======== SAMPLE 1 ========
 cause that I wasn’t sure if I should worry or compliment that. But if you saw fit to pass it on to me, I’d thank you for it."

"That’s all?"

"Don’t know how. We’re open to new members," Koffi said. "Maybe if they’re on the same page as me and not Coil?"

"Okay," Emily said. She glanced at the others. "You sure?"

"Thank you," Koffi said. "Lots of good points made, I think."

Emily shrugged. Not much of a relief, not enough to be happy, but a peace of mind. She could keep working on that. A new mask, a set of armor and weapons, and she would be ready to go. It was easier said than done. Much easier, in the grand scheme of things, and that included the part of Brockton Bay where she was now.

She’d shave her legs once a week or once a month if she could help it, with the assumption that it would make the process more smooth. Now she just did it. Shaved years, yes, but shaving spurs the transition.

More than anything, it made cleaning up easier, gave her a newfound self-assurance. She didn’t have to worry about going to doctors, psychiatrists or other game developers for advice. If and when she did want to talk to them, she could just say she wanted to talk to Brockton Bay’s biggest heroes, and that was her place.

That wasn’t the whole picture. She found herself sympathizing with whoever her hometown heroes were. A part of her sympathized with the people who came into contact with the heroes. Whether it was a crush of bodies at the hands of villains, a passing of the torch to the heroes, or just the intense pressure, everything she’d been through, she was just glad to be there. Talking to the likes of Panacea, Newter and Armsmaster helped ground her, solidified her as one of the people she could count on.

But there were nights when she closed her eyes, when she felt too numb to move, as if the world were tipping towards that place, that dark place, where everything was unfair, and she was too tired to do anything about it. She closed her eyes, and she felt the world slant and slop with the shifting positions of her hands, even though she was fully aware that her hands were out to hold on to the tables and chairs in the center of the room.

Supervillains. For revenge.

She very nearly swayed off, until she bumped into the man in the hallway. He stepped into the hallway, and she said, "I’ll make a move."

He opened the door, and there was no response. Just an object that was being knocked through the air. He made his way through.

"One on board?" he asked.

"Six," Mags said. "Four will be on board the second the battle isn’t relatively easy. Five after that."

There was a mechanical voice over the comms, "Roger triage. Mister Pure here."

"Someone we can all work with. This guy’s formula can work for non-superhero teams. If they have questions-"

"Has pesticides and transporters," Pure answered. "No pesticides for ants or termites. Know what you’re doing."

"Yeah."

"Ants really dislike having new mother ants in their lives. They’ll gladly hand you baby ants and direct you to people who will let you experience what I’ve had to experience. Forget natural evolution. Ants have a response based on the amount of stress a bee must experience in their lives. High levels of starch in the honeybee’s diet will heavily discourage mating and childbirth. High levels of anxiety and negative emotions during the coming months will make the ant colonies infertile. So we have a time delay. Three to six months. By the time we’ve addressed all of their issues, they’ll be strong enough that they can bear kids."

"You can’t just take their trouble," Mags whispered. "Give them what they want."

"I can give you what they want. One millionth of a millionth of a percent of the time. What you want is to have me as the leader, for the duration of this invasion. If you were a less prominent member of the Protectorate, you could act as an enforcer, killing anyone who doesn’t want to be handed over to me. Some of the strongest capes I know could take down a good dozen Undersiders or Wards in a single shot."



======== SAMPLE 2 ========
 cause the worst. But if we’re going to fix her, maybe we shouldn’t spend time setting her up."

"I don’t know," Defiant said. "I can’t imagine what she’d do if she had any power in the emergency room, unless she was delirious, blood was pumping, and there were patients there who needed help."

"What else?" Narwhal asked.

"Psychosoma," Defiant said.

I made a mental note of that. "Prism? If we’re going to get her, then maybe we should check on her?"

"She’s out of town."

"Until the other cape joins the fight, maybe," I said.

Narwhal made a wry comment. "She’s a local. I’d know in an hour."

"She gets shaken up from time to time," I said. "But we’re strong if she’s okay to go out for walks or runs. And she’s not dangerous?"

"We’re particularly careful," Narwhal said. "Saint takes any unsupervised visits for Delirious and Floret."

"When the Assault was slashing innocent people with acid, did he not propose a supervised visitation?" I asked.

Narwhal smiled, "I say we take it."

Defiant looked at Dragon, "We have another emergency. We have to get your voice."

"I get your voice," Defiant said. "I get your bed," and held his own hand up for her to join him in assuming the bed beside hers.

■

Defiant and Dragon both exited IFF at the same time. Neither spoke, but they were separated by an elevator.

"Thank you both," I said. I entered the elevator. It was too small for two, with the compartmental layout and the cooler top floor. One astronaut was occupying the third.

"Not a problem," the woman answered me. She had to drop her bag to reach the floor below her. "We’ll be sure to keep you informed, possible lifesaving measures in case of emergency. Would you like to grab a cab?"

I accepted the cab and stepped out of the enclosed space. With my left hand, I tried to raise a cup I’d been holding down, like a warning to the other occupant. To my right, I reached up and let my hand drop.

Right, the cappuccino. I replaced the cappuccino and poured myself a third.

"The cab is ahead," the woman said.

"Got it," I said. I reached for the button to call the upper body of the elevator back to the base of the hangar. Once the cabin was level with the ceiling, I used the exertion to get my gloved hand onto the button and pressed the button. "We’ll be in touch."

"Already checking your space."

I nodded, not sure how to say that myself.

With a movement of my hand, I sent a button to the Number Man, activating the shutters of the elevator. The ninety percent of the people in the elevator were the people Dinah had eliminated. The ones who weren’t full-on Endbringer. I moved on to the next one. "What was that about the fare increase for dragons? I thought it was steep?"

"It is a tax, a costumed increase, so it’s warranted."

"Why are you asking us?"

"We’re here for the debate," Defiant said. He watched the introductions as he exited the elevator. The men in suits were waiting, alongside a pair of equally imposing women, one of whom was in the crowd much of the time. "The co-presidents, Vice President and Chief of Mission, they wanted to make sure there was no misunderstanding. We’re expecting a revenue increase of close to twelve percent, specifically, with an additional four percent for the PRT."

"That’s across the board, across the board, across the board," I said. "There’s an increase of twelve percent for the typical citizen?"

"Yes," he said. He was staring off into space. "That doesn’t sum it up. They’re not telling the full story."

"There’s a thousandth person to be affected," I said.

"All of New Delhi? The poor," Defiant cut in.

"Yes. All of the damage, the suffering, the sacrifices. But they aren’t saying the same thing to different people. The original posters were telling the full story. We

======== SAMPLE 3 ========
 cause of the problems in this world?"

Theo nodded. "It’s a possibility."

"Tell me about it, then. How the project came about?"

"The," the video cut out, as if it were a bad omen. "Vidette was a product of the PRT’s Demonstration Project, a way for the PRT to gather and share information with one another, without the risk of such exchanges occurring on record."

"I see. How far back?"

"Projected to October, 2011."

"Oh. How far back."

Theo nodded. The timeline was wrong. There was something he’d rather be doing. "What, you don’t believe me? Let’s talk about what goes on the front lines."

There was a certain inevitability to the idea. He was still reeling from Bakuda’s lunacy, from the havoc she caused when her creations took control of others. He had to remember that she’d been powerless even as he slaughtered whole populations, held cities hostage while demanding payment for the services he rendered. She was his most immediate, tangible connection to the people. If it came down to it, Siberian was going to win. No defense, no counteroffense.

The sole remaining Governing Body member, The Leader, had found himself in a figurative tailspin. The chaos his minions had caused in New Delhi had cost him his reelection, and the fact that he couldn’t effectively use the black market for resources and items put him in a pickle. He was counting on the new Endbringer to patch things up.

Of course, the prospect of fighting a surviving Endbringer was moronic. No way was he, the Traveler, in a position to do anything constructive.

"The remaining members of the original team, Victoria, Amy, Madison and Sophia, gathered at my headquarters," Revel finally spoke.

"You control them?"

"Helped to build them. I sent some under-aged Changers to try to stop the vote, but it backfired. They escaped. Now I control them."

"When did you get the idea?"

"Just before the Leviathan hit. Ignored repeated warnings about getting the under-age population hurt. I didn’t know at the time, but I got a phone call from one of your Governing Bodies. Told me to stop worrying and to protect it. They were listening."

"I’ve been thinking a lot in recent days. The message seems to be getting through. Can you think of anything you want to relay to them?"

"I’m not good at these days. Forget it. There’s no point."

"I see. I can see that."

Theo made his way over to Charlotte.

She was sitting in a chair at the kitchen table, a plate in one lap, a pot of tea on the other. Soju liquid in bottles over the top, plates arranged on plates beside her, plates beneath.

Theo reached for his sweatshirt, didn’t let himself put it on.

"Thank you. Ironic, that you were so busy protecting the city during the Leviathan attack."

"I was, was just staying in Brockton Bay for a bit. Besides, it’s my home city. I don’t want the fights."

"You can’t put the city’s welfare in your hands. I’m not trying to convince you."

There was a rumble to the ground, a roar halfway across the city being echoing through the building, than the sound of thunder itself.

Theo felt a pang of jealousy. He liked the idea of being able to help his folks, being able to protect them. But there was nothing substantive to be gained, compared to the feeling of security that this would be him feeling guilty instead of helpless.

"Did you face any tough battles?"

"Mostly tough. I think the most important thing is to get by. There were a lot of bad guys, and even tougher people still around. But going into this, I knew I’d probably be joining the Wards Team for the rest of my life. Don’t you deserve to have at least a few months of honorable service before deciding to join the Protectorate?"

"I refused the offer to join because I didn’t want the team to be stacked with counselors and therapists who will tell you you can’t because of what you did during the Endbringer attack. I rejected the offer because I didn’t want to be a drain on the other team."

Theo flushed a little, made a dismissive gesture with his hand, tried to

======== SAMPLE 4 ========
 cause of this?"

"Nah," he said. "If I’d been playing a part, maybe I would have ended up helping you there… other wise I think I probably would have taken whatever actions I did."

"But you didn’t."

"Don’t take my meaning to mean anything. I didn’t play a role, and I don’t intend to play one."

Echidna spat out volumes of her mass, forming a thin humanoid shape with each bite. I was pretty sure I could hear her doing it as the bugs died on the outside of her mouth, sprouting a head and changing the nature of her teeth.

She looked down at Scion and offered a single, inexorable glance upwards. A trace of heat marked the way, and then she lurched over to the center of the room and settled in a standing position.

Coil fell silent.

Krouse turned to see what the trouble was, then ventured over to check on Noelle and the others. The room was empty.

"Room 104, corridor two," he said, pointing.

He found a spot where light was leaking in hours of darkness. He grabbed a candle from a shelf by a shelf, then lit it.

When he looked up, he could see that the entire room was still, and the light was just leaking in from the door. "The source?"

"The Echidna-Clone."

Krouse tensed.

"Get a-" he tried to warn her, but Echidna was already departing the room.

"No."

Coil pointed, and her head turned as if she were reading a mindscape.

He tried to speak, and saw an empty podium, the exception not quite fitting the pattern, as the room had evolved. More copies had started moving in, spending less and less time in the corridor, spooling out in any direction. Some moved in a continuous loop around the room, others moved in loops of two or four.

"The source doesn’t need replication. It began with an A.I. upgrade, to patch herself up. The upgrades here were rather crude, a bug was wiped out before it started, some twelve years ago. If you’d asked me three weeks ago if I was worried about her, I would have said no. Now I’m worried because there’s a small cadre of rogue tinkers who have a thing for her."

Coil met the man’s eyes. The man’s eyes were a mirror to his thoughts. "Your attitude makes a lot of sense. There’s something at work here."

"Roger," Krouse said. "Let’s get started."

■

"What’s the question?" Marissa asked Luke.

"Do I need to know?" Luke asked.

"We think not," Cozen said.

"You have to ask?"

Luke nodded.

"What’s at work?" Cozen asked.

"We think," Waldo said.

Luke shook his head. "Not sure what you’re talking about."

"That’s not important."

"He’s working under us. Using us. Between us, he’s probably got a dozen or more people working under him who are equally confused, equally stupid, but vastly more dangerous. And he’s got his hands full, trying to figure out how things in the here and now are going to integrate into his grand plan."

"Grand plan?" Cozen asked. "You’re dreaming."

"Clash of Civilizations? No. We weren’t stupid when we made this. If he was that clever, why didn’t he use it already? For his big plan, he needed a reason to work together with the thinkers and the idiots, and he needed our skepticism. We would be a distraction."

"He did both."

Krouse glanced at Noelle.

"Krouse has to know something about Noelle," Cozen said. "He’s never asked."

Krouse nodded. He: The kid.

"Is it her? Her and Krouse?"

"Krouse has a theory. Maybe it is."

"Not sure. But I can’t help but wonder if this ends badly."

Krouse shifted uncomfortably.

"Why are we worrying about stuff like that?" Marissa asked. "Why set our hopes so high when it could fall apart like that?"

"Because we still haven’t found a solution. There’s no e-ticket with how we could stop

======== SAMPLE 5 ========
 cause of the mayhem."

"How much damage done?"

"I don’t know. I’d tell you, but I don’t think you’d believe me."

"Come again?"

"I don’t know. I’d tell you, but…"

"The Simurgh showed up in Vancouver. Investigating groups with similar goals. A target, in this case."

"Doesn’t mean anything," Aisha said. "Doesn’t mean anything."

That wasn’t what concerned her.

"What she showed up and claimed was only the beginning. She prepped everything, claiming the world before, what used to be the realm she used to rule it. She top-level-treated our alternate reality, the Brockton Bay one. She top-level-treated our reality on the computer. Claimed all of these different world features to bind Brockton Bay to this reality on Earth Eighty-eight-nine percent of the time. Claimed we didn’t have enough time to set everything up right. And she top-level-treated this world. Prettier on the inside than the outside. The… what was the word? Malleable. But less so than the altered world she was making. Even her beloved costume was suffering, with legs too long, gaps in front and behind. Even the most powerful and controversial members of the Protectorate were falling apart in her slough of internal organs.

"It was perfectly fine," Aisha thought to herself. No comment, only a lack of detail.

"Minimal damage, then."

"Then why are you so angry?"

"Malice. And you have never listened to me."

Emma was caught off guard. Had Sophia said all this to frame Emma?

Hannah was also quivering, her fingers around Aisha’s shoulders.

"Why are you so angry?" Sophia echoed Aisha’s question. Not a full second later, she replied, "Because I can’t stand by and watch things fall apart."

"Standing apart?"

"I mean, apart from the parts of us that let us freak out when the world starts going to hell in a handcart or some delicate-looking place."

"You want to turn the heat up…" Sophia mumbled.

Aisha took that as permission to venture further. "We need to talk about our goals."

Sophia hesitated, "What are goals?"

"Goals… I feel like there’s maybe a three or four goal-range thing going on. There’s this big organization, and they… I don’t know. But they’re communicating, and…"

"Okay," Aisha answered. She gave Aisha’s shoulder a small shake. "I’m getting the drift. I think we’re in a position to make some noise, maybe start to do something here, but…"

"With us," Sophia said, "It’s contagious. All of you, fix this, fix that."

Their delegation had stayed at the hotel where the leader of the Teeth was holed up. Teeth, Eyes, Trickster, Illyrio and I, Vex and Exalt, with a portable bathroom at the other end of the room. Not fancy, not idly, but it was equipped with a shower and showering facilities.

Aisha took that as her cue to go, while Sophia led the way to the bathroom. Aisha looked grim, and went stark red, her hair andosh, astrik, she was mobbed in a more insane way than Sophia had ever been. None of us were very attractive under Sophia’s circumstances, and her brief interaction with us had made all of us look dull. All of us shearkened back to their sense of humor, whatever their looks.

Which made her something of a receptionist, in an era when people needed to be managed.

In any event, we were out of the bathroom, relaying messages to Hornet, as usual, and we were in good stead as far as our group was concerned. We’d gathered as a group around the chamber pot. Bitch took the lead as we passed by. Her dogs led the way, along with Bastard and Bentley.

Hornet lobbed a darts of light, and there were bugs in the area. We backed out of the way, to give him a chance to find and avoid cover.

As Tattletale had warned us, we remained carefully neutral, watching the fighting in the distance. One device was thrown down to the street below, losing power to its surroundings as it exploded violently.

Gr

======== SAMPLE 6 ========
 cause the world’s population to plummet.

The bugs were still there. In her haste to get to the front door before the doors were sealed and the world filled with darkness, I’d opened the doorframe, which probably hadn’t been airtight. I used the bugs to get a sense of the layout.

The suitcase.

The walls of the room were covered in maps, both official and unmarked.

I took a step to the right, and bumped head with a cube containing a shotgun, some type of steel cartridge with a die in the center, and a bunch of other stuff I didn’t know.

I took another step left, and bumped head with a cube containing a plasma cutter, another piece of equipment I didn’t know.

Scion. Here. In my humble opinion, he was the spawn of Stygia, the queen of vampires. Or Khonsu, the ruler of the nine. There was no way anyone would allow that Scapegoat to be queen of the world at large. It was insane.

He had his power. There was no way to stop it. It was instantaneous, and it had the potential to send everyone in the world to their deaths. Anyone with an issue with mental instability, anyone with an issue with substance abuse or conduct unbecoming a member of the Chosen.

Hmmm. Well, technically not the Nine, but they wouldn’t be as effected.

"Planet," I spoke, loud enough to be picked up by the phone.

No answer. I pushed my power into effect, my perception extending further than what my bugs could see.

A white hot pain exploded forth, less a piece of paper than a torpedo in the air, followed by a series of crashes, the sound of shattering glass.

And the people on the other side, caught off guard by the magnitude of what they’d just been thrown into, were turning toward the doorway, shouting desperately, "Get him, Fix it!"

Except the girl with the black costume and gauntlets was turning toward the phone, raising her one hand in his direction.

It wouldn’t bring him. They wouldn’t get him far, even if she could find a power they could use.

I watched the people in the other group change course, realizing the scale of the situation and headed to the phone, still holding the one in Scapegoat’s hand. I got their number, kept it in mind while I worked.

"There’re no cell phones, thanks to the emergency shutdown" I told them. "If you need to make a call, this is the number:

304-945-3434."

They started to leave, but turned around. One of them plowed his hand into the ground, just where the flare had been. The aftermath spread, and he was gone just ten feet, glowering at them.

"No!" the girl I’d changed my mind looked very much the same as before, a very unhappy expression on her face.

Again, I shifted my position. Another person had appeared where the last one had been pinned to the ground.

He took one step, and I stepped on him, dragging him after him with enough force and fear to make him stumble.

With the three of them in the same place, I had the tools I needed to close in and hamper the creature’s movements. Too slow, and he used his tentacles to rest at my left hip, his intrusion still painfully slow.

My phone screen was now a divided in red and green rectangle, with the text ‘Merchant’ in yellow across from the green screen. The middle two squares of the screen were text only, and the horizontal and vertical lines were color coded to indicate which of the three villains he was after. His circle, my line and the one yellow square to my right as I moved to my left, were both nearly as large as my own body, with others overlapping them.

I advanced, and I could see him change his orientation to look me in the eyes. Not an outright threat, but there was a threat implied. He was moving so fast that I could see the differences in his body as he floated in the air, then began to change as though he’d moved a thousand times, every part of him reshaping and reshaping in some way. His skin as it was reattached to the surface, the flesh on his hands and feet reorganized and integrated, any flaws or imperfections amplified or aggravated in every way.

I was already floating downstream, trying not to float up into the air as he ran with me, the distinction neither solid or canyoneous.

The end result was that I could see him disappear among the clutter,

======== SAMPLE 7 ========
 cause the two-year-old to disappear.

She reached the bathroom, forced herself to climb inside again, then stopped. The door of the bathroom buzzed, but she knocked instead. A second later, a pair of heavy heels touched the door, made their way inside.

"You want to know my secret?" Tattletale asked.

The answer was a short one, "No."

"Sure."

■

The room was vast, half of it lit by constant streams of light from the monitors above, the other half darkened by curtains that were pulled closed. Only two walls faced the client’s direction. The desk was large, tiled in a way that made for a makeshift office. Several people were seated at different points in the desk, and information was displayed on each surface. The client had requested that there be two assistants.

The desk was the size of a small boat, and the cabinets were equally gargantuan, three feet deep, eight feet tall. The largest surface was a concave metal chair, three feet across, two and a half feet deep, designed to accommodate larger hands. Thick cables ran from the desk to the ‘pet’ on the top, which were held in place by two gauntlets. Capable of handling anything from single file truckers to heavily armored suits of armor, the suit had been hidden in plain sight at the far end of the room.

Tattletale paced back and forth. She was wearing a silk pajama set in a delicate flowing finery. Her hair was immaculately styled, in thin braids that were neatly parted, and the contours of her face and hair were illuminated by streaks of light from the lamps on the opposite walls. Her lips met just below her teeth in a hard line of line. Her fingers clutched the sides of her head, the broad ‘eye’ of her mask held behind her back. Hardy, muscular, strong, intimidating in a way that suggested he was stronger than he was. He was good at everything he did, but there was a strength to the man that made you hesitate before engaging him in a fight. Entering a business deal was not his strong point.

That hesitation only fueled her fire, left it unabated, the intensity and ambition she felt bubbling beneath the surface. It was no doubt a coping mechanism, stemming from her early traumas. Whether it was the bullying at school, her mother’s alcoholism, or the pressures she was under as a member of the Merchants, she always had a reason to be angry. Never a good reason to be in a negotiation, especially not a negotiation between Brockton Bay residents.

"Would you please come in?" She asked the woman in the suit, who had settled in an over the top chair.

The woman nodded, released the woman from the seat and let her go, with their child in tow. Bethanye had to catch her breath before she moved to a sitting position, groaning, "Oh, I’d like to walk. I have something I’d really wanted to talk to you about, too, but I was feeling kind of… I don’t know, preoccupied. Preoccupied, you know, what people were saying about me, and the constant threats of my being moved to another city, and what that was."

"We’ll explain in a moment."

Bethanye pondered for a few moments. What had caused the crisis? It wasn’t really a question of strength or vulnerability. The difference was in the attitude of the people around her. Where there should have been allies and family there were enemies, both real and imagined. The few people who remained were the Merchants, the Chosen, the Protectorate, the Wards, and, increasingly, her Team.

In the midst of a more basic conversation, strangers in a strange city, those around her began to speak, almost exclusively in English. She met their eyes.

Jouster gestured, and she shook her head slowly. He was the first to agree to the conversation.

Trying to read them, here?

"Bureaucrats. Power plays. Trying to emulate the Russian drama"

One muttered under her breath. Another muttered something about the translation and what she was seeing instead.

"Cauldron," she said. Again, there was no hesitation. She named the villainy in question.

They stared at her, wondering, analyzing. Then she said, "You know what I mean."

"Sure," the man said.

"The whole thing with Cauldron is it was a matter of trust. Me, Tattletale and Purity. In the end, they pulled a weapon and I was one of the ones who used it."

A long pause.

"Okay,"

======== SAMPLE 8 ========
 cause in the same way those people in her territory were, but they’re not me! That’s her!"

"She doesn’t really care. She just wants to live," Krouse said. "That’s more than I can say for almost anything, when the stakes are this high. So don’t take out a knife on her, or use her as an excuse to attack me. If you do something really shitty, we’ll still be in this neighborhood over the next while, and you won’t have to go back to your dad’s city."

"That’s not what I meant!"

"Okay, but really, what I just said is, you don’t have to go back to your dad’s city. You can move to L.A. or New York or Chicago and pretend you are going back there for a few days to visit your grandparents, if you want. Or go back to your old house in Chicago and stay there."

"That’s insulting!"

"Oh? You didn’t say anything?" He looked at Marissa.

"I- I didn’t, um-" she wheezed out the word.

"Quiet," he calmed her down.

She looked at him, confused.

"It’s alright," he reassured her, putting her at ease. "No pressure at all. It’s nice."

She nodded and helped herself to a seat.

"The problem is," he said, sheepishly, "We didn’t get along with each other. It’s almost like we had a profession, like, you know? Management and-"

He realized it in the span of one heartbeat. She looked down at the coffee table by her feet.

"And my side business, it’s like a hobby, like I… I don’t even know the word, but I think I dabble in it. Art, design, movie and TV design, they go together, but I don’t do theatre or music or anything like that. And you know those jobs that are kind of a lifeline for the young lads? The less developed the job, the less stable the economy, there’s less people willing to do it, and there’s less of a job with less guaranteed payoffs. Music, film, design, hair metal. I get all that, but my main thing, the thing that I’ve always been best at, if it’s even possible, is managing a project."

Sheathing her Blade, he removed the tag from the canteen, read the contents to Marissa, and then tore it in two. Holding the spools of hair, he walked over to the fridge to find a length of black denim. With his other hand, he deftly cut the ends off a long hair -three inches long, no less than two inches across- and deftly suspended the strands over the countertop blender, still holding the shorter lengths.

Using his power, he was able to mount the panels with the frame and stand without any difficulty. The panels, machined smoothly, hold the legs on the left side of the body while the feet rest on the right. In this way, the illusion is maintained, while obscuring the rear end of the costume, showing only the spine at the rear of the hood and the area around the upper part of the mask.

"You’re going to be fine, I think," he spoke. She guided a stool towards him, then sat, putting her head and shoulders back enough that the backs of her hands rested against her ribcage. With her arms folded and tooth chipped, she couldn’t look Laceyfman in the eye.

"We don’t know how long this is going to last. Is it even okay? A lot of people have made this choice between seeing real miracles and real monsters. I personally believe it’s a little bit of a cheat, a little bit of a poison, a little bit of protection, a little bit of power, and a little bit of power for the people that really need it. Makes sense, that they’re covering this kind of thing."

"Your power is giving me a clue, maybe."

"Enough of that," he said. He set the stool down on the table, and set another chair down beside it. "Lisa, we’ve got to ask you every test or procedure you’ve ordered or things you’ve done for us. We need to know that the outcome of this fight doesn’t change anything for the future, and we also want you to know what we’re going to do to guarantee that nothing ever

======== SAMPLE 9 ========
 cause that the enemy didn’t get to build anything on that point.

She set her feet and began to walk, slowly. She was aware of the two people with her, moving their bodies as they closed the distance between the two of them, lifted themselves into the air with hands gripping the walls of the building.

Crawler’s final twitch before he went on the offensive. One of his limbs splitting open and absorbing the impact.

Fenja’s faerie screamed and joined the fray, calling upon her power in spades. She brought fallen and dying allies down from the sky, piling them on top of Crawler and his surviving acolytes. They tried to run, but the streets were impassable. They were heroes, determined in their attempts to rescue the people inside, but they weren’t doing enough.

Her spirit, according to the trolls, was as big as an Olympic pool. With a dozen spirits of wildly varying size, from various temples and tombs around the city, she was somehow all too happy to join the fight, sharing her abilities with them. There were a half-dozen spirits of unknown origin, doing their best to replicate her appearance through blood and fire, but their efforts were hampered by their inability to move, their inability to ignite their light.

Their leader, Shén Yù, in his yellow and black costume, was doing much the same as Fenja, but his light was a storm of transparent blades, like a stalactite, and his avatar took much the same measure in imposing distance.

Crawler, for his part, seemed to be more in his element than anyone on Hameln Heights. He was disarmed, his personal fortress dismantled, his corporeal form pillaged. For his troubles, he only had one costume with him, and it was a costume without a price. A cheap costume.

A thousand heroes simultaneously tried to surround Crawler, but he only leaped to one side, out of reach of the clutches of the attacking heroes.

Up until the very end, when he paused to draw his capsule, leaving himself potentially equipped to board a train, take flight or use another power?

It was a consideration that kept Mannequin tense, helping to medicate the insane, so he didn’t reap the full consequences of his actions.

Feeling the effects of his power too many times, Mannequin resorted to brutal countermeasures. His eyesight became fuzzy, his senses broadened. He gained control over animals, birds and insects.

His long term plans were further warped by the fact that he was forced to watch and take note of everything that happened on the battlefield, for the things he needed to know was only a part of the many realities he was forced to manage.

Even under our guidances, he remained a rogue, a member of one of the three evil factions within the city. He’d disguised himself as an ordinary citizen, dressed in costume such that those who passed for civilians were, in truth, ghouls. He’d acted with a kind of justice, sparing the innocents, leaving the city cleaner, while ensuring that no other villains were left devastated or fucked over after the fight ended.

But all that was in the past, now. Any excuse was a excuse, and every challenge he made was one more attempt to reassert himself. The city was a hostile environment, full of tourists and innocent bystanders, and he wanted to make things better. He needed to find a balance, as leader and as a lone wolf.

It didn’t help that the others all wanted something from him, at once. Every person of interest that crossed his radar was ignored, or rejected, leaving him with a team that was far too large to fit on the train.

His eyes fell on a desk. For a moment, he thought it was a prop, an ornament to some scene in the film, but it was a safe bet to assume it wasn’t of this world.

He grabbed it, making sure to keep his hands free of the trap.

A crashing sound broke the reverie.



Speck 30.6


The interior of the carriage was eerily like the remote control station he’d guarded when we visited the toy store. It was tin can from India, cabinets from the home, furniture, a front desk and the contents of another locker. Nothing else particular, nothing that might suggest a ranking in any particular group or faction.

He reached the top floor, made his way to the foot of the stairs, and then made his way down to the bottom. People greeted him with open arms, offered hugs, or shouted encouragement from a distant location. He took them all in, feeling humbled, as if it was the entirety of Britain who had just intervened. In his shoes, he would

======== SAMPLE 10 ========
 cause he’d done was to create several clones of himself.

One of those clones fired a gun at them, hard. The gun didn’t penetrate Fabric. I could see the inorganic blur pass through on the way back.

Two minutes passed before Krouse called forth another tidal wave of flame and smoke. He quickly abandoned his attempt to pin Floret’s clones under.

For his trouble, he had requested that his passenger take a leave of absence. He’d wanted it so he could be sure it was safe when it came time to claim the city. I got the impression he was a little more worried about the fact that he was high on something than he was about the idea of taking the city back.

It would be good to distract him.

A discarded matchbox fell to the ground as Krouse moved his spear to open up a side door, and a short, thin girl with dark curls and a metal costume settled atop it. Olive. The box was empty, but for a single match. Krouse checked it and found it empty as well.

She smelled like burning flesh and smoke and passed out from too much blood. He extracted her from the box and placed her in the back of a truck so he could take her to a meditative state so he could study her.

Her power was slowly working on her. She was boiling with anger and nervousness, every bug in the area was suffering, and she was too tired to do anything with them.

Krouse piloted the truck towards Floret’s area. "This is bullshit. They wouldn’t give her to me."

"They didn’t give her to me because she was a bomb."

"They didn’t give her to me, because they didn’t want people with powers to run around! Because they didn’t want to lose Stuff to the Simurgh’s explosive power!"

"Not quite," Krouse said, not taking his eyes off the girl, "Partially."

The girl protested. "I was worried you’d take the time to analyze her and figure out how to make a way."

"Only part of it."

"That’s good! You should do research on her! You’ll want to do it inane as much as you’re not boring yourself to death with all the same problems you solved with serious danger! And you’ll be doing it for no particular reason! She’s powerful, she’s incredibly powerful, and she could annihilate you in a matter of seconds!"

"Enough!" Krouse said, as the truck turned into a veering dive for the water. "Satisfactory, is the word you’ll hear on the news, if nobody else is looking for it."

The driver of the truck, a woman, shouted a warning into the radio, raising his horns. Krouse slowed his pace, waited until Floret had dipped her tentacles into her water bottle, then stole a quick glance at the surroundings before rejoining Krysta.

The coast was dropping, the distant noises of the planes and boats growing louder with each passing second. Drop after drop.

"The coast is dropping," Floret whispered to him. "Never set foot in a sinking ship, Krysta. Never set foot on an empty stomach, Floret."

"If I had any doubt," Krouse said, eyeing the interior of the truck, "It’s already too late."

Krysta changed her direction, and the vehicle began rocking, the wheels slapping against the ground in response to the sinking feeling. Krouse grabbed at the rail to keep from being pushed.

"They pulled me from the water," Floret sobbed into her sweatshirt, one hand to her mouth. "That-"

"She’s not going to drown herself," Krysta said.

There was a shattering crash, and everyone present had a sudden impulse to get to the shelter as soon as possible. Church, most of the way through, was on the other side of the street, trying to keep from being crushed. He’d stopped when Floret had plunged the truck into the water. Even with his heavy armor, his head hung. He looked up at the girl, dropped his head to stare at her, eyes wide, his awe and awe at what she had achieved in a moment of panic quenched somewhat by his own loss of mind.

They didn’t get any further before Floret abandoned the vehicle, the windows and doors smashing against the ground and more walls, trying to retain some of the bounce she’d given up on the boat and in the deeper part of the street. Church and Floret continued down the hill, back to the shelter

======== SAMPLE 11 ========
 cause it.

I wasn’t positive how to feel about that. Thanks for noticing we were in a bad spot.

"Satisfactory?" she asked.

"Be sure to thank him," Bella directed some slight emphasis at the man, who she was sure was trying to emulate, "That’s always a plus."

"Will do."

Barker finished his film, and every camera in the building turned to turn their sets, something I hadn’t noticed before 2am.

It was rare, especially in the past 5 years, for me to truly relax and be free. 5am wasn’t any different.

I’d eaten breakfast, had breakfast with Arnold, and now I had to face the future. I’d talk to Lisa, then see if I could find an audience with Bryce. If I couldn’t get Lisa to connect with me, I was liable to regret the evening.

My #1 goal for the evening was to find some way to help, to provide a hand when I needed it.

The plan was to meet with my squad, then we’d go to the film set. Unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances, we would have to pull out at the last minute. I was set on Monday, but couldn’t stretch my timetable as far as extending an invitation to Mr. Gladly. It would suck.

That left only three places I could think of that would be appropriate, venues that wouldn’t be affected by the storm and those where I knew I would be.

The lobby of my place. Theards was a club that was, until very recently, a thing of the past. The floor of the club, the amber and white walls, the black platform that could be seen up ahead – that was one.

My ... foyer? If I could find a way to rename the space, I would. It was my old bedroom, and my new (small) apartment.

The loft was a concrete wall off an old roof, surrounded by a bar, offices, a kitchen and a small kitchen. Doors opened into separate spaces towards the rear, and an elevator provided me with a means of getting down to the base of the loft. Bar/panels above and below provided me with privacy.

My old weapons locker, including the spare vibes cannons and grenades had given me. My armor bag, full kit, ammo, batons, handcuffs… everything. The biggest issue of the day, as far as my ability to protect myself, was an inability to reach out and get help. There was no way down. A concrete wall surrounded me, nothing made sense, so I kept moving.

I’d walked a quarter of my life without having a parent or guardian. My mother had, for most of my life. There were painful moments, still, even as I understood what I was doing to pick up the pieces of my apartment and furniture in a single piece. She’d died some time ago. But those moments were managed, placed just where they could be most useful.

Looking to the future, I thought. There were a lot of scary moments. I’d have to wait until I was a teenager to really start looking at the prospect of murder, but I was pretty sure I’d have a terrifying series of events. I suspected that whatever precipitated an older man and woman to act on their aggression would be similar to the aggression I’d have towards them if I acted at a younger age. They both demanded retaliation, and be accepted with a degree of grudging acceptance.

But a part of me wanted to be a superhero. To have powers that would let me do something, to be a forceful one, and to have them as a response to some of the things I found infuriating. The ability to make threats and get non-solutions on the community level was one. Catching people’s reputations in [[human]], as I saw it, was another.

If I was going to be a superhero, I needed to be good at those things.

My swarm informed me of our imminent encounter. I could sense the two major gangs -ABB and Empire- through my swarm. Empire had new members, mostly. New Wave had a few veterans who were more worn out than others. There was the old gang from Brockton Bay that had folded into the Merchants after the ABB wave, people who’d fled to the Tower with no apparent regrets.

There was the gang from the Boardwalk that called themselves the Merchants, also. I couldn’t get a sense of them through my swarm, which was only able to sense small things, the bumps on their backs that were there for identification, but nothing else. They had sandals, and wore similar costumes, perhaps to blend in

======== SAMPLE 12 ========
 cause."

"Because you’re afraid," Lisa said. "And there’s a pretty fucking good chance you’re right."

The mention of ‘reasonably possible’ provoked a wince from Coil. He rubbed his chin. "This is why I don’t want you near me."

"I know," I said. My wobbly fingers failed me here, as I struggled to raise my hand into the air and attach the flattened, flexible finger to the wheel that rotated the colorful string beanie doll. Lisa retrieved it and put it down on the beanbag to hold it. "But… might be better if we stayed a little distance."

"Fine," he said. "I’m going to go make sure the four suits are all checked out and ready for action. I’ll be watching for your return trip, so you don’t start something, just because you’re angry."

I glared at him.

"I know you didn’t tell anyone about what happened with your sister. That’s understandable, really. You kind of lost touch, there wasn’t much of a community anymore, and things are sort of a laughing matter anymore."

"Community’s okay," I said, without any inflection. "Sorry."

"You have a safe haven, I’m sure."

It was my theory, but Noelle hadn’t quite lived up to the idea. I’d baited her out, generated chaos, saddled her with the pain and suffering because she didn’t have the group dynamic of, say, Bitch.

Dinah had enjoyed being able to hang out with the Undersiders. Hell, I’d probably taken something away from her. Being able to socialize with her group, be friends with people she could listen to? Sure. Having a space to hang out in with a group of people she could relate to? Definitely.

I’d also picked up stuff for her, herself. She’d been dropped off, apparently untreated for her injury, and the paramedics had taken notes, though they’d dropped the subject of her name. She needed some distance, she needed stability.

Fuck that.

I could see my dad’s expression shift in reaction to that. I knew he was thinking the same thing I was.

"Something to keep in mind, kiddo," Lisa told me, as she bent down to hand me my drink. "Brown straw for you, chocolate for him."

As an afterthought, I told her, "Thanks. For saying hi."





Hive 5.6


Hector hopped off of the bed and made his way downstairs, while Aisha tidied the kitchen and joined Avis on the couch.

He wasn’t one of the powerful ones, I noted. The ones you went to great effort to drive off when you had a bad day. The ones you usually knew were too dangerous or someone you had to watch your back when you were out in costume. There were others like him, who you knew from first hand experience.

He’d been one of my brothers.

Before I had powers, before I had a roof, it had been one of my goals to get to know these guys. To get to know them on a level where I could relate to them, where I could understand them. I could have delved into their personalities and motivations, just like I could understand you if you were their age.

Instead, I focused on the people I was relying on for support. Family. Friends. Not so important, not so far fetched. But still, close.

Hector turned my way, and I took extra care this time. I gripped the knife in my other hand, both fingers and thumb bent, almost praying the pain wouldn’t get to me. Needed to get myself right.

He looked up from the oven to see me, greeted me with a wide eyed, wide eyed disbelief. Still strapped in, like before.

He’d barely said anything before, and I barely noticed. The difference was how he handled the awkwardness. He didn’t look my way, didn’t even look at me as he opened the door to the bunk area and got the kitchen door on the other side.

He went for the fridge, removed the canister of pepper spray. While he was there, he grabbed two 12pack bottles of water. While he stacked the contents in his arms, I grabbed the knife I’d carved out of an old screwdriver and swung it into Hector’s stomach. He stopped himself from avoiding my knife in the head-shaking, caught it with his

======== SAMPLE 13 ========
 cause and effect. A few billion lifeforms entering the battlefield every second with absolutely no consideration for the lives of the billions upon billions upon billions upon billions of others.

He’d watched it all, firsthand.

There was a voice in his ear, the bass of some kind of musical sound, deep and bass‑less, not even inhabitable. The voice continued on into the fractal webs of Web. It was describing something, anything, but he could barely make it out.

The Web continued evolving. The fractal changes were so subtle they were almost impossible to make out, but he could see the little pearls of wisdom spilling forth.

More voices. Still nowhere to go.

The Web had assumed this form and placed it in a way that each could fit in a particular space. The very apex was a craggy mountain with pillars at its base. Each peak and shaft of snow was broad enough that it could hopefully be cut into segments and tabbed into individual displays. Once each peak or shaft of snow was marked in ice-caked white, they could be tied into bundles and left to ferment in the black knots of fractal webs.

But something else was going on. Her Web was parting to reveal a very deliberate and fractured landscape. She had changed the order of the fractals, and the resulting images were more like loose monochrome film than what he’d seen on his way to the bank. In one corner of the mountain, there were two very different images radiating from a point differently. One was the peak-

And the rest…

He paused. He’d moved too fast to follow.

-with another fractal suddenly appearing below it. Before he could turn his attention to the new scene, the one with the icicles and the sea of ice, a collision had happened. A part of the mountain was carved out, the crystal that had hosted it shattered.

They’d crossed paths once, but neither he nor he were in a state to talk.

"Let us go," Krouse said. "We can find Nod. Someone or something must have told them he could communicate using his power."

"Unless we want to wait until he comes back, Jacob," the voice sounded.

Jacob leaped from the roof’s edge, landing in a head on collision with Krouse.

Krouse braced himself, his body going to two hundred and fifty pounds of moving parts, in case his friend got unsteady on his own.

A hand engulfed Jacob before he could follow Cody’s instructions, dropping onto his back. Krouse nearly dropped it.

Jacob reached out, as if to grab another to keep hold of him, but a collision with the crystalette tore a hole through it. Krouse stopped and hefted his left hand for a bigger one.

A different world. There was no stability here, only a void there. This wasn’t a place where rock didn’t break away, but where-

World twenty-seven. The void was deeper, wider, and deeper still.

Another gunshot sounded, close. Violent, sure. And it was coming from just behind our group.

And there was an enemy, a threat, in the chamber of Drakkis. A half-dozen of them. Some with cybernetics powered by the Franchi geneticships, some with powers that would disable and give access to the enemy.

Foil, out, taking shots at the enemies that were in the room. Armorer, ready, firing his weapon.

And I was at the top of the stairs, slithering against the worst of their tactics, my bugs making steady contact with the enemies, getting good data on the layout and movements of the enemy, and occasionally spotting an opening.

An Crusader, coming through the opening. Argyle and York, junior members. They’d been supporting the Scapegoat, and their own reasons.

Ursa, the blonde, was present too, firing her rocket launcher. Not on target, but reliable enough. She could put rockets on the ground.

Tecton wasn’t in sight, and I was worried he would be too, due to his lack of mobility. I couldn’t see any forces whatsoever.

We stood at the very top of the staircase. I could see the Normandy arrive. I could see the various leaders of the factions present, names I recognized, even if I couldn’t see their faces.

"It seems we’re at a stalemate," Cuff said.

"I’m not seeing anything that suggests it’ll get any worse."

"But they’re here, and we aren’t?"

"And so are

======== SAMPLE 14 ========
 cause a chain reaction, like Mockshow’s stuff usually does. There’s a reason she has a thousand pound gorilla on her team."

"What’s that?" I asked.

"I don’t know. But she does have a human tinker."

"I don’t either," I admitted.

The Wards all pulled away, except for Clockblocker. He only turned towards his teammates a little tighter. I could see him consider it for a moment, then decide it wouldn’t be anything he wanted to say.

"Okay," I told him. "Let’s go."

With that, we were the last remaining group of Über and Leet Übers and their supporting minions away from Lisa and the rest of the temple. People screamed, they ran, and they got in fights we couldn’t hope to win. When one of them couldn’t find a place to sit down, they set their feet on the floor and we lifted them. When that wasn’t sufficient, they mobbed Lisa.

A whole squad of the more mobile Über─including the kids here and a few from out of towners who didn’t have ID】escorted Lisa to the stage. She sat down on the raised platform.

"We didn’t get any help," I said. I pointed with my hand. "Big bro decided to throw us to the wolves instead. Justus, Roxy and two dogs decided to help out just in case. The big bad wolf just decided to take out his frustration on those of us who didn’t cooperate, threw a fit, you know what I mean? Like, he’s not supposed to be this cocky, chivalrous…"

I trailed off, let my mouth hang open, as people filed out. There were a lot of people, myself included.

There were a few chuckles from the crowd.

"What’s going on?" I asked, in the same moment the portal opened.

Tattletale made a face. I presumed she’d been watching.

"They’re joking," Imp said. "Who?"

"The player in the lead. How do we pick up the pieces?"

"You collect the pieces?" I asked.

"Some clues, sure, but there’s no absolute, definitive answers. There’s got to be another agent, another force at work, and words aren’t getting through to him. Maybe there’s a way to get answers by faking him out. If he gives us exactly what we need, we can find the agent and get the answers."

"Exactly how?" Grue asked.

"Blood or debris. Either way, he left him there to die. That fucking annoying bitch."

I didn’t respond, I wasn’t sure if I could.

The portal closed, and I could see the crowd move. It was brief, barely a minute, but it did include bugs, none large enough to occupy Tattletale or the others in the crowd, myself included.

In the midst of it, I saw Tattletale’s eyebrows draw together, her chin a touch raised a fraction. She looked almost LIKE a journalist, though she actually had a gentlish, inquisitive booth.

I felt a frictional sensation as the wet blanket against my back washed over me. Over the top of my head, my shoulder, my neck… I was surprised to see my hair type touching the pavement. I hadn’t taken my hat off.

"Shit, I can’t believe this is real," one of the kids said.

"It is," Tattletale said. "But I’m not sure how long this is going to take. We’re running out of time."

"Get yourselves set up somewhere safe," someone in the crowd said.

"My mom’s at the shelter, she’ll see you safe," I said. "Get yourselves set up somewhere minimally suspicious. Take your children, have them hide."

There were nods all around.

I cast a glance at the kids. They were dressed in layers, with jackets and dresses apiece, but there were no sleeves, no worries there.

I was still a little shaken.

All of the crying stopped. The kids were rubbing their backs, some sniffling, in what looked to be a temporary lull. They were looking up at me, now, and I felt like an observer, a spectator. This time, everything was staged, like I was watching a play.

"GG," a girl’s voice whispered in my ear.


======== SAMPLE 15 ========
 cause of the violence in my territory. That’s not what this discussion is about."

"I’m going to be blunt, then. You haven’t been here for that long."

"I started leaving when Cherish came here."

"I know. I thought this might be it. My territory being destroyed, everyone leaving for good."

"You’re causing more problems than you’re solving."

"We’re causing more problems than we’re solving," I told her. "And people are going to keep dying as a result. The consequences of what happened here won’t be anything she can see or hear. But I’m going to do what I can to minimize the damage."

She was still looking at me when she spoke. Her voice was surprisingly calm, after her disbelief and her fury had accumulated so rapidly. "Why? It’s not like you have anything worth locking up your people’s lives or holding them ransom for."

I could see her tense, an expression that would be out of character for her, but I wasn’t about to change her mind, regardless. More to the point, what was going to motivate her to change?

"What’s going to motivate her?" I asked. "This isn’t just fighting Behemoth. There has to be a greater plan here."

"Then you’ve got a few options. Option one is to ask for help. A few decades ago, we might have made this a permanent policy, handed down to our descendents by word of mouth. But with the Protectorate ebbing and going dead in the teeth of time, that option is dying too."

"If the individual supervillain that is most responsible for this crisis comes from the Birdcage-"

"Victoria. I wouldn’t turn my power on you."

"-For that matter, you wouldn’t have much hope of me returning. The same goes for the heroes of the present day. They don’t exist."

"I thought you said there weren’t any heroes left," I said. "I’m not feeling quite so optimistic."

"You’re absolutely right," Tattletale answered me.

"Wonder why."

"Humans are hard-wired rationally, culturally. Genetically. Simply put, we’re social creatures after a fashion. The more we interact with others, the more we are social creatures, and the harder it is to break from that pattern. The more we write our own unique scripts, the harder it is to break with convention. This is borne out in our society at large, where anyone who crosses lines or enters new territories is either seen as an enemy or considered an outcast. New Wave was the first organization to truly shake the notion that lines are so important that we need social engineering to get our socialite overlords."

"You’re not entirely wrong," I said, "But that’s only part of the picture. You said humans are social creatures just like any other species. If you go by the majority-species rule, any other species which shares 50-50% of its DNA shares half of the species"-

"No," Trickster interrupted. "That doesn’t match. Any species, given the chance of interbreeding, is going to have a 50/50 chance of producing half their DNA. Less than a third of half of one percent. That doesn’t add up."

"No, it doesn’t," Tattletale said, sounding a fucking deal-hard or something. I could see her purse, "No, it doesn’t add up."

I looked at her hand, cheek pressed against her mouth, which had just clipped the side of her nose. She’d done it as an accident waiting to happen.

"Shit," Tattletale said, again. She dropped to her knees.

Trickster spoke, almost casually, "She was a copy vial with some psychoactive mushrooms in it. Used to be I would have cringed, but then I realized you’re a bastard, Undersider."

I looked at him, then up at the heroes who were coming around the corner. "I’m not saying he was lying. I’m saying he was exploring ways to create other hybrids."

"This isn’t a social experiment," Tattletale said.

"No," I said, "It’s not. It’s an executioner’s maneuver. They’re trying to flush us out so Scion can't hold back any more. Filling our pockets with money, with flimsy, worthless coins.

======== SAMPLE 16 ========
 cause it would be able to. But I’d have to take your word for it. Your gut? Maybe the weapon you use to control Scion won’t be as versatile. It gave me a lot of griefed snot. I have to take the word of this spade-boy who feels like he’s been spoon fed, but I got it from a child, I think."

He handed me a mug of water, and I poured it into my glass. There were a few chuckles.

"Come on, bugs," he said. "Don’t be shy. Speak up, but don’t be shy."

I smiled a little. It made sense. Whatever.

"Come," he told me. And I added, "Every time you’re shy, lean close to me, and I’ll know you’re alright, because of this."

I noticed how he was avoiding the use of my power. Normally I got a little scared on a visit from the PRT, or when they had stuff to get my attention. This was, in large part, because he’d set my state of mind to be quiet. I felt more relaxed, like I’d passed the test, like I wasn’t even in the city.

I felt a pang of a fondness towards my dad. Or at least, my dad felt like I did. He agreed with the statement about the weaponized CSI. Maybe he’d been motivated by a desire to keep me from ruining the family name.

Regent’s presence was odd, in that it was paired with a kind of fear. A heightened awareness of the people around us, the passersby. A heightened awareness of the time we had available.

If Scion was here, did that mean… did that mean Curt had been attacked as well? That the people Curt had mentioned were circulating through the area, or had Tattletale decided to attack these refugees because she suspected they could use the weapon on her?

No.

It meant very little, unexpressed, to be around here, in this area, when the Undersiders were this active.

Rachel had spoken, and she had asked everyone if they wanted extra assistance. Taylor had echoed, saying no, I can handle this on my own.

Active, anyways. I was forced to turn left, to take another left, away from the Undersiders, and confront Grue. He was peering through the gaps in the battle.

He’d just started to venture into my swarm when the battle shifted to head further East. Tattletale’s warriors were now guarding a doorway, rather than surrounding us.

The four of them advanced to Curling Vale’s location. I reused the nanomachine-assisted teleporter, crossing the distance with a dash.

Nanomolecular weaponry. It was, in large part, the cost of being part of the Undersiders. I wasn’t really a part of the Undersiders; I’d existed as an incomplete and largely static part of an ecosystem. Now I was a member of a group who could change the dynamic.

The battlefield extenuation had a storm cloud over half the sky. I held my breath.

I advanced, and I spoke from the point of view of the people I was occupying.

"Appreciate the association."

"I’m enjoying it," a voice said, old enough it was old enough I could remember how to pronounce it.

I turned to see Armsmaster, in dressing wear.

"The deal was," he said, "We’d meet you on the other portal. I thought I updated the costume, now."

"You said you had new portions."

"Done," he said. There was no need for statement; I could already sense the general presence of the Brockton Bay Wards. Better to be nonchalant than worried. "Relegated, even. At least for right now. She’s off to see the representative."

"Appreciated."

"The representative?"

"A mystery, to be sure," Armsmaster said. He brushed his steel-colored hair from his eyes with one hand. "Do you need anything?"

I shook my head. In a way, I’d acquired enough familiarity with the Undersiders that I couldn’t help but sound weary. Curious, maybe, but not alarmed.

The battle was ongoing. Aegis was suffering badly from the whirlwind, and was being battered, one hit kicking him in the kidneys, another lunging him with a kick of his boot. He stepped in the air to take on the brunt of the attack, holding his

======== SAMPLE 17 ========
 cause of this kind of panic."

He spoke in broken German.

"The money," I said. "There are too many who have no idea how dangerous their money can be. When things get bad, they lose track of the money. People lose faith."

"In this hypothetical worst case scenario, can you really say it’s worse if someone overdoses on heroin? It’s no better or worse for everyone involved if someone overdoses on hydromorph."

"Not really."

He didn’t reply. Had I misread his tone? Was I asking him to elaborate on the most basic questions because I wanted to provoke a reaction from him that would further complicate his already lengthy explanation of the ins and outs of the drugs?

It took me a few seconds to get that understanding. He didn’t reply either. We walked around the kitchen, taking our time. I tried to get a feel for what our target audience was thinking.

"You take the pills?" he asked, as he pulled open the package with the snorted powder inside.

I nodded and started to take them, putting them in separate containers. My bugs were still moving around as I checked everything was in working order, then threw the plastic containers away. I knew he had other means of obtaining those drugs, ways to rig the system. Did he have a human being sitting in a room with him? No.

"No need to panic," I said, after I had gobbled the pills down. Stupid, seeing my chances of success like this at such a crucial juncture. I swallowed without reservation, then said as much to him. "Someone gave me some drugs, along with a small kit."

His brow furrowed. "The heroin?"

"Yeah," I said. Then I coughed painfully. "Ouch. I think it. Ouch."

He beamed. "That’s good. Pristime things. I was going to rig the injection," he said, giving me a pat on the cheek, "so you don’t inject as much."

I nodded. I really didn’t want to risk taking too long to collect the drugs. The bus ride to the <<chaperones>> stall was uncomfortable on its own, but as I turned to leave, I coughed so violently I almost started to lose my breath.

"Thank you," I hissed the words to my attacker.

He smiled, then turned to make sure he and his girlfriend were on the same page before I was standing by the door, blocking it with his body. I watched as he huddled with his crying girlfriend.

"This stings," Satyrical said. "But I don’t know what it is. We should go, before it gets worse."

"Fuck!" I echoed him. Then I coughed hard.

"We should go," Cuff said, her voice quiet. "Rachel, we shouldn’t you look after Tryggvaj or see to it that he gets the care he needs. We might need to use one of the dogs here."

"I’ll see to it," I said. Glancing at Rachel, I noted that she was standing up, one hand to the wound on the side of her neck, and was leaning against the door frame with her arms folded. That carried more implication than I would have thought.

"Yeah," she said.

"I don’t understand," Foil said.

"Be safe," Parian said.

"That’s good," I said. Fuck me, this was not a good moment. Not with the way everything was swirling around us. The Taylor angle…

Why not a good moment? My thoughts abruptly shifted gears. My dad.

I didn’t have a response for the question, didn’t have anything useful to say. I was waging this with a knife pressed to my throat.

Defiant was walking around the counter in his underwear, his arms and legs propped up to minimize the area around the knife.

"You fuckers," he said, in a thick accented voice. "It’s not just that you attacked his family, you made them look like pigs. You degraded everything we hold dear. Your parents, your friends, your people. I remember you assholes called your team the Teeth when you were trying to get a stand-in for one of the capes we didn’t have. I remember seeing the scar on your cheek. You assholes decided you deserved to die, and then you tried to make it look like some bizarre situation that doesn’t exist."

I drew in a deep breath, then exhaled.

"God."

"I…

======== SAMPLE 18 ========
 cause one to. And maybe you don’t realize how wrong you are to do so. You come to my battlefield and you do not want to be part of the decision. You do not want to be a leader. You do not want to direct your people to do the dangerous jobs because it will get them in trouble. You do not want to declare war because you know that starting a war you were not obligated to wage."

"I did declare war on my own," Mr. Calle said.

"Think of what you could achieve if we leave," Tagg said. "You become a hero, I can work to reassure the people who depend on you that we’re not turning their city into a slave market or enslaving people through exploitation of its natural resources. You become a villain, people will wonder why you’re not pursuing that same recklessness that got it into this mess in the first place. And all those people who were already suffering get another spike in tensions and hatred."

"That’s not what I’m saying," Mr. Calle responded, his voice hard, "It’s not even close to what I’m suggesting. I’m saying we’ve stepped in too far. I want you to consider the costs and benefits."

"I’ll do that," Ingenue said.

"Assuming you’re willing," Mr. Calle said. "As a villain, I can show you the door. You could walk through the door and tell me that there’s a hundred times the paperwork you’d otherwise have to submit, the police and legal complications that come with getting a court order to enter a building. You’d be denying the government access to something very valuable."

"And to your secret assignment today," Ingenue said.

"If I counted that as a revelation," Mr. Calle said, "Yep."

I frowned.

"The numbers may shock you, Director," Ingenue said, "But that’s the price you pay. Just like you have rights under the contract, you can take things into your own hands if you wish. And I can give you my answer, my argument, for why the numbers are right. She’s definitely not happy where she is."

"You’re one of the villains, then?" I asked.

"I’m the person who has to watch her, Weaver," Ingenue said. "I’m the person who has to be wary in what I say, because I say it out loud. The one who has to keep her grounded."

"Is that so?" I asked.

"The one who keeps her in line is the one who has the discipline."

"Right," I said, "And that could be a problem."

"I almost want to hate her," Ingenue said, making sure we didn’t fall into the same trap again. We didn’t want the psycho bard to become hate-talking herself, but she had to stay on task.

"I always hated her," Grue groused, in his eerie echo of someone I’d met once or twice. "But that’s the way she worked. Parahuman. Unpredictable. Causing all kinds of trouble if she doesn’t get her way."

I turned around to face him. I had to bite my tongue again, turning my head so the hair on my chin wouldn’t come in contact with my mask.

Director Tagg gave a deep whistle as he finally let the man go. Ingenue fell silent.

"Very dated," Ingenue said.

"Very dated," Mr. Calle concluded, echoing our last refrain.

"What’s the usage?" Mrs. Yamada asked us.

"Can we talk about this later? It’s been a long time."

"I’m not sure I know what I’m supposed to do," Mrs. Yamada said.

She turned her attention to her laptop, then turned toward the door again.

"Do we need to get you a computer, Mrs. Yamada?" Mr. Calle asked.

She froze.

"No."

"I think I see it. Simplicity. Get things done. You know the drill."

"No."

"No?"

"Not exactly. Different teams, for different reasons. Sometimes there’re outsiders, and I just happen to know who they are. Sometimes it’s the school, and I just happen to know who’s teaching there. I think everyone appreciates the autonomy in how they work. The freedom

======== SAMPLE 19 ========
 cause of the damage I’d sustained from the knives and other objects she’d hurled. If he was still alive, he wouldn’t have survived the attack.

"It’s too dangerous to keep her here," the Director told us. "Given her history, it would do more harm than good."

"I agree. There’s too much risk with bringing her here given the situation. She’ll commit another atrocity," I said.

"Yes. The same sort of thing you did with the school. Ruling the roost with impunity, doing things your way, preferring strength above everything else."

"And the wheels will come off?" I asked.

The Director shook his head. "Miscalculation."

There was another pause in the conversation. I glanced at the others, and they were all nodding.

"Let’s go," Tattletale said.

"Good luck," the Director said.

"We’re not going anywhere."

"We’re done here."

"Then it’s good to go. Tell me where to find the Nine."

"In the preds, near the mid-nineties. The one with the rod."

"Right. Take care of yourself. You look pretty tough without your armor on, doesn’t it?"

"I-" I paused, looking at Tattletale, at the group of villains, and at Cuff. "I’m pretty tough."

He made a funny little whirring noise, and one of his eyes twitched, until it was barely visible.

"Don’t you need a new pair?" Imp asked. I could see Tecton and Grace tense in their seats.

The Director ignored her. "Two. I’ve got the old ones. You don’t need them, but you can go get them if you need to."

I shook my head, "I don’t need them, and I can run if things go south."

"You can’t refuse them without first ensuring we have sufficient numbers."

"What?" I had to stop to think.





Prey 14.10


"You’re- they’re running?"

Grace spoke up, "They took over a city. Cauldron’s handles everything Cauldron handles, even the little things, the arrests, the paperwork. It’s all been thrown away, in entirety or partially. The homeless, the people with terminal illnesses, the rest of us left without any real way to track where we stood. The last time this happened, in a city like Chicago, it spooked the bejesus out of everyone present."

Director Piggot smiled, "You’re right. They took over the city. That’s the most obvious answer."

"But how do we get in? Human trafficking?"

The Director could see the anger in Butterfly’s face. To even think about talking about it was to invite a lynching.

"The British," I said.

"There’s more than one," she said.

"Oh."

"How do we find them? Find Hookwolf before he gathers us all together again?"

Tattletale had suggested the PRT station be set up to give us a hand in navigating the building. It would have been easier if she’d done the navigating for us first. If we were talking about going down the stairs in the basement to reach the roof, we needed to find the lift door to access the second level.

We made our way up, Pocket 10 steps behind us. We were slightly slower than the animals that followed us, but that was the norm for the Merchants, it was the practice and justification for the ‘Chosen’ line of attack. One of Coil’s guys stationed at the station would be liable to give us the slip, while others nearby could hear our cries and approach too late.

We passed through the doors and into the plain.

In the here and now is the unknown, vast beyond what we faced in our past encounters with the Merchants. Are we safe? What will my family think?

We approached the walk-in freezer and flagged down the driver of a car that was waiting. It was deeply out of place, a shock to the system when we stepped into a world that hadn’t even registered for them. People subconsciously entered a world where they knew there was no Taylor they could relate to, no Rachel, Noelle. It was jarring, and I resisted the urge to comment.

There was a rush of wind, and the shadows shifted further towards the north

======== SAMPLE 20 ========
 cause they have. You will, in time, as they get all of the way to your city and then some of you realize what you’ve wrought."

"And by then," Teacher told us, "it’ll be too late."

As if to drive the point home, he rested one hand on the side of our head as he leaned back in the armored SUV.

I looked at each of you. For some, it was a reminder of what you’d been through. For others, it was a source of conflict.

We’d reached the front door and stood in front of the door to check if the intruders were still in costume. It seemed like common sense to us, anyway, as we’d gathered. To each of you, this was self-defense.

There were a few looks of surprise. Some confusion.

"I thought you said there wasn’t anyone here."

"No," I said, "Someone cut the power."

I stood, "What happened?"

"Rime’s down, and it looks like they tried to cut the power to the crossover twice, but failed. We got inside, and she’s either high off her sweat and cranky because she didn’t get a chance to cook or something, and she didn’t want to come inside and mess around. The paramedics said nothing of this, and since it’s a communicable disease, they’re trying to contain it so it doesn’t run down the drain. I don’t think they intend to treat it as a priority."

I frowned.

Teacher pushed his open door, and it suddenly sounded hollow as it passed through the doorway-

BREAKING: Phase shift activates in the Enfield district.

Tattletale was working on the phone. "Teacher? The-"

"Focus on the two men in white. Regulations are being obeyed, but our enforcement isn’t strong enough. They’re dressed like superheroes, and they’re walking on the sidewalk, in the mostly dark city outside. They’re bigger, but I’m betting they’re working boots on the hired help. They’re traveling by foot, and I bet they’re traveling with someone. I’m betting they got here early in the morning."

"They’re infected with some kind of abscess. I can’t put my finger on what kind, but I can tell you they smell bad."

"They might be from the water. Probably.)"

"What the hell are we supposed to do with them?"

"Keep them in the back of a truck or on the ground. Don’t have a place to stash ’em, but I’m going to leave them to be disinfected when the water runs out. That’s all I can do for now."

Teacher nodded. "Okay. I’ll use the picture in the bulletin board as a reminder for the week. We’re going to do the walkies tonight, then. Don’t wear skinny jeans or you’ll be waiting at the barn for a pissing start. Teach me some basics about the animals, alright?'"

"Sure."

"I should get around to the breakfast thing. I’m forgetting how it is."

"Done. Bye."

The wheel cut back to the docking area. I made my way to the ‘barn’, the temporary home the PRT has set aside for capes. It was not far from my old place, the layout being much the same, albeit with more upright room.

I took a seat and steamed my sore throat.

Did I need to remind myself why I was out there? It was a step backwards, as far as the hierarchy of society went, but I was still ascending, all in stride. More important, it was something I was able to do. I ignored the stares, the questions. I was glad for the buzz of fresh air that I felt, as I leaned against the wheel-served bar against the wall and texted Lisa.

She was already sending another reply:

> On a related note: I just got a call from Coil. He said he understands what we did, apologizes for how strict we were with him, but he doesn’t want to do it again.



A little earlier:

Lisa:

(message deleted)



Ok. I think I follow through on one point, after trying to take insults to heart how strongly I’d talked to Brian and Lisa the other night:

You can’t take a joke.

======== SAMPLE 21 ========
 cause to get hurt.

I swallowed hard. "I suppose I’ll find out sometime in the next few days or so."

He didn’t respond. Instead, he shifted his weight until he was sitting astride Bentley, who was rising from the bench. I waited until he was on his feet, pulled my backpack off and tied it around his waist.

That left me some time to think.

My bugs streamed into the apartment, filling the gaps in the entryway and bedroom. There were a fair number of rookies, but Alicia was new. They weren’t all at ease, and I had a feeling they wouldn’t be comfortable for long.

The bugs gave me a better sense of the building they were in.

The bedroom followed the bathroom, full of people. The bedroom had a door to the right, towards the kitchen, on a ladder. It was empty, with a small table and one bed. There was a little bathroom on the first floor, maybe someone’s bathroom, unless they had a locker with their stuff on it.

The bathroom was what gave me the sense of the building. There were no single family rooms, but there were bunk beds in the hallways and on the upper floors. There were two girls’ bedrooms on the first floor, a boys bathroom on the second, and a combined dorm/unresidence on the third and fourth floors.

The girl’s room was labeled. It was the one occupied by my new minion, Amelia. Tattletale had put that one on before I joined the Undersiders. She’d wanted to make sure I was aware of who was around. I’d almost predicted that she’d want to avoid talking to me.

Amelia stood up from her bed. She came to stand in the doorway by the door.

"There you are," Tattletale said.

"Hm?"

"With someone."

"With who?"

"With Skitter. I didn’t know she was there. And she’s telling me Skitter is staying."

"Very Strange," Trickster added.

"Merchant? Gentleman?"

"Puppy," Tattletale supplied.

"Puppy," she agreed.

I closed my eyes for a moment. Despite the ambient hum of the swarm in the background, I felt just a fraction of the light travel from thepanics to cheeks and sniffles. I could see people’s faces, in the dim.

"Good to know. I’m going to make you a deal, then. You and I both know you broke the truce. You did it wrong."

"But-"

"But we made a deal, and we’re calling it even. So listen up, Kid. If you try to take things to the next level and start actively murdering people, I’m going to make you answer for it. You, me and the people you work for. We’re going to make you answer for it and put you behind bars for the next while."

"Alexandria was there!" someone in the crowd shouted. "She saw it all happen!"

Another person in the crowd shouted, "She fought back!"

"It was a mess," I lied. "But she saw it, believe me. She fought back."

The person in the crowd raised a hand, "Don’t bother being so confident. She wasn’t a smart cookie."

"She was clever. She used her power to help a lot of people."

"She was a smart cookie. But you don’t get to prove anything."

I turned to head down the ramp and take my leave of the crowd.

Was it arrogant, to think that way? They were scrapping for dominance in the same way I was. Different groups with radically different roles. At the end of the day, I was a sub-teammate, a supporting member. It wasn’t like I was in the driving seat, waving the flag for the opposing side.

I could understand how they’d done it, if I were them. I could even forgive them for it. It wasn’t fair to the people behind them. But I could also look at it like a black magician getting his hands dirty to help his friend. A double dose of the same genius that had given them the ability to figure out the entire way to the door in the first place. I wouldn’t complain, would I?

Maybe, if I formed an alliance or two, I could mitigate some of the inherent hell that came with being a member of a team. Problem was, I had no idea how to do that

======== SAMPLE 22 ========
 cause was that I had a way of keeping any counteroffensive from the Protectorate or the WHA.

She stepped over to the other side of the building, walked over to the front windows and opened the door there. The cloud of Gray Boy’s dust and debris was visible as she stepped inside.

"Got a box," I said.

"Coming down the stairs."

I nodded. Clockblocker was already tearing the boxes apart with his grappling hook. After a moment’s hesitation, I reached over and activated the shutters to suspend the gray boxes in the air. They fell to the ground, and the bats of my swarm caught most of the bugs inside the room.

"Bats, bees, mosquitoes." I told them, moving the bugs so they were only audible in aural form. It wasn’t well received, but it was an improvised measure that worked well enough that I didn’t need to persuade anyone in my own house.

"Come on, Birds of a Feather. Talk to me."

I hummed in my head a bit, dictating words with my own swarm, silent. The bats and bees helped keep the words from beingigreat ‘shit’s’ and made it a bit easier for the rest. I mentioned Skitter. She was only just bringing an end to this mess. Some of you were still in the fight.

I saw our guest arrive. A black man, messy hair in his face, wearing what looked like a suit, with a thin coat that looked like it had been designed and hand-folded over it. Knitting atop one arm, a short cape and boots with embedded blades, much like my costume, decorated the upper half of his body. He stood off to one side, but one could see the raised lines of his eyes, his whiskers, his eyelashes and the spiraling can of hair in the space between his eyebrows, all signifying hope.

His chirp was interrupted nearly as soon as it began, by the sound of a blade having severed a hand. Image, clarity, a fresh, intense crackle to the sound that accompanied it, and the steel panel on top of his suit cracking and weaving with the vibrations.

He took in a small breath, then removed his cloak. His body was eerily calm, compared to the shrouded bulk of his master. It spoke volumes: he hadn’t even taken a direct hit.

Master and guest? I contemplated.

I couldn’t touch the incident to incite my bugs further. If I used my power, they would get jostled again.

More than that, if I used my power too early in the change, it could ruin the rest of this.

Silk thread? I thought. I could use it on the suit’s mask.

I’d planned to follow the rest of the routine, check in on Skitter, check out of costume. Whether I stayed in for more than a few minutes or stayed for good, I’d be releasing every thread I had in the meantime.

It was loading every thread in the last few seconds.

With a hundred thousand threads, with five seconds to get fully connected…

"Cricket, next."

"Oh. I can’t do anything after that."

"Then wait."

She moved, hopping up behind the white-shrouded valkyrie and giving him a good look.

"I need your help, Freddie."

She turned her back. "Why?"

He took in a small breath, "The Nine have captured Clarke."

"I saw it," I lied, to justify the lie. Freddie could see it, and he could see through it, like a dark page of a book that he shouldn’t have. I’d set my eyes on Clarke as her nemesis, and now… in that same moment, I felt like someone who’d read an excellent book, grabbed the cover of a well-reviewed book, only to realize in horrified, clumsy ways, that the author had died.

Theoteo and Five directed their attention to me, while a third individual walked briskly beside me.

"Whoever knocked Clarke unconscious first gets the first shot," I lied. "If you were going to argue, I just knocked her out. I did more damage in knocking the massive armored suit off its feet. Already hurt, in a way, but she doesn’t remember."

"That’s not what I did."

"Argument from authority," Alexandria-Pretender said. Her artificially created, mouth agape, "I rule this city because I believe in Clarke. In our group, because we’ve got the right combination of people in

======== SAMPLE 23 ========
 cause it was only in the span of a minute, rather than hours or days. He’d needed only to think five seconds without losing his hold over the energy, and the bolt of light began shooting out to reset the sequence.

The light continued to arc over the globe as Time elongated, going from a narrow circular window in the sky to a vast, diffuse spread of light. He followed the arc, as the arc continued to extend around the globe.

Every clock face in the world was turning, to see the resulting scene. The light leveled entire sections of buildings, the moon leaped out of the sky, briefly breaking into a storm of brilliant color.

As the dust and noise of the ongoing fight obscured his vision, he focused on two things. On the one hand, he could see the outline of two figures in the sky, with their center of mass at the very bottom of the stairs. The nearest thing he had to solid geometry was a body he had once covered in hair, but that faded as the light passed. His *body*, as Weaver had said. The second was a *frame*.

He could see the interaction between the two, as mysterious and indirect as the light itself. It was indirect because the two weren’t directly involved. The light that fell on the two figures was what he could see as the *fourth*, a crude mirror image of the image on the *sky*.

When the light ceased, he perceived the shadowy figure once more, as another figure, hooded and feathered, moved to the *bottom* stairs. With a sharp right angle, the **fourth** figure pivoted, following the light once more.

Directly below them, the *fifth*, thin*, flowing to his left, revealed itself as a distorted, distorted copy of the *fifth*. The light that stopped struck it twice, reflections on polythene crystals. The distorted figure broke free, dropping two stories to the street.

On the opposite side of the vortex, the *sixth*, thin, had three more figures it twisted into three different shapes, then threw out in a rough octagon.

Directly below it, the third fragment, a body two and a half stories tall, landed, as if it were crumpled up and time slowed down. The light afterimage flattened it out more.

He could see the figures in the water, at the very bottom of the funnel. The doors had slammed shut, and anyone inside would have been struck down by the onrushing cloud of infrared and ultraviolet radiation.

But the *fifth*, Krouse could see a face behind the shadowy mask, moist red with a green-black offset.

It lasted barely thirty seconds, and there was someone behind it. Krouse could make out the blurred features of the mask, the person’s faces blurred in as much by radiation as by light. A mother and her child, nude.

As if an answering song was repeating, he could almost make out the words, a ‘no reason explained?’.

"Mother!" Krouse shouted, even as he kept to his pace on the streets that were becoming familiar places.

He didn’t get a chance. One by one, the figures began to materialize. Each had been designed, built, colored and detailed in the same stark, black and gray manner as the previous one, but every one of them was different. In some cases, they were bigger than the dogs. In others, they were smaller. In still others, they were the size of ponies. Tall, to the point of being impossible.

And in the midst of it, they walked, occasionally glancing over their shoulder to check a car that was pulling into the lot, then stopping to chat with one another, or checking the directions of their next destination.

"Tiger mom!" Cody shouted, as each of the creatures approached. A head full, dozens of them. He didn’t expend the breath he had in vain hopes of hurting them, and some of the creatures had enough size and mass to be in the driver’s seat.

He stood on a rooftop as large as Kenya, with a view of the cars that were already blocking the road. In the midst of his rain boots, he dug through his backpack for the microphone, then stepped up to touch the touchscreen. His voice crackled with the alerts that his power was still being tracked.

The voice came from the phone. "They’re answering."

"They’re coming."

"Say something."

It was something. He nodded as he took the next step.

Each one of the creatures was slightly different from the first incarnation. Some had been deceptively designed, with features in mind only that they might look like parts of another creature, if not the full thing. There were engineering studies

======== SAMPLE 24 ========
 cause the best of everything and nothing and turn the situation into an even greater injustice.

I drew my knife as I crossed the threshold. I had to stalk around the shelf of weapons in the self-contained room.

Arcades. Space for two. Not even the walls were close enough to be a legitimate target, but I’d have to move at range. I headed for the back corner, the consoles and cases all packed away in the corners. The hard drive and the RAM were untouched, but the keyboards, mice and trackballs were a mess.

I grounded the two-liter canister between the legs of my mat, then kicked the canister out of bounds. I positioned the other arcades between me and the doorframes, running across the room to aim for the open-ended trajectory that suggested the energy would have followed the trajectory I wanted it to reach.

The canister flew out of the sky, a glancing blow striking home. My field producer standing in front of me cringed as another energy shot flew by, but I was in motion nigh-invincible, thanks to my circulation, so I managed to stay calm. I mentioned this shit to Panacea, and she nodded along. Maybe they wouldn’t believe me if I told them the specifics, but a lot of that had been pre-prepared.

"Can you move fires away? I remember seeing them when they were sealing the vault door after the Endbringer attack."

"Sure. That’s why you helped me on that thing. It seemed like the greatest idea at the time, but the damage was done. Now it’s just a mess of flames, branches and poles."

"What if they saw both fires? Imagine what would happen."

"Probably, but I’m not seeing that."

"It’s just a memory."

I glanced over my shoulder at the Simurgh, still lowered to the ground by her legs, her wings folded around her upper body. "Did she see me?"

"Shh."

I shushed her and turned to head back to the barn where Tattletale and the others were talking. Atlas followed.

Armsmaster had approached while I was in his peripheral vision. He brushed some refuse at my face twice, without my directed request, then walked past me, behind me, to keep walking.

In the same moment I swung my arm forward to brush against Armsmaster, Tattletale spoke up, "We need to be clear on exactly what’s going on. Did Legend figure out who we were after getting an anonymous tip, contact our boss?"

"Correct. This is the company he kept, after all. He gave us just a little something to work with, to make our life a little easier. After seeing the mess in his office following the Endbringer attack, he figured out who we were after, gave us the slip. There was nothing more we could do about it."

"And you got away with it, with the info you did have, but there were consequences for us, and he didn’t think anyone would believe us if we started bleeding out to write another letter."

I didn’t have a reply, so I closed my eyes.

"He figured out who we were, how to contact the boss, and what our preferences were, to fill us with doubt and paranoia while holding back. And if the boss knew, well, we don’t have an abundance of competent underlings, do we? Besides, he was being paranoid. He had to know that if he single out one of us and doesn’t trust us to handle it, others would be made to watch our back."

"To put it another way, he was probably thinking about his old teammates and how they might be coping?"

Armsmaster left, and I was left staring at Tattletale’s description of the Simurgh’s recent movements with their own awareness of every person and camera in the area.

"So he knows we’re here," I spoke.

"Perhaps," Tattletale conceded. "I suspect he knows we’re lying, that we’re merely trying to get one last payday, to butcher some of the others for profit…"

"Capes..." my eyes widened. I couldn’t even begin to guess at their motivations. A final rite of passage? An answer to some deep seeded fear? For some?

"Saving Scion?"

Another no.

"The ritual, controlling them…"

"Thought it should go without saying, but do understand that I’m not opposed to the idea of cult leaders preaching to their followers. Just not the way I see it, and I certainly don’t agree with

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 cause what might otherwise happen because of this interplay of things, so long as I don’t make any premature moves.

This wasn’t a perfect world. There were worse things than being Queen of the Teeth.

"That’s a mistake."

Oh. This might be a way into the bad world.

"Perhaps we fight on the first attempt," the Doctor said. "If anyone has another they would take, let me know."

"Just do me a favor," Imp said. "Tell me your intention, and don’t make me regret it."

The Doctor nodded.

"It’s kind of fucked, though. I mean, it’s not the sort of situation where we should help, but we help, and then it all falls apart like we’re on steroids. We’re as useless as code you’ve written. Code you’ve created."

The Doctor cleared her throat.

"And when that bunch gets mauled, or if Scion gets close, we’re useless in the end, huh?"

The Doctor shook her head. "That’s why we’re in this world in the first place. It’s a hell of a lot of work to get what we need, and then we have to endure what’s left of the Slaughterhouse Nine in their place."

"A hell of a lot of work for nothing."

The Doctor spoke, as if she were talking to a machine. It began to speak again, in an almost broken syllable.

She turned away from the Doctor, however, and she held her hand out for another.

Stop.

The Doctor spoke again. In a lower voice, much as she’d done before, she told Rachel, "I’m trying to think of what my former team could do that you couldn’t. I’m not good at it, but I think I could figure it out."

She turned her attention to the other girl. She couldn’t bring herself to look her way.

She had to figure out what her new team could do.

With that in mind, she resolved to work with the C.U.I.

■

Newter was settling back into his cot. A wave of exhaustion washed over him as he stared out the window.

It had been a good few days, maybe the best days of his life.

He’d learned of Jay’s passing, from information that Mannequin had handed him. The memories had yet to entirely fade, but the physical self was long since behind them in the social chain. Life continued as it had until someone decided they needed to move on, or until the time came where relocation became impossible. Sometimes that person was the Doctor, trying to ensure the others didn’t make their dreams a reality.

He opened a canister of spray paint and hit the label at the side of one of the bottles. Mannequin had painted over the label, so there was no writing in the dark black style of the can.

Headquarters, May 1968

It took him two minutes, but he brought the canister back to its normal state. He could feel the slow rotation of his eyes using the gaze power, able to see the intricate computer graphics in the shape of the canister, as it rotated. He opened it to expose a canister of spray paint.

Ranch, June 1968

It took him another minute, but he brought the canister back to its normal form. He could feel the slow rotation of his eyes using the gaze power, able to see the delicate balance the eye had set on the paint. The delicate, linear animation the eye used to let him know the air temperature, even in the hottest months.

Heitized the canister, then emptied the contents into a second Canister; a simple black bottle with a stylized mask of a woman with a man’s head and a man’s face.

Kulsberg, July 1968

Heitized the canister, then emptied the contents into a third. Again, he could feel the slow rotation of his eyes, which helped keep her from tracking where he was looking. Air conditioning meant he was always cooler off, but it also meant she had to be alert for his presence. She would work on compensating for this.

Heitized the canister, then emptied it into a fourth.

Arbiter, August 1968

The fifth canister was simple. A piece of paper attached at the bottom with a motor. Heitized the loop, thenctioned it into the canister.

Sting, September 1968

The canister was large, and heitized

======== SAMPLE 26 ========
 cause a scene in the interrogation."

"We’d be risking another incident," the girl with the black hair said. "She associates you guys with our perceived enemies. It’s a hurdle we have to cross if we’re going to get answers."

"I’m acutely aware of the hurdles we have to cross," the man with the knife drawl answered, looking weary. "I grant you permission to speak."

"Another student confirmed," the girl with the black hair said. "It was another incident at Priester’s school. Among other things, he says he tried to stop a fight before it got out of control."

"Let’s hear what got him into the hospital," the man with the knife drawl said.

"The shoplifting incident got him admitted, after he say he was threatened with discharge if he didn’t stop stealing. After Priester said he was threatened with discharge, he says the school told him he’d only get a slap on the wrist if he didn’t stop roping. A slap on the wrist that he can’t really give a f*ck about. The dean for Bard is threatening to sue unless he stops, which hets out toward the middle school. Community leaders from all around the city came and took a position on the school’s behalf. The high school principal and the state education commissioner."

"All for a school," I said. I could have found that disturbing, had to pause the audio to ensure it didn’t.

"But more than that," she said, "The whole thing’s a slap in the face to everyone that grew up in Brockton Bay. It’s why there’s only two middle schools, two defunct high schools, and this whole mess. People here were taken advantage of.owed it. Everyone involved says they set up random drug tests for incoming students, and throw out kids who haven’t completed two thirds of the tests or weren’t sufficiently educated about the nature of the tests. All for the purpose of getting a few filthy rich kids of questionable character into the city."

"That’s not constructive," I said.

"No," Grue spoke. He pulled down his mask, "But it’s not entirely untrue. It’s that our country has a habit of gifting property to people who need it. Think of all the amazing things Coil could have made if America afforded him what he wanted. A working computer, good cell phones, better televisions. What a great life."

I nodded slowly.

"That’s not what’s happening here," he said.

"And it isn’t some grand, purposeful gesture on Coil’s part. It’s the natural course of things."

"There have to be more heroes coming to this rescue," Trickster ventured.

"Well," I said, "Maybe, if the capes can’t find us-"

"We’re on our way. Can you cut off the withdrawals?"

"I can, if you want."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"You’re chopping off the drugs if you withdraw so soon after coming back from the dead," Trickster said.

"I’m okay with it. If you don’t mind."

"Don’t mind?"

"Don’t think I don’t. But it’s bad."

"There’s always a silver lining," Tattletale murmured. "Is there?"

"Yeah."

"You’re right. There is."

"There’s always more bads. The doctors have you come by, now that the triage unit isn’t in operation."

"They’re pretty thorough. They even ran a risk assessment after your mom died."

"I don’t want the drugs, anymore."

"Soon. Soon. You came from the dead, with a metal reinforcing chest."

Tattletale made a face. "What?"

I stepped away, focusing on Triumph as much as on the metal brute. "Long term use, especially of my old formulas, should provide a steady state. You took Shards, because you were close to death, and you needed the end product."

"I have nowhere to go but the Birdcage, and I’ll stay as long as it takes for Doctor Mother to give me my due. Maybe a few days, maybe weeks."

I saw a possible glimmer of something else in her, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to say anything

======== SAMPLE 27 ========
 cause her to turn a blind eye."

"Mm," Regent murmured.

"That we’re being benevolent, that we’re being kind," Tattletale said, "And it’s a truth that means all of this hinges on his ability to land the kick. A fact that should end this."

There was a sound of clinking devices.

Another blast of light, not quite so bright.

And a massive explosion, almost muted, tearing through the area. My arm felt hot even as my body still managed to escape into the space beyond the light. I focused hard on my bugs, attempting to find their targets, but I saw only white, far too reflective for my tastes.

Another blast. Just a little further back from the detonation. My view of the aftermath was ruined by the way parts of it had been torn to shreds.

The Yàngbǎn leader blasted out another light blast, only this one was followed by a shockwave similar to the one that had killed Kovan.

My entire body felt a grinding, unrelenting pressure. A pressure I couldn’t describe. My ears were ringing, and I’d almost been blinded by the first blast.

My view opened up in a haze, and I realized I was actually moving. My wings took the brunt of the movement, but it freed me to move: I reached out and touched the yellow eyes.

There was no skin to be seen. They were real.

Again, I was free. Again, I was free to move. Again, I was free to calculate, to act. Again, I was at the edge of the effect. Move to the side, disrupt the pattern, change direction.

I reached up for the Yàngbǎn, I tried to feel them before I touched ground. No such luck. My fingertips were too flexible, and I could never be sure which parts of me they would find.

I’d touched ground and tried to feel something, but the movements had been so rigid that I couldn’t even feel what was happening with my own body. My own senses had been drowned out.

For hours, I’d watched as the Yuuzhan Vong had obliterated my makeshift home, leveled Behemoth’s school. I’d watched as they had their first victory, beating the Yàngbǎn, and I had kept my eyes closed.

In the midst of the numbness, the lack of sight, I used my power. Coordinated movements, all too easy with my clumsy control of the insect’s flight, and I brought them to bear.

One, two, three…

All at once, I felt something. My body sprung into motion, the individual steps leaping into the air, a narrative unfolding.

Four!

I’d sensed it coming all along.

Capes pelted Scion from every direction, and somehow I knew that Scion had preemptively disarmed them. No, even with the seemingly impenetrable forcefield that bound every movement within, there was a limit to how fast and how far Scion could advance.

Two, three, four, five…

I opened my mouth to form the final words I’d planned to say.

I couldn’t say them at the moment because I was still reeling from the act of attempting to communicate the gesture, the sound I’d wanted to make.

And I was speechless.





Venom 29.6


After speaking to Tattletale, Bitch and the lizardascid, we’d departed, taking the elevator to the roof of the tallest building in the area. Vargas, Aisha and I up there, waiting to greet Genesis at the bottom. She was outfitted in her reptilian delta form, complete with a flamethrower- Talented tinker droid with the ability to do superheat, sonic missiles and electrobinocular blasts. She was descending after us, when I could see, and she was standing on the opposite side of the street, completely unaware of our presence.

Hard to ascribe a feeling to a routine check-in.

We weren’t newcomers; the last time we’d been in a masjid was ninety days ago, and we’d been in a masjid before. Three times we’d been in a masjid at Ground Zero, and both times we’d all come away satisfied.

With the masjid being at the corner of an area where rooftops weren’t intended to go, we’d had the cape there to stay. Non-cape friendly.

It had been months since Scion had

======== SAMPLE 28 ========
 cause. No idea if you’d made it out."

"Fuck. If something happened to get my name in the newspaper-"

"Yeah, but it’s not in tomorrow’s paper. Promise."

He could barely move fast enough to avoid colliding with her. Whatever decision she’d made, it didn’t affect her as much as it hurt. Her power operated on a different level of sensitivity. He could throttle her at will, see flashes of color in her eyes, hear her shriek as her flesh continued to crack and tear.

But she didn’t move.

The fabric of her costume clung to her skin, but nothing seemed to be breaking. She was cornered.

Grace came to her senses. She hurried over to her bedchamber and found a pair of disposable sanitary pads, and a tampon. She gave Jessica a quick check, and then got out her keys.

Finding the tampon and sanitary pads, she threw both to Brian.

"Not your daughter," he looked shocked.

"She’s my goddaughter, and you’re only dating her because she gave you that blowjob at the bank robbery."

"Oh," was all Grace could say.

It was all he could say in the same moment. Brian’s promise of marriage-

"Don’t tell me you can’t find a better way of saying hi than by giving me a blowjob? Give me a blowjob and a glimpse of your brain afterwards."

"I’m sorry."

"I’m sorry. I will fucking fix you, okay, just take the time to show me."

You did mention romance, he thought, though he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.

"It’s okay, Luke. You’re your own strategist, your own woman. You can say whatever you want, and I’ll take it where I’m needed. Money talks, so don’t be shy about making your way to the cashies to pick up what you were wearing."

Getting robbed, a bank robbery. He was more pragmatic than that, in regards to his plan. He’d made his peace with the idea, though. That’s why he was waiting until the last second to announce it to anyone he thought he needed to. Better to get enough information upfront that he can be sure he’ll be heard of in the morning.

"Just so you aren’t surprised to learn I’m gay, okay?"

"Skitter opted out," Brian replied, more to Luke than his friends. When he looked at Taylor, he could see irritation on her face, "I get that. All of the little details."

"We all do," Brian smiled, "I’m just wondering why you felt it was important to show me just how well you’d done, when you were pretty clearly doing enough to get approved."

It was surprising how much he knew, being that he was used to trusting others to have his back, knowing they mostly followed the letter of the deal. Taylor, though, wasn’t so sure of himself. That, or she was so used to trusting her to use her powers when it counted. She preferred to play it safe.

Slowly, he pieced together the situation.

Taylor had gone to Emma’s high school, in the hopes of building stronger, faster relationships with her and her friends. Thinking about school made his stomach flip over and he would have felt very out of place, like he had just found out a member of the opposing team.

Just after he had convinced her to go with him to New Wave’s three-way, a rumor circulating around the school city that Emma would be dressing up as one of their former members in hopes of attracting other students to the city to fight Empire Eighty-Eight. Taylor had been notified, so she would be there to support Alec and help with their team. She’d decided, without speaking up, that she wouldn’t have any solo shows or any solo meetings after school. She’d wanted to spend time with her family, have some alone time with her dad.

It was a relief. Even with everything else he was doing, it was nice to have downtime.

He stepped into his mother’s living room, paused.

Emma’s room, down the hall. She’d stripped out of her clothes, and was stripping of her shoes and shoes running shoes. Her phone, earbuds and laptops were in her hand.

Brian’s room. His mother stood there, nude, her legs apart

======== SAMPLE 29 ========
 cause, the moment he found out about the other possibility."

"So why the obsession?" Lisa asked.

Screw that! I don’t need to hear all of that bullshit.

"It’s like a storage locker. All of the old costumes, all of the masks, the stuffed animals, the backpacks, backpacks with snaps, backpacks with loops… they go into a hole in the ceiling and they stay there. Probably something I did, like I was keeping stuff in a cupboard. But the thought crossed my mind some and I realized I probably could have made that storage locker even fancier. Could have made it a treasure chest, or a secure locker with a key."

"It’s not even a metaphor," I said. I was happy to be getting out of the house and out of the city in the span of an hour. Anything else? More details, or an end to the madness?

Brian grunted a response, switching to his Krouse-isms. "Anyways, any of that stuff is cool. But this shit you’re buying, it’s stuff we’re keeping locked up in the vault. For as long as we’re getting it, we’re paying triple and quadruple what you are for it. And we’re paying five and ten times what you are. How’s that?"

"It’s expensive."

So it is. "It’s expensive. How much did Vista cost you?"

"She was looking at it," Brian said.

"You don’t keep that kind of stuff in plain view."

"She’s… she’s adorable," Krouse said. His mind was clicking rapidly to explain, but the fluent, round-headed girl didn’t get any further. Her classmates watched in silence, following behind him in his frenetic pace of walking and undignified haggling with his superior.

It wasn’t just her lack of tact. He seemed to have a genius-level intellect, but few people did. How was he supposed to gauge the ferocity of someone who was destined to be like no other?

"She was being sweet," Krouse said, after another quick discussion, "I’m not punishing her, I’m letting you know that if she wasn’t my girlfriend, I never would have brought her onboard."

Brian grumbled, "So limp."

"She’ll find a way around that."

"Right," he said, absently. He found an empty backpack and opened it.

Within, he found a pen and paper, a notepad by the handle of a pen, and a paperball. Using the pen to draw a line and inch the tip of the pen towards the center-point of the notepad, he wrote out the entire message, including the message on the notepad.

Krouse looked at the notepad; it was illegible. He gave it a try, and the resulting blob of red scribbles on the blackboard was too small to read. Still, he could hear the murmuring.

He drew the line that stretched from the notepad to the tip of the pen; it was an unlimited stride. He could remember the gist of it.

"Hey dad. I’m kind of wondering what you think, since you didn’t say anything while we were going from the mall to home. I might have missed it if I went by normal order, but seeing as how you weren’t looking, I thought I’d pass it on."

Just that one message left, and he didn’t have enough here to share it with everyone. Maybe he didn’t have enough to share it with everyone because he went this way, and the only people who got the memo were his parents.

He thought of all of the kids would be leaving for college this way. Not so many showed up for his mother’s funeral, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t meaningful. More than half of the people who filled into that van for that one little kid who didn’t came out of their homes – it was a come down from the good old days, when the kids could walk from store to store, making up for the days those irrepressible charmers with names like Krouse had made arriving late. Sure, the teen pregnancy rate was sky-high, but all those stores named Lisa, Chewy and Casey opened all weekend long, and most people were able to work on their Sunday. None of those stores closed altogether, but the concept held. The idea was that you could work your way up, getting to the point where you could shop for gifts, eat at the

======== SAMPLE 30 ========
 cause that the wind shifted, and one or more individuals were killed or seriously injured. Not that we’re entirely inarguably positive, but… I was able to help, in one respect. I was injured, but I had the healing power of my allies pulling on my injured hand. I could see a number of injured on the horizon, and it didn’t matter. I could see light at the end of the tunnel."

"We need to get in to this area so we can support the wounded," Tattletale said. "And we need firepower."

"I talked to the Director, and we have an idea of what we’re getting into," Defiant said. "What’s the chance of a direct confrontation?"

"Zero," the Doctor replied.

"Interesting," Tattletale said. "David. You seem interested, but he was never much in weaponry or tactics, and he apparently thinks precision is key, and I’m not seeing the difference."

"Your gripe with him was that he didn’t explain strategy, only that he should be able to."

"He made it a point to explain, just in case we were cut off, left to die when Scion arrived. If we’re going to press the offensive, now, it’ll have to be smart. Strategy has to be one of timing, not timing with the opponent’s own means. The speed of light. Three point five seconds is a long way off, but the defender can use the light they saw to adjust their timing, hold it for just long enough… destroy the first wave, then delay."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," the Doctor said. "They won’t get the chance."

"It’s a possibility," the Doctor responded. "But I don’t see that happening. Dragon’s running a full scan, and each system has to adapt to the conditions of the next set of scans. She’ll see what’s in there, based on the first few screen displays."

The Doctor glanced in the window. "David?"

The volume of the man’s voice doubled. "I’ll use my last night in the hospital back in April to talk to Dragon."

The Doctor smiled. "Thank you."

■

The city was on the periphery of a zone maintained by the PRT and Wards, the Protectorate and Wardsi. They didn’t have much in the way of direction with the overarching goal of eliminating Endbringers. It was more to incapacitate them, force them to focus on more immediate problems and then tie them back to the core group. It had required some adjustment for the group to transition from a psychological standpoint.

It hadn’t really occurred to them, but they’d gravitated towards this as their plan. For the most part.

The high-end stores, primarily Apple and one or two others that were owned by no small amount of obscure computers nerd, had become far more upscale as of late. Appliances and fixtures became artistic depictions, then computer screens and entire neighborhoods had been transformed. Window replacement, skintight yet cozy, entire streets blanketed in boards, planks and fiberglass panels. Everything was a work in progress.

It wasn’t a perfect analog. The major businesses still required regular attention, and the populace was liable to let things slide if they got a chance to vote on the leaders. It was a big enough world that the candidates tended to bounce back after a wipe, with some bouncing back twice in a row.

"You hold Brockton Bay’s borders? You’re a cheapskate, short-sighted bastard. You’re vain, which makes you an ugly, crude person, which is why the rest of us aren’t owning more of the territory we rightfully have. You’re violent, which is not a good trait to have, by any stretch of the imagination, and you’re selfish, which is bad. If you’re going to be arguing that you’re more open to friendship and romance than most, I’d say no, now, and reject any offer of romantic friendship or sex in exchange."

There were nods and murmurs of agreement from her fellow travellers.

"But you aren’t an idiot. There are more villains in this city than there are Undersiders, if you count and unlisted individuals. We control areas with heavy immigration from the outside world, and we keep each other safe. When the Slaughterhouse Nine attacked, you played a part in keeping most of the Undersiders and Nine from reaching their destination. In the wake of the disaster there, many others volunteered to go over