”

“Yeah, am I gonna have to worry about that?” Spitfire asked. “Empire’s probably still looking for me.”

“Easy now,” Tock Tick cautioned. “We get this wrong, the whole thing locks up.”

“I know, Tock.” I rolled my eyes as I picked up the ratcheting system, a disc of nested gears the size of a penny, and began connecting it to the control cable, and from there to the bottom edge of the project.

“I don’t know if the Empire’s going to be looking for you specifically,” I admitted. “Now that your name’s out, they’ll probably ease off on you. Bad publicity to kill a hero the public knows about.”

Bearskin had been pretty forthcoming about some of the Empire’s operations. As he’d explained, the Empire’s upper management tried to frame the organisation as heroes of the white race, with the actual heroes being ‘misguided guardians of multiculturalism’, or whatever pretentious phrasing Kaiser would trot out. That meant they tried not to cause lethal damage to heroes, to keep their image relatively presentable.

Other villains, vigilantes who hadn’t made it to known status, and droves of minorities were fair game though. There was a reason why one of my practice targets had Kaiser’s face on it.

“On that note,” I said while I guided the connectors together and screwed them shut, “since we’re semi-famous now, we need to lean into that. Reputation defines you.”

“At least you can remember that,” Tactical grunted. “Being well-known makes you a bigger target. Maybe a few more fights will beat some sense into you.”

“We might want to think about upgrading our costumes again. I’ve already got some upgrades planned for my armour- functionally and aesthetically. I actually got an idea from Skidmark, if you can believe it.”

“WHAT?!!” Spitfire’s voice was so loud I had to take the phone away from my head for a second. “You’re taking cues from Skidmark?! Why?!”

“You could have phrased that better,” Needler said with a sort of prim amusement. The others were less restrained about laughing at me- Dirty Rotter would have been falling on the floor laughing if there was an actual floor in my mind.

“Not exactly,” I said defensively. “Just an idea I had from the chase.”

“Wait, is this like that thing you told me about where Tinkers can study powers for their tech?”

“Again, not exactly. I’ll show you when I see you- I want it to be a surprise.

“At any rate, I wanted to talk about what we’re doing going forward. We’ve got a narrow window of opportunity before the gangs shift gears. Even a couple of patrols could make a difference.”

“I guess,” Spitfire admitted, “but I don’t want to get caught up in anything big again. I just don’t know if I’m cut out for the hardcore stuff. It was bad enough seeing you all torn up…”

I frowned as she trailed off. “Hey, Spit, you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

That sounded about as sincere as my ‘I’m fine’ to Dad after a long day at Winslow, but I let it drop. If she was anything like me, pushing would only make her clam up.

“Okay. So I was thinking we’d just drive around a few times this week, look for some muggings to stop, stuff like that. Sound good?”

“Sure, I could go for that.”

“Excellent. If you can do a meet this week, I can pick up your power-frame for some quick maintenance, and then we can go cruising around. And split the money,” I added as an afterthought.

“Sure.”

“Alright. I can’t do Friday night, but I’m free basically the rest of the week. Or do you feel like doing something in the daytime?”

“Uh, weekend works. What are you doing Friday night anyway?”

“Personal stuff,” I replied. “I don’t really want to get into it. How does Saturday afternoon work for you?”

“Uh, fine, yeah. We could meet up, get lunch, then go around hero-ing?” There was a questioning, hopeful tone to her voice.

“Something like that. Anyway, I’ve got Tinkering to do, and you need to sleep. I’ll text tomorrow to sort out the details.” I hung up and put the phone down, leaning over the ratcheting system again.

“Do you think maybe you should have talked with her a little more?” Flinch suggested.

I shrugged. “It’s the middle of the night, she should be sleeping. Besides, I’ll talk with her plenty tomorrow.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he countered. “She’s your friend, she looks up to you, she wants to spend time with you. You don’t need to be all business with her.”

“I’m not all business with her,” I protested, even as I wracked my brain to remember what we’d done outside of caping. Nothing came to mind.

Before Flinch could reply, Tactical hastily cut in. “Please tell me you aren’t going to be stupid enough to unmask to her as well.”

I hesitated. It would be the expected thing to do if we were going to keep working together. I wouldn’t even have to tell her about the Butchers- we could just reveal names and faces to each other. We could hang out during the day, no costumes or disguises.

For a brief moment I wondered about possible excuses for introducing her to my Arcadia friends; asking her about her hobbies, going to movies together; maybe even slumber parties.

“I forget just what a softie you are sometimes,” Firecracker teased. “G’wan, you know you wanna.”

I slid a hand across the table, toward the phone. The waldos slowed their movements as I considered the possibilities.

Then I thought further ahead. When I was discovered, what would Spitfire think? Would she be scared? Angry? Disgusted at being watched through my eyes by unknown strangers? Would she have Panacea’s knee-jerk opposition to me, or would I have earned her trust by that point? Would any amount of trust make up for it?

Maybe it was better to keep her at arm’s length. Nothing good seemed to come out of different parts of my life mixing together- as Tactical had repeatedly pointed out.

“Christ, I’m starting to wonder if we even need to mess with you,” Quarrel marvelled. “You’re doing a pretty good job all by yourself.”

“You’ve fought together. That’s enough,” Nemean grunted. “Stop making things complicated.”

I chewed my lip for a second- a habit I’d picked up from Firecracker. Then I pushed the phone away with one finger, and finished connecting the control cable to the auger assembly. The waldos resumed their earlier pace, weaving threads over-under-over-under, then starting a new layer over that.

Maybe in time I could open up to Spitfire- when I was sure I could trust her. For now though, better to keep things professional.

Once the last screw was in position, I put my tweezers down and pushed my stool back to stand up, pushing my hands into the small of my back until the joints popped. Regeneration and pain immunity still didn’t keep me from tensing up when I was hunched over a bench for hours on end.

“Come onnn,” Stoneknapper wheedled. “You know you want to.”

I rolled my eyes hard, but couldn’t stop myself from glancing over at the far end of the warehouse. I’d pulled a lot of concrete out of the floor and moulded them into various figures from the Butcher’s memories.

“I wouldn’t normally agree with random smashing,” Tock Tick interjected dryly, “but I think some stress relief would be good for you.”

I chewed my lip again. “Yeah,” I said aloud, “I guess you’re right.”

“Talking to yourself?” Vladimir asked with mock shock. “Careful, that’s the first sign of madness.”

I huffed a laugh as I pulled the lens off my glasses and crossed to the pallet where I’d stacked ingots of steel, arranged by quality. I picked up some of the crappier stuff and exerted Stoneknapper’s fizzing power, forming the metal into a simple round-headed mace as I walked toward the statues.

The figures were decent replicas of their subjects- which meant they were each pretty terrifying. When the Slaughterhouse Nine had visited Brockton Bay in 1996, they’d only had a fraction of the reputation they held today, but even then they were the people that villains told scary stories about.

Needler had been Butcher then, with Firecracker as her truculent subordinate. Both of them had been among the few to meet Jack Slash’s eye when he’d walked into the meeting of all the villains at Somer’s Rock.

The various factions had cast their bids for the services of the Nine, and Needler had won, commanding the Nine to attack the newly installed Protectorate team in the city.

The Nine had done so- and when that was done, they’d turned on the Teeth and nearly wiped them out.

The statues were based on the memories- when several people saw the same event through the same eyes, it became very easy to remember clearly. Thus, Crimson’s bulging face and swollen musculature was accurate, Nice Guy’s nondescript face was as recognisable as the Stranger hadn’t been, and the pretentiously intricate beard on Jack Slash’s chin was millimetre-perfect.

I took a batter’s stance, sucked in a breath, made a slow test swing, then pulled the mace back and swung hard. Jack Slash’s smirking concrete head shattered under the blow with a thunderous crash, pieces rattling off the back wall.

My follow-up swing came down through the body as it toppled, and I kicked the one intact leg into the wall, where it snapped in two.

“That’s the stuff!” Bearskin roared. “Come on, more!”

I moved toward Crimson’s grotesque figure, shattering one arm at the elbow. I grabbed the severed limb as it fell, morphing it into an axe, and slammed that into his forehead. Muramasa’s sharpening let it sink into the concrete like soft wood; then I twisted the axe and snapped half of his head off.

The mace became a spear at my fizzing touch, rammed through his chest; then I dug my hands into the hole and ripped him apart at the sternum, knocking his upper half to the floor. His lower half was left standing, so I simply swung a high kick into his crotch, which both shattered it and sent the rest to crash against the wall.

Nice Guy’s head was twisted off, one-handed, and hurled into Muscular’s rippling chest hard enough to crack both. The lack of result frustrated me, so I picked up Nice Guy by the ankles and swung him into Muscular. Both shattered on impact, which was far more satisfying.

Kaiser, Allfather and Iron Rain stood side by side, all clad in armour bedecked with blades and spikes; Kaiser still had a knife I’d thrown earlier sticking out of his eye socket. I kicked the spear into my hand and rammed it into Allfather’s head, morphed the head into a barbed set of hooks, then planted one foot on his chest and yanked. Most of his head came off in pieces.

I broke the spear in two, moulded the halves into short swords, and slashed along Iron Rain’s front, leaving deep gouges in her body, then rammed them forward through her. She fell back, so I shaped the swords into hooks and dragged her upright to meet a high kick that obliterated her head. Then I let her body drop to the floor and break.

Lastly, Kaiser. For him I simply shaped the steel into a fist-shaped casing around my hand, added spikes to the knuckles, and swung a haymaker into his chest. The left side of his chest was obliterated, and the rest collapsed in on itself.

I came to a halt, taking deep breaths with my hands on my knees while the Butchers whooped with exhilaration.

“YEAAH!” Stoneknapper bellowed, “THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT! THAT’S MY GODDAMN POWER RIGHT THERE!”

“Oh my god, that’s so much fucking fun!” Firecracker gasped. “Taylor, you gotta do that more often, holy shit!”

I huffed a laugh, infected with their good moods even as I grabbed the broom from where it leant against the wall to start sweeping all the fragments into a pile. I’d reshape them all later when I needed more target practice, or just to blow off some steam like this.

“Ha! Now aren’t you glad you listened to me?” Stoneknapper asked, radiating smugness at me and the chunk of Allfather’s torso I kicked into the pile.

“Yeah, okay, Knapper, you were right. This is pretty fun.” I idly picked up a chunk and moulded it into a swan, then a thorny rose, then a polygonal doll, before crushing it between my palms.

“There you go. I’ll make an artist out of you yet,” Stoneknapper encouraged.

“I’m still not putting more ornamentation on my armour,” I warned him, chasing the last bits of dust. “It’ll just get crumpled up every time I’m in a fight.”

“Aw, come on! You could fit so much cool stuff on there! Some knotwork engravings at least.” He formed an image of my armour, the larger pieces traced with delicate overlapping patterns at the edges. A further thought filled them with gold, then with the sky blue I’d used for my arm streaks.

“Okay, that is pretty cool,” I admitted, putting the broom back, “but it doesn’t really fit the Greek theme. What about those square spiral things?”

“Oh my god, will you two stop?” Anchorage groaned. “It’s bad enough listening to Knapper prattle on about his ‘art’ without you listening to him!”

“Excuse me, whose power helped make that anchor you love so much?” Stoneknapper fired back.

“Okay, both of you knock it off,” I said aloud with a warning shove. “I’ve still got more Tinkering to do, so either say something helpful or shut up.”

“It is not a matter of Tinkering, but of strategy,” Muramasa intoned. “I know that Tactical would normally bring this up, but since he is sulking-”

“Eat shit.”

“-that duty falls to me,” Muramasa continued, not even acknowledging Tactical’s retort. “Now that the Merchants are defeated, where do you intend to strike next?”

I paused, turning toward the large map of the city I’d pinned to the wall. The ocean to the east, the mountains to the west. I’d put a thin pane of glass over the map and bought some markers so I could note the current state of the gang’s territories. Leaflets warning about the dangerous areas of town, printouts of villain’s wiki pages, and my own ideas for how to fight them were tacked up around the map.

Empire Eighty Eight controlled a large chunk of the west and north, including the northern end of Downtown. I had their territory marked out in yellow, with a couple of important points circled. Even with Stormtiger currently locked up, they had more capes than anyone else, several of whom would be trouble for me even if I used all my powers.

I could probably take out some of their legbreakers to soften them up, but E88 had connections to white supremacist organisations across the country, and Kaiser was known to recruit from across the whole state. If I couldn’t take out one of their big guns, or several weaker capes at once, they’d bounce back rapidly.

“Counterpoint, they’re fucking Nazis,” Quarrel said. “At least take down Alabaster.”

“I will- I just want to make sure I’m hurting them as much as possible,” I said diplomatically.

The Azn Bad Boys- “That is still the most ridiculous name for a gang I have ever heard,” Muramasa sneered- mostly held the east, including a big chunk of the Docks, though they’d been creeping south toward Downtown ever since the Teeth had first arrived. They were outlined in red where I was certain of their presence, and some shading where I’d heard of sightings. Only two capes, but both were trouble for me. Oni Lee had incredible manoeuvrability with his teleporting, and that had always been a good counter to the Butchers.

Lung, on the other hand, was an entirely different weight class. He was almost an urban legend to villains, but everyone agreed that he grew larger and stronger with time, changing into a fiery dragon the longer he fought. Whether he’d actually gone solo against Leviathan was a matter of hot debate.

“Aw, you can take him,” Butcher snickered cruelly. “Just walk right up to him and tell him off for being mean, see where that gets you!”

I shoved Butcher down into the dark with a grimace. If there was one person in the Bay the Butchers hoped to have inherit, it was Lung. For that reason, I was determined to keep my distance.

Finally, in black was a poorly defined blob that squatted in Downtown and a little to the South. Supposedly that was where Coil’s organisation operated from, but they were the only gang in the city that I hadn’t yet interacted with. They intrigued me- well-equipped mercenaries led by a man who never took the field himself sounded like something out of James Bond, not a typical street gang.

There were a few other marks on the map- blue circles around police stations, a double circle around the PRT building, stars over the junkyards that I knew I could scrounge materials from, the kanji for home over where the lair was, in a sort of ‘you are here’ way.

I chewed my lip as I stared at the map. Strength in numbers, strength in individual power, and the unknown threat.

“I’m open to suggestions,” I admitted. “Rotter, don’t be disgusting.”

“Aw.”

“The Empire will always deserve a beating,” Needler voted. “And you did say you could get some interesting results from studying Cricket’s power.”

“Yeah, but the ABB grabs girls off the street,” Nemean countered. “We find a couple of their places, get the girls out, and torch the place.”

“Spitfire needs a say in this.” Flinch’s voice was as firm as stone. “She’s a part of this too; and I am not going to let you all drag a vulnerable teenager into a fight against monsters like Hookwolf.”

There was a moment of collective surprise at Flinch’s steely will.

“Alright,” I said before anybody else could start arguing, “all good points, but Flinch is correct. Spitfire’s still green, and she really doesn’t have the experience for the deep end. I’ll do some scouting this week and let her choose what we do.”

“Okay, but scout what?” Firecracker said. “You might have noticed it’s a whole goddamn city. Lot of ground to cover.”

“Coil,” Tactical said immediately. “It’s always the punch you don’t see coming that knocks you down.”

There was some arguing, some bickering and persuasion, before the Butchers reluctantly agreed to start with the unknown quantity.

“Okay.” I placed a small x in the middle of Coil’s territory. “Let’s see what makes Coil so special.”

Chapter Text

Wednesday 9^th February, Arcadia

On the whole, I enjoyed World Issues at Arcadia far more than I ever had at Winslow. Mr Gladly, or ‘Mr G’ as he’d insisted on being called, had been sociable and friendly; setting group work to let kids talk with their friends; setting up pop quizzes, occasionally buying snacks from the vending machine for prizes.

If I’d had the mental energy to spare, I would have despised him.

Because he wanted to be the fun teacher, he never stepped in when I was being picked on. He didn’t raise his voice or hand out punishments, so the other girls did what they liked without fear of repercussions.

“About as useful as a chocolate kettle,” Dirty Rotter had called him.

Arcadia’s World Issues class was taught by Mr Callahan, and he was so much the opposite of Mr Gladly that I was fairly certain if the two men ever touched each other there would be some sort of explosion. Tall where Gladly was short, dark-haired and stern, always dressed in a three-piece suit; he gave me a sort of deja-vu in how he reminded me of Accord’s sharply dressed Ambassadors in Boston.

Nobody could get away with dumb pranks in Mr Callahan’s class. Nobody dared to even chew gum or pass notes. If we were allowed to discuss topics, it was done quietly, and you stayed on topic, or he would suddenly be looming over you with a face of steely disapproval.

There were only three problems I had. First, Panacea was in the same class, and while she hadn’t shown a single reaction to my name being called in attendance, her presence left me feeling a little on edge.

Second, Madison was now in this class, which had my nerves firing in a way that was disturbingly similar to my danger sense. Luckily, she was on the other side of the classroom from me, but I kept having to disperse the clusters of spiders I kept automatically gathering in the ceiling tiles over her chair. I’d already resolved to talk to Mr Callahan about her at the end of class, in case she started trying her old tricks.

Third, and most disturbing, was that Mr Callahan resembled one of Anchorage’s professors at her community college that she’d had a crush on. The first few classes I’d had with him, I’d had to keep Anchorage as far down in the dark as possible to avoid feeling second-hand attraction for him. She was better about it now, but I would have to see how things stood when he showed up.

“Hey Taylor,” T said, flopping into the seat next to me. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair wasn’t as styled as usual- although his eyeliner was still so sharp that he could have shaved with it.

“Hey T. Rough night?”

“Too many video games,” Stoneknapper bet confidently. “Actually, why don’t we get some? You could set a console up in the lair, get some good shoot-em-ups; be a great way to pass the time.”

“Ooh! We could get Doom!” Firecracker said excitedly. “Been too long since we splattered some demons!”

“So you guys want to watch through a first-person perspective as I fight my way through hordes of ugly, murderous monsters using all kinds of oversized weapons?” I fought to keep a smile off my face. “I could just go out on patrol if that’s what you want.”

“Yeah, but you don’t get to chainsaw people’s heads open,” Bearskin pointed out. “I miss the ultraviolence.”

T shrugged expansively. “Woke up too early, wound up wasting time watching reaction videos of Uber and Leet’s stuff.”

“So, reaction videos of capes who imitate video games in real life. Very meta.”

“Someone’s being extra sarcastic today,” Vladimir snickered.

T just shrugged. “How about you? Anything to complain about?”

I hesitated, eyes darting toward Madison. T followed my gaze, and his eyes widened a fraction. “Is that the girl from Winslow? With the barrettes?”

“Yup.”

“Offer still stands.”

Mr Callahan walked into class just as I was about to reply, and the noise dropped immediately. “Good morning. Following on from our last lesson, today we will be discussing the rise of parahumans and the effect it has had on affairs within the United States. I trust everyone has completed the homework.”

A couple of people looked uneasy at that, but I’d spent an hour putting together a brief timeline of important events- Behemoth’s first attack in 1992, the founding of the Slaughterhouse Nine, the founding of the Protectorate and the PRT, the construction of the Birdcage, and the NEPEA-5 bill. It was child’s play for me to know what to look for- the Butchers had lived through all of it, from multiple perspectives.

“I remember when Behemoth first appeared,” Needler mused. “Less than two weeks to Christmas, and then we turned on the news, and it was like the devil had crawled out of hell halfway around the world. For years after that, people would ask ‘Where were you when you first heard?’”

It made me feel old, looking around the room, at these kids who’d grown up in a world with heroes and villains and monsters as a fact of life instead of comic book concepts.

“We will be discussing the most significant parahuman-related events that occurred within America. By the end of this lesson, I will expect each group to present a list of five events in descending order of importance. You may work in groups, but please keep conversation quiet and on topic. Feel free to ask me questions.”

“Ooh, you jinxed it,” Rotter snickered as people started shifting their tables around, moving seats to be closer to their friends. Amy moved with a boy I vaguely recognised to a table by ours, and sat down, just as Madison slid into one of the other chairs with her back to me.

“Crap,” Anchorage exclaimed. “Double bitch jeopardy.”

I felt something inside my chest twist itself into a knot at the sight of Madison introducing herself to Amy, who seemed nonplussed at the sudden attention from a smallish girl, neat as a pin and cute as a button.

I felt my knuckles itch as I heard Madison’s voice cheerily introduce herself, utterly ignoring me, like she hadn’t spent day after day clawing away at me, dripping poison in my ear-

“So what’ve you got in your homework?” T asked, already delving into his bag, bringing out two sheets stapled together. “I had stuff like the Protectorate ‘s founding, the Elite, stuff like that.”

“Oh. I had pretty much the same stuff,” I replied, bringing out my own homework, sneaking another glance across the aisle. Madison glanced over her shoulder at me, and gave a little wave. I clenched my knuckles so hard they cracked.

“One slap wouldn’t be so bad,” Quarrel suggested.

“Hey, can I sit with you guys?” An Asian boy gestured to one of the other chairs. Turning my head back felt like I was dragging it through mud, but I managed to turn back to our table. T was spreading our sheets out side by side and copying notes onto a fresh piece of paper.

“Yeah, sure,” T said distractedly, waving him over with a quick glance. “Oh, Taylor, this is Koichi. Koichi, Taylor.”

“S’up?” The other boy said neutrally. I gave him a nod as he sat down, vaguely eyeing his flat-top hairdo.

I heard something creak to my left, and then brown, glossy hair swooped into my vision. “Hey, sorry, can I borrow a pencil?” Madison asked chirpily, eyes sparkling with humour. “I ran out.” She was leaning back in her chair, dangling across the aisle with her head almost touching the surface of my desk.

“Oh my fucking god, white girl wants to die,” Anchorage exclaimed. I bit my tongue to stop myself from saying anything, and tasted warm copper as my teeth drew blood. My hands clenched on the table hard enough to make the wood creak.

“I’ve got a pencil,” Amy said quickly, reaching forward with a 2B in hand. “Here.”

Madison looked away from me. “Oh. Okay,” she said in a disappointed tone, swinging her chair back onto all four legs. “Thanks.”

“How come you didn’t ask us first?” I heard the boy at their table ask.

“Huh. That was convenient,” Tock said, surprised.

T waved his hand in front of my face. “Taylor? You alright?”

I swallowed the blood in my mouth and ran a tongue over my teeth before I opened my mouth. “Yeah. So what did you guys have?” I determinedly focused on them, not allowing my eyes to look even a little bit to the left.

Koichi and T shared a weird glance for a second before T shrugged and tapped the central sheet. “So we’ve got a lot of stuff that overlaps, really big things like the Protectorate, NEPEA-5, the Endbringer fights, all that stuff.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure about putting the Endbringers on mine,” Koichi admitted. “I mean, nobody knows if they’re connected to capes, or if they are capes, or if some crazy cape created them by accident.”

“Maybe they’re what happens when raw powers gain intelligence and assume physical form,” T suggested. “But tons of heroes go to Endbringer fights, so it has an effect on capes.”

“An effect on capes, yeah. But we’re supposed to be talking about the effect capes have on society.” Koichi leaned forward on his elbows, eyes brightening. “So should we count it?”

“Oh, this guy’s going to be fun,” Firecracker grumbled sarcastically. “Goddamn debate team material here.”

“However, he makes a good point,” Muramasa said thoughtfully. “The origins of the Endbringers are one of the great secrets of the world, almost certainly connected to parahuman powers in some way. What else could account for such terrible power?”

“I think we can include them,” I decided, swayed by Muramasa’s comment. “We could take it one degree of separation, talk about the effect of capes reacting to the Endbringers. Stuff like the Endbringer truce.”

“Works for me,” T said, scribbling it down. “What else have we got?”

“Professor Haywire?” Koichi asked. “I mean, the Aleph portal’s pretty frigging significant.”

I stared at him for a long moment- then turned my hand palm up on the table and swung it up into my forehead with a loud smack.

“How the hell did we forget Haywire?” Butcher bellowed at the rest. “The craziest Tinker of all time, and we forgot him!”

“To be fair, String Theory did threaten to blow up the moon,” Tactical pointed out.

“Knock it out of orbit,” Nemean corrected.

“Pardon?”

“She said she’d knock it out of orbit. Not blow it up.”

“Whatever;” Stoneknapper cut in, “point is, Butcher’s right-”

“Rare sentence,” Flinch sniped.

“-we should have remembered Haywire. All the Aleph films we’ve seen over the years…”

“I completely forgot Haywire,” I admitted, lowering my hand.

T snapped his fingers. “Shit, I did too.”

Koichi looked at us like we’d just said the Pope was Jewish. “Seriously? How do you forget the guy who punched a hole in the universe?”

Professor Haywire was one of the most famous Tinkers to have ever walked the earth, and an inspiration for villains everywhere. His mundane operations had consisted of himself and a gang of power-suited minions raiding targets for whatever high-end materials he needed for his next project, which admittedly wasn’t too different from a lot of villainous Tinkers.

What had made him special was his specialisation- that allowed him to create bullets that phased past any obstacle to hit their target, or temporarily shunt objects into a different dimension. There’d been a shock when he’d hit someone with one of the latter while in a skyscraper. The dimension the poor lab assistant had wound up in didn’t have a corresponding building, so he’d come back into Earth Bet fifty stories lower and spread across several square feet.

Haywire was the only known interdimensional Tinker, and it was because of him that we knew multiverse theory was entirely accurate. Radio signals originating from another version of Earth had rocked the world back in 1987, and made Haywire a household name. A lot of the good music and films came from Earth Aleph now, since their celebrity scene had never suffered from Endbringer casualties or super-powered stalkers.

“Okay, so we definitely need him,” T said, scribbling that down. “So, Protectorate founding, Haywire, NEPEA-5, I guess Behemoth attacking New York?”

A squeaky laugh from the next table over jarred me out of my thoughtful mood. My jaw clenched hard while I slowly breathed in through my nose and tried to regulate myself.

“You know she needs a beating,” Butcher said. “After all the shit she did, she’s got it coming-”

I shoved him down into the dark and gripped the edge of the table, focusing on the shape that Stoneknapper’s power sketched out in my mind. I could see that someone had scratched letters under the rim on the other side.

When I focused hard, I realised I could read the badly spelled profanity entirely through the power-sense. Whoever Jenny Hart was, she’d really got on someone’s bad side.

“Should we say something about the Tinker tech boom?” Koichi asked, pushing a printout across the table. I refocused on the conversation, feeling a bit more centred.

“I mean, that wasn’t really a single event,” I pointed out. “If there was one particular bit of tech we could pin down, yeah, but not all of them.”

“Sure was nice to get some better computers though,” Dirty Rotter pointed out. “Felt like we were living in the future for a bit.”

“I’m amazed you didn’t turn that into a joke about internet porn,” Needler said snippily.

Rotter chuckled; a gurgling, oily sound like a clogged sink.

“And Taylor’s got- the Slaughterhouse Nine?” T gave me a side-eyed look. “That’s dark.”

I shrugged awkwardly. “I know it’s morbid, but it’s significant. Horribly, horribly significant.” I let go of the table’s edge again and folded my hands together with a certain amount of awkwardness.

Koichi pulled a face. “Yeeeah, I guess that’s true. Lemme see.” T slid my sheets across for him, and he picked them up to glance at them over. “Wait, Jack Slash didn’t start the Nine?”

“He didn’t?” T looked up from writing.

“It’s still so strange to me that kids don’t know that,” Vladimir said. “You’d think they’d look this sort of thing up.”

“Not every kid’s a disturbed whackjob like us,” Quarrel replied. “You Google the Slaughterhouse Nine, your parents sit you down for a talk, or send you to a therapist.”

“No, it was a guy called King- then Jack killed him and took over.” I had to fight to keep the derisive tone out of my voice. Back in the day, the Butchers had tried to make a comment to Jack about how he was so unoriginal that he couldn’t even start his own gang. They hadn’t finished the sentence before he’d set Crimson on them.

“Yeah, Taylor’s right, that’s definitely a big event. We’ll put that in.”

The lesson continued like that for a while- Koichi turned out to actually be trying for the debate team next year, and he was happiest when he was arguing some minor detail with us. T put forward a bunch of suggestions to include, like parahumans in TV and films; unfortunately, while I agreed with him that Weld’s onscreen kiss was ground-breaking, I had to dispute its importance on a national scale.

Still, the guys were both easy to talk to, and we quickly hammered out a decent list of events, along with our justifications for choosing them. Even the Butchers were kind of interested in the project, since they’d collectively lived through all of it; they remembered the voices on the radio discussing it, the fluctuations in the stock market- even the stand-up comedians who’d worked it into their routines.

The one problem was that I could still hear Madison’s obnoxiously chirpy voice not three feet from me as she prattled on to Amy and whoever the boy at their table was. Even as I tried to focus on the other sounds around me, every swish of her hair sent a waft of her shampoo into my nose, and looking away from her just made me feel like she was doing something when I wasn’t looking.

I knew she had to be doing something- the way she’d acted on Monday was suspicious enough, but there had to be a reason why she’d chosen to sit right across from me. She kept tilting her chair back, stretching her arms above her head, sweeping her hair back over her shoulders, constantly edging into my personal space. Nothing that I could say was intentional, to anyone that didn’t know about her and me.

Mr Callahan had just given us a five-minute warning before we would have to start giving our presentations when Madison made her move. She put her hands above her head again, this time with an exaggerated sigh, straining backward until she was stretched across the aisle again. This time, the 2B pencil she held poked into my shoulder, eraser first. And then it poked me again, and again, and again, while I gritted my teeth and focused on the page in front of me.

“You can’t keep ignoring the problem,” Flinch told me. “If you let her get you seriously riled up, you could really lose control. It’d be better to nip this in the bud.”

“Mmm. I remember when I was in school, everybody told me to ignore the assholes ‘cuz they were just trying to get a reaction.” Anchorage snorted. “Fat fucking loada good that did.”

“Exactly,” Flinch agreed. “Now you can stop her before she builds up any momentum. The teachers here seem a lot m-more on the ball.”

Two sets of urges warred inside me. My old Winslow survival strategy would be to turtle up, curl in on myself and wait for them to get tired, then go home and write it in my journal. The Butcher’s instincts were to deal out either a blistering insult or offhand physical force. I had to push down a couple of the Butchers to lower my emotions a bit before I could unclench my jaw and turn my head toward Madison as her pencil poked me again.

“Stop. Doing. That.” I forced out. Past Madison I could see Amy watching us with a horrified expression, already halfway out of her seat. I took a deep breath and slowly nodded at her, hoping she got the message.

After a second, Amy sat back down, though still looking uneasy. I refocused on Madison, who was looking at me upside-down with a look of practiced innocence.

“Stop what?” she asked, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. “I’m just stretching my shoulders a little bit. They get so stiff in cold weather.” She stretched extravagantly again, prodding me with the eraser end again.

“Stop poking me, Madison.”

“Poking you? Am I doing that?”

Prod. Prod. Prod.

Prod.

I sucked in a sharp breath through my nose, then snatched the pencil out of her hands with my right. Before she could do anything in response other than a look of surprise, I shoved my left hand under the back of her chair and shoved upward.

Madison’s chair rocked back onto all four legs with a loud clatter. Madison herself was thrown forward, catching herself on the table edge with her hands. She quickly scraped the hair out of her eyes and stuck her hand up with a plaintive wail. “Mr Callahan!”

“Oh you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Firecracker groaned.

The man himself looked up from the corner and made a beeline for us with a clear frown. “Miss- Clements,” he said, glancing at all of us. “I heard a ruckus.”

“Could you describe the ruckus, sir?” Tock quoted in his best Breakfast Club impression.

“Well, see, a naked blonde walks into a bar-” Dirty Rotter began, before I pushed him down.

“Mr Callahan, Taylor tried to knock me out of my seat!” Madison whined.

I’d barely parted my lips to start arguing and insisting and struggling to make the teacher believe that I was the victim and that I needed help, when three overlapping voices all started talking at once.

“Sir, Madison was messing-”

“Taylor asked her-”

“That’s a load of-”

Mr Callahan chopped his hand through the air. “Quiet, please.”

Amy, T and Koichi all subsided; the boys glanced at each other with surprised looks, while Amy shot a worried glance at me. I managed a quick nod through the squirming feeling in my stomach.

“Miss Dallon, what did you see?” I didn’t miss how Madison suddenly stiffened in her chair upon hearing Amy’s surname.

“Ooh, being a brat in front of the popular girl. Bad move there,” Vladimir gloated.

“Madison was poking her with a pencil, and then she asked her to stop, and when Madison kept doing it, she took the pencil off her and pushed her chair back up,” Amy explained in one big nervous rush.

“Mr Callahan-” Madison began.

“Not yet, Miss Clements. Mr Hirose, can you confirm this?”

“Yessir,” Koichi nodded. “She,” he pointed at Madison, “spent the whole lesson leaning across and stretching out and stuff, and then she started jabbing Taylor with that pencil.”

“She could have hurt me!” Madison said. “What if I’d broken my neck when she pushed me?”

“I really doubt you could have broken your neck by falling out of your chair, Miss Clements.” Mr Callahan rubbed at his eyes for a second before dropping his hand. “In future, if one of your classmates tells you to stop doing something, be polite and listen to them.

“Miss Hebert,” he turned to me, “please let me know if someone is being aggravating to you before pushing them away. Understood?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes, Mr Callahan.”

“Kinda pathetic that this is more than the Winslow teachers did,” Stoneknapper drawled.

“Yep,” I said distantly, still feeling off-balance. This was what I’d wanted all through Winslow- for the teachers to check, for people to speak up for me- but it felt… disorientating.

“Can I get my pencil back?” Madison asked, making grabby hands toward me. I glared at her for a moment, then past her to Amy.

“Catch.”

Amy fumbled the pencil in both hands as it arced over Madison and down to her. Mr Callahan turned toward me with a frown, but I was already speaking.

“It’s Amy’s pencil, Madison was just borrowing it.”

Mr Callahan’s expression cleared. “Ah. Very well.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked back to the front.

Madison huffed and turned away from me, and I turned back to the guys. “Thanks,” I muttered quietly.

“No problem,” T said, holding his fist out. I bumped mine against it with a sudden rush of gratitude.

“So what’s the deal with pint-size?” Koichi asked. “You got history or something?”

“All the way back to the Dark Ages,” I grumbled. “I don’t wanna talk about it. Who’s doing the presentation?”

Koichi read out our conclusion with a clear, even voice that got a couple of claps from Mr Callahan once he’d finished. There had been a few cringes when he got to the Nine, but our list was pretty well received.

Not that it mattered much- there was no cheap snack prize for the best project like there would have been at Winslow. It actually took a lot of pressure off, even though I’d never once cared about winning a candy bar for putting together a better argument on political repercussions overseas.

“I’m proud of you, Taylor,” Flinch said sincerely. “You kept your co- cool throughout and didn’t lose control. I know it wasn’t easy.”

“Thanks Flinch,” I said as the last group sent their guy up to read their list.

Once everyone was done, Mr Callahan assigned us homework- to write one page on a societal improvement as a direct result of capes. He’d specifically ruled out any villain arrests, which removed most of the Butcher’s suggestions in one fell swoop.

“Interesting question,” Tactical admitted. “How do powers make the world better besides beating each other up?”

“Ah, quit getting all philosophical,” Bearskin grunted. “Since when do any of us care about making the world a better place?”

The argument struck a chord with me. Almost everything capes did involved fighting each other, heroes against villains and villains against everyone. To be fair, ever since Sphere had lost his mind to the Simurgh, massive world-saving projects were a lot less commonplace, but it was still something to think about.

True, the gangs in Brockton Bay were a serious enough problem for me to devote most of my time to, but if I wanted to use my powers for good in a way that didn’t give the Butchers room to influence me, finding something non-violent to do might not be such a bad idea.

“Oh jeez, I’m such a dummy.” Madison’s voice intruded on my thoughts again like a hacksaw against a violin. “I had a pencil the whole time. Dumb thing got stuck in my bag.”

“Knock it off, Madison,” Amy said tiredly, catching my gaze and rolling her eyes theatrically. I rolled mine right back.

“What, it’s cute. See, it’s got a little topper on it.” Madison waved the star-ended pencil back and forth.

“How old is she again?” Nemean asked as I put the last of my stuff in my bag and zipped it up. I started for the door, only for Madison to step into my path.

“Hey, Taylor, I’m really sorry for being annoying earlier,” Madison said sweetly, waving the pencil back and forth in front of my face. “You can have this pencil if you want, like an apology.”

I made to step around her, but she moved in front of me again. “Let me go, Madison,” I managed, shoving my hands into my pockets so nobody would see them curling into fists.

“Gee, Taylor, just say if you want the pencil or not. Just a simple yes or no. Yes or no. Yes or no. Yes or no,” Madison repeated, waving the pencil pack and forth, pink star topper bobbing like a metronome.

“Holy crap, this is a master class on being a little bitch,” Quarrel marvelled.

“Madison,” I growled, my top lip curling back to show my teeth, “I’ll go through you if you don’t move.” Bloodsight flickered in my eyes for a second, showing her as a human-shaped bag of rich red blood, heart and brain and lungs all outlined by thousands of tiny little lines. I could have just reached in and pulled something out.

“Awwwwww,” Madison pouted, “that’s not very-”

My hand lashed out, grabbing the stupid pencil out of her hands with crushing force and bringing it to my mouth. The silly little pink star went past my teeth, and then I clamped down and yanked on the pencil with my hand. The end snapped off with a celery-stalk crack, and I spat the lump of plastic and wood out.

The star bounced off Madison’s little button nose and clattered to the floor, while I jammed the rest into my pocket. Madison blinked slowly, like her mind couldn’t process what had just happened.

I shouldered past her without another word, storming out into the hallway in a fuming temper.

Chapter Text

Early Thursday 10^th February, The Docks

Once I was several blocks away from the lair, I pulled my phone out of the Faraday cage compartment I’d hastily created, reinserted the battery, and turned it on again, slotting the SIM card in.

Six missed calls and a dozen texts, all from an unknown number. The same as when I’d checked it a few hours ago.

I quickly checked all around me; with bloodsight, with sweeps of insects, even the weird spatial awareness of Firecracker’s teleporting- like a stronger version of sensing someone standing right behind you. Once I was sure I was alone on the roof of the dilapidated apartment building, I hit call.

The call was picked up in a couple of seconds. “About time you answered.”

“Panacea?” I was so relieved my knees almost gave out. When I’d first checked my phone, I’d assumed the worst case scenario; I’d thought somebody had found me out, had been spying on me or hacked my phone.

“At least it’s just her,” Tactical agreed. “Someone with blackmail would have been a bitch to deal with.”

“How did you even get this number?” I managed, moving to the rim of the roof to sit down.

Panacea made a snorting sound. “I asked Vicky, said I wanted to check in on you after the weekend. Now, I need to talk to you about World Issues.”

“Pompous bitch,” Firecracker griped.

“You do mean the class, right? You didn’t just fill up my inbox to pick my brain on the European stock market?” Rotter snickered at my flippant remark. Truthfully, I was a little impressed with myself too.

“Don’t be cute. I want to know why you almost attacked that girl today.”

“I didn’t attack her,” I retorted. “I just… got angry.” After a moment I elaborated. “She transferred from Winslow too. We’ve got history.”

The phone was quiet for a long couple of moments. “When you say history,” Panacea asked slowly, “you mean she was… harassing you?”

I sighed. “Pretty much. Loads of petty shit, but it never stopped. And some bigger stuff mixed in. Seems like she’s trying to start it up again.”

I knew I could have explained it in more detail than that- could have listed off all the stuff spilled on me or dumped in my bag. All the homework stolen, all the books ruined. All the times that Madison and her friends cornered me and joked about how I was selling myself to drug dealers for crack.

There was a rustling from the phone, going back-and-forth, back-and-forth. “I think she’s rubbing her eyes or something,” Vladimir volunteered.

“Okay,” Panacea said at last. “Okay. You need to stay away from her. Forever.”

“Wow, gee, never would’ve thought of that,” Anchorage snarked.

“I’m trying to,” I said irritably. “I already transferred to a whole other school, what do you want from me?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” Panacea paused again. When I strained my ears I could make out noises in the background- other voices, too muffled to make out.

“Okay,” Panacea started, “have you told the teachers?”

“Not yet,” I admitted. “I was too pissed to stick around after class, and I went straight home after school.”

“Okay, talk to them, say whatever you have to. I don’t want you losing your temper anywhere where there’s loads of other kids around to get caught in the crossfire.”

“Do you seriously think I’d start randomly hurting people if I lost my temper?” I felt my temper start to rise yet again. “Thanks a fucking lot!”

“Except that’s not true, is it?” Butcher said silkily. I rammed him down with a snarl.

“Tell me you weren’t thinking of hitting her,” Panacea snapped. “Tell me you weren’t thinking of using your powers, or just a little too much strength for a skinny teenage to have-”

I pushed off the ledge so hard my feet left the ground, spinning around to swing my foot into the bricks with a shout. Fragments and dust flew from the edge with a thunderous shattering noise.

I forced myself not to clamp down on the phone, keeping my fingers locked into place so that I wouldn’t crush it so hard that plastic and circuitry would ooze through my fingers like dough. It was a problem most of the Butchers had experienced once or twice while they got used to all the extra strength, all the sudden anger and aggression. My breath hissed through my teeth; my jaw was clenched so hard I felt my teeth strain under the pressure.

“Taylor! Calm down!” Flinch tried to radiate soothing calm into the mindspace. “Take deep breaths, push a couple of us down if you have to.”

“Or you could just keep proving her right,” Tock Tick said. The sarcasm in his tone faltered halfway through, and I could feel the real concern in there.

I shoved down the worst offenders while I stumbled over to the ledge again, laying my free hand on the broken surface to let Stoneknapper’s fizzing power out, scooping up handfuls of chips and shards to pack them onto the hole like wet clay. Brick and cement swirled together in a nonsensical pattern, nothing like the grid of reddish oblongs in the rest of the wall, but I didn’t have it in me to try and slowly strain out the different materials just then.

Panacea’s voice was coming from the phone. It took a moment for the words to register.

“Elpis, what the hell was that noise just now?” She said it cautiously, not afraid, but like she was sure she was going to hear something unpleasant.

“I-” I cleared my throat, “I kicked a wall. It’s fixed now, nobody saw.”

Nemean made a concerned croon, laced with pity. “Taylor…”

There was a rustling noise from the phone. “Elpis. I don’t- I don’t have any idea what to do here. I can’t just leave you walking around like a bomb with a hair trigger. You’re one bad moment away from ripping someone’s head off.”

I swallowed thickly. “I know. I hate it.” The words hurt to say, like they were fishhooks being dragged out of my throat, biting deeper into me as I pulled at them. “They turned me into this and- and I can’t do anything.”

Nobody said anything for a while. I heard sirens off in the distance, and a stray cat skulking around in the alleyway below, but nothing else. I at least made the cat’s fleas jump off and file into a puddle as it left my range.

Panacea eventually sighed. “Look, just… talk to the teachers. Tell them what she did. Stay away from her; hell, come to me if you feel like you’re going to lose it.”

I let the fizz out into a brick, moulded a rose into the surface, wiped it clean, made an elephant, wiped it clean again. “I can do most of that. I can tell them a lot of what she did.” I slumped over, resting my elbows on the ledge. “I can’t tell them the worst though. Anybody who knows about Trigger events could put it together and figure me out.”

“Tell them the rest then. Get them to keep you away from her. “

I moulded some kanji into the brick. Angry, powerless, revenge. Smoothed it out again- too smooth. I added some pits and pockmarks to the surface.

“Okay.” I pushed myself up, straightened my spine. “I’ll do that.”

“Good.”

“You’re doing good, kid,” Stoneknapper said. It wasn’t surprising that he was understanding of the frustration- wanting to lash out even though it would just make things worse. Morning Glory had heaped plenty of abuse on him before he’d finally triggered and started pushing back.

“Can we talk about something else?” I asked, seeking a distraction. “What are you up to right now?”

Panacea clucked her tongue. “Healing. There’s always something.” She sounded subdued. “Just reconnected someone’s spine, revived her legs. She’ll be out of the wheelchair inside of a week after some physical therapy.”

I checked the helmet clock. 2:13am. I wondered if I should bring that up.

“That’s beautiful,” I said instead, and I actually meant it. “I wish I could do stuff like that.”

“Someone with a power like that would never have ended up with us,” Muramasa pointed out.

Firecracker blew a raspberry at him. “Buzzkill.”

Panacea grunted. “If you’re feeling better, I’ve still got patients to see.”

“Right. Good night then.”

The call dropped without another word. I tucked the phone back into my belt and headed across to the street where I’d parked my bike, jerking my chin to bring my jawguard back up.. It only took a second to rappel down the side of the building, right into the seat, and drive off at a slow pace.

The whole point of me going out tonight had been to find something or someone to take my frustration out on, even just a couple more statues. The panic of the phone and the subsequent conversation had taken away my frustration, but it had also dredged up a melancholy feeling,  

The old problem with parahumans was the irony of powers. Like a monkey’s paw, you got what you wanted or needed, but in the most unhelpful way possible.

The Butcher’s research hadn’t covered Master Triggers much, but the current theory was something to do with emotional isolation or feeling a lack of control in everyday life. I’d been alone, beset by hundreds of small abuses. Now I was never alone, commanding millions of little bugs.

Plus fourteen seasoned capes in my head.

A new school, some friends, the beginnings of a successful hero career- and yet I couldn’t stand up to one girl, couldn’t let anyone know about the worst she’d done to me. Not without giving myself more problems.

I drove along the streets, seeing very few signs of life. A couple of tired-looking women walking together down the sidewalk, a man huddled in a doorway. I was going at just the right speed that I could process the new bugs that came into my range and move them around a little to confirm the impressions I got before they were left behind.

I picked up on something massive moving around just as the bike passed the turning.

“Shit, finally some action!” Bearskin crowed. I threw the bike into a U-turn, twisting the chassis so the wheels were angled separately. It left a streak of rubber on the road, but I was pointed back in the right direction in about a second.

I gunned the engine, twisted the bike around in another sharp turn and threaded it between two buildings, barely avoiding a pile of trash bags.

A big humanoid was tromping about the empty loading dock, a man under each arm. Pale moonlight and sodium-yellow streetlight gleamed off crumpled metal in the shape of a giant. The top of it turned to face me with a ‘face’ like a car accident.

“That better not be Mush again,” Nemean growled as I slammed on the brakes. The sudden stop jolted me forward, and I followed through with the motion, vaulting over the handlebars in a front flip to land, drawing my one sword with a flourish. There was a slight whirring sound behind me as the bike automatically deployed its stand from the underside.

“Identify yourself,” I called, settling into a stance. I let bloodvision seep in, highlighting the bodies in red- the two bruised men, a third slumped against a wall, and a surprisingly small figure inside the metal. Male, short, possibly young.

Definitely not Mush. Someone new then.

Metal creaked and groaned as the giant slowly lowered the men to the ground. Both of them were Asian, with green bandannas. The one on my left had it around his bicep- the right had it around his forehead.

“Don’t be stupid,” the metal said. The voice was distorted by echoes, deepened and flattened. If I couldn’t see the child’s frame inside, I could have thought this was a man.

“A child wrapped in metal, pretending to be bigger,” Needler mused.

“You could just insult me to my face,” I snarked.

Needler paused. “That wasn’t meant as a shot at you,” she said eventually.

I lowered the sword a bit. “Okay. Hero or villain?”

The giant raised its hands and balled them up, with dull creaks as the metal was twisted further. “Hero. You?”

I flipped the sword around and sheathed it again. “Hero. I’m Elpis.”

The giant’s hands suddenly unclenched, with another set of creaks. “Oh. Oh holy shit, this is-” he lifted one hand to his head with a dull clank- inside the shell I saw his actual body do the same, rubbing the back of his head. “This is so nuts, I’ve been hearing about you on the news for ages, and now you’re here-”

He took a step toward me, and narrowly missed Forehead Bandanna. The guy started swearing at him in what I thought might be Mandarin.

“Shit, sorry,” the giant backed up, letting his hands flop down by his sides.

“You’ve heard of me?” I asked, dumbfounded. The head nodded.

“Yeah, totally. I mean, you never hear about solo heroes managing major arrests or anything, and you basically helped get rid of two gangs in one night!”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, he’s like a bloody puppy,” Rotter said. “Better start talking before he wets himself.”

“Honestly, I spent weeks wearing the Merchants down. Plus I had Spitfire backing me up, and the Protectorate did a lot of the work with the Teeth.”

“Yeah, but still! I’ve been doing this for months and I haven’t even met any other capes yet! I’ve only found guys like this.” He pointed down at the two ABB guys with clumpy fingers made of crushed drink cans.

“Hang on,” I said, realising something, “you still haven’t told me your name.”

The giant came to a halt, then slowly slumped down a bit, shoulders hunching in. “Right. Sorry. Got carried away. My name’s Konnigit.”

“Why does that sound familiar?” Bearskin wondered.

“Oh shit, I remember,” Quarrel said, “it’s because his name came up, and somebody said it sounded like the N-word, and you were glad somebody else said it.”

“Konnigit. Konnnnnnnigit. Kerniggit.” Rotter rolled the name around in his mouth like a hard candy. “Something something stupid kerniggit-ss- Fuck, I got it, it’s bloody Monty Python.”

I blinked. “Like ‘your mother was a hamster’? Weird choice for a name.”

 “Hey, you got the reference,” he pointed out.

“Does anyone else?”

Konnigit shrugged. “Like I said, I haven’t met other capes before. And I don’t usually make small talk with the guys I catch moving drugs.” He jabbed a finger down at Bicep Bandanna to illustrate his point. I noticed that there was a pile of plastic baggies off to the side filled with various powders. I could make out marijuana, cocaine, and even what looked like heroin.

“Well, I guess it’s your choice.” I gestured to the gangsters. “Want any help with these guys?”

“Ooh!” Firecracker said suddenly, “New minion! Taylor, you gotta recruit this guy!”

“You want to recruit a guy who named himself after a Monty Python reference?” Tock Tick asked.

“And not even a good one,” Rotter complained. “Why not call yourself the Black Knight or something?”

I stepped forward to lift Bicep Bandanna off the ground, ignoring the Butchers as they dissolved into cries of “Tis but a scratch!” or “Ni!”. Bicep grumbled and slouched, but he didn’t put up any resistance as I zip-tied his wrists behind his back.

Konnigit turned and tromped over to the third man, while I secured Forehead Bandanna. With his back exposed, I could see his armour had flattened oil barrels, an old bed frame, and at least half of a car chassis.  I meant to ask him how something about how he’d assembled it, maybe lead into asking how his power worked, but that slipped my mind when I saw the state the third man was in.

“Jesus H. Tap-dancing Christ,” I exclaimed, “What the hell did you do to him?” Just a cursory glance showed bruises all over and bloodsight let me see that they trailed across his entire body, the skin broken in a few places; plus a hairline crack in one rib, and more blood pooling in his kidneys.

“Oof,” Vladimir winced, “Somebody’s gonna be pissing blood tonight.”

“He had a gun,” Konnigit protested. “I hit him, he went down, that was it.”

“Hit him with what? A truck?” I ran my fingertips over the man, feather-light, searching for any more fractures or serious injuries. Needler’s Thinker power was buzzing madly, pointing out every existing injury as a weak point- luckily, I could tell from the pitch of the buzzing that there was nothing that wouldn’t heal.

“Okay, lay him down,” I instructed. “Carefully.” He followed my directions with only a little grumbling.

When I’d finished calling the police to pick the guys up, Konnigit shifted his weight restlessly. “So, uh,” he asked, “Any chance we could team up?”

“Yes! We need a big smashy guy!” Firecracker whooped.

Stoneknapper pulled a face. “Only if we can do something about his costume. Let’s not be associated with a walking scrapheap.”

Muramasa nodded. “He would need a weapon as well. A sword may not suit him, but perhaps a hammer, or an axe. Something with heft.”

“You don’t want to give someone a sword? Who are you and what’ve you done with ‘masa?” Anchorage cackled at her own joke.

I cut through Muramasa’s extended retort with an exasperated pulse. “I’m not recruiting the guy until I’m sure he won’t kill someone by accident, let alone give him a weapon.”

I pointed a finger to the other side of the square. “Let’s not talk shop in front of them. And don’t think I won’t catch you if you try to run,” I added to the ABB guys.

Bicep grumbled something I didn’t understand, but they made no other moves otherwise. With one more glance, I led Konnigit over to the opposite side, leaning one shoulder against the wall.

“What exactly do you want to get out of us working together?”

Konnigit shrugged- something in his shoulder caught on another piece and made a loud scraping noise. “I think I’m ready to move up to the big leagues,” he said. “I’ve been going after street level guys for ages, and it’s not really changing anything.”

I chewed my lip for a moment. “I get that. Just understand one thing- if you get the attention of the heavy hitters, they’re going to remember you. It’ll be hard to back off from this once you’re in.”

“Thanks for the warning, but I want this.”

“Flinch? Thoughts?”

Flinch hummed. “I think you should ta-ta- damnit- TAKE him on. If you’re worried about him going too far, setting him straight now would be better than just leaving him to make a mistake.”

“And a walking tank would be useful as well,” Tactical added, ever the pragmatist.

“Okay,” I said aloud, “I can bring you along on a few missions if you want. But,” I added as he shifted, “There’s going to be a couple of rules. First, we’re going to get you some training, make sure you can handle yourself against other capes.

“Second, we’re going to work on how you fight normals.” I pointed back to the ABB members and lowered my voice. “You’re a big guy. If you go too far, you could do a lot worse than bruises. That guy’s probably going to be passing blood as it is.”

Even before Quarrel shouted “HYPOCRITE,” at the top of her mental lungs, I felt like a liar. I had far more experience than Konnigit, but the anger I’d felt toward Madison in class still lay on my mind like a hot brick. That wasn’t even touching on the gang members I’d used force on, that one guy I’d bounced of the floor on my first night.

I wanted to tell myself that I had reasons for acting like that, feeling like that, but the Butchers were eager to call bullshit on any self-delusions I tried to bring up. I just had to admit that I wasn’t entirely practicing what I was preaching.

“Come on,” Konnigit protested, “They’re the bad guys-”

“Yes,” I cut him off as the thought formed, “And we’re the good guys. But good is a thing you do, not just a thing you are. We have to be better than them.”

“Which is why we kept winning, baby! Being an arsehole works!” Rotter’s cackle dopplered away as I pushed him down.

I wasn’t sure where I’d heard ‘Good is a thing you do’ from; maybe Mom, or from a book; maybe I was misremembering some Butcher memories. Whatever the case, it seemed pretty relevant right now.

“I know what I’m doing,” Konnigit grumbled, folding his arms.

“Okay. I won’t nag. Still, some group training would be good for you, before you really hit the streets.”

“Alright.”

“I can give you my number,” I said, pulling it out for the second time tonight, “I’m up most nights, so just call me whenever.”

“Can you write it down?” Konnigit asked. “I can’t really carry my phone inside this. I tried with a spare and it just fried it.”

I gave him a look from head to toe, then again with bloodsight, and something about the difference between his body and his armour, the hollow sound of his footsteps and the echo around his voice, clued me in.

“Magnetism?” I asked, turning it over in my mind. Stoneknapper perked up and started theorising away.

“Sort of a Brute/Changer, but it’s not his body that’s changing, he’s forming a shell around himself. Maybe Striker? And does it strengthen the armour when he applies it?”

“Yeah. Or something like it anyway. It works on metals that aren’t magnetic though. I’ve got loads of copper wire in the hands.” He held one up and waggled the fingers for emphasis.

“Interesting. Would you be interested in doing some experiments with me? Might be good for figuring out some tricks with your power.”

The pause in the conversation made me feel like Konnigit had just blinked. “Uh, no, yeah, that sounds great. I’d love that.”

“Cool.” I switched the phone for a notepad and scratched the number out, just as the perimeter of insects was disrupted. I landed a couple of midges on the bodywork of the car as it slowed to a halt near the mouth of the alley I’d come through.

“Right, let’s go get these guys.” I handed Konnigit the note and crossed to the captives. Bicep was rocking from side to side, apparently trying to get some feeling back in his legs.

“I remember that when I was a kid,” Needler mentioned. “My parents would have me sit down for prayers, and I’d always squirm because my legs started falling asleep.”

“I remember feeling my ass go numb during Christmas service,” Tactical said. “Every year, I’d try to find some kind of clothes that’d help, and nothing ever did.”

Konnigit took the unconscious man, who stirred a bit as he was picked up, to my relief. I simply hauled Bicep and Bandanna to their feet and marched them along, past the bike and down the alleyway.

The two cops waiting next to the cruiser perked up at the sight. “God, I love picking up hero arrests,” the taller one drawled, reaching for Bicep.

“Hey, little help?” Konnigit called from the other end. “Your bike’s in the way.”

“This could be a problem with recruiting him,” Nemean admitted as I wheeled the bike out backwards. Konnigit was still big enough that he was forced to shuffle sideways, cradling the last man.

The cops’ jaws dropped as more and more of Konnigit followed me out, like some sort of party trick. When he was fully clear, taking up more than the sidewalk, one of them found his voice. “Who the hell’re you?”

There was a creak of metal as Konnigit straightened up to his full nine feet of height. “I,” he boomed, “am Konnigit.”

“So what th’ hell does that mean?” The other cop eventually asked.

“He’s your problem now,” Firecracker giggled as Konnigit slumped over again.

Chapter Text

Friday 11th February, Arcadia High School

“Ferrous,” Tactical suggested.

“Ironmonger,” Stoneknapper said.

“How about Scrapheap?” Dirty Rotter offered.

“Salvage, Salvager, Junkyard, Junker, Wreckage,” Anchorage rattled her ideas off in one long stream of critique. I added them to the list I was making on a sheet of scrap paper while Mrs Williams wittered on about the symbolism in Of Mice And Men.

After the long and pained explanation of Konnigit’s name to the cops on Wednesday/Thursday night, he’d admitted that a greater career might need a name that was easier to grasp. Still, considering he’d thought of the first name by himself, I’d privately decided to come up with some suggestions.

“Arguably the most important theme in the book is one of loneliness and isolation. Can anyone give me an example of how this is shown in the text- Taylor?”

Firecracker swore vigorously inside my head at that. Mrs Williams was a decent teacher, but her habit of calling on people whether or not they had their hand up did not endear her to me. Logically I knew I was more sensitive to it after the useless staff of Winslow, but it made my teeth grind nonetheless.

“The name of the nearby town, Soledad. It means ‘solitude’ in Spanish.”

“This feels like picking on the introverts if you ask me,” Flinch griped in disgruntled Spanish.

“Very good,” Mrs Williams said, thankfully turning away from me. “Anyone else?”

“Oh, now she asks people,” Firecracker growled. “Dried-up raisin-faced dust-for-blood rotten-boned mummified bitch!”

Muramasa cocked an eyebrow. “Since when did you hold back on profanity?”

Firecracker shrugged. “I kinda wanted to see how rude I could get without it. Like training with weights on, y’know? Then you take ‘em off and BOOM!”

I hid a smile at the image they conjured together of Firecracker doing a martial arts routine with swears mixed into every move, glancing at the clock. Only a few minutes to lunch.

“Now, since it’s almost the end,” Mrs Williams said, “Homework. I want- yes, I know, it’s a Friday,” she said over a couple of groans, “I want a page from each of you on moments in Of Mice And Men where the theme of loneliness is felt most strongly. I’ll collect them on Tuesday- ten-point font if typed, no double spacing.”

“Doesn’t sound too hard,” Needler shrugged. “We can probably do that in a couple hours. I think I did something like that when I was in high school.”

“One of the benefits of analysing the classics is that everybody else has already done it,” I agreed while I wrote it into my homework diary and slipped the list into my pocket. The bell rang a second later, prompting a storm of scraping chairs and clattering tables as everyone bolted for the cafeteria.

I took my time, feeling a lightness in my step as I went.

The weekend was almost here, and it had more appeal to me than just escaping school. The sleepover at Stacey’s house was tonight, and then on Sunday I’d be meeting with Spitfire and Konnigit for some talk and training.

Spitfire hadn’t seemed too happy over the phone that I was bringing in someone new, but I’d assured her that he wouldn’t be joining us if she wasn’t okay with it. She’d at least agreed to reserve judgement until then.

TGIF was the mood in the room as I joined the lunch queue. I could see people a little more closely grouped than usual, probably making plans for the weekend. A glance over at the popular kid’s table showed Glory Girl slipping into a seat next to her boyfriend, playfully kissing his cheek. Panacea sat next to her a second later, digging into her food without looking up.

The Butchers had the usual argument for food out of the way by the time I reached the serving trays- Spaghetti Bolognese with garlic bread and a slightly wilted salad, plus a serving of strawberry jello. Then I just had to weave my way through the crowds to the usual table.

“Hey Taylor,” T said as I sat down. “Anything funny happen?”

“Not especially. I’m just waiting on the weekend.”

“Uurgh, small talk,” Nemean groaned.

“I get that,” T said, taking a bite of mashed potatoes. “I’ve actually got some fun stuff planned for once, just as soon as I pretend to pay attention for one more hour.”

“Yeah? What kind of stuff?”

“Video games mostly. I’m close to levelling up, just as soon as I get through a couple of tutorials.”

“Neat. I’m mostly just going to hang out at home on the weekend. Maybe get through some books.”

“Ooh, let me know if there’s anything good,” Frankie exclaimed, setting down next to me. “I keep meaning to get some reading done, but I can’t find anything that looks good.”

“No problem. So what’s the plan for tonight, anyway? Snacks, movies, games?”

“Painting yer nails and talking about boys?” Rotter leered. I gave him a warning shove.

“Movies and junk food for sure,” Frankie said, tearing into some garlic bread. “I brought some DVDs from home to pick from. Plus some makeup and stuff we can share out. Actually,” she pointed across the table, “It’s a shame we couldn’t invite you, T. Could give you some tips.”

T snorted around a mouthful of peas. “I’d have to be gayer than Legend for my parents to let me spend all night at a slumber party with three girls. And despite what the eyeshadow makes them think, I’m still straight.”

“I wish I could’ve got away with wearing makeup back in my day,” Vlad said nostalgically. “I think I would’ve looked good in guyliner or whatever they call it.”

“Maybe you should try some out, Taylor,” Needler suggested. “The girls could help you with finding things for your complexion. I’d offer to help, but…” She indicated her own Indonesian features.

I considered it for a moment. “Maybe. I’ll get back to you on that.”

“Oh. Okay.” Frankie popped some bread into her mouth and chewed for a moment. “Are your folks being…” She waved a hand around vaguely, “Difficult?”

T shrugged uncaringly. “Nah. I think they’re just having trouble getting their heads around it. Mom left some pamphlets lying around about transgender teens and stuff like that, but I’m gonna try and head that off.”

“Not to dismiss your problems or anything, T,” I said, “but it’s kind of a relief that your biggest problem with your parents is that they’re being overly supportive.”

T snorted. “Yeah, they’ve got the spirit.”

The conversation drifted as Stacey and Callum arrived, and wound its way through tonight’s sleepover, the upcoming basketball game against Clarendon High, and whether the Deathworlder novels were overrated.

Eventually T finished his pudding and stood up. “Right,” he said brusquely, “I’m gonna waste some time on the computers. See you around.”

“Bye,” Stacey managed as he quickly walked off. “That was weird, right?” she asked the rest of us.

“Maybe he’s meeting someone?” Tock Tick suggested.

“Dunno. I can never get a read on him,” Bearskin admitted.

Callum shrugged. “Hey, it’s T. He’s always acting too cool to give a shit.”

“Apathy- all the popular kids are doing it,” Frankie said.

“Well, it’s not really our business,” I pointed out. “We’ve all got shit we don’t want to talk about, right?”

“Laying it on a little thick there,” Quarrel said.

Stacey gave me a look I couldn’t quite interpret. “I guess.”

“What’s that all about?” Stoneknapper wondered.

“Guys, give me a subject change,” I ordered, feeling uncomfortable at Stacey’s gaze.

Firecracker perked up. “Ooh! If you ever got a tattoo, what would it be?”
------------------

“Coach, can I talk to you a second?”

Coach Pelt glanced up from his clipboard, then glanced down at me from his noticeably taller frame. “Sure, Hebert. What’s up?”

“You’ve got this,” Flinch said reassuringly.

“There’s a girl I used to know at Winslow,” I managed. “She used to wind me up all the time, and I think she might keep doing it now she’s here.”

Coach Pelt’s monobrow wrinkled disapprovingly. “Is she in this class?” he asked, already glancing around at the other girls in the sports hall, gathered into their teams to talk tactics, or just talk in general.

I pointed to where Madison was chatting with a bunch of other vaguely pretty girls, her back to me. “Madison Clements. With the blue barrettes.”

“Hmmph. Well, if she tries anything else, you let me know right away, alright? I’ll keep an eye on things for now.”

“Right. Uh, thanks.” It felt weird to say that to a teacher and actually mean it. Something felt off about his look of concern, without any tone of helplessness or apathy like I was used to.

“Man,” Vladimir said, “Those girls messed you up but good, huh?”

“Screw off,” I replied, jogging back to the middle of the room. “At least I’m aware of it.”

Today’s class was divided into eight teams of four, rotating around to play everyone against each other as the period went on. I didn’t know two of the girls I’d been teamed with.

However, because the universe apparently had a sense of humour centred on me, Amy Dallon was the forth member of our team, currently stretching out her hamstrings as I returned. I’d almost bitten through my tongue when she’d been picked for the group.

“You gonna be alright?” she asked me quietly. “You look really on edge.”

I managed to not look at Madison again. “I’ll handle it.”

Coach Pelt blew his whistle, and the games kicked off.

After the first few minutes, I managed to completely forget about Madison. I’d technically never played basketball in my life, but the Butcher memories were guiding me through it again. Of course, my body didn’t match any of those memories, so it took me a while to find a rhythm.

“Pass! Pass, damn it!” Anchorage bawled. I quickly flicked the ball overhead to Janet, our team captain- she caught it and made a run for the basket.

The real surprise was Amy. None of us had expected her to be athletic, but she was surprisingly competent at it, managing some decent footwork to weave around the other players.

After five minutes, each team moved around one space to play new opponents. We were about halfway through the period when I found a minute to speak to Amy as we were moving across.

“You’re pretty good at this. Never figured you for the sporty type.”

Amy snorted. “I’m not. Vicky is. I just spent a couple of years being dragged into helping her practice at home.”

“Yeah, that tracks,” Bearskin admitted. “I was the same with baseball. Donnie was always going on about going pro.”

We were actually doing pretty well in score. Even holding back, I was still fast and tall enough to have an edge, and Amy could easily dodge around the opposition. Janet and Sadie were both alright as well.

It was the second to last game when I ended up facing Madison’s team. I knew it was coming- after all, I’d worked it out beforehand. That didn’t mean I liked it.

Madison gave a little finger-wave at me as her team formed up. Rotter sneered. “Kinda reminds me of a chihuahua. She’s got no idea how small she really is compared to everyone else.” He conjured up the image of a little yappy dog with blue barrettes, barking at a bulldog in glasses.

“Oh, very fucking funny,” I groused.

Nemean snorted. “We’d be bigger than that.”

“Yeah?” Rotter considered. “How about this then?” This time the image had Madison-dog facing off against a multiheaded beast, with my head in the middle gnashing teeth like daggers.

Nemean approved. “Better.”

The whistle blew before I could think of a comeback. Janet dived for the ball set on the centre line like a dodgeball, and hurled it back towards Amy before the other team could crash into her.

Amy started forward to the right, while I went left. A few seconds later, Madison came up alongside me, bouncing around me with her arms thrown wide.

“You’re not getting past me!” she said in a cheery voice that made me want to dig my fingers into her skull. I kept my eyes off her and gritted my teeth as I tried to accelerate past her. Amy quickly tossed the ball to me in an overhead pass that I managed to catch by the tips of my fingers.

Madison immediately stepped in front of me, jumping at the ball. I spun on the spot, pulling the ball in toward me, and dodged around Madison, gym shoes squeaking on the floor.

Madison squealed and toppled sideways onto the ground dramatically. I noticed how she did it in a way that wouldn’t actually hurt. “Foul!” she said indignantly. “Foul!”

“Oh, so that’s her game,” Needler realised. “Trying to play the victim.”

Butcher laughed unpleasantly. “If she’s gonna get you in trouble anyway, you should go for broke. In for a penny and all that.” I quickly shoved him down before he could say anything else.

“Woah, Madison, you okay?” One of the other girls said, stopping and running back to her. I slowed to a halt to watch as Madison climbed to her feet with a sniffle.

“I think so. But it hurts,” she whined childishly, rubbing at her side.

Before I could do more than grit my teeth, Amy jogged over and quickly laid a hand on her arm. “You’re fine,” she pronounced after a second. “In fact, you shouldn’t be feeling any pain at all. Play on,” she called, “Somebody say one, two, three, go!”

“Onetwothreego!” I yelled, charging forward, dribbling madly as I made a break for the hoop. I hadn’t had the chance to really get angry, but there was an undercurrent of frustration to my mood that made it hard to remember to hold back.

An opponent jumped in to block me- I stopped on a dime, passed to Janet as she was approaching, dipped under the opponent’s arm and carried on. Janet got stopped at the three point line, and hurled the ball at me as I reached the hoop.

“Come on!” Anchorage yelled as I caught the ball. I was too exhilarated to stop and think, caught up in anger and relief and the sheer joy of movement. My legs exploded into a jump that I only managed to pull at the last second, taking me a foot off the ground to let me slam the ball down.

“Yeah!” I whooped, dropping to the ground along with the ball. “First blood to me!”

“That’s what I’m motherfucking talking about!” Anchorage cheered as I threw my hands up. “Who says white girls can’t jump?”

“Aw man, look at her face!” Tock Tick laughed as he spotted Madison. “Looks like a constipated chipmunk!”

Sure enough, Madison was glaring at me with her cheeks puffed out and reddened with emotion. I choked back a laugh and high-fived Janet’s outstretched hand.

“Nice stuff, Taylor,” she praised, picking the ball up. “Keep that up and we can smash these guys.”

“Hey, hang on a sec,” The other team captain objected. “Are we really gonna count that? You guys didn’t give us a chance to get ready, and that was after Madison got knocked over.”

“Fell over,” Amy corrected harshly. “She’s got literally no signs of being touched in the last few minutes. If you’re going to try and fake an injury, maybe don’t do it when I’m around.”

Madison glanced from me to Amy, and then stamped her foot and stormed off back to her team’s side.

“Did she just stamp her foot?” Muramasa said incredulously. “I didn’t think girls actually did that.”

Quarrel snorted. “I know you just shut Butcher up for saying this, but that girl needs an actual slap.”

“Don’t tempt me,” I said absently as I took my position at the front of our side. Amy fell in behind me for defence.

I glanced back at her. “Thanks. For backing me up there.”

Amy gave me a weird look. “I just told the truth.”

“Yup.”

“Alright,” The other team’s captain called, “Starting now, ready or not- Onetwothreego!”
-------------

Madison’s team had lost three-nothing, Janet scoring the other two points. I had stayed in the background after my shot, trying to downplay my sudden burst of athleticism.

A side benefit of that was that Madison had been unable to get close to me as I kept my distance from the action, her captain reminding her to stay on defence instead of going after me. I wasn’t sure how much of that was strategy and how much of it keeping Madison from making another attempt at faking.

I’d spun through the shower as quickly as possible, frantically scrubbing my hair with my eyes shut to avoid revealing anything to the Butchers. Not that they were complaining too hard- they might have been violent to the core, but they at least had the decency not to try and perv on underage girls.

In the same way, I was keeping my eyes on my locker in front of me as I finished putting my clothes on. Stacey was next to me, chattering away about her games had gone, providing a much-needed distraction from my thoughts.

“-and I swear to god, it didn’t even touch the sides! I’ve never been so proud of myself. I kinda want to see if I can do that again sometime, but I’d probably just end up shooting a couple dozen tries and then giving up.”

“Mm,” I said noncommittally, buttoning up my blouse. “I guess it might lose its shine if you could do it all the time.”

Stacey paused in the act of pulling up a sock. “Maybe,” she allowed.

I felt someone come up behind me before I heard them clear their throat. It wasn’t danger sense; this came from Firecracker- the vague spatial awareness that let her teleport short distances without worrying about ending up in a wall.

“Oh, here we go,” Stoneknapper groaned.

Firecracker made knuckle-popping sounds. “Okay, Taylor, this is your time to shine. You’ve got loads of witnesses, if she starts shit, you can finish it.”

“Knock it off,” Nemean growled at her.

“What? It’s a good idea! Establish dominance and all that.”

“We’re in a school, not prison,” Tactical pointed out.

Firecracker smirked at the obvious setup. “There’s a difference?”

“She’s not worth the energy,” Nemean said. “If you have to hit her, just do it once. No need to draw it out.”

“You’re not helping me,” I ground out.

Another throat-clearing noise, more insistent this time. I rolled my shoulders a bit to settle my blouse and turned around. “What do you want, Madison?”

Madison pouted, looking even younger in a sunny yellow top and a denim skirt. (“In February?” Needler asked.) “No reason to be like that. I just wanted to talk. No need to get angry.”

“I’ve got plenty of reasons. Also plenty of needs, like you away from me.”

Madison backed up a step, adopting a spooked expression. “Alright, alright,” she said, holding her hands up. “I just wanted to ask if we could draw a line under things. You know, make a fresh start.”

I forced my jaw to unclench. “I don’t want any kind of start from you, Madison. I want an end. Just leave me alone before I lose my temper.”

“Come on, Taylor, I’m trying to reach out here. Can’t you meet me halfway?” Madison’s expression was convincingly earnest, but I saw her eyes flick over to where a couple of her teammates and similar girls were unsubtly watching us.

In a split second, Madison’s plan became clear to me. She wanted to frame herself as the innocent one, reaching out in a way she knew I’d never accept. People wouldn’t see all the insults and pranks and petty torments she’d heaped on me- they’d see the little girl trying to reach out and make amends.

I could see in Madison’s eyes that she was expecting me to say no- to raise my voice at her, even lash out physically. The second I did that, I’d be painted as the bad guy, and no matter how I tried to explain things, Madison would seem like the victim.

The obvious move would be to call her bluff. Take her hand, say some pleasantries, force her to commit to her act of being a decent human being. Maybe she’d give up on trying to provoke me, move on to something else.

I couldn’t make my hands move. I couldn’t unclench them from where they’d curled into fists at my sides.

Madison wouldn’t have to do anything specific to get at me. She just had to exist near me, talk near me, breathe near me; and I’d be thinking of Winslow again. Her very existence was a provocation to me.

I couldn’t try to wait her out. I’d spent over a year hoping for the Bitch Trio to grow bored, move on to someone else if I just didn’t give them a reaction, and it hadn’t worked. Letting the enemy take initiative only ever favoured them.

And above all else, even if it would hurt me in the long run, even if it wasn’t the smart, rational move, I refused to back down to her. I would rather struggle than give her an inch. Pushing back right now would let her win, but backing down and playing along would do that too.

In the end, I chose to do what the Butchers had always done in the face of certain defeat. Choose the way that hurt the enemy more, out of sheer bloody-minded spite.

“No,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. “I’m not going to pretend you aren’t a petty little bitch who gets off on messing with people, and I’m not going to act like you never messed with me. If you want things to be different, you can do what you never did before and leave me the fuck alone.”

Madison’s hurt expression was just a little too slow to be genuine. “God, this is what I get for trying to be nice,” she said, taking a step back.

I glared at her. “Go play in traffic for all I care. Just do it away from me.” I turned back to my locker and grabbed my sneakers with sharp movements, jamming them onto my feet and kneeling to knot the laces with stiff fingers.

I couldn’t keep myself from tracking Madison with my hearing as she moved back to her friends, shoes squeaking on the rubber mats over the tiles.

“God, what was her problem?” somebody asked. I didn’t recognise her voice.

Madison sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. We used to try joking around back at Winslow, and she always took it super personal. After that she held a grudge, and she wouldn’t listen to a thing we tried to say. She wouldn’t even let us apologise.”

I had to let go of my laces before I tore through them. The blatant deception of it felt like acid down my throat.

“You’re in control, Taylor,” Flinch said smoothly. “She’s trying to get a rise out of you; just block it out.”

“Well, you made the effort, Mads,” another girl said as I finished my laces and straightened up. I forced my jaw to unclench again and settled into breathing exercises.

“Yeah, I guess.” Madison’s scent wafted across the aisle, like she’d tossed her hair or something. “Not my fault some people can’t take a joke.”

My fists clenched so hard that the knuckles pop. My fingernails started to dig into my palms as they began to lengthen into claws; my jaw itched as my secondary teeth started growing.

“A fucking joke?” I hissed to myself.

“Yeah, a joke.” Madison’s footsteps were like drumbeats in my ears as I felt her move back toward me. “We were just having fun, doing a little teasing, but you made such a big deal out of it. I don’t get-”

Madison’s cheeks were warm under my fingers. I squeezed down hard as I shoved her back into the wall of lockers, pressing until I could feel the teeth behind them. My claws grew another millimetre as I leaned in close, my breath rattling in my throat.

“You spat on me, Madison!” I bellowed as bloodsight flickered in my vision, showing me every blood vessel in her head, down to the capillaries in her eyeballs. “You remember that? Or was that just another day for you?”

Madison squealed through her lips, batting at my arm desperately. I just pushed harder, too angry to even feel it. All I could feel was my pulse pounding in my ears, and her pulse under my fingertips.

“You threw my bag in the toilet. You stole my books. You shredded my homework. Glue on my seat, juice in my hair, pencil shavings dumped on me every god. Damn. Day!”

Someone was pulling at my shoulders now, trying to yank me away. I just turned one foot sideways and lowered my stance a little, letting a low centre of gravity and the soles of my shoes do the work. Basic fighting stance.

“You don’t get to act innocent! You don’t get to pretend you didn’t know what you were doing! It wasn’t harmless when you sent me emails telling me to eat glass, it wasn’t funny when you said I was too ugly for a blind man, it sure as fuck wasn’t friendly when you bitches made every day hell!”

A hand grabbed my other wrist, and suddenly both my arms went limp. I snapped my head around with a growl- to Panacea, who glared right back at me with only a little bit of fear. “Enough,” she said quietly.

The Butchers dopplered away as I pushed them down, one at a time, taking breaths deep enough to strain my ribs. My anger went with them, piecemeal, until I was able to force my claws back into fingernails and untense my fingers. Panacea still kept a hold on my wrist.

Madison had slid down against the lockers to the ground, legs splayed out under her, one of her pretty friends next to her. She was rubbing at her reddened cheeks with genuine fear on her face. When I breathed deep, I realised I could smell it, a savoury, acrid smell underneath her fruity shampoo.

The whole locker room was quiet. The other girls were watching silently, some of them halfway dressed, too caught up in the drama to move.

“I’m done taking your shit, Madison,” I said at last. “If you try anything on me again, or anybody else in this school, and I hear about it, I’m not going to bother with insults, or teasing, or pranks. I won’t even give you a warning. I’ll just beat you until you piss blood.”

I took a step back, and my arm moved at my thought again when Panacea let go. I didn’t meet anyone’s eyes as I grabbed my bag and stomped out of the locker room.

Chapter Text

Friday 11th February

Stacey had stopped trying to ask me about Madison when her mom had turned up to drive us. Over the course of the car ride, and a couple of oven pizzas for the three of us to eat, she and Frankie had let the subject lie.

Instead, we sprawled on her family’s couch, watching whatever was on TV. TGIF with Janet Dane was just getting through the opening credits when the phone rang in the kitchen.

“I think I recognise that man on the left,” Muramasa said as Janet started greeting her audience with a sunny smile.

“Boring suit, looks tired- five bucks says he works for the government,” Vladimir said.

A moment later, Janet introduced him as Deputy Director Clyborne of the New York PRT.

“Called it.”

“Taylor?” Stacey’s dad popped his head around the door, a frown on his otherwise pleasant face. “Your dad’s calling.”

I was aware of the girls very deliberately not looking at me as I set my plate aside, two slices of pepperoni and mushroom left, and walked into the kitchen to take the corded phone from Mr Walker. He quickly left the room with a muttered excuse, and I put the headset to my ear.

“Dad?”

“Taylor. How’s the sleepover going?”

“Right now it’s just TV dinner. It’s nice.”

“God, not this crap again,” Butcher complained. “Blah blah blah-” His voice trailed off into the dark. I was starting to wonder if he was trying to get pushed down for some reason.

“Right.” Dad paused for a moment, then sighed. “There was a message from Arcadia. They said something about you and another girl.”

“Sounds like he already knows,” Anchorage countered. “It’s like with cops- they try to get you to talk yourself into a hole. Just say nothing.”

“He’s not a cop, he’s my dad.” Still, it took me a second to think of what to say, and another second to actually get it out. “It was one of the girls from Winslow.”

I heard Dad’s intake of breath, sudden and loud enough it almost whistled down the line.

“She was just being annoying a couple of times. And then she… She acted like she wanted to apologise, and I told her to leave me alone. Even if she was lying, I know I should’ve tried-”

“No,” Dad cut in loudly. “No, you don’t ever have to do that. You don’t have to take a fake apology from someone, ever. Even if she was being honest, you’re not obligated to forgive someone who hurt you, no matter how they feel.”

I blinked, momentarily wrong-footed by Dad’s outburst.

Quarrel’s emotions echoed mine in a way they almost never had. “Well shit,” she admitted, “that’s decent parenting.”

Dad’s breathing sounded a little heavier. His next words were a little hardened, that too-controlled way of speaking he had when he was just keeping his temper in check.

“Can you tell me what happened next? There wasn’t really a lot of detail. They just called it an ‘altercation’.” I could hear the quote marks in that sentence, slotted into place like Tetris blocks of pure sarcasm.

“She said something about how all her stuff was just jokes and stuff, and I got mad, and then I shoved her against the wall and yelled at her.”

Dad sighed deeply. The phone line made it sound like crinkling sandpaper. Then he chuckled bitterly. “Guess you got my temper after all,” he said, with a little sadness.

“See? It’s not just us,” Bearskin pointed out. “You can get angry all on your own.”

Despite the poor phrasing, I understood he meant it as a comfort. Under all the Butcher influence, I had my own emotions, even the negative ones.

“Thanks,” I admitted.

“Listen, Taylor, I don’t want you getting harassed by this girl again. I’ll talk to the school if you want, we can figure something out. If they’ve really got the Wards going to Arcadia, they should have higher standards than this.”

“Thanks Dad,” I said quietly. A stray memory came to me. “Uh, I kind of threatened her a little about coming near me again. I don’t know if that’s going to get me in trouble?”

Dad paused. “I think,” he said reluctantly, “that if this problem doesn’t get any better, that’s up to you. I’m not saying you should hit her,” he added hastily, “but she needs to face consequences. If she pushes you to the breaking point, she’s got some of the blame for what happens next.”

I swallowed past the lumpy feeling in my throat. “I don’t know how much I meant it,” I confessed. “Is that weird?”

“No, no,” Dad soothed. “Taylor, you have every right to be angry after all that.” He stopped a moment, then chuckled. “God, you really are my kid.”

“The glasses weren’t a clue?” I joked weakly.

“Har har.”

Neither of us said anything for a long while. I just leaned against the wall and listened to his breathing, feeling like I had when I was younger and Dad had carried me in from the car, half-asleep from the back seat; tired and foggy-headed, but safe and warm.

“Well, I should let you get back to your night. Don’t stay up too late, okay? Have fun with your friends.”

“Okay Dad. You’re not gonna be bored without me?”

“I’ll probably take the chance to watch some boring movie aimed at dads that you wouldn’t ever like,” Dad said with a smile in his voice.

I huffed a laugh. “Yeah, okay. Love you, Dad. And, you know, thanks. For being on my side.”

“Oh, Taylor,” Dad said softly, “I’m your father. I’ll always be on your side.”

I swallowed again. The lump in my throat was more like a slab. “G‘night, Dad.”

“Goodnight, Taylor. Love you too.”

I hung up the phone carefully in its cradle on the wall. The Butchers were tactful enough not to say anything while I scrubbed at my eyes with the heel of my hand, before going back into the living room.
-----------------------------

Stacey held her fingertips up to the light and blew on them gently. “Nice,” she said approvingly. “Think I’ll keep these for a while.”

“See?” Firecracker said. “Gold works with anything.”

“Want me to do yours, Taylor?” Frankie offered. “I think mine are dry now.” She wiggled her dark green fingernails around for emphasis.

“Sure,” I said with a shrug, putting the little bottle aside and holding my hands out, palm down, over the paper towels Stacey had put in the middle of the rug to catch any drips.

“Ohey-dokey.” Frankie rifled through the dark wooden box that Frankie had produced all her makeup from. “What colour do you want?”

“Black works with anything,” Needler pointed out. Firecracker snorted.

“God, could you be more basic? I say go loud, go for gold!”

Stoneknapper hemmed indecisively. “Little ostentatious for Taylor’s style, maybe? No offence,” he added.

“None taken. I don’t think glittery gold is my thing.”

“Purple,” Nemean said simply.

I paused, peering at the little bottle she directed me to. It did look nice. “That purple one,” I told Frankie, pointing it out with a finger.

“Got it. Hold ‘em out.”

“Here, get us another taste before you have to hold your hands still,” Rotter insisted.

“One sec.” I quickly took a swig of my cola and a bite of Caramel Helix before I held my hands out again. “Go f’r it,” I managed around my mouthful, taking another look around the crowded room.

Stacey’s room wasn’t the largest, but it was certainly cozy. When we actually got around to sleeping, Frankie and I would barely have enough room for both sleeping bags, but the posters on the walls, the fairy lights strung up near the ceiling, and the stuffed animals and tchotchkes on the shelves definitely gave plenty to look at.

“Hey Stacey?” I nodded at the fist-sized conch shell on the top shelf. “What’s the deal with the shell up there?”

Stacey looked up from where she was fastidiously sipping her lemonade without using her fingertips. “Oh, that’s from my Aunt Elaine. She sent me that when she moved out to California. It’s pretty, right?”

“Better than the stuff we get on the beach here,” Frankie agreed, gently taking my right hand to start painting my nails.

“Yeah. Brockton’s beach, you get needles and bodies.” Vladimir pulled a face.

Stoneknapper was thinking of something else. “Hey, can we get some shells sometime? I could do some cool stuff with those.”

“What is this, the souvenir shop? We’ve got more important things to get,” Tactical groused.

“Oh, take the stick outta your ass,” Tock retorted. “Not that he isn’t wrong,” he added. “We could really use some more magnets. And if we’re bringing that kid in, we’re gonna need to beef up the suspension on the chariot.”

“I’ll handle it later, Tock. Not a lot I can do right now.” I wordlessly indicated Frankie’s grip on my palm as she carefully covered my pinkie nail with polish.

“Okay, and other hand,” she said, dipping the brush again. I held up my left hand for her while I started blowing on my right nails.

“Hey Taylor?” Stacey said, in a casual tone that immediately set me on edge, “Can I ask you something?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Flinch reassured me quickly. “You can just enjoy the night.”

“Thanks Flinch.” I sighed aloud. “But I can’t dodge this forever.”

I looked up from my nails to meet her eye. “It’s about Madison, isn’t it?”

Stacey hissed between her teeth. “Yeah,” she admitted. “I’m just being nosey, but…”

“No, it’s okay. It was kind of a lot.” I glanced back at my hand. “Although it’s interesting that you waited until I was in your room with my hands pinned before you asked me.”

Rotter burst out laughing.

Frankie glanced from my nails to my face, then to Stacey’s stricken expression, then back to my nails. “Oh shit, we did do that.”

Stacey had the good grace to wince. “Sorry. I didn’t think…”

“It’s okay,” I said again, willing away the inner-ear feeling of Firecracker’s teleportation ready to use.

Frankie drew the brush down my ring fingernail. “I mean, you did say you’d probably go after her if she kept trying shit, so that’s a thing.”

“Have to keep to your word,” Nemean agreed.

“Do you want us to help? Like, backing you up with the teachers?”

I mulled over Stacey’s offer. “I’ll see how it goes. I did tell some of the teachers, so they might be on the ball about this.” It was still hard to say that and believe it, but Arcadia had been exceeding my expectations on that score.

Frankie finished up my left pinkie and capped the bottle again. “What I don’t get is why she did it. Or why she’s still doing it.”

I shrugged. “People don’t need a good reason to hurt each other. But if I had to guess, at Winslow it was to get in with the cool kids. After that, it might’ve just been habit. Or she wanted to get me to make myself look bad before I could tell everyone what a petty little bitch she is.” I brought my left hand up to my face to blow on the nails.

“Hmm.”

Needler focused on Stacey out of the corner of my vision. “That sounded like a very loaded noise,” she said suspiciously.

“What’s ‘hmm’?” I asked.

Stacey fiddled with her drink for a second. “Okay, really personal question,” she admitted, setting her drink down. “Like, you don’t have to answer, you can tell me off if you want-”

“Stacey,” I cut her off wearily. “Just say it.”

“Right.” Stacey cleared her throat. “Are you… maybe… gay?”

Anchorage started snickering. That developed into a chuckle, which became a guffaw; and that became a rib-clutching belly laugh as Firecracker, Dirty Rotter, Vladimir and Quarrel joined in with her.

Their mirth bled into me too fast for me to hold in the laugh. “Hah! Are you serious?”

Stacey shrugged embarrassedly. “I just thought- I mean, Winslow’s got kind of a reputation for lots of gangs. I don’t know if Madison’s a sympathiser or something, but…”

“Gay girl in a school full of Nazis gets bullied.” Tactical nodded. “I can see the logic.”

I shook my head. “Much as I loathe Madison, I doubt she’s racist. She wouldn’t have been hanging out with Sophia- who’s black,” I clarified. “More to the point,” I gestured to myself, “-where were you getting a lesbian vibe from?”

Stacey and Frankie exchanged glances. “I mean, this is literally the first time I’ve seen you wear makeup,” Frankie said cautiously.

“You keep your fingernails short,” Stacey added.

I raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t we a little young for that?”

Stacey squeaked and waved her hands. “Not like that!”

Rotter didn’t even have to say anything for me to feel his lecherous amusement at that. It wasn’t as if I could tell them that I didn’t want people seeing how my nails would taper to points if I grew them out.

“You’re in ridiculously good shape,” Frankie continued, ignoring Stacey’s mortification. “And you’ve never mentioned dating anyone. At all.”

I shrugged awkwardly. “Being the lowest on the pecking order tends to kill your vanity. Nobody wanted to date the outcast.”

Stacey winced. “Okay, that’s fair. One other thing though.” She pointed at me. “You never look at anyone in the locker room.”

Firecracker pulled a face. “I think she’s got the meaning of ‘gay’ mixed up.”

“Stacey, that’s like the opposite of being a lesbian.”

“No, what I mean is, you avoid looking at anyone. Like, if I see someone else getting changed, I’m just like ‘Oh, she’s getting changed, no biggie’. You keep your eyes off people like your life depends on it. Like you don’t want to creep on them.”

Anchorage huffed in surprise. “Damn, she’s good.”

There wasn’t really any way for me to refute that. ‘No, I just don’t want the fourteen people inside my mind to catch a glimpse of teenage boobs’.

“I don’t know,” I said lamely. “It just seemed rude to stare.”

Stacey gave me an appraising look. “Okay,” she said at length, “but maybe think about it? It might help you.”

I slumped a little. “Fine.”

“And whatever you figure out, we’re your friends, okay?”

“I suppose it is trusting of them to invite you even if they do believe you are a lesbian,” Muramasa admitted.

“C’mon, it happens to all of us,” Firecracker wheedled. “I mean, it was weird when it happened to me, but it’s a whole new world of possibilities-”

I shoved her into the dark with a vindictive growl.

Frankie cleared her throat noisily. “I think we’ve had enough of this for tonight. Who wants a movie?”
-------------------------

The coin toss had selected horror, so it took a while for the girls to actually fall asleep after Hack/Slash 2, what with all the fake blood and over-the-top gore being splattered around.

“Crappy special effects,” Butcher complained. “Head wounds don’t bleed like that!”

“Oh my god, we know!” Vladimir yelled. “Now will you stop going on about it?”

“Knock it off, guys,” I ordered. “There’s better ways to pass the time.”

“Like what?” Tock Tick asked. “We can’t really do anything without waking them up.” He indicated Frankie, who was snoring lightly inside her sleeping bag, and Stacey, who was curled into a ball under her thick patchwork comforter.

“We can see what Stacey’s got on her bookshelf.” Between the moonlight and the fairy lights, my night vision was good enough to pick out even small print.

Quarrel yawned theatrically. “Boring. You should’ve packed a costume or something. We could’ve snuck out and found some action.”

I rolled my eyes. “I can’t fit a suit of armour into an overnight bag.”

“Well, if you’d made that autopilot function like I said, we could’ve just called the chariot over.” Tock folded his arms sulkily.

“I didn’t need an autopilot. And besides, you know I can’t make good enough sensors for that yet.”

“Well, we need an autopilot now. Point to me.”

“You don’t need armour,” Nemean said frustratedly. “Just cover your face and don’t use the flashy stuff. Brutes are common.”

I gritted my teeth. “No. I’m staying in tonight. No patrolling, no fighting. There’s some books none of us have read yet, and we’re reading one.”

“Much as I would prefer solitude,” Muramasa admitted, “Some activity would be good. You have your own frustrations to air.”

I fumed silently for a minute. The Butchers took the hint and quieted down, muttering to each other while I thought.

“Half an hour,” I said eventually. “After that, we come back here for a book. Deal?”

“Deal,” was the consensus.

The floor creaked slightly under my feet as I raided Stacey’s closet for a headscarf to cover my face and hair, but neither of my friends stirred. With jacket and shoes on, all I had to do was step over Stacey, gingerly slide the window open, and drop to the ground.

About 25 minutes of wandering later, I was two streets over, and thoroughly bored. At Stoneknapper’s suggestion, I’d taken a couple of glass bottles out of the recycling boxes set out in front of the houses and moulded them into little bands and studs all over my body. A few little details would let people draw their own conclusions about my powers, hopefully in the wrong direction.

My hands were covered with overlapping segments of bottle green glass that ironically reminded me of beetle shells, and a single slab of clear glass covered my eyes like a visor, since I hadn’t been willing to bring my glasses with me. It took a lot of fussing to mould them into something that corrected my eyesight, and things were still a little unfocused, but they did the job.

“See?” I glanced down at the wristwatch I’d put together weeks ago with Tock Tick’s power. “Nothing at all. We’re in the wrong area for anything to be going down.”

“This is nice though, right?” Stoneknapper guided me into engraving some designs on the green glass around my bicep. “Peace and quiet.”

“I guess.” I glanced up and down the street, using bloodsight to see into houses. Nothing but dozens of horizontal figures from the first floor up, none of them moving more than occasionally twitching or turning over. The bugs in my range weren’t picking up on any movement bigger than a rat either.

I turned back in the direction of Stacey’s house. “Right, I’m heading-”

Worms in the ground registered a weight on the ground above them. When I turned my head, new silhouettes blossomed into sight across the street. They seemed to be climbing over the fence of a house with blue walls.

“Trouble,” Flinch said unnecessarily.

Without a word I jogged across the road, staying centred to the house so the strangers wouldn’t see me around the sides. I moved some bugs across to them as well- a few ants, a couple of moths, some beetles.

The man in the lead moved his arms like he was taking something out of his jacket, and bent down with one hand out to close his hand.

“Wire cutters,” Tactical guessed. “They’re taking out the alarm.”

I cursed the fact that I didn’t have my work phone with me. I could have called the police by now. At best I could alert the family inside before the intruders got in.

The flowerbeds by the front window had little pebbles scattered through them. I grabbed a couple in one hand and started tossing them at the window where two adult silhouettes were sleeping. They made a rapid clack-clack-clack as they bounced off the glass. The man stirred in bed and raised a hand to rub at his face.

The silhouettes at the back all jerked at the same time- “Shit, they heard!” Vladimir shouted- and scrambled for a spot further along. The one in the lead raised a foot and kicked, and I heard the sound of splintering wood as the back door was kicked in.

No time for subtlety. I sprinted around the side of the house, dropping to all fours to take the corner at speed, skidding on the wet grass as I came around the back. The silhouettes were already inside and thundering up the stairs. The family was waking up- the man had grabbed something in his hand. Hopefully a phone.

One of the silhouettes ripped a bedroom door open. I heard a high-pitched scream. A child.

“No,” Nemean gasped. I didn’t bother with the stairs- I just leapt for the landing, vaulted the banister, kicked off the wall hard enough to crack the plaster, and slammed into the heavy-set man with an elbow strike.

His shoulder blade broke under the impact, and he screamed as he hit the floor, the crowbar in his right clunking to the carpet. The child screamed again as I looked up- a little girl with her hair in twin buns, clutching her blanket to her.

“It’s okay,” I said hastily, “I’m a hero.” I glanced down at the man under me, and noticed his jacket sleeve. Specifically, the patch on the shoulder with three E’s.

“Oh Jesus,” Bearskin managed. “It’s a blooding.”

Butcher exploded. “MOTHERFUCKERS!”

The anger filled me like molten steel. I slapped the man in the ear, hard enough to burst his eardrum, and dove back out the door.

Two more were on the landing, both in dark clothing and holding blunt objects. I chose to go high; I jumped and grabbed the exposed beams in the ceiling- one of Nemean’s moves, to use her grip to manoeuvre.

I didn’t have her claws, but a fizzing touch morphed the glass on my fingertips into sharp little blades that sank into the wood, holding me up while I swung a kick into the first man’s head. He hit the banister and smashed through it, falling to the ground floor with a yell.

The second man backpedalled all the way to the end of the landing, dropping his crowbar to fumble in his back pocket. I dropped and powered forward, grabbing his wrist before he could get the pistol up, slamming it into the wall. Something gave way under my grip- I headbutted him before he could scream, and he slumped to the ground instantly.

Two in the room on the left, one in the room on the right- same count for family and intruders. I didn’t have time to deal with both.

“Throw it!” Quarrel shouted. I kicked the crowbar into my hand; Quarrel’s power formed a path, like a tunnel through the air, sized just right for the crowbar. I hurled it overarm, not even looking back as it hit the elbow of the man in there.

The crunch of broken bone was lost under his scream, but I was already into the master bedroom. The couple in there were holding each other in terror, the husband shielding his wife as much as he could.

The man across the room took priority- he swung the shotgun toward me as he saw me enter the room. Tactical’s power analysed it on sight- A Mossberg 500, wooden stock and after-market modifications.

Too slow. I came in low, grabbed the barrel, twisted- he lost his grip. Then I spun on the ball of my foot, cocked my other leg, and fired a kick into his chest. He hit the wall and bounced back from the force of it, face-first into the stock of the gun. His nose burst into a bloody mess as he toppled.

I tossed the Mossberg to the husband just as danger sense flared- a dim flare, not something serious. The fifth man had pulled out a fire axe of all things and swung for my head.

I grabbed it just under the handle- there was an almost musical clink as it hit the glass segments over my palm. I tugged on it, then swung myself around- my right hand kept the axe head where it was, while my left came around as I spun to backhand the fifth man in the face.

He fell, blood streaming from his mouth as he dropped to his knees. I let the axe slide down a bit until I was holding it halfway down the handle, waiting for him.

There was a crashing sound across the landing. I checked with bloodsight- the woman on the bed had just broken something over the head of the E88 man.

“Good,” Needler said spitefully.

Fifth Man came up again, heedless of the Mossberg now pointed at him by the trembling husband. He pulled a switchblade with his left, and a full machete with his right. “Come on!” he bellowed.

I tossed the axe aside and snarled. Not the frustrated grumble of a normal person- this was the idling-engine noise I’d been able to make ever since Nemean’s power had roughened my vocal cords.

I strode forward. Fifth Man swung overhead with the machete, while the switchblade came around for my stomach.

I countered with Needler’s silat- slapped the machete aside, slammed my palm into the knife hand, then brought my elbow to his sternum, hard enough to feel something fracture. He staggered back, retching in pain, and brought the machete around in a wild strike.

I caught it in my right palm, yanked it toward me, and then raised my left arm and slammed my elbow down on the blade, snapping it like a twig.

Fifth Man jabbed desperately with the pathetic stump of the machete. I slapped it away dismissively, dug both hands into his collar, then lifted him off the floor and spun into a throw. He went out the door, over the broken balcony, hit the wall with a muffled thump, and dropped down to land on the second man. They gave twin groans at the impact, so at least they weren’t dead yet.

Danger sense flared again, behind me. I turned to see the business end of the Mossberg unsteadily pointed at me.

“Who are you?” The husband demanded shrilly.

I let my breath rattle out of me, taking some anger with it, letting go of the reflex that wanted me to pulp him for daring to point a weapon at me.

I slowly raised my hands, palms shiny with glass. “A hero,” I said clearly.

The couple stared at me for a long moment- then the little girl’s voice echoed across the landing. “Mommy? Daddy?” She sounded like she was on the verge of hysteria.

The husband started, glancing past me to the door. I took the chance to step back, out of their room and across the landing.

The third bedroom had a very angry-looking elderly woman standing over a man with an arm that had developed an extra bend. Shards of pottery and a lampshade were scattered around his head.

“Who the hell are you?” the woman demanded, brandishing the crowbar. “You with these sons’a’bitches?”

“Damn. Gram-gram got skills.” Anchorage gave her a slow clap.

“No ma’am,” I answered, bending down to grab the man’s ankle. “I’ll handle these guys. I think the little girl needs someone to calm her down though.”

“Yetty?” The woman pushed past me towards the girl’s room without a second thought, almost beating the husband to Yetty’s room. I followed her out, jumping down to the ground floor just as Banister Guy was trying to struggle out from under his friend.

“Don’t,” I growled.

While the family held each other and cried and started turning lights on and calling the police, I dragged all the men into the living room and checked to make sure they wouldn’t die of anything. Then I stood over them and pushed Stoneknapper’s fizzing into the glass armour, forming spikes and barbs on every segment of my hands.

“Now,” I said, my voice still roughened by Nemean’s changes, “you boys are going to tell me about E88’s operations, or I’m going to get creative.” I held up one fist for emphasis.

“Do not make threats you are not willing to carry out,” Muramasa growled. “I would break a few fingers first, to demonstrate your will.”

Mr Shotgun spat at me, full of blood from his pancaked nose. “No dice, bitch,” he sneered. “You think I ain’t been held by heroes before? You shits’re all too soft to do what needs doing. That little niglet’s gonna grow up and be a stain on the world just like its parents because you stopped us.”

“We could just take them out back and beat them until they stop moving,” Bearskin offered, thoughts full of disgust at them, at his past self for believing like them, and disgust for the poison they spouted.

I was aware of the family listening around the corner while the mother called the police. The father was still holding the shotgun, and the grandmother had a firm grip on the crowbar. Yetty was clutching at her mother’s dressing gown.

She was probably going to remember this night for the rest of her life. The thought of that fuelled my temper, made it flare. I reached down and grabbed Mr Shotgun, wrapping my hand around his face. He shouted muffled profanity as I lifted him up past shoulder level.

I let him dangle and thrash in my grip for a second before I looked down at the rest. Banister was looking particularly squirmy.

“Anybody else want to mouth off?” I demanded, pushing spikes out of the band on my bicep.

Banister cracked. “We can’t tell you,” he blurted. “The capes’ll have us by the balls if we talk.”

Machete rammed an elbow into Banister’s side. “Shut your yap, Mikey! This was supposed to be your night!”

I knelt down, still holding Mr Shotgun up. “Who are you more scared of right now?” I rasped theatrically. “Them? Or me?”

“That’s it,” Anchorage urged. “I figure this guy’s a few words from crapping himself.”

Mikey swallowed. “Th-them?” he quavered.

I waited a moment for the tension to build, then cocked my head at him. “We’re going to have to work on that.”

By the time the police had arrived, I’d dragged them all into the kitchen one at a time and tried playing Good Cop. Most of them were hardened enough that they didn’t say anything, but Mikey and the man with the extra elbow had meekly offered up some information about meeting places and gatherings.

They’d also explained how the Empire’s leadership was making noises about expanding now that the Teeth were gone and recruitment was starting to go up again.

“Oh, those shits are going to suffer,” Butcher snarled. I couldn’t bring myself to disagree.

I’d made a show of grousing about how they refused to talk when I dragged them back to their buddies, though. Informants were a useful resource.

The police took one look at the state of them and called for an ambulance, which dragged everything out longer. While we were waiting for them, Flinch urged me to talk to the family.

The husband had by now handed over the shotgun, and was cradling Yetty in his lap, one arm around his wife. The grandmother had flatly refused to hand over the crowbar, and it still lay across her lap while she sat in an overstuffed armchair with a haunted look.

Their heads all whipped around when I cleared my throat. “Oh,” the husband said, staring at me from where I leaned against the living room’s doorframe. “Uh, come in?”

“Thanks.” I walked in slowly, keeping my hands by my sides as I crossed to the middle of the carpet and sat down, folding my legs under me. “Stupid question to ask, but- How are you holding up?”

The mother held Yetty a little tighter, and the grandmother’s grip tightened on the crowbar. The husband looked at his daughter and sighed.

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet.”

I grimaced. This wasn’t the sort of thing anybody really wanted to expect to happen to them.

Yetty’s eyes focused on my hands as I placed them in my lap. I’d smoothed all the spikes off, so now they gleamed like dull beetle shells again. “Why’re your hands shiny?” she mumbled drowsily.

Her mother shushed her quickly with a nervous glance at me, but I just held one hand up and turned it around to watch the light play over my fingers. “It’s glass. I can sort of,” I fumbled, then thought of Konnigit, “sort of wrap stuff around myself. Makes me stronger, tougher.”

“Oh.” Yetty wriggled deeper into her parents arms. “S’pretty.”

Something about her caught my eye- she was wearing a different coloured nightie than before. It took me a second to think of a reason why.

“Poor kid,” Rotter sighed. “Probably wet the bed a lot after all this.”

Nemean crooned wordlessly, full of the oddly maternal sympathy she felt around frightened children.

“Thank you,” the mother tried. “For stopping them, I mean.”

I shrugged awkwardly. “No problem. I just wish I could’ve stopped them from getting inside.”

“So, what do we call you?” the husband asked cautiously.

I winced behind the scarf. “I… don’t actually have one yet,” I invented quickly. “All the good ones are taken.”

The mother made a somewhat forced smile. “Maybe we could help? Yetty?” she asked her daughter. “Can you think of any fun names?”

Yetty squirmed deeper into her mother’s arms without a word.

“Sorry,” the mother said awkwardly. “It’s just…” she trailed off. I shook my head.

“It’s okay. It’s been a rough night for everyone.” Even if the thought of a small child recoiling from me left a twinge in my heart.

I missed my armour. Polished steel went a long way towards a heroic image. Without it, I was a nightmare in dark cloth and glass.

Nobody said anything for a long moment. The silence dragged out, filled with awkwardness and lingering fear on their part, and guilt on mine.

“Hey,” Stoneknapper nudged me. “If you’re claiming my power for this, why not give her something?”

I considered. “Hey, Yetty?” I asked gently.

“Mm?”

“What’s your favourite animal?”

The parents exchanged confused looks, and the grandmother stirred in her armchair again, leaning forward. Yetty peeked her head back out and blinked at me owlishly.

“Plat-er-pus,” she said, carefully sounding out the syllables.

I turned my hand palm down. “Nice. I always thought armadillos were cool, myself.” Stoneknapper’s fizz bled into the glass on the back of my hand, pushing some of the material out into a hollow bubble.

I moulded the front into a wide, flat shape, turned up at the edges. The back end became a flattened tail, and then four limbs were drawn out of the main body, ending in webbed feet. A little shaping of the head, little dimples for eyes; after a few more tweaks, a passable platypus rested on my palm, moulded in green glass.

“Not bad,” Stoneknapper admitted.

I gingerly held the figure out with both hands. “For you.”

Yetty’s eyes brightened immediately- her mother had to adjust her grip as Yetty flung herself forward to grab the little glass platypus, so she didn’t topple off the sofa.

The husband glanced from me to Yetty with a soft look. “Yetty, when someone gives you something…?” he prompted gently.

“Thank you,” Yetty answered absently, preoccupied with turning the platypus over in her hands.

Flinch sighed with a sort of wistful optimism. “Well done, Taylor,” he congratulated me.

“No problem,” I said, inside and out. I uncrossed my legs and pushed myself up. “I’ll take a crack at fixing your stairs up too, and then I’m gonna head off.”

“Oh,” the mother said, surprised. “Okay. What are you going to do now?”

“The police probably want to ask me questions,” I said, rolling my head on my shoulders. “After that-” I ran a hand over the pocket where I’d stashed Mr Shotgun’s car keys, “-I’m going to go and kick some ass.”

Yetty chose that moment to look up from her new toy. “What’s ass?” she said innocently.

“Whoops!” Rotter said cheerfully as the parents shot me a dirty look.

Chapter Text

Saturday 12th February, early hours

Mr Shotgun’s car was a slightly rusty muscle car parked a few streets away. If you didn’t notice the subtle Black Sun symbol on the rear fender, I wouldn’t have guessed that a white supremacist had been driving it.

The car was otherwise clean- no drugs, no weapons, no convenient notes on Empire contacts or locations, not even any stray cash. There was just a couple of metal CDs, a pair of cheap sunglasses, and a packet of mints. He had said he’d been held by heroes before- that implied a veteran’s experience.

I still took the time to move it and park it about halfway between my lair and Stacey’s house, hiding the key inside the driver side wheel well with Stoneknapper’s power. I’d pick it up later and strip it down for parts.

“For fuck’s sake, he’s not the priority anymore,” Butcher snapped as I made my way back to Stacey’s. I was close to the edge of the nicer residential district now, but the buildings were still tall enough for me to jump from roof to roof for speed.

Tactical was unmoved. “This wasn’t a good night, I’ll be the first to admit that-”

“Easy for you to say, white boy,” Anchorage sneered.

Tactical hissed. “-but,” he emphasised, “Coil is still an unknown quantity. We know the Empire’s capes, we know their trade. They’re mainly a threat because of numbers; Coil is the devil we don’t know. He’s probably some kind of Thinker-”

“Oh, and of course the Thinker’s the biggest threat, la-di-fucking dah, what a surprise.” Quarrel sneered at him. “You’re so fucking full of yourself.”

“We have no idea what his power is!” Tactical erupted. “All we know is that he’s got lots of heavily armed mercenaries on the payroll. That means he’s got serious cashflow and ambition.”

“Tac, I get what you’re saying,” Tock said cautiously, “but we’re really not the people to decide this, y’know?”

I mentally cleared my throat, and the Butchers subsided into an uneasy silence. I organised my thoughts while I leapt another gap, then slowed to a walk as I realised I was out of tall buildings.

Tonight had shaken me to my core. This little walk had been a way to get some fresh air and shut the Butchers up. Instead, I’d been slapped in the face by the hidden current of violence buried in Brockton Bay.

I’d grievously injured all five of the men, and I couldn’t bring myself to feel more than a sense of grim satisfaction. I’d left behind clues that a particularly sharp-eyed investigator might be able to interpret as signs of the Butcher, and there was a lot less concern for that than I had expected to feel.

I’d scared the family almost as much as the intruders when I’d burst in, and that left an ache in my chest.

I knew Brockton Bay was not a good city, but I hadn’t ever had the worst of it shoved in front of my eyes like that. I now had a memory of my own as violent as some of the Butchers.

Tactical was right about my plan. But I couldn’t turn away from this.

“What happened tonight was disturbing,” I began, turning around to start sliding down a drainpipe. “I can’t allow the Empire to keep doing that shit, so we are going to step things up against them.”

“Fucking yeah!” Butcher bellowed. “Let’s start cracking skulls!”

“However!” I waited for them to be quiet again before I resumed talking, “Tactical does have a point. We still don’t know how Coil’s managed to keep territory without any capes or visible powers of his own. We’re a pretty good example of how useful unseen powers can be.

“So,” I continued as my feet reached the ground, “We’ll divide things up. We were always going to have to be subtle against Coil, so we’ll make a lot of noise about taking the fight to the Empire. And maybe two-thirds of the time, that’s what we’ll really be doing, putting boots to asses.

“The other third of the time, we’ll go stealthy, scope out his territory, maybe even use disposable personas like this,” I indicated my bottle-green hands, “and once we’ve got the measure of him, we’ll hit him from an angle he’s not expecting. But our open fight against the Empire will be a smokescreen for our covert war against him. Okay?”

There was some grumbling and muttering for a minute or so while I started stripping the glass off and dumping it into a recycling bin.

“It works for me,” Needler said eventually. “Should we throw in some attacks against the ABB for good measure?”

I moulded the glass from one hand back into a bottle shape. “Maybe not,” I admitted. “I’ll be dividing my time as it is. Besides, Lung and Oni Lee don’t sound like something I’m ready to handle just yet.”

“Then forge a new sword, and train your men,” Muramasa said imperiously. “All empires fall in time.”

“Sweet mother of fuck, how do you take yourself so seriously?” Rotter asked. “Boggles the bloody mind.”

“He’s got the right idea though,” Tock admitted. I nodded in agreement as I started jogging down the street. “We’ve got the flail, the air cannon, and one sword. We’re gonna need more shit if we’re going up against fifteen high-end motherfuckers.”

“Thirteen,” Bearskin pointed out. “Purity’s out, Stormtiger’s still locked up. And I wouldn’t call Cricket or Alabaster high-end. Or Victor, if you split him from Othala and hit him at range.”

“There’s two ifs in that sentence, big guy,” Vladimir pointed out. “Besides, the air cannon’s not too good at keeping people down. All that work for something heavier and less deadly than a shotgun.”

“Hey, it’s a perfectly good piece of equipment,” Tock defended sulkily. “Even more considering how it’s not my usual style. I mean, it put Skidmark on his ass, right?”

“True,” I acknowledged as the houses passed us by. Tock Tick’s power had been very energetic for a while after I’d first put together the shock batons and the launcher. Building something inspired by a half-analysed power, that relied on non-solid projectiles and a good deal more electronics than usual, should have been an uphill struggle. Instead the designs had come to me relatively easily.

I could almost imagine the power responding more readily in response to activity after a long lack of use, like an animal responding to a treat. Still, trying to anthropomorphise whatever the source of powers was seemed like a dumb idea.

“Still, we’re probably going to see the lesser capes first, so we need to think of countermeasures. That’s Cricket, Alabaster, Victor, Othala, Rune, Crusader, and Fenja and/or Menja. Maybe Night and Fog too. Thoughts?”

“Some better long range options,” Quarrel suggested immediately. “Half their shit only works close up.”

Bearskin shuddered. “If you’re up against Night and Fog, you definitely want long range. Those two freak me the fuck out.”

“Eugh.” Firecracker gagged at the images Bearskin brought up. “Yeah, that’s nasty. Maybe get some bigger booms- half these fuckers can take it, especially the twins.”

I pulled a face as I turned onto Stacey’s street. “I don’t know if I want to toss around explosives too much,” I said.

“The really tough guys won’t be killed by them,” Nemean pointed out.

Flinch spoke up next. “Make some heavy restraints. More of those cuffs that attach to walls. That way they won’t be able to run away after you catch them.”

“Ooh! How about you make some heavier stuff for the launcher?” Stoneknapper suggested. “Do some chain nets to really hold them down.”

I thought the suggestions over as I slowed to a walk next to Stacey’s house. It was a simple matter to hop the fence and go around the back, and bloodsight confirmed that everyone was still asleep.

Stacey’s house didn’t have one of those convenient ivy planter frames going up the walls that all the teens in movies used to climb up and down, so I had to settle for a massive leap to catch the rim of the bathroom windowsill, then haul myself up by my fingertips.

The window was locked, so I had to use Stoneknapper’s power to open a hole in the glass, then stick my hand through to unlatch it. Once I’d folded myself through, I shut and locked the window again, and reformed the glass pane. It seemed a little off in the middle, but after a minute of fiddling I just let it lie.

Turning on the light revealed a problem I’d forgotten about. There were specks of blood on my sleeves, and grass stains on my jeans.

“Seltzer water and lemon for blood,” Vladimir offered. “Hydrogen peroxide, or white vinegar. Just not both together, that shit’s toxic.”

I opened the cabinet above the sink, and the very first thing my eyes landed on was a Tide pen.

“Or that,” he conceded. I grabbed the pen and started scrubbing at the bigger spots on the sleeves.

It took a long while to get the stains out, and I scrubbed the jeans in the sink as best as I could. My watch said 5:03am when I decided it was good enough for government work and stepped out of the bathroom, crossing the hall to Stacey’s room.

Neither of the girls stirred as I gingerly stepped over Frankie. They didn’t seem to have woken up in the night- although I was amused to see that Stacey had managed to wriggle around so much that her head was almost hanging off the side of the bed.

“Okay, we’ve got time to kill,” Firecracker pointed out as I slid back into my sleeping bag, “What’s there to read?”
---------------

I laced my fingers together and stretched my arms up toward the ceiling until all my knuckles popped. Rolling my shoulders and leaning back further got a few satisfying pops out of my spine too.

“Seriously?” Frankie asked tiredly. “Right in front of my cereal?”

I met her gaze, then gave my neck a sharp twist to the side. Frankie flinched at the pop for a second, before slumping back down, elbows on the table.

“Come on, Taylor, don’t be gross.” Stacey didn’t even look up from pouring milk onto her Froot Loops.

“Fine.” I flopped into a chair and grabbed a bowl. “I meant to ask, can I borrow Strata for the weekend? I just got to a good part.”

“Just bring it back on Monday.”

“You’re unnatural; you know that, right?” Frankie shovelled another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. “S’um’er pah’ies ah fuh s’eep’ih eh.”

“Can you say that again? In English?” I asked.

Frankie finished her mouthful. “Slumber parties are for staying up late and sleeping in. I don’t get how you can get up at 7 and be functional.”

I shrugged as I poured my own cereal. “Early rising runs in the family.”

“Lucky,” Stacey says, giving me the side-eye.

“We could’ve made pancakes,” Anchorage whined as I added milk.

“Yeah, and then you’d bitch about me washing up after,” I pointed out. “Plus, raiding the fridge and making pancakes from scratch would be pushing things a bit.”

“Is that in a ‘rude guest’ way, or a ‘suspiciously alert in the mornings’ kind of way?” Vladimir asked.

I took a bite of Froot Loops contemplatively. “I guess a bit of both.”

I carefully didn’t look up at the sound of shuffling footsteps as Stacey’s mom came into the kitchen, more fluffy pink bathrobe than woman. “Morning, girls,” she said distractedly, preoccupied with something on her phone.

“Morning, Mom.”

“Morning, Mrs Henderson.”

Mr Henderson came down a few minutes later in pyjamas. I had to bite down on my spoon to keep from giggling when Firecracker made a joke about the sun shining off his forehead.

Blissfully unaware of the mockery, he wrapped his arms around his wife from behind her and peered over her shoulder at the phone screen. “Jesus,” he breathed.

The three of us looked up at his exclamation. “Dad?” Stacey asked.

The Hendersons exchanged glances and a quick, hissed argument that was still loud enough for my hearing to catch most of; “-don’t want to scare them-”, “-need to know-”; before Mrs Henderson looked down at her phone again and scrolled a bit.

“There was a break-in last night,” she said flatly, with a sort of deliberate calm that the Butchers recognised; used when trying to talk about something very disturbing without losing your composure. “At the Mitchells.”

“Shit,” Butcher blurted.

I pushed down Butcher, Anchorage and Bearskin the moment I recognised the surname, and forced myself to slowly put my spoon down. “Are they alright?” I asked, like I didn’t know the answer already; physically, yes; emotionally, no.

“Some new hero was there,” Mrs Henderson said, “Got there just in time, beat the guys senseless.”

“See? You did good, Taylor,” Flinch said.

“Kind of a lot for some burglars, isn’t it?” Frankie asked.

Mrs Henderson shook her head. “They weren’t there to steal anything,” she said, in that flat tone again. “It was an Empire attack.”

Frankie shrunk in on herself, even though it was a simple statement of fact. “Oh.”

“Dumbass,” Quarrel said wearily.

“She didn’t know,” Nemean defended.

Mr Henderson breathed out, too controlled to be a sigh, and pulled his wife a little closer. “Well, they dodged a bullet. Better than the alternative.”

“Is there anything about the hero?” Stacey asked tentatively. Mrs Henderson looked down at her phone again.

“Something about covering herself in glass and shaping it. She made their daughter a little glass platypus after- well, everything.”

“Artsy, good with kids, beats up Nazis,” Stacey counted the points off on her fingers. “Shame it’s not a guy.”

It took a moment for the meaning to sink into my head, and then I quickly stuffed another spoonful of cereal into my mouth before my head could explode.

Firecracker and Rotter giggled incessantly at my discomfort- I shoved her down too and focused on not letting the blush creep up my face.

“Sorry to bring the mood down,” Mrs Henderson apologised, while I crushed the head of the spoon between my back teeth. “It’s just… It rattled me, I suppose.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Stacey said. “At least we know there’s another hero out there, right?”

Flinch wordlessly nudged me at that. Even though Stacey couldn’t possibly know, I still felt a rush of warmth at her words.

Mr Henderson cleared his throat. “Change of subject,” he declared, glancing at me and Frankie. “Did you girls sort out getting picked up with your parents, or do you want me to drop you off?”

“Dad’s coming to get me,” I answered around my spoon, using Stoneknapper’s fizz to reshape it so it wouldn’t have teeth marks before I brought it out.

“Grandma’s coming by, she said 11,” Frankie chimed in. “She doesn’t usually get up early on weekends.”

“That’s fine.”

Breakfast dissolved into small talk while we finished our cereal, and the spectre of violence gradually faded from the room as normality reasserted itself.

I reached down to gingerly pull up the Butchers I’d suppressed, with some profanity from Butcher that was more habit that actual anger.

“So we’re still fucking up the Empire, right?” Anchorage asked. I spared a glance at the lingering tension in the Hendersons, their stance, the exhaustion in their eyes.

“Oh, definitely.”

Chapter Text

Saturday 12th February, The Trainyards

“He’s been showing up since last Thursday,” the old man said, wiping his hands with an oily rag. Rather than clean his hands, it just spread axle grease and engine oil all around in increasingly smeared patterns, but he seemed too nervous to notice.

He glanced through the window of his little office hut, to the mounds of scrap metal that formed a horizon against the setting sun. The dying rays glinted off stacks of flattened cars, a few damaged motorbikes and scooters, and what looked like most of a truck cab with a hole in the hood, blobby streaks of metal around the edge like something hot had liquified the panel.

“Guy just walks through the gates, grabs whatever out of the piles, walks off. Not every night, y’know, but enough to get used to it.”

Faultline nodded. “I understand.”

The junkyard man shook his head mournfully, then suddenly chucked the rag into a bin in the corner with surprising accuracy. “I tried to scare him off myself, y’know? Got a rifle out, made like I was gonna use it? He just grabbed the damn thing and-”, he gestured with his hands, “-squished it.

“An’ when I called the cops, they just laughed. ‘cause it ain’t stealing if it’s junk, right? Even if it’s some steam-powered asshole big enough to leave footprints an inch deep, coming in an’ tossing shit all over the place.”

Faultline nodded. “That does seem like a failing on their part.”

“Damn right.” The man leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stubbly chin, not caring or noticing that he smeared yellowish grease and black oil there. “I hope you guys can do something, ‘cause I’m at the end of my damn rope.”

“We’ll try.” Faultline got to her feet, the skirt of her dress rippling around her knees. She pulled out a few bills from one of many pockets and placed them on his desk, holding them there with two fingers. “Thank you for calling us. If you could give us some time alone with him to talk, we’d appreciate that.”

The man nodded cautiously. “Sure, I can do that.”

Faultline nodded and withdrew her hand, making her way to the door.

She was halfway down the steps of his office hut when she heard his shout of gleeful surprise. He must have just checked the denominations on the bills.

A little money always helped to move things smoothly. They might be here again some day.

Newter hopped off the wall to the ground as she came down, so his feet touched the ground at the same time as hers. There was a contrast there- she wore steel-toed cowboy boots, tough and hard-wearing, yet free of tight straps or fastenings. Apparently they’d been made that way so that someone who fell out of the saddle would simply slip out of the boot instead of being dragged along by the stirrup. Faultline wore them for similar reasons.

Newter just wore footwraps, matching the handwraps around his palms, leaving fingers and toes free. His only other equipment was a pair of loose basketball shorts and a messenger bag slung over his back.

Of course, Newter had very different powers to her.

“Anything we need to know, boss?” he asked, stretching his arms extravagantly, though perpendicular to her, so he wasn’t coming any closer. No need to risk accidents.

“He’s come by here several times, so he might have built himself something new. Plus he’s not intimidated by guns, it seems.”

“He’s that tough?” Newter raised an eyebrow, hands on his hips.

“Or that confident.”

Newter nodded. “Right. Pride before a fall, all that.”

“Maybe.” Faultline started toward the other half of the team. “But we’re not trying to make him fall.”

Newter fell into step behind her. “I’ll just be my usual charming self then.”

Faultline fought back an amused smirk behind her mask.

Gregor the Snail was standing at an opening to the maze of stacks, obscured by shadows. It was his habit to stand somewhere unobtrusive. For a while Faultline had thought he was self-conscious- trying to take up less space than his obese frame did by default, hidden inside an XXL sweatshirt. Maybe there was an element of that, but Gregor had worked as a bouncer before she’d recruited him, and he’d made a habit of standing out of sight, ready to move in, to intervene.

Labyrinth stood in his shadow, hidden away in the hood of her green robe, distractedly picking at the maze patterns on the sleeve. The ground around her was sprouting little tufts of grass from sandy soil, nothing like the gravel of the rest of the lot. She looked up as Faultline and Newter approached though, with focused eyes. Today had been a good day for her so far- hopefully that would hold. They’d only decided this tonight because the intel had lined up with her state of mind.

“He’s still in here somewhere,” Faultline said without preamble. “I’ll take point. Gregor, you and Labyrinth follow a few turns behind me for backup. Newter, you go high. Remember, no aggressive moves unless I give the signal.”

“Got it,” Newter said, already climbing a stack of cars, his hands and feet easily clinging to the metal. In seconds he was at the top, only visible by the end of his tail poking over the edge.

“Understood,” Gregor rumbled, deep voice made more intimidating by his vaguely Eastern Europe accent. He pulled his hands free of his pockets and rubbed one with the other, making a rasping sound as the hard growths rasped against his skin.

Labyrinth nodded slowly, a few strands of platinum blonde hair falling out of her hood to frame her maze-mask. “Okay,” she said eventually.

“Are you still with us?” Faultline asked. “We can always come back.”

Labyrinth shook her head, a quicker response than before. There was a sudden rush of saltwater scent that quickly faded. “I’m here,” she said. “He could be a new friend.”

Faultline felt a stirring of pride. Labyrinth was deeply afflicted with the enormity of her parahuman ability, and the ongoing search for some method to help her regulate her lucidity was so far fruitless. Seeing her visibly pull herself out of her little worlds was quite heartwarming to see.

“Alright then. Let’s go.”

They made their way deeper into the stacks, passing through different piles of materials. Rusty bicycles, steel bedframes, bits of girder and scrapped air conditioner units.

As they walked, Faultline checked through all her equipment again. She was carrying more than the other three members put together- upper arms, forearms and thighs all held belts to carry knives, lockpicks, climbing tools, sticks of chalk, a mirror, a magnifying glass, iron wire, and various pre-prepared hypodermic needles.

The semiautomatic on her left hip was fully loaded, with a spare magazine in the holster. Just because one inexperienced man with a rifle hadn’t scared their target didn’t mean bullets wouldn’t come in handy, in the worst case scenario.

For that matter, she’d occasionally made some creative use of the flare gun on her right hip. Even people who could bend steel and crush brick would be stymied by a sudden blinding light.

The wide flowing sleeves and stylised dress hid all of it from view- and even if someone tried to grab at the fabric, the buckles fastening them would come undone, working on the same principle as the cowboy boots.

Of course, that was all for the worst case scenario. In the best case scenario, all that she would need was diplomacy.

A muffled crash brought their progress to a halt- Faultline held up a fist, then slowly crept to the corner and pulled the mirror from its place on her left bicep. A small handle was attached to the bottom with a stiff hinge; she extended the handle, adjusted the angle, and then carefully poked the mirror around the corner.

The mirror’s surface showed a humanoid figure that looked like it was formed entirely out of rusty metal. Great pillars of legs led up to a thick torso, with a large tank on the back and the exhaust pipes of a truck poking over the shoulders. A kilt of license plates swung from his hips, like a scrapyard legionnaire. Oversized hands worked away at the end of thick arms as he pawed through the guts of a flatbed truck.

That all matched the description of Trainwreck. By all accounts, he was a low-level supervillain who’d shown up a few weeks back and immediately engaged in various petty crimes.

Despite going around in an eight foot tall suit of power armour, Trainwreck had managed to fly under the radar. Certainly, the other factions had been preoccupied with greater events.

Faultline pulled the mirror back, taking a moment to glance at herself in it, and make sure her mask was on straight- a welder’s mask, with a stylised crack in place of a visor to see out of. Then she stuck the mirror back out again, quickly knelt down, and grabbed a large rusty bolt off the ground.

Once she’d signalled Gregor and Labyrinth, and Newter had waved a salute from the other side of the path, she tossed the bolt across the way. It bounced off a girder with a clang like a bell.

Trainwreck immediately spun around, surprisingly agile for his mass. Thick steam and thin black smoke burst from the exhaust pipes as he pulled himself out of the engine, shook some loose wires off his fingers, and settled into what looking like an amateur fighting stance.

“Who’s there?” he bellowed. His face poked out of his armour, incongruously small compared to the rest of him, with round cheeks pockmarked with acne scars. His eyes and upper face were covered with a metal plate, and a greasy ponytail poked out of the top. His teeth were surprisingly clean, even bared in a harsh snarl as they were.

Faultline considered as she pulled the mirror back, folded it up and slipped it back into its strap. Trainwreck’s face didn’t really give any further weight to her hypothesis, but it didn’t disprove it yet either.

Regardless, it was time to begin. She stuck an arm around the corner and quickly waved her hand. “I’m not here to fight,” she called clearly. “I just want to talk to you.”

There was a small pause. “No tricks,” Trainwreck finally called back.

“No tricks.” Faultline slowly stepped around the corner, keeping her hands in plain view, palms open in front of her. Ten feet of distance wouldn’t be enough to seem non-threatening in this case.

Trainwreck looked her up and down for a second, before his mouth went from a snarl to a downturned frown. Not much, but not outright hostile now.

“Talk,” he said brusquely, keeping his massive fists up.

Faultline took one slow step forward. “My name is Faultline. I’m the leader of a team of mercenaries based in this city. Possibly you’ve heard of us.”

“Nope.”

Faultline shrugged. “That’s fine. But we heard about someone moving around in the Trainyards, and we decided to come and check it out.”

Trainwreck immediately looked up at the tops of the stacks. “Where’s the rest of them?” he demanded.

Faultline privately gave him a point for picking up on that. On the other hand, he’d taken his eyes off the person in front of him in search of someone who might not be present.

He wouldn’t notice Newter anyway. The younger boy was at the top of the stack to Faultline’s left, Trainwreck’s right, and he’d flattened himself against the surface when Faultline had signalled.

“The rest of the group is waiting some distance away. We didn’t want to seem threatening,” Faultline explained.

Trainwreck returned his gaze to her. “So if you’re not here to fight, then why?”

“We came to see if you would like to join us.”

Trainwreck’s fists twitched, and Faultline had to strangle the flinch before it could show itself. Judging from the slack on Trainwreck’s jaw, the movement was one of surprise anyway.

“What do you guys do?” he asked after a moment.

“We’re freelance,” Faultline said steadily, lowering her hands slightly. “We take contracts from various people, usually villains. Sometimes it’s retrieving stolen goods, sometimes it’s gathering information. Sometimes we’re paid to fight- other villains, sometimes heroes.

“We charge well for our services and split the money between us, and we avoid contracts that would require killing or extensive damage. It’s a well-paid occupation, with plenty of travel. Perhaps you’d be interested.”

Trainwreck’s fists drooped toward the ground. One side of his jaw worked up and down, like he was chewing on his cheek.

“This seems too good to be true,” he said eventually. “There’s gotta be a catch. Like I can’t leave once I join.”

“You’d be free to leave if you changed your mind,” Faultline said swiftly. “Although we do require two weeks’ notice if possible.”

Trainwreck gave her a long look. She had the impression that he was glaring at her behind the metal plate protecting his upper face.

Then he took two massive steps forward, and was suddenly looming over Faultline, blocking out the sun. This close, she could hear the faint thrumming of whatever engine or motor powered his armour.

“And what if you change your minds?” he growled.

Faultline kept her hands very still. If he did try anything, she could duck between his legs, get behind him, sever a few pieces of his armour, or even entire limbs, and call to the boys for backup. But she still wanted to try and make this work.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Her voice was perfectly even, she knew that. She’d kept her nerve in far worse situations than this, with more dangerous people. Besides, Trainwreck was hilariously vulnerable to her.

Trainwreck’s lip curled, showing those small white teeth again. “How do I know,” he said, voice dripping with disdain, “that you’re not going to change your mind about recruiting me?”

“Why do you think we might change our minds about you?”

Trainwreck huffed through his nose. “People don’t like to see a freak. Unless it’s to laugh at.”

Faultline kept the satisfaction down for the moment. It wouldn’t do to seem smug right now.

“If you’ll give me a second, I’ll call one of my team members over here. Then you can see that there won’t be a problem.”

Trainwreck said nothing for a moment. This close, she could just make out small eyes behind the mask, shadowed by the light behind him.

“Fine,” he said abruptly, stepping back again, fists raised. “Don’t try anything.”

Faultline nodded and turned her head slightly. “Gregor,” she called clearly, “could you come over here? Potential recruit wants to meet you.”

Gregor waited a moment to start walking toward the corner of the junction, to let Trainwreck think he’d been further away. He came around the corner slowly, with his hands raised. As he came to stand next to Faultline, he raised them to his hood and drew it back.

Gregor’s head was devoid of all hair, even eyebrows or eyelashes. His skin was pale as a ghost, and the spectral comparison only furthered with its translucency- literally; the shadow of Gregor’s skull was visible beneath his face, where it wasn’t obscured by the small, hard growths scattered across his skin, each with a distinct spiral pattern to them, like a snail shell.

Trainwreck’s fists flopped to his sides with a faint clang. The exposed half of his face clearly showed he was utterly poleaxed.

“Are you similarly… peculiar, in appearance?” Gregor asked, in his deep, precise tones.

Trainwreck nodded jerkily. “Yeah. Yeah, I don’t… I heard there were others, but…”

“It is one thing to hear, and another to see. I understand.”

Trainwreck tore his gaze from Gregor to look at Faultline. “Is the whole team like- like me and him?”

“No,” Faultline answered, “but we have one more member with a similar condition, and one with her own issues.” She waited a moment to let that sink in. “Would you like to meet them?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Labyrinth? Could you come here?”

Labyrinth shuffled around the corner, faster than Gregor had. She stopped on Faultline’s other side, and the ground under her feet quickly began to transform, from oil-stained gravel to coastline grass, speckled with tiny purple flowers. She waved a hand cheerfully, sending a waft of fresh seaside smell across.

That was another encouraging sign. Faultline had learned to recognise some of the pocket worlds that Labyrinth accessed, and the little flowers were something she often came back to when she was feeling particularly upbeat. There was also a massive temple she’d learned to aim herself at, but that was more a case of hard-won triumph.

Much better than her worst days though, when she got lost in her uncountable pocket worlds and bad memories. Nobody liked it when Labyrinth remembered the asylum and brought it into reality.

Trainwreck glanced down at the flowers and sand for a moment. “Who’s the last guy?” he asked finally.

Faultline cupped a hand to her mouth and shouted behind her. “Newter!”

Newter understood her meaning. Without making any noise she could hear, he slipped from his perch to Trainwreck’s right and climbed around to come over the wall behind Faultline in an excellent bit of misdirection.

He even made a show of it, leaping off the top of the fall in a front flip to land on all fours, with his tail arched over himself so the tip dangled in front of his face. When he straightened up, he slung the tail over his shoulder, crossing over the strap of his bag to point to the symbol just above his heart- like a stylised U, or the Greek Omega symbol.

“Evening,” Newter said pleasantly, lacing his fingers together and stretching his arms out. Muscles moved beneath traffic-cone orange skin as he rolled his shoulders and strolled over to stand beside Labyrinth, idly scrubbing a hand through his blonde hair.

Trainwreck looked a little awed to see all four of them lined up together. After a second, his gaze returned to Newter, focused on his chest.

“You guys both got tattoos like that?” he asked, nodding from Newter to Gregor.

“Yes.” Gregor unzipped his sweatshirt and shrugged out of one arm, then rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to show the tattoo on his arm; the same symbol as on Newter.

“Do you have one as well?” Faultline asked, trying for a gentle tone.

Trainwreck shrugged, with a faint rasp of metal as his massive shoulders rose and fell. “Yeah. Can’t really show it though.”

“Right, because of the armour,” Newter nodded.

Trainwreck cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Yeah, that too.”

There was a long moment where nobody said anything, until Newter’s rectangular pupils suddenly blew wide in realisation. “Wait,” he said, “wait, wait, wait. Dude, is yours on your-?”

“Newter,” Faultline said warningly.

“Right, right.” Newter stuck his hands in his pockets, but a smirk still played around his lips.

“The polite term for people like us is ‘Case 53’,” Gregor explained as he slipped his sweatshirt back on. “We all share common ground- a mark of this symbol, and retrograde amnesia; a total lack of prior memory, in simple terms. Most of us are also noticeably different from other powered humans.” He gestured to his face without expression.

Trainwreck pulled a face. “And nobody knows what happened to us? Where we come from, or why?”

“One of the great mysteries of the age,” Faultline admitted, spreading her hands. “However,” she added, “last year, Gregor and I struck a deal- a portion of his earnings, in exchange for using them to look for answers. We’ve only found rumours and ghost stories so far, but there seems to be a pattern forming.”

Trainwreck put his oversized hands on his hips. Even with his enormous suit of armour, they were disproportionate to the rest of him.

“And if I join you, take the same deal, we’ll maybe find some answers?”

“I certainly intend to,” Faultline agreed.

“We could probably get a hell of a lot more done with you on our team, big guy,” Newter added. “Bigger jobs equals more money, equals more resources, equals faster answers.”

Trainwreck raised one hand to his jaw and rubbed a metal finger the size of a salami along the stubble growing there. He turned away for a moment and paced back to the flatbed truck, resting his hands on the hood, head bowed in thought.

Faultline kept her mouth shut, and gestured quickly when Newter looked like he was about to talk. Trainwreck seemed like he could be highly effective in the right place, but from what little she could glean of his personality, he would need a light touch until she’d earned his respect. For now, best to let him think.

Abruptly, Trainwreck straightened up, turned, and walked back to them, stopping so he wasn’t looming into Faultline’s personal space again. “Okay,” he said, “I’m in. But,” he held up a hand, “I’m gonna need some things. Mostly for the suit. Tools, metal, stuff like that.”

“We have connections with a Tinker group called Toybox, and the people that supply them. We can get you what you need.”

“Right.” Trainwreck hesitated. “I’m gonna need some personal stuff as well. For where I’m staying. Room for the suit.”

“We can find a space for you to store the armour-”

Trainwreck was already shaking his head. “No. No, I mean I need enough room to move around in the suit. I…” he swallowed, “I need the suit to move around, I mean.”

Gregor glanced at Faultline. She very carefully did not return it. Now was not the time to show any reaction to Trainwreck’s condition.

Once again, Newter plunged right into awkward territory-

“I don’t get it,” he said artlessly.

Trainwreck glared at him. “I don’t have regular limbs, asshole!”

-and stepped on a conversational landmine.

Newter’s orange skin blanched. “Oh. Shit, man, I’m sorry-”

“Whatever,” Trainwreck cut him off, turning to Faultline. “Can you do that?” he demanded.

“We can figure out accommodations,” Faultline said simply. “For now, would you like to come back to our base? We’ve got a truck waiting just outside the gate.”

“Better be a big one,” Trainwreck grumbled.

Faultline started toward the entrance, Newter and Gregor following behind her, Labyrinth, trotting to catch up and walk beside her. The seaside smell faded quickly.

A second later, Trainwreck began to follow them, with surprisingly quiet footsteps that nonetheless reverberated through the ground.

As they reached the end of the stacks, Trainwreck spoke up. “If I’d been less friendly, and we’d had a fight,” he asked in a conspicuously casual tone, “what was your plan for handling me? Just out of curiosity.”

Faultline glanced at him- and then quickly strode over to a minivan up on bricks. The glass had been removed, the seats had been pried out, the engine, wiring and lights were missing. Just an empty metal shell.

Perfect for a demonstration.

Faultline rested the tip of one finger against the edge of the roof, felt her power magnifying around the point of contact.

Her power worked best with multiple points of contact. Fingers, toes, and the tip of her nose on one memorable occasion. But to really sell the impression, one finger would do.

She swiped the fingertip down along the body of the car, bending at the waist to reach to the bottom. Pushing hard on her power let it extend several feet inside an object, drawing a line right through the car.

A fissure appeared across the car, from side to side, with a cloud of metal dust and filings drifting out of the gap. The two halves toppled into each other, unbalanced, and then collapsed to the ground in a thunderous clatter.

When she turned back, the crew had a variety of expressions. Gregor was putting his hood back up with a quick nod. Labyrinth was inscrutable behind her mask, but the way she bounced on the balls of her feet excitedly said enough. Newter just rolled his eyes with a smirk.

Trainwreck slowly closed his jaw. “Damn,” he managed.

Faultline headed for the gates without another word.

As she fished in her pocket for the key to the truck, the rest of the crew caught up to her. “Uh, this is kinda awkward,” Trainwreck admitted, “but I don’t think I actually said my name.”

“Trainwreck, right?” Faultline asked, opening the driver’s door and sliding in. She shut it after her, buckled herself in, then looked out the window at Trainwreck’s surprised expression.

“I do my research,” she explained, starting the engine.