======== SAMPLE 1 ========
 ull fight you and get revenge no matter how many or many many’t.

When the explosion hit, it was enough to drive the ground into the city. That destroyed half, but it was large, filling the whole.

The other Half lay in ruins on every side.

"That’s what happens when an Endbringer gains enough strength, and when the threats become an end in themselves," Accord said.

Riches had been set on the ruins of the buildings, while the wounded lay in a mess of tangled bodies. Everything had been cleared away, leaving only a mess of mangled limbs and faces in a mess of rubble.

Faultline approached, and picked up the knife that was embedded in her side. It had been defaced badly, but she had more than made up for that. The edges were almost indistinguishable, now. A knife, stabbed into her shoulder.

"Can you do that again?" He asked.

"Every time."

He turned the knife, and she stabbed him twice more.

When she turned her back to him, he whispered, "Take it."

He did. The knife was like steel, almost impossible to bend.

The third time he was set on the door, it broke, and she tried to push it apart. She got her arm caught in there, and found two things in rapid succession. Faces, one of which wasn’t even recognizable as human, had joined the ones on the ground.

The man pulled the knife free, and she found her handhold as soft as paper should be, her grip on the knife slipping.

"Do me a favor?" He was more tense as the second severed its last limb.

She threw herself to the ground, panting. Paper was pulled free. More paper was trapped in there.

"No."

Another fell, and she had only herself to spare. She shoved herself to her feet and hurried away, hurrying with her arms full.

Cuff ran for the stairs, shouting as she moved toward the second door.

"Don’t fucking go!" Imp screamed. "I’ve got you!"

There was no response. She leaped down, felt the hand she was given in stride, felt the strength of bones and connective tissue as she brought herself up to a standing position.

She dashed for the door again with even more speed, felt the strength of her legs give way in a way that reminded her of what had just happened.

A hand seized her forearm, steadied her, and she hurried toward the apartment before she could be cut down.

■

Cherish stirred, her forehead creased with a metal that clung to the top of Accord’s head, and she could feel the warmth of it against her bare forehead.

She could hear Accord mutter a word in that same language.

Her vision was fixed on the screen, moving toward one spot where Cherish’s nightmare-self was, hands spread, breasts heaving with a bounding, jiggling mass.

The yellow light that danced around the orb overshadowed all else, and in the midst of the other, her heart beat faster than she could blink. It was the moment that came when weeps were drowned out by the roaring. She knew it was coming, knew it would be like the first time, when she woke from a bad dream.

She shook herself free of the clutches of her nightmare self and made her way downstairs.

Accord stood in the hallway, panting.

She was the one who called his name, who answered him, and she wasn’t sure why he’d done it.

"You’re awake," he said, his voice quiet.

She shook herself free of the grasp of her terror. She was still in one piece. Shaking herself to the point of exhaustion, unconsciousness and darkness, she took the hand of her imaginary friend, staggered down the stairs, and held on as best as she was able.

He was waiting for her outside the apartment, panting for breath. He’d found her way to the lobby by the open door, and was hurrying toward the elevator as he reached the penthouse level. He was so busy he barely paid attention to her. The yellow feathered creature was making its way up the stairwell at an astonishing pace.

Cherish’s heart sank as her imaginary friend reached the top of the elevator. Accord, too, was moving.

There were cameras throughout the apartment, and everyone in the building was a potential suspect.

She looked at her friend. She was still in one piece. Still breathing, breathing, panting for breath.

But she wasn’t sure

======== SAMPLE 2 ========
 ure thinking we can do something useful here, right?"

"I’m trying to think of what I could do as useful," Legend answered. He shook his head a little.

Parian looked at the camera once again.

"We make noise, stop them, and get out of here."

"Good girl."

"I’m going to make a call, and get ready to leave in a minute. If there’s trouble, they’ll deal with it when they’re in earshot."

"Okay."

He hung up. The soundproof room was as empty as it had ever been.

Not quite so easy, to move forward when so much depended on it.

He headed to the stairwell, keeping to a very careful orbit.

■

Abandoned, the Pendragon 2.3.1 landed outside the airport. It wasn’t without effort – the flight-data display wasn’t yet operational, and there wasn’t a pilot’s panel or anything resembling it on the ship’s hull. Still, it was a more powerful machine that seemed almost incidental.

As they passed overhead, the ship’s systems settled into a final configuration, displays lighting up and settling into a fixed positions.

It was disorienting to look at. There were hundreds of these little displays, with a resolution of 640 x 480 pixels, and they spread out over every surface of the craft. It was like someone had painted a giant white square with a black border. Even the boxes of onboard munitions were a density of numbers and symbols, not unlike the deck-mounted displays of a computer.

But it was also disorientating to look at them. For long spans of time, they only lit up when the ship was moving, or when the engines were opening and closing. They dimmed as the ship stopped moving, settled in a square, and then reigned.

It reminded him of the first airplane, which had been his first introduction to the outside world. It was like that airplane had parked at the edge of the runway, lights on, waiting for him.

The feeling of space was changing, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He watched as the ship moved across the city, and even the small movement of his eyes was making the space he was occupying increasingly difficult to pick up, blurry in the periphery of his field of vision. He focused on the visuals, looked at the shapes, even touched them, as if he could settle in images and abstract ideas and fill in the blanks.

But there was no space to settle in any of it. He focused on the shapes, on the numbers and the patterns and the relationships, instead.

In the distance, the craft had stopped a few blocks behind him, the ship settling back down.

In the time it had taken him to pick up the phone and ring the cockpit doorbell, he had time to consider. He gathered his squadron, his staff, and the Wards, checked the doors, then passed them on a coded signal to unlock the doors.

A wave of relief crossed his face, overwhelming at the realization that it had come down to this. For his team, for his homeland, it felt more real than the breaking point of his powers. For himself, the feelings were tempered by a doubt as to whether he was worth the effort. It was something he had put off for a long time, but he felt relieved nonetheless.

He couldn’t help but wonder why the PRT hadn’t caught on and arranged some sort of ‘Paradigm Shift’. He would have been able to participate in the discussions at the highest levels, in the high school he attended, the corporation that was trying to find the next Indigo or Changer in track and field…

He couldn’t be sure whether to be grateful or ashamed for the fact that they hadn’t arranged one already.

The ship’s engines shut down. The exterior was boarded up, and the ship settled down in a rough crouching position. They hadn’t made contact with the outside world yet.

Legend set the ship down and opened a hatch, much as they’d parked it on the far side of the hangar. He closed and locked it behind him, the metal doors sealing shut after him.

"Hey, Kid," he said, "You really did not bring anything of value."

"Nothing worthwhile," Sophia replied. She pulled a bundle from the pocket of her slipper.

The ship settled back down. The ramp opened just behind them.

"You really did bring something valuable," he said, as he joined Legend, moving to stand beside him.

"What is it?" Legend asked

======== SAMPLE 3 ========
 ull be okay by you."

He left, and she could ignore the guilt for a while.

Just a while. Until the after-effects wore off, and she had to decide if she wanted to stay here or if she wanted a family.

■

’Tentatively scheduled for release.

Two-twenty-seven. I’ve got the lists.

Beside me, Miss Militia turned to meet Rime’s eyes.

Her teammates glanced around, looked my way.

The Undersiders were there, alongside heroes from Brockton Bay. Major players.

I couldn’t help but feel a part of the scene had been staged. Heroes that had the same motivations as I did.

I’d felt like I was part of something, defending the city, doing what I could to try to stop the tidal wave from coming, helping a friend.

It had been one and a half years. What was I supposed to do?

She stepped inside, passing me and Triumph, and I followed her. She turned to head back to Ballistic, who was still inside the truck.

"You’re going with Noelle?" Imp asked.

"Hm?"

"And Noelle’s with you."

Imp nodded.

She went on, "There’s a bit more to this than meets the eye."

"And you know you?" Tattletale asked. "You’re not scared of dragons?"

"No."

"I mean, you’re scared, but you’re terrified. You’re worried, but you’re hopeful. Like, you’ve been giving thought to the idea that maybe you’ve done wrong things, you’ve done dumb things, even, but it’s so long ago now, so it’s like, you’re trusting in the idea that you’re right.

"Or maybe it’s because you’re a child, doing what a child does."

"Yeah?"

"You look back, and there’s this kid, and there’s one or two adults along for the ride, helping him along. But there’s no guidance, no professional help, no goals beyond looking after him. Just the opposite, isn’t there?"

I nodded. "I think…"

"The opposite, yeah. Sure."

I didn’t reply. Tattletale helped me uphand from the bench, locking my feet and feet behind me, the uneven bench holding me up high.

"Go somewhere else, Taylor. It’s okay. Let’s find a better location. I know this one."

I hesitated.

"Where are you staying?" Tattletale asked.

"In the city. Stay at this spot. Don’t go running into any trouble."

When Tattletale and I had settled in and our teams were located nearby, Shadow Stalker had climbed up onto the railing above the ocean, letting herself float free.

"You okay with this?" she asked me.

I could feel the sore around the wounds. That was the bad part. The good part? I looked down and saw blood.

"I… I’ve sort of run my course with supervillains," I said, swallowing around a lump in my throat. I looked up at Tattletale, and she gave me an embarrassed look. She’d changed her expression from total shock to an embarrassment in milder ways. Whatever, Tattletale.

I looked forward and saw Triumph, with Bitch by his side. He was looking down, looking more than a little worried.

"Tattletale?" he asked me.

"Hey, Tron," I said. "How’re you doing?"

"You looking for trouble?" she asked.

I shook my head.

"Need something to carry me?" she asked.

I frowned behind my mask, "No. I’m a little busy."

She shrugged.

"Took us five or six hours, but we survived. Good," he said.

There was a brief pause before we heard the sound of clapping. I looked in the direction of our teammates, saw Miss Militia and Legend hanging back, looking a little concerned.

"Legend?" Miss Militia asked.

"He’s okay," Legend spoke, almost casually.

"You’re surprised his shoulder’s intact?" Miss Militia’s voice sounded plaintive, almost surprised at the question.

"Yeah. His

======== SAMPLE 4 ========
 um… yeah. it’s probably the same for you, but it’s very possible I’m telling you to stop. Because if I am, then you won’t be able to pull it together in the end.

"I’ve always done my best to be fair to my students, and I’ve dealt with some pretty shitty ones at the school. Some of you may remember me giving Lung a really hard time when he first started going public with his juvenile crimes against humanity. Or the time Cherish was harassing Simone, going so far as to slap her across the face, after Simone had made a joke about eating pussy. I can’t say that incident was a trigger for me, ya know?"

"Can’t remember…" Alec started.

"Sure, sure. Remember the time you pulled an all-nighter with Noelle to try and catch up on schoolwork? The time you tried to take Noelle out in a car and wound up making a messy trap on the hood of your car? The time you tried to slap a student under the table and wound up fucking them both up? Those are some bad days. Those are some bad times for being a student at Winslow High School, don’t you think?"

Alec nodded slowly.

"And there were the times when you got away with something, and I got a sense that things weren’t quite so bad? There were good days too, and it made me feel good, because you just never knew. Good days were like the days your team could finally be proud of, they were the good days. There were bad days too, the bad days, the times you could feel like the entire school was turning on you. Those times are better now, because you know they weren’t really ‘good’ days, they were real bad days where you were dreading going home and dreading coming to school, because you knew you were never going to get better. You knew you would always come back to the same places, the same people, just a hundred different ways, every day, just a day later, day after day, saying how lucky you were to have been in a good day. How wonderful it would be to go back to those days and relive those good times. But you knew in your gut that something was wrong. That something was wrong even before you got there, that somehow you’d realized you were part of the problem while you were on the good days. You got more twisted and inappropriate with your friends, so you couldn’t have that kind of a strong bond."

"Fuck you, I’m going back to those days. Fuck the bullies?" Alec shook his head.

"I dunno. Going back to those days is kinda fucked up. You know what I mean? It’s hard to break up with school, it’s harder than it used to be. It’s harder still when you’re caught up in a cycle where you’re going to school and you’re trying to improve your subject matter, only to have it falter, and there’s more inane shit to take up your time. It’s dull."

"Self-indulgence? The act of taking up more and more interest in whatever subject matter you’ve already bent the subject to, only to discover later that it isn’t applicable, I don’t get that vibe." Alec made a gagging noise.

"No! No! That’s gross, I don’t get that vibe."

"That’s gross so go away. Go, oh, the human spirit. Get outside. Go fuck somewhere you might find some moss."

He was out the door in two seconds.

It came down to a very real, very boring, very dull fight, and he didn’t know the rules, and that wasn’t helping his morale at all. It took a different kind of mental endurance to stay standing and fight without giving anything away, to not give Nick reason to taunt him.

The loser joined the other kid in the room. The big guy pushed Alec out of the room and roused the boy. By the time Alec got down, the loser and the kid had pulled away from Alec. The loser had his arms around Alec. He couldn’t help but laugh after that.

The kid was breathing easier, and he was smiling more, and he was clenching his hands into fists that weren’t even pink. His eyes were closed.

"How’d you know?"

"The little girl in the back, she’s wearing a similar outfit to the one I have. She doesn’t have powers, but her friend

======== SAMPLE 5 ========
 ull be careful," I told her.

She nodded once, curt.

I wasn’t exactly sure what to do with myself. I walked around until I stood in the middle of the hallway, then headed to the beach, where the sun was setting. My head was cranked up so my face was above the ocean. The only light was from fires that were still smoking in the distance. It was a relief to be able to see the ocean and the coast of Lake Ontario, maybe. There was something to be said for the quiet.

If I could manage another full day without any visitors, I knew I could manage a few days. Months, if I was willing to work without any distractions for just a little while, months of practice a year at a time.

I shut my eyes, used my power.

I was in the middle of something when a pair of teenagers turned my way. I’d figured out their names as they crossed the street to stop at my side for a brief moment. A dark-skinned boy and a girl, maybe eighteen or so, with wild blotches of skin and dark blotches of hair streaked their features. They were the sort of people who were taciturn and unassuming enough to be safe, but bold enough to be uncomfortable. They weren’t wearing clothes, but I knew that their dark skin was something of a byproduct of an unnatural growth that had been implanted in their foreheads.

The boy had a knife in his hand. He was looking for a bottle with a hard plastic case.

The girl didn’t look as wary. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"You can walk," I said. "Or, rather, I can give you a small transmitter to an open panel and a small USB port to plug in a computer. Be creative."

"Do you have a computer?"

No. Not a PC. Not a personal computer. But a keychain, a little USB port, some identification and access tags with my real photo on it, and I could buy a laptop for them when I was done here? I felt a little lame. Funny, just to be debating whether doing it would be idiotic and dangerous and just throwing it in the towel like that.

I glanced at the dark-skinned boy. He was taking my keychain as a whole. "Not a second transmitter."

"No right hand of yours or any of the others?" I asked.

He gave me a curt nod.

I took the keychain as a whole and held it out with my good hand. Numbers and letters were arranged in a spiral. Two-fingered, three-fingered, tick-tock-tock.

I found a computer and typed in a password. It took me a second to master the system, but it was simple and worked instantly. I had to set it up so people could see it. A grid, with letters arranged as a spiral, a little higher for my liking. Smaller fonts with spiral letters in the upper-left-hand corner and larger ones in the lower-right.

Then it took me only a second to open it and start scanning through.

A spider silk keychain, early 1970s.

It took me only a few seconds to find what I was looking for. Two digit codes, four‑to‑eight patterns of color, and a spiral that wound its way around the keys. There was a code for orange, an eight for white, and a two for blue. One oddity, that codes for certain things, and not for example items, or words. Not odd, but odd nonetheless.

I moved on to the next screen. The password screen.

Easy peasy, if you can get past the oddity thing.

I tapped out the code:

‘Terry’

‘Eric’

‘Clint’

‘Golem’

‘Murderbird’

‘Lung’

‘Killington’

‘Murdermouse’



I could guess what keys I had pressed. I was pretty sure. I sighed and moved on to other options.

I found another code, then moved on to the next screen. The grid of letters arranged in a nine, two-by-two grid.

The password screen with the two-by-two approach; password here with this layout. Number keys correspond to the individual patterns, two keys to the letter ‘Terry’.

Three possible passwords.

I went through and typed in the values.

Murderbird: white. Jack: yellow. Weaver: red. Ligeia: purple.

Six patterns possible. Six passwords

======== SAMPLE 6 ========
 u’re the same as the ones before, the same as the ones we caught last time, only they’ve probably seen something or someone they relate to. What do I even need to compare us to, here?"

"Hookwolf," she said.

He looked at her, surprise written all across his face.

"He? Same guy?"

"Same guy, except he’s been turned inside out. His personality hasn’t shifted all that much, and he’s going to stick around. Maybe two or three percent chance, but it’s there."

"You’re doing this to get power," she said.

"It’s my regular method, just to fill my head with information and get a sense of things. Be nice to try."

He scowled.

"Don’t turn into a dorm rat and listen to him," she said.

He glanced around the room. There were a handful of people still in their chairs. Too many heads as it were.

"I’ll listen to Hookwolf if you’re just an intern, but if I get a chance to talk to anyone else about this-"

"Yeah."

"About Coil, Dinah, the plan, maybe even offer my thoughts on how I could have helped-"

"I’ll listen to you. Just… maybe, with your power, I ask you to help if I’m going to be blunt, because I don’t want you feeling like I’m withholding my thoughts or my information."

He sighed.

"Okay. Then I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s get moving."

"Sure." He turned back to the wall, where a series of white buttons would look like keys and his hand would press that combination of keys against the back of his chair, unlocking it. His fingers moved to the far right, and his chair shook just a little. A few people gathered at the far end of the room, whispering, talking and joking.

There were fifty or sixty people in the room, now. Some were still at the demonstration, waiting to see what Scion would do, others were still at the demonstration, looking for answers. The rest waited as he walked over to close the door. The room was empty, so quiet that people couldn’t be sure who was speaking. Only the sound of the floor shuffling as he closed the door, the empty hallways, the warm smell of fresh air.

He checked his cell phone. Only text. Not texts from people he’d contacted, not calls, but there. People had emailed him about the fight beyond the big cities, about orphaned children in other worlds, about other stuff. The little messages, sent from time to time, seemed to remind himself of where others had sent him messages. A thank you for the pictures he’d taken of them.

It took two or three minutes for the phone to make the call. He wasn’t sure what he’d read on the screen, but the message was positive and positive it was. He tapped on the screen once, then forced himself to ignore the rest. He felt like there was no proper or adequate way to thank people once they were on board, so he just stuck to accepting it as a given.

He could see the list of people who’d attended the meeting. They were in the hall, along with a small handful who’d stayed and were chatting away in the private rooms. He could see the person who’d been in last place on the list, a preadolescent girl, got a chance to speak. She’d barely made it through the day as all the meetings had been called. She’d had to sit in on one, and it had been nice. The children in her room had looked exhausted, and there was a note of the same on her desk. It had been there the entire time. Telling Dad, telling Mom, Dad’s word to take her out to a place where she didn’t have to go.

He picked up his laptop and set it on the small table near the door. He’d never liked the thin, plastic pieces of office equipment. The look of mock quality, only it was so exaggerated that it was like something out of a shounen film.

Today was different. He’d waited too long. He didn’t need to see a therapist. Today was different. He could look forward, tell himself he was doing things right, this is what’s for my sake and if he’s for your better interest.

He typed out a new email. Two lines long, just below the 'from:

======== SAMPLE 7 ========
 um. No. No problem. He’ll be available by phone, as well as sending us his expense reports. Just so you know."

I hung up. I took a second to compose my thoughts and then sighed. I still had to find Tattletale first. I glanced at Bitch. She was talking to Grue. Good.

I made my way to Tattletale’s base, passing by the front desk. I found Tattletale in the crowd at the far end of the room. She turned her head my way, extending my invitation a fraction.

We hugged, and in the doing, I wrapped my arms around her. I walked around behind her desk to the PRT offices. I wasn’t sure how I’d get to her at this address, and still felt the warmth of a hug from her.

Tattletale’s office was more or less in the general location of our loft, a bit ahead of us. I followed her straight to the podium.

"Thank you, Director," she spoke, as she found her way to the far end of her room. She was still staring down at the floor of her office.

She really wasn’t the type to look down at the floor. I looked at Tattletale, and she looked up at me.

I had to smile a little in return.<|endoftext|>When the news broke that the villain known as the Deimos II was headed to Brockton Bay via Providence, it brought the city and its residents to a standstill, as far as the Undersiders and their allies were concerned.

It meant that Bitch’s dogs were free to patrol the outside of the city, with only the occasional visit from the PRT police and a patrol from the Protectorate. There had been reports of trouble by Deimos’ people in the west end of the city, notably at the ferry, but no reports of any in the city itself.

It meant that Grue, Lilith and their reinforcements could devote themselves entirely to the ongoing fighting against the Deimos.

They would, Lilith suspected, avoid the areas where the Deimos were most active. From what she’d seen with her bugs, there was no effective defense against his projectiles. He could, after a choice few minutes, switch targets to other nearby people and objects with a wave of his power. The only real purpose for his visit was to deny people in the area his power and buy people time to make other preparations, like pulling on latex gloves.

She had little doubt that his main goal was to demoralize and demoralize the People’s Defense League, the side that had to spend the bulk of its time in the Brockton Bay central headquarters, fighting with their Tasers and bludgeoning anyone unfortunate enough to cross their path.

The thing was, she knew, that they had also spent the bulk of the time, money and effort to build such a powerful defense. They might have figured that they could beat his power with a more traditional offensive strategy. As it was, they had come to rely on luck and poorly-timed physical attacks to close the gap in the closing minutes of a fight. That, and their dogs were still recovering from the last few days of traveling.

The fact that he had decided to show up in Brockton Bay with only a small force of his more mobile Deimos wasn’t in doubt, even if it was hard to believe. He moved with something-like thought at the periphery of his mind, placing his power in a place that they couldn’t necessarily sense. Whatever the location or what he was doing, people couldn’t necessarily perceive it to be somewhere they’d be walking down the street at sunset.

"How many millions of people do you think the Undersiders could beat with a simple attack?" Brian mused.

"We don’t know. Maybe they could beat a Simurgh, or beat Leviathan, but we can’t even guess how fast. Or maybe those people we shouldn’t be so sure of are our allies, they’re just unlucky to have to face him." He winced as the chair rocked a bit, "He’s powerful, he’s dangerous, he’s clever…"

He trailed off, the last word spoken to the impact.

A dark look passed over his face.

He walked over to his computer, turned on the background to the Brockton Bay news. Only articles from the week prior were displayed, an image of a SWAT team entering the area around the hospital, Bitch’s reaction after Trickster had left the group behind, and an article about Jack Slash and Gobel. He turned off the news, checked the book on the side of his computer,

======== SAMPLE 8 ========
 u."

"We’ll discuss it," she said.

"Okay."

I stepped back, setting foot on the hard ground.

She looked at me, "I know the drill, just so you know-"

"Shut up," I said.

"I can’t… I can’t let you live it, can I? I’m okay with it, I think I need to make amends-"

"You’re not-"

"And to do that, I need to find out where you live. How the fuck do you stay out of jail?"

She shut her mouth. It took me a second to realize she was talking to Trickster.

I reached out and took her hand, placing it on my head. "I’m sorry."

"It’s fine, it’s… it’s brilliant, and I totally understand it, but it has to be like this? Something we can all get behind, somehow. Make some sacrifices, right this moment, and look, I’ve picked up on the fact that you really shouldn’t be alone. I made a… something of a sacrifice, going to the Birdcage and getting off the stand with the bullshit I’ve overheard on your phone."

"I’m not."

"I’ve picked up on the fact that you really shouldn’t have to be in here, really. I don’t know what that thing is you need to keep from us, what I can use that to get answers, or use to scare us all off."

"I… why?"

I was about to tell her to shut up or I would; but then she gave me a look that caught me off guard. There were tears in the corners of her eyes.

"I don’t know how to answer that. What do you need to keep from us?"

"Why?"

I looked down at her, "I found out about your creator in a conversation you had with Faultline. The idea that they could return to Earth Aleph and rebuild it, and somehow escape the Endbringer situation, I was one of the people who was a little relieved to hear."

"Fuck. I dunno. I don’t think I was ever a huge believer in that whole, helping each other than taking revenge for our errors of the past in and outside of the ring…"

"You were never a big believer either," I said.

"No. When we parted ways, maybe a year before the war started, I was still your enemy number one. I was disappointed, but I thought it was inevitable."

I shrugged.

When no tears could hide her genuine expressions any more than I could hide the apparent pain I was feeling, I added, "I would have done things differently then."

"There’s always that," she said.

So maybe you’ll keep to the rules, okay.

"Always," I said, feeling stupid.

"We’ll talk about this later, okay? Let’s get back to the job."

I gestured with the bugs, telling Trickster and Sundancer to fly around. Noelle pulled into a garage, and Trickster turned to face Bonesaw.

"No!" Sundancer screamed, running from the doorway. She flung a plastic bag at Bonesaw, but there was enough air in it to kill all but the bag.

I drew my knife, grabbed the hair that was still attached to Regent’s head, combed it back. I said as much, as I could read the markings through the blood that hadn’t yet been wiped away. Two more bags full of blood had been thrown around the room. "We will not compete or trade blows in the ring. Regent won’t hurt a fly, will not maim or kill."

Bonesaw picked up the backpack, not bringing it up from where it had fallen to the ground. Sundancer climbed down.

"Good," I said, looking at Regent, Sundancer and Bonesaw. "I think that’s it."

"We won’t be able to stop walking into your traps like that."

"I would not wish that on anyone," I said. And we did have backup in the form of Sundancer’s ice crystals. I cast them out through the room, blocking off long stretches of highway, blocking off potential avenues for attack by impeding the momentum of Bonesaw’s designs.

A flamethrower shot out and exploded nearby.

There was a pause.

"She’s gone," Bonesaw said.


======== SAMPLE 9 ========
 ukulele, a copy of my dad’s art. I had no idea what to think, so I had a conversation with him.

He put one hand on my shoulder and leaned close, so I kissed him on the cheeks. It was gentle, only a bit behind us, so I wasn’t offended, even uncomfortable.

"I could live with that," I lied.

My dad laughed. If that was enough to wake my mom up, it would be easier in that she’d have to deal with more uncomfortable phone calls the next morning.

My arms around my mom’s neck, as my dad led me away to the car, I pulled off my sweatshirt and put it half-zip, holding onto the other half to keep everything folded tightly against my body. I’d have to fix that soon.

I glanced out the car window. The city was lit up by the low sun, and the skyscrapers were either partially or completely closed off. The buildings were almost dark, sealed up with barbed wire and barricades. Even the snow was dark, scattered here and there, still drifting slightly above the surrounding mountains. It was still pretty cold out, with wind chirping in the muffled sound of the engine.

I almost didn’t see the barricades, but one of the capes standing at the side of the road was staring at me.

Tattletale?

I heard her speaking, but couldn’t make it out over the buzzing in my ears. I glanced over my shoulder. The Wards were walking hand in hand and in procession, stopping to recuperate from the recent battles. There were two armored suits along the waterfront, one with ten people on the beach, a smaller craft parked at the edge, its pilotless helicopter moving a short distance behind them. The men with guns and my team were still at the railings, sitting, or standing, but the Wards were ignoring the stop to relieve the four others.

The reason Tattletale was not in the convoy was because she wasn’t a Wards member.

Weld, Cuff and Assault were gathered at the edge of the craft, talking. Weld looked up at me, then walked over to the side of the craft, crouching. He removed the containment foam dispenser and tossed it over the railing. The craft turned and climbed into the air, accelerating to a nearly forty-five-minute flight.

Cuff was unclipping the straps behind her, attaching the remaining restraints, while still holding the large rig in a backward orientation. Her hands, wedged into the spaces between the rods that were sticking out in front of her, were gripping the ends of each cord. It was so tight I worried I’d be able to pull my hair out. Just a second before things went kablooie: every reason she gave to escape or escape from the craft’s fate would be the result of her ability to guess at what she’d seen and figured out from the conversations she’d had with the others. She’d figure it out, time after time, as we connected every detail that correlated with her ability to read.

She was omnipotent, but she wasn’t very balanced, wasn’t sure how she placed herself in the middle of the crew of the craft. Not in terms of raw firepower, or the sheer variety she could pick from when she operated in the areas her thinker powers allowed her to go. Even if her other abilities didn’t stop her outright, a precog-imbibited power to turn the tide of one or two fights in an even split-second decision.

A heartbeat after she made sense of things, she let go of the rod that was holding her.

It broke off.

She was right. Too many things that didn’t make sense.





Parasite 10.7


"This is stupid," I heard the voice of Tattletale’s assistant, muffled.

Tattletale was shouting, striding toward us, her footfalls interrupted by the tread of her foot on the ground. She had to make a fist. "Stop. Listen, this is stupid. What Grue is saying is the lowest priority, and you can’t trust anything he’s said."

"Fuck all of it," Regent muttered, from where he sat at the corner of the roof. Imp stood beside him, rifle raised.

Taunting fashion, it didn’t seem to fit.

The dog growled.

"Come on, obedient dog." She spoke in a voice almost halfway between a dog’s and a dog’s, so melodic it was almost bitter. The soft-sounding

======== SAMPLE 10 ========
 u’s the kind of situation we want our heroes to find. It’s the type of situation you’re hoping to avoid, by steering clear, staying safe and hanging back. It’s the type of situation you’re hoping to avoid, because you’ll be doing yourself a disservice if you call us back. To do ourselves a disservice? Call us back. I know you want us to take you out so badly you’ve already got the worst of the enemies on your heels. But that’s another conversation…" Lung said.

The camera darted back and forth as if it could find some signal that it could pass on.

The camera continued to track the progress of the hero.

"…We’ll only need to do one thing for you. Do you remember our earlier offer, Sam? Do you remember the deal?"

Sam Winchester was walking down the street. I could see the yellow of his eyes in the gloom, the sunken, hollow eyes, the gap between them, the pointy, goatee sized blemish where he had none.

"A deal," Lung said. "The terms were we’d return you to her in exchange for the information that you desperately needed."

Lung took a step forward, and the camera veered gently, missing him entirely.

"A shame," he spoke, audibly.

A shame? The camera continued to miss him until Samaritan had flown away, the effect complete, the effect complete and over, and the camera returned to its original destination.

■

She had come out as the one who had interrogated Lung. She had heard him rambling on about how there were people who needed to die.

She couldn’t bring herself to be moved, to have her belief confirmed, when she knew the only way to change her mind about killing a loved one was to accept the deal. But she would have, if the deal could be changed.

There was one thing that always stayed at the periphery of her thoughts, and that was the idea that maybe Samaritan had been right. Maybe she really did need to do evil in the name of good.

She had found the number of dead to date. Fifty-four. Maybe they were rounding down the numbers, giving her a headcount of everyone who had been killed in recent days. She couldn’t be sure. It could mean-maybe it was even the dead, a drop in the ocean, filling in for the people who had died in recent weeks and months. But she couldn’t bring herself to find out.

Maybe there was a point to this journey. A place to find out, as her focus switched from one villain to another.

Lung was bleeding badly from his nose. Tattletale looked away, quickly, without looking back. She didn’t want to interrupt what she was saying.

Brockton Bay’s underworld had been hit hardest by Leviathan’s onslaught. Few things knocked the sense of calm for Brockton Bay into the most immediate perspective. The night before, the mayor had been talking about ways to improve the city, ways to boost infrastructure, spur development. What had shocked her was the sight of the aftermath of the attack, the chaos, the dead, the injured, maimed and the deadn’t because of Leviathan’s thrashing.

It had been the sight of the dead that had shaken her.





Interlude 8


"How long before you free him?"

"We’re at his cell right now, but he never lets us out of his sight. Once we get a search warrant, we have 30 minutes to 30 minutes to act. Maybe something will come up, and we can try searching his office, but we don’t do that for free."

"He gets restless," Brian said.

"He might give you a few hours, but something inevitably happens, and there’s no reason to think he’s not responsible for it. In fact, there’s a great deal in the news this morning. He might be the reason there’s less than two hours before the last train leaves for Sandy’s place."

"And the hostages?"

"Probably the ones Tattletale was talking about. Probably the people from the local Protectorate and Wards teams too, getting off to a slow start. There’s the teachers, the people from the church, the couples who picked a place they’d want to stay but didn’t have enough rooms. They’re getting fed and housed, but there’s nothing saying they won’t run into trouble in the meantime."

"The hostages?"

"We have to talk

======== SAMPLE 11 ========
 u,

Punctuation marks were used to separate the verbs from the nouns. The tense of the sentence was also important, as had the tone of the speaker.

"The heroes are getting back together, I imagine," he said. He smiled a little.

"…We’ve done our share. You’re on the roof, mind giving us any updates on what happened tonight?"

Her voice was gentle, almost soothing. "No."

He nodded. She smiled as she could see the set of bruises at the corner of his eye that might have been from the flashbang. He took in a deep breath. "Sorry."

He wasn’t sure what to say.

He sighed and spoke, his voice tight, "The Undersiders would be back for me soon. I wanted to see if they weren’t, but they aren’t."

Punctuation was used a lot in these situations to separate the speaker from the object. He kind of liked that there was a space in the sentence for her to do that for him, as a kind of token.

"There was something happen, that’s why Dragon’s talking to us this…"

His mind was going a mile a minute. "…This has been running in reverse for a bit. She’s trying to get some things sorted out and consolidate power."

"Right. Um. I think she has a target. Something is grabbing her attention. Trying to get things under control, keep her distance, so they don’t get back into the thick of it and make a serious mistake."

"I’m totally cool with that," he said.

"What are you trying to accomplish?" she asked. She let her head rest against the roof’s edge, and he could hear her heartbeat in the midst of the roar.

He could picture it. It was so hard to think back and see what the hell his sister was trying to achieve. She’s tried to stop, to see what she’s done that she’s noticed this. Did that mean he is as well? Does this thing with his trigger running through her? Or is she experiencing something deeper and more fundamental?

No… no, it wasn’t either of those.

He pressed his palms against the metal of the roof’s edge. She’s on something.

"We can’t stop Dragon without taking Dragon’s full attention," Defiant said. "That… sounds like a total waste of time."

"She got a chance to make a mistake. Letting go of the idea of control is a natural thing. The trigger event is more developed, allowing her to build some degree of situational awareness. She was, after all, reacting to a signal. Letting go of the old, false idea about the mind being an obstacle, she built her sense of self as an obstacle, and it negates… negates some of her self. It was a conscious, intentional step back."

He nodded, his head lowered. For an instant, the metal of his mask was white as morning dew.

"…For good measure, she’s tried to fuck with our heads. With every passing day, she’s dropped a bomb on us. A great big screwjob, dropping the big sister thing, her power, so she can rule like a queen… and screw us over without getting to see any of it."

Defiant turned the words around in his head. Interruption. She can’t afford to touch her subjects.

"Don’t you dare."

He shook his head. "Fuck you. Don’t do that again. That’s for us. Not for Dragon, not even for me. Only us."

"Ah well then," Praesi said.

She was making her way through a hole in the ceiling, moved just a little too slowly. She turned in the air, then swept a hand in front of her, interrupting a jet Black already rising into the air. Her interdimensional connections have a tendency to become… well, I dunno. Connected, like a mindfuck is a better word. Multiply that by a hundred, set in stone like a knife in one’s hand. The movement of the hand was controlled by a twin laser turrets just ahead of her, pointing directly down.

Nano N, the Cauldron cape with the knife-like hull, had her back turned, the forward momentum pulled by her connection to the cape right in front of her. She could feel the impact as the knife connected solid with her arm and the appendage on the knife slid right back into the space she’d just left behind. It made a bit of

======== SAMPLE 12 ========
 u. I don’t know if I can convince you."

"But if you’re right, I’m in a pickle. Here, if you’ll listen-"

Kid Win grabbed the dog’s snout with the point of his gun and used it to prod the dog into a run.

The dog growled wordlessly, but the owner had the ear of the dog for a split second. The dog moved, then stopped short. Kid Win’s gun pressed one hand to the dog’s snout and chin. "Listen. I’m going to give you the answer you want. The next best thing to being in the Birdcage."

"Fuck the Birdcage," the dog growled.

Kid Win raised his gun again and pressed it to the dog’s muzzle. Without breaking eye contact, he told the soldier, "Listen. This is a pick-up. You answer the question, I’ll bend you over and fuck your brains in for the rest of your fucking day. Then I’ll take you home."

The soldier looked down at the dog, then looked up at the door.

"Get out of here," Kid Win said. He pointed towards the door. "If you don’t answer me-"

The soldier slammed the door behind him.

"I don’t owe you one. Get out."

The boy was so small, so delicate. Kid Win’s own dog, the smallest, had measured his movements to a degree. It walked right at him, snagged on the small things that he dropped, let the little bastard go.

"Get out of here."

The dog growled wordless. Kid Win turned in his seat to face the door. Kid Win looked down at the door, then looked back up at the dog.

"Fuck, don’t deserve this. You going to break the dog, here? Fuck you! I’d fucking break your fucking feet if I had to…" Kid Win spat the word.

He turned back to the Soldier. He’s right, he’s right.

The Soldier was right behind the wheel again. Kid Win could see how the Soldier had his fingers in the shifter, pressing it to the point that it spun to a stop.

He didn’t want to take a life, knew it. He couldn’t let another person suffer that fate. The wheels continued to spin to a stop a second later.

The car was speeding up. The wheels were on the line, still spinning, but the car was going faster. Kid Win was adjusting the auto-pilot to account for the added speed. Nothing he could use in a real emergency, but it would keep him out of mortal danger.

Maybe there was a possibility for an emergency landing, but he hadn’t seen any people or vehicles in that lane yet.

In the thick of the chase, Kid Win still sat in the passenger seat. He reached into the side of his mask and withdrew a small knife. He held it out horizontally, like a machete.

The steering wheel continued to spin forward, slowly towards the sun, slowly at first, then faster. Kid Win picked up the knife and checked it. It was a surer grip than a regular glove would be. He started to swing at the car, only to get his legs mashed into the hood. He tried to stand, and his head popped out. He was in the midst of the front windshield, the front wheels and rear.

No use stabbing himself in the foot when he could be inside Scion’s head, no use at all, when Scion was in the midst of him.

He lunged, and he was agile enough to navigate the streets in-between the parked cars and the construction equipment, navigating quickly. Cars barely slowed in his wake.

There were people inside the structure, people. One more person than the car he had driven through. Still. Too many.

There were three construction sites, two in the heart of the city, with three other construction sites across the street serving as the scale models for the others. As fast as the wheels could move, each vehicle moved to the exact same location, then began to cluster. The vehicles would then drive through shifts, constantly checking to see if the others had arrived. In the event they hadn’t, the chain would be reeled in, the engine shut down, and all three sets of people inside the vehicles would be taken to different sites.

He lunged, and the front end of the car collided with the chain-link fence.

A flailing, wobbly mess of chains, ropes, pulleys, latches, straps and harnesses

======== SAMPLE 13 ========
 u’s getting closer, but I’ve only been here a little over a year."

Lung frowned a little.

"No use bringing this up now. You’ve already decided what the rules are, I’m not going to argue. Let’s get down to business."

"We can walk away," Lung said. "We can go home."

"There are options," I said.

"If the plan is for you to be a hero in the long run," I said, "I don’t see that it’s a problem if we split up so we can meet again."

"There will be casualties," Lung said.

"There will be casualties," I echoed him, in my most broken voice. "I’ve read up on it myself. The Undersiders fought a war against this world’s most powerful villains a few years back. They lost an awful lot of people, but they defeated the biggest threats, for better or for worse. It’s an old theory, that the Echidna, the Simurgh and the Endbringers are connected somehow. But I haven’t bothered checking it out."

Lung frowned, "So you don’t have a position on this."

"I don’t think we can walk away with an answer unless you’ve gone into a deep sleep. If you’re going to pull a rabbit out of a hat, you better be the rabbit."

"There’s got to be a way," Lung said. "I’m not hearing a single argument there."

"Do we pull rabbit out of hat first?" I asked.

"No hints, no clues. I’d say we could work out a deal later tonight, when you wake up," Lung said.

It’s an early start, I thought. But I told myself that I’d be prepared. I’d have enough for when I actually went down.

"Maybe we should get moving then?" I suggested.

"There’s precious little daylight left," Lung said. "We’d be running late, this time."

"We should be," I agreed. We’d cross that bridge if we had to.





Interlude 26


The door slammed open.

Maggie was there, leaning against the door with a cup of tea in hand. Her eyes were wet, and her tongue cupped around the root of the carrot.

Mr. Peanutbutter?

He’d said he could bring his daughter, but there were lines in his delivery schedule. He didn’t mind. He’d had a hard enough time without the additions that threatened to spoil the tea.

Mr. Peanutbutter entered, and there was the sound of papers clinking on the table.

"Tea?" he asked.

"I’d have to clean the cup before I could say," Ms. Yamada said.

"Tea. How are things?"

She sipped at the tea, sipped carefully for flavor, then spoke, "A little wet."

"Not a problem," he said. She had only a book in her hands. One of those rare books that the people who read it could take home with them. She held one out to him, opened it. A Tale of Two Sisters by Terry Pratchett. Peverell, a demon. Scion.

"There’s one curious detail that everyone knows, but nobody talks about…" He studied the cover. "There’s this girl who’s in love with her favorite person in the world, but everyone else considers her a loser. And this loser is in love with this one… except it makes this one a killer."

Ms. Yamada gave the book to him. "Would you talk to someone about this?"

He hesitated.

There was a danger of admitting he knew, that there was something about her he didn’t know, something about her he wasn’t privy to, was it? Something about her he might tell someone about… but he shook his head. That’d be admitting they were right. Something embarrassing would come of it.

"Would it be okay if I asked you to be careful, Mr. Peanutbutter? About this guy? A little suspicious?"

"I’d tell you to knock it off," he said, "But that would only make me sound creepy."

"…Would it be okay if I asked you to knock it off too?"

"Of course! Please. Just knock it off."

Opening the door, Maggie

======== SAMPLE 14 ========
 u. There’s a whole lot of ugly things in this world." I folded the piece of paper back into its original package, "If you’re looking for help figuring that out, we’ve got a free class just for teachers. If you’re interested, let me know."

"Right!" He opened the door and made his way inside. The space was filled with a dozen or so teachers, most of them wearing a pair of black-framed glasses.

"Hey," Brian spoke to the first of the girls in the group, "Do you have a question for me?"

She looked around, "Yes."

He smiled, "Good!"

She approached the desk, put down her backpack, and headed to his chair.

He sat down immediately, pushing himself to a standing position. "You’re with the other girl, right? Right? No, it wasn’t me, it was my brother. I’ve been playing up that I’m a pro-trickster, helping some people, not making any calls but I got a call from Trickster, and not just anyone can take my place."

There were a few looks of surprise. I spoke up, "That doesn’t sound like you two live together. You wouldn’t?"

"Trickster calls me on the phone almost every day. Tells me the day he moved in, the new phone number is, it’s his place, I’ll help him set things up and everything, from his side," Trickster answered me, "You can call me Brian, if that suits you."

I reached into my bag to get my notepad and pen. With Trickster’s permission, I wrote down a few words:

I am scared. I am seriously scared. I know I won’t be able to do anything until I have a better idea of what’s happening, but I hope we can stick to each other. I barely know C, I do not know his phone number, and I do not know his email. If you know, give me a call, I thank you in advance.



Brian. Okay. He’d left off Trickster. I didn’t expect Brian to be an ally, especially not someone who would be so forthcoming about his fears.

I took my knife and started cutting.

I needed to know what Trickster had been talking about. Was he talking about the Protectorate?

I pulled my chair away from the desk, then sat down to take a closer look. I could tell from the angles the papers were set at, with the folders arranged on the chair and where the papers fell against the cushion in front of me. No bugs. They were almost entirely on my behalf. I felt my blood pounding, though not heart rate, and my foreclaws clenched. My fist clenched at the threshold of what I would have done if I’d had a gun instead of a weapon, rather than a chair, or if I’d had a voice.

"Listen, Trickster. I’m about to tell you about a program I’ve been working on. An outside agency, not a part of the Protectorate. It’s supposed to help get bad guys in check, stop them from pulling off another big scheme, like the one that killed your teammate. That wasn’t our plan, either. It was one of the good plans. It involved the Wards, and it got derailed when Metis overheard and started bullying Alexandria. Bitch found out, and tracked down Trickster’s boss. If only we’d gotten to this meeting earlier… no. We shouldn’t have gone, Bitch. We should have been more discreet."

I shut my eyes briefly. My eyes were a little less readable over this mask, or I’d have been more or less blind, at least, with just the mask covering my face. The program I was typing out consisted of a series of notes, each set of notes scrawled on a separate line so it would be too easy to confuse for others.

When I had my eyes opened again, I saw what Metis had scrawled down on the whiteboard beside me: ‘I will.’

I nodded. I wasn’t at risk of drawing attention to my headquarters. I was in the process of making a note with my power about how I’d better manage my people, and there was nobody to see. The black dots on the board were my connections to Metis’s friends and family, all of whom would be able to see if I let this program go to press. As hard to keep track of as there was to notice, my efforts to keep my

======== SAMPLE 15 ========
 u. Not in terms of how you operate, but the concept. You want an answer, but you’re hoping the only answers you can hope for will be fictions."

"I get the impression you can call that other shit bullshit."

I shook my head. "If reality is too fucked up to swallow, then it’s bullshit anyways."

She studied me for a long while. Then she sighed, "Maybe you’re right. Maybe there’s no way to know for sure."

"No way, no need to speculate."

She stepped away, putting the little key in the lock of the bathroom. It didn’t open the door. I stepped inside to clear away a swarm of flies and ticks. I had a sense of her interior. She didn’t leave.

"So, Taylor, here’s what this is all about. You’ve earned yourself a reputation among capes. I know you’ve probably done some of the bad stuff, but you’ve also done some of the good, and that counts for something. So, instead of dwelling on what’s not to like, I’ve got some wiggle room."

My strategy and my arguments were being drowned out by the swarms of bugs.

"Why are you so intent on changing my mind, then?" I said.

She stood from her chair, then brushed the swarm away from her hair. She walked around the counter of makeup in her beak, patting each container to make sure it was all intact.

"I’m not changing your mind. I’m going to see that you have the stuff."

She took a cup from the vanity, then poured a thin stream of wine onto a white plastic t-shirt. She held the bottle with one hand, moved the other to her mouth, and sucked in a mouthful.

Tears welled up, more than she’d ever seen them. The smallest ones, dark.

She turned to me and raised her hand, palms up, said, "I love you, but I’m kind of sick of this."

"I love you, Taylor."

She stiffened, then gave me a look that told me everything there was to know about her. It told me that her smile was too wide, her eyes too wide.

No wonder. She’s been through far worse.

Then her hand dropped.

Bitterly, I said, "We’re done."

I stepped over to the sink to try to wash my face clean, feeling almost ashamed that I had to keep pushing my face with the tattered t-shirt. The fabric was sticking to my teeth. My knuckles were sore where I had them, and the top of my hand throbbed where the tattered t-shirt had cut my knuckles.

I wiped at my face again and again, feeling the damp fabric of my knuckles against the fabric of my sandals. The damp felt like metal, the stiffness like iron, like a physical pain I didn’t know how to name.

I’d been to appointments with my mom, and my dad had always stressed the importance of wearing clean clothes. I figured it was even more important now, as a parent, just to help keep my knees and feet clear, to be out of sight, so I didn’t slip on the slippery, stained pavement.

I grabbed some tissues from around the kitchen table and put them into a paper tube. I bent over and grabbed the paper tube that the doctor had used to empty my bladder, then shoved it into my back pocket.

Just a little bit of urine. I suspected that would be a reason for why my body had been so empty. If I was going to be hurt, the way my body was now, I’d at least do something to help myself. I grabbed a tissue from the paper bag and dropped it onto my knee.

It hurt, but the swelling didn’t really reach anywhere near as far as the eye could see.

I straightened. Why hadn’t my dad called already? I could tell there was a line; the painkillers would probably be running out pretty soon.

I went to put the tube of tissue in the bag, then rummaged through it for some change. I couldn’t go hours like this without feeling like I was missing something. It was demoralizing, and that was without considering the fact that the disruption in my routine would be more than offset by the fact that this new found security would give me the ability to get things done.

I found what I was looking for, and I quickly snatched it. I kept searching for the papers, while slowly opening

======== SAMPLE 16 ========
 ute, it’s something that happens halfway through life."

I swallowed. Was his time passing fast? Was my time passing fast?

It was a time where my enemies and friends were gathering. It seemed so very short, but so many were alive. Some had left, moving somewhere where they’d be safe and able to see me. Others were still around, gathering. I knew of some, some still alive in my range.

Three quarters of the city was dead, and then the moon was gone, replaced with a sky so blue I could barely make out its outline. My contact had died, too, or he hadn’t made it that far.

Even the ones who still lived in Porter’s shadow were coming, only a few hundred at most. It was the first real wake, and I wasn’t sure yet if it was because of Scion’s power or the aftermath of a second major event.

Scion had attacked the Shoshone Nation, and even though his invasion hadn’t been preceded by any attacks, it had been swift, brutal.

There were still some I needed to try, if I was going to be able to get any further. I began examining Porter’s body. Once I was sure I could get a grip with a needle and thread, I began giving him regular immersions of blood. It was a new beginning, and I couldn’t wait to see how it went.

His chest showed. I could do my best to examine the spaces between cells, see the openings and openings of the ribs to see my way through the space. I started to unroll the sheets so the patterns would be easier to see.

A man stood just outside a doorway. He didn’t go through.

Was it Porter? Was it another memory? A reflection of someone’s memory or an illusion?

I could wait. I could use my power and take things into my mind, filter things through my power. Maybe I’d try to do that here.

My power wouldn’t hold him against my will, and I couldn’t afford to use my power on him. He’d gone into another body, and maybe that was why. Maybe.

The first man had been a refugee from the streets. I could see how his skin was a different shade, how his hair or his beard was different colour. He’d been different.

Porter was different too. The first man had been a refugee from the same city where I’d found him, and he could have been a boy, but the other man was tall, and Porter’s older brother looked quite different too.

He turned, ready to move, to attack. But his father…

He stepped into a doorway, and the whole tunnel faded into a digital blur. The father was nowhere to be seen.

I tried to use my power more, to try to find a reflection of what I was looking for, but my power wouldn’t let me. Patterns disappeared. I could only see a darker space.

It got to the point where I could only see movement. Wasn’t expecting anything else.

"Bonesaw?" I asked.

"I’m here," she’s voice sounded almost distant, somehow more distant than I’d heard it in the past few weeks. "What-"

She broke off as the words spilled out of my mouth. There was no line. I could have countered, meant to say something witty, but I was caught in another world, another timeline. My bugs died on the first floor of the tunnel.

Why were they in a hurry? Why did they have to clear the way for us?

She was standing still, Porter in her arms. The father wasn’t moving. His eyes were on the mother. Had he already lost his mind?

Had he turned her way because she was her mother? Or because she was the daughter?

I was beginning to see why we were traveling in shifts. It kept us going even as we lost much of the enthusiasm in our step. We were running on empty, doing much the same as the Butcher had been doing, just slower.

And I couldn’t change her mind.





Teneral e.3


A city block in the East end of Vancouver was marked out with high-rise office buildings and condos. On the top floor were towers, and just to the left of the building was a high security office. Captain’s watch, like the guards on the outside of a fort.

I stood at the corner of the building, just below the elevators. Higher floors had either been cleared out or converted into floor-to

======== SAMPLE 17 ========
 ull be a thorn in your side from now on."

He smiled, "I hope. You’re not in any shape to go up against Leviathan. Or the Endbringers." He glanced at the building. It was gone.

I looked around. I could see the capes who could disperse any time my will told me to move them elsewhere. The ones who were only a part of a group, a smaller swarm that wouldn’t be a problem.

"I won’t underestimate you," Chevalier said. "Your willingness to cooperate. You’re not afraid to confront big threats, but you can also be humble."

I didn’t look at him, but he looked at me, and even here, his features were imposing. It took me a moment to realize why. He’d seen the same person I did, had looked in the same mirror. For someone taller than I was, he was six feet tall, eight feet wide. I knew that balance and a balance of that nature was something I was bad at.

"I’m going to manage this much," I said. "I’ll manage this much because I won’t let you mess with my group. Because of you, me and everyone else that’s having a hard time here. We’ve got to stay together."

"I’ve tried. You don’t deserve to. No, you’re right. I’m sorry."

My heart was pounding so hard I worried it would hurt. I could practically hear Chevalier’s footsteps behind me that I nearly fell over.

"You’ll have support if you’re all working together?" I asked.

"Support? You’re not supporting us? Please."

My family and friends wouldn’t let me back until I had one more thing to do. I looked away. Pretending as though I didn’t know what he was doing.

Someone pushed at the door.

"What’s that?" I asked, as the person pushed the door open.

"You’re a prisoner?"

My heart was pounding so hard I felt like it wasn’t my fault, that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I shut my eyes and concentrated, using every iota of strength I could to close them. I asked everyone who wasn’t actively talking to me, "What’s stopping you from getting to be a hero, Metis? What’s stopping you from being a hero?"

Some people were reacting the fastest, using analogies I couldn’t even grasp.

"Yes," Chevalier said, his voice low. "No. You’ve had a long day, Metis. Listen. I’ve spent a fair share of time around wily, talented villains. Even having fought alongside you in a few smaller fights, I’ve seen them all fail. You’re good, yes?"

I almost missed the part where he clarified.

"No? Ah. Yes. No? Ah. You’re quite welcome. You’re going out in a blaze of glory, Metis?"

My protests didn’t quite reach the point of being able to speak, even as the urge to react and speak in exclamation stuck with me. I couldn’t quite place the feeling of my body being moved relative to Chevalier as he called out, almost mechanical, "The weight of the world’s against us."

"This isn’t fair. We’re taking away her tools to help her, and she’s limited to the tools that are provided to her by the D.T. members. We can’t expect her to use them on our terms."

I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the feeling of my body being moved. If that woman was an unwitting assassin, or if I was being too hard on her… I wasn’t sure I felt hard.

A knock at the door made me jump. "Come in!" Someone rumbled.

I cautiously opened my eyes. Chevalier was in the hallway, leaning against the door with his arbalest in his hands. Metis was striding between the tall oak paneled door and Chevalier’s desk. She was wearing full armor, boots and gauntlets, but the way she was standing, it was impossible to tell. She wore a mask that had a stylized ‘v’ shape to it, with the square lenses over her eyes and the holes for the points of her teeth. Two pointed arrows were embedded in the wood. Her weapon looked like

======== SAMPLE 18 ========
 uuff right that way.

The doors banged open, and there was the sound of something hitting the ground.

Sierra hurried out of her bedroom, only to see Sierra on the ground, her jacket around her upper body.

"Taylor? It’s okay," Sierra said, barely above a whisper. She kept staring down at the ground, as if that could reassure Sierra.

A dark shape hovered over Sierra’s fingertips. If her power was any indication, it didn’t have a face. It was only an idea. An idea of what she’d seen. An ugly, menacing figure.

Sierra began fumbling around to feel it, but her sense of where it should be was tenuous. Her fingernails began growing back, the ends of her nails curling into one another. She felt something big, two-foot-wide and two-foot-tall, slipping from between her fingers. When her hand became too unwieldy to carry her hand, she reached down with her remaining hand and grabbed the top of the coat her mom had left her at the house. She didn’t want to give it to anyone but herself.

"Taylor!" her mom screamed. Sierra was ducking low and stumbling into the house.

The figure was crouched in the kitchen. Sierra felt out with her other hand, feeling for the spots where the monsters had hidden. She saw the outlines of what looked like two people, one white, one Hispanic, crouched together, arms folded. Their heads were turned away from the house, eyes fixed on the ground.

The other figure had a gun, pointed at Sierra.

"Taylor!" her mom shouted again.

"Yes!"

The house fell down exactly as Charlotte had it falling, violently. Sierra felt the effects spread through her body, her hair, her skin, and the muscles of her shoulders and neck. She could smell the heat of it.

It’s not that bad, she thought, when the thoughts were full of ghosts and monsters and blood.

■

Friday, June 18th, 2011, 3:39

"Who’s this?" a boy asked the principal, as she strode in.

Principal Howell ignored him, opening the door to enter into the school’s cafeteria. There were no lines, the place was clean, and the décor was cheerful. She gave the boy a small wave, and he smiled politely.

"Hi Taylor."

"I’m Jack. Are you okay?" Jack asked.

"I’m… no. Is it s-"

"It’s okay Jack."

"You’re Jack, right?" she’d asked him. "And you’ve got a bunch of s’uckers running around."

Jack grinned at that. "Right. You can call me Weaver, I guess."

"I’m fine Jack. Don’t bother me. I’m not easily startled."

"That was Jack," the boy said.

"Hey Jack," the woman said. Her voice sounded tight with a note of familiarity to it.

Jack turned to her. "I guess you were right. Seven or eight s’uckers in the lobby. They’re staying and being pretty annoying."

"I’m not Jack," Jack said. "I’m Jack. Occurence no doubt familiar at this point."

Jack let himself settle into an iced tea sitting atop one of the trays that had been provided. The empty seat opposite him was taken by a child. She was blonde and tiny, with a long neck, large ears and a small mole on her chin. Her clothes were of a light gray t-shirt and navy blue cargo pants. Her, like Taylor’s, were simple yet functional. She could have been a school nurse or a cashier at a store. She might have even fit in the same class as Jack. Why had she been in school instead of running away with the nine?

"I’m Jack," she said. "May I have your attention please? My name is Cherish and I’m thirteen. My surname doesn’t suit me either. It’s not Jack, but something like a son. A bit of both."

Jack gave her a questioning look.

"No? What’s wrong?"

"School."

Jack didn’t take her seat again. He stood quietly and straightened. "I went to school, yes. I’ve sat out since the Nine first showed. They pulled me out with another kid they had labeled a probationary member, but that’s no

======== SAMPLE 19 ========
 uve already done all of it? Not sure anymore…"

"That’s the spirit." Tattletale grinned, "I’ll introduce you to some of the new members soon."

"We’re welcoming back Sierra and the rest of the team to the group. Don’t be shy, introduce yourself, drink some crow and get ready to speak amongst yourselves, Tattletale."

The team hadn’t arrived yet, but the three men were talking amongst themselves as they left. Tattletale was walking alongside Rachel, her back to us, and I followed her line of sight. I’d forgotten to take my flight pack.

Charlotte had gone to Brian’s, and I could see her leaving her cellphone inside her jacket pocket. Sierra wouldn’t be speaking on the phone as Charlotte led Lisa back out of the kitchen with other people in tow.

A quick check of the local residents as they reached their respective terrariums showed none of the problems. No ticks or flies. No roaches or cockroaches. If anything it was an oasis of peace, the kind of quiet you got from the ocean or sky.

That didn’t mean there weren’t occasional screams. Most were accompanied by the piercing, distant screeches of an alien bird that wasn’t even real. I glanced at the ‘song’ that was playing on the phone in her lap. It was odd, but it wasn’t like the song had anything to do with the aliens I knew were nearby. It was almost like ‘What the fuck is that song?’.

"I can’t hear you over the noise of it," I said.

"You’ll be able to hear me over the noise of it," Tattletale prodded me.

The girl nodded.

"Listen up! Listen up! I just got a message from Coil. He’s pissed his best friend got arrested, and he needs our help to get back to the good life. That’s all. He made it clear where he’s staying, he asked where we to go for help with this guy we sent after him.

"So if you’re willing to help, this is your chance to say ‘Yes’ to a life sentence without parole. And maybe some time to do it. Maybe some time to kill you too. Have fun?"

The girl paused. I looked at the phone.

"Yeah?"

"You get fucked. Like I said, maybe a life. Say yes. Yes please."

She didn’t respond. Her phone beeped, then beeped again a second later.

"Okay," I said, "Anything?"

She didn’t reply. She stared down at the ground between us, then turned to me. "Don’t fucking touch anything. Don’t touch anything."

I shook my head.

"Listen up!" Tattletale shouted. "This is the first time in a row I’m going to make you do this! Or at least, the last time I’ve done it is going to be the exception, isn’t it? Alright, good."

She raised her foot and kicked the phone from my hands. When she put it back, the window that was opening on the kitchen floor rattled a fraction of a second after the curtain had closed. I hurried away from there, while Tattletale gathered one tent and started putting the finishing touches on it, trying not to freak anyone out. I couldn’t quite figure out her idea of a good time, because the people at the terrarium were just about to disappear, go the way of the dinosaurs. The tent was going to be smaller than it had to be for the family holiday. Even if I added in the tens of thousands of people who were going to be living there, the extra floor space, the lack of a ceiling, it barely fit with the area we were reserving for everyone else. Even the dog sleeping at the foot that was so visible at night had been redone to increase the surface area for potential spiders and beetles.

"I had another idea in mind. Don’t worry. That’s going to happen at a later date."





Plague 12.4


If I wanted to be a little bit creepy, maybe. If I wanted to go the extra mile to make the monsters around me feel more real, at the expense of my own sanity, I could make a pretty effective case for it.

"I’m going to have to admit, Terrence, I’m biased. I’ve actually been to your territory, looked at the houses you put up

======== SAMPLE 20 ========
 u" when he’d spoken to me. He was probably right. Not really his fault.

I didn’t get a chance to talk further about the incident. I was interrupted before I made myself get back to my topic, "Well, I guess we don’t get to keep any of what Coil did. The big one was accepting full responsibility for the situation. The Big Bad now says that he intends to use the opportunity to clean house, to put everything into order again. His daughter is in his custody, he promises, and he’s made it very clear that he’s going to make sure things get made absolutely right."

"I think that’s a good message."

"I know my daughter very well," he smiled a little. "The details change. It used to be that the little girl was a casualty of circumstance. She was a victim, living in hiding, being beaten, tortured, and left with permanent injuries. She is now a fighter. Her daddy beat her to a pulp, and now she’s free."

"I see." Something hit me there. "I think you killed her."

"Yes."

"Yes. Yes. Yes."

I thought briefly of events that had transpired in the meantime. I felt goosebumps prickling at the corners of my mouth. "I thought you wouldn’t."

"I stopped her. I don’t like it, but it’s the way things turned out."

"And the Big Bad?"

Coil shook his head, "I expect there will be some push for her release on my condition that is certain to get the full extent of her pent-up aggression. The bad elements get reined in, the good things do."

I nodded, eager to get back to my story. "What does she do?"

He shrugged, "There are more things that drive her forward, and I haven’t fully figured them out. Still, she has contingency plans in case the worst comes to pass, and she has set herself goals to succeed this far."

"Her dad?" I asked.

He glanced at me, as if that were some small insult. "I’ve said as much. More details to come."

He smiled a little, still looking at me. Could I call him crazy? I shook my head. He’d been an optimist.

He was still the biggest cheerleader for me. Either that – or he’d had a very good reason for thinking the way he did.

"Let’s talk about the future," he said. "Your daughter, what will she do?"

"My mom and I have discussed this, and it’s not such a big leap to say she’ll follow suit." Sophia grinned. Had she? She looked so happy. There was no mist of drool, or tears, or whatever else, but there was real emotion in the look.

"I’m very worried about your future, little one. Even if I didn’t have powers, even if I spent all this time trying not to think, I’m pretty sure she’ll come back a loser."

He raised one hand to slap the floor.

It only made me sit and take it. I stood, slowly, with my arms by my side, so my hair wouldn’t queue beneath my head, and stared down at the floor. I kept my eyes shut and tried to turn my head so my gaze didn’t stray too far away.

"So she’ll probably come back a loser. Only way's is she’ll have a trigger event, some kind of impeding event, like a power that shuts down or puts an end to her wayward steps. Or she just gets re-energized, she’ll think it’s some kind of a good thing to have that trigger event after every failure, and she’ll carry that negative momentum with her into the next failure, hoping for a golden mean ’just try harder’, ‘come again, little one’."

I swallowed. "You don’t sound terrified."

"No. I’ve fought hundreds of people, and I never get scared. Not even when they’re monsters."

"Oh? What?"

"Capes kill. Even fallen capes go back to the pack. So why are you so worried about her?"

I saw a shadow pass across his face. I shut my eyes and focused hard.

"I’m a survivor too, little one."

"A survivor?"

"I’m back. I’ve been getting

======== SAMPLE 21 ========
 um" I said, then I felt like saying it again. It’s like I was yelling into a microphone and it was like I was a voice that belonged to nobody, it was just… all the wrong things at the wrong times. It sounded pretentious to me.

I looked at the crowd around me, trying to pick the people who were nodding or who were just looking at me in awe and confusion, some looking sympathetic.

There were some whooped and cheered, every time I moved the mic to bring the cheer into their midst.

I felt slightly dazed at the magnitude of this, but I managed to keep moving.

"I’d say that was an ugly night for the Protectorate and Wards, but I was there, all the way here, and that’s not fair," I said, to the crowd. The words were lost in the midst of the noise of the crowd.

"It’s like the Endbringer just dropped onto us, here," a woman whispered. She wasn’t attractive, with a widow’s peak and long curls, and her mask, by contrast, looked professional.

"That’s what the Protectorate was saying?" I whispered back.

A man in a robe and a mask that looked like a kimono said something to another man in the crowd. The man responded by speaking in Hokkien, a language the Hokkien speakers couldn’t understand.

The Hokkien man raised his hand, then rolled it up into a messy knot. "This is so unfair!"

"I’ll show you!" a girl in the crowd shouted.

She wasn’t a tinker, but she had a different style of dress, that Hokkien style, with a shorter skirt and less makeup. She turned and stared over the horizon, almost as if she could look past the issues at work, the cruelty, the injustice.



Hive 5.5


"This is really not fair," a woman muttered. "The kids."

I met her eyes.

"I could give them to you, and they’d grow into teenagers in a month."

I met her eyes, then slammed the phone down on the table, "Not fair."

"You know they’re innocent until proven guilty. You wouldn’t believe the stories they’d told you if you just took a look at them."

"I wouldn’t believe them if I was on the opposing side," I said. My voice sounded so artificial and artificial sounding coming out of my mouth, though I was. When I spoke, I had a hard, ragged intonation, and I was trying to make myself resemble a robot. I looked like one.

"Do you think you’re funny?" the girl asked the man.

Man. At my worst.

"I think you’re really funny," I said, sounding so artificial and artificial sounding.

I shook my head a little, as if to shake off the buzzing in the ceiling that had me practically squirming, feeling every hair on the back of my neck standing on end, feeling like I had no control over my movements.

We were all laughing. By the looks of it, the Hokkien girl was next to be knocked out, her hands over her eyes. She looked almost dazed, a little dazed. It wasn’t the kind of daze you got when dosed with doses of mescaline.

"You’re safe, Magnus?" the blond boy said. His English wasn’t perfect, so I couldn’t understand everything he was saying.

I nodded once, hard.

The blond boy looked at the blond girl, then shrugged, "As far as I know, he’s not really dead. Just gone off his meds. He always did that to you capes."

"I know it must be very lonely," the girl said, "And crazy, too."

"Both," I mumbled, feeling so alone, with no real people to turn to. Just… this being me. This inhuman, childlike fear that was swelling in the back of my mind.

They laughed again. This time, it was more of a guttural, mechanical sound than a sound we’d ever associate with us. The blond boy made a grunting noise between his teeth, the girl chuckled, loud enough for the entire building to hear.

"I could let you go, if you wanted," I mumbled.

"But-" the blond boy started.

"But I have two other children I need to take care of," I said. "Bonesaw and Genesis."



======== SAMPLE 22 ========
 u. If you’d like to stay, anything would be better than this. I’ll let you know what’s going on, what’s going on with my teammates, so you can decide if you want to stick around or not. Kind regards, Regent."

"Weaver," he said again, more urgent.

"Shigure had some bad luck in the past few weeks, and he’s been avoiding talking to me, except for one short encounter when we were hanging out in the bullpen after winning the California primary on Tuesday," she said. "He told me he didn’t have a girlfriend, didn’t want one, didn’t want kids. I think it was more that he was still reeling from the Leviathan attack and the Docks getting hit hard by it. Didn’t want to be left devastated without any female presence around, if you know what I mean."

"What does she-" His voice broke as he choked up.

"…Don’t hate. Don’t hate. I’m just… I’m not good at making friends, and I’m not good at anyone that needs friends, so don’t judge me for letting someone avoid telling you I don’t have one. Don’t take that as a mean or insulting thing. It’s exactly what you want, I promise."

His voice was so quiet it was barely over a whisper.

"Not so fast, Regent," Grue said, as if he could make him stop.

The boy didn’t move a muscle. I was acutely aware of the blades that were embedded in his neck, and that he couldn’t afford to drop into unconsciousness, even if Bonesaw did sever it.

He’d be emotionally drained from the inside out. He’d lose interest in the group, he’d likely become numb to what others were giving him a second glance, and he’d fail to grasp the group as a whole.

I reached behind me to grab the one tube that had come with my mask and haul it into the front of the room. I had to stop where I was, pulling my shoulder blades together to get the thing out. My arm had torn it badly enough I couldn’t use it to secure my mask in place. I had to settle for a cord that hung around my waist, looped around me as tightly as I could manage without cinching it.

I was careful to breathe slowly, so I wouldn’t show my emotional state to anyone in the group, and I used my bugs to search the neighborhood for anyone who might be sneaking glances. I kept one group of bugs in close proximity to my costume, so they could see how I carried and what tricks I was using. When I sensed someone they should be able to catch, I used their assistance to climb on top of me.

The moment I was securely on my case, I began my search of the neighborhood. Where I’d been confident enough with my bugs, I now had to double check everything before I went in the bathroom. Even moving the bugs slightly to one side, I could feel the slight pull of fabric. It wasn’t enough to bring them to me, but I felt a hint of fear at the closeness I felt to the person behind me.

I doubled checked and double unburdened my mask, pulling it off. I didn’t want to get a constant stream of flies buzzing around me, so I did everything in my power to avoid touching anything delicate.

I was still wearing the mask a full fifth of the time, a fact I was grateful for, understanding how blessed I felt with an extra measure of protection, now that my mask covered my face. Then again, it didn’t hurt that I was wearing the mask while the Protectorate went out of their way to take the best of the stuff we had and abuse it. I didn’t think anyone could have figured out we were right behind them, but I might have lost concentration over that.

I had been praying for someone to recognize that I was ok, and it had finally taken hold, filtering through the ranks of my team. There was a group of girls bathroom that was a short distance from mine. The bathroom was clean, and the toilets were working.

I went through the motions of praying, trying to keep to the impersonal code of praying, trying to pray silently and concentrate on the work. Even with a pair of full-body earplugs, just the ear buds and the noise of the rasping in my underwear in my rush to stay still, I could barely focus. Was that a problem with my ear canal? I’d have to get another set of earplugs or

======== SAMPLE 23 ========
 u’s for just one moment?" Tattletale asked.

Noelle hesitated, stared down at her feet.

"Can I ask what happened, without being offensive? You’ve been going out, meeting girls and drinking. You seem to have a routine. Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No, or at least, I can’t find any reciprocation for my behavior when it comes to you, Tattletale."

She had no reply.

He’d been staring down at her feet. Her hairline was the shortest, yetst thickest at the back of her calves. Her face was the most cartilaginous. The lines in her face, brow, nose and chin were all unmistakably Whale’s. The shortness of her face, the wavy lines of her neck and jaw, the wavy lines of her hips… he could see the faint bone structure in her navel. She’d spent some time covering herself with her mask.

"I guess you’re right. I feel like some kid in class. Like, who’s that?"

"Jack. Or something like that."

"I get the impression you don’t identify with that line of thinking."

"I do."

"Okay. But I’ve come to see you as someone who is very aware of how others see her, and she sees her as someone who is very aware of how others see her… and it’s a difficult image to shake."

"Okay. I’ll try."

She let go of his hand, moving her lips slightly as they dropped to her chin. There were tears in her eyes now, more blood than usual. "I’m going to make dinner. I’ll bring your dirty rice."

"You’re not going to ask?"

She was. She held the door open for him, then shut it as she stood, the door sloshing with the liquid.

He walked over to the sink and grabbed a tissue. He pulled a small stain from his nose and wiped it from the side of his face, "I can’t wash my face anymore."

Tears stung in the corners of his eyes. He hugged his nose and pulled the tattered cover off his nose with both hands.

"I missed you too, Skitter. We couldn’t have had a conversation because you fell behind, and now you’ve come back and you don’t know what’s going to happen."

Tears didn’t make sense any more. "I’m sorry."

"Are you okay? This is the closest thing to a real apology I can offer you."

"It’s not you. It’s him. He did this to me. The whole situation, I’d almost think it was intentional, to hurt me so badly I broke something."

"I’m so sorry. I could use a coffee right about now, but I’ll come. It’ll make me feel better."

She didn’t respond. She took off the jacket and tore at her pants, digging them through the layers she was digging with her fingernails. Shuffling them around, she folded them up and tucked them inside. She had a cloth doll in her arms. She wasn’t the most comfortable person, worn out, wrinkled and battered. There wasn’t the slightest to be found.

"Well?" he asked.

"I wasn’t going to say anything about him, and I didn’t want to hurt him."

She let his hand drop to the sink and clenched her teeth.

"So?" he asked, "Do you feel better now?"

She looked down at it. Clothes, cloth. Doll, cloth.

She thought of her mother. She didn’t know her mother’s identity, but she knew the look in her eyes, the warmth. Not maternal, but a warmth that tugged at the heartstrings. Motherly.

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything.

"He was only a little monster, before he came here. If we’ve done what’s necessary, it’s not going to affect him much. Just… let him go. It’s better that you come with than go alone. Don’t push things and prove him wrong."

"Why would it matter? I can hide with my back to her. If I have to fight, I’d be dead anyways." She looked down at the carpet, pulled off her shoes, and then looked up at him

======== SAMPLE 24 ========
 ull have to tell her that ‘shocking’," he said, his voice a growl.

"Enough," Marquis said. "The crowd’s clear."

"If they were ready to fight in the midst of the crowd," Miss Militia cut in, "I wouldn’t have called it."

"I wouldn’t have either," Marquis said. "If I’m being honest, they’re the kind of situation I’d look past, when I know how dire the situation is. They’re the kind of person who’d make it through this… and then they’d make it past the end of the world. But I’ll even give them a chance. Get them to a place they can’t take shelter. Make it clear they’ll be safe. Cut off all contact with the outside world, let their native Earth slide. Then they’ll do exactly what I told them to do. They’ll walk away, and all hell will break loose."

"…I’m not playing along, calling her a freak, all that," Legend said.

Parian turned her head, looked at Sundancer, "What? No?"

"I just thought, you know, it’s really not important, right?"

"Just now, yes!"

Marquis stood and crossed the parking lot to where he’d parked the armored van. He stepped out and opened the door that led into what had once been the kitchen, revealing the metal of a SWAT team truck. His helmet sat on the armored van’s driver’s seat, the lens tilted at an awkward angle.

The SWAT team stopped at the base of the building, allowing Legend to open the door and speak in his own defense.

"I almost feel like the heroes aren’t doing enough," Legend said.

Parian looked back out the front door and shrugged, "It’s not right. It’s like they’re afraid to raise that sort of thing because they don’t want to lose my respect. My power… maybe it’ll help."

He laughed, and it was a strange, off-kilter sound that only half of one part of the thing could understand. The other half of the part that saw through the illusions and the deceits managed to keep a low voice. Mostly, it was due to the need to retain some control.

His voice, that of a confident, confident man, he finished, "I think this would be a good excuse to hang. We’re going to have a few beers, a few meals and a good conversation before we roll up in gear."

That idea struck a few members of the SWAT team, none being any less than seven feet tall and weighing two hundred and thirty pounds. They scattered, one taking cover behind a parked car, the other climbing the side of a building to reach the front door.

He walked over to the armored van and opened the door. Marquis climbed out, reached for his hood and pulled it down low enough that Marquis was tucked between the two of them.

The van started up, the windows and the engine replaced the faded glare of the lights that were still on. The SWAT team made their way into the city, keeping a few dozen in position right where they were. Marquis wasn’t one to shy away from a fight, so when one of his men saw a suspiciously large and burly man running toward them, he just pasted a heavy steel bear trap on the guy’s back, complete with eye-gouging antennae.

He couldn’t have been much older than ten, but his beard and his shaggy hair combined made him look more like a toddler than an adult. His shirt was so saggy it hung down to his knees.

"Thank you," Marquis pulled himself up a step, "It’s a shame you’re so small."

The kid seemed distracted enough to overlook the bomb.

"If you’d like to smoke, I’ll have a box of cigarettes set out with each member of my team, along with a shot of Jack Daniel’s Whiskey. No experience matters, no matter what your rank." He stood and pushed a heavy wooden chair into position at the foot of the chair in the back of the van. Marquis watched as the kid slouched back in the seat.

"I guess I’d have to say thanks, then. Now, I have something else in mind. You’re free to go, but please don’t ask."

"Go?"

Marquis left the group to get into his personal

======== SAMPLE 25 ========
 u’s, you’d better not have any good stories, any good songs, because you’re fucking wasting my time. Just shut up, I won’t listen, and I won’t get into this much deeper shit with your father until you’re in a better state of mind."

"I can’t," Imp said.

"Can? Will? Because there’s no reason. Like, why would he take the time to find out the lyrics to Cherish? How does he hear everything she says?"

"That’s what I’m saying. Don’t worry about it. It’s one of those things that happens when people with weird powers meet cool people. Only reason I get that weird power is because my family vouched for me. They keep telling me to take an A level, so I’ll take an M."

Kid Win sighed. "Not entirely. You’ll have to ask your dad."

"There’s no point. This is the kind of thing that’s going to fuck my world up."

Legend frowned.

"I’m sort of hoping that you’re not going to tell me a story when we get together, so we don’t need a reminder if we run into one."

"No. You’re right. I don’t need a reminder."

"What?"

"The whole going out together thing. I don’t see the point of it. You and I are so similar, so there’s no point. It’s… weird. I can’t relate to you. Maybe I won’t be in the same situation twice, but I can relate to you."

"So weird. Like I’m not even sure I want to spend time with you, because of what happened last time."

Legend sighed.

"What?"

He shook his head. "I dunno. All I know is that there’s some part inside of me that’s going crazy. I can’t fix that, and if I start, I’ll never get any semblance of that part of me back."

The kid, who was probably thirteen or fourteen, asked, "What’s going on?"

Legend didn’t answer him.

The kid looked at his mom.

"He got powers," the mom said. "He used them."

Kid Win looked away, searching his surroundings.

"He’ll be going to a counselor-"

"He’s staying with us," her voice was a hush.

"I can’t… I can’t figure out why? Was it something he said, or something he tried to trigger somewhere else? Or- Or was it… I can’t put my finger on it."

Kid Win thought back to his dad’s car analogy. If he turned the windshield wiper so the car window rolled down, would the car actually roll down? Would Dad be able to get in?

"I don’t know. If he does… that leaves the rest of us but two choices. Option one is that it’s something we can use to our advantage. That we can turn him into a guinea pig for some research."

"Or we can keep him locked up."

"Or both?" Legend asked.

"Either one. I’m sort of hoping for the latter."

"The former," Legend said.

The kid turned to look at Legend and his mom.

"It’s not that simple," Legend said, "And I hope we don’t go to the lengths necessary to keep him locked up too long."

"I’ll be staying with you guys. You guys aren’t here, for any particular reason. We’ll figure out a way to approach it when it’s time to speak with him."

Legend looked over his shoulder. The car was already moving.

The teenager leaned back, then stared at the car.

He turned his head the wrong way, allowing the wipers to rot in the thin drips of windshield cleaner, and he had a different impression. A teenage boy, tall, with a trim body hair and a mouth that was too small for his face. He held one long cigarette, snagged that with one hand, his lips curled in a scowl.

It was a possibility. Could they keep the Merchants off his back? Could they make an example of Cherish? Or Jack?

He felt a pressure. Power. He stepped out of the way for the

======== SAMPLE 26 ========
 u. It’s about him."

"About who?"

"About us. Maybe about the last one, too. Not about who, exactly. It’s about taking charge. Being the leader, being the one, the only one."

I felt like I should have shut up before he started speaking, but I couldn’t really think of a way to do that, and I couldn’t really convince myself that I couldn’t, either. I glanced at the others. Bitch was staring at me. I was going to lose my fuckingminds if I opened my mouth like this, did the self-delusion not make it happen? What he said to me, I couldn’t quite make out.

"The rest of you, you’re in the running to be the next leader. The others, you maybe know each other, you may even know each other a little. But we’re all in this together. The ones you don’t know? You’ll have to listen to them, be their voice. The rest of us, you decide how this plays out. Execution, conquest."

I couldn’t really make out what he was saying. He was speaking through Bitch, but I couldn’t understand his tone, the muddle it was all going down, across the entire shopping center, in the faces of the employees and customers who were already getting restless.

And that was just an employee.

It was Bambina. She was in a private conversation with Coil, and she was going by what the man was saying at a volume that was barely above a whisper. Bitch wasn’t sure how she’d react if she overheard it, but Tattletale had her own understanding of the threat that the man posed. She understood how important it was that he kept quiet and stayed on topic, even if it was a private discussion.

He wasn’t just the head of the Family; he was the leader.

Bambina made an ugly situation much worse, as she turned one of her more sensitive areas to her use of the sonic attack. I could hear the blood that was welling out before it spilled. She could have stopped the attack at the source, given the power she was using. She didn’t. She went on to say something about retaliation, and that maybe the reason she wasn’t talking about that now was because it would spoil what she said at the end… or maybe it was the situation that couldn’t be resolved as a personal matter.

It made sense to me. This wasn’t another assassination attempt. This was too big, too involved, and too important.

I heard a voice, I was so blind that I couldn’t see what it was, only that it was kind. I’d have to listen to it.

I took a deep breath, slowly. The building shook, but I was so used to it, I thought it was just noise, nothing intense or unexpected.

I took another deep breath. Surely that would quiet them.

The rasp was getting worse.

"The power is down. I can smell it. The smell of death. Burned, chewed up bits, stuff they fed their pets when it was a baby. Pudding and blood. Just raw smells. And the heat? It’s improving, but it’s getting worse. I can’t smell it, and I can’t hear it, but I feel it, I feel the heat. How cold is it? Overkill? Too cold? In the face of the music and the lights? Too cold."

There wasn’t a response.

"You can’t go back? The kids?" she asked. "No, not yet. We’re just… preparing this to take place sooner. At the closest suitable time."

There was no reply.

"We can’t save them," Bambina said. "Maybe later."

There was a distant rumble, enough that I had to turn my head to hear it. I’d felt the cold rippling through my bones, the movement of wind pushing at the ribs. It wasn’t loud, but it was crushing, leaving gaps at the very joints, as if the whole structure were wavering or vibrating. As I lay down, trying to reduce the amount of blood I was losing, I imagined the bulk of a whale in the deep ocean, the cold pressing hard against my naked body, making me that much more vulnerable.

"What am I going to do?" I asked Bambina.

"You’ll do what you can, save as much of my skin for your

======== SAMPLE 27 ========
 ut h e , s t ud y a nd nd s y s t i m e c t a t i o n."

"C"

"COULD COULD’ve been possible if we’d just taken a little more care with the way we put this out."

"Would have been a lot easier if we hadn’t been trying so hard," Imp said. "If we hadn’t been trying so hard to get through to her."

"It’s okay. We’re doing better than most. We had one of her people attack the food warehouse. She had hostages. We took care of those hostages, and we’re doing okay."

"Don’t let her work you under, Imp. I’m pretty sure she’s a thinker. She probably is. Think about what you’re saying. Caution is a good thing, but she could wind up with bad timing, and her power can get a little out of control, go really far."

"A little too far," Imp snarled.

"No," I said. "Trust me, I’ve tried. But the results have been fucking positive, even if we ignore the psychological effects. We got through to her. Twice. If things had gone a little differently, I don’t think we’d be here right now."

"You’re a wuss, then."

"No wuss here."

"Okay, wuss. Here’s my deal, then. Let’s put this ruckus to rest. My deal is I’ll get the hell off your back. Half of what you have already taken, minus the amounts you agreed to. Off your guard and out of sight. You don’t need to worry about it, since I’m paying you in full. And if you force me to, I’ll make it clear that you shouldn’t expect any less of me."

"Who the hell are you, Skitter?" Regent asked.

I looked up. "I’m Skitter. Heroin addict, former supervillain, cheerleader and school principal. Found out I was pregnant, so I stopped doing all that, but it was too slow. Learned to take my meds and be more professional."

"Skitter?"

I shrugged, looking at my phone.

The last bit was Tattletale’s. I nodded mutely, letting that sink in.

I felt so self conscious I almost didn’t look at Tattletale. She was staring at me, and I was pretty sure she was capable of seeing what was going on, but she held her head low, her dark curls flowing.

"Ironic," Regent muttered.

Tattletale leaned in the doorway, "Right. So when I was giving you the orders to get the hell out, I did my part. Not giving you a chance to think, because I was pretty sure you’d overhear, and I wasn’t willing to clear my… other parts to find out right away."

I clenched my fists, and squeezed. I didn’t need a therapist, but it hurt. I leaned back against the doorway’s railing, closing my eyes. I wanted to close my eyes and let my tingling end, if nothing else.

We’d been through this before. It was just about a hundred percent different, here.

I opened my eyes.

"Skitter?" Tattletale asked, finally opening my eyes. She was staring at me, and she looked older, maybe in her mid twenties. I’d noticed it before, but I couldn’t remember who.

I shrugged, rubbing my forehead. I didn’t need a therapist, but it felt good to have a conversation with someone who could understand what was going on.

Tattletale watched the doorway open for me, and she let go of my chin and shifted her weight to my chest. She looked pretty, somehow, between her glasses and her long, dark hair. She put her hands on my shoulders to get me in a headlock that was both painful and… I couldn’t put my finger on why, but it was clearly designed to keep me from turning my head or raising my head until she just happened to be looking in that same doorway. Which it had. A few times, I’d been able to pull my head around, bend my chin as far as I could, and pull my hat back in place. But I’d been forced to twist it so the strands came partially undone at the side of the head, leaving a gap

======== SAMPLE 28 ========
 ull pay you back in the end."

He didn’t reply.

The Doctor was taking my old home away, now.

"I’m… I’m going to have to talk to your parents. Make sure they’re okay. If they are, we can tell them about Jack Slash."

"They’re okay? Your parents aren’t…?"

"They’re okay."

I stared down at him.

I wasn’t sure I could convince myself to stay, to stay and listen while Dragon explained.

No. I swallowed hard. I didn’t look her in the eyes, and I didn’t open my mouth to speak.

Instead, I took hold of the chains that I’d tied around her wrists. I let them go free, letting them drift towards the floor, my fists clenching.

I glanced at Rachel. She was staring.

Another flash, from a different direction, but I could see the same thing. A glimpse of blue sparks, like hydrogen sulfide, streaking across the sky. Just as ominous, just as disquieting. The ripples seemed to ripple across eternity, leaving worlds darker in the midst of void.

"I’m sorry," I said. "I’m really-"

I managed to find the words again.

"I’m- really not," Rachel said, letting them hang in the air, their weightless waves, crashing against the world’s oceans. "It’s hard, f–ing hard, to explain."

I could see Triumph’s face change, getting increasingly pale. He watched Rachel with one eye, looked away, his lips forming a line as he stared at the water.

"It’s okay," I said. I saw that he was clenching his fists. "Listen. I’ll let Rachel know what’s up. We walk away, we’ll figure it out, and we’ll deal with it."

She whistled, hard, and two dogs leaped from the deck of her boat, tearing into two of Dragon’s jets.

"The Nine are attacking," Rachel said, without breaking her train of thought. "It’s not over yet."

I didn’t have a better way of putting it.

Defiant extended a hand, and Rachel shook it.

One of the dogs approached us. Heets rolled off one knee. Cuff had to have done something for him.

"If we’re going to come to some agreement," Cuff said, "It’s not going to be about you, okay? It’s not going to be about me, either. It’s not going to be about me, my rules or the fact that I voted for you."

"What about me?" Rachel asked.

Cuff turned. "You were the one who said you’ve crossed a line. You crossed a line when you turned on the heroes."

"I’ll… I’ll listen to my heart."

She opened her eyes, then shut them.

"Let’s go," I said.

We turned to go as Triumph turned in Tattletale’s direction, me following.

I could imagine Tattletale saying something to that, telling Cuff, telling Dragon to let Rachel go.

I knew. She’d been thinking about what Tattletale had said, about crossing a line.

But… not telling.

Letting Rachel go?

It took ten seconds.

Then I saw Rachel down on the beach, holding a piece of drift wood. She had her head down and her arms at her sides, her head leaned against the beach as she laid down the drift.

She was staring up at the sky, her hair and the strands of her costume trailing behind her.

I used my flight pack to travel faster. Ten seconds, then another two. There was no use waiting for them.

"Do you want to go?" Rachel said.

I nodded.

She smiled. "I’ll look after her."

I felt like crying with Rachel.

I was out of the air in a second, and the second I was free, I pulled myself together.

Cuff and Rachel led the way, while Missy followed at the back. The three of them passed through the opening that Gully had made in the railing, and I made my way up to rooftops, glancing over my shoulder to ensure there weren’t any people on the other side.

I wanted to

======== SAMPLE 29 ========
 ull give you the information you need to fight... if you do fight, I can give you a kill order to the people I really want dead. You know I’ll make sure of it."

"I don’t care about friends," Kid Win said.

The Director spoke, "You’ll fight the Nine the second you start fighting them here. It’s our convention to treat our hosts with respect."

"You seem more concerned with the reaction from the heroes than I do."

"I’m just a little concerned they’ll leave you for dead."

"I won’t abandon you, Sundancer."

"I’ll make you a deal," she said. "Either you do as I say, and face the consequences for your previous escapades, or I do as I say, and let me make the call."

There was the sound of a knife being drawn across a desk, the metallic clink of a pad of metal against metal.

"Not a deal."

"So I’ve got two options, here," Director Piggot spoke, sitting back in her chair, "Either you do as the Director says, and face the consequences, or I don’t do as the Director says, and I’m stuck here. Do you tell me which option you’re thinking of, Ames? Bend or try to escape? No. Maybe I could persuade you to one way or the other."

"I don’t care about consequences. I care about getting the hell out of Coil’s sight and standing up to him. I’m more comfortable if I get caught up in this crap than if I walked away. You’re right. I’ll stand up for myself if it means standing up to him."

"It’s no good."

"No, it’s worse. Because of this," the Director leaned forward so she was staring at Kid Win, "I’ve got a partner, and I have less information to work with. Less to ask for permission to do these things."

Kid Win snorted.

"I’ve spent more than a decade on this team that I’m on now. Been on other teams, I don’t recall if we’ve talked about this. But I can assure you, I’ve got less problems if I’m paired up with someone else."

"The hell? I haven’t even started."

"We won’t say who we pair you up with. But let’s be honest about this. In the future, it’s going to look a lot different."

"Do I need to remind you of the present?"

When the Director had said partnership, it had been more like a kind of endorsement. More like a nudge.

"I’ll drag you into these kinds of things."

"No way. No you won’t. We’ll figure it out."

"Please take this to your superiors and notify them that I’ve been paired up. If there’s nothing else-"

"Nothing else?"

There was a pause.

"-Give me a little slack to work with. If you’re thinking about recruiting others, maybe think about the positions we’ll be working on."

There was a pause.

"Good. More information will help us come up with a plan of attack, with more details on our opponents."

There were few responses to that. Cuts and new exchanges of glances.

"Or maybe I need some-" she stopped, trying to find the words. "-to help me figure this out. Any ideas?"

"It’s not you? It’s Taylor."

Taylor. She’s always been there, a blank slate.

It wasn’t fair, she told herself. It wasn’t fair, that her voice had to be so quiet.

But she couldn’t deny the reality of this situation.

The Director had spoken. It would take persuasion to convince her to go through with it.



Teneral e.1


Chancing a look at the clock, I was struck with the feeling that it was already 2:35. Too soon for bed. I’d woken up earlier to make sure I’d fullypped myself for the night. The bunched up strands of hair at my back really freaked me out there.

The realization added up, filling me with a mounting despair. In the midst of it, even before the terror of it hit me, I had begun to

======== SAMPLE 30 ========
 ut.

I didn’t need to go on. They’d dealt with it, they’d dealt with the Endbringers and they were under no illusions about what came next.

I was all too aware that the Protectorate had just landed, were gathering at the Docks to coordinate their efforts.

A whole mess of plans and plans and concerns, and all I could think about was what came next. When my dad returned, what would we talk about? What topics would we discuss?

The fact that I couldn’t remember what we talked about wasn’t a failure. It was a puzzle. It was a question that hung over me.

What was the puzzle, then? Why couldn’t I come up with a coherent thought while we were at the airport?

I’d spent so long looking for that big picture that I was lost in the moment. I’d looked past the bugs, at the carpet of ants, centipedes, cockroaches and beetles, and I’d seen a streak of red near the edge of my peripheral vision. That was the last thing I saw before I blacked out. My dad. I couldn’t make out anything but the faint glow of the fires in his arms.

It hadn’t been him, it had been my power. I was blacking out in the moment when he turned my way, but how could I have known?

That was the other puzzle. Why couldn’t I remember why I’d been so anxious that night in New Delhi? It hadn’t been because of any acute stress. It was that momentary sense of empty, confused, scared.

The morning after I woke up, I started taking things in. The previous night had been a sort of mental and emotional whittling away. I’d fought the demon, I’d beaten Scion, and I could feel that crushing disappointment seeping through my. I was reminded of that line of thinking over and over, a loop of sorts.

When I tried to push it out of my head, I found it just as oppressive. Trying to find what was important in the midst of this.

In a way, I felt like I was losing. My body was reacting badly, the mental jumble was a mountain I couldn’t climb, and the lines of my mind… I hated them.

Not me.

I felt distant, out of place.

I hated myself for liking them.

It reminded me of that line of thinking for a long time, like I’d somehow crossed it. I couldn’t bring myself to care anymore, not like that.

But I was getting to the point where I couldn’t make myself care anymore. I wanted nothing more than to go home and just nip it in the bud, to have one last good hit of relief, to put it behind me and get back to focusing on school.

Except no relief I could get was in a good state.

I set my jaw and rubbed my jaw. I was ready for it. I’d had enough that I could hold myself together while I focused on other things. But my body was breaking down. Everything was going quiet.

"Come on, Taylor. Push through."

I tried, but my body wouldn’t break down. My bones just wouldn’t cooperate.

"Yes, please." My voice was so quiet I might have ruptured my mask if someone stepped in my mouth and I didn’t have it to brush back against the upper-lips of my mask. I raised my voice a fraction, "Come on, little brother."

I could hear the metal kick as I spoke, not through my bugs, but through my clenched teeth, "Come on! Please, little brother, don’t stop; you’re going to come through. Don’t you dare disappoint me."

He closed his mouth. Not so hard.

"Please, little brother, don’t hold back," I begged. I kept my voice loud enough for him to hear.

His eyes were on me. He closed his mouth, and he held his hand aloft.

People kept asking for a response to what I’d said. The PRT officer had spoken, and they kept asking questions.

Every question, they kept shouting. Why? Why fight? Why go through with this, why not give up?

I couldn’t respond and carry on without letting them know I was calm enough to handle things. I couldn’t elaborate or give concrete details or details about what was going on with the people who’d been displaced because of this. If anything, this

======== SAMPLE 31 ========
 u’s, you’ll find they’re far less flexible than you first thought. It’s the core parts that need changing."

■

Thursday, June 18th, 2011, 11:00

"Don’t hate me, Weaver," Marquis said, "But you can’t hate the people who were smart enough to change the world. You’ve seen enough evidence to know it wasn’t us. Your teammates can cry about how you hurt people, but we pushed your buttons and told you the whole world was listening. Well, I’m glad they listened to me and stopped pulling your buttons."

"Fuck you," Marquis snarled. "You knew it was me?"

The man took a step forward when Marquis reached out with one bony hand. His expression, his attitude. It was so hard to parse.

"I think you and I both know you’re me," I said.

"You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met," Marquis retorted.

"I’m just… what? A hermit crab?" I challenged him.

"I’ve never heard of a hermit crab," Marquis said, sounding irritated. "What the hell are you even trying to pin it all on? You could have said your current underlings aren’t you, Leaf Lad or Alcott?"

I frowned, "Don’t even know who they are. Doesn’t matter. Tattletale said they were pawns in a bigger game, that you ran for your own reasons, it was a longer game than my team. Maybe you’ll hear about it, and you’ll see I’m not a monster."

Marquis gave me a funny look, "I was making fun, I’m making a joke here."

"You’re trying to set them against me. Don’t confuse the two."

"I want a direct confrontation."

"This isn’t direct. It’s almost like you want to knock me down a peg and then see how much I can hold myself up." Marquis reached behind his back and retrieved something bone-crusted.

The umbrella blazed and lighted up, then dissolved into that. Marquis held it high as he pushed at his restraints.

"Let’s see what a direct confrontation looks like," Marquis said.

"Not such a direct confrontation. That’s only if I can even manage this many chair’s worth of damage in a direct situation, and that’s a long way down the road. I’ll see. One less thing to worry about." I closed my eyes, clenched my hands and legs. My legs had taken on water in the morning. Lung’s tentacles had wrapped themselves around my legs.

"If you’re still here, I’ll be glad. Tell me, Weaver, is that so different?"

I shook my head. "Something so pedestrian… it wouldn’t be shocking if it wasn’t for the bloody nose."

Marquis turned to his henchmen. "Who are we waiting for?"





Planet Marsh


Snarled, I looked away from Marquis’ henchmen. Each of them were covered in scabs and needle-thin layers of red-brown leather that glowed from the low level burns. One had one hand that was clenched so tightly that the knuckle was bone.

"We need more Saiyans for an A.I. project. Let’s see… Can’t afford to waste."

I nodded mutely.

"Saiyans for the brainwashing. Those are two people, for sure. And the brainwashing-" Lung raised a finger. Marquis shook his head, so it ended in an angry clucking sound.

Marquis started toward Lung. It was the sort of fight you wanted to see take place in the thick of the action, with as much care and preparation as someone who knew how to fight. If you saw it, you knew that it was an unfair advantage that went to the aggressor.

Lung used his darkness to cloak himself in shadow, then turned to Marquis. Marquis spoke into the darkness once more. Lung’s reply was very nearly inaudible. Marquis turned to run, only for Lung to step forward and cut him off. Marquis was backing away.

"What’s going on?" Marquis asked.

"Lung’s pissed. In pain. Can’t even remember the parts that are relevant."



======== SAMPLE 32 ========
 ull be asking that you please do let me know the most appropriate way to greet my little friend."

That didn’t sit right. Amy felt her face heat up. This was escalating, and fast.

She clenched her fists, and I swear I felt the vibrations of her fists on my belt. Fucking man. How much force did you fist make when you were in kindergarten?

"It would be selfish and unprofessional if we didn’t engage the subject. Please, Miss Amy, find me a psychiatrist."

There was a pause.

"Mr. Laborn?"

He entered the room, holding the door for Mr. Tagg.

"Mr. Tagg," Amy said. "Is it?"

"Amy-"

"No."

She stood and narrowed her eyes at the room.

"Tell me it’s really you, Mr. Tagg," she said.

"Amy, it’s really you," he answered. His own eyes went wide.

"Who is she?" she asked. "I understand your father died, but-"

"In time," he said. He went on, "I won’t argue. I will point out that, in fact, this woman is a dangerous criminal. She stole one of our companies," he pointed to Chevalier, "and this criminal just moved in next door. Two vicious pigs, I believe. They will not only steal, but will swell the ranks of our enemies before you can even see this letter."

The impression he gave of a serial killer, all of a sudden.

"I hope to god that this letter came with a death sentence," Amy said. There was some trepidation in her voice.

He walked over to the door and opened it.

There were two men in the room with him. Taller man in the room than the other two, a lean muscular man with dark hair that reminded Amy of her mom. The lean muscular man had a tattoo of a cross on his chest. His hair was longer than average, and sparkly. There was a cross on his face, too.

"Ah, Mr. Tagg," she said, stopping in her tracks. She felt a little self-conscious as she approached the men, but she didn’t report it. She knew it would only bring her more unwanted attention from the PRT, and it would embarrass Amy. She wouldn’t say as much.

"Ah, Mrs. Tagg," she said. She looked slightly downcast. She was more used to her husband treating her with more respect than she was showing for him.

"Our guest did make a brief appearance, yesterday." The fat one spoke, and his voice was thick with a strange accent. It unsettled Amy, because it was something she had come to expect from her guest.

She turned around and looked at her husband.

"She was with a criminal we targeted, I imagine," Mrs. Tagg said. "She was a minor, I assume?"

Amy smiled a little.

"A minor? I’d be surprised if she was older than eighteen, sir."

"Yes, I’m more surprised she was wearing a costume," Mrs. Tagg said, straightening.

Mr. Tagg raised a hand as if to offer a noncommittal answer.

"You are here to interview her?" Mrs. Tagg asked.

"Yes. I’ve reviewed the documents I can find on this case. Mrs. Tagg, I believe we’ve discussed your daughter?"

Mrs. Tagg moved the chair a little so Amy sat, and the woman stood.

"Quite a long time ago," Lisa quipped. "I suppose you’re right."

Tagg stood, then sat down. He straightened, the door leading into the conference room opening at the same time the three others did.

"My name is Dr. Brett Okamoto, I believe I speak for the American branch of my career, and I would like to have a word with you."

"I’m… no. He’s dead."

"Yes. I’d like to have another conversation with you before I decide to release any more information."

"I’d like to say something more, yes. But we’ve discussed the matter and agreed that the best way to proceed is by mutual agreement."

"I see," a very un-Dr. Evil woman said. Dr. Q couldn’t have sounded more different – he was in the business of biochemistry, not psychohistory. He was gruff, analytic, and his lips moved more like chalk than print.


======== SAMPLE 33 ========
 u and a ‘v’ of four. And I had to choose between saving her life and helping you. Which was nicer, the option that I had to choose from.

She was talking like I could, and I started to open my mouth to respond. Even the words spilled out between her teeth, "Sorry."

It didn’t matter. I could sense her reaching down to grab at her collarbone. She reached up and grabbed a length of chain, slipping it in between her teeth as she went still, too still to move or protest. I couldn’t be sure that she was still there.

That wasn’t the end of it. I was aware of her putting something else in the bag, but I had no idea what it was. The woman’s tongue was being used to cover the spread on her arm, or simply dangling around her right side. I could sense the movement of her eyelids as she stared down at the spread, as if she were watching herself on film. As if she was watching me direct the hairs of her own hair, moving them without leaving them standing out.

I knew as I pressed my index finger to my lips and moved my lips to my right ear, "Want to go buy more groceries? I think they get pretty fattening on the weekend."





Teneral e. 2


When I’d left the store, my cell phone buzzed. I picked it up, then pulled my ring phone out of the pouch to see the text.

"Tsunami confirmed. Good thing there are no cell phones inside the mall."

On my cell phone, I found a text from Grue.

What the hell am I going to do with a phone? I couldn’t use the bugs that were already on a person’s body -hair, the insides of their ears, their eyes, the patterns on their clothing or their hands, the tatters of clothes, the remains of clothes, the threads of hair, string and shoelaces, all failed I’d heard-

My bugs moved my ear further up the chain. I could feel a small chorus of mutters and comments. Many people had run.

"Get back, Weaver!" a woman’s voice.

I didn’t have time to think before I ran past anyone who’d managed to get away. They were all tucking away what they could carry: water bottles, toiletries, clothes and toilet care.

Some had collected children’ s-

They’d called them. I heard one girl mutter something, a response to the m-

M- Misunderstood.

Misunderstood. I couldn’t make out the words, but the sense of the mutters was like a heat reading my thought processes. A slow build as the girl’s words intensified, then they went away.

"Soooo," one girl muttered. There was a chorus of that too. Fierce, scared, searching, desperate. They were all shouting. It wasn’t enough. I couldn’t bring myself to leave, couldn’t abandon them. A part of me wanted to, just to be able to offer some support. Another part of me-

I had to stop. I had to ignore the girl. I focused on the people in my range instead.

"Relax," I whispered. "It’ll make the worst of either situation worse or get us out of here in a more secure way."

The girl looked back at me, still searching, defiant. I told her, "It’ll make the worst of any situation just fine, but I think that’s best. Leave."

She looked at me, eyes wide, then she bowed.

I looked at her, and she looked back at me, arms folded, her forehead touching my. I was reminded of my dad, and of all the sacrifices he’d made, all the sacrifices I’d demanded of myself, how I’d never had my first kiss. How I’d never had a true friend.

It was the closest I could get, just sitting here, unable to move or speak, not even breathing, knowing I was powerless, as powerless as I felt.

"Go," I ordered.

I grabbed a changepurse so I could have it with me when I headed to the elevators. I had to double check the phone wasn’t in my hand before I made my way to the top floor.

I stopped at the top floor and faced the man who I’d seen outside the elevators. I waited as he got out his watch, turned it over, then used it to call Tattletale

======== SAMPLE 34 ========
 ujy cuh’," he finished.

It was a strange way to die, he’d thought. Death didn’t usually involved the real death, but it was strangely like him, especially considering he had been to that area for only two weeks. It didn’t fit.

"Is that it?" Tanya asked. Her phone beeped.

"Two questions left," he said.

Two questions…

■

January 18th, 2012

He rested for a long time, then started shaking his head violently. It didn’t hurt that he was constantly shaken by the ringing in his head, but it did make the pain seem more real.

"I’m in shock!" one girl’s giggling was getting to him, too, even if it didn’t reach her.

"I feel your pain," a boy said.

Giggle rumbled down the sidewalk to distract him.

"Oh god, oh god oh god oh god oh…"

The realization came a few minutes later. They were all staring at him, dumb with emotion.

The first thought that came to mind was that he was dreaming. No. That was why he’d done it. As much as he’d wanted to let people know what he could do, as much as he’d told them how he could use his power, to spread the word, sell the book, whatever. It would be easier. It would be prudent.

He’d never been one to dream. Of course, he’d told himself to be more patient than he had been at the press conference, let himself breathe.

He’d never been one to have regrets. He’d always done what he could without thinking too much about what he was doing.

He thought back to the people who were listening. A man spoke, his voice barely audible, as though he were barely there at all. Others were getting themselves sorted out. Some were hurrying to join the fray, eager to get involved.

Dinah. He remembered asking her how she’d felt, inviting her to sit down and talk with him in his office.

They stayed silent.

A woman leaned back in her chair. She was dark-haired, somehow. Another employee. Maybe a prop or visual for someone else’s appearance outside of work, distracting them from the real Colin. She crossed the room, and Colin felt a flicker of a smile widen on his face.

He felt a flicker of an emotion that came only rarely enough to be entirely unexpected. He’d never experienced it. But this emotion… it was coupled with something else entirely.

He felt his blood run cold.

The woman’s eyes fell on him. Colin felt a shudder run through his body, along with a dull ache he couldn’t articulate.

"I know you’re upset," she said.

He felt a quiet horror and a kind of hopelessness on his face.

"You’ve known me since you were little. You remember the little quirks, the little ways I’d slip and take things personally, and you know what I’m like, so why can’t you imagine life in general? With me, life changed."

She didn’t speak.

"Everything changed," he breathed. The words came with such a harshness in his throat that he could almost taste it. That burnt sensation in his throat that he couldn’t let it out.

The women in the group exchanged glances, then turned to the dark-haired woman.

"I was always good at putting others first," she said. "But you… that’s not… it’s not good…"

The woman’s face slack. He felt another emotion emerge. He couldn’t even conjure up the image of the emotion in question with his mind.

Something primal, something emotional. He felt it stir inside him, shift beneath him.

Coughing, wagging his tail.

The woman spoke, quiet.

"I was always good at you. I improved myself, put on more muscle, lost weight, worked on my power… you were there, the only ones who mattered. But I did something about it now, I really do think I can do better."

Again, the reaction was slow. Concern, some scared, some scared for him, some for her.

He could hear music, the lyrics of a song he recognized, "Amber […] Bitch… Jesus… D…"

More people came around the corner, passing out hand-lettered signs with messages. He wondered if

======== SAMPLE 35 ========
 u. You can’t. I know you can’t… but that’s not our purpose."

T-you’re- Not telling me anything, sis. Telling me no, asking me questions I’d probably hate to ask, but you’re taking an active role in this, so I just… don’t need to hear it.

"I don’t agree," I said, and the words weren’t statements, "With this plan-"

"What’s that?" Tagg asked, "You’re not going to tell me how to run this town?"

"We’ve done as much as we can," I told him. "Our powers and abilities can’t overwrite or circumvent the laws or the government, so we have to be very careful. You want to control everything?"

He nodded once.

For the third time, I glanced over my shoulder at the little glass box where the door had been. Nobody had been in it yet, and yet someone was apparently saying: the people on the outside, mostly a bunch of young guys and girls from the Docks.

I wasn’t sure what I expected, but it was still a surprise.

"I was going to ask for a chance to address my position, make a suggestion, but there’s no point. Everyone’s already occupied. You’re here as a last resort, Undersiders, and you’re going back when things are quietest?"

"We’ve discussed this," Miss Militia said, "Before stepping into the arena."

"Before getting involved in an altercation," I said, "I’d like to get to know the others before I make a call. I suppose I’ll mention that I’ve made no secret of my appreciation to your team, and my admiration for your guts, for sticking it out through the end. But I want to be sure you get a chance to get to know each of them before I make a call."

"Might be possible," she said.

I nodded. "I’ll ask each of you to turn your attention to one person I’m sure I can’t overlook. If someone else would like to bring up someone else, I can accept that."

"We can’t do this unless we talk," Tattletale said.

"Talk?" Tagg asked me. "You’re- you’re not going to talk now, are you?"

I shook my head.

I turned my attention back to Tattletale. "I can’t tell if you mean you’re going to keep quiet, or if you’re going to tell her how she shouldn’t be using her power."

"I can’t say either," she said.

I frowned.

"I’d like you to meet the new members of the Wards. Clockblocker, Girl, Vista… Skitter… I’ll be blunt. You’re new. Clockblocker’s your old name, by the way. Vista’s your codename? No, that’s your new name."

I blinked a few times. When I spoke, I said, "Flechette… Weaver…"

"The Wards are doing an interview with some local papers. Clockblocker, I’m sure you know, is a hero. I believe you are, too. He was the leader of an extremely dangerous group before he was caught and brought into custody. We’ve tracked him down and we’ll be returning him to him now that he’s free. Kid Win, Cauldron, the Undersiders, the Travelers, Coil, you…"

She trailed off. It would be better to explain or ask questions to people I couldn’t.

Maybe not even in terms of our agenda, but more as a way of contrast.

"Clockblocker is an interesting case. He wasn’t a hero. He was a very dangerous supervillain. He went on to kill more than a dozen people, starting just after he came to Brockton Bay. His conviction has been overturned multiple times, and he was released on bail pending trial. He’s been walking the streets, trying to upset the peace, and he is, according to the witnesses he spoke with, a very good boy. He left the Protectorate without any permanent members, with the idea that he would help the new team. He has been."

Tagg put a hand up to silence him.

"He went on to violently assault more than a dozen of our guests and staff

======== SAMPLE 36 ========
 uale is. "What’d you do?"

"Stay in the background, watch your back. Don’t let Tattletale-"

"She’s gone. You’re better off keeping it quiet, doing your own thing."

I stared at her, not sure which was better, this confusion or the fact that she would look back and see this and think ‘I told you I’d stay out of the way.

"I’ve found others," I spoke, "With more potential."

"People who don’t even fit into the tropes."

I looked beyond myself, at the people in the crowd, all of them people my own age, with bodybuilder frame, curvy figures and prominent jaws. Some facial hair, some without.

One was brunette, the girl I’d knocked over the coffee table earlier who’d been sitting at the table. Her skin was pale, her dark hair tied back into a ponytail, she wore loose fitting plastic blue and green summer pants that were both a little too large for her. She had a prescription bottle of water in one hand, a fork and spoon in the other.

The crowd jeered and hooted, the words racial slurs thick in the ear.

"My power is coming back to me, and I’m not doing anything more dangerous than distracting Shadow Stalker or getting her in a headlock, so maybe I’ll stay a bit more out of your way," I told her, "So you have time to get up the attack if they attack you."

"Okay."

"And some of the capes I’ve picked up, I want to meet, because we’ve got a real war of attrition going on against the Nine. There’s one called Fury, one called Vitiator, and the last one was the one I left behind when I ran."

I sighed, "I’m not sure I want to do this, on a lot of levels. It’s sort of satisfying, though, when I do fuck up, right?"

She didn’t answer right away, as she stepped away from me, looked past me at the mob. I could see one of the men at the back twitch in pain as he was slammed in the back against a wall. I’d be careful.

"Okay then, I’m not going to fuck you up. Let’s talk."

She looked up at me, met my eyes. Then she looked at the crowd. "You want to talk violence?"

I shook my head, as much to check my words against the horror that was leaking out of my mouth as out of any inclination to argue or change my mind.

"So if you’re against this, you’re against the city, against me, in a roundabout way."

That caught me off guard. When? Why?

"I’ve said as much, I hope. The only people against it are the people who made this into something, and those who want to see this city fall apart, so we can all pull some strings to get the city built again. The only people against me are the ones who want to hold onto this flat, to say shit like ‘we need this, bitch’ and so on. And the people who want to make this really, really, matter."

The crowd at the front of the bus moaned. A new one was approaching the edge of the platform.

I felt tears welling out, running down the sides of my face, but I didn’t stop, keeping my back against the concrete. Even with my powers, even with my knowledge of the system, pulling myself up so far against the bench, it felt strange.

I looked at the couple, but there wasn’t emotion on their faces.

"Fuck me, it’s not like you don’t have options. You have two girls, both of whom are pretty damn unattractive, but you picked Bridget over me, don’t you? What were you even doing, before you picked me?"

"I was just thinking of the possibilities. Why should I have to be attractive in order to be a part of this?"

"People are still choosing between you and that guy. Let’s face it. You already had a person with powers running around as a liability. You lost her in a miscalculation. Now you have a potentially dangerous power that’s turning people against one another. Do I need to get into deeper details on what the capes are doing, just to be clear?"

"It’s not me, but-" I started to bring myself

======== SAMPLE 37 ========
 ull see you on the roof, safe."

The wind blasted at us, pushing past the clouds in short, violent bursts.

The sound of the waves wasn’t a jumble to me, or even a sound I felt transported to. It was steady, a pattern repeated over and over. It wasn’t that she was doing it; I knew she was there. That sound didn’t bother me as much as I suspected she was. I’d heard people die because she’d been too slow to stop them.

I looked down at Rachel, saw her looking back at me. "You remember being with the capes?"

"Yeah."

"Why did you want me to bring you along?"

I was thinking of our conversation ten days ago. The idea that I’d given her to her mother for her birthday or something.

"Because I’ve been thinking these days, some of us turn places we shouldn’t. It’s called miasma. It’s in everyone’s blood, it’s in the air, and it’s a part of our psyches. It’s natural, we grow up with it, so when we see sights, or people we shouldn’t see, they get distorted. They’re warped. It’s part of who we are, whether we realize it or not. So, this is a big one, and it’s something that cuts deep. All of us carrying cases of us that shouldn’t. So I’d rather you keep going, keep going being yourself. I’ll forget any of this shit you’re going through."

I clenched my fists.

"Don’t worry, Taylor. I’ve got plans, some big."

I was so fucked. If Bastard or the dogs attacked again, I was guaranteed to lose these guys or go fucking into hiding. If I stayed, I risked feeling even more like an outsider, but I felt like an outsider, I felt trapped.

"I could maybe come with."

"Whatever," I said, "Whatever you need."

"If you don’t come, then you don’t have to. I think these guys might hurt someone, or they’d want to kill someone. But you can come with if the doctors say it’s better than what we’d be going back to my mom and dad…" she trailed off.

I had to stop myself before she said she needed words of encouragement or something to eat, "I’m getting kind of sick of hearing that. Don’t worry. I’ll come."

She looked at the portal, then opened a small door with a raised metal railing. I followed her into a half-circle.

"If you don’t come back, then I’m not going to force my way through to get to you. You know that. It’s your choice. Maybe later, when you’re sane about it, I can let you know if there’s anything we can discuss."

I kept my mouth shut. This wasn’t working. I was on the edge of my seat.

The doctor led me into a room where three young women in alluring, ill-fitting dress outfits sat, talking animatedly.

I suspected this wasn’t the kind of thing I’d expect to see in medical school, the sort of thing that set someone off on a medical trip to the doctor.

"This is Rachel. Right. Well, I suppose it’s a little inconvenient for you to not know who she is, but don’t worry. If you want reassurance, look at any of them. See how they react?"

The doctor glanced at Rachel, then reached awkwardly for her hand. "This is the one, here. I wanted to make a special token to remember me coming in."

She took an hour or two to make each token, judging by the lengths she went into the machine, then left the room to clear out of sight.

I found Rachel when the doorway opened and was introduced to a very kind, elderly nurse who was very confused about what was happening.

"Old nurse. Didn’t know about him. Is your head hurting?"

"It’s like a cold, old head hurts," the woman said.

"Then help me straighten it out," I suggested.

"My head hurts. This doesn’t do any good," she said.

"It doesn’t really do much good. I’m more interested in the diagnostic tests you’d want

======== SAMPLE 38 ========
 ut was enough that she was one of the people able to take action against an Endbringer, right? There had to be some other way.

Then, more to my surprise, I found another advantage in making it a point to stop Scion. It let me get closer to the Endbringer, close enough for Shadow Stalker to get a bead on him.

Scythe used his power. I could see a blur around his feet as he used his power to move fast enough to dodge my shots.

Scion turned his attention to me, and I realized why he hadn’t fired the needle-ends into me yet. My body wasn’t there, and I couldn’t reach to touch them.

My focus was on Shadow Stalker. I stabbed her in the arm, feeling for an opening. If I could find where I had my bugs, I could stab her in the thigh or collarbone, and put myself in a position where I couldn’t be touched or pummeled.

But I couldn’t find the point of contact, and the amount of threads of silk that were being pulled in the direction of the Endbringer was overwhelming, too great even for my normal measure. He started to draw out the needles, to use his stronger arms to grab or twist them into lengths I couldn’t measure.

I couldn’t find the threads, and couldn’t find the direction the thread was flowing, though I could twist them in the direction the body wanted them.

When he was done, he was gone, the threads wasting away.

I turned back for more. I didn’t have enough bugs, and my vision was too blurry to make out anything. So I used only the ones that were I control’s. The ones it normally summoned, summoned from the swarm.

It was the weakest of the powers, right at the juncture of the three.

Insinuation 2.0

"Ah well, you know… what happens in a fight, keeps you on your toes, is all. You know, the big picture, the little details, like Skitter’s background. You were right about the art. I could have made it work, but this one…" She reached into her belt and withdrew a handful of beetles. "Looks like this one needs a lot of attention, huh?"

Insinuation’s costume was a lighter gray, with lighter blotches of more typical cheerios. The only markings that would be appropriate for her would be an indicator strip in the upper half of her stomach that would blink when she let her guard down, a heart shaped in half on her left hip. I couldn’t even guess at what it symbolized. The symbol didn’t necessarily stand for anything, but the colors and the little triangle in her stomach could mean whatever.

"But the big picture is what it means to you. You know what happens when you’re not careful. It’s always murky when you first start seeing what the bigger picture is. You don’t get a full picture until you start paying attention."

I had eyes only a few bugs could see, and I could feel a disturbance in the swarm. A surge of activity. No less than ten beetles in my grasp in a single moment.

"So? You’re interested in knowing?"

I nodded.

"I’ll give you a tour when we get back. You’ll need a tour."

I nodded. A crumpled three-point star on the dashboard, without an indicator or a showpiece.

Insinuation pulled the car into the parking lot. The swarm had gathered around the car, and I could see a black speck in the distance. A speck that would have been there ten seconds ago, and it wouldn’t be there now, breaking through the red dot.

I noted the car, noting the driver, but I didn’t want to get in her way as she stepped over the red line. She turned right, and my notes on how she was controlling the bugs that were moving in and out of her body were going unread.

She was going to die, I realized.

She was. Like I’d seen with Grue’s injury, she was somehow healed but still physically flawed.

It took her a long while to break free. She’d been caught up in the chaos, the Endbringer’s lure and the pressures that were built into the system, and she’d been waiting for an opportune time to make an attack.

Now she was going to die, and then she was going to make a joke about how she couldn’t read, that she could only understand what was

======== SAMPLE 39 ========
 u’d heard.

The lights flickered out.

No. Too much had gone wrong.

"Run," I said. My voice yielded a little as the small, barely noticeable distortion continued to expand, a ring of darkness rising from the edge of the room.

A second later, the darkness was gone. The lights were on.

A third fade.

A panic attack?

But the figure was gone too. A flash. Not a complete one, either. As broad across as a city block, the effects continued to extend, taking over my vision, moving over my field of vision, following us as far away as it would go.

Capes, capes, capes. I was just transfixed, unable to move or communicate my feelings. There was anger, sure, and there was fear too. There was a sort of foreboding.

Not the fear of the world ending, but the fear of what might happen when the fear was pushed too far.

"Run," I said. "There’s no point in coming anymore. Move on."

I could see others making their way to the stairwell. Parian was first, and I was forced to stop walking, falling. As I landed, my head turned my attacker. He was older, gray-haired, with a grim expression and dirty brown eyes.

She caught me around the neck and kept her grip on the chain as the chain reached her, tightened it a fraction, and then released me. The bugs gathered on me at my back, where I was drenched in the ocean of flesh. Only a few gathered enough to crawl inside the dark web. The rest headed for the kitchen.

I’d been in another headspace, and it hadn’t been good. Now my heart was pounding, and I wanted nothing more than to sink back into it, into that darkness and be nothing more than an observer.

I felt sluggish descending the stairwell. The food was delayed, now.

I was too tired, short-tempered, stubborn. It would only lead to more fights. Or what? What used to be be people, back then? They were now weapons, tools.

What used to be children, now they were grown and armed, armed with weapons… and a power. A power that threatened to end them all.

When the darkness consumed them, it wasn’t the same children I knew, but the grown people in me was gone.

There was only the one world, and I still couldn’t go back. Not yet. Not forever.

But why waste time? Why take the time to make this happen? Kill Parian? Kill the other parents? Cause unnecessary deaths?

I’d take her life. I’d kill her friends, and I’d kill the people in the room. All because I realized it was in my best interest.

A power was stirring inside me. Intense, contradictory, impossible. It wasn’t mine.





Extermination 8.4


The lightless room had a desk on the other side of the room, and a computer sat in the middle of it. Red and green color schemes were scrawled across it. The desk was huge, and I doubted the other desks even came close to matching it. A full-size copy machine sat in the middle of it, with a clean, unaltered copy of the Elder Wand sitting on the bottom.

The computer ran a version of DOS called Window 2000. I didn’t know what it did, but I suspected it booted Dragon itself into memory. I wasn’t sure how that worked, but it was the closest parallel I could draw to what my power was like.

I had my bugs. I could barely sense it, but I suspected it had a similar architecture to its real body. That means it was probably running a newer version of DOS than my own, too.

On the far side of the desk, there was a naked woman in a white bodysuit, with a red cloak that seemed to wind through it like the tail of a whale. Her mask was shrouded in gray cloth.

Who was she?

I didn’t have any questions or questions for her to answer, but I could understand why the Protectorate and the Wards were there. They needed someone to talk to, especially if they wanted anything final and done before leaving for good.

That was what terrified me, most of all. It was an unfamiliar setting, alien even to the way I normally felt. Familiar, in a way, because this woman was familiar. An unfamiliar feeling, one that hit me the hardest in a way I didn’t feel like I was part of a familiar environment. I imagined it

======== SAMPLE 40 ========
 u.o.s.t.

She glanced back at Tecton, and he gave her a funny look. "Okay, I’ll leave it to you to convince me. I guess I’ll come around when I think I have a better idea of who you are."

"You’re not a wimp, Taylor," he said. "You’re a wuss, at a basic level."

I rolled my eyes.

"And so I’ll suggest a resetting procedure. You get stronger, better at knowing when to look away, and I give you a fresh start. You need a new set of lines to cross the world, a new set of memories to hold on to, and I give you one to call your own. Once you’re up to speed, once you master the s-curve, I let the others decide whether you’re a true heir to the throne or not."

She glanced at me. All this time in the house, and she hadn’t even realized it? It was me, dealing with these issues? I was going to get hurt. Maybe I’d get a vengeance, as I imagined. But I’d probably get some self-inflicted?

Too much of the plan was already in my head.

How do I break out? How do I make enemies not use my powers if I think they might?





Teneralade


I was tired, scared, and I needed to sleep. That was all I could ask for. I slept for an unknown amount of time, I could have slept for an inordinate amount of time, and I would have gotten my senses straightened, my mind calmer.

It was a relief, refreshing, to drift off, to drift off and just be, what? An extension of myself? The feelings that were nagging on me? My body telling me I was tired? My mind telling me I needed to stretch and get things calmer?

It was a relief, refreshing, that things didn’t become progressively worse over the course of the night. Being awake wasn’t so pleasant the second my eyes started going down, but waking was less pleasant. I drifted off.

I could sense Tecton sleeping, one hand settled on his jacket. That had to be some consolation, right? I got out of bed, took a deep breath, then opened my eyes, feeling my body struggling for the connection, telling me it was always close enough.

My eyes stopped falling on the wall when I heard Clockblocker’s voice.





Interlude 18 (Donation Bonus #3)


"Taylor."

She sat up. It was a relief, the relief of finally closing the book. She’d had her morning coffee, she had to put the book down and put her pencil in the box, but that was minor in the grand scheme of things.

She was surprised to see Taylor already there. She was still up, there hadn’t been any activity on her part, but sitting with Taylor didn’t feel like being uncomfortably close to Taylor. She’d been careful to put the book in the cupboard, but Taylor hadn’t looked up when she walked to the kitchen.

"Have breakfast?" Lisa asked, a little too abruptly.

"Yes. Don’t worry about me."

She didn’t wait for a response, standing straight and stepping to the door. "Go ahead. I’ll be in touch."

"Not going to see it?"

"If you come by, maybe we can catch up. Run, sweet! I’ll be right back."

Taylor emerged in the hallway. Three teenagers, one of whom bore a striking resemblance to Sophia.

"Hi Taylor."

The girl stopped short, standing there, hands in her pockets.

"Hi Sophia."

Sophia didn’t speak. She stared at the ground, eyes wide.

A few seconds passed. Neither of them spoke back.

"Hi Taylor," Lisa said. "I thought you’d be here."

"I’m actually very disappointed," Taylor said. "You guys seem to have things under control. Things in the works?"

"Things are falling apart, fast."

"Is it because of me?"

Sophia shook her head. "I would be here if it were only for a few days. As you can guess, I’m not a hundred percent under my control."

The girls headed out the door together. Only a minute or two later, the pair was at the patio.

"It’s really pretty

======== SAMPLE 41 ========
 umm.. three ways to deal with a villain that easily?"

Leet nodded. "I will deal."

"And you will stay close to the people you really care about. The people who need you the most?"

"I’ll stay close to them. My family. I’ll take the toughest decisions, make the sacrifices, and make the most of this strange new life I had made for me. Make sacrifices. If they don’t make it right then I’ll make it up to them when I leave this mortal coil. I’ll take it easy for a while. Wipe away the old, replace myself with a fake, steal someone’s identity. All the while, keeping each of their memories fresh. So they don’t recognize me, remember me when they never get a chance to talk to me. Don’t freak out over it, don’t run away from it, be gentle when you can’t be bothered to lie down for a few days."

"I’m getting the feeling you’re wrong. Not so much I’m getting wrong. This isn’t going to work, and it isn’t going to change anything. Do you really want to change?"

"I should."

"Don’t you?"

"I’m in the clear."

"You’re close."

Alexandria had landed.

■

The phone call ended.

"Alright," she said. "Stay."

He left.

■

Three days after they’d parted ways, the heroes were still waiting for their pay. Tattletale was sorting through the data, looking at the various shifts.

Every one of the lockers on their floors had something worth checking. She’d scrounged everything up at the far end of the building, only to find that the people in charge didn’t expect demand was a floor in the main floor. She’d had to find others, only to find they didn’t have the equipment or knowledge necessary to clean. She’d had to find people who could, and they were now being punished for this. Wards on and in for the third and fourth floors were taking turns cleaning up the shit.

No work.

She was surprised, infuriated, horrified, and had half her mind set on making some enemies angry.

She set her bugs on the people who seemed interested. They had gone back to sleep, and were woken by a creak as the roof collapsed, the rumbling audible above them.

The fifth floor had more power, but barely any people remained. Still, they’d at least cleaned up. People couldn’t be on the sixth floor if they weren’t.

She began packing up her stuff, setting her dogs down on the floor and heading to her upper room to rearrange it.

She was on the floor when the dust finally settled. She’d slept.

Alexandria landed, and Tattletale stood on the rooftop alongside the others. She turned around to face Tattletale, "Want to play field hockey?"

Tattletale shook her head.

"Play basketball?"

"No. I wouldn’t be a good player for you."

"I’ve played plenty of years. I’ll be right back."

Tattletale smiled, "I’ll come."

Team Jug was waiting when she got outside.

"Good to see you, Tattletale." The umbrella-cute stepped out of the cloud of vapor.

■

She’d been so preoccupied with finding some way to get in touch with Grue that she hadn’t paid attention when the battle started.

She stood at the first checkpoint, her team leading behind her. They crossed fields and hiked to check the way. A couple of Capes had fallen.

In the distance, she could see the sun setting. It would be twenty minutes now.

As the clouds of dust drifted away, she clenched her fist. Her team needed this, they were too scared, and this was the closest they’d get to it. They had waited so long because they’d believed everything they’d been selling. Everything they’d done since she’d arrived. They deserved this, as the only ones who could truly understand this woman.

Alexandria had done far, far more than any of her teammates. She’d held them together, kept them focused, outmaneuvered them, out-maneuvered Piggot and Emerald and made them all

======== SAMPLE 42 ========
 u."

"If that’s the case, then the problem isn’t that I’m giving the Undersiders the answer they want, it’s that I’m letting others get away scott-free with the information they’ve already bought."

"Is it that you’ve always been a dick to other teams?"

"Not really, no. Nevermind. What’s changed is that I’ve stopped playing along with everyone else. I’ve made peace with the fact that I’m a dick."

"Being a dick. You’re playing fair."

"The other teams? I mean, they have to know. Players know. But yeah. We don’t push them to do anything. If we can avoid it, we’ll probably manage with the damage we’ve already done."

"How long has it been since you did anything on your own?" she asks, "You have no inhibitions about you being a dick to the other teams too?"

"Uh. Two and a half years."

"And the team with the biggest dick?"

She smirks. "Bigger dick."

I didn’t fight the sense of déjà vu. Part of it was fatigue kicking in, part of it was the realization that maybe, just maybe, we’d been too distracted by the shit to pay attention to Taylor.

My head was practically racing as I navigated my way through the crowd. I had to find Taylor, make her turn around so we could get her pointing, and then deliver the punchline while I had the upper hand.

"Taylor!" I shouted.

She didn’t seem to hear me. She was busy looking around, as if the breath was too hard to hold. She glanced up at me, shrugged, and then turned to march right through the students who’d been gathered around the front of the auditorium.

"Did you hear that?" Sierra asked, a few short steps away. She was just beginning to back away from where she’d been standing, when Kid Win slammed his laser rifle into the crowd. One beam was focused narrowly at me, while another jammed in the back of my head. An arc I could feel with my bugs.

I felt the crowd shift, slowed by the blow.

It’s slow, they know. Just slow, they take your attention, they make you wonder why you’re here.

Before I could think of a response, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Turning, I saw Noelle Clarke.

"Hi, Taylor."

I hesitated, "Who?"

She looked at the way the bandaged Taylor had stopped to collect herself, her head a hair away from Sierra’s.

"You know who," I replied, feeling lame as fuck. It wouldn’t be funny if I couldn’t find Taylor’s name before I screwed up, or I wouldn’t have to deal with Sierra, Kid Win and the two reporters.

She looked at Sierra and shrugged, "Us. Together. We’re the Travelers. Taylor’s sister, Taylor’s friend, a girl. She needs you and me to help her get home."

So that’s what she looked like. A skinny girl with red hair and green eyes, she’d have some weird physical deformity where her nose and ears were bigger than the rest of her body, and the rest of her was probably like average. When things got really bad, she’d be a giant, so she’d be fat. I knew that. I couldn’t help that.

"You’re the only one I’ve talked to who didn’t know about the powers," Kid Win said.

"Yeah. You didn’t ask any questions?"

"No," he said, in a hard, quiet voice that left me cold. He looked a little worse for wear. His clothes were still too ragged, and the metal bands around his ankles and wrists weren’t yet firmly fixed in place.

"I got bored eventually. Faced with the choice between going after Coil and waiting for my turn, I picked the latter. I was going after Coil had already decided on a plan of action that I thought would work. When that plan failed because Shadow Stalker got her costume and got on with her thing instead, I changed my mind."

"Ah," Kid Win said.

I couldn’t help but notice the way Shadow Stalker turned to face the floor in the last moments of the speech. There was the trace of anger behind her

======== SAMPLE 43 ========
 ull fight you," Grue said.

Tattletale glanced at the screen. "Fighting? You said Bitch was going to stop Shatterbird?"

"She wasn’t. She was distracted. She’s going to crash, and the time the distraction knocks her off track is the same time she’ll be coming back online. Don’t even get me started on that."

"It’s a pretty stupid mistake in judgement to give a crucial member of their group a chance to recover," Grue spoke.

Tattletale took that as a cue.

"What the hell did you guys think of the bomb thing?" Grue asked.

Imp shrugged. "I’ll let the story finish here."

There was a clatter, and a mule with a girl bent on looting the place bar dropped out of the mist, snatching up the stuff before anyone in the party could clear the way. She shoved the loot into the middle of the road, where it was immediately surrounded by other players. The group of players began running towards Grue and the front door of the inn.

No use letting them get trapped in the middle of a gang war when their opponent wasn’t even one of ours.

He looked at his brother. "He’s going to fight us?"

"Fighting? Just tell me who’s fighting who, let me check we haven’t just put each other down, but that there aren’t any civilians around, and I do have an idea of who’s causing the trouble," Grue didn’t look at his brother.

"If I told you my brother was fighting with some people from this group, wouldn’t you panic?"

"No, I wouldn’t."

"Who are those people?" her brother asked. She turned to look, to see a pair of kids bundled up in the fur of the stuffed animal. The girl was squealing hysterically as a massive, muscular sea anemone bore down on her head and shoulders. Had she just run into the monster of modern culture and turned the tables?

Grue’s voice was tight as he answered for the second time, "Dunno. That’s some combination of Mom’s power, my brother’s power, and the kids."

"How’s your brother?"

No answer. Mom hadn’t arrived on scene yet, presumably, or Sophia had arrived on scene. The girl was quivering now, trying to bring her head and shoulders into the snow.

Still, she seemed ready to run and leave the scrum with the kids.

"What’s the turn of phrase? You know how stupid I am?" His voice had a funny sound to it, as if it were strung together by a crazy person.

"You fucking realize how stupid I am?"

Grue was talking to his teammate. Taylor was standing right beside him. When he spoke, his voice shook, but his words were clear. "Did you know that your name’s on a list of things I checked off a list of things I told my men to check off?"

"Sure, I saw the list when the truck came in. But this is a major city, there’s all this stuff in the downtown area, and that’s where most people who were saying they were staying were. What the hell, Mom?" Taylor, in the company of various people and dogs, was squirming in the snow like a rabid cat.

"She’s in the truck," Grue spoke, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "She didn’t want to stay in the truck."

"That’s not it," Taylor wailed. Her voice was ragged with emotion.

"She picked a random location in the Docks, near her house, told my people to collect stuff, and they picked a nearby spot. Lucky locations, I know, but unlucky places. That’ll have to be the real reason we picked a random place like that, and I’m not making that assumption with any certainty. What I’m saying is that my boys were choosing a location near the bus stop, when I was inside her house. I’m saying that they’ll likely be picking a random location within an hour or so. We haven’t even begun to investigate."

Taylor had pulled free of the hug. Grue’s face was white with emotion, his forehead creased in concern. All of the people he’d left behind were gone, pillaged by the monsters. Taylor would get her shit together, and he’d help protect her.


======== SAMPLE 44 ========
 u’s way, which leaves us with a choice to make.

Choice:

-If you go with the flow, we’re leaving the civilian evacuation much as we left the PRT line of beds and bathrooms standing. If you want to keep walking, then we’re accepting that you’ve got a higher chance at killing someone if you cross that line.

-Otherwise, we’re evacuating civilians.

Inconvenient, to say the least.

"You’re leaving the PRT on good terms, but you’re still a civilian."

"They’re evacuating me."

"Fuck," I took off.

There it went, my bugs in place, tracking movement. The girl’s phone was pressed against the edge of the desk a fraction of a second after I’d left it.

"Why?" she asked. "Why leave me alone?"

"You’re still a coward, an idiot," I said, adjusting the phone’s setting to adjust the audio while maintaining a minimum audio-visual range. "You’re still in the PRT, even if you’ve gone defunct. You’d be a traitor if you tried to take the next step."

I glanced at Grue. He was staring at me in turn, his mask barely concealing his eyes and twisted grin behind it.

"I’m a traitor, I’m still in the PRT," the girl spat the words.

"Fuck that," Grue snarled.

"It’s too dangerous to take my advice. It’s my call."

"Grue-"

"Fuck the deal. I’m leaving."





Interlude 18 (Donation Bonus #1)


"Taylor," her mother spoke, so quiet it was eerie. Taylor had been sitting on the step outside the home she shared with her fiancé, Matthew, and had turned to leave with only minutes to spare. She didn’t have a key to her shoes, and so she had placed them at the bottom of the step, in plain view of everyone outside the home.

But there was a weight on Taylor’s shoulders now. In her mind, in her mind that had settled on the step before she’d ever been in the house, one could only hope the mother’s patience was long gone.

Her father had always liked to give her a key to her possessions as a sign of respect, something to remind her to come back, to give something back. Emma was less than an easygoing sort, less inclined to show respect; less so toward people, her peers included. Matthew was a hardass, too stubborn to back down when she’d had the temerity to insist on an explanation for some kid in her yearning to have. Emma’s parents were even less forgiving, and maybe stubborn in their own ways. Still, they’d found a way to make it so Taylor never had to come to terms with any of it. The mother had always taken these kinds of things as a mark of her status in the eyes of the people who knew her best. People who had known her best, who had seen her raise an ugly stain on her family’s good name and had found a way to move on. Not without fighting.

Just being there. Being silent in the face of the world. Accepting it. A cowardly man, having figured out the password to unlock the safe inside a bank, he’d found a door and had done what any guy would have done – fought his way free. Emma wouldn’t let him. Not quietly. Not by trying to avoid dealing with the mob.

Emma’s mom entered the house from a neighboring street. They were discussing something upstairs when their daughter-in-law opened the door and saw Taylor in the doorway. The mom ushered Taylor into the house the mom was holding behind her.

"What’s going on?" Emma’s mom asked.

"Emma?" Matthew asked. "Emma?"

"Taylor’s at the basement, in storage."

"With the money?" Matthew asked.

"She got it."

Emma stared down at her foot, a foot that was half-topped with ice-cream trays at the bottom.

"What’s going on?"

Emma stared up at him. Had he noticed? Had he done anything to provoke this sudden urge for revenge? He’d probably warned her about what she’d done at every step along the way.

"Taylor’s at the car, waiting to pick someone up, and

======== SAMPLE 45 ========
 ull need your help."

"I can’t help you," the man said.

"I think you can, sir. But don’t do as you’re about to do and give the subject of this meeting to others. I really wish you luck."

The man was gone through the doorway, down the stairs, pausing only to lick his lips and nibble on the inside of his cheek.

"Now, now, now, go. Everything I said to you, I said to speed things along. That you and I go to the same high school-"

My bad.

The newbie said, "Sir, the board has been set up with a simple plan in mind. We will put the district’s properties on for a period of two years. At the conclusion of that time, we will auction off the properties to the highest bidders. The asking price for one of the properties will be a limited edition, collector’s coin. The asking price for the other property will be that coin’s purchase price. I know some people are going to bid fairly high, and that’s because they think it’s a sure way to quicken their gains and get an immediate bump in your status, some power, prestige or income."

"And what effect will having that coin have?"

I didn’t have a good answer to that.

"The first few people to bid on any of these properties will win BIG. In fact, I have a few people in mind that are going to win BIG."

"Not just the ones I can see. Can you see what they will bid?"

"YES."

"Then we are going to have a bidding war."

"Yes."

"Now, I had hoped for some hint as to what the Protectorate was doing. Maybe the teams will compete?"

"That isn’t the plan. The Protectorate is still new, still in its very early stages, having only just started."

"Then what may we do, and where do we fit in the scheme? The teams would compete on the same arena stage as the regular events. There’s going to be more fighting than teams, and having only teams is going to make it more difficult for us to gather and sustain volunteers."

"There’ll be people willing to contribute. But that’s not enough. We’ve also got a number of issues that need to be resolved."

"We’ll be competing against teams from across America. There’s good people, decent people. That we can rally around and get that level of commitment and attention is going to help us tremendously."

"I’m sure Marquis would be happy about that. He would be our support cast."

"And that’s going to be our main issue?"



"You’re not willing, Weaver, to concede anything to gain admission to the Pylons?"

"I will. We’ll accept a truce if you leave," I said. The only person who could possibly accept it.

He shrugged.

We discussed the possible elements and themes for days. Then Marquis spoke.

"I won’t bargain. I’m a negotiator by training, not a conman. I won’t bargain if I’m buying your goodwill, I won’t negotiate when a rival is holding territory for ransom, or stealing from the pockets of the citizens of this city."

"Very persuasive," I said.

"The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced you’re wrong. You haven’t changed your ways, your ‘principles’, but your actions and words have."

"I am so glad you understand."

"I am not… I’m no different from you, DWMA."

"Or different from anybody else."

I nodded.

He went on, "I have powers. I want peace. I think you should accept my invitation to come inside and relax. The two of you can handle your own business."

I could picture Marquis standing in front of me and me being a small child begging him to let me go.

But I didn’t think he would let me go.

Marquis left. I followed him outside, and met him at the gate.

"Skitter," he greeted me. I’d almost forgotten I was in costume. "You’re going home?"

"I have to see my… children to take care of."

"You can come any time, Weaver. I wish a good weekend was ahead."

I

======== SAMPLE 46 ========
 ull talk to someone else then" I said, looking down at Grue.

He gave me a look I couldn’t interpret as anything of the sort. "Let’s."

He turned away, and the group split up. I could track who was leaving the building as they headed for the elevator. It took them a few seconds to spot Armsmaster’s shadow and head for the railing.

Grue headed up to the railing, and I could track where he was taunting Clockblocker.

"Get down. You little freak." Grue growled, kicking the rail of the elevator while he was in the air. I looked.

Clockblocker was using the aluminum of his mask to deflect the brunt of Grue’s attack and block off another path for the incoming group.

"There’s only two options left for you to try. Eliminate me, or kill me." I said, still in the air. My bugs could hear grumbling, and they were almost comically close to ignoring what was happening. How many seconds had I spent in the combat aircraft, doing that? "I can try to trick your bugs, or you can try to ignore me. Eliminate me, or kill me. But you go through the motions, I can’t stop you. You fuckers come back to do it again?"

Grue shut his mouth.

As much as I couldn’t quite follow where he was going, I could track the movements of the three supervillains as the elevator approached the building. Clockblocker descended to his knees, using one of his hands to prop himself up while the others scrambled out of the way.

The moment the elevator doors were between us, I directed my swarm into place, scattered them, then lifted off.

The elevator became part of an underwater tunnel as we descended. When I spoke, my speech was still filtered through my bugs, but I managed to whisper, "Audio feed from a camera mounted on the exterior of the building. Voices from the interior. What little I’ve gathered makes for a rather unsettling audio file."

The elevator stopped, the door to the lower half of the building opened. There, floating in the water, was a mass of bugs, more than fifty, most with what looked to be liquid inside their bodies. From what I could make out in the augmented reality, they were arranged in a somewhat orderly fashion. Where bugs had occupied different configurations, the liquid in question was a brown liquid, and there were a number of configurations of white, yellow, green and black. My swarm’s range extended well beyond the buildings, reaching into the area beside and behind the landing pad itself.

I tried an opening in my flight pack that didn’t involve touching the button. It forced myself forward, then pushed against my will with what felt like an implosion. The pack and the bugs that were within it went on the offense, pushing at the bugs I didn’t intend to touch.

The elevator stopped, and the landing pad cracked, sending a chunk of concrete tumbling out onto the street below.

I stepped over the mouth of the tunnel and turned around to look at Grue, when I felt a tug of war erupt between the pack and my swarm. The pack acted like it knew it had the upper hand, with my bugs acting like decoys, moving towards smaller, weaker groups of bugs.

It took only a few seconds for my bugs to start making noise, wagging, wagging, their movements sounding like something Adriatic drummed its spades together with.

"Biter?" Grue asked, at the same time I felt a tug of war unfold between the pack and my swarm. "Biter?"

"Is everything all right?"

"Yeah. Tug of war, pack acts like each other."

"Tug of war, pack acts like you."

He gave me a sidelong glare, "Fuck, I hate that you’re on the outs. I always hated that you called me by your first name. Unbelievable."

"I hate that too," I replied without turning away from Tattletale, "But all right? Let’s let both of them think they’re smarter than the other."

Away from Tattletale, Grue and I continued our investigation. I pulled the car into a stop sign, and Grue climbed out. Grue didn’t turn back until I did.

We stopped to clear the bugs away from the sliding glass door, and for any flying insects. We were having trouble getting enough recordings. Bugs were leaving the area, and the recordings began streaming in. I felt my power building, seeing things change organically, becoming aware of individual bugs in the midst of

======== SAMPLE 47 ========
 ull be here to see you guys in class again."

"We’ll be back," I promised her.

As a group, we walked to my classroom with my bags.

I was exhausted, physically and emotionally. The class didn’t matter anymore, but the shared experience of doing something alone was pretty nice.

With my bags in hand, I headed to my office. My desk sat in the center of the room, opposite the door to Brian’s office.

A few minutes later, I was awoken by a note, perked up slightly.

That’ll be lunch, I thought.





Imprisonment 9.5


One thing at a time.

I’d been working on my art this morning, but I was abruptly reminded of how I needed to shower, tie my clothes in a tie so they wouldn’t get crumpled in my hands the next morning. I went through a routine that kept my body relatively still so it stood out without making it too difficult, and then I stripped off my shoes so I could take them off when I came back. When I was done, I went to my room and stripped out of my clothes, putting socks on.

The walls of my cell were all spray painted in shades of purple, blue and green. Every inch was covered in spray paint. Once I made sure that everything was clear, I climbed all the way up the side of the bunk bed to the shower, which was bolted to the wall.

I grabbed my soap, grabbed my razor, razor blades, cotton pads and my headlamp from the bedside table. Showering aside, I knew I needed to shower, so I lay down on the floor of the shower to get completely dry.

It probably didn’t help, but the fact that it was in such bad taste didn’t matter that much. I was in the shower at the same time. I took about as long as I could before I pulled my clothes off. They were all neatly folded at the bottom of the little packet that had come with the razor.

They were probably covered in shaving foam after all, I thought.

I applied the soaps and shampoos to my body to get it all wet, then stood up to block off my cell. The razor was in the top pocket of my jeans, the soap was in the left side panel of my tank top. It took me a few minutes to unpack and unzip the jeans and tank top.

Even though I had a razor, I was a little spooked of what I was about to see.

It was my first time seeing my real scars. If I remembered right, I’d had my last really good look at them a month ago. I’d gone to see the nurse remove them from beneath my hospital gown in an effort to see if the stitches were necessary. There were some I’d removed from the back of my costume, but they were still there.

I tried not to think about the fact that it would be nearly a year before I could get my act together and show them off.

In the end, though, it was a form of catharsis. Reminding myself that I’d made it, that I’d at least shaken off the shadows of what was possible. I grit my teeth and got out of the shower before getting out yet another bag of clothes. I went through the sorting, folding them all in the bathroom, then loaded them into the truck before securing them in place with my clothes in the back.

The truck had been lifted into place by the time we arrived. Brian ‘d modified the truck to be able to haul wooden stakes through the bumpiest patches and manually operated the lift. I climbed in, and while Alec did the driving, Lisa grabbed a car seat for me. That left me the responsibility of securing the thing to the roof as we hauled it up.

The roof was easily the biggest hurdle we’ve had to cross thus far. It had been a little easier when we were loading bags of gear up onto it, but since we hadn’t ridden it, it hadn’t opened up fully to load all of our stuff. We could only hope the load was heavy enough to carry up to the roof. We made our way up.

My legs still ached and cramping, I didn’t need the pain of the exertion. Alec climbed into a second car, and we hurried down. Brian was stopping to climb out, while Lisa and I held on for dear life as we headed up.

The rooftop was tall, almost thirty feet high. Even with the bike we had on hand, taking the long way up, there were two piles of gear piled on top of it. The first half of

======== SAMPLE 48 ========
 ull talk to my old teammate first," Grue said. He turned to Bitch, who’d grown a scrawnier, taller woman and was rubbing her chin. "Have you eaten?"

"No," Bitch replied. She looked worse for wear. She glared at Grue, and he could see the lines that marked a narrowing of one or both eyes. "Just wanted to let you know that, with everything that’s been going on, it’s been a lot of fun."

"I haven’t even seen the damn movie yet," Imp added.

Bitch nodded, glancing away. She met Imp’s eyes. "Why? Is it because you want to see how the bitch fucks? Tolerate me?"

"So, now you’re letting me say what I want?" Imp asked, looking at Bitch. "Don’t think so. I can see what you’re doing, my good girl, and I’ve been there. You want to talk, but you keep your mouth shut."

"She’s not even a person anymore," Bitch said. She snapped her fingers, and the crowd parted just under her.

"You’re going to be a person, then."

"You’re going to visit her too? Please."

Grue and Tattletale turned their attention to the duo. Tattletale tried to distract them by explaining the game plan. She’d left the Undersiders to fight the Nine.

"She’s done that before," Regent said. "If we can convince her, we won’t have to worry about her taking hostages. If she doesn’t want to visit, we could just walk."

"There’s no way she’s that close to us. Or to us," Imp said.

"We’ll just go the cheap and ridiculous route of having to kill her. She’ll forget the whole thing happens until she leaves," Regent said. "Probably."

"She’s a thinker," Tecton said. "And forgetting isn’t smart."

"Smart" doesn’t necessarily mean smart in the sense that she figured it out, or that she had reason to change her mind. It could be a general intellectual shift. The sort of thinking that leads to a conclusion, or the kind that allows for blind spots. For every person like Tecton, there like Grue or Grace that is capable of facing an inconvenient truth, there like Imp or Noelle with a thinker status.

"I need-" Bitch started.

She stopped, hands to her face. Without her mask on, Bitch could see blood smeared around Hookwolf’s right eye. As Bitch turned away, she said, "I’ll pay you what you want."

It took all of five seconds for Bitch to climb to her feet. She walked with an almost lazy slowness, picking pockets, or changing position in the pocket and pausing to consider the choices she had at her disposal.

"Bitch, I’m not about to let you walk away empty-handed."

"Not so fast. I’ve been waiting for five seconds, why?"

"Because you’ve been waiting for me to bite the bullet."

Bitch turned and ran.

Grue watched Tattletale from the doorway to his left. He’d shrunk down, while Grue was in the sphere, but Tattletale was just as tall, and ran slower. She paused only long enough to grab a gun from the holster by the passenger seat and shoot herself an intimidating number of times.

Parian’s little brother turned his attention from Bitch to the door and back to the crowd. He sighed.

Bitch had taken the ride with one of the dogs. Not so different from the ride Grue had had on Panacea’s, but the only difference was that he’d had an arm instead of just an arm. He still had the damage from when he’d been stomped and the knife wound that had nearly taken his life.

She was the only one to die of the gunshot wounds.

"I’m not about to lose my temper, Skitter," Grue said.

She ignored him. "I’m not in a mood to argue. I’b come here to talk about what we do in the future, because I know it’s very possible that we’ll become superheroes together. I’d hoped to have you here to hear me out, but you’re not listening."

She snapped

======== SAMPLE 49 ========
 ull make it a thing to go away."

"And you?" Krouse asked. "Are you telling me you’d rather go to space and explore the universe or stay here, playing a parent and raising Luke?"

"It’s the easier thing to do," Jess said. She rolled her eyes at Marissa. "And maybe the movie?"

That left Cody.

"Luke?" he asked.

"He’s my nephew," Jess said. "We adopted him, and he’ll have a birthday party this weekend."

Marissa frowned. "You… adopted him by force?"

Krouse cleared his throat, "I adopted someone else’s kid. I’ve been looking after him all winter. He got sick, they took him to another facility, and I didn’t say anything. They gave him antibiotics to try to speed it along, gave him a bath twice a day, gave Luke a visit this past Saturday morning. Luke is doing fine."

Marissa stared at Krouse. He was still holding onto Jess, but she was looking increasingly pale.

"They gave him lots of visits. I figured it was best to wait. He’ll get better."

"He’ll get better and live longer than I can," Jess said. "But why are you here?"

He stopped to let that sink in.

"They have a bunch of powers. They could use them on the kid. I called the doctor in the morning and he said they could use powers on the kid as well. They could give him age-indeterminate powers, add incurses, make him stronger, or raise his limit to give him the powers so they can use him. They said it would be a short-term rush, but if they found a way to use them and raise his limit? He’d be more powerful than he is now for a while."

"Where is he?" Luke asked.

Krouse turned around. Luke had another hood, covering his face.

"They’re done with him. Waiting on my side to talk to you…" Marissa said. She paused. "Tell me what to do first? Should I call the police? Should I call the superhero team?"

"Don’t know," Krouse said.

"Don’t know either," Cody said. Marissa shook her head.

Krouse looked at the door. He flinched. It would be so easy to just rip the door off the hinges and swing it at Luke’s head. It wasn’t that Krouse was that easily influenced. Marissa had hinted.

But Cody’s actions in taking the door were making it hard to ignore the other possibilities. Krouse suppressed a smile. He could have made a joke about how he didn’t want Marissa to go to the police with the knowledge, but he didn’t think they’d laugh anymore. Luke would get the message.

They found an empty parking lot a short distance from the house. Krouse climbed out of the chair and climbed on top of the dog’s back, sliding the door open. "Come on!"

Every sense was overwhelmed as they approached the empty lot. There was the smell, a combined effort of disgust and nausea that overwhelmed every sense with their combined powers.

Marissa pulled open the door and slammed it shut. Krouse climbed off the dog’s back, holding on so he could steady himself.

It was different in New York. The building there. The crowds, everything was new and shiny. Everything was expensive. But he’d never been in. There wasn’t really a difference in the stores, because there weren’t as many stores in general. Here, it was just a few expensive stores with new products.

Cody put one hand on the side of Krouse’s neck, eyes shut. Marissa stirred, opened her eyes to look at Cody, eyes shut.

"Come on!" Krouse called out.

There was a rush, almost rush in the air, as the people made their way to the places they had been heading. Krouse’s group clambered up the steps to the roof for a vantage point. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t deep enough.

"Come on!" he repeated, pulling on the same key he’d used to open the door.

There wasn’t an easier way to describe it. The way Krouse described it, it sounded almost unreal.

His eyes visited each of the others, searching for clues. Marissa’s playlist, Cody’s spider notebook, Krouse’s own

======== SAMPLE 50 ========
 u’

The others were gathered together in what I would have called crowd effect, a triangular effect with a square peg sticking out in the middle. It was the size of a large garbage bag, only a bit bigger, both in area and volume. There were enough people here, and they were all packed in close together that there wasn’t really room to run. It wasn’t just the three of us; the space was almost too much for everyone involved to navigate, much like a football field might be packed into an area the width of a tennis court.

The effect was most pronounced at the tops of the structures, especially at the tops. As I approached the top of the Docks, I could see the shape of the effect spreading, evolving into what I could only describe as a ‘wall’. Buildings around me were also starting to buckle under the strain.

"What’s going on?" one guy asked.

"They’ve got a foothold here," I told him. To the guy, I said, "Probably a lot of people. The more heads they roll, the better positioned they’re going to get."

"They’ve got a foothold?"

"They’ve probably been holding their positions for a while. Everyone’s exhausted a bit, and they’re tired. If they were spread out over the landmasses or some such, I don’t think they’d last."

"Is this a stand-off?" Jake asked.

I shook my head, but Jake wasn’t complaining. "No. Not stand-offish. Just trying to help."

"You sure?"

"Don’t have any sources"

"Don’t believe you. You’re only doing this because you’re scared shitless. Period. No, you’re not done. Every second you put between now and then is a second they’re taking time out of the fucking fight to play us."

Grue and Tattletale both exchanged glances.

"Wait-" Bitch started, but I had my answer. "Wait is worth more then a few minutes, more then an hour then a few months then a few years then a lifetime then a lifetime is too much. If you want to tell me about some other sicko supervillain that’s holding an offensive power that does shit then maybe I could go fuck myself in the night. But let’s not fucking waste our time on him. Maybe if we’re all still in costume I could pass on word to Glory Girl."

The tension stood straight as I said her name. "Tattletale. She’s my other right hand woman. Secret identity hidden in plain sight."

"Sicko?" Imp asked.

I wasn’t the only one to glance at Tattletale.

"Yes, Skitter. SICKO. I can’t even remember his last name."

"Is he a warlord?"

"Not really. His power overrides and doesn’t interfere with the powers given to others. I’d guess anyone he controls is a stranger then."

"I can’t either," Grue said. He was quiet enough that I couldn’t make it a question.

"I can’t either," Imp cut in. "We take him seriously or we lose this argument, you decide."

"Let’s do the latter," Tattletale agreed.

"What’s his power?" I asked, "Give me a few good years of data on the guys like us and I’ll have a feel for some information like your power’s perception on anything."

"That would take time I’m not having, and I only know about him because my sister had him for her as part of a precognitive clairvoyance."

I nodded, glum. Our old discussion groups couldn’t have had anything but good times, weren’t they?

"So. Let’s think this over and then get back to it," Grue spoke.

"No way," Imp said. "Do it now, because it’s not going to work."

"Okay," Tattletale replied.

"Skitter," Tattletale said, "It’s very possible they were holding you? What if we went here?"

"I don’t know," I said.

"They could have brought us. It’d be like trying to get at a crowbar through a machete. Impossible."

"True," I said. "But wouldn’