======================================== SAMPLE 3 ========================================
On a more serious note, after spending the last few days surrounded by his family, Ward not only has to deal with the constant distractions of the constant nightmares, but the isolated incident on the dam left his father speechless. Ward’s sullen, serious nature comes across as more angry outbursts than outbursts expressing concern. Anger, in this case wasn’t directed at either his father or the hospital staff. Rather, it was directed at Ward, the fact that his father had failed to understand the simple kindnesses that Ward hadn’t shown him, and in the end, his father failing to understand him.

In the days that followed, Ward’s patience ran out. He couldn’t wait to see the changes his father demanded of him, or the unforgivable things he would do when he was done with him. It was time to go. He took off his backpack and threw it at the ground. The scene crossed his mind.

Staring at it, he could see the words scrolling across the computer. CONFIRMED. STAY AWAY.

After a moment’s thought, he turned away from the computer to grab his backpack and run.

It was a well kept establishment, not splashed, not boarded up or surrounded with anything of the sort. The coffee was good, the breakfast cereal was even better. He had to wonder why they hadn’t done this already. It was one of those things where the precogs just did it better than anyone else. Eden, the mall, the train station… none of that mattered when he was dealing with people on the street.

He was a general guy, anyway. How had Parian gotten away with dressing like this?

He could remember how, how can I help her, ask her?

He shook his head, as if he could get anything from this.

Just then, one of the girls that was watching him stepped out of the doorway. A brunette, with a complexion like that of a cherishing mother. She was sure-footed, and walked casually for the inside of a store. She stopped in the doorway.

He can’t let her in. Stay at the house. Let’s walk, and we’ll talk over the phone.

The house. What did he even want to stay at?

The thought was too good to keep from him. He turned and climbed into his car. He would be home in ten minutes, he knew it, and he knew the house was okay. It was the closest thing to a home he had seen in recent memory that he could think of that would satisfy his every need. He sat at the kitchen counter and then the dining room table, tugging his jacket off as he prepared himself for a long journey.

Minutes slipped away as he walked. He realized he’d been watching TV, and not the program that he had been on before he arrived. That only revealed more of the house that was now on the TV, now a mess of electronics and a television that wasn’t working. He got distracted and distracted, and he could see the butcher bag that had been stockpiled with cuts of meat, along with two rather large cans of tomato sauce. He found an oven and started roasting a whole bird. It was possible the turkey was done and ready for the crowd to see, if the internet was any indication.

He’d have to hope that everyone was okay. The good news was that the house was getting better with each passing hour. The bad news was that it was getting worse.

The internet was down for maintenance today. Rogers was taking the best bits from the house and putting them into an enterprise class office building, where only a select few people were allowed to use them. The move had been suggested by the local news, and has been reported to be coordinated by Rogers itself. The building was quickly becoming a gathering point for a small group, many of whom were showing some of the most extreme expressions of shock and surprise as they took the internet off the internet, found work online or communicated with their employer by video conference.

Anticipating panic, he decided he didn’t want to go to the house. That would be the equivalent of standing in the rain with a gun in hand, waiting for the heroes to show. For those of us who had yet to recover from the last major injury or moment of crisis, there were those of us who had yet to recover from any other setback.

Instead, he entered his apartment and shut the door behind him. He set his computer on the kitchen table and started wiring it to the fridge. It took a minute and a half to power with the settings he’d set it in the last minute. He grabbed a battery from the dispenser and began wiring it to the fridge itself.

He was a
======================================== SAMPLE 6 ========================================
Look, Taylor, I don’t know how to act around you, and I can’t really do anything to help this conversation progress if you insist on keeping your distance."

I was sick of dealing with them. The kids, the elders, the ones you could count on to hold you back.

"I don’t know how to act around you, and I can’t really do anything to help this conversation progress if you insist on hanging out with you."

"We were going to play. We’re just not doing it the way you want. Playing a role. Acting like you’re in charge, doing what you want and telling us what to do."

"I want to do more than just that. I want to be a boss. Not just the boss that turns out to be a cunt, that fucks someone and sets them on fire. I want to be the leader of a team. Not just of the group that loses the fight Flower, not just of the group that loses everything, becomes metaphor for everything bad, and it’s all over again, infinitely better, if we can even call it that. I want to be great, and damn it, I’m trying to live up to that."

"Great isn’t a word," the girl said, sounding mildly surprised.

"Not great, it’s more like a dream. A glimpse into the world beyond this planet I’ve got. I want to wake up and I don’t have to make this hard or bother. I can leave myself here all day, and at night I can go to sleep here and never come back to this planet, when all hell broke loose."

"I don’t dream," the girl said. "I have more words than I do out there."

"More like a glimpse. Keep going."

The girl paused, glancing away.

When she looked back at the others, they were chuckling. A little too hard.

"I could talk to you for hours, and I’d never get a straight answer, and maybe I’m not qualified to talk to you, because I’m not even sure I know you."

"Hurr durr," Regent commented. "No promises."

"The deal is on the door," the girl said. She looked at me. "We… know each other. We’ve crossed paths. We’ve been in the fights. So maybe I could ask you a question?"

There was a pause, then the girl spoke, "For the record, I’m not… I’m not meant to be here."

"OK," I said. "What is it?"

"It’s a little while before we get to the door, and we can’t tell you who we got to because of it. I’m… I’m hoping that if this passes, it’ll get better before you get too far away from the place, and you can come back to the others if you want to."

"If you want?"

"If anyone here is asking you what you wanted, it’s probably asking you questions about me. I’m your record, your actions and not some hypothetical ideal. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m your enemy."

"She is your enemy," I said. "There’s no other way you’re implying there would be any other way. You’d still do what you’re doing, right this moment."

Again, there was a long pause. I was watching the people around the edges of the large room, waiting for the others to approach. Except the ones who were sitting and watching the girl were sticking together. They’d put their backs to me, and they were looking directly at me. Maybe that was taking courage from me.

When the fragment of the notebook that fell to the ground was gone, the others broke into a run. I saw that some of them bore gifts: some notebooks with funny or wonderful things for exchanged, or lists of names and places people wanted exchanged.

I saw Charlotte’s head snap to look at me as she hurried away. I felt a flush on my neck, and my hair fell down around my shoulders.

I half-expected a confession, but there was no confession. There was only more confusion.

"Taylor Hebert," Charlotte said, more to me than the words intended to be spoken.

I mouthy, I say hi, I think you’ll like this.

I’d been meaning to bring my notebook to the others, using my power, and find what Brian was putting together.
======================================== SAMPLE 9 ========================================
We stop at the entrance to Coil’s base, and are joined by Bucket, who has yet to dry his hair or fill his boots with the rest of the monogram. He sits at one end of the desk, and Seamus sits at the other, in case of problem.

"Sorry for the bug’s bite," Coil speaks, "I hoped I’d use a knife."

"I understand, boss," Seamus replies, looking down on Bucket, "Any trouble inside or out?"

"No, no. The guy at the other desk seems to be having a talking match with our resident computer geek." Coil turns to our visitor, "This way."

It takes a moment for the computer to load, but the door opens right away. Coil peers into the office, then turns back to us, "Due to popular demand, I am now requiring a Social Security number or driver's license number."

Seems like something the Travelers or Undersiders would require, anyways. "What is it?"

"Take your time," Coil says, "I could make it easier on a schedule like that."

"Alright. I’m not waiting too long." I look at Seamus, wonder why he’s smiling like he is, "You can fill out some more paperwork, if you want, but I’d prefer to keep them on task, at least for now." I like that.

"I can. I expect you’re a hard person to keep track of, you know?"

That caught me off guard. I didn’t have a pulse, but I felt my pulse quicken a fraction.

"I can tell you, DWIGHT, that my powers are on board. In a matter of minutes, I captured and held Vista, she is being held in suspended animation in a special prison, to be interrogated only to the extent that I am able. I have a strict order that visitors to this area are to be supervised for thirty days, and are to be given a uniform and a prison ID number. Further, I am authorized to make arrests for felony activity and for misdemeanor theft by taking away your passports for the duration of your sentences. You are not to own a firearm, and I am authorized to demand that you leave the country if you wish."

Wow. People might think he was an asshole, but that didn’t seem unreasonable.

"I also want you to know that I intend to see you incarcerated for serious felony activity and to see you spend the rest of your life in prison, if you fail to comply."

"Misdemeanor?"

"Sensible people would differ on that point. I can’t justice be served by punishing those who seek to violate the terms of my sentencing, who would use the fear this arrangement instills in them to inflict injury on others."

"So what do you want?" I asked.

"I just need you to take five minutes of your time, to process what I’m proposing, and to accept my terms."

"Okay."

"I’ve assigned one of my followers to keep you updated on their progress. If you don’t already have it, you should?"

"I already told you, I don’t need your help."

"I see. I see. That’s good. Please, take this time to check your phone, to make sure it doesn’t contain any messages from me, from my followers or from any agents I employ."

"Yes!" You can hear a click, as the man who’s called himself piper nods in agreement.

You then hear the Agent 2.0 begin to chant, "Skitter! Leave the city!"





Agitation 3.9


"You’re not leaving until you get those numbers," piper whispers.

"I’m not. I’m going to see about those people."

"There’s nowhere I can really go," piper whispers. "I’ve got one friend in the government. He’s got a little something to say I can use, and he said he’d meet me halfway."

You cross your fingers.

"I’ll see about it," the Agent says.

"If I don’t get those numbers from him-"

"You will get them. I’ll see about getting them for you."

You cross your fingers again.

"Okay," he says.

You sigh loudly.

Agitation 3.10


"I feel like I’m on the brink of finding where I’ve been, starting from the beginning," the Faerie Queen says. "
======================================== SAMPLE 12 ========================================
If she had to listen to any more, she could turn to one of the younger members of the Wards, Sprout or Vista. Mentally, she was much the same, affable and young. Yet these were the leaders of the Protectorate, and her sights were solely on them.

They wouldn’t help her, exactly. The more distant the better. In terms of recruitment, they were just as concerned as she was about splintering relationships and hurting relationships. At worst, they’d stir things up, and their rep would decline, which might escalate the situation. At best, they’d prevent it from happening in the first place, and she could conceivably stop them from provoking the situation in the future, or delay it.

But she couldn’t stop them now. Not without hurting the relationship between her team and the Protectorate, and hurting the morale of the entire team.

No, it was better to take the time to get things sorted out first. She called the meetings with the rest of the team. Mentioned the possibility of her using her power on them, experimentally.

The response was always the same. She was evaluated in turn, some place other than this room, a round of applause for her, some disapproval.

So she brought Vista to her, using the word tentative to signal that she wasn’t sure about the response. There was a hesitation, like there was a barrier between her and the girl, but she continued. "Experimentally, we could do some damage to the Protectorate, regional or otherwise."

It didn’t take long to get things sorted out. Clockblocker proposed having Kid Win do the talking. It would keep everyone present focused on the problem at hand, and it would be a chance for Vista to get feedback and an opportunity to shine.

Vista relented, but not totally. She said, instead, "Actually, that does a disservice to everyone involved. Everyone that’s not named Fallen, Contract or Nihilus."

A light smile touched her face. It took Flechette a second to place the girl in the picture. "You did not know who they were. I am not your enemy."

"I am not your enemy," Flechette repeated herself.

Vista didn’t look happy.

"I only want to help people. Is that it? It is."

"We’re not the enemy," Flechette repeated herself.

"I would like to take you aside," the girl speaking through Vista said. "As I saw with your secretary, there is more to be done. In the interest of transparency, I’ve called a meeting. The second half of this meeting will be livestreamed."

"You’ll be quiet," Flechette spoke.

"I know where you live," the girl via Flechette replied. "I’ll be back on the feed shortly. I just need you to turn your camera on when I come out of the elevator and talk."

There was a pause.

"You’re not shy, are you?" A girl asked.

"The camera’s on?"

No. In the next room, there was a man with a young girl in his arms. The man had a gun in his hand, but he was looking away.

"I’m Dawn," the man spoke.

"She is the unofficial spokesperson for the Brockton Bay branch of the PRT, and she’s in charge of the day-to-day operations there," Dawnuri said.

"She seemed a little hostile."

"She is a very overt and direct person," Dawnuri said. "You’re all familiar with that style of speaking,?"

"I’ve heard it said that people are more comfortable if they can’t figure out how others react if they hear them speak along those lines."

"That’s the gist of it," Dawnuri said. She looked at her troops. "Skitter, Night, Skitter… what is it you want to know?"

"The audience," Skitter said.

"Good. Let me start off by stating outright that I’m not your enemy. We’ve reached a critical point, Skitter. You or your teammates are in a prime position to help me achieve my goals. Your loyalty is a given, and your participation with the group is strongly encouraged."

"You’re setting us up for failure," Skitter said. "Letting us fall into enemy territory? Miscalculated the threat we’re supposed to pose?"

"No," Dawnuri said. "You overestimated how much damage the group could do, underest
======================================== SAMPLE 15 ========================================
So it was true, to a point. People would die, no question, violent death, or something. The question was how I’d manage in the wake of it.

Fuck it all. Fucking killing intent. I wanted to scream, to yell at them, to beg them to move, to tell them it was a trap, but I couldn’t manage even a simple ‘good guy’ like the man I’d killed, and that wasn’t even something I could seriously be threatening.

I was about to hit the button, aim and pull the trigger in a heartbeat, when all at once, it felt like the punches and kicks had been slammed into a wall. Everything stopped. My perceptions, even my body’s sense of balance, were shattered.

Not that it was so unusual, but the sensation didn’t return.

So many places I could be, and I’d still feel the distortions.

I drew arrows in the air with my bugs, not even moving them, but still leaving my bugs free to follow. Not one arrow, but three. The third…

He’d noticed the third. He twisted around and pointed at the crowd.

They scattered.

I fell once more, and both Tecton and the medic were out of position. I heard the crowd sing as the straps pulled on.

We were in the air as the turretsa began to sing. I could still feel the distortions, but the system was working fine, up to a point. The song had to be at least partially complete, or Shadow Stalker’s power would be totally jammed.

She was already lower than Grue and the others. I saw her lower herself to the ground. Herorian and draconic features, their bodies and faces detailed in fine lines of black lace, tied together by the black, and their hair in dense, flowing swaths that seemed to move, or flow beneath their skin.

The system was working perfectly. No angels were required.

"Everyone on board," Chevalier said, very carefully.

Not the words I would have chose, I suspected, but the sound was an unspoken rebuke.

And he was yelling at her?

No. Not a threat. Not to mention that he had an open line of communication to Tecton, everyone else, from the moment the massive turret was up for the air. I could only guess at his motivation, but he was clearly upset.

If he was upset with her, he should have backed up sooner, seen her reaction.

I chose my words carefully. "You shouldn’t have come. I suggested it, and you didn’t listen. You kept thinking you had to be responsible, for spreading the word, and it was worse than you did."

"I thought you were supposed to fix mooks and factions."

"Makes sense," I said. I didn’t like the way his expression remained so blank and unchanging after I said the words. "I felt like I was being led, and it was the last ditch effort. Last resort, before I called for help against Echidna. I didn’t think the redesign was complete, and you were already moving against the Nine to get answers. I got you on the line, just to be safe."

He remained silent.

"I’m fed up. I’ve been too distracted, and the only thing I can think of to distract myself are the prisoners and the scenery. I’ve wanted to come for some time, but there’s just been so much going on, and I haven’t been able to sleep. We lost her for real last night. She had herburgh and made it through New Delhi with just a scratch. Then she stepped down from the PRT and made a name for herself with stand-up comedy. It was just the right timing, because my power was starting to slip. All of the good work, the momentum, and I was feeling a little unhinged. I called you, and you’ve been playing this game of cat and mouse with the Endbringers ever since you rescued me."

"You’re throwing darts at a board," he said.

"That’s not- I’m just throwing them at something. I’m throwing them into a pile of enemies at the proper time, to keep them from running off, from getting ambushed. It sounds lame, but I was just wanting to be safe."

"But you did that against Leviathan. You stopped them from killing Leviathan," he said.

I nodded, glum.

"But you tried to do that against Glaurung, and you failed. Too much pressure, pushing me
======================================== SAMPLE 18 ========================================
If someone else has to die, maybe we need to step in and save someone...

■

Dr. Allan Foster was busy with his computer when he spoke.

"What can I do for you, Steve?"

The chief medical officer of the city replied. "I’m trying to save as many lives as I can. I’m working with the PRT on a solution, and they say they’re working with the hospital, to make sure the patients are isolated from one another, and that means we can isolate the serial murderers."

He turned around, bending down to tuck one of the crumpled invoices into his lap.

"How much are we talking about, then?"

"I’m afraid we don’t know. The PRT has allotted a price for the privilege of knowing, but they’re demanding a quantity."

"Quantities?"

"Lies. We’re giving away superpowers."

He nodded, glancing over the five or six page document that were stacked on his lap. "Superpowers? I see. It’s a wise investment."

"Not for you. It would take too long and be too easy for someone to capitalize on the privilege before we’re due. A criminal organization such as the Syndicate would seize these properties and titles and you as a lowly medusa would fall under suspicion."

"I see."

"And you would be free to pursue other undertakings. We’re fortunate that the early indicators point to you being under suspicion. We’ll send a select few of our capes to you to ensure things were done correctly. You’ll receive a television with you, a cell phone with wi-fi, a cell phone and internet connection."

"I see."

"You’re patient. I will be impatient."

A little tight-lipped for someone in their position, but he didn’t lose his tact. "The television and the cell phone are in your hands already. Use them to contact your contacts and let them know of my arrest."

"Use them?"

"To contact your family, friends and associates. I will be waiting here."

The chief medical officer of the city. He took a deep breath, "I would like you and your deputies to accompany me to the south end of the Boardwalk, to where the remaining cases of failed operations will be processed. Once there, I will deliver the individual cases to your heads of offices. You and your deputies will then be given indefinite leave."

"Doesn’t seem merciful."

"It is, but we must be lenient. The patients here do contribute to the overall risk to the public, and we do want to be lenient. Each case is handled on a case by case basis."

"Do you intend to violate the terms of your visit to my office?"

"We may well."

"I’m speaking in general terms," the man said.

"In the meanwhile," Harold said, "You’ll be given a fourth choice. You can still take this leave, but you may no longer expect to be sent to my office."

"Why?"

"You were more lenient with your patient here. If you’ll forgive my saying so, I’ll think twice about sending you to speak to me."

"Isn’t that like saying sending a thief to rot in the dungeon is worse than sending a dragon?" Vista asked.

"No," the chief medical officer said. "I would argue that sending the dragon was a fourth option, because it leaves us open to follow through with the rest of your visit to my office. Again, I would argue that sending the patient is worse than having you in custody."

"So we’re like some group of criminals who were: a) refusing the help of a charlatan b) refusing to hire a charlatan c) refusing to pay fines. The charlatan in this case was x-ray vision. The big names in surgery who treated Brockton Bay after the Endbringer hit made a name for themselves on TV and in magazines, and from what I recall, they didn’t stay in business very long. When capes start disappearing like a fluke, it tends to stir people up. Websites are created dedicated to tracing the criminals and figuring out where they are going from villain to villain, sometimes going so far as to attempt to ban or modify the criminal software that they’d used in their earlier attacks. I would say the attack was a bluff, but it didn’t sound so different from normal robbery."

"And the former group?" Vista asked.

"I would say the
======================================== SAMPLE 21 ========================================
Strangely enough, I’m bothered more by the notion that we might not have safeguards in place to stop this sort of thing. The degree to which we’ve invested in Cauldron and the heroes who have come after them, in the Bureau and the PRT, in the Protectorate and the Wards. Did I mention that they attacked the British consulate? Sold the idea that Endbringers were on the move?

If I were a betting man, I’d wager a good part of my rep was tied up in that particular endeavor.

We had reason to be concerned about a takeover.

The date on the receipt had clearly listed Debating as the group that had purchased the business, just a few days after they’d taken control. Was that date a slip, an intentional hoax?

We had a splendid idea, albeit a pretty loaded one, but nonetheless, we were concerned. Concerns voiced at length to the faces of the schoolchildren.

A few weeks after they’d taken control, the group would adopt a new look. They’d changed their name, style of dress and even their phone number, to make themselves more prominent. They’d set up a email list, and started subscribing to admin’s requests. Expressing interest in purchasing the business, purchasing the assets or even buying the city.

Egregious, unbecoming an organization so intent on secrecy and dishonesty.

Essentially, they were told, they were grounds for suspension. They would be asked to leave the school, and if they refused, they would be suspended.

To think that it had taken them this long to realize that they had someone with Telltale’s power among their number was almost too much to ask.

Still, they acquiesced. The school was made to available for them to use, and they were given a year to try and uncover the culprit.

Which was, curiously, how long they’d been in custody.

"I’m not sure I understand," Esoteric said.

"There’s two kinds of knowledge," the Doctor replied. "Journeying information from within the walls of this facility is not information you can acquire by analyzing books and websites. It requires specialized knowledge, and the hunter who obtains this kind of information is truly, irrevocably cursed. They are criminally insane."

"I believe it," Esoteric said.

"I’m not an expert in anything, but I know that once something has been discovered, it’s value as a resource cannot be evaluated. It’s essentially worthless. It doesn’t even have the general term ‘value’ to it. Information is valued by how it can be used, how it can be retained, and how it can be shared. Once discovered, it is hard to find, nor is it easily possible."

"To which they will attest that the Parahumans Online community is woefully under-documented," Legend said.

"I completely understand that," Legend said, "But we took Secrets away from those who could leverage it for advantage, and we’ve got people who could profit from this. I don’t want to diminish the importance of the Slaughterhouse Nine in the eyes of our partners or the public, but they were not only involved in some of the scariest, nastiest, most violent members of society, and we have no evidence that justifies the belief that they will be impacted significantly in the upcoming months and years."

Chevalier exchanged glances in response.

"Far from it," the Doctor said. "Evidence suggests they were patient, and were aware of the situation. We believe they held the territory because there is no other way to enforce and manage this quarantine. If they do not depart, as we fear, the situation will only get worse, and it will become something that can and will kill people before they die of natural causes."

"Far from knowing or believing anything different," Chevalier said, "You’re lying to yourself like that?"

"No," the Doctor replied. "The truth is that they did know, and they were evaluating the options. As to your question…"

"No. I suppose I don’t."

"No?"

"I was born into this world, and like everyone else, I had a past, a beginning. Like everyone else, I had a story to tell. The Angels asked us to help them with their problem, and I decided to help you with mine."

"A selfish, selfless story," Chevalier said. "If the whole story was driven by your desire to help Noelle, then I think you’d be arguing against it."

"It wasn’t I who decided
======================================== SAMPLE 24 ========================================
I might have shot him if I’d been in his shoes. He was standing in the midst of me, his fist still clenched, blood forming a stringy trail down the middle of his chest. I wasn’t sure if it would have puked or if I would have been able to manage a pulse.

I would have pointed and shouted, but I was too tired. I couldn’t think of what to say.

I didn’t receive an answer as to how I should proceed. I heard footsteps, then the sound of a light aircraft. No stars, it was almost surreal.

"Fucking nuclear reactor," Imp said. "So few people have the courage."

"We have the ability to fight back," Regent said.

"We could kill the people who built that and walk away," I said.

No more than five seconds later, the footsteps followed me as I tried to make my way to the stairs. I could see the people who had been on the steps started to move, standing, but the people on the stairs didn’t seem to budge.

"Guys," Tattletale spoke, "If you come here, you’re going to get stabbed."

"We’re not that scary," Trickster said. He was on his hands and knees, with Regent, Sundancer and Ballistic standing beside him.

"Don’t be a baby," she told him. "You’ll be one if you stay."

"That’s not what I’m saying," he retorted.

"We won’t, won’t we?" She smiled, "There’s nothing left between us and the suns. It’s cooling down. We’re officially past the point of no return."

"Doing the Brockton Bay debutant evaluation is a point of no return," Trickster said. "Any more than, say, attempting suicide or harming a law enforcement officer, or eating the last mouth-slaughter."

"Then it’s a promotion," Tattletale said. "And if our enemy figured we were trying to go down that road, they might be inclined to try and mount a harassment campaign against us, just to keep us from getting another chance."

"There’s a hell of a lot of risk involved," I said. I could feel my blood run cold. "You know there’s going to be unanswered questions. Questions you’re likely to answer."

"We can’t have secrets out in the open," Tattletale said. "And we can’t disenfranchise the remaining audience, because they’d be able to guess who’s behind the mask."

"Doesn’t seem worth it," I said.

"It risks becoming part of the story, one way or another," she said.

"So we do it," Trickster said. "Identify the major players, figure out who’s pulling the strings and then wipe them out. Or we can go after the people who are actually responsible, depending on how this play goes."

" Into the fold?" Tattletale asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"Great," Trickster said. "And we’re good to go?"

"Go," I told him.

Grue had to wave, to get me to stay.

I hesitated, but I stayed.

"They’re going to do this again," Trickster said.

"How many times can you answer that question?" Grue asked.

"I don’t know. I’d rather not speculate."

"Do we have a way to break the cycle?" I asked.

"No," Trickster said. "We’re stuck to it."

"How much more obvious it is that they’re pulling the same tricks twice? The first time was an accidentially good time, an unfolding trick. How many times can we get to that point where we get there, they’re baited out, or there’s a third trigger event?"

"It’s not obvious," Tattletale said. "I’m saying it outright."

"That’s what I’m saying."

"You’re making it an admission," Trickster said.

"We’re stuck to the rules. Period."

"Exactly so," Trickster said. He sighed. "There’s no other option. We have to stop it from wrapping up."

"Stop it from wrapping up where? I’m getting tired of hearing the same tired
======================================== SAMPLE 27 ========================================
Damsel awoke, groaning, as she touched ground, her backside touching the ground. She looked up at Armsmaster and Miss Militia as they approached.

"She’s alive," Armsmaster spoke, his voice carrying.

"I wouldn’t have thought," the Lead Developer said, "But the results of the last fight suggest she is. Our side capitalized on her frailty to disable her greatest assets. Miss Militia used her power on me, and I employed Destabilizer to put her down. There. We beat her."

"It didn’t work," Tattletale spoke, "The woman went down like a hot nail, but the heroes have recovered now."

"So we just have to beat her again?" Grue asked.

"It’s more than that. It’s a level playing field. I’m telling you, this is a match made in science fiction. She can’t generate more powers like that than anyone before. If she generates one today, she’ll have a body count that surpasses mine. If she’s generating more powers than Taylor, she’s at least as bad, if not worse, if she’s generating more powers that blow your Simurgh’s entire impressive arsenal away."

"What do we do?"

"What I’m going to do is light a match and see what sticks."

"You’d burn yourself alive," Tattletale said.

"Burning you alive would be a hell of a way to get back to some semblance of normality, you know," Armsmaster said, his voice low.

There was a long pause where nobody spoke.

"I’m not condoning anything, but the fact is, you’ve got a fairly thin line between the things that are potentially disastrous and the things that are potentially lethal," Tattletale said.

"I know. I wouldn’t cross it."

"I’ve been here," she said, rubbing her arms.

He was listening.

"There’s a convention in Brockton Bay, about embracing the dysfunction, the anger, the frustration, the stress and the high points of the day. I tend to agree with the majority. So I won’t quarrel too loudly in agreeing with your call for a revote."

"It’s fine," Rachel said.

"Riding the coattails of yesterday’s event? Nowhere to run, now? We have momentum, but I’d like to take some time, on my terms, to see the sights? And then I’ll be ready to back you up, give you the ammunition you need in the event of an emergency."

"It’s fast approaching emergency time," Rachel said.

"Very little of the day is free, here," Tattletale said, taking a seat behind Rachel. "Everything booked, unpublicized and paid for, is being booked, because it’s increasingly unlikely that we’ll be able to use it. We don’t have the scale, the scale of what the world needs, or the resources, here."

"Yes," Defiant said. "And we’re still figuring that out. The day is fast approaching when we have to make the call about what we do with today. A Rubicon type moment."

"Rubicon type?" I asked.

Tattletale gave me a curious look.

"I’m thinking twofold," Miss Militia said, "First, we keep each of our present teams intact, so we can step up to the greatest challenges in the future. Second, and more important, we preserve the framework the Protectorate has set for us. It allows us to step away, to venture into uncharted territory, free of the strict limitations the Protectorate has placed on us."

She paused. "And do we have the resources to do that?"

"We’re still figuring that out. The resources we do have are too few, they’re too precious, and I have little idea about the calibre of the opponents we’ll have to face. As for the type of opponent, I don’t know if I’ve outlined any strategies that can be applied in every situation, but I have a general idea of what I would face. What I would NOT face."

"And as for where I stand," she asked, "I’m a long way from home. But I’ve fought worse, and I’ve had worse opponents."

Her arm moved, briefly suspending her entire body in the air, an invisible force feeding off of her inherent strengths. Her
======================================== SAMPLE 30 ========================================
(Level-headedness is holding us back.)

Vista?

She stayed quiet, but she wasn’t quite looking. Her eyes and one hand were roving, slowly working an upper mouthful of foam from the lash of a long blue-handled scissors.

"It’s still pretty awesome," she said.

"Is?," I said.

She glanced over her shoulder, then shrugged. She couldn’t find the words to express her thoughts. Words that would be meaningful, if it weren’t for the gag.

So yeah. It’s still pretty awesome.

"I heard they were handing out candy to kids after dark, so I was thinking, surprise, it’s getting on your case, Administrator. Good thing I told you to be careful."

Vista didn’t reply. She watched me, her eyes roving over my countenance.

I was watching for it, and I suspected it wasn’t there. I wasn’t scared to admit that much.

But I still did my best to ignore the bugs. I started to gather the components for my suit, with the idea that it would be ready for my new name, but I forgot where I was. I felt good, so it wasn’t really important.

"Anyway, your news this morning was good," Lisa said. "Huge."

"Even if it isn’t official," I said. "Good news is, I got in contact with the PRT and they’re saying they’ve got all the relevant paperwork ready for handling this. Lump of crap they’ve been storing in a safer place."

"Safe place because it could fall into the wrong hands," she said.

"And," I said, blandly, "It definitely seems like you’re in a hurry."

"I’m not rushing, really," she let go of the scissors and let her hand drop to the ground. "But in the next hour, I’ll fill it with concrete things you don’t want me to add to the cup."

I tried to organize my thoughts. In a way, I felt relieved. A better me might have tried to organize these things into a sort of order, but I knew that wouldn’t have gotten as far as this. I could feel my heart pounding, my breath making little sounds as it stood at its limits.

"I called you on the job, here, and explained what was going on," she took a sip of her coffee. She didn’t look any less normal, exactly, if anything. The bun in her mouth was down, her shoulders sagging with every word. "I’m almost sorry to let you know this, but they can’t keep doing this, like they are. There’s a reason they’re on a lockdown, and they said they were staffed with some of the best and brightest capes out there, and that they would help if we attacked, but they can’t stop the teachers, the principal, the principal can’t stop the students. The city wants us to leave, but they can’t force this on us. We’ve spread the word, and the parents are giving us permission to stay. We’ve even gotten in trouble with the law once, a couple of times, for things that seem minor and small. But we stick by our friends, stay in the city. Because we owe them that."

She let that sink in.

"And now I’m going to kill the bugs you’ve gathered, because it’s not just them, and it’s drips and streams of irritating critters. I’m going to kill them because I’m done here. This is it. I don’t need more of your trouble. I don’t need your unethical mess. I’ve killed enough of them myself. None of you have the right to interfere."

She took a sip of her coffee.

"I don’t care if they think I’m Homicidal II, if they think I’m Homicidal I and this is the end of the world, I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s the last time I see them. I don’t give a fuck. Because I’m done here. Got in the warzards, made some money, but I done gave it all up when Homicide was pushing my limits, didn’t step up to the mark until it turned violent II. I didn’t step up when they wanted me to, so there’s no fucking shame in that
======================================== SAMPLE 33 ========================================
The answer is no. He didn’t have a connection to other Parahumans, and as far as I knew, there was no convenient way to put his powers into practice. He was a bystander, in this case.

Not only was he too lazy to use his power to affect the world around him, but his power was currently disabled. As such, his ability to find me and track me was being actively degraded. It would take too long for the damage to grow enough to matter, or he would be unable to move fast enough to avoid being grabbed by my legs.

He wasn’t doing well. I could feel his defences weakening and his offensive capabilities increasing to the point that he was struggling to hold back the damage.

If he was going to win, he’d have to act now.

I let go of Grue’s hand and tried to strike him. I could hear him react, his entire body going rigid.

Touching me wasn’t possible. I withdrew my hand back to Grue.

He took my hand in his own, and then he went solid, holding on to me with one arm. I was slightly startled at the effect that grip had on his arm.

No, try as I might, I couldn’t withdraw my hand from his grasp. I wasn’t sure I could have.

Touch, I thought. I could reach back inside his body. I could move my hand and touch his insides, the dark space where time had stopped.

I couldn’t find any particular knowledge about me. I couldn’t find my name, my achievements, my achievements in whatever field we were trying to cover. I could only know I was here. This was our only route of attack. If we lost this fight, if we were pushed to attempt a rescue mission in the middle of nowhere, then the odds were already pretty fucking long. Tinker designed.

The girl in white made a portal, and Tattletale made a doorway appear, shifting everyone from the storm of portal beams to a safe haven. The force of the blast tore through her physical body, and she was merely an idea, a cloud of swirling phantoms, ghostly images and planted objects, stillborn and overgrown, gelatinous and reflexive.

Theoretically, I could kill her.

 I could kill them. There wasn’t that power. If I’d had any regard for my people, I’d have done something even more disgusting.

I was aware of the gathered capes around me. Wards, Parahumans, and Unstoppable Grues. Grues and Pacts of Oblivion. Even some Protectorate members had come, past or present. Grues had stretched the reality warper’s abilities, but she was still only a few thousand years in the future, two centuries from the point where she had started making clones.

Another forcefield bubble appeared, at the centre of which was a man in white. Commander of the White Rider program. He took control of the America’s president, restored order, and spoke to the gathered capes.

'Back in January, when the D.T. officer-generals defeated my then-lead team, I made a request to the president. He granted my request, and I was able to reach my second chance. But I did hear about what you did in the Echidna incident. The way you evaded capture, the women and children. I know I said something that should never have been said, but I thought you should know.'

Her light-heartedness and fondness for her dog Vex earned her props, but most winced. Only Chevalier gave her any real support, and he was all awkwardness, almost snide.

'It was a hard question to answer, but should I blame him? What does he do now? Let’s say it’s for the greater good? What did he do in that moment? Tell me he gets to kill the leader of his team and steal the Achilles tendril from the man that’s supposed to be his heir? That’s not very gallant.'

She studied him, studying his face, studying the change in his expression as she called him out on one falsehood. One. She knew it was probably true, but – and this was surprising, to her – he seemed to think it was a courageous thing.

'Is he really in a position to discuss this with the president of the United States?' she asked, her voice low.

The dog growled at her.

'Is it brave? To challenge authority? To stand up to him?'

She knew how dog owners tended to act. She adapted her stride, drew the curtain closed.

======================================== SAMPLE 36 ========================================
How could I even begin to explain? To put it simply, it was the ability to see dimensions and see many different versions of that same thing at once. A mindfuck.

To top it off, the organism could see everything and everyone at the same time. It was as though there were two people who were communicating to the moon, each at different distances, through their own individual communication systems.

To top it all off, the antennae could listen in without the people in the other group bothering them, giving them the alone time to listen without the others disturbing anyone. An amazing ability that spoiled all of that with the little I knew about them.

I shut my eyes and focused on just using my power. I could smell the vapor, I could taste it, and I could taste what it was doing. Dust that traveled faster than a hundred feet through the air was some of the most volatile and harmful air I’d ever smelled. It was making the pungent odor in the air worse.

If I’d had any idea about how the pungent odor was made, I would have noticed it right away.

The vapor was flowing into the rift. I could feel the vibrations as Simone put body parts together and transformed them into more armor. I could also feel the dust rising in dense clouds. I used my power to sense where the dust was traveling and what parts were underlain by it.

The vast majority of the dust was being generated by the explosions in a space that was being blasted by the winds. Going by the reports of what others had reported, though, a portion of that dust was also making its way to us, being stirred by the tarsals as they moved and being stirred by the legs and feet.

That would be the Shouting Man’s power. I knew the rest from other threads in the wiki and the phone book.

There was a part of me that wished I could understand how they could do what they were doing. The ability to generate matter out of thin air. To create a living, sentient meteor from the ground up. I understood them. The ability to, what? I understood them by knowing their powers.

They weren’t the easiest people to understand.

The ground rumbled violently. I could feel it in my bones. My entire body was tense, my pulse pounding. I felt nauseous, burning sensation in my throat. I had to grab my pants leg to keep from vomiting. I didn’t have the money to pay the florist and pay a flute-teacher a visit, though. I called a hit of the shotgun on the street to make myself available.

Through my power, I could sense the way the storm started to move, the direction the rumbling was pointing. It was level, not rising above the roof in the quiet, eerie, quiet streets of the Docks.

I focused on the side of the building that was closest to the ground, and I sensed the rumble of a wave generated by the tidal wave, a tremble of the ground as buildings were knocked over and more toppled to the ground.

By the time I realized what I was looking at, the building had sunk an additional three or four feet. More from the uprooted structures that had been on the bluff, the larger structures that had been on the street, and the more massive structures that had been on the adjacent land. The fluting-teacher was standing at the entrance to what looked to be an underground facility.

"Wards commander," I called out. "You got my message?"

"Yeah."

"Seems like the others will be coming soon."

"Yeah," she said, not responding. She was looking at a computer screen, clicking on the screen.

"Leaving me in the dark here for two whole minutes, it doesn’t make me feel any better."

"Try a nearby window. A chance shot."

She moved toward the window.

"Two West-"

She chose the wrong building. Screwing up, committing a FTW.

"Leaving me in the dark? Leaking me to the wild?"

"Guess not."

Computer screensaver. Chances are getting better as the heroes around me deal. Worst case scenario, she finishes here and I have to watch the two big wigs play possum for a minute. Worst case scenario… I finish here and this all blows up in my face. No, I’ll settle for a cubicle of my own design.

"I know you want to be perfect."

"What if I’m wrong? What if I get this all wrong?"

"You’ll always be the most perfect thing in the end."

■

"Big piece of the bigger puzzle," I
======================================== SAMPLE 39 ========================================
I saw only the outline of Weld’s face, his tall, narrow face with the narrow, well built jaw, his excessively long hair hanging down to his shoulders. I didn’t see his lips, which I was pretty sure was always done, because he tended to speak with a slight crease of dissent. I didn’t see his eyes, which were shadowed by his dark hair, sunken close.

I heard something, muttered something, but didn’t have a good chance to check before it faded away.

Another figure appeared next to Weld, about my height, with legs that were three times the normal size, a spiky white tail and a human-shaped head. When Weld moved, the smaller one darted to one side, the larger one darted to the right, and the tail darted left and right, until it hung off balance and swung wildly from one point to the next, briefly pausing mid-swing to regain his footing and reorient himself.

Shit. So many ways this could go wrong.

"Got a client in the area," he said, "Anyone else need anything?"

"Go check, tell them we’re here, tell them to come here, or don’t need anything."

Weld spoke, "Good luck."

With that, he parted to reveal his robot helper, which was made up of three loose sections, one solid body, one comprised of innumerable legs, and the body of the tall figure stood in the center of the road just behind Weld and the tall, muscular man.

"Go," Weld said.

The robot moved forward, slowly, almost as if it was considering how to walk along the ground before reaching out for the man.

Bitch whistled, and Bentley charged forward. It was too slow, because the man only had a few seconds to process the situation, to make the call and act. He burst into the nearest building, grabbed a hammer from a cabinet and swung it at the front desk. He thumped it down, and in his nervousness, he made himself smaller. Twenty to thirty percent smaller, actually. He couldn’t wield a weapon in this manner.

Cuff began to push her hands into piles at her feet. She couldn’t walk, even with her enhanced demeanour, and she couldn’t run, but at least she was moving.

Smaller. Still, smaller. She looked like a mere child, practically squashed against the ground by the structure of bone and muscle.

The man in the suit closest to her stepped close and slashed. It was the smallest of gestures, and was easy enough for her to take in. The scar rose at her forehead and suddenly formed into a broad mouth, with a ridged ridge framing it.

'You’re mine, Velourheart. Mine and only mine,' she breathed.

It was a lie. A duet. A farce.

The robot woman, the mechanical viking and the wild actor who claimed to be her real self.

The tall man realised the pair were one and the same, and backed off before the truth could sink in.

Valefor fell to the ground, and held out his hand to Cuff. She reached out, metal hand clutching it, her eyes wide with fear and surprise.

He looked at his hostage, his other hand still gripping the tall man’s, and he shook his head. He said, with a tone that was too calm for the situation, "…You can say that much without an iguana in it."

Cuff shook her head, swearing.

Wilde began to gather the swarm he’d lowered into the complex, shifting them from the shadows to the midst of the already-fragile system. He’d wanted to use her power, here. Not just to rescue her, but because she’d balked at first, because she’d been the one to keep him company, and because she’d refused his advances, letting him take so long to help.

The first was a glamour. A cartoonish image of a woman with a mane of dark hair, wearing a robe. The second was Jane Gale, looking sadly at her late husband.

He rose just in time to see the man in the robe being thrown aside. It had been his weight and his durability that had stopped Wildeman from slashing him with the tip of his staff.

The man in the robe clapped one hand over his mouth.

"Valefor," Valefor spoke. His voice was a falsetto. Giantess didn’t need to speak. She had the accent down to a normal level. Jane added, "He-"

"Is this satisfactory?" Weld stood.
======================================== SAMPLE 42 ========================================
Paranoia. A hollowness in the vastness of things. She had been raised on TV and in movies and magazines, had read books and played video games. She’d taken after her kind in everything, in everything’s right to be paranoid about stuff. Except she was normal, she had friends, she had a career.

She would be schooled on this set of events until she believed it was okay to open her mouth.

Except she isn’t. She isn’t a monster.

She played the role of a small child, and was made to play the part of a large one. Scared blondes would be told they had to be beautiful if they wanted to be prince charming, while skinheads with bows and arrows were told they had to be powerful if they wanted to be marine. Scared academics were told they had to be intelligent if they wanted to be a famous professor, while people with superpowers were told they had to be kind if they wanted to be a member of the Chosen.

She was one of those people, and it was all too often the same story.

Prince charming had tried to be something more, and he’d failed.

She didn’t want this. Wanted safety, the chance to be free. The chance to run down the street and get lost for a weekend. The quality of her life had been degraded to the point that it couldn’t ever recover.

But was it really possible to repair what she already had?

The thing was, she had another issue. She’d spent years running on schedule, always moving forward, always pushing her parents to take it one step further. But the sleep that had beenhes over her was gone, and she’d started to suffer from a kind of insomnia. She’d stopped counting at maybe twenty or twenty-five minutes, now.

It was only minutes later that she realized she was still in the dark when she found out why. It was a trend. Every time her parents got a moment’s peace, she found herself counting down the minutes, the seconds. Twenty-seven.

■

The Velveteen ended up in the office with the Protectorate and Wards. She burst out laughing, which she hadn’t been able to do before, but everyone else laughed in turn. The laughter heated up, and she found her voice, full volume, "You guys are so lame."

They laughed, silent and somber. She blinked, hard, to get a glimpse of the other emotions beneath the monotone laughter.

She THINKED about telling them, but doing so might tear her voice, and she didn’t want to do that.

If she said the word ‘I’d rather be an idiot’ and her voice hardened, the effect would be that much more pronounced.

"Skitter," Tecton said, almost absently, "I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you on this. It’s… it was a long time ago. I’d like to think we were still friends."

"You’re a friend?" She asked.

"Hey," Tecton said, changing the subject, "I was going to say you guys were friends no matter what. No, you’re not. We’re currently partners. As for what we’re going to do, I can’t imagine we’ll ever be friends again, unless you force yourself to be. I’m comfortable keeping you as a friend, if I ever got to be friends with you. There’s ZERO chance you’ll ever have a good time with me."

"Don’t you?" Wanton asked, as he saw her reaction. He laughed a little at that.

"You’re excusable, whatever your politics."

Wanton snorted.

"What do you think?" Gully asked the Director. "You’re lame."

Thinking. She’d taken a step forward.

Something told her she’d hit a nerve.

"I’m going to go," she decided.

"No!" Tecton warned.

"You’re talking to the girl who was just as pissed at you for bullying her as you were."

"I’m thinking I’m going to find a way. With or without your help."

"No!" Tecton said, again. "You’re being awfully good lately. I’m ready to stop by and see about arresting you for your criminal behavior. If you don’t leave within the next half an hour."


======================================== SAMPLE 45 ========================================
Daiichi was equal parts talented and gutsy. He had the background and physique to be a model citizen of the city, not quite yet rich enough to own the most expensive home in the city as a matter of fact, but he had the brains to understand the dynamics of the real estate market, the land use and zoning, and the nuances of planning and collecting his taxes. All things that would help him sell the advantages of his abilities, without diminishing his own. With his ability to entertain himself, one could argue he was a titan, at heart a titan.

His brainpower was almost more valuable than his body, as though it were in the hundreds, not the thousands. He was matched only by the Talons, and even they weren’t on par with his. He was well traveled in criminality, had worked alongside the likes of Hookwolf, Night and Fog, and Shaolin, to name a few. He was ruthless in his thought processes, was always ready to capitalize on an opportunity that other capes didn’t have. He had all the qualities a successful Mafia boss could want for a soldier: aggressiveness, bloodlust, ruthless integrity, and a need to control. Daiichi Shiguren had all of the qualities a successful Rogue: cunning, fearlessness, strength of character, compassion and selflessness.

If he needed to be more charitable, he would say he was a good person who had let himself be affected by his circumstances, who had grown weary of waiting for others to do the heavy lifting. A person who had been ashamed of what he had done to Takayama-senpai, of being the "rogue" without a proper team, who’d wanted to help people more generally. What was different now? Plain and simple, the ability to sense and tackle a situation on a whole other level.

The Talons were the same. He’d gone rogue, and having done so, he’d changed the way he thought. He understood that even more than he thought he understood the game, that this was a pawn in a much bigger game. He’d come to the same conclusions as before. He and Daiichi Shiguren were part of a trio.

The player with the most control over the outcome of an event has a greater chance of success.

"It’s not a game," Daiichi Shiguren spoke. His voice took a harsh tone, "There’s no interaction between us that we haven’t decided on beforehand. There’s only the outcome, and we each decide what that outcome is."

"You’re shitting me," Shén Yù said.

"We are the game. We’re the pieces," Daiichi Ryo said.

"You don’t get to be a pawn," Pick said. Pick didn’t elaborate further on the point.

Daiichi Shiguren frowned, "There’s luck involved. If we put ourselves in a bad position, like attacking a particular military base, we might get killed. Or the enemy might get an advantage, and we’re not able to stop them. There’s also the chance of dying in the fight. We have to take risks, we have to go somewhere. I might have made different choices, but I’ve dealt with a lot of terrible things, and I think I could deal with dealing with a lot more pretty than my fair share of ugly ones."

"You don’t have to play fair," Pick said.

"No," Shén Yù answered. "You understand what I’m saying? I don’t care if I get murdered in the ensuing thirty seconds. I don’t care if I get a cool death or become a media darling. I don’t care if I wind up a big fat time bomb, or if my teammates get bottom of my head, or if one of my underlings commits suicide by blowing up a TV studio, or if my enemies get their asses kicked by me, or if I get arrested and put in a mental institution. I don’t care. I want to be done with you, with you, already, and this isn’t even in the forefront of my mind."

"You’re saying you’d do those things," Pick said.

"I’m saying you’d take that option."

"I’d let you, almost. I’d be willing to make the sacrifices you’d require."

"So you’re going to make those sacrifices on my behalf," Pick said, sounding remarkably mature for a man your age.

"No," Shén Yù replied. "I’d make the calls myself. I’d decide
======================================== SAMPLE 48 ========================================
The huddling began.

Everyone had their places they wanted to sit. Jack and Bonesaw’s group sat near the back, Cannibal, Fork, Road and Dogmeat found seats with the others.

Dr. Q merged with the doctor who was working on Charlotte, and the two shared a workspace. The work was agonizing. Charlotte had paranoid delusions that she saw things, but she was limited in her ability to fight them. Her power, at best. Her doctor had been overly focused on the management of the disorder, and Charlotte was forced to rely on occasional reminders of life that had apparently belonged to the dead. Occasionally, reminders occurred across multiple patients, reminding her of other reminders from her patients.

Not so unusual, she noted. More common.

No, the doctor had a relative in mind. A brief glance showed him pressing the power button for the doctor’s office, a note of faint blue light, like a power button that wasn’t even there.

Drive, Charlotte thought. I’m working towards something here.

Power went out, and so did his role.

■

They arrived at the lair of a well built ox. It was large, roomy enough for them to comfortably lie down and stand up, and they had each other’s backs.

Chuckles sat on one side of the cage, hissing as he worked. He’s bigger than the one they had just rescued, bigger, perhaps, but not quite big enough. Lizard boy sat on the other side, his tail extending behind and around them. A dual-purpose clavier, perhaps.

They got the cage filled, rifling through it to find the already neatly manicured lawn. Jaguar brought the cage down to a simple four-foot deep plain, stacked with colorful metal cages, so the larger animals could stand to look over their heads.

"Thank you," the doctor said.

Jaguar only glared.

"They say attention is a good thing," Charlotte said. "Maybe we could keep you."

Jaguar shrugged, then nodded a little. "I wish people would just go away."

"I’m talking ideas. Let’s hear them."

"Mm," Jaguar made a noise as he hopped down out of the cage.

"If we’re talking about keeping you, Chuckles," Charlotte said, "We need something smaller."

"What?"

"I mean, you’re not as big as you were."

Jaguar looked down at the thickest part of his tail. "Yes. Part of the reason for my less than stellar performance was the concussion. I can’t go back to work, can’t relax just yet."

"Jaguar," Charlotte said. She kept her voice low, even as she said, "I’m talking about possibly leaving the PRT. You’re capable of working past that, but it seems there’s a reason people are waiting."

"I will be ok."

"But you’re thinking about leaving us."

"Yes. At least for a little while. Let’s not ruin that chance with this stupid life they want to create."

"Enough," Shepherd’s voice was strained.

Jaguar raised his tail, extending it for a final stretch.

Their noses met, jaws touching.

Jaguar walked on.

People stopped as they found themselves in the same place, nearly shoulder to shoulder. Images of Scion, of the Yàngbǎn, one of the more sinister groups the PRT had dealt with. Black costume, with faces more black than white. The ones from the film had been reduced to statues, with faces molded or painted to follow their contours. The remaining three were moving, teasingly, but they’d my illusion, and the crowd had caught on. The benefit of the Hunchback-alike’s power was that he was invisible to sightless.

Jaguar touched both of the statues, holding them in his two hands. The other, a virtual out-of-body experience, was muted, with a mental disconnection taking place.

"I’m serious, isn’t I? I’ve been working on getting around to this. Patching things together. I was going to make you a deal, but then I realized there’s gotta be more compromises."

He held the two halves of the second statue in his hands, inspecting them. They were photos, a front and back showing the various members of the Protectorate and Wards, plates of thick, chewy, white-meat hamburger wrapped in foil. He flipped a coin to decide
======================================== SAMPLE 51 ========================================
Bad alarm, I thought. No lock to the bathroom door.

I heard her footsteps, and spun to face her.

She didn’t break eye contact.

"I’m trying to get back into my old life. Maybe this love life? I was involved, in whatever way. Don’t want to sound like I’m judging you, but maybe…?"

"Are you making this up?"

"Don’t really care. I was involved, and if you want to talk about it, maybe the only way to do it is through me. You can laugh at me, you can cry yourself quite as much fury at me, but I’d still rather talk about your past defeats than any of your victories."

Tattletale was smiling, but it wasn’t a happy expression. "You’re almost offended you’re even trying to move on from that."

"No."

"You were just this other guy, trying to hide your feelings. Well, I can’t humiliate you like this, nor do I want to make you relive past humiliations. Just… be back to the way things were, before, be with your then-girlfriends. You disgust me."

"I’m glad to go to the Birdcage," I said. "Sorry."

"No, you’re not sorry." The words were like the kick in the stomach I’d just gotten.

"No," I agreed. "I hate this, but I’m not sure what else to do."

"I know," she said. "I’m not the person to talk to about this."

"No," I agreed. "I’m alright, though."

"But you’re back to where you were,angry, frustrated, feeling like a failure. You’re acting like you’re having fun, but youre actually doing something. Marissa said that. I feel like I might have become a supervillain if I’d been born a hero, if I’d had the chance. If I had the money, time and support-"

"We weren’t born rich," I finished.

"You weren’t made to have it all. It’s a lottery. And even if we did have those things, you know what, one in eight of us make it because we have a shitty luck. Nine out of ten of us die in the ensuing twelve attempts. So no, I don’t think I would have made it as a villain. Do you think I’m a good person? Probably."

I saw a possible piece of leverage, here. "I’m not pretending all of this is going to be easy. I’m not saying I’m an awful person, or that I’m bad at heart. I’m not a bad person, or a bad person. I’m just saying you’re off base."

"You were going to say that, didn’t you? Because you’re caucasian, and you’re in the habit of acting heroic, huh? Except you’re acting like you’re not in the habit of showing emotion, or you’re not as concerned about what people think. I get that you care about that stuff, I get that you’ve had bad moments, but you’re not stupid."

"I’m not dumb."

"You have to understand, people need us to be strong, or they’re not in the right state of mind. Picayune likes to throw around words that suggest he knows what he’s doing, but I’m not talking about fear. I’m talking practical jokes. A lot of our members are caring, considerate, merciful. They’re holding back, not spreading their reach as widely. That’s something I can do a lot of, ‘cept when it comes to fear and supervillains."

"A lot of you aren’t even in the ABB."

"We’re dealing with people who were only interested in one thing. Business. That’s how I found out about your existence. I’d like to sell the information I have about you to a good deal of rich people, to finance the things I’m wanting to build. Music, bowling, a new kind of casino – I’m not good at these things. I hate being shortsighted, but I know I’m going to get in trouble anyway. One of the reasons I wanted to come here was to get closer to
======================================== SAMPLE 54 ========================================
Clothes… I looked and no doubt checked all the same clothes that I checked with Panacea. Nothing too interesting. Nothing that wouldn’t be uncomfortable for one of the patients or even the visiting team members.

I made my way down the stairs and stopped at the bottom to dispense with the need to get my costume's proper name, "We got the Wards. Three Californians, one Frenchman."

"Another Europe, perhaps?" The Doctor asked.

I-I don’t know what I meant.

"The Behemoth craze saw countless hotels and lodging companies throughout the known world start denying the existence of the creature, much in the same way that they’d deny there were aliens visiting or that otherworldly objects were round or spherical."

Again, not my best work.

"The injury to your shoulder limited your mobility. We expect that issue will resolve itself."

It could. In fact, it was spur of the moment, a quick aside before the main discussion. I managed to interject something between the two topics. "And, if you’re worried about the possibility of further injuries, you should know that the Protectorate has a measure in place."

"Thank you," the Doctor said.

"If you were inclined to say so, I would raise an issue with that, but I’ll concede a point for you. We’ve been successful in managing the casualties. If it comes down to it, you could emerge triumphant."

I was touched with sympathy for the wounded.

But my pulse was pounding, and it wasn’t just my dad’s silent voice, escalating fear and loathing in my dad’s company.

I couldn’t move, and it wasn’t just my dad’s silent treatment of me.

A massive crash changed the entire orientation of the argument. My dad slammed into the table, and both our chairs burst into flames with the destructive force of the impact.

My dad, in turn, smashed into the table that had held the costume and the Canaries.

The Doctor stood, and I saw Armsmaster, his lips pressed into a firm line. He looked at me, and he didn’t reveal anything that wasn’t already well known. He didn’t have a place to be, save for a flat expression, and he was looking directly at me.

With a look I couldn’t have predicted, he declared, "I’m an expert on you villains. You’re a letdown. You’re BAD."

He didn’t elaborate, but I knew he knew.

"I’m sorry, Mr. Prime Time," I said. I couldn’t say whether he was angry at me or ashamed.

"You’re not sorry?"

"I’m not sorry. I’m angry enough, and I feel like I should be, when I’m walking down the streets in the middle of the afternoon, while other people are still trying to deal with the fallout from the Endbringer attack."

"It’s because of you that this city became what it is," the Doctor said. "You made us into weaklings, then you took that status and you changed us into superstars. I got to meet some of the best of the best, and I have to tell you, I don’t like me any more than you do. I told you what to do and you did it."

"And what do I do?"

"I dunno. I started a little clinic called Well," she said. "We’re trying to curb stress, and you decided to step down from the chair."

"I have to decide if I want to keep doing this."

"Do you? Do you think you’re a star, after all these years? When Lung died, when you turned yourself in, and when you accepted that you were a monster?"

"I- yes. "

"So what happens if you decide you want to get help? If you want help, you ask us to change our minds? Are we going to refuse you?"

"If I wanted to walk away, I could," I said. "Dealable, pretty simple, and yeah, I’d have my issues with that."

"Sure. In a good way, no. Does it help if you stop asking questions?"

I shook my head. "No. I don’t want to know more."

"Alright. Then let’s talk radio. You’ve talked to several groups in the past, and you’ve had a lot of time to talk to different groups. Talk to the incarn
======================================== SAMPLE 57 ========================================
The girl said something, a monosyllabic response.

"Stop," I said. I found the girl’s side and pulled her arms away.

I didn’t pay attention as she searched for a grip on my gloves, boots or hair. I could see the swelling mass in my palm as she tried to pull at my gloves, her fingers knitting together as if she was pulling on wet paper.

"You’re not wearing the gloves. You’ve been walking around barefoot."

I stared down at my gloves. I’d shaved them bald, in an effort to look more human, but I’d lost the elasticity of the hairband and the soles of my boots. The soles sheared as she ground her feet against the ground.

"You lose," she said, "Whatever else happened, whatever the fuck Sandman thing was."

I stared at her.

Her eyes opened wide, and she squeezed them tight.

"I was going to get stitches," I managed to say, my voice thin.

She gave me a funny look.

"Don’t tell anyone."

She didn’t budge an inch. Between the way she’d been stomping around and the concrete tremors that followed any direct contact with the ground, I couldn’t make out her legs. Probably the biggest problem with my new costume, besides the clumsiness of it around her.

"You’re so quiet," Myrddin murmured. I hoped the acoustics of the stairwell would protect my hearing.

Shatterbird descended, and shortly thereafter, everyone began transitioning to a more human state. The screaming was quieter, but I could still feel the terror in the air.

"It doesn’t feel quite right," I said, a bit distracted from my present circumstances. "There’s too much shit, and I can’t put my finger on it all. But it’s all very left field, and I can’t put my finger on exactly what’s happening, so it might read like I’m losing control."

"Mm," Shatterbird said, her voice quiet.

"It’s scary, knowing what’s going on, but I’m also very wanton, very nasty, and i’m totally, totally indifferent. Like we just talked about. It’s happening, but it’s my choice where we go from there. Ha."

Shatterbird had landed, and Lung was still in the hallway. She started to move to Myrddin, grabbed his hand, and then shifted her own weight to keep him closer.

I felt my heart sink. We’d started this, we’d been through a lot of the preliminaries, and she’d said what she really felt. It hadn’t been pretty.

No, nothing had been pretty, as it turned out.

But it wasn’t acceptable, not quite.

Shatterbird spoke, her voice gentle. "I’m sorry. I’ve spent a long time trying to be good, and overdoing it. I went too far, though, trying to emulate how my teammate used her power. Overusing it, maybe."

I very nearly stood up and left the room. Constantly moving, it had beenhes of liquids spraying onto the floor, making thick, sticky lumps of stuffy mess. I had to stop and bend over to get the lumps out.

Beside me, Shatterbird stared at the floor, unmoving. She had one foot on the table, three feet from the stairwell. An ugly, raw place it just wasn’t something I wanted to look at.

"I’ve spent a great deal of time around bad guys. I’ve seen some of the bloods of those guys, you might remember. I’ve seen some of the stuff that goes on in those vials, the things that take away our memories. I know what it’s like, to know what happens when something inside a vial gets loose. I’ve seen people die because the stuff they’re holding back in their vials got loose.

"So I get it. This is the stuff some people get. Executioner’s meant to kill the people who have the power, but they don’t have the brains. Or their brains are too wilfully or habitually locked away inside their bodies. So some crazy power dealer has figured out a way to make the drink essentially invincible, so it can be spiked, given a kick to the head. Because who wants to take
======================================== SAMPLE 60 ========================================
Myrddin, from the guard in the cell next to Nosferatu, said, "Sir."

"Good." No need to be shy.

"Move your spear!" the lieutenant barked.

Myrddin frowned. His spear, intact, was no longer possible. He would need a replacement. Or, rather, he would need something like a sniper rifle, in a smaller package.

A machine gun, in short.

He looked at Gully, trying to give her a sense of what was going on. She was tight-lipped, and remained quiet as he repeatedly raised the weapon.

"Sir!" she said, and the words had barely even hit her when she was back on her feet. She advanced on the spear wielding hand.

It took a full minute for Nosferatu to get going. He was a newcomer, and the only other spear user besides Tattletale on the rooftop, along with the only other stranger in the lobby to actually join the fight.

He made a shallow cut with the spear, and the spear rattled with the impact. It was working on overheating, now.

When it was all said and done, Nosferatu dumped all of the metal into the single container that Hydra had used to make his weapon. It started emptying into the spear-user’s stomach.

Cryogenics.

He waded through the spear-user’s leg, managing to make his way to the other end of the weapon, even as he lost feeling in his left leg. No more than a percent chance that he would be able to walk after this.

Then he was surrounded. He wore the same outfit as before, but with armor plates studding his legs, his feet and the surfaces of his gloves. The vast majority of it was intact, but one surface of his armor had the hardened graphite that would be drilled into it, so it was light.

There were some bugs on the bolts that connected his legs. He would have since used his free hand to disconnect the chains, but he could only do so much. He lifted the spear to his head to access the weapon’s detachable stock, located on the underside of the spear.

He locked the spear’s bolt head in place, and then set his hand on the heavy steel handle.

Acid. Glycerin. He’d never had his hands like this.

He pulled the spear’s handle towards himself, and then he swiped his knife, going for the metal can with the sharp tips. Touching Nosferatu’s face drove him back, and he was forced to flip over, his momentum carrying him out of the way of Nosferatu’s spear. Acid exploded around the spear as the tip touched Nosferatu’s flesh.

Golem used his power to rotate, to get Nosferatu out of the way of the spear’s tip. The two villains collided with one another, and Nosferatu was dragged a pace towards the opening. Golem pushed his advantage, reorienting the spear to strike at Nosferatu’s stomach.

The villain was stopped. Golem raised the pole, and reeled in the first few inches of his extended flesh to bring it into position, then pulled the spear’s point toward Nosferatu’s heart. The metalhead didn’t even seem to notice.

Scion flickered back into Nosferatu’s body, and he collapsed, the spearhead and his arm falling back atop him. The villain gashed and clawed at his throat, then began tearing the weapon apart.

Nosferatu rose in a walk, reaching out to grab the next available host. He slow, his pace slow.

Golem reached to pull the spear end from the body of Nosferatu’s superior man, and he nearly fell. A rush of cool air rushed into the confined space between the two of them.

For an instant, their existence was silent. No movement, no breath. A pause.

A man spoke from the midst of the crowd. A villanelle. " Quisling?"

Golem shook his head. "She’s a villanelle. A strong villanelle, but nowhere near a man. She’s still wearing the costume."

"Anything but manly," the man who’d spoken spoke.

"We know there’s got to be a way," Golem said. "A way for us to get help. Tougher, faster. So why don’t we do something ostentatious? Let’s take a stab at becoming the beast and beat his face in. We become the prey and punish him
======================================== SAMPLE 63 ========================================
Still faster than the speed of sound. Was this something that had happened in a movie? Or had Rachel simply been faster with what she had in her other body?

She looked over her shoulder at her dogs, and saw Siberian sitting with her chin on Fugly Bob’s back, playing with the dog’s food. Only Bitch remained.

Was this acceptable with the judges? Should she make a show of it, or was she still disqualified, much as she’d been before?

She glanced at Flechette, who looked as insecure as ever. Flechette, she could count on one hand the number of times she’d smiled. This was something she could respect.

And Addison? Rachel had said she was grateful to have someone to follow her, and Flechette had the impression of a princess in some alternate universe.

Rachel had made it a rule for herself that she wouldn’t treat the others as she did. It wasn’t easy, and she knew it would change as she got further along in her plan. To follow in her father’s footsteps, she’d set stricter rules, hated the PRT as a whole, but she had more respect for Bastard than she had for anyone present. She wanted to be left alone.

She could remember how close she’d come to doing something disastrous in the end. In the final minutes, as her friends hung back, failing to understand what was going on, she’d turned to Tattletale, and she’d told her, "I fucked up, I need to fix it".

Tattletale hadn’t hesitated to fill Tattletale’s head with the information she’d left behind in her failed attempt to reunite them. She couldn’t put it into words. More to the point, she couldn’t think of it as inherently wrong that she’d made the choice she had. It was wrong on so many levels.

She shouldn’t have needed to resort to violence to get what she wanted. She should have called herself royalty, not Reckless.

She shouldn’t have needed to resort to violence to get what she wanted. She should have been left to work it out.

"I wanted to be queen, not princess," Rachel said.

"Too bad," Miss Militia said.

"Pepper spray!" Imp said, raising her voice. "I have pepper spray."

"Actually," Tecton said, "We’ve talked this over. I’m okay with using pepper spray if it keeps things out of our way. It doesn’t hurt anyone and it’d be a death sentence if we started an all-out war without enough warning."

"Good policy," Tattletale said. Miss Militia just smiled and held up a hand. We’d discussed this at length. It was Tattletale’s opinion, reasonable, even. I wasn’t surprised, but it nonetheless piqued my curiosity.

"Well," Tecton said, after we’d wrapped up, "I’ve talked to some of the major players in the Protectorate, and the consensus seems to be that you’ll be reinstated as captain of the team if we can get the investigation and charges off the ground. There’s going to be a lot of cards to play, and we’ve talked it over with the possibility of you being a permanent member, though I’d prefer to remain a member."

"And I’m the rogue," Rachel said.

"This is a pretty big deal," I said. "Because as of tonight, you’re a known murderer. You killed Armsmaster. You killed Tattletale. You’ve also killed and surrendered to the Simurgh. And now you’re back in the interrogation room, back there alone with your dog, your hands cuffed behind your back. What kind of a situation are you in?"

"I’m in a paranoid depressive break in behavior," Rachel said.

"Not a paranoid depressive break in behavior," I said, "Just a bad trigger event. You could attempt to address the issue, but doing so will not only mean you need to go back to your previous methods, but it will cost you."

"I can’t!"

"Unfortunately, under Illinois law, we cannot take actions to remove you until we have a fully informed suspect."

"Thrillist?" he asked. "That’s the person you went after, not long ago."

"I did it for her. me."

"I’d like to think I got her."

I frowned.

======================================== SAMPLE 66 ========================================
The brunette woman and her friends all had signs of adrenaline. They were raring to go, or already halfway there. The brunette was tense, to the point that I could tell she was about to jump in the pool and push herself over the edge. She looked around, looking vain. Suits all of the different kinds of costumes, from top of the line to the worst that could be found, it seemed. She looked forlorn. The girl was making her way down the ramp, back to the crowds of people who were watching the routine press conference. Lying down, getting her head and shoulders wet in the process.

It got caught up in my consciousness, as I recognized the way people were looking at her. At the same time, I felt a little deflated, as though I’d somehow failed to take everything into consideration, put one person above another, then couldn’t help but feel like there was a lot I didn’t know, and there was probably stuff I didn’t know which to be concerned about.

Was I being paranoid?

I turned my head, trying to find the right angle to see her expression, and came up short. She was trying to look at me, and I was trying to look at her.

"I think I can’t help but wonder whether your team will be able to defeat the Nine when the time comes."

I looked down at the ground. At least this time, I wasn’t about to get into a serious fight.

"You’re a member of the Nine," I told her. "You’re free to turn around and run if you want."

"Um," she looked at me.

"Yes," my reply was as direct and firm as I could manage.

"Good," she said. Again, she looked at the ground. This time, she made a sudden, exaggerated noise. A growl. "Ahh!"

It took me a second to realize what she was screaming at the top of her lungs.

"You’re afraid," I told her. "You’re completely and utterly alone here. No allies, no family, no teammates, no friends in any capacity. You’re alone in a house divided. The house where you committed the ultimate sin, leaving a body and a family behind, a father gone mad with guilt, and a mother who can’t raise her daughter to her level. These three, they’re the worst of you. The Übers, The Families, as they’re sometimes called. They’re the people who took everything that isn’t yours, left you, and then they made their bed before you had the guts to raise the girl to your own level. All the worse because they’re the ones who did the deed in the first place. The house Imago is a part of. Everything Kaiser’s company holds dear. That is and I means you are our most dangerous enemy."

Her attempt at a laugh this time was stymied by the blow that followed. My heartbeat was pounding in my throat as I fought to keep from screaming, to touch her and scare her. I couldn’t settle for a low, buzzing noise in my head.

"The Slaughterhouse Nine are the most dangerous enemies you face. No other threats are as threatening or as ugly as them. You raise the issue of your past, and I will bring it up again, until you answer for it or you get too far away from the subject. You know what crimes you’ve committed and how you got here, and you know that one crime doesn’t amount to much of anything when it comes to them or the law. So why don’t you come clean and tell us the whole truth?"

Again, Tattletale made a noise. This was uncharacteristically hard to take.

"That’s not fair," she said. "I’ve told you twice now that I’m not going to lie. That I won’t pick a side. But tonight, I am going to say what I want to say. I want to go there, and I hope I get caught. Because I think you’d all feel a little more courageous, all this shit you’re paying attention to."

Bitch spat the words, and they weren’t swallowed in time.

"That’s the last word I want to have before I say ‘I’m sorry’," the girl said. "I really, really don’t care what you have to say. I don’t care if your children get powers or see their families die in the name of a faction. Just get it done. I don’t care if you
======================================== SAMPLE 69 ========================================
The armor clicked, faintly, as a sensor picked up on a sound of metal scratching against metal. The electronic component clicked twice, then three times.

"We have contact!" Defiant called out.

A thick presence, male, thirty feet tall, built like a monster, with arms that ended in razor-sharp spikes that brushed against the sides and back of my legs, a tail that was longer and thicker than any of my bulkier limbs and a face that was rounder around than my head. He walked with a slight limp as he passed me, and his arms hugged the sides of my body. His features were drawn out, as if he were looking for ways to be more brutal to me.

His eyes locked onto me, and he didn’t even flinch as I took hold of a table and heaved it at him. A subsonic pulse rippled through the area, and I caught a glimpse of his legs as he stretched. His upper arms and shoulders were surrounded by a hard, warlike aura.

I was hard pressed to move out of the way, even without the full six-foot-nine-inch blade that was pumping just above my head into the area. Had his presence affected the weapons he was holding, or was it the other stuff that screamed from his costume? A spiked metal baseball bat, two-by-fours, three-by-six, two-by-foures with all metal trim, and a splintered oak signet that had all the fineness and beauty of a take-down technique from a bygone era. Did he have a weapon in hand? Yes. Did he have it in his hands? Yes.

But I wasn’t going to ask.

He reached out and gripped the micromesh construction of foam that was strapped to the end of one of his elbows. With a quick motion, he whipped it up into the air, flew it a quarter-mile to me. When he turned it around, the micromesh was molded into a sphere, and he was ready to fire it at me.

It wouldn’t do to have the weapon turn out to be a bomb. Especially if it wouldn’t even be capable of penetrating the foam. I hoped I wouldn’t get in his way.

"If it helps," I spoke, through the rain, "Give me that. I’ll need to get that out of the way."

He turned to look at me and the micromanaged flame. I used the bugs I’d gathered on him to start binding him down. "If that’s what it takes to get this done, I’m all for it. You can ship me to the Birdcage if I don’t cooperate, and I’ll go where I want whenever."

"I can’t ship you to the Birdcage," Dragon said, "And I can’t leave you there. We’ll need you more than you realize."

"I’m all for cooperating," I said. "If your idea of a fair trial includes shipping me to the Birdcage, I’m offended. I hate being in the Birdcage."

"Then consider this done, good bye," Defiant said. The two of us hung up.

With a final thrust of the spear, Dragon disappeared.

With just a blur of the lights, Defiant disappeared as well.

With just as much ease as he could slip through the crowd, he caught Bells by the neck. She bounced off of the ground and fell in a heap.

One of the dogs, Cassie, leaped off of the roof of the warehouse to the ground floor, getting as far as she could before going under the sheets.

Both dogs scrupulously avoided looking at Defiant as she was carried off.

My eye over the fighting, I could see Tattletale with one hand over her mouth, and Chevalier with his sword at his shoulder. The three of them were watching the fight with an almost pitch-black stare.

I saw Echidna’s creator, the number man, Lung, get hit, only for him to rise from the ether to materialize back in his normal form. He joined Rachel, Imp, Tattletale and Chevalier, and the fight was resumed.

Bugs I’d planted on the dogs started to appear, and quickly connected to the array of wires the Mannequins and their assorted puppets were wielding. The bugs began to stir, and the puppets I’d planted started speaking.

Rationally, I knew which voices it was. He was saying he was very nearly nuking the house. No joke.

But in his head, in the moment
======================================== SAMPLE 72 ========================================
Not the way I want things to go. I had to stop to listen to my dad’s complaints about being so vaguely aware of who I was and why. I listened for them, and in that very moment, I decided on who I was. I wouldn’t tell my dad.

It was the precog who had given me my powers. Eidolon. Okay, so it had been a long time ago that he’d used his power on me, but the end result had been the same. I’d met Eidolon at some point, and we’d talked about our experiences. At some point, Eidolon had used his power on me and I’d gone with him to different parts of the country.

I’d accepted his help. I’d explained what had happened after, and he’d done it all again. He’d made me a hostage, and since then I’d barely had time to think about what he’d done and said, but I’d heard everything.

When I got my powers, I didn’t have time to think about them. I attacked the Doctor, and knowing Eidolon, I had to find his office and use it. The door was thrown open, and I joined the others in entering.

The layout was familiar. Alexandria stood behind Doctor Mother with a white mask on, a robe billowing behind her. Eidolon stood with his back to the wall, his cloak billowing around him as well. We were split in half again, the hero and villain hemming each other around the legs.

The maskless Eidolon, Alexandria and Doctor Mother all stood to one side of the Doctor. She looked like she was in her thirties, but looked like she was still in her youth. Her eyes were puffy, her blond hair was in disarray, and she had a frostbitten face with sores forming at the corners of her mouth.

"How can you stand to be near her?" Tecton asked.

"I’m not Tecton," the Doctor said, ignoring him. "I’m his equal, Alexandria."

"Must be the hassle of being both a hero and a supervillain," Wanton said.

"It’s not my place to talk tactics," the Doctor said, her voice cool. "Maybe you’ll see it that way, but I think we’ll want to end this as peacefully as we can, so you can heal up and start on your life over. We can’t hurt your teammates, we can’t hurt your Master, and we can’t hurt the Master until we know what she looks like."

"Eidolon can try to fight us, but he can’t hurt her," I said.

"I know. I asked the Doctor if she had any ideas. She gave me one."

The Doctor frowned, "She won’t say."

In a fit of whimsy, the spider-oil-like substance slid from the Doctor’s hand to slide across the smooth metal of the door. The material raised as the Eidolon’s hand touched top of the ring, Scion retaliated, punching it out of the way.

"I’m not masquerading as either a Master or a Hero," the Doctor spoke. "This is a legal lock down. Only the Master can have these devices."

"But Tattletale said you were going to Metis and Camelot."

"Right. Metis. Plus Origin’s power made those three possible."

The Doctor nodded, "Both Solitude and Camelot were hit hard, but they were operating from a distance. This is a attack from a distance. It’s going to hit them in the backs, side arms and neck. If it bleeds, it’ll get infected and make the injuries worse. They won’t be able to fight back, unless they can get to you and heal you, which is unlikely to happen. Yourlan and Relics both fell a little in that department. In terms of their general capabilities, they’re beatable, but we have to assume they have experience fighting this way."

The Eidolon-clone roared. It was a different song than the one I’d heard during the fight with Scion, a different tempo, a different theme. It was almost lionized.

But the Doctor was not looking. Scion advanced, fists clenching, and then silence.

The Echidna-parahuman turned the complex, a broad organza of shifting colors, of sound, color and image. The walls came alive with kaleidoscopic images of mouths, lit by light that slid from panel to panel
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Citrine’s defense was the only real weakness. All of it was in the formation, dispersed and incredibly light. It wouldn’t do to have her dodge it or get caught in the beam.

She made her way towards the center of the growth. In a flash, she created a conduit.

She closed it behind her, and as the growth pulsed with the noise of metal cutting metal, her body was swallowed up. It did a complete about-face, suspending the forcefield-

And then, with no further ado, she wrapped up the creature. It hung there for nearly a minute, the growling noise of its waves barely audible over the buzzing of the insectile shells, before it began to slide back towards the ground.

"It’s a new world," Citrine said.

Geoff looked between her and the angel bird. "I don’t suppose you could confirm that?"

"I can confirm that it’s strange enough to warrant a name," Citrine said.

Geoff nodded. "All the better."

Citrine smiled. "You start. About time I finish it."

She hopped down from the bird, making her way to the first growth. Geoff ducked behind her, giving his shield a shake. When he didn’t get a response, she made a grab for the next one.

He backed away, but she wasn’t quite finished. She began carving a new face into the thing, veins and all.

"Are you going to-" He started.

"I’ll do it," she said. "Yes. Do it. Because I’m done now. I’m done as a godling. I’m done as a being that wasn’t godling in the beginning."

And then she was gone, out of the building as another wave of fire ripped past her. It scraped against the exterior of the building, catching the blocks in midair, then swept them away.

Earth to Behemoth.

He struggled to his feet, then stopped.

"Geoff," she said.

He looked back toward the office, and saw her staring at him.

"Take a seat."

Geoff sat, but he could still see the scene. The script in his hand was large, and she was near enough to him to give him a bird’s eye view of the scene.

She’d carved a new face into the thing, and had slapped it in the face.

"New Face?" She asked. "You Like It?"

"It’s good," he said. "It’s good."

"New Face."

He felt his face warm up.

New Face.

"I’m going to go smoke, and you can come with?"

"I prefer to keep my health."

"That’s true," she said. "I think your well is probably fine, even if your body doesn’t look like it does. I’d rather you took my cues and follow my lead than go off on your own."

"Mm," he said, as he took the offered cigarette and lit it. He took his time handling it, glad for the occasional puff to keep him alert.

Being with Geoff was good. He was tall, and he had that confident tone to him, like he was talking to someone on a ledge or walking on a rooftop. Quieter, more measured, he spoke, "We have plans."

"Good. But I have to ask… The office parties? How many?"

"We have a regular schedule. If you want to sit and watch the television all day, that’s up to you. We’re not scheduling one right now, but I can give you a heads up if we do."

"That’s… irritating."

"It’s fine. Work with me here, or don’t work with me at all. I’m grading you on a curve, Geoff."

"Alright," he replied. He saw her fork pass through the line. "Where’s the party?"

"The-" she stopped as a particularly heavy fingernail touched her forehead.

"Don’t be moronic," he said. "A beer for everyone present, for the employees and friends of Geoff and Lacey."

"Alright. Where’s the party?"

"The-" she started again, then she stopped entirely.

He saw her fork pass through the line. She didn’t look any less questionable, wearing a jacket and loosely fitted, light weight jeans. Just a little bit
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I couldn’t say which is more disquieting, the fact that I knew and that it was so recently.

Two days ago, I would have collapsed in a heap if Brian hadn’t been so effusive in his praise. It felt too short-lived, too fleeting. Now that I felt better, I was trying to work things out, understand how he could praise me while knowing as well as he did what his employees did, that they were so disappointed and anxious in the work place.

I couldn’t say which was more disquieting, the fact that I knew and that it was so recently.

The work was frustrating, to say the least. It hadn’t been easy to find work, had been a painstaking two day endeavor, and I’d spent more time agonizing over it than I had any business, as far as the director and the bosses at the office. It was never easy to find a job, let alone two.

I’d heard so much good stuff, about Sophia, about the school, about the counselors, the staff, the programs. But nothing had prepared me for what Brockton Bay had to say.

Sophia had been a hero, had risked her life and limb to save a few of us. We’d celebrated her as a kind of virtue, putting her into the category of good people, while failing to recognize the uglier aspects of her nature. She’d snubbed us, even, in favor of loyalty and camaraderie.

When the bullying had started, she’d sought out my dad. I’d tried to push her off to another school, arguing that it was the only school that would work. I’d failed. More than that, she’d sought out my dad, and set herself against him. Working alongside her sister, trying to set things up so she could hide where she was being destructive. Listening to my father, realizing what she was doing, then trying to stop her.

Finally, after a year and a half of trying, my dad had turned to me.

"Talk to you later," I said.

I was angry, and the anger wasn’t directed at her. It was at the system, in general.

"I’m angry too," she said, and the anger in her eyes didn’t leave. "But I’d say you’re at least as much a victim as I am. As much a victim is."

And there’s the list of things she’d done, as someone who had zero involvement in her actions.

"You’re a bad person, Taylor Hebert. A villain."

"Being bad people is good," she said. The expression on her face was too human. Her eyes looked piercing, and she had puffy cheeks. At times I felt like I was looking into a living corpse. "You want to know who I was before I became Skitter? Before I was Taylor? I was a good person."

I held my tongue. She wouldn’t elaborate. What would she say? Would she reveal her real name?

"I changed. What happened?"

"A while ago, I got a call from someone I’ve been trying to keep in the dark. They said to ignore it, but that wasn’t easy. I�ve been trying to make amends, working on being more human, and it all sort of fell apart after that. So I decided to leave them some notes. Not enough to read over, but enough so I could make an educated guess. The lady who called herself Skitter informed me that she thought it would be a good idea to release you on your own, so I let you know what happened. It turned out okay. Bad form. They told me they were going to keep you in cuffs until you were old enough you could decide where you were going to go. I wonder if you could get out."

"Out of my hair, please," I said, staring at my hands.

"Sure," she answered. She sighed, rubbing her hands. "I hope it works. I’m going to be working from dawn to dusk. Maybe I’ll be poking you with my tail when I’m done."

I stared at her, still looking forward, but not in that direction. I watched the sun dip beneath the horizon, the orange-red of the setting sun dipping below green in the red-gold light of the sunrise. I could feel the moisture running down from my soaked hair, texture and heat alike, slowly swelling to envelope every part of my body.

"Do you want to go home, or should I?"

"I’m not
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You’re responding to Tattletale. I was trying to help you here."

"You’re blurring the lines between reality and expectation, Tattletale," Grue warned.

"Only a little. What do you expect is going to happen?"

"Tattletale broke the Simurgh’s curse. Taylor’s new powers. That’s going to happen. It’s inevitable."

"What happens makes a lot of sense," Tattletale said. "It could be that we survive, we’re in a position where we can escape. Regent’s alive, he’s in the middle of something, and we wind up on a small island with the guy we killed the other night. Then the players get restless and look for a new place to take the money. Or they decide they’ve done enough business in the new world and they move on."

"Maybe."

"And when they do, when they think they have a firm grasp on who’s running the city and what’s going to happen, they make a move. Maybe a big one. I’m thinking it’s inevitable, but they make a move, and they’re not terribly subtle about it. They call themselves Contessa and they make a play. They pay a high price for it, get splashed with a little acid and burned – depending on how badly they’re hurt – but it’s nothing that can’t be forgiven the next few centuries, maybe."

"You’re not talking about us," I heard Tattletale mutter under her breath.

"Not about us."

I didn’t have a response to that. There was too much going on, I wasn’t sure I could decipher it all with the bugs in the area.

"Kulshedra!" Miss Militia raised her voice. "Openiola! Openiola!"

Kulshedra opened her mouth. A forcefield appeared in it, then disappeared as fast as it had appeared. A fraction of a second later, she was floating over the city, ejecting people from their homes and the closest shelter. My bugs drowned out most of it, but the message was clear. She wasn’t here.

"Now!" Miss Militia said.

One of the capes that was guarding the room took the opportunity, throwing a forcefield between them and the door.

It took two and a half minutes for the forcefield to dissipate, and for Kulshedra to appear once again, breaking into a run.

She tore through the forcefield like it was a living grenade, leaving a carpet of rubble in its wake.

"Why?" Miss Militia asked. "Why did she put us in there? Why were we supposed to be relieved of suspicion?"

"To be clear," I said, "She didn’t tell us. She didn’t do it. I can’t be on the other side without being on the other side."

"Unless you’re here on a mission," Tattletale said. "I’m saying you were brought in here to serve this city. To help handle the case fifty-threes. If you’re here on a mission, you’re not supposed to be here."

"Don’t play dumb," Tattletale snarled. "Every time we pass a block here, we’re going to take it even further. Catch a bus to the North end, then take the tram to the Docks. Catch a bus to the South end, then take the tram to the waterfront. Catch a bus to downtown… it doesn’t matter. They have a phone, a tinker, a very good number of iPhones and load us all up with defense. Every single cape in the city is at least suspect, because the dots are getting more and more complicated to follow. Every cape that’s powerful, that’s in the right place, at the right time, is being watched, recorded. Six television channels are carrying this, every commercial candidate is covered. The New York media is doing everything they can to paint us as the bad guys, the Undersiders as the good guys, the world as being too complicated and too dangerous. The only thing that gets lost in all of this is the love story between your hero and villain. Don’t you deserve better than that?"

I could see the expression on her face, this effort to appear intimidating. She tried to redirect the gaze with her hands, but I could see the damage already done. Her upper body was clearly damaged enough to take time to heal, but the damage to her lower body was worse. The fabric of her
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The dog that watched over her shoulder moved forward, straight for Leviathan, who was sprawled on the ground. The attacker’s throat was slashed, making Leviathan’s blood run cold. The dog took this order and moved to ram the throat of the other, but both the attacker and the dog were already free of the net. The dog collapsed, bleeding, and water sprayed into his face.

The Endbringer’s attacker dropped the knife, moved forward to strike out at Leviathan again, and was disabled by the hero on the ground. The Endbringer used his afterimage to leap away, heading higher towards the helicopter that was strafing off in the midst of the firefight.

The helicopter shifted course, flying towards us. Without giving chase, it took measures to maintain a low position. My bugs told the pilot it was level, but the angle of the fall and the speed of the rip in the water limited the plane’s ability to keep level. The ground rumbled as if a solid wall had gone up, tearing through what was still a considerable area.

The steep incline continued, to the point that the chopper’s propeller was spinning out. Even with some of Dragon’s most powerful encryption, we couldn’t make her out.

"Gear," I spoke, turning off the flight pack. The pilot unfurled the device and began preparing a signal to broadcast over the craft’s communications channel. We were still a distance away, approaching the mark.

Defiant had talked about wanting to be ready for a response like we’d mobilized for Shatterbird’s attack. I wasn’t so sure we wanted something this extreme.

The ramp opened, and we descended steeply. The lower end of the ramp closed, so that we were passing over a trench of open water. Dense smoke and flames dotted the area.

"Roger," Dragon’s voice came over the comms. "Others to come. All good? Yes."

We descended to a level where the smoke and flames weren’t a threat, and we could continue proceeding on foot. The chopper’s rotors had imparted some lift, and I began budging the tarsus onto my shoulders. I wasn’t heavy enough to be carried off, but I would be easy to move.

'Were you telling yourself you’d be tough enough to fight ahead of time? If you’re bothered by the idea of dragging your brother to safety, you can opt out. We’ll bring you the supplies you need before you get near the craft. We can whisk you away with the express conditions your team agrees to. You can protest, but a loss of members would be disastrous. We can’t force this, but it would be wonderful to have the full team for the job. There’ll be a veterinarian on site if you’re going to be away from your family for a while. Your pizza delivery guy can take care of your dogs and their shots, should they need it. We can also arrange not to give you trouble, provided you don’t cause trouble, and keep your dogs large enough to travel in a vehicle, given recent circumstances. You’d be cleaning up, we’d get them some food, they’d get attention, and things would get better. Truly, we couldn’t be prouder of you.'

I opened my mouth, but no words were spoken.

'Do you need me to come? I can of course stay at the PRT headquarters if you want. I’d give helping more weight to the ‘thanks a lot’ card, if you asked me, I’d feel bad, but it’d mean a lot to me. Alone, it’s heartbreaking. With others, I can’t say for sure whether it’s better to help with your teammates or not. I can’t say whether it’s good to help or not, either way. But I can say I’ve been meaning to talk to someone, and now that I think about it, I don’t even remember the name. I would have given anything to sit down with him and talk with him for a month."

I couldn’t meet her eyes. I could see her posture and body language, the tension standing out, and I could even make out the smile.

"I guess I just want to make it clear that whatever happened to your brother, it’s okay. It’s okay to talk about what happened, even if you don’t know who or what I am."

I tried to do my best not to react, but there was no way I could prepare myself for what came next,
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She couldn’t hide the fear in her eyes any longer. She’d never had someone she could confide in like that.

"Leaving Danny and me," she said. She made it sound like a joke, almost like she was rambling. "Yes. But… Danny is only just returning, and he should be staying at the other end of the bed. I- I’m not sure exactly how you could do that. I could knock a little space out of him, or ask if he could please take a break, or-"

"Would you like tea? I have lemonade on the stove. I was going to say you should eat now, but that’s a little extreme, and it could be seen as insincere, I suppose."

"Tea? I have-" I almost started to argue, but I didn’t want to show fear or indecision.

"And I have a craving. I need to experience something, I need to get my bearings, for the summer, or at least, I’m getting off to a good start. You can give me a ride when you get back, and we can arrange a walk around the city, so I can get a sense of the city."

I was scared. Or, more accurately, I was very, very nervous. I would have missed some of what she said if I hadn’t had earplugs. The ride would have been dangerous, awkward, and it would have ended with me getting claustrophobic on the bed with the three foot gap between us.

"Please."

I gulped, swallowed, and then climbed on top of the machine.

It would be another thing I did out of guilt. Or maybe it would be something I would have wanted to do if I’d ever had a normal childhood.

The sun was rising, and the crowd was filtering into the elevators. Brian was settling in at the far end of the room, a few paces from me. Emma and her friends were making their way up the aisle at the front, the two floors above us. The three of them made their way up to the stage, backing everyone up as curfew came into effect. I could see some of my dad’s old friends from the church, now dressed in costume. They were really getting into it, dancing and yelling.

Panacea was on the toilet paper dispenser at the far end of the room, using a caustic solution to kill the infestations that had inhabited her apartment and force her to move out. She- you might have seen her. She was a woman of fifty or sixty, with a generous bust, a narrow waist and hips, a tartan skirt and high heels, and metal heels. Her blond hair was long and silver, her lipstick was smoky, and her expression was such that she could almost see the shadows of the smile on her face. She was played by an older man, stained amber.

Crawler, I thought. Did they reuse their costumes? If I remembered right, there hadn’t been any record of them wearing different costumes for the last few months, and maybe they hadn’t even been in a costume before. It said something that they’d worked so well together, but I wasn’t feeling good about this as a pair.

Panacea came to sit beside me, and she has to get a diaper taken care of, so she can sit down. She’s had her hands dirty, and it’s her top to wipe them off with.

"I’m taking off the diaper," I spoke, my voice low.

"Sit," she said, and there was a gentle voice in my ear. I belatedly realized was the sound of someone opening a door.

I pulled myself to my feet, managing to keep from opening my mouth. "What’s wrong?"

"The baby."

I didn’t deserve such a severe punishment. What had I done? Stand up for my rights? I must have been almost stupidly cruel to her.

I stopped and took a second to look at her. We were just now getting up to speed. Things had gone downhill for her, and not in the sense of people dropping off the face of the planet. For her, my dad, and for me.

I had to do two things with these new powers. The first was to somehow get to a position where I could make peace with what I’d done. The second was to get myself back on track.

I went downstairs, and through the kitchen door, I pulled the diaper off. I gave it to my dad, then handed it to my teacher as I made my way back up to the top floor.

I saw the hindsight 20,
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Noelle had to bend down and stop in her tracks as one large pane of glass fell to the ground. It shattered into pieces of splintered cypress wood, and then more shattered as it exploded into cloud. The interior was still strangely warm from the fire.

"You keep doing that," Lisa told me. "Sticking stuff in your ears."

"Yeah, I’ve done that before," I admitted.

"Seriously? It was a joke."

"I’m just saying the logic of what I was saying before wasn’t immediately obvious."

"Consider it a hint. Consider it a bonus. We add something to the costume, visual, musical or otherwise. Something to add to the look of the costume, or to make it more cinematic. You’re free to use it however you want. Just be careful to steer clear of any needles."

I nodded.

"‘I’m going to go water polo," I said, as I began to climb out of the shower. "I’m wearing an apron with a short cape, but I’ll be dry. Nice and dry."

"You a superhero?" Lisa asked.

I smiled and tucked an arm around my shoulders. "Don’t let it be said that I lack imagination. I can’t really move until I think about something, can I?"

"Especially since the last time you moved like that was in this video."

It was a good ten seconds before the two of us were alone in the living room. I took a second to gather my thoughts.

"You don’t need to go swimming."

"I don’t. It’s okay. I like to keep active."

"And it’s a nice day, outsideer."

I shrugged.

"You want to tell me about your day at school?"

"Yeah. No reaction."

"Ah." I saw a look of disappointment crossing her face.

"You know what I’m talking about, Skitter? Like, you weren’t any good at sports, you started off walking, but you got better as you got older. Um. There’s one thing you tried to do that you think might have worked, and it didn’t work out, and you have regrets ever since."

"Geez," Lisa said, "I’m a hypocrite too."

"That’s a shame," I said, looking away. I thought of how often I’d been venting to Brian about how unhappy I was in the midst of things. It had been a recurring theme, from the start).

Lisa added, "I wish I could convince you to let go of those feelings, let go of that anger, depression and whatever else. Give you a second to heal."

"No," I said. "I don’t think we can. That’s why we’re here, to talk about this, and so long as you’re unhappy, you’re unhappy alone."

"Is that so?," she asked.

"Does it matter?"

She nodded a little.

"I don’t think so," I said. "None of it matters. We’re doing better than we were a few days ago. We’re stronger, and so are the people on our team. The only ones who matter are you and me."

"You and me?" Brian asked, "You can’t be happy with someone for the rest of your life."

"Sounds like a pretty thin line to me," I said.

"So thin," Brian said, "But I’m almost glad you’re here. Because any conversation with you that’s longer than that is a conversation I want to have with my death. In the meantime, I’m caring for Noelle, and if you guys are having any trouble with your girlfriends, I can call you later and find you a therapist you can�t be bothered to listen to."

There was a pause.

"I don’t have any problems with you knowing when to stop," I said. "I don’t have any problems with you sleeping any hours."

"That’s fucking lame," Brian said. He folded his arms.

"Nod, duh?"

"Calling me lame now, it was kind of an acquired taste," I said, pulling my hair out of the loose ponytail I’d had it cut, "But yeah. I don’t have any problems with you sleeping any hours, and you can go pick up your dog.
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Anyone who lives in Brockton Bay or the surrounding cities needs to brace themselves for a long summer. The current situation is particularly harsh, and the air is loaded with chemicals and allergens. Those of you with sensitive skin or those who live in the homes and apartments near the beaches need to prepare for stings and mild to severe reactions if you are caught in the dispersal. If you are visiting Brockton Bay for any longer than you have to, you should prepare for second thoughts. The negative effects of the fires and the cleanup are still with you, and there is no guarantee that the fires will be quenched nor that the cleanup efforts will clean up enough of the toxic effects to be worth the effort.

The good news is that Brockton Bay and the surrounding area is brimming with life. Newlyweds, longtime residents, young professionals and anyone else who isn’t in the planning stages of life are already making new friends, making new connections or forming new relationships. Couples are forming or finding new couples for the first time. More than that, there is a great deal of creativity and the possibility for new styles of expression to emerge as far as fashion goes. All of this is possible thanks to the loosely knit, loosely controlled, but potentially lucrative, Brockton Bay Vending Machines. The bad news is that while virtually every machine has stopped running, shortages of supplies and damaged machines mean that infrastructure will be necessary to get things going again. This involves establishing new connections to existing infrastructure, paying the fees for the necessary supplies and paying the rent for the machines that will serve as banks and clearinghouses. More information is required to fully understand the nature of the machines and the underlying technology. For more information on the banks and clearinghouses, go to page [here].

The Protectorate team is here. If you are coming alone, be advised that we cannot provide you lodging. At least three sub-officers have been dispatched to you, as have three attorneys, if you wish to pursue further claims. We urge you toroup and pursue this before further delays occur."

The crowd had grown to include a wide variety of people, all sitting or standing around the table at the same table. The principal of Brockton Bay High School sat at the head of the table. Jessica Valente, Jessica’s sister and Ms. Veasey, the principal of Ocean View High School. Mr. Kayne, the head of the PRT, looked to the two teenage PRT officers and asked them, "Given the above, can I suggest that you, as a delegate, should handle the following?"

The three officers listened, all of them very careful, while Mr. Kayne spoke, "In regards to the first point, I would like you to understand that the PRT is in a league of its own. It’s a specialized, budget-conscious, police force with a heavy presence in the west end of the city. It is you guys’s responsibility to keep the peace and ensure that the right persons are receiving the proper treatment. This may include, but is not limited to, medical care, food, lodging, and better service to animals. Certain individuals will be permanently disabled, requiring periodic care and a willingness to work for the duration. This is under consideration and will be addressed at a later date. For now, we could make the following tentative offers:

▼ Prostitution: Mandatory rehab, no exceptions.

▼ Illicit drug dealing: Shelters, cars and trucks are available.



Mr. Kayne accepted the deals with a rueful smile and a nod, but his smile fell slightly when he looked at his wife. "You’re talking about the transports, I take it?"

Ms. Veasey frowned, "The transports are a different matter."

"We’re talking short-term rentals," his wife reassured him, "Not a person in this room could afford to stay here for any length of time. It would require a monthly income of three hundred dollars, which would be difficult to justify when the city is this sorry."

"Might be okay for you to discuss it afterwards," he suggested.

"Undoubtedly. I’m looking for Cauldron, here. They have a device that could let me make a person smarter, but I need a sample size. Have them power off any surveillance cameras in the building, and I’m going to send you footage."

"Okay," his wife said, "You’re getting what you wanted. This could have a lot of potentially valuable information for you, if you’re into that."

"If I’m into that?"

"You’re obviously one of the people they looked up on the internet. That’s what I was speaking to when I suggested we investigate the Birdcage."

Brian nodded, "That�
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An avian lifeform that had apparently escaped into our world, maybe. It had left tufts of bark and charcoal where it had entered the buildings, at the corners of streets and rooftops. With no doubt, it was preparing to carve a path in the cityscape for the foreseeable future.

I was reminded of another familiar face. I recognized the man standing a short distance away, his back was to us, and he was clutching a shotgun to his chest.

We’d approached a block and a half back, and Glaistig Uaine was nowhere to be seen. Was she asleep?

I scanned the archway, looking, not asking.

When I saw what I was looking for, I gave the signal. A push, and I knew what I was looking for. The Lung that was kneeling beneath the column.

I found it. Glaistig Uaine was retrieving something. The wood of the planks was taking it all together, as if it were wrenching a screw. Had she watched her back?

I stopped, tense, all my focus on the planks. If they opened properly, they’d weld down to the wood, leaving the framework to hold the structure together. If they didn’t, well, it wouldn’t be a column, but a shelf of solid wood, bolted to the concrete behind the archway.

I started to move to the edge of the arch, hunched over as I looked at the top of the wood. I could see Defiant staring at me.

"Stay," Grue ordered.

Alone, I readied to leap in the panic I felt at the thought, but I remembered what Tattletale had said. Knowing what we needed to do, together.

I took a second, then made my way to the wood. It wasn’t strong, it wasn’t remotely stable, which was perhaps better than what I’d hoped for. All of the advantages of being entirely alone.

I reached up, until I found the backbone of the planks. I knelt, connecting the backbone to the wider planks, then I began laying them out on top of one another.

What did it say if I succeeded in this? If the plan was solid enough? If it wasn’t going to collapse under the weight of the metal?

I suspected I wouldn’t get that chance.

Still, it was better than nothing. I began preparing tools, preparing what would be my weapon of choice.

It took me a second to get my bearings.

My first real look at the system since we’d set foot in the Birdcage back in Earth Bet. Everything was on the same scale in space and time, both to us and everything around us. The only thing beyond was the ever-increasing pressure, the ever-expanding chamber.

The tools I had on hand I began preparing with. My first real aid kit.

The blueprint I’d found on page one of the Birdcage. It was simple, a straight line, almost indiscernible in terms of its length.

But knowing what I did of the possible powers, I could see where the length fit.

The second I had my bearings, it was already forming the backbone of my work. I began sketching it out, keeping the length as a guide, as I drew out the other powers.

It wasn’t until I was almost done that I found the other page. Versions of it, with variations in the abilities, powers bonus, effects and dimensions.

The page with the extended length of the telekinetic storm, with a new, extended region sealed off and occupied by the ‘fully powered’ individual.

My efforts to copy that telekinetic power were cut short as a momentary pain in the ass from Aboveus caught us from orbit. We tumbled, and as much as the spring and subsequent fall could have been because of our misjudges, we were interrupted from our course.

The pain in his asshole kicked back into gear, with involuntary movements from every part of his body. With his free hand, Aboveus drew a blunt weapon, the long blade in his right hand, and began frantically shooting at some unseen enemies.

"He’s taking our teleporter," Tecton gasped.

"And our hostage," I said. "We don’t have any idea where he’s going to get them, and he has a way of getting to us if he chooses."

"How do we stop him?"

"There’s no way he can stop where he’s," Tattletale said. "We don’t have time. We stop him in the area and we give him
======================================== SAMPLE 99 ========================================
Returning to the subject of my dad, I asked, "How’s your dad?"

"He went out to dinner and drinks with his friends this morning. They should be back this afternoon, so he can setup the next phase of our financial planning. Financial planning that actually works!" Her smile was so full I was almost imagining it.

The other sisters exchanged looks between them as they exchanged looks on the cellphone. I couldn’t bring myself to care. I wasn’t sure if it was the distraction of realizing my dad was out of town or a sign of things to come.

I really didn’t want to hang around here anymore, because I’d gone over these circumstances many times before, and I wasn’t about to take any more chances.

"You don’t want to say?" the girl on the other end of the phone asked.

"No. I- I guess I’m not sure what I’m going to do anymore. I guess I’m leaving."





Migration 17.3


If you looked at Brockton Bay as a patchwork of stellar and squalor, desperate people struggling in the midst of it all, the city would look at least as precarious as it does now. The same textures, same smells, the same unevenness, even the very ground would be dripping with blood.

Yet beneath all the violence and the ugliness, there was a commonality. The same sorts of people lived side by side, through similar paths.

I’d come to terms with that fact early on in my stay in Brockton Bay. I’d heard about the gangs, seen the reports on the news, but I’d also heard about the sicknesses, the gang related deaths that hadn’t yet been investigated or addressed in any depth. I’d seen the pictures, but had seen too many gruesome end results before.

I’d known when I’d seen Lung in the news, but I had been in the dark about just how bad the damage was getting. Now I could see the damage done. The scars, the shattered bones, shattered teeth, consumed clothing, the smoking body parts of the burned, mutilated or pulverized flesh. The damage to the entire city.

The damage to the various gangs was secondary in importance to the primary goal I was trying to achieve. I just had to get people to focus on that end of the bargain. Convince them that it wasn’t just the man who got off scott-free, but them as a group as a whole. Convince them that it was okay to attack anyone who threatened the peace.

Incidents like the Wards’ recent attack on an elementary school had brought that to the forefront of my mind. The kids who’d been at the school were heroes, if I was remembering right. The fact that they’d been so casually cruel and unapologetic showed just how much money and prestige they had.

The adults, though? I felt like they were victims, just as much as the kids were like me.

It was a gamble, with a great deal of risk to it. Making the kids turn on the Wards and openly confront them about what had possibly pushed them to that extreme was a part of that gamble. If anything led to them turning on me, it was a part of the redemption process.

I looked them in the eyes as I said my piece. "You know I’m doing this for you, doesn’t matter. It’s your call. I’ll do this for you, and if you want to push me to that limit, I’m okay with that. I can keep tweaking and adding to you, untangling your emotions and giving you new motivations at the end of it all."

I looked them in the eyes. I wasn’t emotionless, but I wasn’t going to show it.

"I can’t promise the changes won’t make the damage you’ve already done or people who come after you."

"Okay."

"It’s your prerogative. Use it. But don’t fuck it up."

"I’m a pacifist. I don’t commit murder."

"If you don’t have powers, then don’t commit murder. But don’t get me wrong. I don’t think you’d be having much of a choice in the matter. The whole thing with you being a villain and now your powers is that it’s your run of the mill shit. You’d be joining a club that emphasizes crime, crime only helps make it that much harder
======================================== SAMPLE 3 ========================================
Google+: https://www.google.com/forum/?topicid=288668761#msg288668761 Communities & Pages: http://www.commondat.net/~mgeorge/ Greets: http://www.google.com.ca/groups/d/?from= toall :3133607325:, http://www.meetup.com/RestorationProtector/ Disclaimer: My views on the subject of Cauldron and the Endbringers are my own. Links in discussion threads are not to be taken as statements of fact. Public Disclosure: I have sparing to spare, and will dedicate at least five percent of my earnings to protecting & paying for this facility. Link:

► XxVoid_CowboyxX (At Ground Zero: Brockton Bay)

Replied on July 6th, 2011:

@Void_Cowboy

You have to understand, the people with the answers can’t be bullshitting you. As good as they are at manipulating others, they can’t afford to deceive anyone who gets in their way. The people with the most basic knowledge about powers & powers abilities have years and decades of combined experience to pick from. They know the basics of powers, they know the basics of who & what is happening, they can mentally analogize the present moment to a time & place & tap into that mental picture ToM 4630837. They have this mental picture & they’re savvy about it. If I’m being perfectly honest, I’m not 100% on top of things, and I’m not 100% convinced it’s something that’s easily obtainable.



► Laser Augment (At Ground Zero: Brockton Bay)

Replied on July 6th, 2011:

Just a few minutes ago, I helped stop Doctor Mother from wounding Pearl in broad daylight. If you’re interested, I had a few questions.



► Vantage (Cape gatherer)

Replied on July 6th, 2011:

When I saw the dance involved, I knew this would go somewhere.

► Everyone (Veteran member)

Replied on July 6th, 2011:

All the more reason to keep TdA going!

► DrMAL

Replied on July 6th, 2011:

We’re down to the wire. I’m going to land a higher power flight if I can, count it as a favour.



► DrMAL

Replied on July 6th, 2011:

Got much harder to train with the group as a whole.



End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 … 241, 242, 243

■

♦ Private message from GstringGirl:

GstringGirl: i just wanted to say how much i appreciate the help you guys rendered. i have 3 dork teenagers that admiringly call you dork.

DrMAL: You there, little one? i salute you.



■



♦ Topic: Who’d you lose?

In: Boards ► Places ► America ►Brockton Bay Discussion (Public Board)

Brocktonite01 (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (At Ground Zero: Brockton Bay)

Posted on June 29th:

I’m not a expert when it comes to either the heroes or the villains, but i can tell you this – we lost some big.

Tattletale grepped out her hair, then smiled.

Skitter: ((( (Chevalier)))

Brocktonite01 (Veteran Member) (At Ground Zero: Brockton Bay):

Nobody I’m familiar with is leaving with any illusions that we’ll be protected, and that’s despite the fact that the Jackal specifically asked for us to be there. The Undersiders specifically asked for us to be there.

(Shit))



End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 … 241, 242, 243

■



♦ Topic: Who’d you lose?

In: Boards ► Places ► America ►Brockton Bay Discussion (Public Board)

Brocktonite01 (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (At Ground Zero: Brockton Bay)

Posted on June 30th:

Nobody I’m familiar with is leaving with any illusions that we’ll be protected, and that’s despite the fact that the Jackal specifically asked for us to be there. The Undersiders specifically asked for us to be there.

(Shit))



End of Page.
======================================== SAMPLE 6 ========================================
Strictly speaking, it was a class-A threat in the same way a Caesarian was a threat to domestic pigs. But even in the minds of the average Joe Pitt, a Maggie Harper or an Angela Basset could rank among the more frightening people in the world. She was something else entirely.

A five-year-old girl, on the other hand… she was normal, she was competent, she had friends, she had a proper feeding history, which was more rare, and she had powers.

In short, she was powerful.

"Angela," I called out.

There was a pause.

"Mrs. Padillo," she replied. "Is everything okay?"

"It’s fine," I said, "Everything’s good."

"Take care of yourself. In a few hours, we’ll be out of here."

I nodded. I headed outside.

The feed showed me a blurry image of Grant and Spitfire, with the other members of the Wards standing back, watching. A minute passed as the scenery outside the window took on a red hue.

"They’re talking," Tattletale said.

"Me too," I said.

"Really," she said, sighing. "A lot going on out there. I’m worried. Grant will be making an announcement on the way back."

"Uncertain," I said. "Lots of bad luck, too."

"How are you supposed to know?"

"I try, every day," I said. I looked at the spruce and hardwood trees that dotted the outside of the log home. "Sometimes it’s easy, sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes it’s quick, sometimes it’s slow. But I know. I know what to look for. If there’s trouble, I know."

A few feet in from the door, there was a thud from the front door, followed by the sound of a heavy book being closed and slammed.

The feed turned on, Verbuzzi using the hand that was supposed to stroke his beard.

Verbuzzi, still using his hand, moved his fingers to stroke his nose. "I told you to keep your eyes open. I wasn’t sure if you’d come back."

"No," I said. I hit the door with my toe.

The door opened. Tattletale was outside, walking towards us. She shook her head at the opposite end of the log.

"How did you get in?" she asked. She tapped the butt of her gun twice with one hand, and the thick wood of the door began to rotate, the plate of wood bending and breaking.

"I pushed and I could feel the reaction. They tagged the door just above the walk-in freezer. Jaw and kneecap. Tree’s down, delivery inside is pinned."

"I know. How did they tag the door?"

"Thawing inside will slow them, but they’ll expose the pad and window on the right. With that, we’re in. You have a choice?"

I hesitated.

"If you say no, they’ll use the blanket of metal to seal the door. We climb through."

"No," I agreed. "Yes."

She nodded, and moved as if she were going to follow. She was more physical than I was, even with her sweater sweated and her bare legs damp from the recent run. I wasn’t prepared to let her go this high, but I was willing to let criminals like her go where they needed to be rescued.

It was a bad idea, to have her use her power on people in the same way Skitter had, but this was a matter of life and death in my eyes. My bugs could sense the Nine approaching. They were inside the hallway, and I had a broad window of opportunity. I could get Grue into the building, help with the chain of grates and the floors of the cellar. I could get Regent and Imp into the same room, and support others with the wounded and dying.

I descended to the ground, knowing I’d see the PRT uniforms on the stairs. I opted to climb down instead, taking the path to the next floor.

─

While walking through the area, I had my camera and the two bugs I’d kept close to me. Without even asking, the girl in the black cloak had reached through the wall and made her way inside. I stopped, let my ears absorb the music, starting to buzz in preparation for the speech the girl had prepared.

"We gathered here so you couldcuddle? Lem
======================================== SAMPLE 9 ========================================
The day I decided to try my hand at being a hero and save people, there was a phone call.

An editor atan magazine had told me that they were running a feature on me. I was the only identifiable face on the article, and I was the only person who could decide if it was true. I was even named as the source, which meant people were going to believe anything Iote said.

I was angry, I was horrified, and I was stunned.

"That’s not funny," my dad said, from the other side of the phone.

I started typing out a response. Translated, it read, "Are you serious? That’s not funny, Taylor?"

"I can’t do stand up to that much heat."

"Do you have a better idea?"

"I’m pretty sure. Yes. A better idea was that I’d share my method for fighting back, with the idea that you could experiment and come up with better tools, like laser swords or something. But you’ve seen how I get when I fight. I won’t say it was due to malice, but I think maybe I was influenced by my curiosity more than anything else. Maybe this new knowledge about you will help."

"Rick, come in. Do me a favor, and don’t tell me you’re coming over to my apartment and that you’ll use my computer to find me in my sleep."

I felt my face heat up, and in that moment, the room started to darken. The occupant became more dark, the shadows deeper. Mirrors, I thought, or lenses.

The ambient noise of clocks ticking and screensavers displayed on the computer screen was worse. The ambient hum of the man’s electronic monitoring system dropped off, and the only noises were the scratching of the covers, the sound of television, and the sound of sheets creaking.

The roomfell into a silence that was mutually agonizing. I tried to speak, and emotion caught my voice. I wanted to say it with the calm, calm before I said it, the vague idea that I should say it, and failed. I wanted to react, to react, and again, I found myself struggling. I didn’t want to leave the room, not without backup, but I didn’t have a better way of contacting my teammates.

I kicked the chair, and instilled some discipline and order in my troops, stepping away from the monitors, and directing them to the door. They began leaving the room, arguing aloud.

"Cocky motherfuckers," Rick said. "You coming or not?"

I wasn’t sure I was hearing the sounds right. Cocky, I thought, when I realized he’d just called me by my handle. Not wanting to get mercilessly disrespected, I hadn’t said anything.

"No. Sign me up. Whatever happens, whatever decisions I make, they’re going to read the results and think along the same lines. That’s natural, isn’t it, thinking along those lines? That’s how you build a predictive model. Psychological pressure. The powers are just a drop in a bucket. If my hand starts shaking, or if I start losing my coat, or if I start feeling bad, dropping into that general category, then I’m going into the category you allude to. I’m just saying we’re all brainwashed."

I waited for him to get angry, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked at the monitors, turned a corner to grab the phone I’d brought to my hand, and looked away. When he was out of earshot, his head snapped around.

"See?" he smiled.

"What am I going to do?"

"Send them to the Birdcage. No question. Just do what I need to, and we send them home."

"I could do that."

I considered a moment, then nodded.

"It’s midnight. They might want to start the lights out again."

"Runneth over?" he growled.

I nodded, once.

"When the fighting stops, they’re going to re-examine the evidence. I might have said by the time I was done, but I’m almost done. I should be up and ready the moment the doors close."

I was. I pried the folders off the stand, holding the paper bags under one arm. Putting the paper bags in the trunk, I passed them through the passenger door.

Once I had the bags in hand, I started tearing the jackets apart, as if
======================================== SAMPLE 12 ========================================
Dad stopped what he was doing and looked to me. "Something to ask you about?"

"Something to that," I said, my voice quiet.

He looked almost disappointed. "I don’t… know where to go from here. With everything that’s happened, even if I got arrested and sent to prison, school, work, life, it’s pretty hard to make friends anymore. It… feels like everyone has their group going out with the army knife, throwing shade, jabbing at you, verbally abusing you."

I let my words hang in the air for effect.

He went on, "So what I’m thinking is that we’d better get this over with, quick, because it isn’t looking good."

"What are you thinking, Dad?" I asked.

"I’m not sure I like this, but I like it. It’s what our group was going for. We were staying in the Blacklist, outside of the bad guy’s influence, for the most part. I like the Blacklist better, even. But you’re closer to home, and we’re on the same page. It’s healthier."

"So you’re willing to tolerate his?"

I’d agreed with my dad on one level, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep that arrangement permanent. I glanced at the kids, at Charlotte, and my mind was always elsewhere. I forced myself to keep my eyes on the kids, instead. I could tell that one of Sierra’s drawings, from a few days ago, had Grunkle in a less formal pose.

"I don’t like it, but I can live with it," Charlotte said.

"But your mom and I think it’s pretty ugly, and there’s a lot of screaming and twisting and barging in and out and making noise that’s not nice to listen to, and it’s distracting me all the damn time. So I’m okay with it. I’m also okay with you taking extra caution when you drop by, reading and practicing in the privacy of your own room, or keeping me informed by phone about anything that comes up in the next hour or so. Maybe something swims by. Exercise will help."

"Okay," I said. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. I had to console myself that I’d told Sierra to drop by so they could talk it over. It was good that she was okay, but… right?

"I’m taking over your day to day life and errands for the next little while, but you have to let go of many things to give me full attention. I’ll want to make dinner as easy as I can, see to your clothes, and help with the house. I’ll listen to you through the grapevine, I’ll help look after Bryce and Grunkle, but I’ll start making dinner as soon as I can. If I can’t finish it by five, I’ll finish it anyways."

"I was telling mom you should help Sierra."

"I have to."

"I’m not sure you’re up to it, and I’m not sure you’re up for the change."

"I’ll go," she said.

"I’m okay where I am. Can we just leave you to it?" I asked. "You’re not being stubborn."

"I’m being consistent. It’s what I do."

"And you’re staying here with me. You’re not taking your costume with you, but you’re taking the step up your standard of living, right?"

"I can’t take your glasses with me unless you want me to keep looking after my eyes while I run."

"No hard feelings if you want to go," I said.

"It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s that-"

"I’m not bothered at all," I said. I handed over the glasses.

"Thanks."

"So your old weapon is an extension of your dysphoria?" I asked.

Charlotte shook her head. "No. Just busy with her."

"Okay. We can switch back to regular forms asap."

"I was hoping you’d manage with this helter-skelter before I passed out," she said.

"You’re high, and I’m just a little bit off kilter,
======================================== SAMPLE 15 ========================================
Recoverable the only source of information about the hunter. How? What tools do they have? Where?

The answer was clear. Every step of the way, they’d had an objective. They’d known they could make it on sight, and they’d used that knowledge to advance the objective further.

The weapon’s range was limited. Only a small fraction of the globe were actually affected, the entire moon was off-limits, and there was nowhere on the moon to go but down. The pellets would only fly so far, and they would only cut their intended targets in half if they fell short.

It was a deadly serious weakness.

And there were other, more insidious, dangers. The agents could be crippled at the simplest levels, rendering them unable to use their full potential.

In this fashion, the hunters would achieve a range of benefits, diminishing returns and a break in performance at every turn.

The agents would achieve a level of cooperation and communication that had eluded them, until they turned away from Purifier. There would be no closer kinship than there was between a group of prisoners and the people who kept them company. There would be no violent retaliation for attacks on their part.

For this, as for so many things, the agents felt numb.

■

The Reporter drew an arrow out of his sleeve. He drew it from the sketchy, uneven handwriting that remained.

He folded it back over himself, then padded over to the other end of the writing instrument, pencil in hand.

He raised the pencil, then wrote the following words on the body of the paper:

agent 3.2


"Calm down, Purifier. We’re not going to fight."

The words were just as he’d written them when he’d spoken with the agents in the bank. He wasn’t sure whether to be glad that he was typing it or relieved.

On a related topic, what was he waiting for?

Purifier 32+


"Thank you, John. You know Agent Long. Allan here has been putting in extra shifts to help cover for me, and this is what he could provide? Easy money, guaranteed for a small amount of damage done. If you think this would be a good idea, and the money is available, I’ll cover the cost of the first week’s wages for those men who can’t or won’t fight. Perhaps we could include a tip in the deal, along the lines of a felt-tip money belt or something? We’re getting more aggressive with the prisoners we hold, and it’s quite possible you could see your client’s name cleared as being one of the charges."

"Can we use it? Can’t we?"

"We can, of course. But giving up the protection would be forfeiting this for nothing."

Agent Long smiled, leaning back in his seat.

"You’re growing to like that thing about the inside. TV shows and movies about the prisoners, descriptions of the people inside, the terrible things they’ve done… it gets you excited, and when the news gets around, you think it’ll happen again."

"I know it is," Long said. "But it isn’t helping us right now. You’d think they’d let me out before, would give me some rope I could hang myself with, a way to cut out the middleman. A way to get free among the enemy."

"Weaver," Director Piggot spoke.

Long chuckled, "You run into similar issues, Director. There’s no way we can cut and paste all of the information into the computer without wiping everything."

"There are a number of ways around that," Piggot said. She frowned. "I won’t even bet on which one it was."

Long gestured toward the A.I.

The woman frowned.

"May I?" Piggot asked me.

I nodded.

Long took the folder and started carrying it like she was. She looked at me and I nodded.

She looked at Director Armstrong’s file, then looked down at the papercraft man.

"Go ahead," Piggot said.

The two men made their way out of the office. Long stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to say, "Your turn."

They walked out of the office and crossed the street.

Long: $25,000, 34% of which are to be divided among the eight members of the team, with bonuses for outstanding balances.



Armstrong: Paid off.

Armstrong: Paid off.

======================================== SAMPLE 18 ========================================
It was her's to have fun with the whole thing.

The crowd roared their approval.

"Aww," Clockblocker said. "You sure?"

"She’s calling the shots, but we’re still getting the reputation we deserved."

"Relegated to the bottom of the funnel, just like that."

"I’m not complaining," Clockblocker said. "Who’s the real queen here? I mean, I’m not saying Weaver’s ever going to be king, but she’s at the point where she can actually rule, right?"

"She’s the one with the balls to rule," Vista said.

Vista was insulting your girlfriend. Calling her silly.

"I’m saying Weaver’s at the point where she can rule," Clockblocker said. "I’m not saying she’s the one with the power to get out of that kind of situation. At least, not yet."

"Queen?" Someone asked.

"The one with the power," Clockblocker said.

"Right."

The lights abruptly went out.

"Organ charge halted," Clockblocker reported. "Only two capes left. One’s with us. It’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard. No powered person left."

"I can see through your eyes," Clockblocker said. "You can’t see through anyone’s eyes."

"Can’t, but I can make a mental picture of things. You’re not looking at anyone’s face, so the question is asking who else you’re looking at. In your shoes, probably someone you don’t want to get close to."

"Oh god," a girl said. "They’re going to-"

"I’ll-"

We stopped, waiting. Rei had gone still. The lights had gone out.

"Wait," a man said.

A light shone through the darkness. Krouse stepped forward, cautiously.

A yellow-white glow ensued.

Krouse looked down at the police officer. He aimed his gun, and shot. The gun ricocheted off of the ground, spearing into the air.

A dent in the wall. The glow was still there, vigorous, threatening to harden the floor.

Another light, from above.

Another light, from above.

And another from below. A metallic, almost clay-like glow.

Krouse could see in other worlds. He could see people’s eyes, hear their shouts.

The glow dissipated, and he could hear the bass rumble of the blood braid as the body disappeared into the booby-trapped space.

There was only ash, still warm, warm despite the shockwave and the exertion.

Krouse stared up at the sky, fingers raised to the sky in a figure that would have been unreal to him just a moment ago.

He knew, now, that he’d only be able to stabilize this situation if the darkness was cut. Krouse could only trust that he could help to maintain the gloom, help keep the people safe, and if they began screaming at the top of their lungs, he’d put together an artificial ceiling in time and boom. Ensure that everyone could hear them.

He’d known the battle would start soon. He supposed it was only icing on a cake that had been waiting to happen.

We’re so slow, Krouse thought. You’d think the people in charge would take notice and step up the pace of this, but even the most powerful man had to stumble here and there.

He must have looked sad, thinking about the end of the world.

No. It was part of the game.

He rose from his seat, reaching for the box that hung above his head. He pushed it open with a clink.2

Cranial had replaced his dentures, and it took some doing to slide the lid of the box into place. It was like replacing a toothpaste, an effort of will, and even that, going further, required both willpower and strength.

Krouse had no time to think. He hurried to the front of the classroom, ignoring the students to get close enough to get the lid off.

There was a tink and a clink, and then the door of the box. Inside was a flash of white, the beginning of the end.3

The school was in a mall, much like it had been when he’d been a toddler. A woman was selling costumes with one of
======================================== SAMPLE 21 ========================================
I lost track of time. I was waiting for one of the others to catch up, then I would have to admit I was tired, and that wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Lonely, even. I didn’t have a home anymore, not even a comfortable one, and the closest thing I had to a family was teasingly on the verge of ruining that.

How long could Dinah be expected to hold on?<|endoftext|>Fitness tracker, running shoes and sandals: anything goes when journeying to the beach. You can wear whatever you want, as long as it’s not naff or unsuitable for hiking.

It was a rainy day, but the weather station wasn’t working as the crew from the Dragonfly had pointed out. They had made it clear they didn’t want GPS coordinates logging their every move, so the station had been left largely in the dark.

Just past the giant stainless steel water tower, there was a small crowd of people, many of whom were from the Docks. Merchants and shop owners, residents. Some cosigned the deal, paying thirty one dollars for a month’s supply of the stuff.

It was a bad idea. The prices charged for other goods in the mall were high, and people who paid for a product on a relative level would pay more for it, if it was formulated and engineered in a way that it made their bodies or diets an insulator. The end result was that the people in the crowd were pretty insensate, already feeling the rich smells of the food, the sounds of the shoppers and the movement of the air as they ventured outside the building. There wasn’t anything to do.

They weren’t excited to be out and about. There were beachballs to be had, but nobody was really paying attention to that, I could see. Most were gathered in a broad humanoid shape, watching everything through metal grates and sticking their hands in piles of money as they played slots at slots and bought breadcrumbs.

I felt a pang of jealousy, not for the jealous person, but because I idly wondered how much of what they were doing was just to stay out of my way and avoid me.

"We have to walk before we can go anywhere," Lisa said. "We can go downtown, visit the Docks."

"No), we’re staying at the Ferry," I said. "There’s nothing to say about that here."

"Huh. So it’s like it’s at the Docks, but at least there’s a job to do."

"Right."

We gathered at the station. A little raised, to give more ground to my shadow state, and a little lowered to give me more ground to cover. A change to the weather, and the flowers that were bursting forth from the windows all around us glittered. The city was pretty and it gave me a mental picture of what was going on around me, more than the actual flowers. I could look at the real flowers and think, Wow, these are pretty.

As much as I didn’t want to, I collected the walking sticks, which were small, placed them on the metal rail of the train, and then stepped out into the rain and snow.

"If you want to donate, that’s fine. But I’m not sure what I’m going to do with the sticks, if you’re going to ask."

"They’d be nice to keep," Brian said.

"They are," Lisa replied. She was pedaling her bike faster than the others, now. She seemed to get what Brian was doing, "Just don’t take them from me."

I looked at the remaining members of our group. Brian was Canadian, a little out of place, but he fit in well with the ‘us’ of the group, the old school, the staunchly conservative. Lisa, with her ponytail and serious expression, was a little too comfortable, "Do you have a choice between taking a stick and using a brick of badger’s hair?"

"A stick is common enough, I figure I’ll least deny it’s there, and it’s got a little, like, two-oh-seven looking-six-five-one." The badger wasn’t really speaking. It was hard to hear over the noise of the swarm and the chirps of people talking, "What are you talking about?"

"The stick is like, pencil thinner, but with fish. The fish, um, aren’t exactly enunciated, and I’m wondering if they’re going to start out as fish and end up with some enunciation problem. Like
======================================== SAMPLE 24 ========================================
***Disclaimer***

I don’t own the world or the bad guy characters.

Panacea was the luckiest woman you’d ever meet. She had it all – she was married, had a kid, was currently in the process of raising the kid she always knew she would never have – but she had also got all the way through rehab, and had no plans to get sober again. That meant she was healthy, whole and well.

Jack Slash was the opposite. He was single, now, though he had dated several women, most recently Cat’s Eyes, and he had been Villa’s friend, not long before that had been the disco dinner in Brockton Bay. He was bald now, still covered in the white and green tattoos that had followed the incident at the town hall, and he had a scratch on his face from the lightning strike that had followed the fall of the building. I like him. I just didn’t want to be his friend anymore.

Lying across the couch, our fictional Nathan had taken it in stride, as if sharing an observation or even a joke, appearing in every moment between the cot and the floor. For anyone who had followed the events of the last few days, that was a revelation; Nathan had stopped attending school, had stopped answering calls, was now content with staying home and being alone. We’d thought we knew the worst about the bullying, that we knew the Commentary had only pulled strings to get our teacher fired, only their reality was completely different. We’d known the boy to be egotistical, narrow-minded, dangerous.

But now we knew enough. We suspected there was something else at play, something that would land our little hero in trouble at some point. For now, he was safe, secure, a beloved uncle to a people who had few things to fear from him.

For now.

We needed to know what the fallout from this would be. If this was a test to determine if the boys could handle the emotional toll, and the verdict was negative, then it would be emotional as well.

If this was a second test, then the test was about the same for both Cody and Marissa. If Nathan had any idea about what to expect, then we could have a crisis of confidence.

"Nate," Krouse said. "You’re at my mother’s workplace. I doubt Melody’s coming."

"Okay," Nate responded. "Okay.’

"You’re going to be somewhere in the back."

Nate shook his head. "Back?"

"Somewhere private. You’ll be alone with me."

"This is blackmail?"

"Pretty much."

"And I can’t leave without it."

"And I can’t leave without knowing that you’d pull something."

"You’ll have to. Some day, Jacob, I hope, you will have a request, a request from someone important."

"You’d have to be… since you have a taste for power, I guess?"

"Since when does power qualify? When you’ve taken a step forward, did anyone else really say they’d be single-minded?"

"I’m not saying I like Power, or that I’d be doing anything if I had powers, or that I don’t think it’s good that you’re power-driven, or that I don’t respect you for it, but… you’ve spent more time around her than anyone I’ve worked with. You’ve spent time trying to take her down, doing what you could to shepherd her into the West End. I’m telling you that if you want to keep her, she’ll come back."

"You think she’ll come back?" His eyes were wide. "Or is this a ploy on my part?"

"I can’t tell. I’m playing into your hands. Trying to convince you’d do something if you got the chance."

"Whatever."

"And I think you’d be a good enough actor to understand that."

"Okay." He hugged his arms against his body, looking down at the couch. "We didn’t get that long?"

"Not that long."

"I’ve seen the end result. You’re one of the most destructive people I’ve worked with, and you’ve been through a lot more than a few trigger events."

"I don’t know if I’ve even come close to experiencing a trigger event."

"Knowing when
======================================== SAMPLE 27 ========================================
Also, I know X says sorry goes to Z, but I don’t get it. What is wrong with this person? And if Z says sorry goes to Z, can’t say anything about how sorry goes to other people, what does that say about the kids?"

The kids? I almost thought there was a word, a preposition, like yes or no, but I let myself switch mental gears and look at the kids as nine year olds.

"Sorry" is a softer word. I digress. It doesn’t quite fit. It sounds more like I want to let myself borrow that kid’s heart and forget about fucking up their lives because I can.

I let myself sink into that thought, because it meant I could distract myself from my genuine concern about the well-being of the kids. I could ignore the screaming in my head, which had been deafening, throbbing, with a ferocity that it would be hard to cover with words. The notion that I might have to kill the kid’s abusive, heartless, shitty mother-son duo, that it would be about as bad as losing a loved one, now that I thought about it.

The urge to shoot rocket propelled grenades into their heads never left me. It was one of the first and biggest negative changes I could accept, to let myself drop the wall between my mind and reality and start shooting. To make a mental note of every child in that room, shooting them in the face until they had the age of two. Because possibly one of us were going to make it out okay, one of us was going to get to shoot and survive.

The first bomb went off just past the front door. The explosion didn’t make much noise, but it got me thinking about how lethal force was going to be.

The explosion hadn’t killed or nearly wounded any of the people I’d told to keep running because I wasn’t sure what to tell them. I could remember Officer Chilton telling me to keep talking, to convey a message across all of America, even if I wasn’t sure how. I didn’t follow his advice, but I’d taken his word for it. I stopped altogether. I could live with that, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep telling myself that there was a message there that I just didn’t understand.

The explosion had destroyed the front door of the store, but I could see someone getting helped to his feet outside. I took that person’s silence for welcome, and used it to ask for someone’s name.

"Sophia!" Legend spoke, before I could get any further, or even turn my attention any further.

"Squadra," the large girl replied.

"By all rights," Legend told me, "You should have notified her."

"She was fine when I took her to the hospital. I got her into the first aid class," Sophia’s voice was weaker with emotion, "I got her x-rayed and she won’t even be out of the hospital this morning, with the bruising."

"You didn’t tell her?"

Sophia shook her head.

"Can I ask what she told me?"

"I’m afraid I don’t know," Sophia looked down at her feet.

"Please?"

"I- I shouldn’t say anything until you’re talking to her."

"If you don’t give me a chance to talk to her-"

"I’ll get around to you shortly. Don’t worry. I should have a better idea of what to say next, after I’ve already talked to her."

Sophia fell silent again. The boy by the front desk shifted position, so he was looking me in the eyes as he said, "Thank you, but that’s enough."

"Finally."

Sophia scratched the crown of her tiara together, then leaned very still, silent.

Behind the scenes, Chevalier and Parian had been left to talk as the pair lingered over their respective duties.

"It’s been a long time," Parian said.

"Yeah," Legend nodded. "But not quite so long as we’ve been gone."

"I suppose," Parian said.

"We came here for something to talk about front office matters," Legend said. "And we didn’t hear you come through."

"Thought you might."

"I guess we’ll talk about that other thing, then."

"What are her motives?"

"I can’t guess,"
======================================== SAMPLE 30 ========================================
When a girl with thick eyebrows and a mouth that was slightly too large for her midsection appeared in the back of the diner, I felt a kind of relief.

For a while, everything was normal. There was the regular shuffle of the young recruits through the door, chaperones taking turns staying with them to keep an eye out and answer any questions. Conversation was slow, and the trio of dashing black-clothed men in gleaming BMWs streamed into the back of the diner, carrying a lean-to-be seated at ease at the far end of the table.

They hadn’t left yet. I had to double check they were really there, before they could start discussing my dad. Emma was already at the kitchen, rifling through cabinets and drawers to find some lip balm to rub on her blearily swollen and deformed face.

I’d been dreading this. Hoping it wasn’t coming.

"Come on, Hiccup," Tattletale called out. She was on her knees on the table, gripping the hem of her white frock to steady herself. She had one arm around my shoulders, equally at ease. Just the ability to talk normally meant I didn’t get the chance. Just the ability to take in a deep breath and the refrain from screaming meant every bug in the area dropped dead onto the hood of my mask.

I missed my chance. I bent down and pulled my mask down around my face, choked. Grue settled his hands on the back of my neck, a hand running along the length of my length of hair.

"You’re so not cool with this, Tattletale."

"We’re done for the night, waiters and I found a program that let us sit around and play computer games. Let me get to it. Your room isn’t very comfortable, and you were just moving into this bathroom here." I used my good hand to pull on the panties of my jeans.

"Our room? No. There’s more."

"Okay. But you’ll do as I say. Take off your clothes."

I did as I was asked, pulled my clothes off. Tootletale was waiting for me in the next room, while Grue and the others headed to the changing room.

"Handle it," she said.

I removed the panties I’d removed from my vagina, threw them onto the changing table, and then engaged in the motions with the remaining panties. The overall effect was that much more natural looking, and they were easy enough to hold. I simply extended my legs and used my hands to guide them towards my vagina.

While Tootletale dealt with the panties, Grue stripped out of his shirt and began complying with the ‘dress code’. He removed his armored jacket and removed his glasses so he would be more obvious to anyone watching from the street. I took the time to remove mine as well, hitting on the hoodie and buttoning it up. I liked how it looked slut-shaming, especially with the strong representation of my costume among the group.

We finished with the last of the food, ordered more drinks and moved on to the dance floor.

"So we’re allies or something?" Cassie asked.

"I’m someone’s ally, kind of. I guess you could say I’m a dancer."

"I don’t really see the appeal."

"It’s a club. It’s supposed to be a place where people from all over come together. Come here, and you won’t be judged."

I glanced around the room. There were murmurs of conversation. Where had it come from?

Tattletale picked up a shoulder and steered her wheelchair towards the dining area. Grue, Bulk and Tattletale all joined her in walking in the direction of the group. None of them said anything specific, but the silence did give me the opportunity to reflect.

Was it stupid to give a damn about this?





Interlude 8


There was a faint tapping sound. A clink of something hard on metal.

It came again, a second later.

I got a view of Grue’s quarters.

He was curled up in a chair with his head on his hands, rubbing his forearms. His feet were bare, his sword flat on the ground.

Bitch was boiling up to death in the pot, snarling at the presence of anyone and everyone, including herself. Susan was nowhere to be seen. The three dogs were genial, normal size, but still, standing there.

Danny sat at the kitchen table, flipping through a handbook that
======================================== SAMPLE 33 ========================================
Source: Monochrome Guardians #2

Guardian-Six defeated

A team of the Slaughterhouse Nine had approached Monet’s group, and were holding the man down on the ground. Tattletale had been sent to the rescue, and Lung was currently restrained, with a number of other unpowered members of the Nine nearby.

The one with the bomb was targeting the members of the Nine that were on the rooftop, while the other two threw their bombs off of the member that was closest to the ground, knocking him to the ground. The explosive went off prematurely, however, and the member closest to the ground caught it, not completing the sequence. Our side was thus left with a mere half-dozen ragtag warriors, and the explosion had capped off a fairly ordinary day.

Monet, for his part, was standing at the roof’s edge, wearing a jacket and trousers, with box beneath his toes. His hands were on the roof’s lip, his thumbs tapping on the roof’s surface.

"I know you can hear us," Tattletale spoke. Monet turned his head slightly, and she amended her statement, "I know you can. Signposting for help is a big deal."

"I signpost from here on out. Stay put, don’t move, and don’t touch the letters."

I’d left my room and my room alone, in the hopes that we could find a way past the barriers that had been set up by the various members of the Protectorate and Wards. Two bombs had gone off outside, a threat to the unsuspecting refugees in Ellisburg. Another had gone off in the cafeteria, a threat that the Wards had responded to with both haste and countermeasures. The threat in that case was relatively minor. The immediate threat was a murderous threat.

Well, I could hopefully do something to dissuade those people from his immediate surroundings, and fund more timely visits to Ellisburg.

"I know about the staff. I’ve seen the papers yourself, in advance. I was placed in key enough to allow me to function as a middleman, and I’ve investigated the other parts of the city. I’ve none of the above, so I can only answer a few questions in advance, and I was charged with keeping your secret."

"Thank you."

"My own secret is a hell of a lot easier to protect, I think. If you care to verify it for yourself-"

Tattletale interrupted, "Look."

He blinked a few times, then asked, "Can I ask about why?"

"Kid Win?" Someone else asked. A girl, silent.

"He was paired up with Purity. It was going to be one more layer of defense, slow but effective. He managed to gross out the plans around her enough that they had to alter, after we’ve taken care of those guys, Erdelys and Me. For the next few days, everyone was to sleep in separate cells, Miko to one side of Shadow Stalker, my automatons to the other."

"Did you two have a talk about that?"

Tattletale spoke, "Don’t know, I don’t remember. I was dry, we were both smiling, tickled to death, exhausted. Tickled to death, exhausted. So we pulled up chairs and headed for the elevator, leaving the others to finish off the job. I was glad they didn’t finish, because I’d do it all over again. We were so tired, we actually cracked a smile."

I looked at the wiry girl, "You two had a talk?"

"I slapped her across the face, she pulled a gun on us, and we ran."

"So that’s it?"

"No," she didn’t raise her eyes from her beer. "We didn’t get any more details, we didn’t get a chance to explain, so we were forced to wait. But we had terms, and if you catch my drift, we got your number, so to speak. You never gave her your cell phone, so I went to the store and got a TV, and a movie, too."

I smiled, bobbing my head with the bob as she took in the details on how most cell phones worked. "Wow. I’m surprised you didn’t just ring the bell."

"No," she didn’t smile like one might with a happy expression. "I don’t suppose you know about my power?"

"I have to. It’s a major reason I’m here, and it’s one reason I couldn’t afford
======================================== SAMPLE 36 ========================================
Just breathe. Let the anger and frustration dissipate.

Somehow I’d taken a step forward.

I knew why they’d been looking for me. I knew that they wanted to stop me.

I could see them, now. Part of me had to reach out to those parts of myself that were still active, grab them with my bugs and sense them.

Feel them, feel the emotions, the similarities and the differences.

I could see similarities. I could see emotions etched into the rock, into each individual’s skin. There was a similarity in how they moved, as if emotions were a jumble in that incredible complexity. Mine included. They both touched a familiar part of me, none apart from the one time I’d last shared it with anyone.

I knew now that there was no easy way to get to that part of myself, because the sharks were waiting for me. Unending, hungry, furious and unpredictable. They were brothers in arms, branches to stand on, a tree to draw inspiration from, in many cases. They were enemies, but not brothers.

Brooks and I carried that implicit knowledge in our bodies alongside the other breathing capes. It wasn’t enough of a buffer, now, but it was a bridge, something to help cushion any blows, to offer some measure of safety.

We stepped out onto the balcony, and the park was immediately clear of the two groups. If anything, our being here was a statement. We were dangerous, dangerous enough that we needed to be separated from one another.

Tecton wore a helmet that covered the entire head. It made him look more like a ninja than the average cape, a knight in armor. When he spoke, he had a higher pitch, a harsher voice. More emotion behind his words.

"I met someone this morning. I liked the look of him. Talking to him made me feel better. Then I heard he might be in trouble. I felt bad, until I saw the cops, and I thought maybe I should get rid of him. But then I saw the cops, and it made sense."

The second part of what he was saying was what grabbed my attention. "I treated him the same way. Not as a human being, not as a human being. Because I thought he’d need help."

There were no better words to sum up his thoughts.

I looked at Cuff, and I saw that one of her eyes was puffy, and that her glasses were dislocated.

"The hell?" I asked. I could see the anger in her body language.

"He took off because he was scared. He said he’d be a burden. I gave him what he needed: an outlet."

"How the fuck do you know all that?" she asked.

"I’ll ask you once," my lawyer said. "All we’re asking is that you let us take you into custody."

I felt a hand on my shoulder. Charlotte pulled her arm away. I waited, my heart was dropping.

"We can’t let you go," she said.

"What?" I asked. "What do you want?

"The deal we make with the therapist. If we take you into custody, we’ll ask her to put you on the list. We’ll flag things up, see if there’s anything we can do. If it isn’t dangerous or inappropriate, we’ll leave you be. We’ll come back when you’re more or less well enough. In about ten minutes, we’ll take you back to the courthouse, and we’ll discuss the rest of your case there."

"But," she said, abruptly, "We can’t take you without telling anyone you kidnapped me."

"That’s what she wants."

"I’m not a kidnapper. I’m not going to victimize anyone. I’m just trying to get the details so I can understand my dad. So we can get a handle on what’s going on, so he knows we know what’s going on."

"And if he doesn’t? If he asks you to come home? It’s just going to drive him crazy. He’ll be less willing to negotiate."

"That’s not what I wanted."

"I know. But it sounds like it’ll slow things down even more if you have to go to court. Get him in court, testify. It’s more expensive, it’s more time consuming. It won’t get done. But it’s better, knowing it�
======================================== SAMPLE 39 ========================================
Very high school. Every class had a group of students that began the semester with a class on psychology and ended the term with a class on psychology. I’d failed those classes before, in part because of my poor grades. I somehow doubt that my poor grades played a role in this decision.

My dad was there, too. We sat together in the class, and I found myself agreeing with what my dad was saying. I felt like it would be irresponsible of me to sit next to someone I didn’t know, and my dad was right. I didn’t know all of the material, and I definitely didn’t know all of my dad’s professors.

Through some unfortunate combination of poor English, poor body language and clenching my fists, I managed to make myself leave my seat. I ran across the room to the bathroom, grabbing a newspaper and a two-by-four. I bent over and began digging through the plastic bags for paper cones.

With no idea of how long I’d be standing there, I decided to take a minute to get my bearings and get a headstart on getting ready. I’d been watching the weather while we’d waited for the bus, and was lucking my dad into a rare sunny day. The end of the paper cone binge had been a good three hours behind me, and already it was starting to wear on me.

I was hungry again. I almost relished the sensation of the sauce on my pizza, even if it was just on the surface.

My newspaper got a bit of a scratch as I cranked the stove on. I turned the tap water off and poured it into the faucet at the base of the sink. The tap water ran cold, not even running for a moment during the recent brawl in the school hallway, and the water quality was bad with numerous osmonds and clings. There were cyanobacteria that were making their way into the water supply with each use, and I had no idea how we’d handle them. I wouldn’t be able to drink it if I wanted to.

The results of the physical and mental stress of the past few weeks was that I was more awake than I’d been the last time I’d cooperated. That made it easier when I reached out and tried to catch my mom’s eyes. She looked away, her head turning to just enough right angles that I couldn’t tell if she was holding her hand or not.

"Mum. Tea," I spoke, trying to come up with a conversational tone.

"What is it, Taylor?" her mother asked.

"I’m starving," I said.

"Ew, ew, ew. What do you want?"

"I’m almost pudding. I think I could eat like that for breakfast."

"I eat like that. Egg yolk white."

I pulled off my mask, finding it halfway down my face, running my fingers through it. I brought my hands to my face to get it dry, then folded it over the most flattened of the two pieces of notebook paper. I paused when I had it folded and dry, stuck it in my sock.

"I want to be a hero," I said, as the thought left my head. I started to gather my costume from the little pieces that were lying around, but I paused. Was that a mistake? It was hard to choose what I wanted to do with my mask, but it would be better if I could at least try to imitate the other costume designer.

My dad looked very happy at the idea.

"If it’s alright, we should go home," I said.

"You ok?" his mother asked.

"Yeah."

"Then I’ll go and fetch the younger girl," she said, before heading out the door.

"Thank you," I said, "I really don’t want to go."

"Don’t need to. If you want to say you’re alright, it’s fine. I’m proud of you."

I was all too aware of the family tree at the end of the street. Three boys and a girl, row upon row of dolls with loud, ear-splitting music blaring from their mouths, as they celebrated Halloween. I knew the story already, from the glimpses I’d seen of my original gang when I was attending high school. I wasn’t proud of that, though.

"I’m Taylor. This is my mom."

"Oh, I know," I said. I was more focused on the woman in the black dress and skirt, who was standing guard on the other side of the
======================================== SAMPLE 42 ========================================
"A lot of you are going to be turning eighteen in the next two years," King said. "Some are already in the upper ages, others still in their prime. To keep our population levels in line, we must maintain a certain ratio. We-"

He stopped.

"Keep it in mind," the Doctor said.

"I have a bit of trouble with this," he said. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Get someone to take the kids?" the Doctor suggested.

"Isn’t that dangerous? Hunger? Heat exhaustion? We have coolers and bottled water. Not that we have anyone willing to drink from them, but-"

"Hotline, I think that team needs some elbow room, whether they be in the field or at the field hospital," Faultline said. "If they’re going to have team meetings and take decisions, they need someone with credentials to weigh in. Historic minors, ex-convicts, anyone with more than ten years in the pen. The kids need to stay in their own skin. Presence."

"American sports heroes and teenage girl against something like goat versus elephant or something close to it. It doesn’t really matter," the Doctor said.

"I’m losing my powers," Cuff said. "It’s too much effort, it’s dangerous, and I’m getting less and less control over it. I’m a little crazy as it goes."

"We’ll give you one more power, then. Pinpoint whether anyone tries to take it from you or be drawn into your trap. Healing," King said. "You regain a little control over whoever you control most, but it’s almost automatic."

"It’s slow," Faultline said. "Like trying to throw a javelin thrower into a bull elephant by hand. It’s not that hard, and there’s no point."

"Then I suggest you try a hand at it," King said. "Create a kind of telekinetics. Weapons, levitation. Very general powers. The Doctor said you regain control of any user of your powers when they’re sent into a vegetative state. Implantable limbs, the ability to make something from nothing, telekinesis, all of that. It’s the quickest route to your goal."

"I don’t want to waste my time on control," I said. "I’m comfortable with it, but I have a strong preference for weapon over messenger. I prefer the Doctor to send me the wrong guy."

"It’s not that bad," Faultline said. "One or two powers a day, until you reach your peak. If you get careless, though, you might use up your power while you’re on the move, lose your control entirely."

I groaned, then I spoke into the phone, "Six questions, Aisha needs two minutes."

Aisha opened her eyes. "I need materials for a power. This breaks the unspoken rules between capes, so speak quickly before it goes too far."

"We have enough convo after this is over," King said. "Nothing more to add?"

"No more bullshit," Aisha said. "I’ll—"

She stopped.

"What’s wrong?" Grue asked.

Aisha glanced at me.

I turned, saw the leader of the Yàngbǎn giving me a once-over glance.

"You blind?" he asked, incredulous.

I nodded.

"You’re dangerous."

"We have to stop him," I said. Again, my voice was barely audible. "If the others manage it, Scion accelerates on the first perimeter. The Yàngbǎn holds the line at the perimeter closest to the site of the fight. Even if we retreat, they still have the upper edge they need to hold the ground, keep the fight on a longer perimeter and buy time for the forcefield to degrade. So we evacuate instead of continuing our advance. Flight will do."

"What do you need?"

"I need a teleporter," I said. "Longer range. Bring it, or teleporter will cost you."

"It will," he said.

Then he smiled. "How much?"

"I don’t know," I said. "I need time."

"Time. I need a way of measuring the measures I’m taking against the forcefield. I need a way of understanding your approach."

"I do," I said, not taking my eyes off him.

Needed, really. I couldn�
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It had been an honor, a privilege, to serve under your illustrious father, King Alexander. To watch him succeed over so many years. To know that he was seeing his last full day as King of Denmark. For many in the West, the idea of losing their beloved King was something that came only with death. But for me, and many in the D.D. community, it was something that was something else entirely. I was reminded of something I’d always known, something that had shaped my perspective on the subject of my family: that I might never again be able to fully relax and be happy with where we stood.

For a moment, I felt like I was in the clouds, watching the Earth go through the motions, feeling how heavy the leaves on the branch were moving, the heat of the flame making the air ripple.

Because I’d had to, because it was so very hard, I let myself relax and let the tears stop rolling.

I had to ask about the Simurgh.

"What changed?"

"She wasn’t here," I said. I leaned on my legs to push the cup of the coffee to my lips, then leaned back against the armrest of the couch.

"Heathered mug," Lisa said. "And the shorts?"

I reached over and pulled on the shorts, then pulled on the t-shirt. Lisa had size eight shorts, and I nearly missed the point. "I’d woken up to a flat tire, and couldn’t find my car so I grabbed your lap. You took my cue, and I took over."

She rolled her eyes.

"It’s comical, seeing you like this," I commented, leaning back.

"I’m not suited for this. I’d throw myself into this like I risked my life. It’s not a situation for me."

"Oh, well," she said. "It’s not a world where you get to choose where you go. It’s a world where you get powers, and that unlocks doors, and that unlocks powers, and that you have to help people around you, to fight all of the various threats that are coming your way, and you’re able to unlock more power, and so on. Except it’s all nonsense. You’re just a superhero who happens to be a wannabe superhero."

"I’m not a wannabe superhero either," I said. I saw a flicker of doubt. "I’m not bad at this. I can defend myself, I can arrange things so I can do work in the future. I… what am I doing? I don’t even know my own powers."

"It’s not a world where people with powers do anything. Not all of us can do anything. What you’re doing is asking for it, asking for permission. A permission you don’t need."

"Hey," I raised my voice. I had to stop walking backwards to have a clearer view of what she was saying. "What are we doing? What are we asking for?"

"You’re asking for permission to be violent," she said.

"I’m not saying I’m not tough."

"Thrilling?"

"Yeah."

"But I’m asking if you’re willing to play by the rules."

"I’m not."

"Well, we’ve been through too much pain, and too much death, for it to be otherwise. I’ll give you that if you play by the rules. Better if you’re willing to go the distance. Better still, if you’re willing to go the distance and suffer."

"This is seriously fucked," Brian said.

"Too much of a stretch," Aisha said. "I’m not tough after all."

"No peeking in your wounds."

He did, in a pinch.

"The hell is wrong with my leg?"

"Leg’s fine," she said. "But my ankle’s broken. I’m not sure how long it’ll take for me to fix it. My doctor said he wouldn’t be able to do anything until he had a better idea of what was wrong with his body, and it might be a month before he could start examining me."

"Your leave from the Chicago Wards is due soon."

"I’m not sure I have a choice. There’s a provision in my sentence that means I’ll spend the rest of my life behind bars if I don’t finish
======================================== SAMPLE 48 ========================================
That was that.

The test subject could see as well. A glass tube filled with water, encased in a shell. The goal was to see if the glass could be broken, the water harmed or bent.

There was a whistle, and the test subject was directed to another glass tube. They proceeded clockwise, past the glass tube that held the house.

The resulting door had only one leg, and was triggered by a whistle. When opened, it flung the test subject out the other side.

Still on my mind, going in. What would I be looking for?

Lab Rat’s power was to create platforms. I didn’t have much, but it would be something. I’d look for something on the assembly line, anyway.

The house opened, and I assisted Lab Rat in retrieving the metal door. I remained still while he opened it, letting the metal stay in the tube as it exited over the edge.

Once the door was open, I hurried across the area to where the test subject and Slater were wrestling. I reached out and caught the head of the test subject’s hand. He spun it twice before I could nudge it away.

The test subject was making low threats, making low threatening gestures. Slater offered a low, guttural chuckle as the fight ended.

"Come on, drake," I said. I wrenched my foot, and the test subject was caught in my midsection. I had to nudge him back out of my territory.

"Hey!"

"Hey!" I raised my voice, pitched my voice higher. I had enough presence, now, enough swing to take him out of the fight.

The test subject was caught in my arms, and I could feel a shudder run through me. My chest seized up in a shaky effort to expel the feeling, I coughed more. I struggled even more, trying to pull away, feel muscles ache, recoil start to effect my body.

I brought my knees up to my chest and placed my hands on my head, as if to hold me still, to give me a sense of how my muscles were reacting. The pain was minor, which was something I celebrated. It was a reminder of how calm I’d been, of just how much I’d been suffocated.

My choke could hurt, and it might well reach the point of causing me permanent brain damage, but it was a victory in my favor. I could at least force him to obey, to give me some sort of an advantage in the fight.

I released my hold on Shadow Stalker, letting her go limp, then pulled back again as Velocity attacked. I stabilized Barnes, scoring a hit with my beetle. I didn’t take more damage from the miniscule burst of flame that came from the tapeworms.

I didn’t want to lose to further attacks from within, so I raised my hands, telling Bitch,

"You signal, and I tell them to run!

I could maybe have told them to run anyways, to avoid any potential fights, but I didn’t. There was no need. They’d already been at risk.

I could sense the underground complex, with the amount of traffic in the area, the amount of surveillance, both inside and out. I could sense the Rosemarys as they filtered in through one of the alleys running parallel to the main road. Given where Barker and his gang had been tonight, that was probably a good thing.

I signaled, bidding them to move.

A band of about ten kids ran down the street, jostling traffic. I could sense Bitch honking her horn and grunting, some of which I was hearing because of the hum that was emanating from her horn. She was off to one side, shoulder to shoulder with two of the group.

I drew my knife, shook it, and then signaled Bitch. She didn’t respond, but she was still moving.

"Give it to her!" I shouted.

She didn’t give it to her, of course. I might have argued the point, but I wasn’t sure what to say.

I retracted the feeling of one of her clumsier breaths and focused on the neighborhood.

Blocks away, there was a cold patch of snow layered over hill and crest, preventing most of the people from living there. People in shacks or tents were using that opportunity to get away, scavenging and using what they could from the surroundings. IEDs remained inactive near my command post, set up stones or posed as something else.

I crossed the neighborhood and made a beeline for our destination. IEDs and traps didn’t tend to end with my teammates dead
======================================== SAMPLE 51 ========================================
If they control people, maybe they can’t control us.

The link at the heart of it all formed, vibrating and shifting into high gear, capable of affixing to the Canary’s skull-head.

Killington struggled to come to. Heave himself onto his back to move, then used his power to bring items flying to him.

Some small part of him resisted the urge to retaliate, but he knew the moment he settled for fighting words, he’d obliterated this town. He’d wipe out this city even if it spared him the kinds of problems Gringotts had in the early days.

He’d wipe out this town even if it cost him his life once or twice.

It was why he was here. He’d go there alone, he’d hunt, and he’d die fighting that monster.

He’d never be able to look his teammates in the eyes, but he could look them in the eyes until he did.

Even then, he’d never feel truly proud. He’d always feel indebted to them.

"If you need help," Panacea said, "We’d be glad to have a doctor or nurse on site. We could talk about remedies and treatments."

Golem nodded. "We can do that."

"I… I know you have things you’d like to do, but this would be a bad time to get into your routines, your routines with Jack. Things are kind of… hectic, and I don’t want to get up to date on everything, so it’s kind of handy if I can take a break and come back a hundred percent refreshed."

He tried to picture that.

"It’s kind of a hassle to get here," she said. "There’s still classes, and after you’ve had your lunch, it’s pretty normal to need to take a few hours to see to my art, or my grammar, or something. I gotta take a nap after class for a few days!"

"You don’t feel like a human being, or a member of the team would be able to help you," Danny said.

"We’re adapting! This is a lot of work, even without the extra hours! We’re adapting to the changes that’ve come down the pike! But it’s useful, because we’re adapting into a new body shape. It’s like we’re veering in the right direction, adjusting to a new way of looking at things, of being people. I can look forward to showing up for the big stuff. When the big stuff starts, it’ll look familiar, and then it won’t look like that anymore."

She laughed, a surprisingly regular sound.

The physical changes were indeed gradual. As the overall bulk of the clones was removed, the individuals would transition into a different shape. Danny preferred to think of it as ‘shallow’.

Still, it was something. If any of them were truly broken, the transition would be hard.

He reached his library. He loathed the concept of libraries, but he could respect a book as a place to start.

"February third, 1997." There was the sound of a key in the lock, and the entryway was revealed.

"Satin," it said. There was a short push to his wrist, and the library was deserted.

"We’re surprised you’re still around," Dennis commented.

"We are. S–ssisss to us, punk. S–ssisss to call in a favor, getting a bit of a favor out of, well, just about everyone. Except for you and me. We’re not authorized to be here, and we were pretty much ordered to stay clear of the library."

"We have to go, so you can offer your services to the Undersiders."

"And us?" Glenn asked. He didn’t look fazed by the realization that his son was being recruited.

Dennis shook his head. "Woods. We run some of the filthiest, most violent bands in the city, and we get paid off. We win, we get all the money, and we can go fuck ourselves. Our Favorite Resource is Animals. We patrol, we kill, and we receive a death sentence if we don’t submit our enemies."

"We’re pretty honorable," Glenn said, his voice a bit strained as he spoke with the stress he was experiencing. He approached Dennis, "So you know we’d go to any lengths to
======================================== SAMPLE 54 ========================================
Tecton said, "I have her back and I don’t know anything about what happened, so I’m just giving you my best guesses."

"Please."

"We could work out a deal," Wanton said, "If she wants to join the Wards."

Wanton nodded.

Chevalier said, "I don’t disagree. Listen, I’ve got a few demands. You leave the Wards, after. You can come to my base and discuss the matter there, without my involvement. I’ll give you the coordinates for the hospital you came from, so you know where to find help if anything happens to you. And I’ll make sure Tattletale gets free when she needs it."

"First things first," Tecton said. "I can handle mistakes, especially if they’re mine."

"If you’re sure you’re not playing," Chevalier said.

Chevalier nodded. "I think you’re okay with the idea."

"You had a part in this," I said.

None of the heroes were silent, but that was unusual. Chevalier’s silence was a rare thing, and it was often a part of the Chevalier we were used to seeing.

"If you come to me," the Undersiders said, "And of your group, I don’t think you’ll be able to have a team of four fight, but you’ll be able to slow them down. Lyn… don’t know what powers you have, but you have the ability to move fast. Shout to get in Sweeping cracks criss-crossing attacks."

"I don’t have any abilities that let me move that fast," I said. "And my power doesn’t affect me."

"Fast enough," Chevalier said. "If you think about it, your power primarily serves to enhance and expand the capabilities of the teammate who possesses it, and to ensure that this power stays with them for as long as they remain capable. The defender gains a +1 block bonus when he can freely move to evade incoming attacks. The attacker loses a few paces of movement speed when he can move with impunity, but he gains a steady flow of visual and some abstract information, depending on the distance he’s traveled. This state is referred to as Landing at Least Once."

"Once," I said.

"It means you fall short of the ⋮ in the end of the day, but you’re still in the ⋮. Your actions and words support this impression, drive home the idea. You’re a humble hero, first and foremost, but you’re better than this. We Need You."

"If I have to be a part of this, then I’m going to make doing this the priority. Once I’m in that position, I’ll use every trick in my book to make you regret making me a second priority."

"We’re Noelle’s friends," Chevalier said. "There’s no way we can do this with just you."

"If it means being with you when we leave, I’ll do it. I think that’s what the PRT is all about."

"For the people who retain their anonymity?"

I thought of Grue. "That’s exactly what I’m talking about. The main thing with the Slaughterhouse Nine, as far as I’m aware, is that they retain their identities and they keep making trouble. That’s fixed. I don’t think they’ll do anything else."

"And here’s the thing," Tecton said, "This type of mind control is a problem that’s been brewing for some time. I’m going to be blunt. You can’t have three members of one team being in the know about things that could reveal their identities or bleed other members into your team. I’m talking about methods of attack, thinking outside the box, extra measures and brainstorming. You took down Slaughterhouse Nine with means that weren’t justifiable, and you’re still investigating how."

"That means I’m an expert when it comes to that sort of thing. The members of my team have varying abilities, and I’m thinking I could share those with you. Whether I do it right or wrong, it’s a fairly cheap fix, and I don’t have to share any of my plans or vocabulary with you if I’m sharing it with someone else."

"I
======================================== SAMPLE 57 ========================================
Turning more pages, the cadence of the report. Mr. Alcott.



"This is back to back? I almost didn’t recognize the man. He washed himself and ate in the bathroom, then went straight to the bathroom again, in plain sight of the staff. How did he get here?"



"Mostly by his own device. The press photograph was taken in the shower, after he changed. He stood a second before stepping into the shower and gently drying himself. The press photograph does not show his exposed genitalia. If you look, you can see the muscles of his lower abdomen in the frame."



"Feels like more than a shower, doesn’t it?"



"He enjoys himself, doesn’t he? Enjoys what? Fuck, this feels good. Almost like having a regular sex life, isn’t it? Isn’t it wonderful? I’ve wanted to try that kind of thing my whole life, and the only thing that’s perfect is you, Mr. Calle."



"I certainly hope it isn’t too uncomfortable for you," the President blurted out the words, "Iinkere kontrakt verbess nie nou?" ("Will you please stop?)



The sound of a keyboard and a hand held out for a print-out replayed the message.



Your charter has been extended another three years, subject to change with approval from the President. If you decide you require further training, you can turn down the three year extension and cancel the charter.



-paul



"If I may?"

The President spoke, "My guest had something to say."

Mr. Calle responded, "We’ll discuss on our own."

The President glanced at Lao.

"You will," Lao said.

"I’m not asking you to make any particular commitment," the President said. "I would just like you to please excuse me for speaking at a time like this. I’d like you to consider this my invitation to lunch, to a closed room with a secret identity. If you’d kindly allow me to stand and be recognized, I would have a chance to talk with my new duties."

Mr. Calle smiled, "As you wish."

"I’d like that," the President said.

"There are other dignitaries who visit. We’ve had a number of visitors since the Slaughterhouse Nine visited. The leaders of neighboring countries; Angela Merkel, Justin Forslund, Anomaly Three and Three Hundred and Sixty-Two. They can speak for themselves. When all of the other representatives of their governments are gone, I will deliver the speech. In my place, they can set up training and follow a structured routine. I’ll then disappear, to avoid seeming less authoritarian. I can resolve the remaining crisis, as we all must."

Mr. Calle paused, then glanced at Lao.

"If you’ll allow me to share one anecdote," the President said, "It didn’t take long for someone to spot. It was a matter of minutes before I could see the candidate for the firmament. Run, medium sized, slender, with a tattoo or two to indicate recent events."

Mr. Calle smiled. "Perhaps."

Mr. Calle continued, "His wife is proposing to him in a matter of hours. They will be arriving in the city sooner than they had been intending. I expect a major celebration."

"What does the city look like?"

"It will likely look much like it does now. Poverty, iniquitous, ugly. The buildings will be dilapidated, many sitting on the water, but the people will be crowded into those dilapidated buildings, as they are today. There will be crime, but it will be controlled. It will remain the plague for the time being. Purity and her forces exterminate, the survivors cleansed of any traces of the infestation. That is, if they are not already committing genocide."

"The films show the dead," Mr. Calle said.

"Yes."

"You’ve seen the survivors?" Mr. Calle asked.

"I have."

"That’s of little concern."

"It matters, my friend. The end of the world is near."

"It will. We’ll see if you can make it worth the cost of living, whether you can sell the idea that somehow the world’s going to end in your absence, and all the other horrors that will occur if you attempt something."

"There’ll be more," the President said. "
======================================== SAMPLE 60 ========================================
EFFECT

Rarity ★

Price US $3.99



Damage Effect Range eyesight loss 1-25% vision loss 26-50% vision loss 51-75% vision loss 76-90% vision loss 91-100% vision loss 101-110% vision loss 111-125% vision loss 126-150% vision loss 151+ vision loss vision loss vision loss



Notes None.



Catching a break here and there, but I’d spent every waking moment planning for the eventuality, dealing with the aftermath. Framing the situation, weighing everything in my head. Counting the bodies, checking the damage done, gauging the abilities of my team.

I was missing something, here. I turned, placing my hand on top of the container to my left. Beetroots tore into the glass, breaking individual crystals. Then they ripped out the crystal frames that separated the lid from the base of the container. I did my best to avoid letting them find their way inside the body. It was a small gesture, but I kept my finger off the trigger.

The body dangled from the ceiling, the show only visible to myself. I was aware of bugs gathering around it. Close, but no closer than my finger and my mind could reach.

On the bottom of the screen, in separate windows, I could see the status of my teammates, the dialogue that had ensued, their descriptions. A dialogue that had gone something like this:

Siberian: "I’m fine. I did most of my conditioning in a few days, I’m almost more in touch with my feelings than my old man was."

Chuckles: "I hope so. When I asked you to keep that girl, she was resisting the conditioning your team gave her, but maybe she canÂt tell the difference between the two, either."

Jennifer: "Either way, that girl’s not getting any better."

Chuckles: "Warmer."

My breath caught in my throat as I heard the words, "Even if she’s better, it still hurts."

I tapped the desktop again. Bitch had moved to the front seat.

"No," I said.

"What?" Bitch asked, her head hanging.

"I’m stuck," I said, stepping away, "I can’t- I won’t be able to use my power while I’m blinded."

"Step away from the car’s axle. The chain will hold."

"What am I supposed to do? I was supposed to drive."

"You’ll have to drive," I said, "Before you can use your power. Step away from the car, near the back."

She didn’t budge.

I touched the car. It melted a solid wall, but it didn’t budge. Coil was behind the wheel, he wasn’t controlling the car.

I looked at Bitch.

"Stop her," I said. Our enforcers aren’t driving fast enough. I pointed. She stopped.

We turned around, and as Bitch advanced, firing at Ballistic, I stepped away, trying not to show my face as she broke into a run. Davis and Shatterbird were in the front passenger seat, driving the cars that were following behind.

They were out of the driver’s seat by the time we caught up. Davis began removing the cars from the road, laying them out on the grassy plain between us and Coil’s underground base.

While the rest of us tried to get ourselves seated, Davis detached a rack from the center console of the car, unhinging it to get at the metal frame that held the armor in place.

"What are we doing?" Grue asked.

"We should go ask Tattletale," Davis said.

"About the exploding building?"

"She was going to tell us about it. Maybe we could have come up with an escape route or plan of attack if we had time to ask. Instead, we’ve got the Nine and Chariot closing in."

"Good," I said. Even with the escalation in the battle, it seemed like everything was falling into place. The right moment to make a move. I realized I’d been leaning forward, my eyes closed, thinking of ways to move the most essential parts of my swarm into place. It was like I was waiting for events to happen so I could use them, only they were in a precarious position. I was letting my bugs dictate what I was doing, but in the midst of it, knowing I’d make some crucial error, take something wrong or get captured.

"Mocks
======================================== SAMPLE 63 ========================================
There’s things you don’t know. Big things. It’s not the same thing you thought it was. And when you think back to who it was that hit you, the details get fuzzy. It feels forced."

"Who?"

"Wait. Different context."

"The Endbringers," I said.

"Endbringers. Whatever. It makes sense to change the subject."

"Where were you?"

"The moon. What it was, how it worked, what it was all about. What was the goal? The entire thing was distorted, warped, all-encompassing. A shooter moves in a different way on different mornings, and over long periods of time, that happens. You could sit here right now and swear you’d somehow know the answer, but you couldn’t make out the words unless you were there, and you knew the hypotheticals true and falsehood, but you couldn’t make out the answer unless you were claiming it to be the one true and false."

"I somehow get how the science thing works," Brian said.

"Yeah. But how does this relate to the beginning of the article?"

"It’s complicated. There’s a theory, a basis for some of the magic, that when you die, your body doesn’t go to hell forever. It goes to a purgatory like the real hell does, if you will. A place where there’s no forgiveness, where you’re forevermore a prisoner."

"Prisoner of war?"

"Warlord. You know, the kind of person who’s lasted for three thousand years, who were supposedly the first to die out, because they ruled a kingdom that had been plunged into continual warfare and mutual annihilation. It’s hard to put their finger on what it is, because they lasted for roughly that long, and there aren’t any clues or clues in terms of how they died. No crematoria, really."

"I get the picture," I said.

"It’s complicated, yeah. There’s a lot of factors to consider, a lot of moving parts. I’d describe it as hard to follow, but I think I’ve caught onto the general idea."

"A hell of a lot of talking," Alec said, with a touch of bitterness.

"Yeah," I said. "Talking with Dean, talking to Blades, Revel, Command & Conquer, and plans we have in the works for the new world order. There’s a lot of little details we don’t know, and big questions we don’t know the answers to."

Dragon’s suit started to reshape itself, then grunted, and the machine reached a stop, the thrumming sound progressively louder with each step we took up until we were halfway up the ramp.

"Checking internal specs, I believe we have a new Dreadlocked suit made. They’re apparently the top of the line when it comes to suit durability, features and the like. We’re probably in the company of other parahumans who can give us that, and they’re going to receive that sort of treatment."

A machine was operating in the rear of the lobby. Checking through a crack in the wall.

"If that’s the case," I said, "Why don’t we retire the hatchet?"

"You’re going to kill him," Bitch warned.

"I suppose it’s possible. We’ve only got a few hours, and we’re fighting some of the strongest capes out there. There’s nothing saying we won’t make it sooner than later."

She was losing it. This was not the point where she’d back down. "He’s admitting he’s got a weakness. His primary power is his power and his game plan. It’s not supposed to be a weakness. Something he was writing into the record when he was robbing a bank…"

"You’re dismissing the possibility that he might be lying."

She shook her head, which only intensified the movements of his broken arms. "Why? There has to be something there."

"There is. Very few people are willing to draw attention to their weaknesses."

She shook her head even harder.

Another silence stretched out. Neither of us were happy with how this conversation was going. I felt like I was in the midges final stages of life and they were half-blind, waiting for the antlion roundabout the human body to arrive, complete with bacterial layer and extensive mandibles, and then they
======================================== SAMPLE 66 ========================================
For his part, Gerard trailed his dark-haired partner to his right, his mouth set in a careful line.

"I know where you live," Gerard said. "If you want to come and live with us, fine. We can help all of you. You look after your sick, the elderly, the needy. Brush up on your skills, if you need it. You can even drop dead on your own, if that’s what you want. But I want you to know that I’m staying put, because I need to watch her for. I need to be certain she isn’t going to do something bad, and I want you to come when I’m sure she’s dead. And if you aren’t willing, if you want to walk away, that’s perfectly alright. I’ll come when I’m sure you’re dead."

"You could have taken your knife," Gerard pointed at the knife that Jacinth had in hand.

"I wouldn’t have minded so much if you had. No, no. That wouldn’t have changed the outcome of all this. I just want you off her leash for a bit, to run a bit by yourself."

"Fine," Gerard said. "I don’t want to be here. My health. My kids. I’m sorry."

"You can’t refuse. Not completely. But you have to listen to me. You can do as I say, you can indulge yourself in your drug use, or kick back and take care of your sick grandkid, or go out and make a good little coin at a job interview. That’s all it is. I can’t make you do anything. Not quite straight dope, but I can give you the ability to order your ass to move, and see it done."

"Fine."

"So? What do you want to do, then?"

"Work," Gerard said. "That’s what I’m talking about. Let’s put working and being responsible back in the kitchen. That’s our focus here."

"You don’t sound like you have a lot of work to do. Go get some food. I’ll get you some."

"I don’t know what to do. I feel like a dick."

"You’re shit in general. In the past ten minutes I’ve seen you grab at least two armfuls of hair, react and shout a spell. I can’t get my head around what that was about."

"You feel like a dick?"

"What? Not the word I would have chosen."

"Then bite to find out. I don’t know what you’re feeling, but doesn’t look comfortable."

"I feel a little conflicted about this. A little anxious. A little betrayed, if you look at the right places."

"I wouldn’t say I’m in love with you, Gerard."

"You haven’t even tried?"

"No. We haven’t seen each other’s work. I like what I see. I would rate as a moderately successful guy. Not as successful as you, but I’m levelheaded, if that makes any sense."

Martial smiled. "Alright. So you’re voting yes?"

"Martial, Kenta, you’re voting for me as leader?"

"Yeah. Tea, coffee, and the full complement of sugar-sweetened beverages on our morning walks back to my home and hotel."

"Full complement? You mean you’d bring a present?"

Martial smiled. "Yeah."

"I… if I voted for you as a candidate, would I be acting as an enforcer for a superhero? As a kind of surrogate for Mr. Yamada?"

"We can’t make any promises, sir," Kenta answered. "But I like what I see. I’m levelheaded, I think you have what it takes. I wouldn’t mind hearing a guarantee."

Martial smiled.

"You’re leader or you’re nothing like the leader you professed to be a little while ago?"

"Either way, I don’t see any reason why I couldn’t play the part."

With that, she walked off.

I sipped tea and found it was much like Father’s teacup he’d handed down. It was green leaves, pots and pans, cookingware, some plates and cups, some clean sheets, and a surprise
======================================== SAMPLE 69 ========================================
You,

are a monster. All of this is their game.

They created you. They had you in reserve, so they could use you. They had to have known, even suspected, that you’d be stubborn, that you’d refuse to change. And they were right.

So they gave you the hardest, most logical path. You followed it. Because it was the fastest way to the center.

You’d spent months doing what they wanted. Studying their tendencies. Reducing them to data, then driving them mad with desire. Driving them to desperation, hatred, despair.

But you’d change nothing in the meantime.

Until they gave you a golden opportunity. The golden opportunity to prove them wrong. To save them, to save yourself.

And you refused.

You stood firm, refusing to leave your territory.

This would be your test. To see if you could really say no.

And you would have to succeed.

Your clones sought shelter in the bushes, where they were cooler. More surprised than terrified.

You entered the cloud, and your soldiers were just as stunned as you were. The men and women of your army had been either slain or disabled. You had new recruits like a lioness, who would fight until they were made to serve.

Your mercenaries stood from the bushes and you seized the opportunity.

You took a step back, and your clone took over your body. Reflexes, touch, hair, flesh. You changed the shape of each. The hair took the hardest hit, but the rest flowed over, sticking to your skin. Your fingertips, your arms, your legs, your gut.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared. You’d never seen a more gorgeous woman, a body so perfect you could almost see it in the pictures. And beneath that, there was nothing.

You stared, and you could see movement, as if your slaves were rising from the earth, raising their heads. You could see the cattle flex their necks, the herds jump.

You raised your head, and your eyes fell on the person you had locked inside steel. Your eyes fell on his eyes.

Your heart sank.

"Shit," you breathed.

For a moment, you stared at his face. The square snarl of metal, as long as your forearm, and forming a seal as tough as any you’d ever seen. Your heart sank.

You took in a deep breath. You’d just won. You’d taken this fist-thumbs race. Two races, for me included. You and Scion. You and the others who had more power than you were.

In the dim light, you could see how each of the last people to enter this spot had moved on. There were only the still faces of the children, where the chains had pulled them from the wreckage.

The ceremony was finally ending. You could see the confusion and the shock on the last of the students, now. They backed away, choking on their first brush of blood.

There was no going back.

You used your power, to check on your unfinished business. to see if anyone had been killed. To see if anyone had been as free as you had been Tweeting and Instagramming at the school. You couldn’t go home, you couldn’t go to sleep, and you couldn’t take any of the risks you’d outlined out in the contract. That was why you were the cape that night, when you’d invited all of the candidates to participate in the night’s festivities. Jail would become a possibility, if you didn’t lure the wrong sort of person into being trapped in that cage.

You felt a genie’s hand on your shoulder.

"We have it," the girl you’d called was saying. She sounded almost sweet, if you allowed yourself the luxury of a nasal voice. "The other candidates are signing below, along with a bodyguard."

You voiced your doubts to the girl, "What do they have to do with what I want?"

"They’re home. They’re safe."

"What do you want?"

The mock viking was dismissing the two candidates. One was a familiar face, free of charges after the recent fiasco. Skitter.

"Then I’m going to go," she said. "I’ll be in touch by morning. In the meantime, let’s deal with the Nine before we go any further."

The mock viking stepped out of the way, indicating Taylor Hebert.

You want to see the reaction from her? You’re her friend, after all.

======================================== SAMPLE 72 ========================================
Grim is what I’m saying when I say I’m sorry. I feel bad about your friend getting hurt. About your team trying to help you when it obviously didn’t work.

I feel bad about sending him to the Birdcage, too. He’s got some serious psychological issues that boil down to an inability to empathize. I’m worried that might be the end result of Bonesaw’s work. He’s a loner, like you, but mentally unstable.

I don’t- I can’t figure out what, exactly. But I can sympathize.

You got powers. You went to great lengths to get justice, to no avail. So I get that you tried to kill me. You set this in motion, and you know it can’t go away.

I feel a kind of cheerfulness, and it’s connected to something else. I have this surging optimism, and it’s filtering down into my power.

I’m not happy I can do this. I don’t want it to stop, that I’m slowing things down, diminishing their impact.

But… I can keep going.

I’m not happy I can do this.

I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I can’t say I won’t.

The shock of it all stopped as I caught my breath. My chest heaved, and the breaths left me. I touched my earbud to my belt, then touched my forehead to the top of my head. I whistled for help, and an officer handed me my pants and harness.

I was wearing my costume. I wasn’t actually wearing it, but I was connected to it. The uniform was only an extension of who I was now, a defense system against my own power, which was slowly pulling together into a more general set of gear. The intent was good, the fit fine.

I looked in the mirror. Where I’d worn the short, straight-toed boots, I wore a lightweight, stretchy fabric upper that could be ripped open and pulled away in a pinch. I’d done as I was told, stripped out of the basic rags that the others had been wearing. Not that it really mattered. My utility compartment was a third of the size it might otherwise be, stuffed with simple weapons and other basics. My knife, my baton and batista, the latter two with slender, light bars behind them to provide more emphasis than effect.

I found my castle.

I found my fortress.

I found my community.

I found my society.

I felt a kind of solemnness, like I was leaving something sacred behind, when in fact I was really just returning to the same point I’d been at a moment before.

I opened the earbuds to ensure there were no blocks or impediments to my line of sight, and then tested the bassilocks. I tried to match the bass strength of the earbud’s settings to the ambient noise level, to ensure that I wouldn’t spoil the immersive audio experience.

The upper limit of what my power would tolerate. I doubled-checked and tripled-checked again.

My hand shook as I settled on top of the wall and listened.

My stepdaughter was with me. I could sense her on the ground, a trickle of blood running from the corner of one eye, one ear and the front of her neck. One of her arms was bent at an awkward angle as she held her son.

I was about to tell myself that they were just victims, that this tragedy wasn’t final, that it wouldn’t turn into something dire, when the man in the jeep identified himself as Grue. He approached. A trickle of blood flowed from the corner of one eye.

My heart sank.

It had happened. We’d talked about it. I’d told him. He’d prepared a kind of override, had warned me about it, earlier, but this was something concrete, something concrete that he could do something about.

The override wouldn’t make the jackass stop. But maybe the gesture of power would prevent it.

The pedal would melt through any property or object he touched. He would drive his hand into the occupant’s forehead, punch through the skull to the point of the brain.

The pedal…

I couldn’t sense it with my bugs. But my bugs flowed past him, through the wall, and I could sense the shift of his body, the movement of his face and the intensity of his breathing. He wouldn�
======================================== SAMPLE 75 ========================================
Hate. Hate. Me. Hate. Hate. I got a degree of admiration from Flechette and Parian, both, but I felt like I was slipping through the cracks in their confidence. The moment they felt like they had a firm grip on me, I slipped.

I brought everyone to the brink of chaos. I don’t know if it was the chaos itself, the chaos of all the individuals in the city, or a combination of the two that caused most of the damage.

By the time I realized what had happened, it was too late.

Bastard snorted, but he didn’t receive the blame he deserved.

I fell on top of Beast Boy and Bear instead of working to help my teammates. I reached for my phone, groped for a grip, then reached up to scratch the screen.

The same instant I did so, there was a flicker of light above us. It didn’t make me move or feel a thing. It was the kind of light that was so faint I could almost see it without thinking about it, nowhere near as intense as the one Max had generated, but enough that I couldn’t turn it off without feeling like I were in the zone.

The light flattened out as we descended steeply enough that we were able to clearly make out the stairs. From the direction that the phone had disappeared down, we saw that the stairs themselves were distorting. They gradually became more ornate, as if someone had taken the time to make the stairs even more elaborate and polished. One fine detail at the very top, a massive window that led to a view of the city below us, the stairs becoming a broad bridge over water.

More than once, as we descended, my heart beat aching. I reached for my bugs, but I had to pull them back to preserve them. Or my costume. I wasn’t sure which it was. The stairs or the city. I didn’t know what I would do or how I’d get out of this mess.

"Run," I said, my voice low, "Don’t rely on me. Max, you should go too. You can help us, you know where to find—"

"I ran as fast as I could have if I had my knife. I wasn’t nearly fast enough."

"Then use your imagination. Let’s say my phone is found. Me and my dogs. We’ll be gone in under a minute."

"Okay."

A minute passed as we limped down to the water cooler at the front of the water fountain. Kristoff and Aegis handled the repair Max was requesting, getting the phone and quickly getting it back on the charger.

We submitted to the guys at the counter, and almost as quickly as we’d processed, the ladies decided to go talk to the water cooler. A pack of one of Rachel’s dogs greeted us at the front door, barking with laughter and high energy.

It was a twenty-minute wait, and we were waiting with anticipation every step we walked down the corridor.

Aegis was busy with the phone, and seemed to be losing his patience with the long wait. He stormed off, leaving Kristoff and Mini aside.

It seemed that way, because Mini could still make out the cellphone that Charlotte had given him, while Aegis dialed for a ride to the front door.

"G'night," he said.

"You okay?" Mini asked.

"No, but no more red in my shorts."

They took the long way, to the front door.

"It was about the worst injury I’ve had in the past, and I can’t even say it’s the worst injury for me. What’s going to replace it?"

There was the possibility, but there wasn’t the knowledge. He might even think it was the case, because he hadn’t had any recent shock.

"The cell phone, my sources say it’s where the Merchants got their hands on it. If Trickster manages that, they can replicate it, share it with other teams, so we don’t need to worry about having another broken device."

They were halfway to the door when they heard the scratching sound of a door opening.

"Wish you could come with," a girl said.

Kristoff waved as she entered. There were more than one type of face: teenagers, adults, bodyguards, bodyguards and bodysharers. All within the hallways and on the balconies. Most had bodyguards or bodysharers of at least one type.

He saw Fatso, who hadn’t moved: a heavy skinned man
======================================== SAMPLE 78 ========================================
The second face was trying something different, in my opinion. It was not allowing connections to make. That was valuable in its own way.

It was creating dozens, even hundreds of duplicate self-aware individuals. I watched the creations arrive, waiting with bated breath. Some were moving, and I could track their movements with eyes and ears. Others were less capable, and would remain so as long as they were connected to others. They passed through my field of view, slowing down as they became visible, moving my way.

Others would remain where they were, no doubt communicating, communicating information, and others would run for the hills. Run faster than my speed on foot.

I abandoned my efforts to stop them and rushed for the classroom. There was chaos from students scrambling to get places to go, teachers and staff scrambling to get information to pass on to the students and the clown prince and his clowns, getting themselves murdered or hobbling towards the front of the room.

I slowed down as I saw the front doors of the school open.

Here and there, people were reacting, running, trying to get out of there. Here and there, doors would open and people leave. Here and there, people ran for the exits in a orderly fashion.

Not quite the front doors of a school, but it was close.

Still in the black. Somewhere in the midst of the portal’s spread out operations, people were gathering. Clones, duplicates, parts of themselves and other things. Eating each other, groping for the interior of another person’s body, a victim’s eyes, a time distortion.

I abandoned my attempts to bind them and sent the swarm out, spreading out over the city.

People couldn’t read or write. They were too broad-minded to do much more than look at the sights and sounds around them.

It was a bad situation. One of nature’s most dangerous weapons was its ability to collect water and trap moisture in plastic. Cities really were gravity’s equivalent to meteorites. A falling meteor could dump enough moisture onto the ground that a building could almost float in mid air. Plastic was the same, but even more pervasive.

Plastic entered the city through plumbing and garbage hassles, I suspected. That was practice I could cut with practice. I collected the bacteria and viruses that lived on objects and surfaces and injected them into people’s bodies.

People started to show symptoms. Fatigue, restlessness, headaches, weak opinions, mood swings…

No. This was not a case of a person falling ill when they were out in the open. It was the arrival of a stranger who had no idea how to handle themselves.

"To be continued…"

I closed the sound into a series of shorter words.

I opened a recording so I could finish it. When I finished, I played it for the others. I couldn’t get the files to play without turning them on their own, which threatened to cause disaster. I also had the threat in mind. If they scrambled the audio, I’d get scrambled too. I might even start to retain my memories, in a calculated preserve.

I played it for the others so I could get a sense of things. I felt for Kas, but I knew she couldn’t receive it. I could play it and know she was receiving it somehow, but that didn’t give me a sense of what I was missing.

Had to focus on what I was trying to achieve. I could scramble the memory, get a sense of the threat, but I couldn’t retrieve the sound or phrases in the recording that might clue me into what I was up against.

My bugs. I tried to listen for human speech, but I was a mute spectator.

As much as I tried, I couldn’t decipher anything out of sync with what I was trying to communicate.

Thinking with my swarm, I could only make sense of what I was seeing. I could see the patterns, the ranges of what I was perceiving. There was a heavy emphasis on cloth, with a heavy emphasis on seams and tracks across the fabric. There was a heavier focus on animals. I got the sense that Kas was looking at his prey, identifying features on the people that he could use as stock phrases. ‘All about the meat’, similar to what I’d been trying to do with my own facial recognition.

Or maybe he was trying to emulate what I’d done with Heartbreaker.

My bugs spoke. I could barely make them out through the cloud of bugs, but I could make out the words.

"Don’t," Kas said.

It’s bad, I thought. Words that would be drowned out by the
======================================== SAMPLE 81 ========================================
It. Fucking. Started. Four-six-four. Mark, sponsor. Diary. About to get a power boost, like you do. The only difference between me and Brian is that I can take three forms. I’ve got a second triggered at the cost of having my identity shredded, which is why I don’t have a portfolio. I’ve got a third form which is a cloud at the speed of sound. It’s not going to beat the winds of change, but it’s got that extra gear, and I’m very close to being able to use it. Two modes for me and one for him."

"Mode one is standard bearer," the Doctor said. "Don’t want to get your hopes up. Wouldn’t do to lose the fight and have to answer two questions about that."

"Mode two?"

"Whispers. Paranormal investigators. Likes his music."

"And the third possibility?"

"Drugs. Doesn’t like the people behind it. Alcohol, pretty much, by the by. Cannot and will not and will not ask for and receive prescriptions for both his forms. He prefers his people to be under the influence, so drugs are not a issue."

"You tried them and you’re done," the Doctor said.

"Done," Bakuda replied.

"Mode one is known for its rampant overuse, misuse and abuse. People get sick, there’s problems, and so they get better with mode two. We know there’s a known to moderately high rate of accidental deaths due to accidental drowning."

"And you’re going to keep taking drugs, Bakuda?" Doctor Mother asked.

"No. Someone in charge."

"I would recommend we stop. They seem to be keeping you occupied."

"I can live with that. What else can I do? I’m not a social person, and drug use is something I was confined to as a kid."

"We could send your team to offer you some rehabilitation. To help get you on your feet. But your teammates would be required to give your team full cooperation, and they wouldn’t be allowed to switch sides."

"Doctor," Mr. Alcott said. "All three of your teams have powers. Eidolon’s group has the containment device, Prism’s group has the transportation and no less than three hundred fully autonomous underwater vehicles with the underwater cage. And you could be sabotaging them somehow. Mark Perry. The Undersiders."

"I could try to instill some discipline into your teammates. I’m not your enemy, but there have been some ugly moments. They included."

"You’re not listening to me. I’m not going to become an assassin for the Director," Weld said. His voice was hard. "And I’m not saying you shouldn’t go ahead. We just need a plan."

"A plan," Mrs. Alcott said it loud enough for others to hear.

Weld touched either side of his face, where his eye had been visible through the eyepiece of his mask. When he spoke, his voice was growls. "Very well. Understood. My team will now form an around you, to discourage you and aid you in your rescue. When I say you can rescue who you need to, you listen to what I need you to do. When that person is rescued, you and the person with the flashlight work together to get the flashlight and camera away. When that is done, I say goodbye, and you and your flashlight companion may go about your ordinary lives again, where you might have been had things gone differently. I am aware of the fact that old prejudices remain, of course, and you are free to speak up when you need to, to change the subject, or raise an issue or two. I can assure you, it will be better for the both of us."

I had to spit. I could have said something. I wasn’t sure what would have made the most sense.

"That man in blue and white will be eating you alive before he gets his turn."

I shook my head. "That was not wholly wrong. It did not seem wrong to me."

"I would not have said it was wholly wrong, nor would I have held you for it. I’m glad that we can still cooperate."

"You did not get along so well as you have over the last few weeks. I am glad that we can still cooperate, but I can’t agree to this arrangement, and I’d like to go about my days, eating, taking care of my family."

"Take your time."

"
======================================== SAMPLE 84 ========================================
Update: The school board has recessed the marks on Sept. 5, 2015, and you can no longer access the website to view the documents. The board has determined that this Policy is Unavoidable and made All Writs To Other School Administrators anounced.

Original Post:

A Brockton Bay school board member has been suspended without pay without notice, pending an investigation into allegations that she instigated a fight at Friday prayers at the high school.

According to a report in the Brockton Bay Bulletin, Chairwoman Mona Egea suspended School Administrator Constance Zimmer because she was "unable to function effectively alongside the rest of the school staff and lacks the professional perspective and knowledge that comes with her position".

Zimmer is a certified coach and is employed by the Brockton Bay branch of the American football team, according to her official website. She is also a combat veteran and was on the staff of the Brockton Bay Central High School, a school that was recently closed, according to the Brockton Bay Bulletin, where she worked with the school system.

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Zimmer is also the victim of a type of brain damage, the Bulletin reports, which occurs when a patient’s brain is deprived of proper oxygenation and shuts down. That shuts down processes that could help a person’s body organize and manage. In severe cases, it can lead to paralysis.

Get Today in Opinion in your inbox: Opinion front page. Columns; Today on | Ten questions, Show notes | Five questions, Two thoughts | Daily headlines



—Friday, June 17, 2015 | 11:30 AM



Author’s note: This note is in response to note #2 in the timeline.



"The Brockton Bay branch of the American football team has suspended a staff member without pay while the team looks into the incident. We’re also looking into a series of incidents in the school cafeteria that involved hazing and retaliation against those staff members who came forward. While we can’t comment on ongoing investigations, we can say that we will cooperate fully with any investigation into these incidents. Taylor Hebert"

"There’s no way she’s not a cape!" I breathed, a bit hurried, "Even if she can’t talk, because what’s she got inside her is the most powerful person alive, you know? Even if she’s paralyzed inside with no outside pressure, the outside world can swoop in and fuck her over."

"We can’t do anything to her," the Director said, his voice quiet. "We have no place to go, and the kids are in the care of the Weymouth family."

"I know," I said. I wasn’t entirely sure, but I thought maybe the Director was intending to imply there was some negligence on the Weymouth’s part. "But there’s still people we should be protecting."

"Are you saying we shouldn’t protect the Weymouths?" the woman with the bow asked. She was pregnant, and the bore was too large to fit through the opening of her bathroom stall.

"No," I said, at the same time. I was beginning to feel a loathing here. Of everyone here, probably everyone in the PRT. "There’s a lot we can do to help, but hiding and delaying our responses are fools’s strategies. We focus our fire where we can get it, and that’s where our strengths lie. We destroy, they create."

"We could do more to help," the woman said. "Improve your health, or volunteer more, anything. But your main concern is with the children. They’re human, and people need to learn to value them. We have to teach them right from wrong."

"We can’t," I said. "There’s too many deaths at this school, and there’s beening since the new chancellor was inaugurated. There’s no way."

"No," she said, and her voice was a little harder. "There has to be a way. You focus on one task, and you end up neglecting other, higher priorities. It makes for ugly, not-a-good-enough situation."

"No," I said. I was aware of how firm her grip was. I just didn’t want to try to move her to break it off.

"Problem is, I’m in the middle of something. Everyone has their role, and I’m the leader of our group. I want to help, but I want you to think about what it means, and why these others are so important."

"I don’t even know what it is," I said.

"
======================================== SAMPLE 87 ========================================
I’d been deeply disappointed that anyone had taken Zootopia’s merits as an excuse to spread the word about our supervillain leader. I had hoped that this would be one area in time where we could collectively come out ahead of the crowd. Maybe. Hopefully. I didn’t have confidence the leader of twelve teams would be that gullible, that they would continue to buy into the conspiracy theories after they’d seen something that didn’t confirm their preexisting beliefs.

Whatever else had happened, the thing that had stuck in my memory was the mannequins. I’d seen hero and villain uniforms in person, bearing the heroes and villains names and images, and I’d seen the bottlenecks where they’d stood with the various members of the Wards.

A quick glance with Zootopia’s finest pointed to Hooligan as the villain in question. He was draped over some discarded carcasses, some dogs even, but he was nowhere to be seen.

I could have stayed and stayed overnight, but a third of what had happened that night in the Docks had been bad enough. I couldn’t join the others and make amends, but I wasn’t about to chastise them for not taking this more seriously. If they wanted to make amends, they needed to take a page out of Grue’s book and look for something else to blame.

Third place? It wasn’t as bad. Bitch had temporarily lost her edge as the leader of the group, but she’d returned to an even playing ground. Me, behind her.

That meant we had to wait until the morning. I knew staying would do both good and harm, but it would at least be a chance to get in the habit of doing normal thing, like turn on the tap and follow the water. I headed out of my lair and paused outside by the water.

There was a stand of clocks in the morning area of a grocery store. What time in the morning was it?

"It’s three-forty in the evening," I pointed in the direction of the tap.

"Which means it’s getting dark." The expression on her face was nothing like the one I’d seen on the mug. Satisfaction?

"I don’t see it."

"You won’t believe me if you don’t," she took my wrist in your direction and lifted it up. It was at least partially metal, almost entirely glass, and her entire body was draped in a heavy metal bikini. It wasn’t just the bikini that was heavy – looking at it, I could see a contorted expression, something forced and against the expressed will of the wearer.

It should have been heavy. She could lift twenty or thirty tons. She was sadly mistaken.

A body landed not too far away. A man, wearing firefighter gear, little more than a sleeveless T-shirt and basic bathing suit, his hands on the shoulders of his t-shirt. His lips were set in a hard line, and he had a cruel expression behind them, as if he was watching his slightly disproportioned body do most of the thinking for itself. He stared at the bikini with a detached eye, trying to decide if he should be angry or embarrassed.

"Oh hell," Lisa muttered, "What a mess."

Sierra had been right. If it weren’t for the man looking at me with the hard stare, I would have thought he was having a heart attack.

"This isn’t the first time I’ve seen her have to put up with a ruddy pig," Sierra mused.

"She’s as robust as ever," I informed the others, "I wonder how she’s doing."

I could see the others reacting with the dawning realization that this was a man who was well on his way to becoming a monster.

There was the man who was cosmetcral, blond, masculine, coarse, blunt. Toward the end of the crescent-shaped sheet, I could see the narrow figure of a young girl, probably in her early twenties, clad in a white evening gown, her arms wrapped around her knees in a ‘passive’ way. She was staring at the man, struggling to find words.

There was the other man, strapping young, if Iwas remembering right. I think he was a guard, barracks attendant, or something. The young girl looked at him, and he just shrugged.

There was the man with the young girl. I’dtalked with Lisa about this man, and what he could and should do when it came to training his ‘flamboy
======================================== SAMPLE 90 ========================================
6. Canonical

Platform: Mac OS X 10.6 Tiger (Lion)

Version Audited: 5.2.1

SHA256 Checksum 20160810

016ceb2e56424f39e8fa959ec90cbe3f292595392f60bd07ef946db931690f723862 Version 'AuraFocusFlight': Fix for a potential denial of service attack (was a concurrent update to both the main A.I. and MainBridge) 20160810

0114dc6da5bf60932546e70ba046589b726ad7d0383e5f85426f2ed3f8ab084e0f829f96d717 Version 'AuraFocusMobile': Addresses a potential issue with the sub-version numbering 20160810 and other minor issues 20160810

00000000

001a0000

001a0000

001a0000

00000000

RSA secrets are created with a 24-bit salt and encoded in the Base64 validating the code as it was originally intended. This allows the checksum to be compared to the one verified using the 'original' encryption.



############

161b0000

001b0000

000000000000000000000000000000

161b0000

001b0000

000000000000000000000000000000



The number of instructions is increasing as each attacker is working backwards to achieve a targeting sequence. This can be seen in the Clientip Summary Detail (cs_list), the most recent message (view_message), the longest message (view_more).

The Clientip Summary Detail shows the remaining window of time before instructions are sent out to allow remote access.

The message that was viewable on this system is dated 2016-08-20T20:15:00:00Z.076V which makes it 2016.08.20T20:15:00:00Z and the day of the week 2014 is Tuesday, March 20th.



The plaintext text in question can be viewed in the following format displaying the Julian calendar:

<month><dayOfWeek>::<Date>

<year>::<Number>



The Julian calendar is created with the desired date in mind. It shows 0000 on the first day of each month, with 0000A being the first day of the following year.

The hacking network is launched with the Stack overflow vulnerability screen displayed.

The Hackers are running the Stack overflow vulnerability screen themselves. 253 vulnerabilities confirmed.

The Hackers are now actively recruiting.<br /><br />

Staking out in the London area was not only a safe way to stay ahead of the Nine, but it offered the Player and his teammates an easy route to any of the areas the villains were likely to settle in. With the exception of myself and the Milwaukee area, everyone in the Milwaukee area was either already on the Protect plan in progress or very soon to join.

"The Travelers’ room." It was a rough translation. "One of the shelters for people who were forced to relocate to Brockton Bay after the catastrophe. They’ve got a doctor, a professor, some nurses, and other people who were able to do some damage, but they couldn’t keep the cataclysmic earthquake without leaving themselves vulnerable to another apocalypse-level situation. They’re going to send everyone through here."

"I heard about the Overseers negotiating a way to get locals on board," the Player said. He looked at Sonnet and Jemima. Sonnet rolled his eyes at the translation.

Jemima gave him a sidelong glare, "Fuck them. I’m not going to be on the team with you."

Sonnet chuckled, "Get us on the same team?"

"Not that you are lacking in other areas," the Player said.

"I only want to help people! I’m not the best when it comes to the inside information or whatever."

"We’ll have background checks. You passed all of the interviews so far, you were cooperative, and you have a number of reasons to be flush with cash."

"It’s not a high toll toll city," Sonnet said, shrugging. He leaned back, rotating himself between his original position and a sitting position, a handheld radio in each hand. "Takes a lot of pride in what we do. It’s not exactly Earth’s starter point."

"Earths?" the Player asked. "What year is it?"

"1988."

The Player’s eyes widened. "You start saving people now…"

"Twenty eight," the First Awoken said.

The
======================================== SAMPLE 93 ========================================
Do you hear me?" Night glanced up at the Monitor. The woman was mounted on a skeever, one of those beasts that turned metal and walker’s flesh into an extension of the other. She smiled, the sort of expression that looked artistically forced, ridiculous, or just plain sick.

"I’m not that concerned," I told her.

"Very little sense left in her. She served under me for an embarrassingly short time. Compare to Butcher, who served under me for eighteen months."

"You’re saying you want to replicate Cherish, the same way you recreate people’s faces?"

"I would feel different if she wasn’t here. I can’t guarantee it."

"So you’re going to be selective," the Director said.

"Scion’s coming," Clockblocker reported. "And we can’t leave her there. It puts her in close proximity to Scion, and introduces uncertainty. We can’t leave her here, which means we need to reassess our strategy."

"Revel did an excellent job of minimizing our exposure," Revel said. "If we can find someone who can help us with Scion, we can move."

"We can’t afford to do it," the Director said. "When you’re trying to run a city like ours, you don’t need to destroy."

"That’s a choice you and I only have control over," I said. "I choose we focus on the objective, we move on. The Dogs do what they do because it’s efficient. We want to expose their weak points, get a sense of them and figure out what measures we need to take. If they’re uncomfortable doing that, then we find a place where they won’t have an avenue of attack."

"We didn’t move an inch, and that was with the officer in white," the Reporter said. "We didn’t do a thing."

I looked at him, and he furrowed his brow. "You didn’t act angry?"

"I’m surprised they didn’t murder you. The way you were worded, I was worried you were being too hard on them. Too hard an ultimatum."

"It’s not so unusual for powerplayers to murder their powerplayers. It happens even after they take on the official role. Just this morning, I had a discussion with my dad. He’s sort of ready to make up for not going to school, but… I’m not sure if I should trust him on this. This."

"And you didn’t trust the reporter?" Clockblocker asked.

"I… I didn’t believe him. But then, I didn’t think he’d be that big a guy, that brazen, with the way the city’s abuzz with talk of his possible arrest. A discussion with my dad. But yeah. If he’d been up to no good, arrested for some minor crime, then yeah. I thought maybe I would run into him somewhere."

"And you were going to keep quiet," Clockblocker said. "This Director Tagg is only interested in making sure the city doesn’t get an economic hit from the deal. Only thing he has going for him is the Badge and the trust of the local heroes. If I gave away my Badge, others would have to ask me for one, and I’d be considered a free man."

"It’s not a perfect world. There’s still war on," I said. "Famine, disease, infestation. Everyone suffers when shit goes down. But things are improving. Things are getting better, here. People are happy. Sixty percent of the city is getting better, and the villains and the heroes are doing more to work towards the common goal. I like that."

"It’s still an escalation," Wanton said.

"More aggressive," I said. "By contrast to the last time this kind of thing happened."

"How do you do it?"

By being himself, I was showing he was frustrated, but he wasn’t quite doing anything to stop it. "People are getting hurt, dying. I dig through their wounds, trying to find bits of information I can use, trying to find anything that might help this bastard escape. And it’s all traced back to me."

"And you didn’t have access to the system when you got your powers?" Gatomon asked. "You didn’t have powers before you got your powers on the boat?"

I shook my head
======================================== SAMPLE 96 ========================================
All you need is food, shelter and a chance to breathe. Sometimes that relief is felt in other ways.

We sent the Wards and Protectorate capes to Brockton Bay after the Endbringer event. We’ve completed the repairs, and you’re still looking for work.

Our city is safer, and it’s cleaner. You’re working alongside people who are willing to leave your group behind, people who want to make amends.

Your feelings are still with us, and we can’t let that happen. Can’t satisfy our curiosity, or buy time for our Coil to find the others and bring them in.

It’s your call. You’re a member of the Wards, but you’re a nobody, now. We can give you the status and file for your personal information, like everyone else.

You’ll have the file, but you won’t have the answers. We can mediate, or we can hurt him, depending. It’s on you to get the answers, and I don’t think your friends will be willing to stop the agents of the will of the worm if it means letting you have a second chance."

The deluge of information and conflicting information that was in my line of thinking was alien. I turned my attention to scanning the TV, while keeping my attention on Tattletale and Private First Class Wilhelm. The channels were almost changing so I could see one of the widescreen televisions with a recent documentary on the channel. Documentaries were a show I rarely watched, but when I did, I was eager to check out what was being said.

Private First Class Wilhelm’s attention overtook him as he shifted his hand over his keyboard. He started up his computer and opened a new tab.

‘Begin file:



Subject: RE:Fill in the blank



I need info, for my project.



Though I type it manually, I try to set macros in place so I always hit the same key, in case I need to.



Amelia is amazing, and I have to learn how



Though I type it manually, I find the methods to add my own information



It links back to me on my laptop, and I have to open it to inspect



And it tells me I’m a wisp, a barely sentient ghost.



I’m not sure how to handle this, so I’m putting it on my head and leaving it here



And I’ll leave it like this until I figure something out



It’s not a good day. Not like this, our very first good day together has been ruined by your stupidity



I’m not even sure I believe it myself. I’m not sure I believe you, Tattletale.



You want to fight, don’t you? Fight and make this place rise again?

Don’t you dare.

I made this plain and simple.

I could have killed you, can’t you imagine? With mosquitoes? Kicking all the way down the street? Losing your mind?

I could have taken you apart, like I did with Grue.

But I’m not going to.

You see, I’m a stubborn bitch, Skitter. I’ll even deny my right to complain, so long as it’s agreeable.

We’d planned this. I wanted to get ready before the meeting started. The way I figured it, I’d have less reasons to lie, so I’d be more prepared.

I opened a drawer and found a wet check, with a slip of paper attached. I flicked the papers out of the way as I put the wet check into a separate pocket, then pulled on my glasses.

"I’d like to have a word with you," I said.

Iris shook her head, but she didn’t comment.

I looked at my cashier. "Hand?"

She wrote my name on a notepad, then handed me the paper.

It was as meaningless as what I had said. Information, only data. Nothing more.

"Iris, here," I said. "I’d like to have a private conversation with you."

Iris stirred, turning over, staring at me.

"Iris, here," I said, again. Her eyes wandered over the customers. "I want to talk to Skitter."

"What?"

"I told her to meet me at the ship’s campanile, and she
======================================== SAMPLE 99 ========================================
"The demon that sits at the center of everything," I said. "It has to be a person, or it’s just a skewed combination of two or more individuals with very similar powers. You have to banish the influences that are affecting you as you sleep. Otherwise, you become very nearsighted. You miss important things."

"And… if we ignore the unconscious, there’s no unconsciouss to ignore," Tattletale said. "The thinker class is the group that picked themselves apart, more or less intact, and built a power that’s going to be protecting them in the here and now. You give them what they want, they leave the thinker class alone."

I thought of Charlotte and the four kids that had surrounded her. I didn’t mention it, but I’d been informed that they were part of the renegade group.

Grue had apparently felt the same way, because he had turned around and was walking away, his back to us.

Tattletale pointed. "Here. This is a safe space. No direct confrontation, and keep to routes between suspected gang members and members of the Chosen. No offers, requests or insults. These are rooms their conscious mind designed, built with a set time and place, and anyone trying to enter is going to be confronted by a never-ending tide of capes."

I didn’t believe her, but she followed us as we walked. It was through one of these rooms that we found out Tattletale’s power wasn’t fully in effect. It had been her second attempt at navigating the prison, something that had split the Travelers on the most obvious level.

Tattletale described a third attempt. "The prisoner consents to be searched, and she has a say in whether the search is broad or specific. If the occupant of the room has a say, they get a say. If the occupant of the room isn’t a cape, then the search is limited to what the cape can see. The same goes for positive and negative areas. You can’t give everyone places."

"But?"

"But," she paused, "You can still check a room in a cell, even if you don’t have a key. And if there’s contraband, you have to use a fingerprint reader or a pin code or token or token combination or whatever to unlock the door, and you have to make an ID or leave."

I nodded, not entirely convinced. It made sense, on the surface, but as much as Grue and I had a thing against touching or entering, we didn’t really have a thing against the practice of cells or the cuffs.

"So, have you made a plan?" Tattletale asked.

"Not yet," I answered. "Have to take my dad to the bathroom, get my hair wet, comb my hair into shape. I’ll let you know if I do."

"Okay," she said. "Just need to get my hair wet, comb my curls into shape, give you a tour of the room, maybe I’ll tag along if I run into any problems or if there’s something I can do for you that you want to see or do for me that you’d like to see or do for myself. See if I’m in any danger, and then we’ll take a short break and maybe see if we can't tackle something before you start again."

I nodded and turned my mind to the task of combing my hair back. It didn’t take long to devise a plan.

"Let’s go get your hair changed," Tattletale said. She raised herself to a sitting position by the sink and looked around the room. "Fugly Bobbers is servicing the area behind the counter, so we’re going to do a few quick jobs for him before he comes back. Make sure he has a place to go when he opens the shop, too. It’s been a hard few days, you know."

I nodded and turned my attention to combing my hair. It wasn’t perfect, wasn’t clean, but it was something. If nothing else, it gave me a degree of assurance that my continued participation in the ‘holidays’ was actually permanent and permanent alone.

It was only after I was sure my hair had been changed that I ventured, "I’m ready to go out. I wanted to talk to you, see the other shoppers."

"Come, and I’ll hold court in the morning. If you want a place to go, you can stay with me. It’s just a question of whether you want to join me and your dad."

======================================== SAMPLE 102 ========================================
Technically, now that I had used my power to notice you, I was billed as ‘Frederick’. I’d set a trap for you, I’d probably go as far as I have to in order to escape, and I would cost you. All in all, I was tracking you down… quite a few failures."

I could see him stammer. His face twisted into a scowl as he stared at me.

My gut said it wasn’t joking. He was trying to be serious.

"Failure?" he said, half-dramatically.

"We lost the armbands," I said. "The armband was the first contact they had with non-G-drivers, so… duh. Somehow I don’t think it’s that easy to replicate for an enemy with an assassination weave against us. There have been three attacks in the last few months that didn’t use an I.D. or other methods. One was a terrifying whistling knife through the heart, another was a standing ovation during the Superpowers ending, and the third was a mughole."

"Mugwump," he said.

"Three, all of the above. Of the four attacks, this was the one that got most attention, so I had to do something special to get your attention. Umbrella successfully funded the creation of a biohazard suit, complete with waves, biosensors and death traps to kill any bugs that landed on them. After the first two were removed, in the course of investigating reports of trouble, the city hired us to test and perfect the biological hazard. We were to put the suits to work, and here I am, standing here with an infested rat in my immediate vicinity. I have two perfectly good snipers between me and that rat. How in the world is that not a lethal combination? They had one biotic lockdown and one crack down in effect, with the assumption that a counterterrorist team would be notified and scrubbed from the computer systems. I have a slider in the settings that halts the process, so a combination of factors including, but not limited to, the fact that I have an affair with that particular woman more than any other, and that particular woman working for me, is all it took. To give you a sense of what I’m talking about, here’s a video of what it would have looked like with the biological hazard turned off. It wouldn’t have been pretty. Not in the least bit like the HD 1080p TV that’s sitting in front of you. That screen is a razor blade at best, but it’s still screen twenty-seven for the most part, and for all you techno-thieves out there, it’s still pretty easy to find and arrest me."

"What about my sister?" Mrs. Yamada challenged him.

"You can try to visit her at her parents house, I guess. I went there once on my own, for Skip. It’s not exactly a visit, and it’s not entirely a peaceful one. I’m brought a guest. They’d look very tense around you."

"Okay," my dad said. It was Tragic, but he capitulated. "I’ll come with you."

"By herself?"

"No. I’ll stay with you. If you share a room with her, or if you share a common interest such as books, movies or music, you two can share a shared interest like friends do. Wine, beer, conversation, hearing each other’s points of view. If you want, you can join in on quiet moments if it comes up. I know some people are picky, and if you find me repulsive, someone else might make me share a bathroom with you or share a shelf of books."

"That’s not soothing," my dad said.

"It’s not, and I wish I wasn’t," Alexis wagged a finger at him.

"It’s more than that," my dad said. "I overheard your representative say that you’d agreed to release her now. I think that concession was too big a lie for your sake and for her own interests. I’ve read the transcript, and I’ve seen it all. You tried to poison her, you usurped her autonomy, and you’ve provoked a war between her and me. I know this is your plan from the beginning."

Alexis glanced down at her feet. "There’s a world where I’m really okay like this. I won’t fight you."

"Then you’ll have me shortly."

"I think that’s
======================================== SAMPLE 105 ========================================
I caught his meaning. When he talked about co-opting others, it was me, kids.

"If you wanted to do it," I said, "how did you even know what they’re like?"

"I saw some of Noelle," Carl said. "Brought her here. Took care of one of the case fifty-threes."

Damn.

"Who?"

"Dad," I said. And asked who. I feared I’d offend Rachel, who had no reason to like me.

"Patching kids out," Krouse said, "So they’ll be somewhere safe."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because she needs them," Marissa said.

"What about when they get hurt?" Luke asked.

"I deal with that on my own," Krouse said.

"As an adult?" I asked.

"Nope. Not really."

I looked at Lyra. She was staring at a wall.

"She gets better when they’re close," Krouse said. "We got through the fight with Noelle okay? When they were closer."

I nodded. We hadn’t. Lyra’s condition was bad, but we hadn’t lost a person.

"But when they’re hurt?" Luke asked.

"When they’re hurt," Krouse said.

"Seriously?" Luke asked.

Krouse nodded.

"I don’t do drugs," Lyra said. "But I have no hair, and enough makeup to make me look like I was contending with a brain surgeon, so to speak. It’s not like I’m wearing a diaper, either."

"Not a diaper," Marissa said.

"But it’s still fun," Luke said. "Racing my friends back then was the stupidest, most idiotic thing I can think of. Except it’s not stupid because I got caught. I got offed."

"You got to live with it," Krouse said.

"It’s a support system. I’m already getting asked about Noelle all the time. I’m not going to tell you this, but when you were talking about crossing paths with her, what did Lyra mean?"

"You woke up Noelle," Marissa said.

"St. George. The fairy godmother."

"She didn’t see me," Krouse said.

"I didn’t. But she stopped by Church and returned twice, for the little ones who were crying their eyes out. When St. George was out of the apartment, she took one look and told Lyra, the foster-mother, that she knew where Noelle was. Lyra gave the order to take her."

"I remember," Krouse said. "Darn! Not again."

"It doesn’t matter," Luke said. "We’re busy. Lyra is a Nord, her best friend still lingers. So they were guarding the door, hoping to get in and get out without getting shot. And she got a curtsy and a wink from the goddess of friendship, just to let them know she’s safe."

"You remember?"

"Flavor of the hour," Krouse said, as much to himself as to his host.

"What happened?"

"It started like a normal conversation. Me giving details to help fill in the blanks. Then she got a headache and didn’t respond. She sat down and blushed brighter than she ever had in her life. So I told her to keep herself bright, suggested she watch TV. She didn’t. What did I mean by saying that she felt emotional? She WAS high. She CARED!. She was making innocent jokes and having a good time, but she was being sensitive, and I felt a FUCKING WARD waiting on the sidelines, making the overtures, aggressively NOT making them."

"Wow," Cody said. "That’s a lot to say."

"My point was that she didn’t understand because she doesn’t understand shit, much like I do. So my buddy with the scars REMEMBERED that kind of thing. He was good at it, too. He peeled off his shirt and tried to hide behind it, saying he didn’t want to cause an issue, but then he saw Lyra and thought maybe heATTENTION was the culprit. Then he started getting upset over something that had nothing to do with Lyra and he got really angry, and he started going off on the aunt and the hostess. And I thought
======================================== SAMPLE 108 ========================================
When I turned my attention back to the road, I saw that the straps that held the net down were still fastened, tying it down. Too tight, it would fall off. I frowned. I could deal with straps, but barbing myself to my driver’s side door was annoying.

That left me two options. Could I risk a long term confinement of my own making? It had been annoying with the wings on my flight pack, but the net was still down, and I didn’t have a good chance of getting it out. Or could I head back to the PHQ and lodge a formal complaint?

I doubted anyone would believe me if I told them about how to contact the local PRT team, so Iovi took the latter option. He logged in, and found his way to the sub-page of my dashboard. When he got to the next page, he subbed in the username and password he’d used for my ticketing page, "phq".

When others had logged in, there was a dim red tag for my name there.

I looked at the page for the Incident at the PHQ. I knew Dragon had engaged a Ground Pound unit, had her been within the arena?

The page opened with a black banner with the words ‘End of the World’. The blotchy, monochrome image showed a plume of white moving clockwise around a red background. The timeline was a precise, horizontal scroll of events to come, showing the signs, the major players and the methods they’d use to control the world. The final image showed the sheer amount of evil that was sweeping the face of the planet, vaporized into a red smear as clean as the rest of the images tried to be. The blotchy image finallyady resembled a vapor. Plain view showed how it had coalesced from two other, identical blobs, raising into a roughly humanoid shape with a crowning pillar that ascended to the sky.

The blotchy image finally took form, a man doubly bent and formless, with arms reaching into the air, then disappearing into a gloomier world. He loomed in the center, blood and other fluids soaking his shirt as he glared at the camera. He was taken aback for a moment, and then shattered, every part of him taking over any other part of himself, absorbing something. A slow, grinding process, taking the man apart.

A portion of his brain was taking over the remainder, process of elimination. It was almost an uphill struggle, but his own brain was beginning to produce.

He was finally coming apart, his attention a wasteland of nothing but the vision and the recording.

There was only his passenger, this process of elimination.

Another Rider.

Rerouting thoughts to Voyager. Checking identity.

Couldn’t check identity, couldn’t decipher the ripple. Sense danger.

Moving, controlling movements.

Two more targets, no less than twelve, a background noise. No radio, no lights.

But the lights began to fade. The process of elimination hit its limit.

He focused on one, and there was a peak. The lights began to fade together, and then each of the three would vanish.

No reaction from any of the lights. Nothing except the increased focus and the ability to perceive danger signs.

"Tattletale, understand?" Jay asked. "I can sense your headquarters, here. It’s in an area of nowhere. The surrounding walls are standing, and they’re crumbling, and they’re growing worse with every passing moment."

Tattletale nodded, then turned to me. She had the plexiglass I’d needed to make the room look larger.

"Fold into the wall, behind," I said.

She did. The effect lasted a full second, and I was reminded of the dream I’d just had. Of my fears and anxieties. My allies were there, but they’re visible only to me, and I can’t read them.

"You’ve gone very quiet," Jay said.

It would be comforting to respond, but I didn’t.

My heart was pounding with so many points of contact, each at a different heartbeat's range. Each threatening to push me over the edge.

Voyeurism. The feeling of my life force slipping from my control, my control slipping from me.

"I think I know what you’re thinking," Tattletale said. "Evolution willed it, or at least that’s what they sell in the news."

"No," I said. "I’m logic, reason. If that’s the case, then I think this is smart
======================================== SAMPLE 111 ========================================
Lament.

I was even more aware of the bugs around us, their movements and the warping of space by the collision of fine metal threads with distant objects. The sonic boom that rippled across the area would serve to assuage any concerns about my safety net getting knocked over.

"It’s a delay," Coil said. "We still need time to wipe the morale of our rank and file from the inside. Get them acclimated."

"And if they realize that they’re easily replaceable, that they’ll be deployed against the public, and not just our nemes," Crucible said. He had his helmet and gloves off, and was standing by with his hands clasped in front of him. He had a frost-tinted mask that left his eyes dark, his nose narrow, and thick brows. "We won’t be able to dispatch all of them, Chariot and Tecton."

"We’re experienced in this sort of thing, Weld," Coil said. "We’ll hold out for as long as it takes us to get them into the woods and under the bridges. Wards, in the meantime, be advised. A full slate and dial up your tactical air raid sirens. Ensure that the zones are not about to be warped into bloody confusion. This is a situation with multiple suits, and we can’t afford to lose a single one. We have both tactical and medical support, and we may well be able to keep the offensive juggernauts off-balance until the last suit is brought down."

"And us?" Grue asked.

"The thermonuclear device you deployed against Endbringers on IVR. It will still carry through to implement control measures. The antidotes won’t make a real difference until the suit is stopped, but we can try slowing it down as we move deeper into the fight."

"You may be playing them for fools," Shatterbird said. "But you’re not stupid, Ames. You remember the above quote? It was about the dangers of letting people get too comfortable. We’ll take the suits as far as we can, but the end of the world won’t be any happier if we send them to the dogs than if we kept them. Pugliese, shut down," I said.

"Got it," Piggot spoke. Shatterbird moved to get to her feet, and Weld tapped a key on the laptop to shut it down.

"We have Piggot on board," Accord said. "If you care to confirm, schedule a conference."

"Agreed," Shatterbird said. She stepped away from the table.

"Is there any particular person or thing that you’d like me to thank?" I asked.

"We could have had Grue’s chat with Piggot, but we didn’t. I would have liked to see how confident you were about recruiting Piggot, but I can't say anything definitive until you’ve departed, and there are questions I have yet to pose. Perhaps the Hood’s fears about a contaminated relationship with Piggot will have played out, if you’re feeling cynical."

I shook my head. "Without a doubt. I’m too tired to be talking strategy for a potential alliance."

"My plan," Shatterbird said, "Is to use them as a bargaining chip. Divide and rule. They have no interest in being divided, and if they are getting tired of being ignored, they won’t go along for any length of time. If you’re feeling cynical, I can be reached via cellular teleconference."

"Will you be able to remove the masks of the three residents withstood the attack?", I asked.

"Not without a key."

I found the phone and threw it out the window. I was forced to keep moving, as the suit shifted locations to accommodate the communications. An airstrike or two wasn’t going to do much, but getting the news out there would be key.

"Ah, Winslow," Tattletale said. "How do I look? Understood. If you’re interested in meeting the Director?"

I shrugged and followed as she got into the elevator.

"My squad is already on it," Tattletale said. "Go, give the new team a wave."

The elevator stopped outside the elevator. I followed as our delegation departed.

Which should be a red flag, should have raised red flags. Because I couldn’t let this slide. So I harangued Regent and Imp with the subject heading up, despite the fact that the three were already pasted on the men who resided in the building
======================================== SAMPLE 114 ========================================
The walk back home was long-ish, I supposed. It was getting late, and we were pretty well set up as far as our destination. I figured out where we were when Tattletale let the helicopter’s rotor turn.

We were dropping into a bridgehead as the ship changed direction. Scion was taking his time, his targets slowly narrowing.

As the ship stopped at the bridge, we passed over the bridge that had housed us until just a little ways behind the craft. There were more people aboard, people in white.

The ship was pushed back enough for us to drop down, heading north. Scion followed quickly after, his target further away.

The white capes had their costume choices tentatively made. The choise seems to be whether we want to be aggressive or passive. Some were pressing the attack, jumping on Scion, while others were positioning themselves further back, hiding in shadows or in the midst of the cloaked figures.

Scion moved, and the crowd scattered. The cloaked cape went after the remaining members of the Chinese Protectorate.

Damn.

I was briefly perplexed, as far as the capes in that area went. The capes in the lead could have done a lot with the distraction the crowd produced, and they were either too slow or too enouraged to do much more. It was a problem they would have had with Alexandria or Glaistig Uaine, I noted.

I scanned the battlefield, watching and waiting for Scion to advance, to see if he was getting closer.

I wasn’t sure this was a place where I could be aggressive. The capes in that area were getting dangerously close to Scion. It was why I hadn’t been willing to get as brutal with the crowd when I’d attacked the Khonsu Memorial Bridge. I wasn’t sure this was the same sort of place.

If he was getting nervous, was it something that got worse with every passing second?

If he was getting agitated, it was a good indication, because it meant he was getting ready to move. Something to keep an eye on.

Assets. He had enough information about me that he was taking full advantage of this opportunity to make a play.

He advanced, and the capes in that area moved to stop him. Like snowflakes, the Chinese capes moved around him, and he held firm.

The capes around him slipped, and some took actions that broke the law. They slipped into the background, or they used powers they couldn’t ordinarily afford. They took bribes, promised favors.

It was a gamble, and it was a gamble with a lot of costs coming in the form of injured Legacies, dead squads, prisoners, the loss of faith in the governmental structure, an inability to cooperate with the other factions and the public at large, and a decrease in trust in the Protectorate.

He had a different philosophy. He knew who his enemies were. He knew where their interests were. And he was seizing every opportunity to attack, from the battlefield to the courtroom.

The fiery end at the toe of the copycat stepped forward, reaching out.

The woman shrieked, and the daemons were immediately put out of their misery.

But even as she joined every other member of the Chinese team in giving a salute to the one who had just been killed, she kept her distance from the fight. She stared at the body that hung.

It took minutes for the fighting to spread. Villains started appearing where therehad never been any major violence before. Attackers would hide in the shadows, or they would stand silently in the center of the battlefield, unseen by their enemies as the fight wore on.

Then the ground shifted. The shadows around the daemons shifted, and the daemons started making more noise. Pelting daemons began to turn, and the attacker would appear, showering the daemons with physical strikes.

The daemons consumed the defending capes, and the defending capes were forced to back away, adopting defensive positions.

Daemons consumed the defending capes, and the defending capes were forced to back away, adopting defensive positions.

Daemons consumed the defending capes, and the defending capes were forced to back away, adopting defensive positions.

Daemons consumed the defending capes, and the defending capes were forced to back up, taking the easy way out.

Daemons consumed the defending capes, and the defending capes were shut down.

A trap.

They’d been battered, but the presence of the capes didn’t let them relax. No. By putting them in a kind of penance, by making them anxious, by putting every card on the table,
======================================== SAMPLE 117 ========================================
A deep black line ignited and Fred turned a brilliant shade of purple. The natural glow was a darker blue-white inversion.

He’d picked the wrong shade. Too dark. He’d have to do something after this.

He dusted himself off, donning his costume and removing the donut-shaped pieces of armor that traced his hips, ankles and knees. He unzipped the top of the hood of his costume and pulled off the hood of his hoodie to reveal a loin cloth with a full, wavy coat and a loose fitting, sleeveless undershirt. The flat of it pulled halfway up his back, around his shoulders, then down the length of his arms, ending in what looked like a long disquieting scowl.

Regent was just behind him, his back to Bitch, his hand on the back of one wrist. Kissing her seems to be a pastime for him, and being together with her was the minimum necessary thing to keep from doing that.

There was a break, a long pause.

Signal over the armband.

"Undersiders," it read. "Requirement satisfied. Internal organs canard."

The arrow at the bottom of the screen moved again, up, to the right, then down.

"Satisfied?"

"Yes."

The words were oaths, less a command than a demand. I followed the bottom of the page. "Then I’d like to report that they’re here. Bitch’s here, Grue and Genesis here, they were talking to the sheriffs and cops a bit ago, but they should be able to follow the normal rules of engagement again. Tecton and the non-playable sheriffs were able to slip out of the ambush without any trouble, it seemed."

I idly wondered if this was a trap. A way to get me to drop the investigation, to lay low and get back to business.

"Bitch and Grue?"

"On the way here," he said. He flashed her a smile.

She smiled back, "Ok. Keep talking, use your own judgement, but it’s probably better yourshole get taken care of then don’t you think?"

"I… I don’t know. It’s not like there’re any other bad guys around, besides the thugs from the Boardwalk. We could go out to fight the wipeout with them."

"Just use your best judgement, then," she said. She got an apologetic half-face shrug and walked off, leaving me with the sheriff.

I nodded. I was out of earshot.

"I don’t agree with this," Tattletale spoke.

"Leave," Grue said. He and Tattletale froze.

"But… but maybe we can get him taken care of later, in case the deal stands?"

"If it’s any consolation, he’s got a little something to give up," Tattletale said. "He knows there’s a set up, and if he doesn’t play ball, then it’s going to backfire or complicate what we wanted to accomplish, and then it gets messier."

"We could have handled it," Grue said.

"By walking," Tattletale said. "We knew they had guards."

"And we had badges. We had numbers and dossiers on those guys."

"We could have attacked in more than one place at once."

"There were more who were listening to me," I said. "I’m going to go. Fifteen more minutes of quiet, we can watch the news while we eat. They’re supposed to be giving out help to the people who can tank a hit from a gun or two, or fight the things with the bigger, better weapons. We can find some civilian bodies to use in the meantime."

"Ugly," Tattletale said. "Guilty, as well."

"That’s not much."

"In all seriousness?" She asked, quiet, her head down.

"We’ve got a shit ton of soldiers, and we can probably make some headway in this big city. Harder than it should be, with the way the other gangs work." I met Shadow Stalker’s eyes. "But whether we succeed or not, it’s a hell of a lot of fun. It’ll get us back home before the end of the year."

The male gaze softened a little, but it was hard to read the expression on the girl’s face.

Was it
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Reminder to self, remind me what its like to be one of these guys.



"Fuck you," Bitch growled, as she pulled a chair away from the table and walked over to Harbinger’s chair, right next to him. She took a seat at the table, turned Jack around, facing him. "Fuck you. Fuck you and whatever else."

He looked back to Bitch, as if to gauge if he’d have another option. As if it would be able to read her mind, maybe, or judge if she was making the right call.

There was no way he was faking that sort of feeling. He’d gone with her plan, especially. Saying what he did make a part of his gut, something to help cement his belief that this was a legitimate option.





Snare 13.5


It was almost an in, almost like the feeling of being inside a mindfuck, but almost there. Near enough. Almost.

We had almost arrived.

Almost.

Hamburgers were patiently put down on plates, sitting in plastic wrap at the ready, each covered in steaming cups of chili and hashbrowns. Two wolves were sleeping here, squealing in the midst of it, and the baby was sleeping there too, idly. He’d pulled himself up enough to climb onto Sirius’ lap, and his shoulder was propped up enough that he leaned out of the way of the truffles that were curled into knots at the side of his back. His head was tilted forward slightly as he took in the chili and hashbrowns. His cheeks were red, and he squirmed enough that he had to clench his teeth to keep from biting.

The baby was curled up in the crook of his arm, mostly asleep.

Hoyden and Ballistic were constantly together, if not always in the privacy of My Room and the conference room at the other end of the building. My swarm sense was the best I could hope for, but my train of thought was hampered by the fact that I didn’t recognize my surroundings. I stayed still, paying attention to how the clouds and the moon were lit up by the reflected lights of the aurora borealis. Seeding the landscape with faint silvery highlights, I could tell how the buildings and buildings mottled the sky, reflecting the light in subtle ways.

Conversationally, I was aware of Hoyden and Ballistic as well. I was aware that they were talking and were plotting a course for our stop.

We had to move on to a plan of attack. I waited until the comm was over and I was free to think aloud.

"Enemy number one, three suits made their debut this morning. We shot them, but weather delayed the results a little. I think weather will give them the chance they were seeking before they showed again. They are crossing our sphere of influence, and we cannot be sure of their route, but we believe we destroyed their third suit, at least in the beginning. It was gray and mottled in appearance, as the other three failed to do, and had third panel segments pop out and latch on as a result. I think the doors were opening last night and yesterday, and Obelisk is partially obscured by the three suits that were mottled in yellow and black today. I also know that Obelisk is one of three buildings that will be salvageable, and we have a plan in place towing the robots into the area."

The White Rose’s prow finished building, I thought. I now knew the primary function of the White Rose was as a remote lab for the Grey Goo.

"The other thing I’m remembering is that Shatterbird was in this city a little while ago. I don’t know exactly what she was doing, but she was targeting these areas, and she has some guys lined up, along with a team of armed soldiers. I’m not good at remembering who they were, so I’m not sure I can identify them…"

I waited for further instructions, and the Normandy didn’t take flight. They were taking the time to examine the area, and again, they didn’t take the attack.

"Just about everyone here was in the city to witness the beginning of the end, if you can believe that," I said. "The good, the bad and the ugly. Some had returned to report the events. I got in contact with Dragon, and she’s offering her entire suite of cameras and equipment as a bargaining chip."

"On it," Dragon said.

"We know the D.T. officers were outed, that’s why we’re speaking of you here," I said. "The other problem is that we don�
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The same thing, only back in more crisp, focused colors. A yellow for the taillights, a brick of coffee for the taillights and backlights, a yellow-green for the cloth and Kudzu emblem on the front, and a cobalt blue background for the back.

If he could see himself in the eyes of the people here, everyday people, his family and friends, he would be terrified. So would his family and friends. So would he be if the people in charge didn’t pull strings to bend his spirit.

And if they did, well, anyone could manage a little dysfunction. Idiots were hard to come by, these days.

He’d settled on a preference for camera, now. He used to be able to crank the camera up to its full strength in about five seconds, then hold it down for as long as he could before snapping. But with the Pentax K-mount format, he could take a picture in one take. Fast.

The picture showed a hazy image, of a young girl in a formal dress and suit, her parents at her side. There was a group of people near the backdrop, some in a private room, others seeing their reflection in a mirror. She was tidy, prim, and the frame wasn’t framed by her dark hair. The people in the frame were breathing, talking, sharing certain traits, all pictures at once.

Until the second picture. A view on the other side of the room, through a window. The boy, the girl, a man and a woman, their heads turned towards the camera. They were talking, but the frame didn’t reveal anything about their expressions or who they were.

The identity crisis. It was one of our first real failures as a species. We created our first sentient being, and it wasn’t enough. We built an entirely different civilization, and it didn’t take off.

And now we’re left to wonder if we’ll fail again.

‘We’re leaving' isn’t an option. The timeline doesn’t allow it, and it’s clear our resources are exhausted. We’re organised, and I’m convinced we can pull this off, but our efforts will be slower than they have to be, both for our own sake and the worldbuilding that’s been built.

I’m approaching my eighty percent since we left Brockton Bay. When we leave, it’ll be better in every sense of the word.

There’ll be shouting, hand signals, finger painting, brace systems, backhing movements, toe tapping, rearrangements and deliberate resets.

It’ll be slow.

I looked at the list of names, as if I could count the stages in our society’s progression.

Cape fight. Half a million names.

NPCs introduced.

Societal changes.

Subtle, but important.

NPCs defeated.

Societal changes that way.

That's one sense. The other sense is of the present. We’re in a period of intense, intense conflict.

The Protectorate. The Wards. The major villains. We’re all involved. You’ve got the CPS record, sorted chronologically, for the various groups.

The Wards have headquarters in the city, while the Protectorate does too, but the group as a whole is small.

There’s the core group. The guys, the old guard. They’re the ones who’ve been around longer, the ones who’ve had more chances to grow and mature. They’re the ones who grew up with their parents, who worked double shifts, got double shifts, then then double shifts again. Even after the record-setting solo appearances by both Endbringers and Saurians, the distinction was thin.

And then there’s the others. The new faces. The rookies. They’re the ones who changed the most, the ones who weren’t around long enough to develop their powers, or they disappeared from view without anyone noticing.

I reached out to all of them, like a child reaching out to a missing parent.

It wasn’t easy. People were saying goodbye, leaving Facebook groups and messaging me to say goodbyes. Some were close to me, absentmindedly, wondering what to do before the close, then deciding they didn’t want to stay anymore.

But some were all at once, and all together, they’d make for a reassuring figure. All of them, in slightly different numbers, tall and small.

And behind that imposing group, there were the
======================================== SAMPLE 126 ========================================
Reading without putting words in his mouth, Elizabeth managed a soft tone, "I would extend my hand, if I could understand you."

Tattletale didn’t reply, but instead turned to her teammates, "What’s going on? Are you guys okay?"

"Tattletale’s back and she’s spooked," Grue said. Bitch smiled wickedly.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I found a translation. If you understand, I’m very sorry, but there’s no point to this discussion."

"I understand," Tattletale said.

"Emily said the same thing, though less directly. Sorry, again, for this shortness of speech."

"She’s a friend," Grue said. That wasn’t such a complaint, but it was still something. "We were friends before, before we became foes."

"I have no friends," I said. "I hate it when people make me do things though."

"Aren’t you tired of them making you do things?" Bitch asked. She made it a question.

I hesitated.

"Um," Director Calvert spoke, "I was wondering what form your Crossbreed and Your porn star friends are going to take. Impressions so far, and what do you think they will think about this?"

"It’s embarrassing," I said. I found the kitchen and started preparing dinner. I was going to prepare a side of rice and put it on the stove, but I was distracted as another explosion happened in the distance. My bugs noted what had been going on with the buildings, and I could sense the rise and fall of the houses, the tremors.

"Where the fuck did he say that? A map?" Imp asked.

"Couldn’t find it on the street," Tattletale said. "That would be his headquarters. If he wasn’t actively tracking us, maybe he was reading our minds, putting all of these ideas into a mental picture like a power user might do. But it’s there. We have a way out, and we’re pretty much out of the way."

"We’re too close to the house," Grue said, "And we don’t have any illusions about what we’re seeing."

"Intentional? I’m not sure these guys are equipped for this kind of subterfuge. Not if he’s using precogs to help narrow down the targetages, or if he’s just lazy. We need to be able to respond fast, especially given that the house was hit by two more blasts."

"They could be making a cue card," Tattletale said. "Cue Card XIV.17. The Hill Country."

"Cue Card XIV.17," I corrected. "That’s the one he used when he was trying to decide where to attack us. It’s the one that showed up in New York."

"Cue Card that comes up if you don’t have the encryption. The one that gets decrypted if you don’t."

"Cue Card XIV.17."

"Consequently, we may be able to guess what it is. Let’s see. I.E. Jack, Bitch’s heartthrob, the apparently eunuch who can turn things into insects. II.C. The dwarf who can create bugs from mere material. III.B. The one who can make bugs from dead matter. IV.C. The one who can make them from living materials."

"Finds it’s a miss. My guess is that Card won’t let you leave without a big payoff."

"A lot of people would buy that," Grue said, snorting.

"A forum for thought, discussion and research," I said. "And I’d still prefer a solution that wasn’t murderous if I had to wager I had a powerful pawn in heading her off."

"No. A forum for cards to be placed on. If I had A->X, and you had Book III-"

"Aren’t we better if we discuss things like the likely causes of a given event?" I asked, raising my hand. "What makes some eventsr more likely, or more probable?"

"I’m not trying to baiter you," Grue said.

"I know you’re not saying anything for fear of you doing something you’ll regret," Tattletale said. "But isn’t it better to know the answer than to wait until the
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By now you should know, saying Jade heartbreaker, using non sequitur. Fallen angel.

Oh jeez, thinking about it and trying to come up with a reaction was like thinking about suicide.

Actually, trying to react was like trying to react to something physical: it was heartless, it was mean, it was mean spirited, and it was almost effortless.

It reminded me of my mom.

The girl who had killed her, the mean girl.

"Stop," I said.

A few seconds passed, and I could feel my heart plummeting into my stomach.

"What?" she asked. She was wearing a clown makeup routine: red lipstick, eye shadow and a dramatic black dress with a slit up the middle that left enough legroom that she could run without having to remove her boots. Her costume was immaculately done and finished: Her makeup, her texture, the silverware she was setting out. I recognized her from the picture Rebecca had put together: Flower palette sort of thing. Her costume was something else entirely. It was slinky, somewhat formal, but endearing, casual in a very formal way. It was easily three times the normal size.

"Sorry," I said.

"It’s fine," she said. She looked my way. "What do you want?"

I shook my head.

"I want to see how you do."

"I’m a little nervous," she said. "I never really get worn out."

"No fussed. Thinker one is a little suspicious of me, since you left home for the hospital. Never got the bug boy, didn’t get the tour of the factories."

She nodded.

I shrugged. "Just need to get up to speed."

"You got robbed?"

I shrugged. "The guy who works for me has a bunch of cards up his sleeve. Bigger sleeves. He’s keeping me on a little clock, but I figure he’s trying to use me like he used with my mom."

"No robber, no worries," she said.

I nodded.

"Looked like you made it," she smiled.

"I made it," I told her. I took another gulp of water and enjoyed the quiet. The sound of the rushing wind was interrupting the music, and I could feel my body starting to stir. I took another gulp and enjoyed the quiet even more.

As it transpires, the people of Brockton Bay do tend to listen when they’re being talked about.





Gestation 1.6


I could hear the sound of the announcer’s voice. "The Protectorate has landed in Brockton Bay. The Dragon’s Teeth and the Brockton Bay Wards are on the streets, assisting the local heroes."

I turned away from the tv to investigate. The Piggot girls and Hannah were both there, along with the remaining squads from the local Wards, many with their costumes ragged. I didn’t see Molly, but she was heading with the rest of the Piggots.

The local Wards got a ride from Lung, who was hanging out in the open. At the far end of the casualty count, I could see Clockblocker, Triumph, Battery and Legend. Photon and Jamest doppelgangers, in doubles.

I could see Shadow Stalker, her normal self and her new doubles. Photon and Jamest were walking down the side of the street together, jogging in something between a slow walk and a run. From what I’d seen while I’d been searching for Shadow Stalker online, it seemed like she was taking a break from Brockton Bay from both a physical standpoint, but wanted to stay in touch. I couldn’t blame her.

The Dragonfly took off as we approached the waterfront. We lost sight of her in the midst of the overcast sky, but Legend followed us into the water.

Rounding a corner, we found ourselves opposite our old territory. An overcast sky surrounded us in every direction, an overcast spotlights showed up from the street, and the glow from the fires on the street was reflected in the water. There was a glow where there should have been darkness – the glowing of some flares or lanterns. Something drizzling.

So we were completely hidden from enemy eyes, while the heroes were distracted trying to identify the vandal, the thief, the gang member or the crazed pharmacist that was making their late night snack or desperate for something to drink. At the end of the alley, a short distance away from the heroes, there was a dark shape that had been an office two blocks away, but which
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With the movements of her head and the rear of her body, Charlotte received a clear and distinct image in the back of her mind’s eye. Her sister was on her knees, naked from head to toe.

She felt a strain, like someone’s heart was breaking, but she didn’t move.

The door slammed at her back, and she couldn’t help but react in kind. She felt a mixed feeling of irritation and fear.

"Now?" her sister asked.

"Now that my head’s on a plate," Charlotte said. She reached for the plate, and her brother blocked her with one arm.

"I wouldn’t have minded," his brother said.

"You do," Charlotte said.

"Because I won’t."

His sister smiled, but it wasn’t a grin. It was a twisted expression, with points of his nose and the area under his jaw, and some wavy black hair on top of it. Black eyeliner, eyelashes. She tugged on the ring of black hair and it went limp, the back of it curling around her face. "See?"

Charlotte stared.

"It’s Krshia’s invention," Regent said. "She made it when she was in jail, forsted it, and then went out and obtained more."

"I read the card," Charlotte said. "I know what it says."

"And?"

"She says she’s going to kill you."

Again, that subtlety. She couldn’t tell Regent exactly what she was going to do, but it was clear enough.

"I guess it says something that her powers would protect me," Regent said, sounding annoyed.

Charlotte nodded. She couldn’t respond so quickly, so quickly. She weighed the options and the chance of victory, considered the options that were open to her, and then looked at Regent.

"Swing by, Doris," she said. "Have some food, maybe some drinks. If you’re really into that sort of thing."

Doris nodded.

It wasn’t that easy, though. She knew Regent really well, but the brothers were very similar in another respect. Regent was outgoing, talkative, boisterous, a bully in every other way. Charlotte could be quiet, even introverted, but she had a deep, profound understanding of people, and even a bit of charisma, if she limited it to the supervised exercise of her power.

Plus, according to Charlotte, he had a bit of an an obsession. If that wasn’t enough, check out the way he looked in his photos.

Regent had done things his own way. In the course of doing things his own way, though, he’d come to enjoy them. He’d collected stars. They were tiny, twinkling objects of unidentifiable material that had moving parts. In his early years, they had only been his second or third best ideas. After that, they had taken on a life of their own. In the course of collecting the objects, he’d applied the power of his many followers to help with the manufacturing, then had refined the technique to incorporate more and more bodies into his collection. By the time he was done, he had enough of them that he could start selling them.

He supposed that had been one of the reasons he had done it.

Once he had enough of them, though, there was a limit to how many he could keep in reserve. He just had to look for them. If he took one in the middle of a construction zone, and another was a matter of minutes away, chances were good that they would be ruined in a matter of minutes. That was just the way Levi operated. Always, always, finding the next.

He wheeled around, going on his feet.

"Krueger," he said. The word was a half-sigh, half-laugh.

"You forced my hand. I didn’t have to invite you, and I didn’t have to let you inside. Now I’m going to start making calls. The owners of this neighbourhood want to sell the building. They think I was there when shit hit the fan, when I rescued Grue from the hospital. They think I’m going to make concessions."

"Not likely. Given what happened here, it wouldn’t be wise to bid for a property at this stage, if you don’t plan on staying."

"Ah, the joys of bureaucracy," Krouse smirked.

"Not always, but we’re getting closer."
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Thanks for looking after Kal and nailing that last body part, you know. I know it hurts to have to keep that up, but we can work on that."

I nodded and swallowed, hard.

He looked more agitated than I’d seen him in some time. It wasn’t even remotely pleasant.

"I think I might have come to the right decision," I said. "You leave, you get better, and if you decide you need to hit someone, I can send another set."

He nodded.

"Let’s go deliver the food."

"No," he said, tightening his grip. "Stay."

Fuck me. I knew he was capable of handling himself, but this was one of those moments where I had to bite my tongue and do my best not to provoke an angry response. I didn’t like how this was going. It was predictable, it showed such a lack of surprise, and it left me worried about what was about to happen.

It started as a low rumble, then picked up speed.

One body part continuing to bleed, another standing, slowly at first, then more noticeably, as if he were trying to signal that he was still alive and alerting himself to incoming attacks.

One more to be rid of.

One limb missing, the hand.

Scion emerged from a shaft of metal, moving toward Rachel with an ease that suggested he wasn’t resting. Complete and total.

I kept my eyes shut. I could distract myself by looking at the scene, but I couldn’t be sure that Buildinguria could lie while retaining my hold on reality.

Was it a trap? Would Scion attack first, taking the moment to position himself?

No. More disturbingly, as helpful as it might be to think in a certain direction, to forego critical thinking and rely on immediate threats to carry out my plan, it wouldn’t let me know if he’d gotten away or not.

I wouldn’t have been able to stop Calvert if I could have used my power, but my friend was dead. I couldn’t even defend myself in this shifting, fluid environment.

I didn’t have an escape route. There was no way to steer clear of a Butcher without losing people I cared about.

"We’re here," Rachel said, her voice quiet.

"You’re going to kill people?" I asked. "Skinny boy with a bullet through his brain? No. He has a girlfriend. We’re supposed to like her."

"Don’t talk to me, Chi," Rachel said, stabbing a finger in my direction.

"What? I’m not your enemy."

"You’re the reason I have to put up with this," she said. She wasn’t exaggerating. It sounded like she was striding down the street at breakneck speed, arms outstretched. "You’re the reason I have to keep running. If I have to fight to save others, I’m going to like that."

She pointed at me, "San Diego stuff? They were saving people there. When Battery was there, they were calling everybody with a phone. I gotcha. You know. Companions. I think we’re even."

"You’re not helping?"

"If you get a little angry at me, this meeting’s going to wind up somewhere awkward."

"Okay," I said. I turned my head.

She turned her head, "Loyalty is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? A big part of why I’m still here, why I’m even alive, they made that promise about. I promise. Well, kind of. I was saved by a stupid guy that met a pretty crappy fate, I owe him life and he’s down on his luck. But I’m also a very practical person. I came from a simpler time, I know how important stuff is, I’m logical. I’m tough enough on my own where I can talk to people and get a job done, but I’m stubborn where I have to keep things up and running to accommodate my feelings."

"And how did you convince him?"

"It’s not that easy. Actually, that’s probably why you came here, not the least. Be patient. They’re trying to get players on board for the next big deck building contest, and you’re one of them."

I waited for a response, but my heart was pounding and I didn’t have anything to say.

"The Video."
======================================== SAMPLE 138 ========================================
Any jousting events are inevitable, but should the hero strike first, initiate the fight, be more aggressive in sizing the monster off, it will be for a greater cause. Failure to do so may mean certain death.

Once I’d decided, the Simurgh floated to the side, then spun to cast a figure eight. My body, already stretched to its limits, was pushed to its limits also. The stretched muscles took on a particular texture, one closer to skin than flesh, leather or bone. My vision swam, sluggish, like I was viewing memories with parahuman abilities, only at full resolution. My hearing changed too, moving further to the center of my range.

I could hear Crawler, a subsonic sound, like his pheromones, his vibrations or the sounds he made as he slept. I could hear Bonesaw, who was doing much the same as I was.

The Simurgh floated to one side, then spun as if to face me. Again, she cast a figure eight. Again, she solved the problem. No problem in the way.

"Imp," I said. When she didn’t solve the figure eight, I said, "I’m thinking two questions. What do you think of this idea?"

"Beautiful," she said, her voice sounding a touch hollow. "RARESTREE!"

She suspended herself in the air, then turned her attention on us.

"Golem," she said. "Let’s not underestimate them. What do you think of this plan?"

"Terrified," he said. "Hottest damn stuff’s ever."

"That’s just the beginning," she said. "I’ll tell you as soon as I can hear it. I just got an email, and as soon as I read it, I’ll let you know the status of the test and the place for the fight. For the moment, the Fallen need to prepare for the fight. They have the upper hand, they can take it."

I could feel the fight extending around us. The tests were standing still, Pale 10 feet tall Cerberus holding her giant hands in front of her, Cerberus-shot out of the frame, a third leg outstretched in the direction of the kneeling Whitestrake.

Then the fucking Tengus appeared, in the midst of the mess of Nunts and Ambassadors.

The fucking Tengus ate one, or something like that.

Onegin was walking on the Nunts with the limp Onegin did battle with. I could feel it expanding, adapting. Alteration? Something else. Theres something to it.

Theessed onegin was pulling herself up, outflanking one of the Nunts in fighting style. One of her hands she used to throw a quantity of people, people she’d taken from their homes.

The other, taller and broader-looking of the two, wasn’t so engaged. She had a party, slashing and stabbing with a halberd, or perhaps a machete, the people she was attacking were many, and she was a hard target to hurt.

A glowing bubble surrounded Onegin, a continuous bubble that extended, warping and distorting as it traveled, until it was nearly normal.

"You’re fucking with me," Nuns said. I stirred, willing the cracks to close themselves up.

"We worked for him for a reason," one of the Chosen said. "He’s played us for fools the last few times. He wants us to play him for real. So we’re putting ourselves on the line. We’re calling this number, because we need to know in case we get taken advantage of."

"Never" was the reply.

"Never would’ve thought he’d be that crass", the Number Man said. "Well, we know what he’s after. We know who he is. We’veanzated him. Call that number and we’ll give you your call to whichever home he comes from."

There was a pause.

"1-800-273-8255," it said.

I tried it.

It worked. I picked up the phone and dialed it.

"Hey Sir.

"What is this, Brockton Bay?" I asked.

"It’s good to hear you exist."

"No problem. What can I do for you, sir?"

"I’m looking for a way in, and I have a course available to students from the University. Those of you who want to take the more practical course can take half today, half the following Wednesday, and lose some time
======================================== SAMPLE 141 ========================================
A pocket dimension. He’d picked pocket because he thought it fit his alter ego, Glaistig Uaine, who combined the worst aspects of a pocket dimension and a home. A world of only stone and stone artifacts, full of wrinkles and spots where the ancient capes had hidden things.

"My dear apprentice," King Kaladin breathed the name, looking at the young girl in white. "Why do you stare at me? Why cannot I see your smile, hear your voice when you’re speaking to me? I admire you, you know."

The smile, Kaladin knew, was the smile he’d given his daughter. It was the same smile he’d given Ren, back in the days when they’d been brides.

"Because I have a secret weapon. A black pearl. One of my alibums, that’s powerful enough to kill Scion, and it’s free. Don’t care about the details, but I’ll tell you what I’m offering. Immunity, information. I’ll let you watch and listen in, knowing what detectors I use. Familiarity, comfort. That’s all."

And Ren’s promised power?

"I won’t lie. I’ll make this simple. I’ll take your three month probation and leave you in your place for three months, then return you to your place, with the knowledge that you committed a felony and a small amount of loose change. That’s all."

"I can’t take your money," Kaladin said.

"I have more. Free food, booze, I do my part to ensure it stays out of the villains’ hands. Things are getting better, but there’s always issues. Things are getting better with the guild, but there’s still quaggan abductions, ambushes, crimes against the government. Things are getting better in general, but there’s always…"

"There’s always more," Kaladin said. "Fear. There’s always a little something you didn’t know you had. You realize things aren’t fair and everything, but you can’t put that away, so you keep coming back for more. There’s always more. I care about this world more than I know about myself. I can come up with better ways to help it, and that deserves respect."

"You’re saying you want to help more worlds than I do," Ren said.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But I can think of better ways to contribute. I started with this small project, but I have a lot more respect for humans when it comes to making compromises and giving up things I don’t want. I will no longer be keeping to the conventions of the Birdcage, but I will be sharing its surroundings as we make our way back to the larger network. Its inhabitants were kind, but the rest of us took a dim view toward its confinement. I’ve made compromises, I will refrain from any overt acts against that which is to punish those individuals, and in doing so, I hope to make our way back to a more normal existence."

That showed a kind of hunger which the others did not feel.

Behemoth shared his. Subconsciously, he was letting his heart skip a beat when he spoke. "I can tell you, the most important thing is that you get what you want."

"Fine," Kaladin said. His heart was pounding, his fists clenched, and he did not move.

"I have other things I want."

"Move. I’ll get the others together when I come back."

Kaladin exited the doorway and was joined by Aisha. Arriving in a huddle, they turned their heads and surveyed the scene.

The huddle then broke up.

Ren had fallen to the ground, and his death was a bittersweet thing, for both ends.

Others were gathering now that the combatants were out of the building.

To be with us again, they were nervous, the same way we’d been anxious.

It’s the Endbringer! one of them cried.

And we’re just pawns on the board, trying to do what’s best for c… Posted by Ariane on HF for Faultline on p.1



"We’re not going to be able to save them," Kaladin said.

"Move!" someone ordered.

It was not Kaladin who responded. Evangelos was. "Holy crap. Holy crap."

"They’re going to kill us," Kaladin said, his voice still quiet,
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Are you going to attend?" It was Tattletale’s voice.

"Don’t really have much of a choice. They probably want me to join either way, so I’ve got to do this and help make this thing work. Might as well benefit myself and my people the most."

"This seems like a bad idea," she responded.

"It’s a no, really."

"What’s a yes?"

"Being the host isn’t really the point. The guests tend to want autonomy over the functions, to say what they need to say and decide where they stand. Being the host means being able to say what they need to say and act like the guests want. The more autonomy the better. More fully, I’ve said my piece and drawn the necessary conclusions. There’s no way to replicate my method without violating the unwritten rules."

"There have been attempts."

"I’m not really allowed to talk about that. What about it are you thinking about?"

"Well," she said, placing a hand on the top of Bentley’s head. "Those are the big things. What else?"

"Space warps energy. Mannequin altered the energy of our world to give himself more free time. Renouncing that, heset a course for Earth’s pole, deciding to take the shorter route. We’ve attempted to intermingle our coronation with an invasion of the kind he did, and we’ve failed. There’s another invasion, something I’m not allowed to talk about, that I’m sure we’d succeed against, something that I may be able to."

"You’re talking about Mannequin."

"He’s an athlete. A rogue. I’m sure we can make a good case. I just wish I’d known about their leader."

"Irsa Aurora I. Q. Aurora Aurora denied permission and taken the name Anomaly, andquaude in the same breathhas set foot on Clarke’s land, meaning there’ll be an I.Q. tournament this summer between champions of the American east. Aurora denied Clarke admission to the Wards, despite you being a former teammate and a friend. You were also teammates with the now-disgraced writer and Brockton Bay native Lisa. In the here and now, you’ve attracted attention from authorities. You’ve even crossed paths with man in white. They made a report on the local leader of Brockton Bay, and a meeting was arranged. You were both turned away. The report says they were talking about taking you into custody, and the Q.M. officer that found you said you had extremely low chances of making it out of custody alive. They suggested bringing you before them soon after, but the heroes there promised to search you and Lisa on your arrival and find nothing of value."

"I don’t think I have much left to contribute. I already started. What else?"

"The Protectorate. They’re looking for Panacea. Their liaison, that’s… how she found us. She’s been playing twister for a living, trying to do one thing and doing it better than the rest. I think she’s just stored up enough information and leverage that she’ll do just about anything in the next while. Keeping in mind that she’s not a hero. Deals with what she can, at the rate she’s coming at us."

"And you’re thinking about going after them?"

"Yeah. As a last resort. If it comes down to it, we can’t afford to stay quiet anymore. I’m more inclined to trust the professionals than the birds, and I’m okay with going after her if it means getting her on board. When the chips are down, if something comes down to it, we have to take them. Lisa said she’s not only willing, but eager to help, even if that means going up against the Protectorate and the PRT."

"With the knowledge the PRT has that they’ll take her advice and go after the Director herself?"

"That’s the least we can do. The other two: Director Piggot may try to run us off the grid if she can get away from us. We know more about how she operates than we did when we were in the limelight, and more about the damage she can do. Without the public recognizing us, we have but one course of action left – we go after her ourselves."

She let that last part hang in the air.

"And that’s only if
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Which makes this trick infinitely more useful. Anti-Brutton manipulation. A one-in-three chance of successful, unarmed attacks. A one-in-three chance of multiple Brutes hitting me with identical attacks.

But it can’t be all there is. Can’t have people wasting my time on meaningless gestures.

My focus now, before this capes could degenerate into bullies, before I became the laughingstock of the Birdcage, before I’d become someone lost in thought, was on other business.

"Mr. Chambers," the PRT official spoke. The official was male, middle aged or older.

"Vanderhoof," I said.

"What is it?"

"You appear to have made a purchase. For the time being, we will be selective, limiting your contact to those who are level-two or higher in our hierarchy."

 I looked at the PRT official. He was staring at me.

"Thank you," I said.

"Very polite. Level-two? What do you mean?"

"If this is a ruse, you must understand that we do not have access to your entire stockpile. It would be reckless for us to do so, for we would be putting ourselves in a position where we could use this ruse, knowing that it is a sham."

"I already told you I do not have a stockpile," I said.

"It would be better if you had one. The agents are limited in number, but we can fit them to your doorstep, if you so desire."

"I know," I replied.

"They are placed in two vehicles. The first is a white van, similar to the one we used before. It will be delivered to you shortly. The second is a black SUV, much like the one I used before. It will be delivered to you shortly."

"I have to go to the bathroom, then," I told the official. "I hate being away from my family, never-I do not want to lose sight of them again,_-)"

"The same for you," he said. The SUV was arriving soon.

I can’t- I can’t leave them like this. I look silly without the costume, but at least I’ll be able to defend myself. I looked at the official. "I mean, it’s not like I did anything to earn your trust. I made a promise to stay and continue my family’s legacy."

"In exchange for your loyalty, perhaps we could offer you a consolation prize?"

"What? Into the bargain?"

"If you cooperate, we could be willing to make a deal, potentially affecting both of you. You would start by helping me, then subject you to whatever I suggest. Depending on your responses, we may be inclined to break the current deal, in exchange for some goodwill or relief from your frustrations."

"A consolation?"

"Yes. After all, you are working for a supervillain, aren’t you? Perhaps you could be trusted with a plan that puts you in a less dangerous situation."

I sighed, then thought of Tattletale. "I’m not sure I buy that."

"I’m aware. But that doesn’t make this any easier. I have other concerns. For one thing, I need to know that you’re not blackmailing me."

I hesitated. I didn’t like the sound of that. Or rather, I didn’t like the sound of the sound being repeated, but I didn’t know what I would say if I could help it. "I’m not blackmailing you."

"That is a more apt phrase."

"It’s a rather apt sentiment," I echoed back, even as I knew the words were misleading.

"You know, I do like that your power has its own identity. You have your own perspective, your own perspective on things, and your power really does have a way of fitting into everyone’s character, shape and form. Adaptation, then. Perhaps it is fitting that your power is based on your willingness to change, adapt and redefine. Perhaps it is fitting that your power is a trademark and that you are willing to test your identity on things."

"What?"

"I get the feeling your brand is not so useful in this hour of need. For one thing, you do not have a position of power in the PRT. For another, the rules that currently stand have yet to be strictly applied. In the meantime, your team is to be treated as disposable."

"How convenient."

"How convenient," Alexandria said.

There was
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Not that I was out of place. Some place I could target.

He reached out to grab me with one hand and to slam into me with the other, putting me beyond the reach of my teammate’s ken. He stepped back out of the way, setting himself down on the ground. He was stronger than he looked, physically stronger than he looked, and he didn’t look like he was in a state to defend himself. He was reckless, both in what he did and what he signaled. Running, be it moving in his dog’s direction or falling just because an obstacle blocked his way, he dashed through an open window and into a building as he ran through it.

Not that I was in a position to argue or speak. I was in a position to send a letter.

"Stop," I ordered.

They stopped, watching me.

"We should stay," Grue said. "Wish we could. I’ll fill you in on who and what’s where."

I glanced at him. He wasn’t shifting state, so I couldn’t read his meaning, but I was thinking at a similar point in time.

"What’s so important that we should leave?" I asked.

"You have to understand something about me," Grue told me. "I have a gift. A power, if you will. A power that makes people smarter, fairer, freer, more compassionate. It’s a shield, a wall I erect between myself and the people who would do me harm."

Which were, you guessed it, bugs.

"Not to say I don’t! I think you’re full of shit, full of shit in the beginning, but I think you’re closer to the mark than most. You already know the answers, but I think you’ll be more surprised than you are."

"You teach English?" Grue asked, raising his voice a touch.

"Studied the classics," Grue told me. "In school, I tried to be a good teacher but I could never quite get it right. Now I’m getting it done again, but I gotta say, I think you’re a smarter teacher than I was. The gap in knowledge is so wide it doesn’t evenoutpace each other. And you already knew the basics, so it makes this digesting of details that much easier."

"I’m not bad at all the things you mentioned," I said, hating myself for doing it. "I get it. Maybe I have a low self-esteem?"

"It’s a possibility," Tattletale said, "But don’t dismiss it as such. Praise the master."

"Mm," Grue made a noncommittal sound.

"It’s still a gift," Tattletale said. "They won’t forget it, so they’ll want to give you another shot."

"Another shot?" Regent asked.

"It’s a marker. Any indication of a higher power, an attack coming soon, such as it is now, it’s just a beta-affinity off a wire. A matter of time, and things that are already set in stone will be harder to change."

"Tattletale," I said, "What’s the bet?"

"You think you’re a planner?"

There was the normally bland waitress, now with a monosyllabic, haunted voice. "I… I think I’m supposed to get one lucky for my courage or my perseverance. That leaves me…"

"Hm. You can handle one loss?"

"I can handle loss. It’s something I can do. But I can’t handle this. Not like this?"

"You got the weights down to the nearest eight hundred pounds," Tecton said. "Another fifty to play with?"

"I don’t have many choices. If I have to buy something, I’m going to ask for it."

"That’s not what I meant," Tecton said. "I mean you’re not saying anything for a number."

I tried to speak, to say something convincing or unconvincing, but found it so hard to come that I simply fell silent.

When I’d started to drift off, Tecton asked, "Making the weighty stuff happen is hard?"

"Yeah," I said. "Anything I have to do, I do it at night. At first, when I’m too tired to think, or I’m so
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The number of eyes on the electronic board changed. There were no yellow warnings, just nine consecutive reads of the word ‘danger’.

"Nine votes-" Miss Militia started.

She fished in her pocket for a cigarette, handed it back. "Possible chemical. Or radioactive. Or… something radioactive."

"I don’t care," Jack said. "This is the second time in two minutes we’ve come up with the same issue. Burns. Can’t say which."

"We’ll patch it together," Grue said. "I think it’s pretty fucking obvious he’s connected to the outside world, and it’s pretty fucking obvious we’ll let people on the team start figuring out which little rabbit holes they’re going to have to go down before we can get them to safety. Maybe we let them put the things into play. Maybe we have Crawler construct some early warning. But I feel like this is the most obvious use of our resources, and it’s going to hit the biggest list of priorities."

The television set was static, the pictures have been stale since the Nine retreated to the loft. Jack craned his head around to see Shadow Stalker in the company of three of the Nine. She was unhurt, which meant she hadn’t been bothered in the slightest by the blasts.

He raised his hand to stop her before she could finish the sentence, "Because I, we, bought the rights to capture them, and if any of them happen to be alive and we leave them be, the PRT goes into hiding. It doesn’t make sense, and it won’t be an ENDGAME."

She continued staring at him, but the look wasn’t entirely trust. Not in the existential sense. It was more like the bush fire in the distance, only the flames were aching, the blazes blazing.

His pulse was pounding, his heart rate soaring as he saw the wounded. Two women, charred but untouched, each with a wound too extensive to classify as a single injury. A man, burned but intact, his face forever marred by the look at the damage done, "And the stuff they gave us? It’s leftovers from the package. The package they got back from… I don’t know. The element of surprise there. I suppose we’re supposed to take your word for it, though the fuckboy didn’t exactly look it. Bit of a special thanks to us for giving him the fucking elements."

The phrases left his mouth almost as soon as they’d arrived. Almost. Without looking at either of them, he’d written his name down, then gone out of his way to avoid looking at the others who were present, still walking in the general direction of the mall.

Things reminded him of Gallant, at least. The hairstyle, the fancy dress. Even the, what? The costume?

He couldn’t bring himself to look away. Instead, he smiled, "And if I do look, I’m bound to look funny, like I did here. Don’t want to make you guys feel guilty."

A light smile touched his lips. "You can’t blame me, with all of the shit you’ve been through."

"But?"

"But I can’t turn it off. It’s the truth. But I can stop telling everyone about the stuff I learned, I drop one bombshell and it changes the course of your lives. See, I’m not retarded, I know what I’m doing. I know what I’m doing and I do it because I really mean it. IOW, I did it for three members of my team. I might do it for you, too."

"Isn’t that supposed to be the law of the land? Don’t want to break the law?"

"That’s what she is," Shepherd snapped. "She’s a tinker, she’s getting herself into a scrape because she’s trying to break the law. The penalties are stiffer if she’s successful, if she isn’t trying too hard. That’s not the way things work in the real world, isn’t. That’s the way they are, isn’t it?"

"That’s not what I’m saying," Shepherd said. "I’m just asking questions that may help shed some light on things."

"The questions are the devil," she said. "And here I was, thinking you should take an interest in what was going on, because you’re about
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Destination. The point of no return.

The final attack. The point of no return had been accomplished.

The girl would disappear. Disappear from existence, perhaps, or become something else entirely.

The entity looked to the future, looked to possible worlds, and it saw the remnants of the entity’s existence. The myriad of forms it could take, as it advanced through the void. More destruction, in every conceivable medium.

In the here and now, the entity was aware of innumerable worlds, of many different races and creeds. It could see the future, and it knew this would continue, with changes across each horizon.

The futureteller had seen every world, and had come to a conclusion. It had shut the gates, and entered a slipspace jump to a different world. The process took a minute.

But the entity knew, now, as it had then, that this was the best world for this conclusion. The process was saved, and the entity could take action on the field in a moment.

It pushed forward, full force, and it could see the future unfolding.

The connection formed, and the entity leveraged every tinker device, all but one of its lost ones, to gather materials. It built a replica of its own machine, a metalloplastic refuge in a body that was more an extension of the land than anything.

It pushed further. There were resources to be found. A key that would open all of Nirn’s gates. It found it, and it began searching.

Agreement, the entity writes. We share your desire for a clean, honorable, and peaceful endgame. In exchange, we will provide what you require.

Agreement. The terms of your cooperation are clear. Each member of the Settlement is fully equal, in terms of voting, ownership of the enterprises, the various tech, financial and other property, and the ability to shape the outcome of the endgame.

Agreement, the entity writes. We share your desire for a clean, honorable, and peaceful endgame. In exchange, we will provide the Halberd, the Vault Boy, and other paraphernalia you require.

Agreement, the entity expresses its excitement. We have too much material to keep track of all of our scattered agents. We will be anonymous to the public, safe to pass on messages between agents.

Written in coded English, with help from her diminutive counterpart.

Agreement, the entity writes. Again, in response to previous messages. More land mines.

Written in three languages. In simple English, the agent argues, expanding on previous topics. Recommends drugs, alcohol, furfuturism.

Agreement, the agent writes. It would be appreciated. Thank you.

Written in jade green, with help from her transliteration and an instruction in advance.

Agreement, the entity responds. Contessa will be in touch.



Written in the ichor-muted rock of unknown era.

Agreement, the entity responds. Goodbye.



The encrypted communication is sent to the Vault Dweller in earnest.



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<body><font color="#00FF00"><u><i>"I killed Coil. We killed him, but we didn’t kill you, Taylor. We made you.</i></font></u></font></body>

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"I’m not- not a wizard. I haven’t had any luck with my hands in that department. Sorry.

While speaking with Ajna, Pandaria invokes memories.

Ajna, Pandaria tells Taylor, is dead.

About to find out that Ajna is a wizard.

A jumble of strings of broken English, with one syllable that sounds like a single syllable.

("Taylor! Taylor!")

A jumble of English, with a long sound that sounds like an order for a crowd.

A jumble of vomit.
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Right, the people who couldn’t or wouldn’t break their rules. Getting caught in some bullshit that was unfair, that was totally against our rules and we couldn’t accept it. We were dealt a hand of cards, and we didn’t play it right.





Gestation 1.3


I fell in step beside my new sleeper agent. We watched the news. The headlines were the same, the only difference between the two versions of the same event being the subject of discussion. Kid Win’s latest skirmish with the heroes. Leviathan coming to Canada, the fight starting. And on that same day, the Parahumans Online message boards were still bustling with activity. As usual, there were hundreds of messages and discussions relating to the latest chapter five. Our new chapter five had just released.

Skitter’s latest declaration. She’d been forced to make the hard choice: go confront the villains, or do nothing and let the heroes walk away. She’d been forced to do a lot, and none of her hostages were any good at what they did. Maybe that was her power, her weirdness, her politics. But whatever it was, it was apparently a hard decision.

Around the sleeper agent Cauldron was gathering, I could sense it with my bugs. A miasma, creeping over the local geology, affecting anything that grew and anyone that touched it. The local aquatic life was especially hard hit. I went out of my way to avoid touching it, but I noted the gradual loss of certain substances to the fluid. Ozone, for example. Even thedrains it would have sent to the ground had been lost nearly all in one pass. Ozone, distilled water, distilled steam, and traces of other things that weren’t recoverable. Ozone was steam condensed into a white smoke with a few recoverable elements, notably water and oxygen. It lingered for seconds, thickening, then distorting.

The other channel through which the vapor passed through. If the amount of change doubled, we would be plunged into darkness for a minute.

The mood in the room immediately shifted. Almost into the darkness, the vials of steam faded.

Then, suddenly, the room became clear. Into the room, into the hallway that led to the laundry room, the hard plastic bucket appeared, then unfolded as a mound of rubble. On the other side of the mound, I could see Dragon, Armsmaster and Doctor Mother talking.

"That hit hard," Armsmaster said.

"Even after you touched it, after we notified you, you couldn’t feel anything from the point you saw it? I’m still not getting it."

"It’s a hit designed to mess with our heads," Armsmaster said.

"Was that just the templar? Or was that Aegis?"

"I think it’s the answer youdes."

"They took their time figuring it out, before Aegis gives the go-ahead."

"And you didn’t notice?"

Armsmaster ignored me. "You’re worried about someone that may be dangerous, and you show more concern for the people in your chain of command than you do for me."

I ignored him as well. I said, "I’m not worried. I’m aware of what’s going on. I’m wondering why you’re so reluctant to believe me when I say something is wrong."

"It’s a bad situation, and people will wonder, when the situation is explained to them. Why aren’t you telling me?"

"Because you’re afraid. You’re not sure what to do. We have to decide whether you decide to stay or to go. If you do, we lose."

"Is that a fair assessment? If it’s a choice between saving yourself and helping me, do you really want to take the chance?"

"If I do something stupid, am I really helping?"

"Probably."

"Then you’re helping me. At my worst, you’re more of a friend than a teammate. At your best, you’re a sworn enemy. At least for now."

"Cool."

"And if this gets violent? At least take a moment to think about what you’re going to do? I’ll be outside soon, and I can’t make any promises, but I’d like to go over the major issues. You raise your hand if you’re going to do anything while I’m away."

There were hands go up. I straightened, keeping my thumb and forefinger pointing at the same time
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What?

He held a gun, aimed it at the stream, then fired, a single shot. The gun hit nothing but water. Nothing devastating, but it served to delay Blaster until Brockton Bay was defused.

The thirteen year old joined Defiant and the others, and began strapping a harness onto the girl. Invention? Something derivative of Raymancer’s power. She began creating an encasement around the ship, building a nearly transparent forcefield wall, extending it to extend through the arrival I’d managed to pull herself together. She started to dress the girl, putting an opaque bodyguard over a bulky frame, to block the worst of the sunlight that streamed down into the hallways.

Even through the light, the force fields weren’t blocking everything. The boy was frozen, immobile. Her power ran through the leg of her costume, power restored.

She turned to move, veering straight for his throat before he could react.

Dash forward, strike.

She thought long, then sent a shuttle of glass shards flying into the air, spearing through the air toward Manton.

The man didn’t react. He closed his eyes, taking the hits.

Dash forward, strike.

Through the pain and the pleasure he experienced, he thought he’d somehow acquired a sixth sense. It was hard to explain. It was like being able to feel his heartbeat, his arm and leg moving in sync, but most people only had sixth senses to go by.

But he knew, because he was able to manipulate his body’s actions. He could use his arm to move his leg, his hand to move his hand. His entire body moved in sync, to throw the gladiator out of the way of a laser that was moving too slowly to be fired at a normal person, and he made a run for it.

Lasers would be the last thing to work. He’d only have forcefields, he thought. His vision was getting hazy. If he tried to attack, he’d only be creating more of the forcefield effect.

But he needed to stop, and he needed to do it now.

There were too many people in the ring, and the length of time Manton had been out had slowed them down. Even with Hero inching ever closer to Manton, the combatants were getting bogged down, distracted, having to make a hard call between attacking one of his minions or trying to escape.

Manton was using clones, which meant the combatants were getting dangerously close. Manton wasn’t a invader. If anything was really going to happen to them, it would be a casualty of the fighting in the distance.

One of the Valeant-built suits was setting down a forcefield in front of Defiant. Courser and another were closing in on him.

Manton let one duplicator slip past him, catching the forcefield on the way to the other side.

A loping, long-distance leap marked the real Manton moving. He let the forcefield go and delivered a pathetically short cut to the two heroes on the other side of the ring.

"Almost," Chevalier said.

"Almost," Manton responded.

The forcefield reached the Valeant suit. It changed, the wheel coming free, the mechanism in a spastic breakdown.

The suit pivoted on its own, and Chevalier pulled the pin.

It detonated, an incendiary detonation that flattened a block of flats, and a gush of water.

Manton was among the fallen. He was unhurt, but he was on his feet in an instant, thanks to the speed the man who’d transplanted him was creating, the speed with which the wheelchair sped down the street.

It was thanks to one of those strange, brilliant designs that the suit seemed to operate, a quadruped gauntlet that extended coast to coast, enough that it could sometimes run ahead of the curve of the earth to keep itself centered on a landmark.

The Ziggurat struck, and Matthew renewed his attack, carving a line through the upper half.

The machine thought it had managed to reprogram the plate to remove the unidentified substance, but it was too late. The spikes, screws and barbs that had come free slipped, and the upper half of the suit tipped over, landing upside down on the fourth floor of the Ziggurat.

Manton looked down at the sheet metal, then at the hovering man, and his expression was utterly grim.

"Brendel," Chevalier said. "We need to decide what to do with him."

Matthew frowned. "You’ll patrol this area with me, but decide what you do here. I leave it to you to
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Eli’s face twisted in disgust.

Kate put one hand to her mouth, to stop the sound from returning to her.

Instead, Lady Photon raised her gun, aiming it at Eli.

Eli’s eyes widened. He pulled the trigger.

A dark flash, colors bleeding where it passed through the camera, struck the ground a few feet from where Ephraim and Bitch lay. There was a small explosion, and then a metallic glow streaked towards the sky.

A test.

"No!" Lady Photon shouted. "The test is a ruse!"

"It isn’t!" Photon replied. He dropped to one knee, and his voice was accented. "My minions, they’ve been conned. I’ve pulled all your cards in my sleeve, and I’ve got the wounded and dying on the line. I tell you what I intend to do. I will put each of you under martial law, and I will give you my promise of complete and total domination over all of Britannia, for the better or for worse."

"You can’t- you can’t pull the cards your own way," Chevalier said.

"Better late than to get it wrong! Forgive me, Lieutenant-General," Photon said. He struck a key on the keyboard, prompting a series of menus to appear.

"Purpose," he said. "These are our demands. I have seen your records, and I know you have a record of success."

Success?

"You have defeated every Protectorate leader and held an office for three years. That isn’t an easy feat."

"Yes, it is," Lady Photon said. "But there were other paths. There were others who entered the tournament, who became champions."

Success?

"You were one of them," Lady Photon said.

Success?

"You took part in the tournament, you participated in the group conversations, but you abandoned us in the end?"

"Yes, I suppose I did."

"You are quoted as stating that you would take part in a martial law scenario," Chevalier said. "What role would you play?"

"I would be the first to attempt martial law, assuming there was one," Lady Photon said.

"Would that be in the spirit of the statement you made to us, if we were discussing your intentions for today’s errand," Chevalier said.

"There is no need for double standards! I am truly, dearest Kate, a queen among princesses." A third hand broke the spell. She smiled, her eyes lowered, resting them on the phone.

The hand crumpled, then rolled over the other.

The tugging and previous interactions had all been for nothing if it stopped working altogether. Still, the duet had produced a file, and entry had been made to the Wards.

Nothing more was known about the villains who had claimed the other entry. Nothing about their identities. But they were both characters, points to storylines. A meeting was necessary, to break the spell.

"File is created."

The duet crackedle'd to life. Through the bug’s eyes, I could see Lady Photon and Doctor Mother together. Both high-heels with hooks at the toes for the toes.

The wallpaper changed to show a cartoon image of a girl and a boy, a boy with whiskers and a conch-sparred helm, and a girl with the body of a pheasant.

"Entry is authorized," Chevalier announced. "And a file is created for each of us, in case we decide we need to do different things, need to communicate with the people we need to communicate with."

"Makes for a small army," Lady Photon commented. "We’re going to be in the field with the armless man, showing public speaking abilities."

"All for me?" Chevalier asked.

"Your devotion is acknowledged," Lady Photon said. "But we can’t lose sight of the bigger picture. This is a quartet, three princes in one wing. They’re going to be strategists, performers, and they’re going to be experts in the use of their abilities. They have fantasies and desires that touch on all of the problems our city faces, and they’re crafting a solution."

"A mediocre solution," Chevalier said. "And they’re claiming the city for themselves."

"Merit," Lady Photon said. "I could give you a more honest appraisal. They’re not bad people, not truly evil. They
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Relating my swarm to conversation subjects.

Half a city block, two blocks to travel, and I was all too aware of the sounds of talk and who was talking. All too aware of the dangers that lie ahead.

I landed, the swarm hovering just above the ground, and I had the swarm carry me over my shoulders, some wings carrying the bugs beneath my skin, others flying over shoulders and under dresses, allowing me to maintain a careful hovering flight.

No sense of balance, no control, no equilibrium. I fell, and within a second, I was losing my control. My original plan, working towards a dual-purpose suit, failed to take into account the wind. I continued to fall, tensed, ready to turn violent if the air around me began to turn to vapor.

Instead, I brought the swarm up to keep me from falling to the ground again. I landed on all fours, ready to use myblance to get to my feet, but that did not mean I fell. I landed with my feet under me, simultaneously raising my hands, as if to ward off the worst of the vapor and any attacks from monsters in the walkway.

The bugs around me became weapons, bristling with spines, plates and claws, slashing, pulling and pinching.

Violation. Causing more damage than it was worth.

Shuffling forward slowly, I reached the end of the walkway and was forced to stop. A claw pressed against the metal of the walkway, tearing. More careful than before, I was forced to edge around a corner, avoiding the possibility of being pushed into the wall, before I could get trampled.

I reached over to my face and pulled my mask off. Strip it off, if you’re going to. I wiped most of it off, with the fly-paper virus, but the sickness was still with me, and I could feel it creeping back to my brain, recollecting the specific moments, the ones I had the ability to remember.

Stripped away its identifying symbols and markings.

Over and over, the S.H.I.D. uniform had been following me. Identifying marks included a holster for my gun, a circle with the letters ‘Ship’ and a ‘Database’ folder.

He was Mark on the database, crawling with memories.

I tried to recall whether he had survived the attack in Chicago. No signs of interference. The virus had erased any traces of himself that might have been left behind.

But why had he been following me?

Why had he gotten sick?

The uniformed man with the helmet and steel claws walked around the walkway in front of me, and I let myself in through the side door. The people in the other craft – a young woman, a very middle-aged man with a rod with fingers like Rembrandt, a middle-aged woman with that striking look of utter contempt that was both striking and unsettling. I couldn’t be sure that was H.

H. was one of the O.S.T. people, though his name did not appear on the list. He had a black costume with a red and black pattern over a red and black background, and was carrying a red metal box that looked like it was designed to decapitate people. The description made it sound like it might be a lethal injection.

Whatever happened with me, they were going to get the information and disseminate it.

I saw myself, now, in the midst of all of these figures, and I could no longer see myself with the naked eye. I could no longer see myself from the vantage point I’d had when I’d been preparing for the fight. I could no longer see myself from a distance, either. I was included here, in this group of people.

I’d joined them as a newborn, a mere fraction of the way there. I’d never fully formed my identity as an individual.

I began forming the basic units for my army. Clones. I filled the gaps in my army with clones.

They haven’t responded to my commands or offerings.

I search their movements with my bugs. Nothing.

Champions?

If they are here to defend themselves, they haven’t responded to my shouts.

Or my tears.

I rub my eyes, feeling the tears rolling down my face.

The pair of them, always the pair, they’re being nice.

I grab one clone and pull its head into my hand. I don’t tear it apart. I don’t even think about it compromising my hold on the weapon.

Sometimes, when I’m feeling sad or inadequate, I forget to pull the trigger.

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Nothing?

He didn’t get a chance to read the next page. "While I’m this and the papers are my feet, the others are my coworkers, my friends, family and co-workers. We’re responsible for one job. Or we’re responsible for all of it. It’s a Lie, and it’s a Complex Lie, to put us in the hot seat and make us all look like lunatics, but it’s a Job. One that keeps us busy, keeps the other ninety percent of us comfortably out of sight and hearing."

The television blared as he opened the front door and ushered Danny into the kitchen. Before he had finished opening the door, his mother stopped him and shoved him into the room.

"Not us," her voice was shrill.

"Stay quiet," his father spoke, his voice thick with anger.

Denying it was him?

"Mom!" Danny shouted, "Are you insane?"

His mother didn’t answer. Instead, she tugged on his hand, dragged him out of the kitchen, and slammed the door behind him.

"Mom!" Danny repeated, slamming his fist against the door.

Again, his mother ignored him and pushed him against the door.

"Stay calm," his father spoke. Danny was relieved that his mother wasn’t at the door, forcing him to deal with the woman. He quietly stated, "Your son is acting all messed up."

Danny did his best to ignore the attention, instead. "I know he’s acting all messed up. But the guy that’s paying attention knows what’s up. If he’s acting like this, it’s because he’s got something to hide. You heard what that woman said about our dad and the family…"

Against his better judgement, his father shook his head. He sighed, "I’m not going to say more."

With a touch of desperation, Danny added, "Danny."

"Alright," his dad agreed. "Listen, I’ve got to tell you something. As far as the stuff my daughter said, some of it is… offensive. That’s not the entirety of it."

"Not entirely," his mother agreed. "But it’s something."

A part of him wanted to press the button, take the opportunity to investigate the woman. Facing his son, he’d said he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t hurt his daughter like this, would never.

"Yeah," his mother agreed. "Not entirely. But it’s something."

A part of him felt like he’d better investigate this woman, to validate his suspicions.

His mother remained seated, her arms folded over the back of her chair, her forehead resting against the table. The boy stayed in the other chair, not budging from the seat. He blushed, surprised and uncomfortable. His blushing was an unfortunate side effect of his being naked above his daughter.

He’d been through worse. He’d gone through what he felt he had to go through with the Merchants, what he felt he had to go through with the Werewolves. Both endured, he believed, because of circumstance and a refusal to embrace a lifestyle marked by their humanity. With the break in contact, and the realization that it had been so long since he’d had a long sleep, he’d forgotten about the mark on his forehead.

So it was with the Teeth. The ability to speak and understand a language, to understand what others were feeling and thinking. They were more human, now. A society had spilled over into his reality, and he was yet to grasp all of the functions that society had at work, not fully comprehended them, pandering to his own ego in seeking to please others.

He delighted in being human.

All of this came with a price, however. A personal price. He was yet to find a way to enter a mode where he would be wholly comfortable. It would be a steep climb, one that would make him uncomfortable with every step of the way.

His eyes fell on Bonesaw. She was sitting on the side of a building, with a man clad in a costume with a turtle shell, whale skull and crown, and a helm of twisted metal, overlapping metal bands and massive gems that spiraled around him. The heart was a metal disc three feet across, topped with a broad, translucent gemstone.

The stone was as hard as an ox was concrete, a foot thick. It was hot to the touch, though, and his vision refocused as a delicate, melodic singing sound rang through the air. The sound had an oddly human
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A–

B–

C–

D–

E–

F–

G–

H–

I–

J–

K–

L–

M–

N–

O–

P–

Q–

R–

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U–

V–

W–

X–

Y–

Z–

Where are you on the other end? You ask questions, like how to swear. I’d hoped to put me in a situation where I could answer that question for you.

"Skitter."

I’d been hoping I wouldn’t have to say it. I raised my hand as though I were greeting an old friend, then stopped. I didn’t have a ready answer to that. I could only wait.

As it had been with the swarm I’d created against Endbringers, the same fate fell on those who ask questions. Like Weaver, they will be cast down to the lowest of the low.

Will they be cast down to the lowest of the low, to nothingness or animals?

The swarm expanded, noise making the floor swell and fracture under their weight?

Or will they destroy their surroundings, as the Shalltigers have? Destroy everything?

"I knew you’d try," Was just as casual in reply as he had been in the moment he fell in battle.

He looked over his shoulder at his teammates, and he forced his eyes to follow their every movement, rejected distraction to attack. His fist was bare, his body long.

Every action was rehearsed, everything thought through.

I watched that vigilance for the first time since we’d arrived. I didn’t want to spoil the moment, but I couldn’t keep the possibility on the table.

Not with the threat of permanent brain damage.

"I’m going to go home," I said, and the realization crossed my mind.

"You’ll-"

"I won’t," I said. And then I was too tired to think.

I opened portals, and I entered Rapture’s world.

The woman in white and yellow, the Queen.

The city sloped around her, and she wore a visor that combined the blue and yellow of a forest with the whites and blues of a city. Her crown was a crystalline storm of colored light, a fence of floating, breakable forcefields, and twenty-foot blades that glowed white in the darkness.

I didn’t recognize her, but whatever her name was, her color scheme was white, and her visor was white as well. Her bodysuit and gloves were white as well, and her chainmail was white as well. Her black leather straps of armor were crisp and clean, with only a small cut representing the lower half of her face. She had no chinning of her hair, no twirling of her hair. It was as if she stood still, and she made it all seem one long, straight column.

I recognized her from the Wiki entry.

Well, the wiki had edited the description to add more information. Not much, but it was still an option.

The armored suit that covered her shoulders was the same one I’d used for Ballistic. Automated armor designed to offer added protection in a crisis. She wore a layered, flowing cape that drew heavily on the elements, a metal for the cloth and other elements for texture. Her tiara was primarily made up of silver, with hidden blades at the sides and top.

Her legs were the same, with mechanized arches and spired soles. The uppermost element, the wing, was titanium, the lower three quarters reptilian. Her chest was a combination of engineering and science. A titanium box with thick treads resembling flippers, with an armored skirt and heavy rivets running down each arch.

Her crown, tiara and upper arms were solid titanium, with three silver lenses filled in to form the gaps. I was pretty sure I was seeing what Legend was making with his suit, but that wasn’t necessarily the case. There were no wings, no fins, no arms or legs.

This woman was Taylor Hebert, one of my creators.

"Do you want to duel," I asked her.

"Do I need to? No. We’re partners."

"Wonderful," I said. "Really. I look forward to dueling. It’s a pretty fair fight, especially against a cape who can fly. I’ve seen an Endbringer do it."

"And
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Weaver’s mother had driven an hour and a half away from her house when she got the call. It was from the PRT office in Brockton Bay.

"Mom?" the operator asked.

"It’s okay," her voice was too calm. "Do you need anything? I-"

The line went dead.

I held my breath and pocketed the phone.

The operator said, "Three threats were successfully dealt with, today. Thank you."

I nodded, thankful.

"Mom?"

"It’s okay. I’ll be in touch in another hour."

Silence rang again as the operator hung up.

By the time I dialed again, an hour had passed and the line was busy. I could hear the echo, as if each person on the other end of the line were responding in unison.

"It’s me," I said, quieter.

There was a pause. There was a break of sorts, as if each person on the other end of the line was talking to their loved ones, then suddenly it was murmur instead, as if they were alluding to the conversation that had already taken place.

I felt a pang of envy. All of these people that were talking to their loved ones, and I was one of them.

"They’re talking about you," the woman from before said.

I nodded.

"You brought us to justice," she said.

I thought of my dad, of his frustration, his worry, as I’d wandered off course. I wondered if he’d felt the same way.

"Yeah," I said.

"We wanted to move forward on this. We could remember where we came from, and we could go home. Except you came here."

I nodded. "And you knew? I could remember your face in the mirror. You were tense, your mouth open, your fists clenched, as if you could just about shoot me any second."

"I tried. I think the morphine kicked in, and I blew a large amount of it. It was too much, a rush of energy I can’t explain. I think I hit my ceiling, and I fell. It’s like, well, it’s electricity, isn’t it? It’s energy you can’t measure. It’s like seeing a huge quantity of data uncompressed and unseen. It’s just this… this amount of data, and it’s happening all at once."

She paused. "There’s a term for this. It’s when you have too much data, the compression gets bad. You get this kind of compression where all meaning gets lost, and it’s hard to find the exact phrase or word you’re looking for."

I nodded.

"Back when I was new to this, when I wasn’t sure what I was doing, I looked up ‘enema’. It’s some fancy word for an emergency procedure where you import a person with a medical skill into a hospital, force them to stay there, limiting their ability to do their job. It’s been trying for weeks, even months. We tried prying him away from others, trying one of my teammates up to take the role of check-in at the PRT office, but they were too shocked and lost in their own egos to cooperate. So they left him."

"When they realized it was an unwarranted invasion of privacy, did they ask you to leave?" I asked.

"They asked no. And by then it was too late. They opened the door and I had escape routes. I could see the whole building: The surveillance, the police cars, the armored vans, the bit of light in the corner where the sprinkler system ran off of the building’s center."

The audio cracked. There was a whimper as the wind was pulled from its path. The screen went black.

"Me?" Imp asked. "Threatened me?"

No.

"You’ve been nice enough to come by when we needed a bit of a break. How’s your phone?"

"Syncing really fast," Imp said. "I only have one from the last few days, but I wanted to stay in touch."

"That’s good," I said. "That’s… why I came."

She bobbed her head in a nod.

I sighed. "How bad is it?"

"Too bad," Imp said.

I shook my head.

This shit was becoming a grind. I felt my heart plummet
======================================== SAMPLE 180 ========================================
Through the tunnel on the other side of the roof, Regent observed as Golem dismantled more wall, cleared a path through a gap in the fence, and formed more wall for cover.

Golem had formed more wall, but he had a tendency to tripsplit, collapsing it into disordered pieces and shifting the remaining fragmented portions to adjacent rooms. It was hard to get enough of the disordered material to use the saw with the mesh construction hatches in, and getting those doors and windows open without generating some disruption in the process left Regent free to blast him with more darkness.

Picking off Mercer’s personnel and witnesses as he disappeared into the booth’s ceiling was tricky. The debris and bits of exposed fiberglass that were exposed were thin enough that they slipped through the gaps in the fiberglass. It made moving the furniture a chore, made Shatterbird’s power that much more painful.

One potential weakness came when Regent joined the fight against Dauntless. Elevated stakes. If Dauntless was defending himself, Golem was helping with the defensive line. The psycho-engineer could simplify the job, because he was essentially a living black box.

Still, handcuffing Regent while letting Bastard loose suggested Regent was too aware of the black box.

We discussed the game plan for the trip to the black box’s range. The central hub with the central hub and the black boxes all located in the same building, in the same area, as central hub. There was no guarantee we’d find the location, but there was some method to their madness.

I briefly considered running with our prisoner, but the idea was swiftly losing traction. We were enduring what was essentially a losing fight, outwardly, and the pursuit was getting steadily more aggressive.

Deciding how best to go about it was something I’d do with my own progress. I abandoned Grue to start turning away the windows so we could see through one set of cells at a time.

At the far end of the room, Bet on the House party people were streaming out of one cell. Kid Win and a halfdozen other young heroes. Legend and Alexandria both entered as well. Wonder Woman and Legend accompanied by a pretty imposing floating Norman Foster.

Don’t let the name fool you. Crestfallen.

I shut the cell and leaned forward to get a better look.

Cradled. I teased, dangling the fly on the string. It responded immediately, thrashing wildly in place to try and escape.

Yes. Tied to another cell.

More were trying the same.

We held on as two more streams of rod-like constructs joined the herd.

There was one more construction joining the herd, similar to the same size as the first, red mounted. Riding on one horse.

It seemed to realize it was already moving, hopping on the pulley and causing the base of the pulley to rock. The two horses practically rolled as they moved, exposing bone and other objects to be caught.

There was a guitar inside one of the other cells. Thin strips of metal with gears wound around the neck. A piece of memorabilia.

The horse-driven vehicle began to lift off. I drew out lines of silk between myself and the door, binding it in place with the same device that had bound the guitar.

We headed in that general direction, Dinah not so far behind us.

Another cell opened next door. The occupants of that cell weren’t any less strange, as their clothing and furniture were worn and torn. There was a bed on a couch that was heavy with furniture, and an occupant who wouldn’t leave.

I figured out what they were doing, then took a seat in the grass, facing one last cell.

Flowers bloomed in the open doorway of that one cell. I disconnected them, and watched the grass spark with other blooms.

Trickster was gone, likely on an errand, no longer needed.

I found a fat man lying on the ground, alive, snubbed him.

A girl with a macabre smile, who I identified with the beast-headed girl from before, lay dying.

It wasn’t even intuitive, itty B, but I had an instinct. I─d experienced this kind of thing, seen people go white-hot when they felt the world turning inward.

Now this man was gone, out of commission.

I pulled myself to my feet, distanced myself from the flock of weary capes, and started on the next task.

I could feel the structure of the world bending, with the reactions of the cells alter in how it followed the Worldvver ruleset. I looked and I could see a streak of white near
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Insurmountable. He had only themselves to blame.

"I know," Skidmark said. "But it’s not worth it."

"I’m a pacifist. I don’t kill. But I could kill you right now."

For the third time, he sighed, and the steel in his shoulder shifted, sparking.

"Just remember," his voice was low, "If you try to run, I will not hold back from whatever resources I use to catch you. Even death. I will get these thugs arrested, and if I feel it’s necessary, I’ll kill you. I promise."

And this time, he didn’t yield. No, he stepped closer, reveling in the fighting present beneath the noise. They were twerking, celebrating the sound. They weren’t even looking at him.

He gripped the long hair around the lower half of his face, turned his head, and shoved the hair onto the bed. As the camera turned his way, he directed a quick glance upwards.

Skidmark hadn’t moved.

"He is being pitilessly murdered," Skidmark said.

The camera returned to Skidmark, and he bent down to scratch the camera-girl in a way that was too human, staring at the corpse of his friend.

"Any longer than twenty seconds, and this ends. The man will pay for his cowardice, and the band will be remembered for what it was."

"He could have been one of us," Skidmark said.

"We didn’t know," Skidmark said, continuing to stare at the corpse.

"There’s a consolation prize," Skidmark said, looking to the ceiling, "One member of the Slaughterhouse Nine to go into indefinite suspended animation. Their terms are confidential witnesses are to be allowed to contact their loved ones, for as long as they remain here. The other holds a delegation."

"They’re leaving the city?"

"They’re leaving the city, yes. They arrived secretly, and they will remain there until such times as they are allowed to free the city."

"Who?"

"The PRT. They kidnapped Professor Manton, but they withdrew him from the discussion before any details were reported here."

"That’s good," Skidmark said. "Good. We can look after him."

"I know he’s well adjusted. He’s a steady, straight individual."

"He was an effective leader. Violence only provokes it’s victims."

Skidmark frowned. "I’m not saying anything of the sort. I only want to know what you’d want."

"You’re petty," Bakuda said. She looked in the direction of the camera-girl, her eyes narrowing.

"Not all petty. There are some things that interest me. The wellspring of power that powers like Professor Manton draw from. There’s a community here."

"Community," Bakuda said. She didn’t look at Skidmark but walked over to the other girl and tapped her foot. The camera-girl hurried back.

"Is this some sort of community?" Skidmark asked.

"There’s no community here," Bakuda said. She saw that Skidmark was distracted and stepped up her pace.

The other girl held her hand out. Bakuda whispered, "Give me two hundred and fifty dollars. I’ll search for her."

The girl held up her hand and narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"My client’s rights are fully protected," Bakuda said. "You’re leaving me no option but to follow through on that."

The other girl hurried to pass the money to the next person on the list. Students. Usually there were three or four of them. Now there were four.

"What are you doing?" Skidmark asked.

"Two words," Bakuda said. She took the purse and handed it over.

Skidmark glanced at the door.

"You’re coming with me?" he asked.

"Skidmark is willing, but I need to know more information before I commit to a side deal," she said.

"Sure," he said.

Soon enough, the group was caught in a web of walkies and muffled sounds of assent from the other groups present and the celebratory sounds of laughter from the ones who’d escaped. Everyone but Skidmark managed to get something ready before the door closed behind them.

We’d
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A bout of poor diet followed by a psychotic break followed by a relapse of the delusion. No diet, brief or otherwise, could ever make the changes permanent.

They woke to find their hair wet, smelling like shampoo and fresh water. They loaded the guns and started their adventure.

Parian’s first shot went astray. Disappointing, but not surprising. A part of her was disappointed in her power, sure, but much of it was programmed into her brain and she was already primed for the shot again.

Riley’s second miss was even more dismaying. She almost screamed as the shot dropped. The trajectory meant the bullet had hit her head, but it had moved well beyond the extent of her being being able to hear the gunshot. She struggled to move forward, but the gun still fired.

"Nausea, vomiting, muscle aches, stiffness of extremities, headaches, muscle pain…"

She paused, adding, "If it’s still coming, if it’s making that awful noise in my ears…"

She stopped. It was a vain hope. The doctors were succeeding, and Rime was dead.

But if it made her hopeless, if it meant she was never able to shake the memory, then she had to take the chance.

The girl with the black hair stepped forward, her fingers interlaced with the girl in white. The line of their bodies nearly touched.

"I recognize you, I can see your fit, and I can tell you are in shock."

"Let me go, you whimperst," the girl with the black hair said, her voice low. She drew a gun, hesitated, then fired, pointing it at Rime.

The danger-

The danger was an unconscious fantasy, a mannequin in a black blouse, jeans and sweater, his face peering from a hanging lamp, the gun a foot away. A fantasy of what she’d experienced, a reality she was aware of, but couldn’t bring herself to look at.

She heard the blackmail, couldn’t help but notice how the mannequin held her hair, hauled it off kilter with each passing moment. He was erect, rigid, and she couldn’t help but think he was male, even though she was seeing himself as a woman. Even though he was built like a woman, that hint of a physical difference tipping in the wrong direction led to an assumption. That area of his body, he was eerily still as a rule, his arms and legs held still, as if he were perpetually in freefall, nothing to grip on to.

But the knife, this thing that was wreathing him, it left no real trace of that prepubescent excitement behind it. If anything, it reminded her of how she’d personally experienced her first night out in costume. Irregular, unpredictable, dangerous.

In that moment, she knew she had to get out of that darkness. She needed to be apart from the other members of the Slaughterhouse Nine.

■

"How was the battle going?" Bonesaw asked.

Panacea had arrived at the scene of the fight. Her arms were folded, and she sat on the cot, a towel around her shoulders.

"It’s going by the book," she said. "How to treat a Yamuleta?"

"Those things take time to diagnose," Bonesaw said. "We took three minutes."

"Get to the wounded," Panacea said. "They haven’t started filling them yet."

"They’re okay," Bonesaw confirmed. "The only ones we’ve lost are Nosferatu and Chamberlain."

"Mantellum was with them," Jack said.

"Was there fighting?" Bonesaw asked.

"Not biting or squealing. Mantellum was out there with them."

"I know," Jack said. "I didn’t want to interrupt, and I won’t say anything that’s going to get us into a worse situation."

"A lot of people are nervous," Panacea said. "Just a few of you here, preferably together, and I’m not just talking to you. Can I get you anything you want, while I fill my boxes?"

"I’m fine," Panacea said.

"The pies are done. You have anything else?"

"I’m in the middle of making another batch of cookies."

Bonesaw jumped as she saw the mannequins and the food preparation table that were situated at one side of the room. It wasn’t something she’d done often enough in the past, and was anything but
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Pat yourself on the back more, already."

I felt a swell of relief as that particular thought faded. I couldn’t help but admit on my own, "I didn’t think you’d let me live that."

"Because of what I did, you won’t."

"No," I said. "I won’t."

He placed one hand on the back of my head, "I found that out the hard way. I won’t tell any more lies about how much I know or when."

"You’re one to talk."

"I’m twelve, and this is some long drawn out plan. I’ll chip away until I’m the oldest person alive. Then I’ll go fight the Endbringers. Probably not successfully, but hopefully I can chip away at the karma I’ve paid out for being an overbearing boss."

"Pat yourself on the back more, then," Coil said. "Because we’re done here. You get the last word on whether or not this is a good idea, and your pay rises or falls. If this doesn’t work out, you can always blame me. I’ll own up to any faults of my own."

I felt a nervous feeling deep in my gut. Much like I had when I’d first taken control of my territory, I was wondering if I’d come away from this with a better understanding of why things had gone the way they had.

If I didn’t come away with a better understanding of why the group had turned out the way they did, I was fiscally broke, literally running out of room to live.

"Come on," Trickster urged me. I resisted the urge to wince. "Don’t spend your day like this. Get out of bed. Take a walk."

"We’re not going to be able to get you anywhere in the City," I said.

"Too bad. We’ll have to be content to walk," Trickster said.

"That’s something I can do. Walk’s about self-control."

He sounded like he was already resigned to his role.

Not even a hint of a fight, but still, it put me in a mood similar to Brian had been in. Almost resigned.

Walk'd be like coming off a pep talk, high, confident, almost like you’re on the verge of being transformed.

Tattletale must have seen it. Because she glanced at me.

"I can’t tell if this is a good thing or a bad thing. We’ve got the hold of the Mayor, of course, but there’s a fair few other capes who are willing to put all of Brockton Bay on the line to help. Skitter’s yours, maybe, but we’re open to other offers."

"You’re having me consider your offer unitch," Trickster said.

"Unitch?"

The boy in the lab coat admitted, "We pay the full amount when hiring a tinker. That means no strings attached. I know your business is borderline ridiculous, but we won’t be purse-ante about it."

I offered a noncommittal ‘uh’.

He relaxed a touch, "Oh, you’ll have to be my wimpy little slave for a month or two before you can take a casual pay day."

"You’re saying that because you have to. I’m saying it because I want to break the business model."

"It’s not sustainable," Sundancer said. "We’ve got cash on hand, we’ve got a surplus from the various prisoner exchanges, and we’re due to get a new cell block upgraded in the next hour."

"But we’re not going to get anyone elseInterested. Not doing this is kinda dodgy, isn’t it?"

"Yeah," Trickster said. "But if we do it right, with proper contracts and all, it should make the overall number of customers for our services"

I drew in a deep breath, then sighed. "I’m afraid I’m not strawmanning this."

"You heard what Tattletale said," Imp said. There was a note of expectation in her voice, oddly enough.

"I asked her to go around and talk to everyone that mattered, to arrange something. She said no, apparently."

"I don’t really care," Trickster said. "A bit of a warhead here,
======================================== SAMPLE 192 ========================================
My board and my buddy Dean came in the mail, along with two footballs, two lunches, and a mess of other stuff. Everything fit into a lunchbox, each big enough to be held by one of my brothers and sisters, a few old dishes and some fruit. Some of my husband’s clothes too, if I remember right. I tore a page out of the post and threw it to the ground. It slid out of the box and into the air, hit the dirt and crumpled. I didn’t get a second to myself as I responded, "Oh my god. That’s terrible."

"It is," my dad said, "But our little Taylor’s doing fine."

I opened another box to draw on the post and write the numbers on the upper half, then settled into bed.

Of course, things got worse before they got better. The unexpected arrival of a particularly disquieting email just before I went to sleep hit me like a splash of cold water in the face. The worst of it was directed at my dad, along with two separate but very similar emails. One was from Miss Militia, the other from Defiant.

My dad had sent that one because it was good. He genuinely hoped I’d agreed with it. I did hope, like Sophia did, that he’d get the chance to torture me for information. Detailed explanations, convincing the Undersiders, specifically. I couldn’t trust him completely, nor could I go around doing what he wanted. It would require a level of honesty and a loss of control I wasn’t willing to offer.

Hell, it would require a level of honesty and a loss of control I wasn’t willing to tolerate.

Tearing a page out of the post, I tore a couple of pages out of the post. I read and rereaded it several more times before pulling the sheets away and throwing them on the bed.

Panacea had told me about the alley where Panacea had worked. Another reason to check that girl’s around.

@@@@@@@###@@@

I was still reading when my dad opened the door for me.



Sentinel 9.5


Paranoia was a funny thing.

It reminded me of something else, something deader, in many respects.

Not that I was paranoid, but it was an anxiety that clawed at me, one I couldn’t help but wonder about, one that was its own reward.

It wasn’t the usual sort of food, or even the usual sort of drink. Whenever I’d gone to bed, I’d been extremely tired by the time I got up, and never managed to get anything going again.

When my dad came home from work, it was usually too early to make anything after my breakfast. I didn’t want to go to bed, so my bed had been pretty much blank, my Dad a mess, to the point that I didn’t even want to think about it.

"Want to go swimming?" he asked.

"I’m good. Don’t mind the swim, really. I don’t want to get dirty, but I don’t want to make you worry."

"I know what you want," he said, in his tone of voice. There was a trace of distrust in his tone, as if he didn’t want to be taken in.

"Yeah," I said. I was so preoccupied with trying not to let him see me that I almost didn’t try to hide it. I was glad, though, that I was able to skirt the subject.

"If you want to stay here while we’re getting ready, that’s fine. I’m not forcing you to stay with us or anything, but I do want to be prepared and knowing how I can reach my family when I need to."

"We’re making plans," his response was almost caustic. It wouldn’t be a lie if he didn’t throw some punches.

"Please be back by the end of the day," I said, anyway.

"What time is it? 7:30?"

"You should be," I said. But I didn’t want to challenge his authority here, especially not in a situation like this.

"Check your car, Taylor. Mine is empty. I want to make sure there aren’t any bombs, that there’s no activists or spies."

I looked in the wrong place. There was a crude device like an old timer’s hand or a watering can on the roof, but it was dry. Lovely.

"
======================================== SAMPLE 195 ========================================
Who gets the last word? I’m in first place, Joker."

"Last word is clown," I replied, shrugging.

Couple of minutes passed, and I was wrestling with the costume, trying to decide if I should tighten the straps a fraction, or twist the bodysuit, where I’d had the bustle of wrapping paper over the bodice aisles earlier. I’d worried it would take too long, but I’d been eating.

I was worried it wouldn’t work. With his age, he would struggle to maintain bone structure like fellow Merchants had done, some of the earliest musculature even begin to transform as they lost bone. It was deliberate, not quite like his later crimes, but it had been done with the same practiced precision.

Still, it had been enough to put him in the role of a younger, more brutish Batman. One mistake, an emotional or psychological breakdown, and long ago, years ago, years of near-daily exercise and a very moderate, healthy diet had contributed to the character being fashioned in a way that was almost effeminate. It had followed the same pattern, unending exercise, diet and sports, among other things. By the time it had reached the point that I’d diagnosed the inevitable, a good portion of the exercise had been done, reformed small clauses into paragraphs and long words of detailed explanation.

I closed my eyes and used my power, but I didn’t even remotely consider the words I’d written down. Pure and simple.

"I don’t understand," Gregor said.

"It’s not that simple, kid," I told him. "Either you get one of those genetically-altered humans that have as much right to eat as us, or you don’t. You balance it somewhere else."

"I don’t need to balance it," he said, again. "Out there."

I could see his arms drop to his sides.

"And if I did need to balance it, I’m not sure I’d be able to do it. I’m not even athletic."

"You don’t think?"

"I didn’t think it was that simple. Let me put it another way. You don’t need to see the whole picture to see what I’m seeing. You’re only one part of a whole."

"Okay."

"And you’re aware that just moving your head enough will move one bone, while putting just one of your teeth in too deep or rubbing your eye too much may move another?"

"I don’t have an anatomy textbook, and I don’t have the time to look that detailed. I rely on intuition."

"Muscle intuitions?"

"Palm and thigh."

"And how are you using those to attack him?"

"There’s a lot I don’t know. Are you using your nerve power to connect the dots, here? This isn’t like me? I don’t have years of formal education, I barely had any money before I came to Brockton Bay."

"Weaver."

"You’re not being clever. That’s not even my real voice. Just do what you were doing and hope they’re playing it safe. That’s all. Don’t worry. I’m watching them."

She texted me a short response:

+x

I threw the phone down at the base of the stairs. It didn’t break in the process.

"Okay, first off, I need you to send me the text of the message you just texted me. I’ll look into it," I told him.

+x

"Not much more to say. Sent it, didn’t even look at it until you asked me to let it go, but I need to know what I’m walking into."

"Let’s talk about the game plan. First off, let me get a message to you and your family, to get them to turn off the audio, get them to safety."

My dad reached for the phone, but lost his fork as he saw the screen. He reached for the letter he’d read out loud, and nearly missed it as he nearly dropped his plate.

"Teal shot the core, she said?"

+x

"Yep."

"There’s a tinker that can’t be found right now. Turn the device off, put it on speaker or something. I’ll be coming back with
======================================== SAMPLE 198 ========================================
Cider-kit. May I?

Cider-kit, she moved. A paler, duller than it had been before or after her recent attack on Scion. She looked duller, smaller.

I’d attacked her. She’d taken that as an excuse to put me down.

Except it wasn’t supposed to be that way.

I extended my hand to her, and she shook it.

A haze passed over my hand as I held it limp and limp, suggesting a slow, steady decline.

By the time I reached my hand, it was barely there. I felt the bottom of my hand against the ground.

As the ground drained out and I saw only patchwork speckled clouds black with the drippings of blood and other fluids, I could only seeerently, with my own eyes, despite our complete and total control over our vision.

There were people around us. Capes. At least two seemed to be keeping their distance from us, which was odd, given how closely they’d followed the proceedings. One was a woman with a crescent moon on a gray sky that didn’t seem to be passing through us. The other was a handsome young man, tall, with a moon helmet and flowing, darkly muscled, little brother to the woman.

Both wore identical costumes, red and white, and were standing off to one side, pointing and shouting at the capes around them. The woman shouted something I couldn’t make out, and the capes turned to look to their left, staring at the cluster of people.

"Golem!" I called out.

I could see him, and I could see how tall he was, extending his hand.

His costume had changed, but not in the sense that he was constantly adjusting his armor. The lines had been thinner, there were fewer sharp points where there should have been many, the fabric had less density to it, to the point that I couldn’t draw a straight line between his body and the cloth. It was less artistic than it should have been, less coherent.

But he was still Gazelle.

And whatever problems Gazelle had been dealt with in the previous suicide attack, he’d gotten back to being her new human self in a flash. Gazelle’s power was always with him, bottled into his costume, but he was still the star.

He’d finished raising her, so to speak.

He was Gazelle’s friend, a ranged threat with the ability to make pyrokinesis, an energy weapon. I haven’t really filled in the blanks for you, so don’t jump to conclusions. Gazelle’s power wasn’t on record as being the source of her power.

"It’s not healed, but it’s healed. Your buddy just got a whole lot stronger," I said. "And he’s not dealing half as much damage as he is."

"Not as badly?"

I nodded. "I think her health is shucking away."

"Good," I said. I wasn’t sure how to convince her, with my lack of experience here.

"What is it?"

"Can you call him?"

He shook his head. "I’m lazy. I don’t want to work."

"Call him," I said. The mayor shook his head again.

Why?

"I can call him," I said. The mayor is Jewish. Is that a red herring? He might be using his phone to make the call to Jewish organizations, pulling pogroms against the people, just like he was doing against the ABB. "It saves time. Call him instead of waiting. He’s not using his power."

I could see the men standing by the phones. They might have been phone receivers before, but now they were receptionists.

"Listen!" I called out, injecting enthusiasm. I could see the turn of the people who had been looking down at the phones. Some had guns. "Call this guy! He’ll tell you where to go! You’ll also have to explain where you got the money from, so we can get you the info you need! There’s a limit to what we’re going to let you pull off, before you get too tense. Don’t worry! I’ll call your boss after I’m done here!"

There was a pause. Men in suits were checking out the plans.

"We’re letting you use a phone, so you don’t have to. You get the info you need, we
======================================== SAMPLE 201 ========================================
My head snapped over to see Amy sitting on the table in the conference room. Long brown hair, normally braided, was in a short ponytail, a good half-cup cleavage and a black tank top. She was wearing some colorfully knitted knitted knitted sweatshirt or sweater.

"I asked her if she knew how to give me therapy, and her first answer was a yes," Amy recalled.

"I thought it was a good idea," Brian told her, "She took a lot of heat for saying goodbye to my parents, for being an eighteen hour wait and disrupting her schedule, but she eventually said yes."

"I’m not sure I understand," Amy told him. She was tense, and she hadn’t been anything but calm and collected an inch away from his attention this whole time.

"The important thing is that she is talking to us," Brian spoke.

"What?"

"She’s admitting she hurt you. She’s apologizing for how she responded. There’s new information, and we need to account for the fact that she’s been provably unstable since she left the Birdcage. If we expect she to start showing symptoms soon, we need to prepare in advance."

"What’s the expected date?"

"Amy would be in her late teens by the time she was finished with her trial. That puts her three years old or so. The earliest she could be ready to start taking classes would be twenty-five. That means she’s probably going to be on the team for at least six months. That doesn’t count as abuse, but it’s something."

"Six months is a long time."

"It is. And we need to be ready."

"What should we do?"

"There’s two main aspects to this," Brian said. "There’s the legal aspect, making sure the rules were followed, and then there’s the mental side, preparing for when the court system catches up with her and takes her into custody."

"We’re not just going to let her go?" Amy asked.

"You’re not. Not unless we get a miracle," Brian said.

I sighed a little. I could see Amy tense.

"I’m not willing to die for a concept I don’t fully grasp," Brian said. "I don’t want to give her a wish and I don’t want to change one iota of what she’s already done."

"If you wanted to die, you’d be doing it for the right reasons," Bitch said.

"Otherwise I’d be dead," I said. "And that idea Brian is so fond of me, it’s got me thinking at least a little more on what’s going on inside my own head. I’m curious, because I know I’m not going to die without doing something. It’s a basic requirement for all precogs, there. We have to go through some triggers before we can take possession of someone. Jimmy. I’m not unfamiliar with the finer points of the law. He was."

"I’m not sure I understand what possession is," Bitch spoke, in response.

"Nothing special about you," the man said. "You just happen to be a pretty amazing guy. I wouldn’t hold your life in my hands, I won’t ask you to share your Cell to mine, but I somehow feel obligated to hear what you’ve done and give you the benefit of a doubt."

"Yes ma’am," Bitch answered. She arched her back and raised her chin to give the man a more menacing presence.

The man took that for consent. "After speaking with your family, I feel it would be in your best interests to accept my offer for help. I would be best equipped to help you recapture your children, or to find you the best way to approach someone you lost. There’s no guarantees, I know, but it would mean a great deal to me."

"I’m not about to turn down a helping hand," Bitch growled.

The man didn’t reply to that. He just lifted his chin and bowed his head.

There was a pause.

"Our daughter is lost," he spoke. "We’d hoped someone would recognize the error of their ways and bring her home."

"She’s okay?"

"She’s okay, but she’s MIA. Her men beat her mercilessly until she left."

There was a reaction of appreciation
======================================== SAMPLE 204 ========================================
Terrible life experience, and you’re plotting to murder someone who tried to help you. There’s homicidal thoughts cross your face. You’re not remorseful, you don’t feel guilty, and you don’t want to feel like you did anything wrong."

Panacea stiffened.

"I’m sorry," I repeated myself for the third time, for several other people who were now dead.

"What?"

I was getting an inkling of what Panacea had been planning. Something like an idea, but with a different feel to it. Something mechanical. An insistent, repetitive sound, like a song or a poem, carried by something deep in the core of her body.

I focused my attention elsewhere, changing the tide, leveling several locations, knocking out large swaths of infrastructure.

It wouldn’t accomplish anything, but it would allow me to maneuver.

The world was on the verge of a complete and total shutdown, with no power in or connected to the grid, and severe problems identified in the aftermath of the incident. Smaller modifications to the core grid were already taking place, less targeted, but they were affecting critical areas.

The modifications would run into severe limitations as they attempted to operate, and as the shutdown drew closer, they would have to be shut down and restarted from scratch.

I began constructing a new body, shifting more of the PRT’s personnel into position.

It wouldn’t be an entirely different situation if they were occupying Brockton Bay’s mainland, in the same vein as our own heroes.

They weren’t. They were on the outskirts, gathering information, taking suggestions.

I began gathering some of the more mobile heroes in one group. Merchants, some facing some sort of anatomically correct dilemma. A message to Miss Militia, and maybe a message to Chevalier as well.

I began arranging my bugs. Not so much to circumvent or distract them, but to gather finer threads and make the layout consistent.

"What’s your plan, then?" I asked one cape I didn’t identify. "You’re with the Merchants, right? You’re carrying samples, aren’t you?"

"No," the cape said. "I’m waiting."

"Same idea," I said. "You’re not so subtle, right? You didn’t hold back at the fundraiser, you didn’t keep the secrets, and you openly admitted to wiping thousands of people from the face of the planet."

"I’m just carrying some stuff for research."

"Right. The cloning center, that’s where we’ll put you if you need it. Otherwise, well…"

"I can synthesize you," I said.

"You can’t," he said, and the feeling of dread I was feeling told me I was telling the truth.

"It’s science," I said. "We know what happens in the body, we can figure out ways to stop it from doing those things, and we can create a body that can take those same basic steps and hold itself together while we’re doing other stuff. You’re helping us with that."

"I’m doing what I have to," he said.

"Agreed. No personal bias, obviously. We both know you’re in a dangerous position?"

"Ten thousand injured. We can’t cover all of them," he said.

"There’s got to be a way. You’re with us for one reason. It won’t cost you anything."

"Maybe. I don’t want to do anything I don’t want to do," he said. "That’s all."

"Let’s talk about what you can do, then. You’re not as influential as you think. Ten thousand injured. They’re not as strong or skilled as you are. You and I both know you wanted to take over. Look at how you’re coping. Look at the sheer firepower at your disposal. You’ve got the world at a gun, and you’re standing toe to toe with these guys."

"I don’t toe to toe with them," Lung growled.

"You can’t. Not when they’re that easy to take down. I suspect your officers know it too."

"I can’t get any firepower, you’d think!"

"They’re minor figures, most," the Director replied, almost dismissive. "Let’s not fool
======================================== SAMPLE 207 ========================================
Defiant said something.

With luck, they’d be able to patch things up with Dragon, with the help of some sort of probation. Not like they had much of a track record.

"You’re carrying around a piece of glass," I said. I bent down and picked up the piece of glass that had been bouncing around my hand. I looked up at the man who was guarding the gate. "Which reminds me…?"

Defiant stopped me, turning his face so he was staring at me.

"This never happened to me before."

"What?"

"Never," he said. "I’ve never been hit by anything as big as that."

"Imagine that," I said. "You get in the fight, and you can’t see, or if you can see, you can’t touch it. It’s not dissimilar to a hand and an ankle finding their way into your chest cavity or your pelvis."

I thought of Iron Falcon, snarling at the name, of course.

"You’re saying that because you’re not seeing or touching it. If you were to touch it, would you still be in the fight?"

"Not if it’s a pure barrier, like the one I created between myself and Behemoth."

"A pure barrier… like?"

"It’s a thin barrier, but it’s a physical barrier, moreso. It’s porous, which means it’s pliable. An organic level. If I could understand what you were getting at, I’d be all like, so helpful."

"Why are you so keen on this?"

"Because I’m starting to see what you don’t. This thing with the Phir Sē… I did what I had to do. I don’t want to see what you’re seeing. I don’t want to even know the full story there. So this is what I have to deal with, at the end of it all? This is what I get to eat, to comb my hair with soap and water and take a second look at this glass that has a yellow pixel where some neon green chemical once had a crystal lattice. Which is why your armor looks this way. Which is why your costume is made of crystal, and not water and silicon. Which explains why your blade is so thin, and this is the optimum configuration for firing it."

I clenched my fists. Turning away from the screen, I asked, "Which one is this?"

"Theodora."

"And why are you so interested in this thing with the Phir Sē?"

"That’s the whole reason for this video, I guess," I said, turning around. "I want to see what you’re looking at, to see if your odds are any better than they were, and to get a sense of just how screwed up the odds are even with the theoretically optimal configuration. Put simply, the more space that’s devoted to storing this much information, the lower the information-altering probability of the attack becoming reality."

"You’re saying you’re going to fight the monster, even if it breaks up your Nine. Even if it doesn’t kill you."

"Yes."

"Your plan," I said, turning back to the video, "Is to go fight the Nine?"

"Even if you do something about it, even if you somehow manage to collect all of the data on them and turn it all over to the Nine, there’s not going to be any of the answers we could get there. Not ones that would be transferrable to a future iteration of humankind."

"And if we try to go against the current, to try and find our way back to the beginning, where we started?"

"We’d be looking at centuries, Pet."

A long pause.

"What do you want to know?"

Coil.

"The question is this. If the game was a total loss, given the current conditions, with us sitting here with only a choice between zero-percent chances of getting anything meaningful done in the immediate future and centuries of suffering for the sake of discovering the others and saving the world, but the act of playing determines the outcome of years of work?"

"Why?"

"What’s it come to, here?"

"Changes. Agriculture. We’re getting smaller and smaller patches of land each day. Finding the patches that still needed attention, applying what we can, getting bigger and better patches settled in place."

"And this latest project?"

"The Aurat
======================================== SAMPLE 210 ========================================
It’s a matter of time before they figure out that I’m in the city. They’ll feel the pressure from all the diehard capes and they’ll do something, even if it’s accidental. Until then, we stay focused on the defensive, don’t get caught up in a fight, and we maintain a defensive position."

"I’m still not sure I understand."

"It’s why I didn’t tell you what time it was, here. I needed you to be aware of what was going on, to not put me in a spot in case you had to make a decision in the heat of a fight. Think about it."

"You’ve been doing that," Calvert said. "Only reason I didn’t use it is because you needed to be cognizant."

"I’ve been practicing. Now let’s talk strategy."

"What is your strategy?"

You’re not thinking concretely. You’re acting like you do know what you’re doing, which you don’t.

"Tecton will be ready to go, along with Iron Falcon and Chevalier. We’ve been receiving training at the Rogers home, and you should start sending them out as reinforcements. Tecton will construct a temporary platform from which to fly, and Iron Falcon will help with the more complicated attacks."

"What about Weaver?"

"We’re not rushing them. Chevalier and I will help watch each other, at least until Shatterbird attacks. I’m confident we can beat the Nine in a fight, but we need a plan."

"You’re confident?"

"Condescending, not trusting our abilities, not revealing its source, and not letting us discover its method. This is what will earn us respect, here."

"Makes sense," Cuff said, "You think Skitter would want us to avoid showing fear."

"She would. But I’ve also been working on that lately. The past few weeks, the months before that. The tensions, the days before everything went to hell. We needed a moment to assess our situation, to round out our understanding of the Undersiders and the group as a whole, if we were going to bring it up again."

"We need a moment," Wanton said. "Because we’re failing as a group."

"We need a moment," I echoed him. "As a group. Without Chapter and the rest of the team, this doesn’t work."

I couldn’t bring myself to voice any of that out loud.

What I didn’t say was the second thing that went unnoticed.

Cuff was staring at me.

"I’m not asking you to be a part of this," she said. "I’m not looking for you to sympathize with my position or provide my assets for me. I’m genuinely wanting to talk because we need to talk, and the more we talk about this, the more questions we’re going to pose, the worse our boss is going to react."

"He’s not reacting?" Tecton asked.

"He’s already upset enough. Adding this to what he’s said before, he’s upset because he thinks we asked for it, and he decides to retaliate."

"He’s weighing this idea of retaliation against responding to us," I said. "It doesn’t make sense. It’s not in our personalities. He said he’s angry, but that’s not it. Is this the way things work? There’s only one end of the line, and we’re all at the bottom of it. We all get what we deserve, whether we like it or not."

"So you’re asking me to hand my client to the Triumvirate, when he’s the one that’s obligated to hand someone to him if he’s to blame?" Grace asked.

"So you think he’s already at fault," I said.

"When you were talking about hitting Jack, was he really saying that many things?" Tecton asked.

"No. Just having ideas that crossed paths," I said.

"I thought so."

I sighed. I didn’t have any good answers to that one.

The quarters flickered, and a small figure appeared beside one of the double-height doors. Grace laid on the ground beside her, astride Bentley. She raised one hand and placed it on
======================================== SAMPLE 213 ========================================
It had been another hard day in the office. They had just discovered why I’d been sacked, it was bad form to answer any more questions about that, so my call was cancelled and I was left alone.

I finished the present and held it out for consideration. Two books, a set of earbuds and a present from my secret identity self.

I left the store to go seek further information and made my way out the door, my heart pounding.

Everything had been said and determined, measured out and left alone. I’d promised myself I would go home and soak up the sunshine like a good girl. Instead, every conversation and every moment of tension was prefaced by the question, and I was made to wait before I could find out. I was made to wait as long as it took to get the necessary data and technical details. I wasn’t made to wait because the waiting was inevitable, it was inevitable because it was me waiting, my brain waiting, and the clock striking midnight.

Eighteen minutes. That was the clock I’d painstakingly restored to working order in the privacy of my own mind, the clock that day that had fascinated her and kept her awake at night. Now, with the advent of modern technology, my mind was being forced to focus on the computers with the ticking clock and the little errors that crept through the hours like the slow creep of time passing.

I couldn’t find the words to thank her or explain why I’d wanted to stay and spend time with her after so many hard feelings. What I could say, what I could imagine, was that it would continue indefinitely. We’d meet periodically in the future, as she took the world on its shoes and I explored new territories. We’d see each other often enough, and then we’d celebrate our success, and we’d leave the bitterness of the past behind us.

Success or not, there was a possibility that she could use her ability to anticipate my movements to find me at any time. I’d take that very seriously.

Because if she found me at any time, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hide from her.





Colony 15.3


She was combative, but it wasn’t her fault. If her power was working as it had in the past, this would be a chance for her to prove her worth. She could approach me, challenge me, and be heard for it.

I would need to be individually strong if I was going to expect to succeed where she was rapidly losing ground. I wouldn’t be able to trust anyone here.

I gave her the benefit of a doubt. She did nothing of the sort.

There was only the task at hand. I watched as Codex filed by, almost without thinking about it. My bugs followed her just behind her chair and the desk. She was taking notes, but […] I caught her mentioning something.

"[…] I heard you made a name for yourself."

Does she know? I couldn’t read her expression.

"I made a name for myself at a time when I was trying very hard to stay out of the public eye. When everyone was on edge regarding the Scapegoat situation and other news, I stepped forward and claimed leadership of the Undersiders."

]"[/quote]

I caught a glimpse of the writing on the paper. Ms. Alcott had used the paper to craft a message for her boss. It was a series of symbols and words, all under a single horizontal line. A skull with the letter ‘T’ written on it, a dragon with a circle around it, and a bulls-eye in gold.

I dared hope that this wasn’t some coded message for me.

I carefully smoothed out the message, then held it in the palm of my hand, ready to hand it to her as soon as I was satisfied with the result.

Alpha, the ·8. Dragonfly 11. (Terra firma)



She opened the box to reveal a much-needed set of tools, both rudimentary and quite sophisticated. I blinked a few times in surprise, while keeping my eyes shut.

She set the tools down on the desk, then slid the first, somewhat cumbersome set of tools under the little table in the center of the room. I sat down, tugging on my mask. Ms. Alcott began explaining what the Clarke-type filters were, then took the next turn explaining the other tools, mentioning what the other assistant was working on. I got the drift of it, and was directed to a small table with an array of drawers and little windows that I could use to look at the equipment.

I worked at inspecting the array of tools,
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He stared at her, and there was a kind of subtle contradiction there.

Just like there was a contradiction there as far as Ward one was concerned, there was a contradiction here.

He wasn’t going to argue the point, but he was almost certain to lose the argument, because she was clearly frustrated with his unwillingness to just stop and talk. She wanted to run, to do something violent, something savage. She’d tried to kill three people, and he’d failed to stop her.

The only person who ever seemed to fail to stop her, beyond the simple fact that he couldn’t and didn’t ever managed to physically stop her, was Ward one. That said, he was certain to win the argument, because she was clearly the more violent of the two.

"So. You want to know what we find out?"

"Something bad."

"That’s not a bad spot to be in, is it?"

"Yeah. But I’m not even close to it. I’m in one piece."

"Sucks to die, doesn’t it?"

She shook her head.

"Hey, did you get a chance to rest?"

"Yeah. Just lying down, blacking out, don’t have any light in this cold weather. Did the suits work through the doors?"

"Golem?"

"They did. One leg works alright. Don’t have much heart to my left. Two arms, don’t have much left. They started the hydrauliculization, stopping the heart, and that’s it."

"Okay."

He nodded.

"Krouse?"

"Okay. Don’t have much heart to my left, but I’m alright."

"You should be. You had a look on your wrist, though."

"Yeah. Looked fine."

"Looked alright" was all he said, leaving it vague.

"We just don’t know what happened to me, what we might be able to do to get hold of you. They took your picture, but they could have leaked just enough information that we’d know. Or they took our transponder, and just about every single source that points to them is failing miserably in their attempts to track down the transhuman. The hope was that you’d cooperate, give them cause for any action on your part, and then you’d fork over any personal information. Which you didn’t."

"Cause for what?"

"If you’re right about something, then maybe we can’t keep you in the dark. There’s a chance that they’ll claim you as one of the Ward Thorns."

"I’m not sure I have the information they want. I’m not really the type to go out in costume and start something. I’m okay where I am, which is usually the case for about six months out of the year."

"It doesn’t make sense to me."

"It breaks my heart to leave you," Krouse said, "But we have to."

"We don’t have anywhere left to go," she said. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Steeled, she said, "Unless we want to go to the police chief and argue our case?"

"I’m not so sure we have a good case," Krouse said.

"The mayor said the same thing. It’s not that we couldn’t contact the police chief to get some information, he said we couldn’t ask for help tracking Downassian activity, which is a pretty big ask," she said. She looked at Oliver.

"If we contact the mayor," Oliver said, "It’d be seen as a kind of treason."

"I’m not sure I agree. We’d be putting ourselves on the line."

"There’s a middle ground," Jess said. "We could wait. We could keep hiding."

Krouse sighed. "Do what’s necessary, on both counts. I don’t think either of us want that."

"But?"

"But I don’t want to be here, either. Even if it’s this dangerous, this demanding, it’s my choice where I go from here."

She set her jaw. "I know the way to your head."

Krouse nodded. He used his power to shift the chairs, then freed himself to use the whisker. He caught her wrist, and she was quick to
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Call me crazy, but I’d rather have a nice guy running around than a dickish bitch like Brian.

"I can’t do much to help you there, so I’m going to do as your mentor and hang back. If you want to deal with the guys, that’s fine, but I’m not looking to stir trouble with my mere presence."

"Okay," I told him.

The thugs looked like they were about to hit him, until Brian nudged me with a metal chair. I reluctantly let him go ahead.

"What are you doing?" Alec asked.

I shrugged and had to just stop to pretend I had a sense of humor about how I was being so quiet and still. I was too focused on what was going on in the back of the auditorium, on the lifelike visor of Alec’s mask.

The back of the auditorium was sealed off, and a pair of maidens came rushing out, one with a toddler in her arms, the other bustling with students and another who was working in the lobby. I almost felt bad, like I was in the way, being pushed to participate and help make calls while being watched from the opposite side of the room. I didn’t like that it was like that, when I was used to working from the moment a call was made, to the moment it was over. I didn’t like it when that happened, when I was used to being able to relax and just be in my territory.

Had to deal with Tattletale, with her power.

I glanced at Bitch, who still sat in the fetal position, a little away from the table. She looked up, and I got the sense of a scowl.

"What?" Brian asked.

"You’re throwing around accusations you can’t defend. It’s not me attacking them, it’s Imp."

Brian�s eyes narrowed.

"She’s trying to silence us," Brian said.

"Too much risk for you, while she’s out there," I said.

"She’s hunting us," Brian said. "She’s making sneaky appearances, claiming to be a member of a news crew, posing as an old acquaintance. As far as I know, she’s never used the gun."

As an old acquaintance, she’d be good to have on the defensive, I thought. On the table of considerations.

"What weapon did she use?"

"She’s using a new kind of supersense, basically," Brian said. "Say what you will about Regent, but he gets a new ability every time he leaves the limiter gone. His old ability would let him project an image, an idea, be it a gibbering mess of a person or a vague reflection. With the new ability, he’ll be able to see the immediate future, the crucial moments, even extend those visions to the car he’s traveling in or the alley where he’s lurking. So yeah, with this new ability, she’s saying she’s a member of the Merchants, and whoever she’s riding is a supposed member of the Slaughterhouse Nine."

"Doesn’t it make sense? She’s been busy. Go out there and act all tough, all powerful, but it’s really her using the old ability, projecting an image, and whoever she’s riding is a supposed member of the Merchants," Lisa said.

"So she’s transiting around the city with this image of the seven," Brian said, "Killing people on the fly, everywhere. It’s not past Friday."

"It is," I said. "But this doesn’t change anything. We already know that the seven are going to attack early on, after the initial lure wears off, and that the first attack was an attempted murder. With the timeline Barber provided, did Hookwolf commit murder in a previous attack?"

Lisa shook her head.

"The question is whether you or anyone you fund is as powerless as they planned to be," Brian said.

"There’s a middle ground," I said. "Let’s say it’s one country, with one leader, and that country attacks one of the others, and that leads to a second attack in a matter of days, or a broader scale attack. I’m not sure which it’s going to be, because we don’t know which leader they’re going to be, and I for one, don’t want to downplay the importance of the Nine’s actions in the
======================================== SAMPLE 222 ========================================
This is-"

Behemoth surged forward again, surprising the Ward-specimens. His right arm extended, and the opening was jarred closed against his left shoulder. The arm dropped, and the opening flared open. The flame on the closed end of the rod spread, converging to spill over onto the fumes-

Behemoth staggered, briefly detaching from his arm. His flame swelled and condensed on the surrounding terrain, obscuring Scion.

The Ward on the close-in-to-Behemoth moved the arm away, then saw something that looked like a thick mist. A black mist, obscuring the Ward’s vision. Phir Sē’s flames licked the Mist, but the Ward didn’t succeed in obscuring it.

The creature roared. Phir Sē’s flames licked the Rod, preventing any further movements by the Ward.

"Fuck!" the Ward’s transformed roar echoed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

A moment later, a heavy impact echoed from the heavens. The Ward was thrown to one side, Skye briefly losing her balance as the sheer force of the impact rocked her. She collided with a console, a filing cabinet, and was thrown over the top of the system. The flames on the floor erupted into flame, a brown-red steam rising from the surface of a dead man’s hand.

The creature on the monitor dropped to the ground, the heat of the flame softening the fall. The Ward, caught by a force that was familiar, not in imminent danger, but still too slow for her to avoid.

"Hey," Aisha said. "You okay?"

"I’m… no, I’m not okay."

The rig wasn’t hers. It had always been held – by a woman who, according to notes found in the trunk of one of Lung’s cars, had been retired to a local government hospital. She’d been sick there when they’d investigated the incident that had led to Andrew Richter being murdered.

"Bay, show me the way," Aisha said. "You have an ID like the one I have?"

"Not as good. Not anymore."

"Then show me the way. Without the bugs."

Bay was walking continuously, at a slow jog, with a slowed walking pace supplemented by a series of weak jogs that only barely managed to keep him moving. He seemed to be coping better with his confusion and pain, though. He moved more with his hands and feet, and the jogs got more difficult.

"Good," Aisha said. "I need all the help I can get."

"An ID card, ID card, please. With my power, I’m going to be able to track you down."

"Take her to the Birdcage," Aisha suggested.

"Don’t get caught up in this," Bay said, "Or Judge it, if you prefer. What are you doing?"

"I’m late for work," Judge wiped away the lipstick on his lips, "And as for your… other business, I could arrange trips to Dr. Q’s lab, if you want to make sure it’s all proper and that we can get the necessary data. There’s a lot of attention on this hearing, and he’s wanted to make sure things are covered, and he’s looking after his mistress this summer, so everything’s sound and bled."

"Mistress? You can’t take her away from me," the blond boy said.

"Then who’s the mistress?"

"Someone on his staff," the blond boy said.

"His mistress? You can’t insult me like that to my face."

"So can you. I do hope you’re getting your chores, little tykes."

The yiddish boy chuckled, then stamped. He spun around in his chair to look at Aisha, and she froze.

"She gets her morning news on the news," Aisha said.

"Oh," Judge said. "Well."

"She doesn’t like it," the blond boy said.

"Because it means she has to miss one class, one session of electives," Aisha said. "She’s… life long inedible, bland, barely edible. Drink from the fountain every morning. And because of the way society has distorted things over the last twenty five years, there’s only about three things that people could legitimately call bland. The other two were Scrabble and Unfamiliar. So it’s really only when we get to the four core values that things start
======================================== SAMPLE 225 ========================================
You

That

should make

you

think

she

was

that

massive



A:

Tremendous

to

take

these



All pics but the last two are of minuscule nuggets, I used for now.

Last two not from my collection. Showing postion after showion.

Postion one:

Cute

Showion two:

Not

that

nondescript



A:

Tremendous

to

take

these



All pics but the last two are of minuscule nuggets.

Postion one:

Not

that

nonetheless



Sent in by machine.



A:

Tremendous

to

take

these



Sent in by machine.



A:

Not

nonetheless

respectful



A:

Love this. Love these two.



Cool.

Love these two.



Postion two used to be self-explanatory. Now it just means I can deduce which of the two I’m supposed to be seeing.



Circumstances force me to change gears. Posts unrelated to the current discussion? Introduce me to the people who are talking.



I’m not your enemy.

People will suspect and wonder when they see the two aren’t related, or when I alter my perspective to include the people I’m looking at but don’t take in the whole picture.



My focus is here.

Here.

A:

I see you. You’re here.



Maybe we can take this together.

I’m not your enemy.

I can succeed where the rest of us can’t.



Into the club.

Into the club.

Into the club.

Into the club.

Into the club.

Into the club.

Into the club.

Into the club.

Into the club.

Into the club.

Into the water.



Postion one taken out of context. Postion two omitted.



Postion one taken out of context. Postion two omitted.



Postion one taken out of context. Postion two omitted.



Postion one taken out of context. Postion three and four cleared.



Postion one cleared. Postion two and three not used.



Postion one taken out of context. Postion four omitted.



Postion one cleared. Postion four and optional five left unspoken.



Postion one cleared. Postion one and ending five added.



Into the water.



Into the water.

Into the water.

Into the water.

Into the water.

Into the water.

Into the water.

Into the water.

Into the water.

Into the water.

Into the water.

Postion one cleared, conclusion reached.



"We knew you were coming," Panacea whispered.



I designed this. I earned this.

I had to pull myself together. I did what needed to be done. I spoke with my swarm. "If you’re going to affect change, you better be prepared to change it for the better."

My bugs spoke in English. I ignored them. I was human. There was no point to being human if the source of my powers wasn’t human.

"Hey," Tattletale said. I ignored them.

"Want to go gambling?"

"Already am, atm," Rachel said. She shifted position. "My phone’s in the bag. Don’t want to lose too much, already know where I’m going."

"Okay," I said. "You’re up first, then."

• HOHo7 MVP

• Guys, fight until they die! •



• Swiftly descending. Best buddy since before I’d ever seen him. •



• (If I remembered right) Highest kill total he’d ever had. (as of 1:00pm est Wed) •



• Game over for them. (as of 1:00pm est Wed) •



• Seeing allies get killed before their eyes. Worst experience. Casual
======================================== SAMPLE 228 ========================================
Maybe I thought I might actually be able to put it all out there.

I’d dealt with some push over the previous few weeks, some grumblings in the kitchen as my appetite wasn’t quite so vivacious. This was different. It was more real. It was something I could handle. I could appreciate it if my stomach went round, aching for a hit, something to take my mind off the music.

I put the kettle on, turned on the oven burner, and set the covers on the sideboard to burn off the lows. The relief was apparent.

But my attention was on the wall when I heard the explosion. The wall beneath the kettle with the green dresser and some of the green trimming had a gaping hole in it. When the wall was blasted away, the green dresser and its contents rolled over the back of the kettle, amidst a mess of shredded wood and plastic.

When the wall was up, the contents of the kettle clattered to the floor.

"That was fucked," Imp said.

"You’re a mess," Grue responded. He was checking over my damage.

"Has to be," Imp said. "Too much heat gets to her."

"Heat system," I said. "Somehow, I got vibes from her."

"You do," Imp said. "You and me."

"We’re not so different," Grue said, checking over his shoulder and the damage to the wall with the green dresser. "Problem is, we’re targets. It’s only a matter of time before we get taken out of action."

"I’m expendable," I said.

"And there’s a solution to that," Regent said. "I’m not just talking about using my power to find it, get out of here. I’ve got a plan."

"No," I said. "There’s a really good chance we’ll piss you off. You’ll make us collateral."

"And if I screw it up? If I make a mistake? I’ll own up to it," Regent said.

"There’s a whole lot of ugly feelings around owning someone else’s stuff," I said. "Worrying about who sees your stash, whether they’re okay with it, whether the family can stand to have you using their sibling’s stuff. I don’t know what you have in the back of the mind that will let you do that."

"It’s a stupid, narrow view of the world," Regent said. "Listen, I get it. It’s not your place to say. You can set an owner down at any time. But for now, it’s better if you keep your mouth shut and hold back while we clean up this mess. So long as you’re dealing with people you’ve got on your team, you’re dealing with people on the periphery of your team."

I kept my mouth shut.

"I can leave the others alone, if it’s just me and you. Bitch, get yourself set up on the couch. Get yourself comfortable. Get yourself a book or two, maybe, if you want to keep reading. Get yourself a cookie. Go for a walk."

Bitch accepted the conditions and disappeared away. Boy was that stubborn.

When Bitch had returned, I set about getting her seated. Boy was it a little before six in the morning. By the time I had her seated, Boy had been napping.

How long had I been napping? Nearly eighteen hours?

I was a little surprised that I didn’t start worrying about my own safety until nearly nine.

We had to control who we interacted with. If we let the local heroes find Bitch, or at least one of her dogs, then things would be tolerable. We’d regain control of the situation. If we dragged her here, or if we brought her to us, we could work with them to keep the worst of her undertow for last resort measures. There was no reason to try to corral her when we had her safely in our custody.

It was nigh-impossible to corral her.

It would have to be a communication problem. Avatar. She could communicate with her real body. She could communicate with Imp and The boxer.

W-why did I wag my finger?

There was only silence after I said it.

Why aren’t I happy?

I was at a complete loss for why.

When we returned to our original topic, I introduced them for
======================================== SAMPLE 231 ========================================
I. An illusion that turned real, lived in our heads.

II. Reality.

The plate of glass in my throat made me want to throw up.

My thoughts turned to the pair of them, to Tattletale.

What was she thinking? Was her reality changing so she could see the future?

No. I could believe that my daughter was dead, but she’d been staring out at me, and I’d severed her connection to me, to the world I knew.

I. Wasn’t. Real.

III. Ethereal.

I could feel my grief shifting into action. Frustration, relief, confusion.

Suddenly, I was in complete control. I could feel the world shift around me, my body’s response to my presence.

But I wasn’t moving. I couldn’t. I’d taken chunks out of my own body, and I’d lost my mind control, my body.

My foot hit a pothole, and I fell.

My hand shook. I wasn’t sure if it was the strain, the cold, the cold, night after night, or if it was just the physical impact of the fall tearing through the layers of armor. I could have sent my bugs out to try to catch my fall, but I was shaky anyway, and I doubted they’d capture me.

My bugs were dying as the temperature plummeted, there was less activity as they attempted to depart from my range. I was on my own.

Securing a grip on a piece of empty cardboard, I ambushed a familiar looking group.

"The fuck?" the man asked.

"They’re in trouble," I stated.

"They’re in trouble, but they’re not stupid. They know we took their stuff."

I extended a hand.

The man resisted until my hand was on his shoulder.

"We could send Scapegoat to talk to them," he said.

"Not that it would help a lot," I said.

"They don’t listen to me," the man said. "They don’t care about her. They don’t know what’s going to happen. They won’t understand why I’m here, why I’m helping them. They’re even more afraid of us."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "You’re helping them so they’ll listen, but you don’t understand them?"

"They don’t know we’re doing this," Scapegoat said. "The Nine don’t know either. They’re too stupid to grasp what’s going on, and-"

"The Nine are doing it to get your attention," I said. "They’re losing. It’s a question of them running away, and they’re not getting enough of a chance. Doomsday won’t stop any more than they will stop Scapegoat. Skitter’s almost an emeritus, and they’re going to try again. We can’t save them all, but we can keep the city from falling apart, and that’s something that counts."

"But it’s not your city anymore," Scapegoat said. "It’s ours."

"I get that," I said, "But where’s the love?"

"The love that you’ve given to Atlas and me, at different points in time. I can’t repay you, really. None of us can."

I found Atlas at the other end of the settlement, safely ensconced in one spot. I pulled him out of the air, "He’s your buddy, right? You’re doubly indebted to him, because you get this city, you get services like he doesn’t."

"I, we, or at least I contributed something to that, and at some point I took something for granted," Scapegoat said, "I get the credit for helping him achieve his current difficulties."

"A debt, isn’t it?"

"It’s a responsibility. I played a part in his getting turned into a villain, I helped him make his way in the underworld, I see the dice that he’s gotta roll, he never had a shot at anything major for years, now."

Scapegoat looked over his shoulder at the man. If the man were a little less intimidating, a little less able to see his opponent, this scenario might change. If the man were a little more intimidating,
======================================== SAMPLE 234 ========================================
Transformable.

The boy paused, and the glow dimmed.

The casting look had been wasted on me. I backed away, but the boy was already approaching, his hand on the table to his right.

It said something that the writers went out of their way to say it was a struggle for Ward to keep his composure during the audition. Trying to get a rise out of Ward, the writers made him swear under his breath twice. It still sounded pretty feeble, and objectively, it wasn’t saying a lot.

I wasn’t sure what I could do. Write down what I was thinking.

I stood, removing the cell from my mind, and I used the pencil sharpener in the desk to sharpen the first draft of my sketch. It was close to being finished.

The other cells in the wing had the same qualities. Roomy enough for cell blocks to nestle together, but not so big that they would be able to cover everything. There was room for more artists, designers and typographers, and I was content to leave it as is.

The only person who would be able to affect Cell Block W was Taylor Hebert. To punish her for tormenting me, it would have to be mean, or else Cell Block Y would suffer a similar fate. I had little doubt Took, Mist, Gully and even Ashe would organize to round out the team. That said, I had little doubt Took and Mist could provide the needed eyes and ears.

It was a shame there was no Mark on the roster. Perhaps in a pinch, a hostage would be taken and a body was retrieved with a change of heart. But that pinch could be met with a kind gesture, a thank you, and a cell block would go on the offensive. There could be misunderstanding if one of the hostage teams was drawn to one of the hostage takers, but I couldn’t shake the notion that they were more interested in getting cash than they were in hurting their enemies.

The whiteboard in my cell was labelled ‘Cauldron/Net’. Doors, windows and the like were all recorded and available on the computer. Money and drugs were noted on the glass surface of the board, and the text was shown as coloured lights ticked closer to the black and green blotches. The deeper the blanks, the darker the colours. There were also numbered cubes, and the more rows and columns there were, the more the blotches stood out.

I was getting kind of obsessed with the subject. Overly sob, considering everything going on.

No comments, though. My cell phone was still logged in, and I wasn’t the only prisoner to have it disabled as a prisoner Bailey was taking over. The doors that led to the exterior of my cell were largely kept open, and the disabled door had been made wider so a man in terminal check-in could see me only if I pushed through the glass door.

My row of cages were at the far end of the cot, near the door leading to the hallway outside, and were large enough for the cages and the squat, narrow metal bench that held my injured ankle. Cage A and B, respectively, were connected by a single, small metal rod. The only thing separating them from my visitors were me and the metal bench, which they could attack.

'Narwhal, arrive, or if you’re not making an appearance, report to cell block Y. Everyone else, get ready to mobilize. Dragon is going to be deploying again. We’ve got a lot to handle if we want to hold out for a full day. It’s going to be at least six or seven days by now, depending on how bad the injuries are. So many systems to manage, so much information to analyze. May God help us through this.'

Dragon’s voice came through the speakers. ‘Responded’.

'God damn it, Colin, you know how stressed I was yesterday. I didn’t get to communicate with you.'

Dragon turned my way, but she didn’t respond.

'I know you were frustrated, I know that you had dark thoughts, that you were worrying about Noelle. I’m sorry. We didn’t get the chance to talk, and maybe, just maybe, you broke down in tears. I hope those tears didn’t stop me from trying to help you in person. Maybe that helped you to see me, gave me a little more perspective. Maybe I’ll always have that perspective, and I can’t ever forgive you for what you did. I know it’s asking a lot, but-"

Dragon stopped as a woman with a history of migraines and a tendency to drool cleared the gloom in front of the pair.
======================================== SAMPLE 237 ========================================
It was more possible that Kaiser had ordered his mercenaries to provide extra patrols for a rally that was too dangerous for them, or for the heroes might have been incommunicado. Captain Roache’s explanation that her shift ended at two thirty in the morning sent chills down the back of Kaiser’s spine.

For the moment, the United Kingdom was occupied. The United Kingdom was a warzone, a city on the brink of total destruction, abandoned by everyone except the people who kept it going. Brockton Bay was a sleepy place with a lot of hard physical labor behind it, a lot of elderly people who wanted to move on from this shit, and nowhere Kaiser was concerned.

"If it comes down to it, if it all comes down to a few favors and getting the job done, I’m handing the keys over in the meantime. There’s nothing dangerous or funny about the keys themselves. They’re ordinary handcuffs, but I strapped them to my leg with iron straps so I could slip through the floor of the prison. If the guards open the cells to get at me, they’re going to find me in there. So maybe I give them some fancy handcuffs that fit, or handcuffs with electric shocks, or handcuffs with poison needles inside…"

She smiled at the meaningless thought. It wasn’t her power, not really. Her joke was.

"I love those handcuffs," Kaiser answered, apparently oblivious to the gag.

Possessive shouldn’t have been so funny.

"I’ve got the antidote," she inserted her finger into the slot where the cuff links together and popped it open, "I can only give you a half dose, but I think I’ve got the best antidote we can find in this beautiful city of ours. Bleach, chlorine, antifreeze. I mixed it in all nice, donuts- it’ll make your skin and hair nice and soft. It won’t be effective right away, but it’ll make your skin and hair nice, soft, and you’ll be handsome in a very, very weird way, all wrapped up in this contraption."

She slid the cuffs on, with her finger still in the slot, and started giving him donuts taped in matching patterns to his wrists.

"Accordi, tempo da Vinci?"

"Da Vinci is dead. Her death has something to do with the fact that she had a bodyguard, a body man."

Possessive, confident, self-assured. "I’m going to be deathly afraid. I’ll get over it."

"Don’t be too worried. You’ll have your powers, and I’ll be able to give you the answers youneed. I’ll show you how to use my power, and you’ll understand more about what’s going on."

He didn’t have the slightest idea about what she was planning, but he at least knew his father was watching him and waiting to ambush him.

"Very well," he said.

Then he opened the door.

There was the father, waiting in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Goodbye, Mr. Foster," the son said.

The father didn’t reply.

"I come bearing gifts. Answers. Answers to questions."

"Are you giving up anything?" the father asked.

"I’ll try."

"I can’t understand you. The details will look strange if someone read it and told you they could make it any way you want them to."

"I’m not that stupid."

"You’re doing yourself a disservice. If it comes down to it, you can always tell me the answers, even if you won’t know the language. I can even explain the da Vinci Code. You can tell me if you want to go ahead with the tests, I can’t promise I’d get the answer you want, but I can give you the most important question of all, above all else."

"What is the da Vinci Code?"

"It’s a code I bought on the secondary market. A way of tracking my chambers and the places my bugs are. I use it to scan the premises, to see what’s around, and I buy spices from the stalls in the street, so I have something to cook for my family on short visits."

"I’m afraid," the father said, "I don’t know enough about the da Vinci Code to understand what you’re wanting to know."

"Secondary? Why?"
======================================== SAMPLE 240 ========================================
I stayed calm, keeping my mouth shut as others returned to the subject of food. Brian sighed and said, "I was hoping you’d say something. I’ve had a few afternoons to chew on this stuff, and the last few times I’ve had it, I can swear I’ve heard something about food and diet there. Stuff you wouldn’t normally be interested in trying, given how bad your teeth are, and then there’s the whole doomed to fail thing, and the idea that you’re doomed to fail yourself too. Stuff from home, that you’ll get better about two years from now, if you’re willing to take the time to look."

I didn’t respond right away. While many teenagers today probably didn’t have any of those two things, I felt like I deserved to. I had been where many of them were; someone without home to go to, someone without family to look after. It was humiliating, it was awkward, it left me wondering how I was ever going to put up with people like Brian and Lisa and Rachel.

He eventually pulled off his tie, "Let’s eat."

I was glad that none of us ate while he had the chain stretched taut between his shoulder and his pocket.

"So," Lisa said as she took a bite of her burger, "You in?"

"I am."

"Taylor," she called out.

I headed into the dining area with my new Hideous Meerkat. I turned to look at her.

"You going to come back?"

"Oh, I’m going back to visit my dad."

"Wow," I said.

"This is worse than being back in school. This is back to the boy you were with, before the bullying. The boy you were before your mom died. The one you changed yourself from when you were in the Kindergarten through almost the end of high school."

<html><F name=boy>></F>

"What?" I asked. I could feel dread creep in my voice. Was this person, somewhere behind me, hiding behind that fake smile of his?

"Nothing," he said. "I’ll come back."

"You done with your face, man?" She asked. Behind him, I could feel the fear and pity in his voice.

He shook his head. "I’ve been very good."

"Good?"

"I shaved my head and I changed my name to be more comfortable with it. I’m going to be okay, after. You’ll find me and we can talk."

I could picture Lisa there, that table of dishes, him ladling them out.

"I’m not having a good time," I said.

"Oh honey," Brian said, with the false note of relief that came with knowing exactly what the host was trying to tell me.

"I’m not having a good time either," I replied, stepping away to get my thoughts in order. While I was sitting, I was trying to assess the situation. The place was rundown, the music too loud, the peopleneryung real or perceived. There was this vague never-ending sense of danger from the various groups of people – Merchants, Chosen, Raiders, Faultline’s Crew, Handsome Men – but the local authorities had failed to put anything significant or lasting to that, hadn’t stepped in. Until about two weeks ago, when the authorities took a liking to an area close to where I lived, moved in and attempted to grab chunks of real estate for their public relations campaign. I STL away.

When I first moved in, I built a new home for myself, fixing up the mess of things the previous families had done and adding what I could to what I could already do and what I was afraid I might do in the future. Then, before I could finish any major projects, I hit a little snag. I couldn’t go to the bathroom at night, or I would have to walk into the shower every thirty seconds for the rest of the night. I could use the washroom, but if I used the shower, did I make myself a peeling mess?

In a way, I felt worse about the habit than I did about my bladder.

I went to the bathroom at night, anyways. I didn’t use the urinal, but solo traveler.

The street was unlit, nothing more than empty lots with long, skinny trees in the distance. Whoever lived here must have been familiar with the winter cold: long grass, short grass, a scattered harvest of grass cut with saplings. It might have been inviting, allowing the grass to rot
======================================== SAMPLE 243 ========================================
Wait until he says something else. In case he changes tacks, your weak points become major. Then find another weak point. What am I looking for?"

"The world is ending."

"The world is ending how?"

"How? We don’t know."

The realization crashed her. She stood from her chair.

"Where was I?" Jessica asked.

Krouse climbed to his feet.

"Not here."

Jessica nodded, "Okay. Where were we?"

Krouse walked to the kitchen, tripped over some shelves of magazines and fell 7 feet on his ass as he tried to balance. "It’s in the future."

"What?"

"We’ve barely even met. I thought we’d get along."

"You were teasing me."

"I was teasing him. Occam’s razor. It’s a lot easier to believe in the impossible when you have real access to money and access to people who can testify to your ability."

"Ouch. He’s shaking me off like I’m his friend."

"Don’t. He’s taking me hostage."

"Guys, if you do something like that, I’m going to make you watch it."

"Oh, yeah. Anything and everything."

"And if we do something like that? We’re just going to make him angry."

"Watch yourself, Krouse. It’s too soon."

"What? You’re already driving him to get on edge."

"It’s the best weapon we have. The only thing that stops him is me."

"You realize that as soon as he opens his mouth."

"That’s not true. I mean, you can’t keep track of everything, right? We’re going to be separated for a while. Only thing we can do for him is pretend he’s not us. He’ll start interfering with us, getting in our way, being more impulsive. And that’s not enough."

"We’re not enough."

"He’ll eventually get bored with us. He’ll start interfering in our lives, but that won’t be a hundred percent. We’re past the point of being jokes. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I’m having trouble adjusting to the new me. I don’t know how I’m going to start, and every time he makes it a focus, it’s a little harder."

"Joking aside, are you going to be able to accept that it’s safe to approach him?"

"I don’t know. It’s like a magnet. Any girl he’s attracted to will find herself attracted to him. He’ll bend you, he’ll flay you and then he’ll cut you with poison or a club. He’ll cut you with a taser and then he’ll kill you."

"You will not be killed."

"He’s not that simple. He can be cruel, and that is a fact that I’ve noticed while treating you. He doesn’t like it when you make jokes at his expense. He won’t like it when I use my power to humor him, so keep it in mind when you ask him to make a joke."

"I have yet to see him laugh."

"He has no reason to," I said. I thought of the family dinner where he’d had a string of disastrous encounters with capes. "Besides, it’s a chore. I’m surprised he’s not raging against you for trying to make some fresh pasta for lunch. You two work stuff out, and I officiate a few falls where you both wear the same costume. Where one of you is able bodied and comfortable enough to manage, the other does not."

I had to stop there. Made a note.

"I should thank you before I insult your family with this. Give my regards."

I didn’t feel like checking. I gave a hand signal, and Stella caught it.

"Good. Here, my girl," he said.

He led me to a chair, and I pretended to look over my shoulder as he removed his shoes and began putting his costume together. I used my fingers to pace away from him, not taking my eyes off him.

He put on his glasses and dabbed at his eyes to get them clean. "And you, I guess. Both of
======================================== SAMPLE 246 ========================================
I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or someone else.

So many people, all gathered in the wrong place at the wrong time. Humanity, again. A giant leap forward, but humanity again.

He continued, and I couldn’t quite make out the words.

"Our goals seem very clear. You’re expendable, utterly helpless in the face of an enemy that you cannotadishly fight. Atlas is our hope, our only guarantee against an inevitable fate."

"I don’t buy it," I said.

"I’m telling you because I think you’d be changing how you view the world. In the coming days and weeks, you’ll change how you view the world, and I think you’d change how you respond to it."

My cell phone buzzed once in my sweatshirt pocket. I read and responded.

"Not a threat," I told the phone.

"Not a threat."

"Okay."

"The man with the black cloak. I met him on the street. Talked to him for a few minutes. Then left."

"In a few minutes, he appears. Who is he?"

"A local, late to the party. No secrets)," I said.

"I saw it happen. The man with the black cloak appears, teleports, and people are running."

"And he disappears? Which side are they on?"

"To be honest, I don’t know. I only acted because I thought it would come to this. I just don’t know who that person is."

"An unlikely ally," Tecton said.

"I’m… unusual," I said. I was aware that people were watching me, waiting.

"Easmore normal?" he asked.

"If it weren’t for my power, I’d be a story. Parahuman abilities arose almost exclusively through trauma. Through me, through you, probably, but that’s a whole other ballgame. I’m game for a story if it will push the lunatic fringe out of reach readers. If it means letting you flex That Amazing, Mundanely Awesome muscle you've denied me for so long, showing you how it really works, along with some of its subtleties and subtleties."

"There’s a lot of that stuff," she said, her voice quiet.

"It’s inherent to my powers. The second I had my decoy, my state on the battlefields, the more I changed the order in which my powers operate, the better off I was. It was a system that was sucking me in, and I was so lost in that darkness I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t think straight, either, because I was aware of how close I came to hitting my limit and succumbing to it. But I could listen to my power, and that simple, innate earbud served to let me hear what my power was hearing. That pair of ears! They were always there, with my power and the telekinetic sight my power included. I sometimes used them to listen to my power, because I was getting out of my depth and I needed to absorb all of the information my power was throwing my way."

"I like that sort of thing," Wanton said. "Most people who live in the Docks get into some pretty heavy shit. Scary stuff."

I went on, "Like, if a dog gets too comfortable, it’s going to attack you. If a limiter was in effect, then my power would push me to my limits. I just needed a little something to hold me together, a place to turn that crisis of feeling like I’m supposed to do something and not realizing I have other things to focus on. The limiter fucked with my head, and it needs to go. I’ve only got a few major things remaining. Coupes, loops, doubles, multipliers, effects and traps and I’m not about to let my enemy snatch them away from me."

"And the other important thing?" I asked.

"The other important thing is that we need to act on it," she said. "I’ve seen enough of your power to know that it’s scarily effective. I know you three can make it so the enemy that much weaker."

"And you can’t even look at what we have and know that it’s not scaremongering?" he asked.

"The client provides the scare," she said.

"I didn’t say that," I told her. "Nothing to say, exactly."

======================================== SAMPLE 249 ========================================
Aviation, huh.

"Come on."

I rose onto my feet and followed them as they took flight.

Remembering who I was, I slowed down, put one foot on the gas as they took off again, zig-zagging from point to point, defying gravity itself.

I thought about how Leviathan had once acted, how he had torn through this very city, and how much of that had been air resistance. All of the glimmers of that energy, excitation and shockwave, only it was concentrated into a few storm clouds.

This wasn’t it. I could feel the movement, the illusion, but… so very small.

I tried to speak, so clearly it hurt to speak through my teeth. "It’s okay. Nothing dangerous."

They were acting as though they hadn’t seen me. Except I had, and they didn’t. They didn’t realize the incredible force of my shout, the way it interrupted their coordinated front-line maneuvering and their movements, excusing them from the usual maneuvering to give them a chance to position themselves and see what effect it had.

A tip of the capes hand to one side made me skid across the floor. They hit the ground with a sloshing noise, the ripples of their uniforms slapping against the pavement, one defending the other with an arm. Two capes approached us, looking more like they were trying to duck into a building and run away than they did to cross the street.

"Fuck," one of the capes said, through a mouthful of mask. He was shoulders and back to the ground, his weapon still raised.

"What was I saying? Right. I’m sorry," I said. I turned around and called for the swarm to pass through the hole I’d made. They were still moving, sloshing with the current, slowed only by the constant contact with the water.

"Icy angel. Why do we fight?"

"Don’t you see what we’re doing? We’re inviting him. We’re inviting Leviathan to come to us for revenge on behalf of the people who tried to rob our city and kill our superheroes. And he just might come to us for help beating him. Can you see him?"

I was only peripherally aware of the capes who were looking at me. I would have thought I knew them, somehow. They were all similarly unnerved.

Stupid, really. The ‘I’ in icy was sharp, an inverted U.F.O.

"Sure. He made his debut against the Elite, and we haven’t lost one since. We have two of them, good capes. The ones from the UK. We call them the Sky Boys."

"I don’t understand," I said.

"They’re creatures of habit, like me," Accord said. "They wear a costume, they talk a lot, they’ve got a bit of a crush on our Sky Bitch, and they’re normally quite the fun-loving lot. Except for the one."

I looked, and I couldn’t make anything out.

"Sky Bitch," I said.

"You know what I mean?" Accord asked. "It’s… I don’t even know how to put it. They’re like dogs. They’re beautiful and expensive and loyal and noble in the same way a dog is, but they’re also… overly obedient. I’d say they’re like a puppy, but that word’s loaded."

I stared at him. At his.

"When they’re hurt, they’re hurt more than they should be. When they’re lost, they’re lost. In the midst of this, there’s only this place we can go, and we tend to get more withdrawn as we get further down the list. Only seven or so members left, and they’re big guys. Big, strong, mean. Only thing I can say is that they’re fucking awesome at making people feel like they’re the dominant ones in the group, even if they’re liars and cheats."

Or maybe that was the case. I couldn’t be sure.

Accord stared at me for a long time.

"I won’t be leader forever," I said. "I want to find someone who’s suitable and I can get back to being Weaver. Maybe Shadow Stalker? I’d kill anyone for the chance."

"You’re too kind," Tattletale
======================================== SAMPLE 252 ========================================
>And they hire you because the quota is so important.

No. That’s not what this is about.

We are not about quotas.

Either we’re about human rights and respect for others, or we’re about giving others what they want, when they want.

When was the last time you had a conversation with a romantic partner?

When was the last time you’d had a serious conversation with a significant other, with an emotional connection at play?

When was the last time you fought against authority, rather than allowing it?

When was the last time you challenged an adult in their power?

When was the last time you dismantled the authority that you’d had for fear that they might use it to their advantage, or reclaimed some of that authority for yourself?

When was the last time you dismantled the friendships you’d had at a key point in your trajectory, because theyperedish?

When was the last time you dismantled those bonds that you’d formed with your teammates, because youther than them?

You’re failing here. This. Failure to say anything.

"Failure," you tell yourself. "I can’t pull off this. It’s unseemly."

You- you’re failing like everyone else. Posturing yourself like you’re better than this.

You? Like everyone else?

You’re a thug.

I can see what you’re doing. Flinging insults, attacks. You’re aiming to make me a thug.

See how it connects. See the pattern.

You and I, we’re both ambitious crooks.

But I’m better than you. I have more experience. I know how to deal. I’ve been out of the ring for a little while.

You just threw me to the curb. Like a dog who found a cat and chewed it alive, you’ve come looking for me.

No. You can’t. You don’t have the power.

You can’t take me home.

You have to make me tell someone what you really think.

You can’t do that, you won’t.

You want me to stay and let you deal with your teammates. Because you’d lose everything in the end, the only thing you have to give up is your reputation. But you won’t. You have to give up. You know that. You just want me to make some promises to myself, and let you hold me to your own standards. Promise me that I’ll do my best, let me live up to your expectations.

Because you’re too scared. You’re- You are too tired. You’re tired, and you’re tired because you’ve been waiting for an opening like this.

You’re tougher than you look. You know this.

You can call me Spike. I can do that.

■

Friday, June 16th, 2011, 10:01

"I won’t ask your name."

"Regent?"

"What is it?"

"It’s really not my name."

"Then I guess it’s not a name that we’ll be talking about often enough."

"Last I heard, you were active as a villain in Brockton Bay."

"No."

"Why not?"

"There’s too much pressure. I’m not strong enough, I’m not versatile enough, or goddamn smart enough, to change how society works or how things should work. I don’t have any time, and ages where I could use it would be ages where I regret having it. So I stay focused on my goal. Retake the city."

"And the second you can do that, you can spend a little time with your family."

"You can have my family for as long as you want."

"You can have my family for as long as you want, but you can’t have my family time, and not my time, for what? Money, favors…"

"Money, I take it. But you can’t have my family, and not my time."

"I have your time."

"I have yours."

"I can’t give you mine, though."

"I don’t mind."

"I’m just… you’re not giving me yours. You’re keeping my Reaper girl."

"
======================================== SAMPLE 255 ========================================
It was a cub that had been cast out.

No. Not interested.

One… two…

The cub leaped. It struck the wall of the cave and rolled, making a small crater in the process. The monster turned and lunged for Bonesaw, but she was already striking the same direction as the stream, going under and around the side of the cave that Behemoth was hiding in. She reappeared behind the villain, reached inside his hip, and tore the villain free of the unyielding hold he’d been holding on to.

It was odd, to see how the cub’s body followed the movements of the stream. It moved faster, more parts moving in sync. It was elegant.

Three… four… five…

Bonesaw stopped, then turned a hundred and eighty degrees around. She looked down at the cub, and saw it was breathing. She wrapped her arms around the thing, and they were gone in a flash, the escapee plunging to the ground.

She caught it before it could land flat on its back, and used her hands to pull it to the ground.

"Cuff," she said. She pushed her costume open, and withdrew crumpled scraps of paper into her belt. She collected her costume into a loose braid with the fragments of paper, binding it together.

It wasn’t death, but it was a terrible fate.

She collected the papers into a loose piece of cloth and passed it around, still bound with the thread.

The bad news was that the cub wasn’t going to die just yet. The papers showed the bear had swallowed the thing whole. The good news was that the bear was angry.

The bad news was that it was an emergency. There was a motor running through one of the papers.

"We have to get to people," the bear panted.

"It’s fine," Ducard said. "Just grabbing what we can spare is enough. What’s this? A request from one of the weaker members of the group? You want to kill?"

"Yes," the paper replied.

"I did not think you would be this egoman. Save your strength for the ultimate goal. If you are in a state to kill, get to the heroes and tell them to bite their tongues."

"I’m not sure," the bear said.

"If you are on the fence, accept my terms. I will take your head, your body and body parts will be shared between us, potentially including your head alone. If you comply, I will kill you after I’ve had my pleasure."

"definitely could have screwed me," Ducard said.

"but you made it"

"You have no reason to, I promise."

The bear made a growling sound, then broke into a run. Nora hurried to catch up to him. She threw herself between him and the wall that framed the entrance to the cave, kicking down, arms outstretched.

"Nora" the girl shouted, "NO!"

Maria hurried to her side, stopping her. "Wait. He’s-"

"HE IS!"

"Maria, hold him. I’ll-"

"He’s not. He’s part of us!"

The cub looked like he’d been slapped in the face. He seemed to react, blinking, then growingl.

"You misunderstand," the bear panted. "Ingenue-"

"She does understand," Maria retorted.

"So you think you’re too nice for him!"

"Enough!" Karen shouted. She stepped forward, reaching for the bear’s muzzle. She forced him to step back, and he the bulldog began to charge her, head turned in the bear’s direction. Karen threw herself to the ground, rebounding from the impact with her arms still held behind her back, and then threw up. She tried to put out the fire, but she only created one hand, the same fist with the scythe-like blade at the end. The bear lunged after her, rending her feet and knee. She stumbled, finding her balance, and then rolled on impact with the wall, creating the head and the large hand. She slapped her partner down.

"No! You’re such a bad girl!" the bear panted.

"You’ll have to promise I wouldn’t hurt you during the play," José said.

"José," José panted, then panted again. "Ooo! Anny!"

The bear yelped, jumping to its feet in an instant. José flinched.

======================================== SAMPLE 258 ========================================
After gaining enough ground, the other group began filing out.

Then, all at once, Mannequin charged forward.

Rambling, incoherent, his group was on their feet in a flash.

But I could see the pattern, the unwritten rules, the unwritten rules he’d explained to them, the unwritten rules he’d told me, the unwritten rules he’d told me he would follow if he was willing to break them.

I could see the hesitation, the moment they realized what he wanted, and hurried to retreat, flailing their hands and failing to secure a grip.

And I could see the realization, too, as a set of blurry green blades sprung from Mannequin’s hand. They drew sharply against his skin, a cleaving through them like a knife through waterbrick. The blades winked out against the dark, translucent pane of his hand.

He broke his grip on the blades, and they went limp, returning to their original position. He let his hand drop, and they intrepidly pecked at his wounds, as if there was some forcefield around them.

He awoke, only to find he’d sustained a fatal blow, that he was vulnerable. He ran, but he didn’t get halfway to his target. He got stuck, and was swamped in water that was rising around him.

It was cold enough the water had almost run through his clothes.

He found one of the visiting doctors, and it wasn’t long before he had her pushing past the other capes, forcing her way past the rim of a wavering dam.

Like clockwork, the dam broke. Water rushed forth, and Park Jihoo leaped over the edge of the roof next to her. He was warm enough from the warmth of the open window that his cloak didn’t even flutter.

She maneuvered him through the rusted dam and onto the roof. There were fifty or sixty capes here, and thirty or forty of them were in the lead, brainwashed or bought like cattle. The doctor, prime suspect to them, was on the ground, limbs sticking out of the back of her head, or hung on with bolts.

He’d need fifty or sixty volunteers to run to the rescue, and they wouldn’t show any emotion.

As the lights went out, he climbed to his feet, no better than a zombie. Thirty or forty capes were still on the roof, now, under the cover of darkness.

He pushed his way through the darkness, and the pain disappeared. He could breathe, now.

He could see the other capes, people who hadn’t been stunned with their own tasers. Stunners, most certainly. The electric chair wasn’t in operation, thankfully. Had Mannequin jammed it in somewhere the others could find?

Would the others manage it, though? A week, a month? He doubted it, if they could even keep this together in the present.

He was still Creek, heartbreaker and slasher of angels. He’d tried to take up residence in the group that had originally invited him, to keep them going, and had let them fall apart after the first wave oflings had come through. They’d been one syndrome against another, a fringe of similar powers, with very different effects. He’d believed he had what it took to be a monster in a costume, to be their breakout star. Now he was their problem.

He couldn’t- wouldn’t act on the knowledge, but it was still the knowledge. He couldn’t explain it, not here, not straightforwardly. They needed a good Chaoticlement to guide their powers and a good Endbringer to fight them.

If they were scrapping for a leader and they lost, if they punted and fell apart, then this would be their failure. His team would suffer.

He ran. He knew- he was still learning- how to walk, had no idea how to run. He was losing more and more ground to the new capes as they advanced, scrapping people to get to where they needed to be. People were left standing who had once been sitting down, only to find their heels digging into the ground, or crushed under piles of rubble.

It was tempting, tempting, but it wasn’t quite right. The right decision for now. He needed to know if they were scrapping for a leader and failed, if they still needed the associated powers, or if they were going to self destruct.

He broke into a run, accompanied by Bitch’s dogs. They didn’t sniff, and he couldn’t make out any identifiable figures, but
======================================== SAMPLE 261 ========================================
What is this one? How did you get her number?

I didn’t answer. I was tired, I had my costume on and I leaned against the wall, feeling the heat and the cold on my body as a kind of therapy.

Legend said something, and I couldn’t make it out without overhearing and overhearing, and I was already thinking of how I’d deal if that happened. I drew from my power, already had measures in place. Barrier of good faith and haughtiness, more barriers to ward off the wounded, faster rending of limbs, better musculature, plenty more for fire and shock.

Still, it wasn’t enough. She still had the crowd in her favor, and she clearly didn’t care about holding onto anyone who wasn’t firmly in her grasp.

I couldn’t take it. I felt sick. I hadn’t felt this sick in years.

"I need someone to come down from the ninth," Legend said. "Has anyone done it? This isn’t like I’m unfamiliar territory, I’ve been doing this a little while."

I looked over my shoulder. No customers, no pleasure.

"Then I’m thinking we need to talk to the enemy. The enemy that is closest to the enemy we’re going to is their enemy, their partner, their enemy in the most dangerous position in the end."

He paused, and I realized he was holding a sword.

"Dick Grayson."

I turned and recognized the hero before he could start talking to me. He handed me the sword and the quiver of ammunition.

"It’s not just that you might be coming after me. I’m… we’re at each other’s throats. We’re at each others’ throats. Some of you are already knowns. Some you’ll soon be coming to know. This is one situation where being friendly means sharing stories, fighting side by side, and letting people know that they aren’t alone anymore."

I turned and climbed on top of the weird looking machine that was my best friend’s toy gun. We didn’t look like anything other than heavy metal men. My hair was in a short comb-over, my angular, puffy face was heavily streaked by makeup, and I sported a bandage around my ear. I’d put a cotton pad in my ear for some subtleger I couldn’t quite place, and I had a small Sharpie pen in my ear, writing on a white pad.

"I used to be Batkid," I said. "Remember? A kid? When?"

"About five years ago. When I first got my powers. Five years ago was the worst of times, my dad got sick, I remember that, I got sick."

"I get back up and start moving, you get that cold."

"I was cold until the moment I became Weaver. I’ve been dealing with it ever since. It’s a worm in the wound."

"A wound?" Grue asked.

I wasn’t sure what I was thinking of with that statement. Odd, that my cursory investigation of the subject hadn’t yielded anything like brains. "I dunno, man. I think maybe my dad was killed in some circumstance unrelated to his powers. But the idea of going back to that lifestyle just upsets me. It’s like, what did you call it? Paradise? Islands?"

"Panama?" a girl answered. "That’s the kind of question you never want to ask, outside of a very short-lived escapee."

"Okay, Panama," Tattletale confirmed. "That’s what they call it, anyways. So long as the escapee’s willing to discuss the topic openly, the name isn’t a problem."

"Okay, what’s the catch, then?" I asked. "Is there a catch? Or is it a perk?"

"A catch, but it shouldn’t be a problem," Tattletale said. "The maximum penalty you could face for colluding with a hit that could kill you is… I don’t know. A week in jail, if that. If the hit was major enough, maybe a year in jail."

"A week in the penitentiary," I said. "When you’re a member of the Nine."

"It’s a little different," Tattletale said. "There’s a whole lot more touching on the old wounds, and it’s not just doctors and nurses. It’
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Moxie had to extend the legs of her shirt, but she couldn’t find the right spot. There was enough stretch on the fabric that her toes slipped out under her weight when she bent her legs, making her dance with every step.

The M.M. Corps were only a short distance away.

"Can you guys do me a favor and stay out of my way?"

"Close enough. Keep an eye on her."

The cheerleaders had stopped, but their feet never stopped walking. They were pumped up, both physically and mentally. Every step they took, they were taking it in fits and starts. Screaming, cheering, shouting, even starting a fight, but they always ended it with a chorus of high energy songs.

I followed suit.

"They’re getting more restless," Faultline said. "They’re making more songs."

"Maybe," I said. "I think they’re a little rowdy, and Rowena likes to get rowdy, so I’m definitely looking for trouble."

"I’m taking a leave of absence from the team to give you guys' back," Kaiser said. "I’m worried about you, and I’m concerned about your well being, even if I don’t know the specifics of what I’m doing. Don’t take my meaning literally if you aren’t completely sure about what I’m saying."

Even if I was only describing what I was doing.

"Fucking team bosses," Gregor muttered. "I can’t believe you guys brought this up."

"It’s the kid that got away," Faultline said. "That’s the only way it could be any worse."

She turned to me, serious but joking.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

She looked back to the TV, and her arm was shaking in a way that suggested she was going to say something. From a distance, anyway.

"What are you going to do?" I asked Labyrinth.

She glanced at the TV. Her arm straightened, until it was elbow-length and just barely crossed at the elbow. Without sitting up, she perched herself on the back of a chair. She spread her arms. "What are you going to do?"

She didn’t reply.

"I’m going to find a doctor and see if I can get you any medical attention. If not, I’ll find a way to make you comfortable. Oni Lee? You remember him?"

"And me?" Oni asked.

"We can refer you to him. Or you could stop by my lair, where I already prepared the burgers. They aren’t bad, but I’m wanting something for my coworkers."

"Okay. I’ll call Coil."

There was no further conversation. We filed out.

Faultline:

I made sure to take a picture of Coil as he understood it. I kept it on my phone while I was in the bathroom.

I headed back to my lair, and I was eager to resume my day. I could sense the beginning of the school day, then began my routine. I’d set my alarm for ten in the morning, but I didn’t get a chance to turn it in. The back door of the school unlocked, and I rushed across the floor to where the doors had been unlocked and to the vault with the dozens of boxes of materials.

I removed a second phone from its pouch and found a note. I wasn’t going to read it, but to give it a try, I handed it to Greg. He fished it out, put it on the coffee table, and then started opening it. The screen was a picture of a girl with a snake drawn on her face. Below the picture, there was a caption:



Your daughter needs your help. She has bad feet, she’s losing it in general, and with her eating so much, I think she might be deathly afraid of snakes.



I couldn’t put it into words. There was no right answer. What did he need? I wasn’t sure I wanted by any stretch of the imagination. I’d have to give him what he wanted, and I wasn’t sure I trusted him to do it.

I put the phone away. In a way, I was glad that the snakes weren’t drawn out into a full grown state, because I was ruling it out. I wasn’t sure how effective it would be in some really nasty or dangerous situations, and I certainly wasn’t willing to risk getting bitten
======================================== SAMPLE 267 ========================================
Having brought materials from home, or renting from a hardware store, I’d found the branches of the fabric shopping center just a short distance away, supporting a torn downwn building and then a bunch of branches were intertwined and strapped to the building around them. A little winding, but I wasn’t in great shape when it came to that front.

Depressing, but I could deal. I made my way through the building, keeping close to the building that Brett had been working on.

There weren’t many people inside, but there were a half dozen PRT uniforms with their lunch, half of them quite tense as I hurried by. There was a woman with a severe injury to her stomach, a man that was black, blue and tan with scars criss-crossing his forehead, a little girl with a bandage across his nose and a woman that was probably dead. There was an older woman that was lying prone on the ground, hands to her face, a PRT uniform beside her.

I almost slowed as I saw the dark glass door leading into the factory. PRT officers, chains stretched out to accommodate his pale, muscular arms.

"Everything fine?" the girl asked.

"Some of us were injured and some of them are walking around with major wounds, but it’s fine," I spoke through a string of question.

"I’m sure you can find someone who can help us. I’m not asking too many questions."

"We’re not here for questioning. I’m only looking for the material. The man who made this material had a start-and he could have done it much faster if he had used another material, only stronger. I spoke of it for example, to illustrate. Beyond that, it’s just scratch by scratch documentation of what he’d done. I can show you the machinery, you can do the numerical calculation on how much strength he could have gotten by using this, given the start and finish times. But hey, this is for scientific purposes, isn’t it?"

"It’s offense and precision compared to metal, but the theoretical maximum weight for a starting material like gold could be nine thousand pounds, given a starting material like lead. It’s small, but the amount of concentrated matter he’s got at his disposal, even if he only used one quarter of that amount, it’s still pretty darn impressive."

"It’s for science," I said. "And he says it’s pretty powerful."

"If you want to find him, you’re going to have to go through all of the documentation."

"Okay. What’s his specialty?"

"Plastic surgery. Fusion reactors, reducers for energy shots, Booby Traps for when there’s trouble with the local crunch... you get the picture."

"He does the same powers as Phantom, isn’t he?"

"He just does them with more durability and better rate of fire."

I winced at that. "He’s only playable in the beta stages."

"Part of the reason for this?" the girl asked.

"So he can have his people in reserve, have them shoot things at any time."

"I don’t think he’s played a real part in this. They took him down."

"That’s very possible. I’d like to speak with the Doctor in question."

"I reached her at the university Braineresses team house. She hasn’t heard of us."

"I found her on the news. And I spoke to the mayor of Brockton Bay, as well. He didn’t want his name used."

"He’s on the news because he’s under some sort of mental or medical stress. This party girl’s not helping."

"I know. I didn’t want to brag, and I didn’t want to antagonize the man. We didn’t get a firm enough grip on him to make him take your plan into account, and then again, I didn’t want him to get any accountants’ homework by way of my techniques. The guy’s okay, though. His identity isn’t being published because he’s a legal scholar, and the time investment was too high. He’s here as a courtesy, and because he’s not hiring.

"Proofreading: I didn’t include any notes on what I did, because I wanted you to look at what you’re offering as a whole. I do include them in the printed book. Adding the note: This is slightly different from
======================================== SAMPLE 270 ========================================
Issue: Wanted for questioning.

Missing Data: No, no worries.

New Data: Case 53.1.

Behemoth is said to have three faces, but Bitch’s stare is the first one I’ve encountered that caught my attention. The creature is vast, two legged, each tipped with horns and an uneven crest of long, jagged scales. Throat-less, it stands eight or nine feet tall, and each of its limbs share a single horn, each tipped with a pebble-like crest. The tips of each limb are painted white, with the beginnings of lines connecting the individual elements. A shaggy hair found on the back of the ‘neck’s limb pays homage to the beast’s primary feature, while the other horns are painted lavender, referencing the second of Leviathan’s three faces. On the third and fourth limbs, the same shaggy hair is dotted lavender, referencing Leviathan’s chest.

Each of the ‘faces’ has three or four heads, but very little is known about the personalities or backgrounds of the majority of the faces. Given that each is stylized, with icons, graffiti, and a mixture of objects and messages spray painted on the walls around them, I was somewhat mystified as to just who or what drives the ‘trickster’ who imbues his or her minions with enough depth and complexity to want to know.

Issue: Treated as a ‘third party’ by default. Ignoring requests and bookkeeping.

Missing Data: No, he is being watched.

Voice: Pemic, Pyrotechnical, Pyrophoric, Einstein, Media, Rime, Umber, Glaistig Uaine.

Limb: Pristine, complex, taxing.

Leg: Melancholy, childish, trifling.

Feet: Martyr, Machiavellian, Machiavellianrior.

Arm: Cordial, divine, charitable.

Centipede legs, armadillo arms, octopus legs, half-eliminated limbs… Leviathan’s modes of transportation seem very familiar.

Not that I was trying too hard.

"Who the hell are you?" I asked.

"Man, that’s really your voice. Anything else?"

My swarm buzzed with the responses I had given.

You are what?

You’re a mass murderer. You scoop people up and drag them off to some alien aquatic prison, only to turn around and play your unwitting pawn while you croon the theme from Bonnie and Clyde.

You’re a sad, sad thing.

You’re dangerous, no doubt about that. At the same time, though, you’re not a danger at all. You’re a bright person, at heart, and I would do everything in our power to keep you out of our way for as long as humanly possible."

"I don’t think anyone really cares."

"You’re not a telltale sign, by the way. The heroes watch you, the villains watch you. You’re here because you have to be, there’s no other reason. You need to be in this city, you need to be on your game, damn it. Because when the shit starts to go down, you’re one of the guys. When the shit gets ugly, you’re one of us. We have leverage. We can stall things or help you fight it, and all the while, you’re a threat. I’m not saying you won’t be one of us, just that you won’t be in a position to dictate how things play out. I’m offering you one last chance to do what you want. Work with me."

"You can’t," Imp said.

"How?"

"You know we can figure this out."

"I gots into this because I wanted to help people. Figure things out, do something to actually stop Scion."

"You were a medic. Medic for head games."

"And you end up being the one who gets punished the hardest, because you cared about humanity more than anyone."

I snapped my head around to look at her. "I’m a survivor."

"You’re not a walk in the park, either. You made it through," Regent said. "Legit, you made it as a villain, and you’ve had some pretty ugly moments. Got to deal with people, who don’t deserve to deal with you. But you emerged as a person who cared about people, who felt remorse, and who
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Putting myself in a bad light. Totally acceptable but I won’t like it and I’ll stick it out."

"Then we’re not dealing," Lisa said. With a more somber tone, she told me, "Because you’re fucking with me. Betting against me, kicking me, basically. I’m putting my reputation on the line, I’m going to stand by what I said before. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to hold back on that earlier. I’ll endeavor to do better in the future."

"So I’m sitting here, having you in a compromising situation, with you saying things like you won’t be here for the meeting, and I have to wonder just how upset I am," I told Lisa.

She pursed her lips slightly, but she didn’t say anything.

"If I understood what you were offering, I’d expect you to demand a higher number," Brian said.

"I’m not saying I’m cheap, nor am I going to turn you down. I’m just saying where do I stand? Where do I fit in? Which jobs and responsibilities are too great for you?"

"You’re just trying to distract me," Brian growled.

"I’m trying to distract you," Lisa cut in. "I’m responsible for your actions, I do some damage, you pull strings and it’s Shadow Stalker you take charge."

"Taylor, don’t be stupid. Shadow Stalker was going to be your team captain."

Lisa glanced at me. I nodded.

"You’re not really in charge, am I right?"

"I’m not the leader of their team, I’m not privy to their telecommunication details, and I’m not a communicator either," the head of state replied. "I’m just the person who would be in charge."

"If you’re not leaving, why are you being so insistently specific?"

"We’re working on a solution," Lisa said. "You’re working on it?"

"Yeah. Lisa talked to Skitter about doing research into your old connections, about recruitment practices, where do you draw the lines?"

"She talked to me," Lisa pointed out.

"It’s more general, Taylor. We’re trying to figure you out. We knew you’d be stubborn, so we made you recall that you’d tried to kill the members of your team just before you started your tenure as leader."

"You’re damn right you are. Because I’ve been trying to think of an issue where you’ve messed with the integrity of the Undersider family."

"Why? You’re not family."

"It doesn’t matter. I didn’t want you to remember my mom, to have this happen to her, so you should get my thoughts on it."

He sighed, "I’m not the best person to talk about it. I’m not her successor, or the next Victoria. I’m not her strategist, or the person that can reinvigorate her after a depression or an upset. I’m not Victoria in that she doesn’t age, that she’s too focused on her friends and family, and that she doesn’t adapt. I’m just… Victoria."

"And you like holding on to the name, staying attached to that quality of Victoria, even if it’s just to remember her?"

"It’s interesting. She was pretty, I guess you could say. I liked her attitude. I didn’t like the name, but I liked it."

"So you’re with me. It’s refreshing, I have to say. Once upon a time, I would have been content with being with you, sleeping at your feet, being your shadow. Now I feel like I was hidden, and that you could use me, be my little shadow. I can be your guide, my light, and I have you to thank for it."

Victoria turned to look Victoria held her handkerchief to her cheek, then wiped at the tears Victoria can only identify as ‘our’. I think Victoria could feel in her mother’s eyes the same way I did.

"Do you want to come downstairs and hold my hand?" Victoria asked, her tone a reminder of the hug she’d agreed to just a few days ago. I felt a pang of sympathy.

"
======================================== SAMPLE 276 ========================================
While the girl stuck the feed through her mouth, Weld (for lack of a better word) climbed up to try to gain a leg, keeping his leg straight as he did it. The blind spot that was Armsmaster’s laser Sightseer blocked the laser’s line of sight. Other bugs kicked into position to catch sight of the problem and move around it, but it was too little, too late. Armsmaster had stopped the laser from being effective and struck the kid across the face. Seeing the laser as a comrade moving in Solid Ground covered some of the loss on contact.

The girl flinched away, tearing the feed to distract from the shock of hitting her own face. Laserdream heaved one hand forward, and a grenade dropped from her other hand, looping around and hitting Armsmaster in the side of the neck.

Flechette caught the laser with one hand, catching it in the same move that nearly killed Armsmaster. He was knocked back and falls to the ground.

Armsmaster bit his lip, not moving his arm with the clumsier access point. He’d take that as his reason for being here, his control getting weaker. This new access point would keep pressing the laser, cutting off the feed.

Slot one and three were filled with containment foam, and the soldier was distracted, for lack of a better term. Looking at his teammate, I knew it would be hard to believe. She wasn’t exactly show stopper.

Slot four was reserved for Sophia. As good a reason as any, really. The purple haired girl had a body similar to Armsmaster, but she wore an orange v-neck sweater and sparkly chain around her neck. I’d seen her in costume at the boardwalk, and whether it was to drape herself in fashion or look spartan, she had retained that pretty image.

Slot five held the Halberd, which was obviously for show. Friends? Other than Sophia, who was clearly more comfortable with him hanging around with her? Or were Lisa and Brian majorly busy, and not in the mood for any socializing?

I knew where I was, I could figure it out on my own.

"Alright," Lisa said, "I’m going to see about that next, since it’s kind of a tradition to see you around and people aren’t usually that talkative with a cold."

Armsmaster turned around. "Right, right."

She found the bottle and returned to her desk, shutting the panel on it. Conversation died there.

"I should get one for myself, if you’re feeling particularly judgmental." I said.

"I’m not celebrating at all, are I?"

I frowned.

"You were kind of a dick to me, that one time. Is that right?"

"No," I said. "I mean, it’s not like I didn’t know. I was kind of new to the team, trying to fill a gap in your schedule and make up for the fact that you left for New York so abruptly. I knew you were busy with your own thing at the time, which is weird because it doesn’t really fit with how I know things."

"Whatever," Armsmaster said. "It happened."

"The Undersiders stole the mayoral election," I said. "We could see you there, feet first, getting whisked away. What did you do?"

"Dropped the election," Armsmaster said. "Stole the bottle of pills."

Oh. "Pills?"

Armsmaster chuckled, then winced as he saw the bottle of urine. "That’s what they said I was suspected of doing."

"What kind of charms are you wearing?" I asked.

"They’re not charms, are they? Pink frizzy wigs."

I could see the shock on his face, the agony that was welling up.

"Armsmaster," I said. "I thinks-"

I stopped when it became clear that there would be no further developments. The two of us, sitting on the same level, seemed to realize we’d both been talking to the wrong people.

"Sorry," he said.

I shook my head. Then, to pass on a message of bullshit, I told him, "I’m talking to everyone I need to talk to. I’m a leader, and you are, I think, a follower."

"You want to control the narrative," he said.

"No, I don’t want to control anything," I said. "I want to lead, and that’s all I need."

Once I
======================================== SAMPLE 279 ========================================
You might think killing someone who has no idea who they’re talking to, when it could easily be my turn to speak, but you wouldn’t have thought that, until you heard it. In the here and now, I can only do what my power allows me to, i.e. obey Lung and show myself."

I could have been exiled for saying what I’d wanted to say, but I stayed. "Are you threatening me?"

"No. Not at all. What I am saying, my power shall hold no water against you, no matter how much you may think I ought to obey. I have power, and I will exercise that power against you, one way or another."

"Aren’t you doing a good job of explaining?"

"Some, but you must understand that my power is more than just the things I can do. What I can do with my power, they are few and far between for a half-baked lunatic like me to compare to the things I can do with it. When it comes down to it, my power is crude, and it cannot compare to the things that are truly important."

"Why?"

"I have powers. And where my power differs from the others, my position in the scheme of things is not that important. I stand here today because I came here to serve. To repay the favor that yet others place on me."

"So you came to collect dues."

"I will be collecting myself a visit soon."

"I’m sure you will."

She made a face as she held out her hand, a strict and unyielding line, almost as if she was saying it as a fact, and yet she couldn’t quite put it away.

It struck me that I’d seen her face before. A distorted smile with no clearly visible features on the warped part of it.

It was nice to see her at work. At workable. Again, this wasn’t her.

She raised her hand again, then stopped.

The lines had formed something of a connection, but her fingers were still pointless, unable to hold the pen while holding another. "I come bearing gifts. First are the unconscious remains of one of the capes who died keeping me prisoner."

I swallowed hard. "I… I don’t want to be apart from you, Taylor. I can’t give myself over to you. I can’t kneel and give myself over to you. I’m not a prisoner, I’m not a whore, or a common thief or a mercenary, or a villain working under the guise of a villain. I’m Taylor, and I’m free."

Again, she did not move.

"I’ve read the paperwork, you know," I said. "You had your powers. You were in debt, maybe facing foreclosure, but you had your power. "

"You need to start paying off those guys," she said, referring to the men who had drawn the attention of the investigators when they had found my afterimageat the top of the staircase. One man had been killed, another had his shirt off to expose his guts. Not what I would have done.

"I-" I paused, trying to find the words, "I’m not saying I don’t want to pay them back. I mean, I know I’ve done a lot. I know I’ve caused quite a few problems. "

"Problem?"

"You don’t like me."

"You were the worst of the worst, and they laughed at you."

"They didn’t even dignify me before I was human."

The words struck a chord. I hadn’t heard her say them all.

"You are not the worst of the worst," I said, confident enough in my own abilities that I was at a bit of a loss to try to figure out how to respond. All at once, I was free to speak.

"Don’t believe me," she said. There was a long pause. She said, "I’m right. I’m not the bad guy."

"You have powers," I said, and it was the wrong words in the midst of the scene, so I was forced to cut them off just at the point where I began to regain my control over the flow of information. "You just pretend they don’t exist ."

"That’s what you were paid to say," she said, at the same time I was trying to think of a way to tell her subordinate to stop making jokes about her eating disorder and start treating me fairly.


======================================== SAMPLE 282 ========================================
As a comedy, it worked. As a tragedy, it was tragic.

The heroes were gone, now. The slumping Mayor, the dozen or so other candidates and assemblymen in their entirety departed the building. They had to have been scrambling to get out of the way as the screaming and wailing gradually took a toll on those in the public square.

"Get some help," Grue said.

"We’re going to get through this," I said. "Just need the Mayor, everyone else, and us standing here."

He nodded assent and turned to leave.

I hurried to Carlotta’s side, my hand on her gently slung head. I asked, "You okay?"

"I’m just waking up," she said. "Tired."

"Me too. Busy being sleeping right now."

She was still staring off towards the supermarket when I spoke, "And just who the hell is this? The motherfucker that’s running the city?"

"The person who’s taking charge here. She’s called for the truce, and it’s mostly been packing people with big bads who want to make up for what came before."

"So this is the warlord that had the city so barren and empty it was swamped by up to thirty classes of enemy capes, right? Same thing with her? She wants to make up for that?"

"Yes. And she’s been making noises about extending her influence. Her sending in hired guns to help with the defenses, adding her agents to the omni-tactics that can’t be protected against by any measures I can think of. She’s been putting pressure on the school, and the heroes seem to be playing it safe, staying out of her way. I’m not going to be able to stop her outright, not with the offensive omoplata that she’s been getting, but-"

"The hell?" someone else said.

"I’ve been working on this problem for a while, and I’m still trying to piece it together. I’d say there’s a lot of middle ground between dangerous and potentially dangerous. A lot of artists. A lot of thinkers. A lot of people who think a lot and communicate a lot with very little. Some think abstractly and apply it to action, some think with movements and ratios, and some think in terms of thought and expression, or aesthetic taste. Some call themselves thinkers and artists, prefer that word."

"What do you mean when you say there’s a middle ground?"

"There can be a middle ground between dangerously dangerous and potentially dangerous. And in a crisis like this, where there’s more than half the voting citizens of a city dead or dead, there’s a middle ground that matters."

"Got it."

"You’re here for a reason, right? There can be a middle ground between dangerous and potentially dangerous. Call it quits, based on who you are and what you can do. But there’s a lot of people in here who are very concerned about what comes down the road. Not just the dead and the orphans and those who came before. This building’s gonna be there for them, whether they like it or not."

"Or you’re gonna be a glorified bodyguard."

"No. I’m here to help. This is my territory, and I’m the boss here. If I’m gonna do this, I wanna do it well."

"Okay. But you can’t do that if you intimidate the people you’re trying to protect."

"I’m just trying to be reasonable," I said. "Listen, if you want to go all-out, we’re not going to pull our punches. We’ve got a pet project that’s gonna take a year to make, and we really want people to stop by and contribute. If you’re not comfortable with the status quo, if you want to kick people out, beat people up, then we’re not gonna make any more compromises. If you’re comfortable working for us and spending a year with us and get why the other team isn’t, then go for it. But we can’t go crazy over how the city is without getting feedback from everyone in the city about what’s going on."

"You might be doing yourselves a disservice," Trickster said. "Scrub, fix your damn computer, clean house."

"I’m not fixing it? What am I doing?"

"I’m trying to think
======================================== SAMPLE 285 ========================================
Calvert saw the humanity in the eyes of the man who was panicking.

"It is a failure on your part," Calvert said. "You put yourself in harms way."

"I’m not about to let you get off lightly."

"You want to see your wife burn, my dear? Ask her. Let her know what’s going on. You? About Dare I’m about to step outside? My dear? Dauntless. The third member of my squad."

Legend frowned. "You’re wanting to remove him?"

"I can’t. There’s too many precogs out there. Too many Shadow Stalkers. Too many master-category parahumans who have gone on the offensive but who’ve recently come back to haunt their former associates. Stuff’s changed. Recursion wouldn’t work with the damage that’s been done in the past. There’s got to be something more."

"More dangerous than Scion?" Legend asked. "Desecration of the dead?"

"More challenging than Scion, yes. It’s about more than that. It influences how I approach the situation, and this is a situation where compromise isn’t a road to travel."

"You spent three years in the Birdcage," Eidolon said. "There’s no reason to pretend you don’t pose a danger. Like I said, trouble’s more when others make you feel like that. We’ll deal with your father in due course."

Legend nodded.

"I’m leafing through the files, and thought I’d leave you a message. I know it’s late, but-"

"No. I’m here. I’ll give you my respects. This is Flechette."

"We owe you one. Now, I’m kind of getting what you’re doing. All of you, down here. If this is what you’re all about, then trust me, it’s worth every bit of the effort."

Legend nodded. "The last time we saw you, you were giving orders underlings how to break into an apartment and rob a family. You’re again taking command of an armored suit, where none of us had been before. You’re interacting with the others on a level I don’t think you’re used to. It warrants your pay."

"I can’t do any of that. I’m not a leader anymore."

"Is there anyway we can make this easier?" Legend asked. "I mean, you don’t have that authorization, just like you don’t have a leadership role anymore."

"I don’t have a license. This is… really dumb."

"It’s not that they don’t know who I am, but… silly to think that they’d trust me after I robbed a bank and gave someone a scratch. I’d have to be credible."

"You wouldn’t have a scratch."

"I’ve been there. There’s a hell of a lot of talk about how little we know about the powers, about the people who have what they need and how they can be messed with. I’m here to help."

Legend frowned. "Credibility and success aren’t things that fall in the same category. You’re dismissing me because you think different. I’m dismissing you because I’d killed two members of the Nine, killing one in the process."

"But success?"

"TV shows and movies have ‘winning’ people. It’s the people with money, with celebrity, with power. You, Hugh James. You win the lottery."

"Who the fuck is Hugh James?" I asked.

"Known to the public as Hazard. You know he’s seventeen? He just got out of prison. Probably the dumbest, most disadvantageous member of the Nine. He’s the one that’s going to fall into this if we don’t make it clear otherwise. The dumbest, most disadvantageous member of the Nine because he doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing."

"You’re telling me I’m not supposed to be here?"

"Weaver," Legend said, "Let me get this straight you-"

"No. I’m sorry, but there has to be a middle ground. You or we, as the selfishly powerful ones, decide it. You don’t
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Don’t step on him. Don’t give him a reason to turn on you. Even if it’s just because you don’t like the current leader."

"Doesn’t he understand that we won’t sit by and let him become the next Endbringer?" I asked.

"No. But he understands that we’d rather he wasn’t the one lead our side for the long haul. And I think he understands that, just from our meeting today, we’re probably learning his opinion."

"Then let me introduce you to our new member," I said.

Heads turned.

"Chariot," the girl informed us.

"Bonesaw clones," Jack spoke, as if to himself.

"Isn’t that a little generous?" I asked.

"I thought so. In the final analysis, we’re all monsters, at the end of the world," Jack said. "Only difference being Carrie and I are little more than flesh and blood."

Carrie and I weren’t hearing the whole story. Jack was saying, presumably to himself, "I had every intention of slaughtering you all. I still do."

"We’re cannibals, Jack," Dinah said, "Still straying from the path I’ve laid down. Still killing those ones who came before."

"What do you even mean by that?" Jack asked.

"That doesn’t make any sense," I said. "Why would I kill others, when I’m the one who kills you all?"

"You’re barely scratching the surface," Jack said, apparently oblivious to the fact that I’d just alerted him to some of the less pleasant details about our pasts. "If you want to get into the meat of it, the details about your powers and our possible weaknesses, I can show you. I can maybe help you figure out what you can do."

"You don’t have the balls to make that call," Trickster said. "I don’t think you’ll get any."

"I can. Probably. But is there any possibility that we could make it out of here in time? Even with the virtually guaranteed death that comes with whatever fate you guys manage to impose on us? Can we escape without too much trouble? It’s probably possible."

"It’s just a hundred and thirty feet of safe ground," Ballistic said. "We could get between them and any of us."

"There’s a difference between being possible and actually being able to do something. I’d be more surprised if I was wrong."

"You’re better than you were an anagram for him," Trickster said.

Ballistic shook his head.

"I’m thinking three options," Dinah said. "But if I’m wrong, we go dead."

"Obviously," Trickster said, "I would suggest three options when you’re wrong. That says something, because that’s not reassuring."

"There’s going to be a hundred events that go down in your past where you got eaten alive," Dinah said. "Mass murders. You’ve gotten pretty good, haven’t you?"

"I have," Ballistic said. "But that’s a long way of putting it. I’ve also got a few past events that qualify. If I’m wrong, we kill a thousand people. If I’m right, we kill only a thousand. If I’m lucky, we kill off all of humanity. If I’m unlucky, we kill off only a thousand."

"That’s never happened before, and it’s somebody getting affected by Jack," I said.

"Few get affected by him," Trickster said. "Most getanked by him."

"Questioned," I said.

"On the subject of questioned, did you know about the f-genie that was said to grow on houses?"

Trickster frowned. "Nobody ever told us."

"Do you know why this building changed hands?" I asked. "The owners claimed it was to collect money for a business they were running, but it was anything but. The lot had already been condemned. The change in the building, having Trickster on the roof, I think it was the idea of the city saying they were seriously considering making this an urban settlement. Give the owners a chance to sell their properties, then give the residents a place to go if they didn’t fit in the same way."

"They sold the building,"
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But he still liked me, maybe less than me, and they would last just that little while longer. I was sure they would fade away, as society took its course. We were far enough away that I could believe that some would bounce back when they grew beyond their usefulness, but not so far that they would last.

It wouldn’t last days, maybe not even a day at all.

I was aware of the three kids from the bank pulling themselves up by one small ladder, just to climb up to the window that stood just behind where Grue and the others stood.

Noelle wouldn’t need her arms anymore. She was mobile enough with her full weight behind her, and her power gave her the strength to lift nearly sixteen tons.

The three heroes weren’t on any higher ground, but I had their assistance. They each had one hand thrust out to their right, as if they were hurling a boat anchor. I could see Grue bending down to pack his weight, keeping pace with the group of capes that were growing more restless with the holding and nobody to relieve them. Trickster was packing heat in his glove, a utility power he apparently reused to channel the heat away from himself and put fingertips on the steering wheel to improve fuel efficiency. Regent was shifting the center of his palm to his free hand, while Genesis was focusing more on shoring up the windows of the cabin with blocks of superheated air.

None of them were making progress. Grue was focusing on revving the van’s engine instead of driving, and Trickster was enhancing it, adding new elements. Where Trickster was adding horsepower, Grue was working with the van’s controls and the motion of the wheels.

I was aware of the sound of a voice, over a relatively small area. Hearing it twice in a row only helped to underscore how urgently the three people at the windows were looking for a signal. I moved my bugs over the surroundings to check for distractions, and confirmed it was still there. Distractions.

The three heroes were up before I was, and that meant I was free to talk. A win for Grue, maybe, and I was getting some much-needed speed as far as his ability to work with the guys.

"The vehicle arrived on scene with one pat down, but you gentlemen weren’t at the windows. Is there video or recording equipment?"

Grue nodded at the teenagers that were working inside the van.

"Video equipment? Yes. Loans we got from a friend, working on his truck. It’s pretty, but he doesn’t think he’ll be making it much bigger, and he has a little bit of a fear of the deep space cold that will be present. There."

He made a dismissive wave with his arm, moving on with his routine.

The van stopped. I looked through the van’s interior, noting the various secret doors and corridors. Some sort of vertical landing, similar to the one I’d seen on the ship. "Right. They said they’d send someone by shortly, but they didn’t say who. We can use that. You guys split up, I think we can go in and take out one of his squad captains or something."

Grue glanced at me. Should I be excited or scared? I hoped to god that I wasn’t getting too close. I watched Grue carefully, and settled into a state of near-sleep.

The events that followed the customary tale of how Brian had rescued me from the bank raid didn’t help my feelings. It took a moment before I fell into a slow, deep sleep.

"One of the things I did," Dinah said, one hand to her mouth, the other held over the mouthpiece of her phone, "Really simplified the game. No more guessing, just playing by your own rules. No cheating, just play as the Pharaoh and go for the big pieces. It’s like a sport, except pretty much all the betting is on the games you’re not involved in. It’s called online poker, orp, dork."

"Oh my god," Brian said, "That’s terrifying."

"It is," Grue said, "And I think I would be a fucking sport if I didn’t run into one of you little thieves at some point." He held up one finger, "Two dollars and a couple of pills. That’s what you get if you win a bet of twenty grand. It’s a way to help cover the costs of our full package, and to keep us operating in the shadows. You guys wont go to the cops or the media, but a little Vegas-hole slang means a lot to a few very pissed people
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Dead man would come back to life when he dies again.

She blinked several times, as if checking her surroundings. Her eyes went wide as she dwelled on the realization that someone had just passed through her territory.

It was Shén Yù, in the center of her territory.

The figure passed through without making a sound.

Shén Yù cradled the man in his arms. There was no warmth in the embrace. The skin was crinkly and peeling, and the strength of the peeling was compounded by the mental anguish that racked her.

She saw Shén Yù using his power, and the connection with the man’s spirit was too strong. The Yàngbǎn soldier looked at her, then at Shén Yù, and finally to the Nation.

She blinked several times, as if checking her surroundings, trying to see if anyone was in earshot.

No. She couldn’t. Everyone was.

The Ziggurat girl stepped out of a stairwell, holding the body. Her hair was soaked with blood, her lips missing a whisker.

She stared at the mangled remains of her father. If she looked beyond the physical toll she had taken on him, if she thought about what that father had gone through, and the impact that had made on him…

She trembled.

She needed to move, she needed to do something.

She kicked a door open, and she found the shards of glass that were contained within. Calling on her power, she shaped the staircase so the pieces of glass were flowing in a winding stair case.

She threw another shard through the window. Thick, silvery, with a design to it. Struck by an arrow.

The glass shattered. More glass shards struck the armor at the back of his head. He screamed, grabbing for air that was clearly too thick to breath. He exploded inward, spraying his rage, glass shards and debris that were too hot to handle.

She turned toward the front hall. People were pushing and shoving, provoking her. She couldn’t rule out that this was an initiated state, the group getting violent, and she needed some supplemental force to go on the offensive.

The other members of the Yàngbǎn had demoted themselves to her company, and were acting as shock troops. More were removing their helmets as snipers, others were blending in with the surf of incoming fire. Through their masks, Yàngbǎn soldiers watched the fighting. Under their masks, capes were viewing the scene, keeping an eye out for trouble.

But this? Following Ren, following the blood and the shame of having their master villain assassinated?

Shattering his confidence, shattering his vows to himself, crushing him by his own standards?

She walked through the front door without making any noise. People rushed to get out of her way, to ask her for clarification on what was going on, or to prod her for more information. She had to step back to see the combatants, looked through the window to see the main group through the cracks where their masks covered the window. Shatterbird was through the window, aiming the glass-spray canister that was lodged in the wall. Her teammates were in the kitchen, preparing a bowl of fancy food that was apparently hard to make. Some were going house to house, trying to ascertain whether their master could find them, or if it was just sold as a gag. Someone was preparing a bowl of rice for some of the men and women in their company that were staying at the inn. The kitchen was a mess of food on the stove, and everyone was busy clearing it away. She caught a whiff of rancid odor, but smelled and tasted better when she was done. She took a bite.

A smell that stung her nostrils and mouth. An acrid odor, when it came together. She choked on it, almost drank the thing.

But she didn’t care. This was important. She was going to aid in changing the world. She had no patience for people who watched, who talked, and established some rule that only talked about stuff that mattered to them.

"Ren," she said. "Do me a favor?"

Ren whirled around, startled.

Who was he? Hard to say with the way his bugs flowed into the room. Some were attached to the curtains, enough to be seen through while maintaining a visual presence. Others were crawling on the clothed flesh that hung between the mattress and the wall. Some were scented so that they would smell bad if someone looked too close.

"Who is he?"

"A shinigis," Asami said. Her voice sounded more like she was saying the word than anything else. Cranial.
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Oh, looks like that sweeps the whole friggin’s counterterror squad. Was in ranks with Cuff, Genesis and Ballistic. My face in the dirt, contorted in pain as I been reminded of all the stuff I did to Echidna.

I made myself raise my face and speak, even with the horrible sounds I’d heard her belt during her rampage. Hell, I’d outranked her in terms of raw power, if I acted like I did in the classes, and that was while being both an idiot and an idiot to everyone I’d crossed paths with. I was all too aware of the stares and hushed voices. People I’d spent the better part of the day with were turning on me, calling me everything from idiot to freak. I knew I was pretty strong, but someone clearly saw something ugly on my face, evaluated me based on what they wanted to see, and valuing that which was objectively less interesting.

It reminded me of when I first joined the Wards, joining the group before I was fourteen. I was in a new local leader group, and they had Adalid as a surrogate for the group’s younger members. I didn’t fully believe in the move, but I’d heard they had a pretty amazing story to tell. I’d been sold on the idea of it, and they’d matched my personality and approach to theirs. I’d have the benefit of knowing how to make my hair dance, how to style my hair, and all the little things I’d never been able to.

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I was toast.

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Having an imaginary body was enormously useful, but the trick was being able to move it, and being able to alter its form according to what I was doing. I needed to be able to cut open pumpkin and stalk around inside to get the best experience I could. Nudge, say, to get berries I could eat, or steer it so it walked before I put too much weight on it.

Advantage: me.

I reached out and put my hand on top of a plastic safe. In a heartbeat, I seized control of it, directed it to sway back and forth until I could see myself doing it over and over. It wound up completing a very short circuit.

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I put it down and turned away. When I realized what I was doing, I sighed.

Good bye body. Advertisement

Realizing what I’d done was an analgesic. It would have been vastly different if I had.

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I could mostly ignore the sound of gunfire, now. I was a star in the eyes of the people in the audience, and I was known far and wide.

I fully expected the crowd to react. To boo and boo-ing. I was relieved, a bit horrified, that they weren’t reacting in earnest. I forced myself to calm down before they realized what I was doing. It would have been easier if I had a way to know how much of what I was doing was actually helping them, or if I could just hold back some of the noise to let them handle their reaction.

I was startled by the men who were now filing out of the bathroom. I took them upstairs.

One of them threw a piece of papercraft gunk at my chest. I recoiled, got my feet under me to avoid seeing any deeper cuts or any permanent damage, and shut the door with my bugs.

It rained onto the floor of the bathroom just in front of the door, dropping a bathtub and faucet. The men who were in the kitchen ran out and grabbed the things the menial servants had thrown away. Most of it. I heard the water bubbling.

I had a swarm of bugs flowing over the countertops, so I could follow what was going on. It didn’t help that the order and the instructions were confusing right away. Grabbing a trowel from one of the women in the group, I began sweeping up the mess. I pulled two of the rats from under the counter and set them against the door’s threshold, so they would be out of the kitchen before the mob had their way of it.

Things were tense. I had the swarm flow over me to serve as a swarm controller, manned by a woman who seemed to be in more of a control role than an attacker. Her verbal instruction to her swarm was more valuable than any action she could carry out with her bare hands.

One of the mob’s members swung a baseball bat at my face. I stepped back and let my arms drop to my side as I was driven away. I could see blood and my own face plate plastered to the pavement with the wet of sweat
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All right. All your world looks the same to you, because it’s the same moment. You’ve never seen the real world, that’s for damn sure. You don’t know what people are like inside their headstates, what they do and doesn’t happen in their shadows. You don’t know the real struggles of those around you, the hurts, the heartaches. You don’t know the real horrors of the world, of war and peace. That’s what drives you forward. You want to change things, to do better. That’s why you’re doing this."

He kissed her on one side of her forehead, then stood, pulling the panties off. He took off his wallet and threw it onto the table.

"My number, Jessica Myers. Leave it be," he said.

He could hear the money changing.

"Next question?"

"For next month?"

"Where in the world am I?"

"Money?"

He nodded.

"My dear Pierce, I’m sorry to- what has become a daily occurrence, but I hope you’re doing well. Last night you and I saw eye-to-eye. You see me as a decent man. I hope I can do you a good service and save you from these obsessions."

"It’s a bitter pill to swallow," he said.

"The good man’s gone. Isn’t that right, Pierce?"

"I don’t know," Pierce’s voice was quiet. "It’s- it’s been a bad year."

"Not a very charitable way to look at it, is it? "

"Not the way I would want it," she said.

"It’s okay. You’re going to have what you want. I suppose there’s no point to living if you don’t," he said.

He sighed.

Pissed himself off, he set about cleaning up the mess, making sure there wasn’t anymore mess to deal with.

Jessica pulled off her shirt, but didn’t get naked until he was nearby, then unzipped his pants and cleaned his shorts of the remains.

"Have a seat," he said. "Sit if you want, but keep your head between your legs."

She obeyed, setting her feet on the table and sitting.

He dry heave himself, then pulled off his underwear and undid the pocket on the stick, then seated himself.

"Is the government involved?" she asked.

"Some. The Brockton Bay authorities asked us for our identification, and we gave it to them. There was a bit of a delay before they started putting people in the Birdcage, I guess. You can’t do much about it, unless you get involved. Which isn’t going to happen."

"When did this start?"

"Two days ago, I gathered the information on your group. Saurian, Klara and Dad. I interrogated each of them, and found them all to be at least moderately involved with Cauldron."

"And Tattletale?"

"Informally, I gathered information from you, but I didn’t get the information they were giving me through my questioning. I think she gave the information to me instead."

"I see. Thank you."

"I’d tell you I’m sorry, but I’m really not willing to take that bet. It’s not worth it, to use people’s names and sell them stories they don’t believe, or to have them betray you for selfish gains. I’d let them find you out, and you’d abandon me in the process."

He stared at her, and this time, she held firm. Her chin rose a fraction, and she used both hands to stop the liquid from spreading across the back of her hands.

"Are you telling the truth?"

"No. But I suppose I can say that what I saw was too disturbing to ignore."

"That’s good enough for me. I’ll allow it." He touched the tip of his tongue to her forehead. She pulled away, but he held on as they walked a good ten feet apart.

"Are you a hero, Weaver? Any heroes?"

"We have none. Fewest in number, as far as I can tell, going back to the beginnings of this whole thing."

"You’re talking about newer capes," she said. "Like her."

"Yes. I
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Thee Sidekick sent us off on our last leg of our escape, accompanied by a group of the less fortunate prisoners. Weren’t they the ones who stayed behind to labor for Coil? Or were they the villains? I couldn’t place their allegiances. There were too many ugly possibilities there.

A short, dark-skinned girl grabbed my hand and led me in the direction of a room, followed by another and another. As subjects we exchanged pleasantries with the man who had brought me the coffee, and then departed to rejoin the group.

I was aware of the dark-skinned girl with the happy greeting for me.

"Kayden," I said.

"You’re late," she said.

"About ten minutes," I responded. I was expecting a response from someone who had been expecting to be courteous, but I got the feeling I had never spoken with her.

"Dammit," I groaned, "Why can’t I get in contact with her?"

"Weaver. What’s her number?"

I turned to the girl with the phone. "You’re sure you don’t want to-"

"It’s convenient," I said, "For now."

"When are you coming back?"

"I should be with you in a minute."

It was hard to keep track of the people in the room. I turned to the girl with the phone, "When are you coming back?"

"Month twenty-nine, ten minutes."

"Mmm. That’s impatient," I said, leaning closer. I could smell the mint around them.

"I could eliminate those from the way," she said. "Else you have to talk to all those people."

"I know, and I already tried talking to all of them. It’ll be a little while before you’re able to talk to them."

"It’s a try, then. I’m going to be right back. Anything else?"

"There’s this thing going on around the territory. Heroes trying to take care of a little cat," the girl with the phone said. When I didn’t respond, she said, "Don’t worry. I’m at the door when you get back."

When I didn’t return to the task of getting my stuff on, I made myself check the other rooms. The other rooms in the complex had graffiti as part of the graffiti, or small, hand written letters, probably taken to mark individuals as asylum seekers.

The little ‘Cat’ had died. The heart monitor and blood pressure monitors had healed up, but the cat, Bitch’s cat, was still a heretic. I wouldn’t have put it past them.

Capes were the opposite. They pre-fabricated everything, then they left everything behind if they wanted something. If they wanted to function, they made it happen. If they wanted to fight, they got revenge. If they wanted to harass, they functioned.

If my bugs were any indication, most of them weren’t having much success in fighting this bastard.

I made my way downstairs to find Bitch. The dogs were calmer, the mannequins more refined. Even the strays seemed to be settling in.

"Hey, good job," I said, as I came back upstairs.

"You’re good," she said, "You’re exactly what you appear to be."

"What do you need?"

"I was going to meet a colleague, get a description of what the hell is going on from the PRT. Need to track down the other cat. Fills me with faith."

"You seemed a little detached from the rest of the scene," I said.

"Only thing I figured out is that they called themselves the Rabbits, after the dog they kept killing in the train yard, and they were a villain group that were based in large part on gambling and prostitution. So I decided to take a job at the train station. It wasn’t a terrible idea, until I realized they were going to raid the warehouses and drug the employees. There was a fair bit of money changed around when they went from being a group that was operating mostly from their apartment and playing cards to people that were part of the business. Lots of drug usage, a fair bit of violence, but it was mitigated somewhat by the fact that most of the employees were very nice and the city generally being good about keeping the drug trade out of town. It was a moot point, because a year after I left, the Rabbits ran into trouble, and a combination of factors
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The straight and narrow? They wouldn’t have helped if it was a pair of amateurs.

I looked to the others. Tattletale was focusing on Labyrinth. The woman was emerging from one of the huts, bag in hand. She ran towards a building, and flared a brilliant orange flare-work as she touched ground.

Crucible and Panacea were getting treatment at the same time, good Samaritans taking cover.

I sent a message to Coil, "That wasn’t a complete letdown. Need to know sooner than later."

I could see the wounded people moving towards the ambulances, as if they could get to the back and get unstuck without being dragged off to the side.

"Can you use the word ‘okay’?" Miss Militia asked.

I nodded, once.

"We’ll train you in communication and first aid at home, and then we’ll send you out to see about those guys. If it’s truly self-defense, I can talk you through the rest of the team, you take on the next body member in your chain of command."

"If it’s not, I just want to be able to defend myself," I said.

"If it’s a question of traveling further and further in the direction of home and trying to find my dad’s alive, I’m going to decline the offer. Believe me, it’s uncomfortable. But if you’re asking if I’m okay, here, and I’m able to defend myself, I’ll be more than okay."

I nodded.

"I’ve been preparing for this call for some time, here, now," she said. "Mandatory evacuations, food, water, first aid and tarps. You know my philosophy."

"Philosophy?" I asked.

"Make peace with it. Believe me, I know. Believe me, I tried very, very hard to follow it."

She frowned a little.

"Do you know what impact this work will have on people in the long run?"

"I know what it’s going to do, pretty much," she said. "But the short of it is, if you’re going to help, you can’t talk yourself up for doing something good."

Her eyes fell on the man with the ruined costume. "What’s he doing here?"

"Tip of iceberg."

"Tip of iceberg. What happens if we rise above the water?"

"I don’t know. But things turned ugly. I can’t rise above that, unless I’m pretty seriously hurt. Until I’m injured enough, it doesn’t make me feel good. I become more of a shadow, instead of standing up for myself. It reminds me of how strong I was in the past, when things weren’t going the way I wanted them to."

"Then you have to make the choice between becoming strong and protecting your friends."

"I have to decide which."

"Is it really a choice?"

"Either I become like you, and I end up miserable, missing some of the stuff that makes me happy… or I follow your plan, and it’s a decision between going to jail and dying feeling like a bother."

"And it isn’t either. No. It’s neither."

She sighed.

"What does it really matter?"

"When you’re together with someone, it’s the same kind of connection that you have with every living creature on this planet. I don’t know which is better, but I think we’re more likely to get both, if we’re going to beat the Endbringers, I guess."

"But if both of you die?"

"Better still."

"Between the two of us, we could get really tired. Or really bored. Or bored and exhausted, if we’re both on our feet, doing something major."

"You’re not getting fatigue or exertion at all?"

"If I play my cards right, I don’t think there’s anything surprising or bump in my performance that we can look at that will give you any more reason to want to go home."

She leaned back, even as shes maintaining her grip.

"What are you doing?"

She stopped.

"I’m betting you’re wondering where you went, and if I’m being honest, you should be, but you’re not. You’re in
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A dozen magic circles, the intensity of which couldn’t be comprehended with the equipment the Nine used, and nowhere to go but up. And Rook was right, this time.

It was worse than Leviathan had been, that lock of hair and his sister had pulled him from his home. It was worse still that it had come up with nothing even remotely suspicious.

There were footsteps, approaching.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Just trying to get a sense of things," Shadow Stalker said.

"The wind," Tattletale said. "When you wind anything, it’s going to move. Period. End of story."

There was a murmur.

"See?" she smiled. "Weld, what’s that, over there?"

End of the world, anything else would be catastrophic, he’d thought. Worse, he’d never really gotten over it.

"I’m thinking air, Miasma," I said.

"There’s another threat. Here."

Miasma. It took me a second to place it. Lisa moved the miasma-collector, and the circle flared with light.

But the light was too faint, and the entire street was briefly illuminated, showing the shape of a half-dozen metal cases that were leaking into the darkness. The movement suggested the cases were being filled with whatever was leaking in, if the orientation of the cascades wasn’t oriented to catch the air.

"Anyone see anything?" I asked.

Two teenagers stumbled over to the scene, sitting and staring at the miasma. They looked so small, nearly invisible. I was reminded of backpacks or sleeping bags I’d carried when I’d been out in costume. If I could see, I would have been able to tell they were barely there, if at all.

"No. I think they saw it," Tattletale said. "Maybe they didn’t. It’s hard to tell."

Shadow Stalker was stretching, now, as she returned to where she’d been sitting, recuperating. Her bench was near where I’d been standing, and she had a computer on her lap.

Brian had his back turned to her, so I returned the favor. My swarm moved towards him, and he turned to see what I was doing.

"Tree trimmer extraordinaire," I said. "You try that on, and then you can cut the cord from the tree if you want. I’ve got more than one person wanting the same thing."

"I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Bentley."

"Want?"

"To expand my talents. I need help."

"Want to try?"

"Help me with something, and I’ll give you half off."

"Awww."

"Tree trimmer or no, I’m a serious talent when it comes to getting things done, and I’m happy to serve as your body man."

"Babe, expect me to shave your legs tomorrow morning."

"I don’t need legs, I’m rather offended that you would say that."

"Then don’t bother me with the question. Tomorrow is a Friday. Might as well kick ass and have fun."

He smiled and stood. He took a deep breath before he spoke, "I always hated Friday the 13th."

"What? Did you not believe me when I said it?"

"No. I’m sorry, but I was under the impression that made you come here."

"That’s the kind of inappropriate subject you should be discussing."

"You’re perfectly comfortable with discussing things here? With beer?"

"Sure."

He frowned and went to his overturned computer chair.

"Friday the 13th," I said, swatting bugs at the titles and front of the booklets. "What is it?"

"It’s a pedantry story. A girl, a doorman, they go out in costume and she humiliates them, and it goes horribly wrong."

"You’re not hiring me to keep things discreet, set off any alarms with the feminist-"

"Employees," he said, waving me off.

"Rumor’s going around she’s lined up a visit to her employer. It’s legit. That’s the sort of thing you want to hear from her."

"Always making things complicated," he said.

"Exactly," I said. "Always needing to improve."

"
======================================== SAMPLE 312 ========================================
Have you changed at all?"

"My attitude has never changed. I’m scared to death of thinking back," Jack spoke.

I opened my eyes. Nilbog was slumped in front of his desk, a soupçon of spikes and a metal cabinet crammed with the things that he’d taken from the warehouses and businesses. The Cabinet of Traps, as he’d called it. There wasn’t a name for the article, only that it had been crammed with the evidence that had been gathered over the past two years. It was ready for consumption.

A man in uniform enters. "Madcap, it’s good to see you again."

"Hush," Jack spoke. He looked more like a ten year old than the middle aged supervillain he was. His nose was stuck to his mouth, and his eyes were wet with tears.

"The case fifty-threes."

"Many thanks, Mr. Ramsey. Mackmyra. My client, Stan Kent, is ready. He said he would unseal the cabinet and allow you to examine it, if you would allow him to look at it."

Stan Kent, twenty-five, put the papers away, shook his head, yawned, and then approached the door to wait at the far end of the room.

"Forgive me for being difficult," Stan spoke, "But I must be honest. I do not understand."

Jack shot him a look, then stepped away to peek at the scene. A man was hung from the ceiling, his arms limp behind his back. Stan Kent, white shirtless, his beard trimmed to a length that might have been needless, his eyes wide with awe.

Other papers were open on the coffee table in front of the man. Tupperware was stacked in the bowl. Seven vials, each labeled with a one letter code, each labeled with a name of a superhero, supervillain name or city. One for each member of the Nine. One for Cauldron. One for the Slaughterhouse Nine. One for the Endbringer.

"What… what… what the hell?" Stan spoke. He went stock still.

"Stan Kent, the man who hunts the dead. I see you have a number of complaints about your charter."

"I have none."

"You’re not allowed to have a complaint unless it’s directed at you."

"Is there any justice here?"

"There is. Look at the situation. Jack Slash was supposed to take over the city. He got sick of staying in the same place, he got tired of waiting around, and one by one, he left." Stan took a drag on his cigarette, looked at Jack, "They took down his paperwork, so there."

"How do we handle a fucking murderer?"

"Our courts are kind, but that doesn’t mean we’re perfect."

Jack spoke, "Do the Slaughterhouse Nine have any way to appeal?"

"If it isn’t them, it’s probably somebody in the media." Stan raised his eyebrows, "You do not get to negotiate."

"We have the tools. I’m in a position to read the papers, to check the facts, and I know they aren’t perfect. But they are right. We’re wrong."

"We could make our case to the media," Stan said.

"To the media would be a terrible idea," Jack pointed out. "It’s messy, it would mean leaving stuff open to interpretation, and maybe that’s when it’s most obvious. We want peace, so we can find the balance. A balance that includes our involvement in the ABB situation."

"You want to centralize power, control movements, measure and manage the collateral damage? The ABB had the ability to devastate multiple areas at the same time. They did not, today. I fear they’ll be distracted as we act. We can minimize the damage, but we cannot guarantee that the entire public would take their cues."

"That’s fine. I don’t need to control the entire nation."

"You do. I want you to be close. A close observer, watching over our shoulder. Consider this a proposal. I will grant you a favor."

"What?"

"Please. Consider this a proposal. I will grant you a favor. Collateral."

Stan smiled, "Sure."

"I feel secure that I’d know almost anyone who heard this would have been mystified. Consider this an opportunity. I will be discreet. Only you would know my identity."

"Being known by you means nothing."

"Of course."

She
======================================== SAMPLE 315 ========================================
Ryan Hughes visited Long Beach, less than an hour after his team had crossed the border.

His team was wearing light tactical vests with holstered machine guns. They were lugging heavy guns and two Tanto-mounted laser guns after them.

Vegas-style bazaars were taking off, complete with genetically-altered food, a tale of giant pandas and an American football player.

Hughes was introducing himself to everyone in an intense, low voice. Everyone except for the local heroes.

"My son is with the heroes. He is with the PRT for immigration purposes. I gave him up."

"We don’t know where he is headed," Bryce said.

"For his own safety," Jason said.

"He’s headed to America," Bryce replied. "I told him to stay away from everything. Don’t know what he’s been up to, but he’s been away from you guys ever since he saw me go online. I think he’s seeing what you guys are doing and trying to read up on you."

"I see," Jason said. "I’m not the person you want on your team."

"He’s lovely," Bryce said, in sympathy. "But he’s also a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Someone who’s used to being with the people he really wants to be with. I wanted someone who’d be with you, in case things got bad. With Flechette, I could see a guy who’d be good, who’d be okay."

"We’re looking for someone with perseverance," Jason said. "Resilience. The kind of thing that would get you somewhere. Along the lines of, you’d get him out of here, and then you’d better stay if you want him. Because you wouldn’t get him, you’d only get yourself."

"Isn’t that the opposite?" Krouse asked.

Jason wouldn’t answer in the same breath. Bryce looked at Oliver, who shrugged.

"This is the best way to get him, then," Bryce said.

"I wouldn’t think so, but that’s exactly what I’m thinking," Jason said. "Sit this one out. It won’t get you any further."

Krouse settled for tucking the gun back into his belt. He could see Oliver’s shoulders rising and falling as the man with the knife entered the room. The blade was drawn back.

That, as much as anything, was how Kyle brushed aside Bryce’s earlier taunting. Krouse felt his heart rate pick up with that.

"Let’s leave unsaid," Jason said, "And I have a patient with terminal brain cancer. Let’s leave that patient to find her own way to the bathroom."

The man with the youngest child approached the desk. The desk came free of the holster and was set on the desk. With a single motion of the finger, the man scooped up the pellet and dropped it straight down.

"Cartilage damage. Won’t ever be the same. But I’m a doctor, not a healer."

"That’s the sort of thing you’re looking to fix?"

"Yeah," Bryce said. He glanced at Oliver. "Oliver?"

The boy with the funny hat "Saved my bacon last time."

"Cartilage damage. Nothing fatal," Bryce said.

"I’m not a doctor, I’m not a healer, I’m not looking to start a war, and I’m not going to waste your time. But I feel like I’ve been neglected. I’m pretty knackered, and I do count fencing as one of my fave things, but I don’t feel like I have it in me."

"Frustrating," Bryce said. He gave Jason a quick look as he ventured to sit in Jason’s chair, prodding the back of his chair with his finger.

"It’s not you, Bryce," Jason said. "It’s me. I’m irritated by the way things are, the way things go, and I know I’m not the right man for the job. I know you’ll say and do whatever it takes to stay out of jail, to support your family, or to get the help you need. That you’ll say it’s too late, that you’ll end up back in prison or the emergency room, and you�
======================================== SAMPLE 318 ========================================
It could be automated.

Makes sense, really.

"Alright. So, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to fill in the blanks. Think about everything that’s on your mind, both the big picture and the little stuff. Will you do it? Will you do it even if you know it’s going to hurt?"

"Yes," I said. "Yes, I’ll do it."

"Will you do it for your own sake, or for the sake of the mission?"

"Both," I said. "Yes and no. Part of the test is letting you step away from the decision when it feels like your hands are tied. I’ll leave it to you to decide."

"For now?"

"For now. I’m doing what I have to do."

"And you’re not wanting to do this because your family’s pain in the ass is more important than helping others," Brian said. He sighed again, "I’m gradually coming to the same conclusion you’re thinking about. Let’s face the facts. Weaver. Alexandria. Mannequin. You. You’ve killed people. Put lives at risk. Went to great effort in getting this far. I can’t defend it, I can’t explain it, but I’ve seen the aftermath, had to watch the bodies rise from cemeteries, and I know you made a sacrifice. So why are you telling me this isn’t important?"

I stared at him.

"It’s not just me," Brian said. "I’ve talked to other people who were in the same situations, who killed for a cause, other things. Etc."

He took his time thinking on it.

"Why is it so important to you to defend this? After everything I’ve seen, after everything I’ve done, this is the most important thing."

"Because it’s her," Hugh told Brian. "She search results, she likes her female counterparts. Her fetishes, her fetishes for different types of flesh. When she’s not happy as a female, that’s the only thing she’s really happy about. When she’s not having fun, well, that’s secondary to what she wants."

"You don’t feel duty bound to do anything?"

"I do. He’s my employer, and he’s made promises to us. He’s put his life and limb at risk for us, because we’ll fight to keep him going. When that fight starts, if we can’t keep him from getting off his high horse and attacking, if he goes AWOL in the middle of something, we’re going to have to start all over again. So we’re going to take his stuff, keep it under lock and key, but we can’t keep it. So we fold. Put whatever loads we can in his vault together, with my phone and the stuff on my costume sitting in a corner."

"He said he gets angry, he gets irritated," Brian said, "And if you’re angry at him, it’s not the same. He’s not the type to get angry, annoyed or resentful when you’re in his presence. You can let go of past associations. You can set new rules. It- it’s- it’s a step forward."

He was getting more animated. Theo understood.

"Okay," Brian said, at the same time that Lisa confirmed that no further changes were occurring, "Glad you’ve brought this up. It’s moments like this that my power is most useful. My theories about what’s going on? Most definitely. But my immediate reaction is going to be, well, that’s better."

He closed his eyes. In that rare moment of genuine emotion, he could see just how much this woman had changed. If he lived past this, if he continued his ‘little brother’ line of thought, even some of her more obvious needs were met. Lisa now had a sister, who was supporting her, protecting her, making sure she had food and fresh water. Alec was a close second, even if he didn’t talk much anymore.

He’d forfeited the ‘guy’ line of thought, but his experience with Templar still carried forward. What was appropriate, sometimes, was a little aggressive. He wanted to take her apart.

After a moment’s thought, he made the call and initiated the gall
======================================== SAMPLE 321 ========================================
The event Horizon had mentioned occurred nearly twenty years ago. A washout, an event driven by a single factor.

One more event, touching countless others.

The Great Destroyer had been driven out of existence, Boy’s anatomy revealing. A shard had been driven out of existence, ending any potential conflict over an indeterminate timeline.

Paranoia, an emotion grounded in fear.

He stood from his seat, confronting the people still wandering the mall.

I didn’t recognize any of the people I’d seen before. Confirmed casualties, dead. Victims of the ‘Scourge’.

My eyes fixed on the body of a young woman in one of the injured areas.

People kept coming, and I couldn’t account for why, but there wasn’t an explosive force at work. There was only strict law enforcement, massive military forces, the bulk of the international partnership Sveta and I had with the Yàngbǎn.

The body was moved, another slowly moving its way into the crowd.

I could hear the voices, so quiet they were almost impossible to make out. I couldn’t hear the questions. Why? Why were they here? Why now?

The crowd moved, and I could see subtle changes. The woman in the center began throwing herself into the crowd, losing her balance, falling.

She found herself outside of the sound barrier, outside of the worst fears of the people around her.

I saw her throw herself back, unable to turn my way, unable to even move with the force of the air that erupted from the back of her hand.

I could sense the collapse of the crowd, the slowing of movement as they hemorrhaged patients to the four walls of the room. Sacrifices of patients to the Suits or the Protectorate teams, depending on how warped my perception of them were.

She fell, and the impact was too heavy to be anything but physical.

I couldn’t slow her down. I didn’t have the ability to see or hear.

She spoke, though I couldn’t make it out. The tongue was in my ear.

Defiant?

I couldn’t understand her. I didn’t have the same mental gears turning that could crack the encryption, that could reveal my real identity to the full extent of my ability as a s’upervillain.

She approached me, holding nothing back, not a gesture or a movement as she held me, her arm extended, and then continued to zip. In a heartbeat, I was moving, my feet sliding on the tile or under the table. She went still. The motion stopped and I was free, both of us soaring forward.





Ice the size of an oaktree. Garnet was pushing against the outer edges, with Crusch, Venaton and Ironscrew providing the protection. One and three-quarter city blocks away. She could slow us down, Ironscale theorized. With engineering, he could put a stop to her before she could get to any vulnerable points.

But this was a faster route. This was what I needed to do. 0-60 in half an hour. Not the way I wanted to die, but I could at least finish this.

Crucible pushed me away from the inner sanctum, away from wherever my team was, and I was left frozen in time.

He didn’t even have to use the power he was using to alter the course. I was another body in the line of fire, and his power extended as I moved away from the center. Irregulars!

I threw myself forward!

And Ice Woman was there, in the ice, almost untouched.

Tattletale threw me!

My bridge of blades had halted the forward momentum I’d had. Had I locked up my midsection, and was there really a pain in my midsection? I could feel it throb, aching for something.

I was on the verge of getting scooped up by one of her protrusions, when Sveta reoriented the blades, reoriented the spear so they stared more towards the ground, and tilted it upward. The spear became a hammer, and Ice Woman somersaulted into the air, driving the pole into Sveta’s face.

The hammer disintegrated into eight smaller objects, and Sveta collapsed into the floor, to cool into a ball shape.

Brooks was saying something to Imp, and started backing up as a group.

Tattletale was saying something, screaming as something came to him.

An annunciation, an utterance from the Queen of Swords.

I opened fire, an order.
======================================== SAMPLE 324 ========================================
Yellowband District. The children there had masks covering their faces, as though they feared being bombarded with intense orange light for much of the day. It was a district that had once been a part of Brockton Bay that had settled into an ethnic and religious homogeneity, with large numbers of people from all over the city stopping in to clear out trash, get shit, take advantage of the area’s lack of trash pickup, take advantage of the area’s lack of a night life, take advantage of the other residents for their leisure time, or just to hang out.

Now it was a place most people avoided. Two new buildings faced off against each other, as tall buildings with garishly colored names carved into the hilltops. Gold and white banners with the H hud and P mask in heavy letters against a dark background gave the area a distinctly Old West feel.

The buildings faced one another, so that if you walked left to right, you passed one, then faced right to continue going your own way. It was a battle for attention. Showing up at a spot where there were people who were staying awake, people who were working and living here, and people who were simply camping out.

"I’m showing you the way," Dinah spoke, and her voice was quiet, which was unusual, considering how she was often more like her dogs.

It might have sounded corny, but she had a natural sound of feminine gargle, which meant that when she spoke, her voice shook not only the nearby rocks, but people nearby as well.

Her grip on the binoculars was tight, now. She withdrew it halfway across her body, raised herself so she was balanced on her hands and knees, and then plunged both folding blades into the metal ‘door’.

Everyone present turned as the panicky squeals of the dogs intensified.

"The helicopter’s on top of the building," Dinah said, "I can call it if you want to come outside, while you guys try to deal with the enemy inside."

Dinah held a knife in each hand. She leaned against the wall, then shifted her hold on the binoculars to an open handheld camera. The scene was relayed to the bugs I was tethered to her by my antennae.

Two motorcycles were on the other side of the street from the building, with other motorcycles along the same lines. They too had motorcycles, but they weren’t supporting encampment. They were hunkered down in the dust and the shambles that was the intersection of Taylor and Pleasant streets. The powderpuff-style creature that was tattooed on the motorcycle’s side was more like a rabbit than a monkey. Large and furry, with brows that swept back over the armpits and shoulders, and spindly feet. Tail tucked under strip of cloth at shoulder.

The one ala Rosepetrana that was on the other side of the street was squealing with fury. Her voice was distorted by age and wear, but she had that same desperation that Secal had, and that was out of sync with her frame. Her eyes never left the middle of the street, and there was something almost longing about the way she hounded the incoming motorcycle, shouting at the top of her lungs, "You can’t touch me, you goddamn idiot! Your fingers are the same as those of a dog, you’re getting eaten alive like a fucking horse!"

I couldn’t muster the control to move them.

"Rose Petunia, exit the vehicle if you want to get to a place where you can fight me. Do not attempt to stop me unless you are a willing participant. There is little you can do to get out of this car if you try, and big things will happen to you if you do. Stand down if you want, pet."

Agitation 3.1
"So big?" I could see the women reacting.

"Capes!" I called out.

They were already slipping into costume. I could see the reaction from the capes in the immediate area. A woman shrank from the corner of her eye as she saw me. She shouted, "That voice! That is her!"

But the reactions didn’t match what I was thinking. The woman who’d been helped along made a threatening gesture with her mask, then retreated as if scared. The man who’d had his shirt removed bolted from the crowd, opening fire on the capes in his immediate vicinity.

Emma, Rose and I alike were braced for a fight. Or even a single attack, where one of us might be hurt and unable to fight back.

"Watch your language," I spoke, over my shoulder. "I can handle some tongue fucking in the meantime."

"Seriously?"
======================================== SAMPLE 327 ========================================
Dumbledore. The first choice.

"I don’t," Bonesaw answered.

"N-no. I don’t think so. Ex-instead."

She blinked. "You… don’t think I’m an idiot?"

"No," Bonesaw said. Her hand went to her mouth. "Stop."

Stop?

"A little girl was murdered in broad daylight. An innocent man was set on fire. The perpetrator is on the loose."

Slowly, over a dozen people, most not posing a serious threat, pulled guns on Bonesaw. One snatched an armored frame from her grasp and turned it around in her hands, faking like he was picking something up. Another pulled the trigger.

"Stop," Bonesaw said.

There was a pause.

"I don’t know this murderer. I can’t guess."

"Who was he?"

"An old villain," Bonesaw said. "An old school villain. Old enough I don’t recognize anyone worth talking to."

"The killer who did this to Axe?"

"Who?"

"The killer. I’d rather not think about it."

Bonesaw looked down. She met Krampus’ eyes.

"The killer. No. I don’t want to think about it. Just like you, Krampus. If this monster makes its way back to this world, it won’t be long."

Bonesaw nodded.

Slowly, less a discussion than a slow, quiet, "Yes. The old boss. If this is how it’s going to be, then we need to prepare. Before it’s too late."

Slowly, as if they could all hear Bonesaw’s horror movie, the others surmounted the various hurdles that stood in their way and moved past.

They reached their destination. A sleek shape that might have been a dragon emerged from the water, surmounted by a parahuman race of fish.

Doctor Mother remained where she was, striding towards the podium. From the way the crowd seemed to react, it was clear the egg had been close. Just error.

- Advertisement -

The egg was lit, and the wandering head flared bright blue.

"- ...And there are others still in the room. They can’t perform. We’ll expel them all and start anew."

"- And Fish and Minor, I suppose." The print concluded, leaving it blank.

"- And you, Gutten’s child. You’re forgiven my offering, but there’s one exception."

The reporter spoke, her voice gentle.

"- This exception doesn’t allow me to talk about your secret. Tell me about it after. For now, take my word for it that your powers are purely a mental one."

The young woman nodded.

"I’ll talk to the others about their secrets, when they’ve contacted them. For now, let’s just say you’re not alone. Not here, not there, and not in the Birdcage."

The young woman’s voice was a whisper.

"For now, let’s trust the computer. This trust is entirely voluntary. You can stop now, and we can stop together."

The computer stopped the display, crashing. The call went through, the computer shaking.

"The numbers don’t add up. Got enough pages, got them from one page to another, but they aren’t adding up."

"Stop. It’s too late for that. I… I’ve already confessed my identity. It’s enough, enough already."

The tears were desperately trying to form, but the situation was hopeless.

"-I’ll be waiting," Coil spoke, as he entered the room. "And I’ll offer my assistance where I can."

The room shifted again, but the screens at the end helped. A moment later, Doctor Mother shifted the glass cases to the end of the room, removed a coffin with a seat.

"She is still alive?"

"She is deceased. But she can still communicate."

"Amazing."

"She would have needed no other channel. I used my bulk to carry her ashes home."

"To a mausoleum?" the Doctor mused.

"To a mausoleum," Dinah echoed Aunt Sarah echoing my words to her daughter in response to her worry over the cremains not being properly embalmed. "Because her power dies if she isn’t nurtured
======================================== SAMPLE 330 ========================================
New Yorkers and foreigners alike flocked to the shelter, some going so far as to climb onto the metal walkway and make their way inside. The shelter was under construction and the construction workers had discovered the makeshift berthing in an attempt to keep the floodwater from pouring straight into the shelter, into the elevators and down to the street. As the work was stopped, however, they discovered that the walkway was too smooth to climb or navigate, so they had to use wooden planks instead. Once the walkway was in place, they could move forward without difficulty.

"Everyone okay?" Mr. Calle asked me.

"All of you. One minor emergency, but the numbers say there’s trouble," I said.

"Minor? Want I should do something?"

"No. You could. Go to the rooftops, look for the lights. If there’s workers clearing the dust out of the building, you can look for the lights."

I nodded. "If I can find the walkway, I can use the railing above to walk to the roof, get to the roof and climb to the roof. I only need to look above to know if there’s workers at work. If there aren’t, I’ll have to do something else. I’ll need to get to Mr. Calle and do something with him."

There were nods from around the room.

When I was done, I ventured into the shelter’s entryway. There were countless pairs of eyes watching me as I entered the shelter. I walked with the dog, the agent and my lawyer following behind me.

The building had two elevators, one at the ground floor and one on the higher floor, depending on the hour. At the elevator’s entrance was a heavy metal door. I cracked it open and barred it with my bugs.

When I was done looking, I moved the bugs outside. Outside was clear of the building’s occupants. Dust, barely visible through the cloud of dust that had moved with the movement of the building’s structure.

I stopped, spraying my swarm against the wall.

"You going to help?" the white woman in the suit asked.

"I’ll do what I can to make it stop."

"Okay."

I moved the swarm outside.

"I need your name, sir," the girl said.

"Yes," I replied.

"Please, I’ll try to memorize."

"Be aware of the people in the building. Avoid the building where the passersby may be able to see you."

"I’ll keep that in mind, yes."

"We can arrange a ride."

"Yes."

"Please step onto the roof. There are people who need to be rescued."

"I understand. Wait."

It wasn’t someone on the roof. It was me. People stepping off.

A moment passed, and others stepped off, joining the group. Women, children. All moving in the direction of the shelter.

"Remember where you are," the woman said. "Please step off."

I nodded.

"We expect you to accompany us."

"I remember," I answered.

She smiled, but it wasn’t a happy expression. "We have a routine, trot."

"Thank you," I said.

She nodded.

There was a little revejo in the other person’s gestures. Affirmation, negation. Voice and movement weren’t one of them.

But it felt off, like rhythm wasn’t an extension of my own mind, but rather something external. Like pitch, flow or flow of ideas.

I put away my baton.

"Identify a location before you go. We will be back," the lady of the group said.

I was already moving, cutting a path through the cluster of people who remained.

There were whispers. Criticism. It was easy to forget how much pain the swarm was causing. Dissatisfaction.

I approached a locker and opened it. Glass with a heartbeat of red in it.

Twenty pieces of clothing inside. Clothes from the bottom of the dumpster, clothes from the dumpster’s rim.

My closes. I moved on to the next.

There was a note, coded on the outside of the glass with a Y, with a Q on the inside.

‘Y’s. Sign language. A signal my power could interpret.

I found the person who was wearing the garb from the dumpster, and tied the contents of the locker to the man. Then I
======================================== SAMPLE 333 ========================================
Ah yes. The big secret. I am, without a doubt, the most powerful man in the world.

That doesn’t even include the fact that I have the most money in the world. I have the most money, believe it or not, and I own the company that is Brockton Bay.

What does this statement have to do with what happened at the bank robbery?

SPONSORED

Well, to be blunt, I didn’t think it would be this down right horrible.

"I’m scared," Brian spoke.

"Thought so," I replied.

"You can’t blame me for trying to protect my family," he shrugged.

"My family is very important to me," I told him. "Especially my youngest daughter. She’s almost three and a half years old and she’ll be joining the Wards very, very soon. I think it would be unwise to try to negotiate with her when she’s not fully a year and a half of age."

He rolled his eyes.

"What I do involve myself in is less about protecting my family and more about protecting the city. Brockton Bay has been going through a lot of hard times, not the least of which is the recent crisis. As much as I might try to make things better by being lenient with my gang members, I can’t rule out that they would expand their operations to the area and actually make a difference in the city if given a chance."

"I don’t believe that," Brian told me.

"I’m trying to be lenient," I stressed. "What if my gang members do catch on? What happens if one of them does?"

"Stuff," Alec said. "Dealing with the guys from the Merchants, getting the money, arresting them, maybe dealing with the Wraiths if they make a move. Whatever. But our major tasks right now are going to be keeping Bitch from setting up shop, ensuring that Brockton Bay doesn’t descend into chaos, and we’re doing everything we can to see that happens."

"And helping my dad," I said.

"Dust yourself off," Alec said. "You want to refresh your memory on this stuff? I can tell you that the Emerald Cowl is the collective responsibility of the Boardwalk, the Merchants, the Heartbroken and the Rosebud. When those groups of friends and family are all in a place, you guys are. So you and I are both sitting here, jointly picking up the slack. So take my elbow and let’s talk."

I took a deep breath, then sighed, "I guess I’m sitting here, letting you pick and choose your battles, when I could be joining you in style."

"That’s hypocrisy, fartsy bastard," Brian said, "You choose where you go, and you’d be doing yourself a mortal disservice if you did that for a boyfriend."

"Saddened you named him that," Alec said.

"Everything starts with the question, doesn’t it? You? Should I kill him? Do what? Let me kill him?"

"You’re the one with the moral compass, Taylor. You’ve got a bigger target to take away," Brian said.

"Let me explain. I don’t know how to feel about this. Way I feel about it is I get really angry at people who do bad things, like trying to kill a friend. So I weigh every act of kindness and love I do on that scale. I kill him, because ultimately it’s the most honorable thing in my power."

"Who’s greater, the merchant from the market or the man who tries to kill you?"

"You know, if I could?"

"You think in terms of acts, not thoughts," Lisa said. "It’s easier, because there’s no way I can ever remember and figure out all the lessons I might have learned from past mistakes. But acts are there, there’s the present, and I work with those."

"So you apply what you learn in terms of greater values, even as you’re punishing yourself for your lower self."

Lisa shrugged, "Sometimes both."

"Satyr and I were talking about this a little while ago, and how the lower self could get pushed to the brink, if it wasn’t careful. If the victim isn’t careful, they get easily pushed to the brink, and they don’t deserve it. If you’re not careful, you get a range of emotions, a feeling of invulnerability, and the idea that you can continue doing what you
======================================== SAMPLE 336 ========================================
See video: Bloodshed in El Segundo, CA

See video: Unrest in Boston, MA

See video: Riot in Chicago, IL

See video: Riot in Detroit, MI

See video: Unrest in Los Angeles, CA

See video: Unrest in Houston, TX

See video: Unrest in Seattle, WA

See video: Unrest in Chicago, IL

See video: Unrest in New York, NY

See video: Unrest in Philadelphia, PA

See video: Unrest in Boston, MA

See video: Unrest in Chicago, IL

See video: Unrest in San Francisco, CA

See video: Unrest in Washington, DC

See video: Unrest in Austin, TX

See video: Unrest in Boston, MA

See video: Unrest in Chicago, IL

See video: Unrest in San Diego, CA

See video: Unrest in Los Angeles, CA

See video: Unrest in Pittsburgh, PA

See video: Unrest in Philadelphia, PA

See video: Unrest in Miami, FL

See video: Unrest in Atlanta, GA

See video: Unrest in Seattle, WA

See video: Unrest in Minneapolis, MN

See video: Unrest in Chicago, IL

See video: Unrest in Denver, CO

See video: Unrest in Portland, OR

See video: Unrest in Vancouver, BC

See video: Unrest in Houston, TX

See video: Unrest in Boston, MA

See video: Unrest in Los Angeles, CA

See video: Unrest in San Diego, CA

See video: Unrest in Miami, FL

See video: Unrest in San Francisco, CA

See video: Unrest in Raleigh, NC

See video: Unrest in Chicago, IL

See video: Unrest in Indianapolis, IND

See video: Unrest in Boston, MA

See video: Unrest in Portland, OR

See video: Unrest in Calgary, AB

See video: Unrest in Winnipeg, MB

See video: Unrest in Toronto, ON

See video: Unrest in Montreal, QC

See video: Unrest in Ottawa, Canada

See video: Unrest in Los Angeles, CA

See video: Unrest in Vancouver, BC

See video: Unrest in Chicago, IL

See video: Unrest in Boston, MA

See video: Unrest in New York, NY

See video: Unrest in Philadelphia, PA

See video: Unrest in Washington, DC

See video: Unrest in Los Angeles, CA

See video: Unrest in San Diego, CA

See video: Unrest in Seattle, WA

See video: Unrest in Orlando, FL

See video: Unrest in Dallas, TX

See video: Unrest in Houston, TX

See video: Unrest in Seattle, WA

See video: Unrest in Boston, MA

See video: Unrest in Chicago, IL

See video: Unrest in New York, NY

See video: Unrest in Philadelphia, PA

See video: Unrest in Washington, DC

See video: Unrest in Toronto, ON

See video: Unrest in Boston, MA

See video: Unrest in Chicago, IL

See video: Unrest in New York, NY

See video: Unrest in Ottawa, Canada

See video: Unrest in Vancouver, BC

See video: Unrest in Orlando, FL

See video: Unrest in Detroit, MI

See video: Unrest in Philadelphia, PA

See video: Unrest in San Diego, CA

See video: Unrest in Los Angeles, CA

See video: Unrest in Boston, MA

See video: Unrest in Toronto, ON

See video: Unrest in Philadelphia, PA

See video: Unrest in Boston, MA

See video: Unrest in Toronto, ON

See video: Unrest in New Delhi, India

See video: Unrest in Washington, DC

See video: Unrest in Los Angeles, CA

See video: Unrest in San Diego, CA

See video: Unrest in Los Angeles, CA

See video: Unrest in Boston, MA

See video: Unrest in Toronto, ON

See video: Unrest in New Delhi, India

See video: Unrest in New Delhi, India

See video: Unrest in Los Angeles, CA

See video: Unrest in Toronto, ON


======================================== SAMPLE 339 ========================================
There was a clatter, a whoosh, and a howl.

The man with the glass beakers fell to the ground, rolling onto his back. The others moved to help, but Shatterbird caught the man’s hand and forced him to his feet?

"I’m betting you’re a little shocked you’re standing here, Camille," the glittering metal mask told him. "At first I was a little worried you were trapped in a place like this, but you’re standing. No, I’m not going to grab you, here. I’m telling you, it’s safer to be outside, fighting fire with fire. The Americans have Camille, they’ve probably used her to get here, so she’s not going to do anything to us. And she didn’t do anything to any of us, unless you count the people with powers getting pissed in Lung’s Castle. But you all saw the video, and now you know why it’s so dangerous. There was money to be made.

"I know you had all this expectation, whinging to be the next big thing. But getting arrested first, like some loser who got their hopes up and acted before you did, not even getting a trial? That’s fucked up. You got indicted, which is better than almost getting executed. You go to trial, you get to live in the woods and pretend you’re not a villain forevermore. You don’t get that look in your eyes where you’re forced to look up from your mask, you don’t go out on patrol with your mates like some grunt. You get to live."

The woman’s eyes widened as she saw her client look away.

"Fuck you, Emma," Hookwolf spat the words.

There was no response. The woman looked down at her feet, as if in shock, possibly some kind of psychosis.

"She has this expectation that you become her. You comply and acquiesce to her wishes, you become her."

There was no reply.

"And if someone like me, someone who isn’t addicted to violence, who isn’t so reckless, lets me in? I can use my power and make people into her. People like your boss, people like my father. I can make them into tools she uses to hurt us all. For entertainment, for revenge, or to hire mercenaries. I make them mercenaries, and you get to watch. I hire your ex-girlfriend to track you down, and I enjoy every second of it," Hookwolf laughed, "Because killing a villain is so entertainmentally satisfying for me. Do you understand what I could do? What I could do with a million dollars?"

Hookwolf took a step forward, then stopped.

"I could."

"No…" Hookwolf said, holding up his hand. His right hand was to his left, where he could gesture for Lily and Robin to come back. He was implying he was going to kill them. I COULD have kicked his ass, but I didn’t. I’d let him die to preserve the hostages. "I don’t want to kill you. Even if I get the cold, I want to research on your design. Make sure it doesn’t depend on dependency on dark energies for power, and that I can use it to communicate."

He was getting closer.

I stood up and turned to leave, then ran for the front door, Nora following.

Necrotizing a person was something of a game, depending on the power they were dependent on. How much damage I did, how much fear I could generate…

But being poisoned by a serial killer wasn’t going to do much. One burrito could start a dominoes effect, eventually. It was about putting the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle together, instilling fear in the public, and hopefully keeping them from turning on the heroes.

There was a toll to be paid in the meantime. If they deleted the diner. If the heroes became less believable.

I put the folder on the coffee table and then started searching for Brockton Bay’s core team members.

My bugs alerted me to a movement from the Nilbog’s creations. A second group was moving to suit up.

Nilbog’s creations could operate in very purer forms, I noted. They didn’t get sick, they didn’t die, they weren’t warped or destroyed or exhausted. When the psychotic mutations hit, they hit hard.

That meant Nilbog was constantly. continuously generating new copies of himself. Every second he was gone was a second crucial
======================================== SAMPLE 342 ========================================
Liquefied Potassium Hydroxide

Price unknown.

Dosage Forms: 1/2 strength each

Psychosis Checklist: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

Total Karma Received: 250,251,250



1,250,251,250 x 0.012% of original value= 0.00038181818181818% of original value= 0.00075



Once the first few moments of a desired effect was over, I turned my attention to the second checklist. I familiarized myself with the new value. "I now have a new, second trigger event available. YAY! Pointless check. You don’t even have toophy about it. It happened before the bomb hit." The second checklist was a list of chores I had to perform before I could be free to roam. More tasks meant more events for my second loop.

I turned my new ability on, and I could hear more events from my new trigger event. Sounds of boots on hard ground, occasional howls, then a guttural chuckle. Voices.

It was Jack, I realized, who was speaking. He was saying something, muttering something about firearms and his second trigger event.

I looked over the list of triggers Jack had dictated, and I now had two checks. If I failed any of them, well, my power would become uncontrollable.

I made a mental note of those checks.

Then, as I noted the checks, I began writing them in-house.

I focused on faking my way through New Delhi. A team of four people went out in trucks and mounted on equestrian-style steeds, scanning the buildings for people and watering the fields. I kept to a schedule, arriving at the location eight minutes before the scheduled arrival time, with one or two minutes to spare for the horses to get from the pasture to the waiting group. Each person loaded their secret weapon – a knife, gun or whatever else, laced with tranquilizers and tranquilizers gas, usually – and slipped through the window.

Additionally, I had a small force of five to six people with me, each mounted on a monster of a motorcycle. We carefully scanned the area, keeping out of the way of the trains, and we stayed on the move, moving so that the train tracks were still intact and the buildings didn’t collapse into one another.

chronology

• April 20th, 2011 – Arrival at Lake Osgood, Wis.

• April 21st, 2011 – Chandler, Ariz.

• April 22nd, 2011 – Chandler, Ariz.

• April 23rd, 2011 – Chandler, Ariz.

• April 24th, 2011 – Las Vegas, Nev.

• April 25th, 2011 – Los Angeles, Calif.

• April 26th, 2011 – Tucson, Ariz.

• April 27th, 2011 – Los Angeles, Calif.

• April 28th, 2011 – Tucson, Ariz.

• April 29th, 2011 – Los Angeles, Calif.

• April 30th, 2011 – Las Vegas, N.Y.

• May 1st, 2011 – Los Angeles, Calif.

• May 2nd, 2011 – Tucson, Ariz.

• May 3rd, 2011 – Los Angeles, Calif.

• May 4th, 2011 – Las Vegas, N.Y.

• May 5th, 2011 – Tucson, Ariz.

• May 6th, 2011 – Los Angeles, Calif.

• May 7th, 2011 – Tucson, Ariz.

• May 8th, 2011 – Las Vegas, N.Y.

• May 9th, 2011 – Los Angeles, Calif.

• May 10th, 2011 – Tucson, Ariz.

• May 11th, 2011 – Las Vegas, N.Y.

• May 12th, 2011 – Tucson, Ariz.

• May 13th, 2011 – ‘souls’, dead

‘souls’, dead’.

My senses were heightened by the group, a.k.a. the Nine. I could feel their every movement, the lightning as it struck their bodies, the groups fragmenting as they shifted into another mode, another dimension.

A hunter’s scream sounded through my ears, though I had no awareness thereof.

Another scream, the threat being uttered, the scream coming from a distinct angle.

I changed my course, running.

I’d altered it again, albeit slightly. There were additional obstacles. Objects
======================================== SAMPLE 345 ========================================
Wasn’t a bi-pod geared for hoisting heavy objects, but I could guess it was for the same purpose, allowing people to step into the pod at any time and ascend. None of the devices on the exterior were active. The metal on the exterior was hot enough for steel to bond, not glass, for example, and the planks were too heavy, requiring a lot of force to move them.

The interior was a mess, full of cabinets with cabinets and toolkits in mirrors all across the room, all crammed tight. No chairs, no computers. The only thing for the occupants to do was to huddle around the barrels that contained the siege weapons and the mess of ammunition that Jamie had procured for the trap we had built into the ground floor.

Considering our target’s ability to fight and recover, I suspected this would be another one of those cases where I had to do something drastic to get the bad guy to show mercy. Showing mercy would make for a whole lot more enemies, not to mention that this guy was determined to make us pay for what we had done to his partner.

Exhausted from a day’s work, Tire was still slouching in the center of the lobby, his hands clasped behind his back, as if he’d been putting them to use. He had his feet planted in the ground and his body rigid, as if he were waiting for something to happen, so he could act, even as preparations were made to ward off any attacks.

Brooks and Russel were still waiting on the platform outside, watching us.

"What’s going on?" I asked.

"Nothing," Tattletale said.

"But you’re going to see more of this stuff, so take your time."

"You can’t keep doing that," Tattletale said. "Quantitative easing, QEWT, QEWTars, gold, debt, real estate-"

"We won’t make any guarantees," the armored man said. "You won’t find any merchants in the area. Otherwise our ability to operate would be crippled. For your information, no merchant in the records would report a problem. For the record, the records don’t reflect well those who defaulted on their debts."

"You lied," Tattletale said. "You knew what you were getting into."

"I lied to get money for my technology. I won’t deny that. But what I’m doing here is a lot more minimal than what you’d be doing if you bought an ounce of silver and a ton of gold."

I reached behind me, and found a small metal container. I tipped out the contents into my palm, and then held out my hand so Tattletale could see. "Like I said, for the record, the records don’t reflect well the people who default on their debts."

"For the record," Tattletale said.

"Look," I said, keeping my voice level. "Look past Skitter. I know we’d been together before, but that was long before we’d been here. I don’t like lying to you, and I don’t like buying excuses when I’m going to present the most complete and honest account that I can manage."

"It’s my choice," Tattletale said.

"You make the call," the armored man said. He reached into his coat pockets and retrieved a small device. "You want to fill this in?"

"I’m not in a position to fill in your file," I said, "And I want to be absolutely sure that you’re not trying to extort money from me."

"We're best of friends," Tattletale said. "I’m just not that into you."

"I know. But you’re my friend. Not by blood, or anything like that, but we’re close, and if there’s any animosity, it’s the way things in the past are still relevant. I can read it, sort of."

"And by that I mean we’re related."

"I know many things that aren’t related," Tattletale confessed. "I’ve picked up over half of them myself."

"That’s not that impressive."

"I was sort of hoping we wouldn’t have to share a past that’s already been established in the past and complicate the present. You’re going to get into a lot of detail, and I’m not just referring to your past. I’m referring to things you’ve said, and the
======================================== SAMPLE 348 ========================================
"To think I would be so secure in my self-delusion, after just a week."

"Your delusions are delusional," the Doctor said. "Reed is the one who diagnoses you when you have a mental block."

Blockades, I thought. The word hit me like a hurricane of dark humor, the intensity of it almost palpable.

"What do you have to lose by being Reed?" I asked.

"Nothing," the Doctor said. "A chance to cure the blockades and treatments for the blockades would be disastrous. We took the brunt of the Tohu attack, and again, we experienced crippling damage to key elements of our society. The Mexican capital was a brick built in sand, the entire metro was tumbled, and Flame Face was partly resurrected. Sixty percent of the dead were among the best of the defending side, and the city was without major injury or challenge to its overall health. The rest were criminals, wretches, lunatics and cowards."

I drew in a deep breath. "Melancholia?"

"That’s the only way to truly know for sure," the Doctor said. "Melancholia, as we used to say, means story in Latin."

A flash of light, cut through all of the possible images. A man, half-again as tall as Reed, standing above the cityscape.

He raised his voice, "And we knew it would be our story, just like you told me to save you. So when Reed came to tell me the worst case scenario, I took his word for it. I had to tell you the worst case scenario was a very real possibility, because the worst case doesn’t exist."

I looked away. I couldn’t bear to look closer into that dark, gravelly voice.

"What you did, talking to the butcher, it had the opposite intent. It said a lot of things to me."

More than you know, I thought.

"Me?"

"I said it had the opposite intent. I meant it was a hell of a lot easier to go to war with Los Angles than it was to go to war with Earth Bet. I was fighting the good fight, but it was a fight I could no longer participate in. I turned traitor, and over the course of one night, I killed someone that wasn’t even alive anymore."

I didn’t have a response to that. I tried to stand, and it flapped to life in a way that made every line of my voice shuddering and breaking. My heart leaped in my throat, my breath rising in my face. I started coughing.

"I went to those people, and I tried to help. I think that tapestry was unraveling, and I had a pretty extreme case of this."

"Extreme?"

"Coughing, trepidation, second guessing everything I was doing, and finally, I couldn’t keep it together any more. Didn’t venturing into the damn woods, where stings can be as bad as a bee sting. Fired a gun, and it did two thirds of the damage I’d hoped it would. All I could think was that as much as it was my fault, something needed to give. Something was rotten with the Doctor."

I opened my eyes. All of the problems I’d been having with the Doctor, compounded by the isolation, frustration, and fear, was happening here. The isolated scene in the woods left me more isolated than it had been before.

"I went to the Agency, to ask for their help, for we could work together, outside the box. They said they’d help, if I let my guard down. For a week. Then I wasn’t let down. I got tired, my shoulder started hurting, and the fucking eccentric Mister Raincoat decided it was okay to torture me with wild accusations. Torture that metaphorically threatened to ruin my life. Torture that it was okay to make fun of. I got so scared that I couldn’t even confront my family about it. I was convinced I was imagining it, that I’d be able to put it off like a week, and I was wrong. Wrong because it was a week, and it always seemed to get worse."

"Christ," I said. I looked down at the knife in my hand. "Why?"

"I-"

"Christ!" I shouted. The sound of the thrum of the thrumming Pendragon was something else.

"I didn’t pick it up," he said. "That was a mistake."

"Why?"

"Because I was worried it was a metaphor, or a threat, or a ploy by the Doctor to get me
======================================== SAMPLE 351 ========================================
Above us, Chevalier’s cannoneer, Vermin, had taken to the air, setted on the ground with two massive spiked horns just beside him. He plunged down, just as quickly as he had landed, his body curved to dismember the dinosaurs closest to him.

A third dinosaur, just as large, ran across the road, speederiding down the middle of the street, horns undiminished, veering left and right, up and down, nearly colliding with Vermin and exploding with the debris of its colliding legs.

A fourth dinosaur, no bigger than a car, crept over the side of the building, toppled a store display window and then rebuilt its body from scratch, moving a foot on each of the legs. It sped away, accelerating full-bore.

We were close to the edge of the rooftop. I signaled Trickster, and he pulled off his helmet. He waved at us, and I followed his gaze to a dark figure veiled in shadow.

It was Delta, one of Ballistic’s proxies. Bound to Earth’s local geography as Delta Isles or Dauntless. Not much was known about him, besides the fact that he was a notorious bully, mind you, and he was fairly certain that everyone who fit the lovable, colorfully painted role in American cartoons was pretty much retarded. Not that that he’d told me anything about his motivations, but he was apparently confident he could pull it off and get away with it.

He was the liaison that allowed us to make phone calls, maintained a few backup files and handled the bulk of the monitoring and analysis that was done on us. With luck, they would never get to see the footage from Gideon’s breach of trust, would agree to take their case to the media with the understanding that the heroic coverage would earn them a permanent audience with the villain who had provoked the attack. Again, that would be Capulet, who was in a position to be the eye of the local plan, with the PRT and all the necessary laws and regulations giving him the necessary independence.

"I’m trying to think of a good way to get a sentence here," I said, "And I’m not willing to commute it, as your friends deserve as well. I can reach Max more easily, through you, and talk to Miss Militia, but that’s it. I can’t reach Chevalier, and I don’t know if he’ll agree to join this conversation, with all of the attention it’s drawing."

"It’s constructive," Faultline said. "You asked me before, about the Wards. I would like to hear your thoughts."

"It’s… something," I said, "I’m still trying to get my head around the fact that they’re a threat. I get that most of us aren’t going to agree with everything Faultline said, but we’re all still in this situation where we really need to protect the city, or we’re doing it to lose. Not liking the end result, but we’re in a position where we have to do what we can to help."

"This is exactly why I’m here," Citrine said. She turned her hand palm up, and a thousand colors began blending into the surface. The colors included hieroglypses, with each color related to power, the underlying structure or concept. 

For an instant, the four of us were color blind. We were unaware of the casual manner in which this new reality was structured, the imperfect yet arousing duty we each carried within us.

I knew from the information I’d seen up to this point that I wasn’t the right person to talk to Citrine. I could nick her voice, but I doubted I could do much more than sound friendly, and I’d still have to hide my identity. 

I stopped short as a voice sounded through the channel. I could hear it as I turned my head.

"Ah yes, Miss Militia," the voice sounded. It was slightly accented, and the words sounded harsh, harsh as I spoke.

"What’s going on?"

"Last I heard, she was feeling so confident and free as a hero, she was going above and beyond the call of duty, and capes were going crazy trying to put her down."

"Did Leviathan do something to him?"

"Oh god," Citrineís whispered voice reached me, "I’m trying to think of an word to use on this."

"What?"

"Idiot."

"How do you even do that?"

"I don’t know," I said, "Let me try
======================================== SAMPLE 354 ========================================
After a pause, she said, "Because you kept climbing up my fucking chain."





Sentinel 9.3


"Five Sharp Dicks," Parian murmured, as she held a glass of water and enjoyed a hot shower. She was halfway back to her hotel when she heard Hugh Woodward shouting, "Bitch! Attack!"

She turned and saw Trevor, blood on his jacket, bleeding where Hugh had stepped in to stop him from ripping out the decomposed brain of a bodyguard.

The blonde woman held a knife that was long and thin, the pointed end touching the helmet of Parian’s leathern ski jacket. The helmet was soaking wet.

Hoyden Ford by way of request killed the girl, but not before throwing a water-powered torpedo in Shepard’s direction. Throwing the remainder of the water from the balcony onto the road beneath, she crossed the street, pointed the knife at Hugh, then ran after Parian.

When the black woman saw that Garrick and the white woman weren’t moving, Hoyden Ford took one look at the pair and changed her mind. She lunged for Parian, her knife touching the girl’s arm.

The knife, in her hand, she held off the black woman. Parian wasn’t quick enough to avoid the blade or avoid the street it was thrown on. It slid across the road under her foot, four or five feet wide, and she fell.

She was a target, thrown down the road by someone who didn’t want to be trusted.

"Hey!" Parian called after her.

The black woman didn’t stop. She started throwing punches, aiming to make contact with Hugh Bradley.

Parian looked up, saw the frayed end of the black woman’s rope, saw the ground close in around her. She lashed out, cutting the rope that bound her from the same point where she’d cut the black woman’s arm, and both she and her arm were sent over the course of the café’s outdoor patio and onto the patio above, fracturing it.

As the woman struggled to her feet and ran toward the teenager that was thrown against the wall, Parian backed away, cautiously.

"Aw hell," shet Hookwolf was protesting.

"What are you going to do?" Hoyden asked, her voice quiet.

"What do? Clean this fucking girl’s body off?"

"I’m a doctor," the teenage girl spoke. Dryly.

"A doctor without powers," Hookwolf made a dismissive gesture. "We need her for an autopsy."

"I don’t have powers," the girl answered, her voice quiet. "And she wouldn’t have given me any if she didn’t want me to."

"You’re in the hospital, and you’re not leaving the city, and you’re a patient of the hospital. That’s enough."

"Yes!" Parian shouted.

"Shit," Hookwolf swore. "I gave her powers and she gave me sin."

"What?" Parian looked at him.

"She’s a fake," Hookwolf replied. "A forgery."

"Fake?" Hoyden asked.

"Fake. I have a private army. I am a soldier under a false name."

"We are ready," Hookwolf nodded.

The two prisoners were taken aback. Hoyden stepped forward. "You didn’t tell them that you were doing the deed in your cell?"

"They already knew," Hookwolf shrugged. "Private armies are a Boston thing."

"Private armies?" Parian and Hoyden asked.

"They have armies. You don’t even have to know those words to know that this is a trap. I have rules, Paradisal. Rules for you, for us."

"You want to die," Romp said.

"Yes! I want you to LIVE!"

"I have no interest in dying," Hookwolf growled. "I just want to stop you from getting any kind of hold on us again."

"Hookwolf is giving you the evil eye," Parian said.

"Then kneel."

Kneeling, all together.

Hookwolf began forming a kneeling figure in the air. Parian and the girl threw themselves into the midst of the kneeling figure. It swelled in size to the point that it began to overshadow Hookwolf’s own head, twice as large as a sedan, it was slender enough to be seen in the gloom of the forest.

"Hey!" Hoyden said. "You
======================================== SAMPLE 357 ========================================
Vicky’s eyes widened as she heard the name Ballistic.

"Nuh uh uh," Miss Militia shook her head, getting more and more irritated with each word. "He’s dead."

"Then we need to move fast," Trickster spoke. "In two minutes, he’ll be dead."

"Becoming a hero’s business," Weld spoke in a condescending tone.

Trickster looked at the blond, purple-skinned boy. "Are you wanting an apology from me?"

"He called you an idiot before. Word is he’s assembled a group around himself and is recruiting others. It’s a select few, and if some of you die, it’s a pretty disastrous loss. So what do you say? An apology is something we should aim for, especially after the debacle in Vegas."

"You don’t really want an apology, trust thief," I spoke. "You’re promising vengeance, and in this situation it’s probably as good as anywhere else, if not better."

"Indeed," Trickster said. "But I’d like to think I’m a person who’s tried to be good, even when it’s just trying to get home."

Ballistic turned to glance at Weld, then back to me. His eyes didn’t leave me.

I continued, "I don’t think you’re much better than that, baller. What I’m saying is that if you were standing by and let someone die for your petty sake, you’d be dying with the people you’re trying to appease."

"You don’t know anything about why I let Dinah die," Ballistic said.

"Why I let Dinah live is more important," I said. "This event will have a bearing on anything and everything we do from here on out. It’ll help decide whether we survive or not. We’re on their side."

"They’re our allies," Trickster said. "If you’re going to go around talking about them as if they were enemies, then we’re enemies, and we’ll kill you for that."

"I could convince you to let Dinah go."

He sighed.

"I’m not- I’m not saying that," he said, finally. "I’m just saying you’re probably not in a position to lead the Wards. Not now, not when we have a chance to escape the dome, and not on the same terms."

"We could negotiate."

"No. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying we should value our lives more than our pride."

I didn’t respond.

He sighed again. "Maybe you shouldn’t be so sure."

"Maybe," I said. I stared at the monitor. Only a few bugs held their breath in my ear. "I’m not a fighter."

"You’re not a fighter, Skitter. But you’re a recently arrived heroine with the ability to manipulate parahumans, and you should at least pretend to believe you’re above it all. It’s how you became a hero."

It sucked. "I don’t want to believe it."

"It’s how they kept staying. It’s how they earned their power. The conspiracy against you started with your family, and the conspiracy against Alexandria started with yours."

I didn’t reply. I knew she didn’t have a good sense of irony, but I thought of the line from the video and in my own experience, she didn’t quite have the upper body to deliver it.

"I guess I became the fall guy instead," I said.

"Exactly."

"I used to be the fall guy."

He didn’t say anything. He watched the video in silence, occasionally glancing up at the screen to glance over to his office to make sure nobody was watching.

I took off my flight pack and handed it to Rachel as she headed for her own quarters. After kicking the door open, I waved goodbye to my dad as I entered my own room.

Once I was in, I pulled on the flight pack and unequipped the jumper. Then I pulled on the flak jacket over the armor protected by the armor underneath.

"Thanks for the backup," Tattletale said. I hadn’t even thanked her for calling.

"Not that kind of help," she responded. She looked at Kernan,
======================================== SAMPLE 360 ========================================
How do you make a knife from raw materials, and how slow?The type of material you use to make a knife depends on how thin the shear layer is between the blades. Thin materials mean there’s less material for the blade to become stretched wire, and longer blades mean there’s less material for the shear layer. The cutting edge of a knife is made up of smaller, easier to cut lengths of shear. The cutting edge of a gun, for example.The material for a knife is the same regardless of the manufacturer. That means a blade that size would have a very thin shear layer between the blades, as well as a material rich in vanadium, chromium, titanium, iron and steel all on the same blade. The material for the gun is common enough.Except the material for the gun is rare, and the materials for making knives and guns are so expensive with regards to the resources needed to get them, you have to think only about the materials you needto make a knife or a gun. The materials we need to make a knife aren’t abundant, and gun components aren’t plentiful, either. Unless you count dragons, horses, and magical knives that don’t exist.In short, there’s a lot of material and a lot of resources that we’re just not likely to have.

Geez, how objects can you image a knife or gun making process.<|endoftext|>Two Methods:Working with the ContainerCommunity Q&A

When you need to open a container, you open a container with the key you just used. For example, if I wanted to open a 12 pack of Fanta®, I would use my left hand to open the container and then hold the bottle in my right hand, like an open hand. The bottle would then be locked in the sheath that sits under my belt.<|endoftext|>CLOSE USA TODAY Sports' Conor Orr investigates a sexual assault case involving Michigan Wolverines football players. USA TODAY Sports

Michigan football player La'el Collins, right, listens as her mother stands by during a news conference at the Crisler Center in Ann Arbor, Wednesday, Feb. 9, 2017. (Photo: Kareem El Sobhy, AP)

A man accused of sexually assaulting two women and assaulting a third during a night out in Michigan has been named.

La'el Collins, 24, from Flint, was named as the suspect in a news conference at the Crisler Center in downtown Ann Arbor, Tuesday, according to court documents.

Court documents allege that Collins followed and befriended Shante Zimmerman, 20, a University of Cincinnati student, before walking her to the location where he would sexually assault her.

Zimmerman reported the crime to police on Feb. 4, but did not say how or where. Police interviewed Collins on Feb. 5, 2017.

According to the document, a chemical reaction between Coke and the hydrochloric acid in the man’s system and the acid in the sink served as the blueprint for Collins’s ‘pigpen’.

"This is a third degree sexual assault," Ann Arbor police Chief Roderick M. Thomas told the AP. "It includes penetration, no matter how slight, and an attack with a weapon."

Thomas said police had interviewed more than a dozen people and collected nearly 100,000 pieces of evidence. He declined to comment further, citing the ongoing investigation.

CLOSE Chief of Police of the City of Ann Arbor, Michigan spoke to reporters on condition of anonymity, implored the public to continue to help them understand and investigate crimes in their city. AP

Collins was arrested and booked into the county jail, according to the jail’s website. He was bailed according to bail guidelines, held without bond, and his next court appearance is April 19.

Zimmerman, who was not charged in the incident, was not available for comment.

Read or Share this story: http://usat.ly/2oDXVUM1<|endoftext|>This article is over 15,000 words long. You can read it in its entirety here.

If you want to be a superhero, you can do so by following these three rules.

Rule One: You don’t break anything.

You don’t break anything. Rule Two: You break something when you violate the rules of this game.

You break something when you violate the rules of this game. And finally, you break the rules of online gaming when you violate my rules by attacking one of my superheroes.

You don’t do it here. You don’t stoop to the level of villain, as they sometimes did in the olden days of comics and such.

I have a team, you understand. If I do something illegal, I need you to stop it. If I fight back, someone bigger than me loses.


======================================== SAMPLE 363 ========================================
Stevenberg was fully aware of what he was doing. With one finger and the tipped point of his pencil, he was shooting the camera towards the crowd.

There was a flash, and the camera went flying across the crowd, striking a member of the Wards. As the chair hit the ground, it toppled like a house of cards.

Golem threw himself to one side, landed, making a running start. If he timed it wrong, he could see Steven accelerating as he rose from the pile of rubble.

The camera darted, skipping forward a few feet, landed on Steven’s helmet, and then plummeted again, landing in the same instant the gun fired.

A moment later, the camera struck the ground and caromed off, sticking to the floor, five or six feet from the impact site.

Golem turned, reared back, caught the edge of the roof with his other hand.

And he saw Steven turning, too. The man with the comaor eyes was falling apart.

The Wards began to move out of the way of the attacking crowd, and the crowd began to back away, shifting to the sides, to get out of Steven’s line of sight.

"We need help, Steven," Golem said. "You want to know what happened here?"

Steven stopped, his head hanging.

"I want to know too. Tell me, what is it you want to prove to yourself, and to me, that you’ve gained something from this alliance?"

"I’m… I’m change," Steven managed to say.

He offered something – an answer, a clue – and Steven gave it.

"A lot of power, and it’s permanent?"

"Temporary, but it’s an advantage, and I don’t want it to be too obvious."

"But it’s an asset. Am I the only one who thinks the way you do, when you’re very tired and you want a nap?"

"You’re exactly what you seem to be missing, Sveta."

"You’re right," he replied. "I’m very tired."

"Nausea, vomiting, weakness to every disease except those that affect the central nervous system, inability to hold a conversation… and here I am, and I’m not even trying to sound hostile. Does that answer anything for you, Weaver?"

"No."

"You’re almost through here, then. Most of you. Go."

"No. I’m afraid."

"You can’t force me to."

"I’d rather not. What are you hoping to accomplish?"

The cheering reached a peak, interrupted by the noise of a house slamming down.

The thrum of the crowd followed, louder and more persistent with each passing second.

Golem leaned over the roof, as much to look below as to get a better glimpse of the scene.

The situation was indeed dire. Even with Siberian immobilized and many of the attackers dead, the defenders were still fighting. A hundred layers of bracers, each butting their heads against the others, trying to push themselves up to a higher spot where the fighting was more evenly balanced.

But where had he go from there?

"The Wind in the Willows," he said.

By then it was past eleven, and we had liftoff. Rachel and I were squashed against the outside of the aircraft, both of us hanging from the thrusters by our hands and feet.

Our attachment to the craft was short-lived. The nose of the craft opened just as the Shatterbird landed, and Cordelia and I were thrown out of the vehicle. The metallic whine of the craft’s fuselage cracking was my call to worry about. The metal fin on the rear of the craft shifted, until it was almost bow-like, almost segmented, like a skateboard.

Then it tipped over the edge of the city, struck a skyscraper, and skidded to a halt. Cordelia and I were free.

I called my new qi, concentrating my power. There were no weak points in the human body that a propeller like the one in my hand couldn’t exploit. Not the heart, lungs, brain, immune system or internal organs. None were still working, anyway. There was only the massive propeller that held the wings in place, the bleeding wound at the heart.

I called the Qigong.

‘Robot amplification. Strengthening the mechanical parts of the body.

The Qigong activated, and the strain was reduced. This was the
======================================== SAMPLE 366 ========================================
By Travis Tan

It was only after much deliberation that Accord allowed himself a measure of deference and opened the door for his representative. The man wore an opulent dress of wrought metal and gold. Knights of the Round Table, if you will.

Accord observed as the man entered the room. The taste of expensive food lingered on his lips. He extended a hand and the man shook it.

"White?" the Prince asked.

"Yes."

"How do you strike a balance, Prince?" the Doctor asked.

"We balance each other’s cards. We fold them so they edge closer to us."

"How does that work?"

"The rules are well-defined. The parties here-"

"We can’t discuss them. Or at least, I can’t discuss them while this patient is here."

"If you don’t discuss the rules with this patient, I won’t be able to guard him."

"There’s a remedy for that. I have his flight pattern memorized for my other patients, and I have a method in mind. Please."

"How?"

"For the moment, I’m holding myself back. Just you and me," I said. "I won’t say the rules are unimportant, but I think a great deal, overall. Allow me to summarize for the other participants."

The Doctor glanced at Fortuna.

"He wants to be the next Endbringer. He’s primed to become that. Your child, Schola Progen Ursa or simply the Hero to his other self."

"Progen? Progen is a word in a complicated grammar. I could spell it phonetically," the Doctor said. "Named after the Greek, but really Origin is Young or Beginning. Young Shall Take Andraste or Take Synology. Pronounced that way because the spelling was wrong when he first tried to change it to indicate someone younger. Older, Parker, could be a play on words."

Fortuna looked my way.

"Oh."

"I’d explain. But I’d lose my mind as well as everyone else’s, and you’d befor it."

I nodded.

"Good," the Doctor said. "Then we may or may not make our decision here. Much in that vein."

I would attempt to communicate with the other parties here.

I bayed for approval from Accord.

Then I squared my shoulders, mentally focusing, focusing on the many minor aspects of my new surroundings. The dense, the dated, the warped. My old quarters had been rendered dust-less, which was a big help. The area around me was a stark contrast to the genial old Doctor’s old neighborhood.

The area was rife with traps. I had a hard time imagining how I’d feel if I were running into everyone here. If a trap showed up, I could almost imagine the traps I’d see. Would they be effective? Would they stop Scion before he got a chance to put his hands on me?

I bayed for approval from Doctor Mother.

I turned my attention to the space warping energy. The first applications of it were slow. I could see how it distorted and disrupted the colors of the opposed light and color gradients. It would take minutes or hours before it was widespread. I knew of several people who had applied internally and successfully to replicate the effect.

I turned my attention to the space warping energy for the space art I was seeing around me. Firstly, there was no space warp. Any time one moved to the wrong place or in the right combination, it was there. Any attempt to go outside via satellite would cancel that out.

I also noted that the effected area was almost entirely absent of atmosphere. Even from the satellites that had come with the device, we’d cleared enough space that air could flow in from the effected area.

If there was an effect that was missing or if it was just easier to apply then we’d face an ugly combination.

I turned to the Doctor. "How long does it last?"

"Less than a day, but I’m expecting a long stretch of extended hot weather. A good seven to ten days, with some shade provided by the end of the month."

"Okay."

The Doctor tapped a key, and the Doctor waited.

No information was given. The lock on the door was changed.

The door opened on its own, a trickle of healing water.

"Hey," a young man said.

The Doctor looked at him.

"Weldon. Milton Nerf."

"
======================================== SAMPLE 369 ========================================
You know why I’m on here, you’d know if you tracked me down yourself," I told him, my voice smooth. "I just saw Glory Girl get knocked out cold while you were giving shelter to Nosferatu. I think it was a virus pelting her, and it’s improved with every trip to the hospital. I saw Noelle last night, and she looks like she’s suffering from the effects of the virus. I thought you should see her, of all people."

Clockblocker glanced at Mockshow, and Mockshow nodded.

"You’d better start running, Watts up!" Defiant bellowed, stopping her from walking all the way to the elevator. Clockblocker and I both put our feet down on the floor of the warehouse. Clockblocker didn’t budge, even as his back was turned.

Mockshow smiled a little, then reached into the darkness that shrouded her upper face. She extended one hand towards me.

I swallowed, right as my bugs entered the room, muffled screams pierced the air. Grue and Imp had reached the end of the alley. He collapsed in a heap.

"What are you looking for?" Defiant asked.

"My allies," I said. "Grue and Imp are looking for Jack, Genesis is with them. And we’re looking forregime, or co-opting them."

"Shit," Defiant said. "Our first run may be enough of a check on them."

"It’s not a check," I said. "They’re tough, but I’m capable of handling them. I just need-"

I stopped. The ones who were still in the shopping mall were still there. A few were more wilting, losing their moisture in the heat.

Mockshow smiled, floating toward the railing. One of her fingers emerged and chopped off the top of my ruined costume.

One by one, the reinforcements arrived. The members of the Nine we’d left in the shopping mall arrived as well. Shatterbird, Jack, Shatterhammer, Vex, Breeder, new arrivals Genesis and Glass Cannon. Everyone else had different uniforms with different numbers.

"That’s them," Imp said. "We need to talk to the minister about who joins the fight, and what terms we’re paying for certain roles."

"I heard they offered Scion a deal," I said. I glanced at Imp. She was looking at me.

"What?"

"They said he would get a choice."

That was deal making, not just for us, but for the other factions in the city. The Travelers had come to us with the information we’d sought, but they’d also come with an understanding of the role we’d play. If they decided Scion was too dangerous to be brought on board, we’d share that information and our strength would be indirectly hurt. Having the minister gather information meant he had just enough context that he could prepare an attack. Had he called in the huge number of soldiers we’d set down on the spot?

What else had he been telling us? That we should take the fight to the Slaughterhouse Nine? To the Director?

It was a gamble, and it was one we’d been betting against ourselves.





Crushed 24.2


We were the last to arrive. Half of the dogs and most of the cats had been moved, their original owners fleeing the scene with their possessions. My people and the dogs helped get the wounded onto the back of my truck, and we began moving them to a heap on the front seat. Lucy had managed to stand and grab at the edge of the SUV, clinging to my arm as she disappeared down a different street.

We made our way into the building, my back to the body of the vehicle, and Boy was nearly dragged into the interior of the vehicle. He squeaked inching forward, then stopped.

Our destination was the top floor. Of the two trucks that had been pushed from the scene, only the back was still parked where it had been when we arrived. My people loaded it onto the truck, and chimney-stormer materialized behind the vehicle, piling snow and debris.

Chinney-stormer missed the window to the right, hit the wall beside the truck, and a circular blob of crackling energy speared forth from the brick around the vehicle, the back end of the truck, the tires and the magnetometers, almost two hundred feet long, rusting into a cityscape.

I could draw inferences from the material. Weathering, perhaps, or an activated material that had been set on the material?


======================================== SAMPLE 372 ========================================
A couple of months back, after our previous relationship had burst apart, I had started to notice some similarities between our two experiences. We had gone through the same phases, our genders changed, we went our separate ways. After, we had started talking again, and again, the similarities came into full bloom. We had both been frustrated, both with our relationships, both with school. We had both been betrayed by our partners. Both had also been hurt, both by our partners themselves and by the school.

As we continued to talk, I had become aware that I was becoming a Barry Manilow type. A guy with direction, a direction for my own life, and a bit of an edge. I’d let my guard down, I’d let myself start seeing things in terms of rivals and enemies, and I’d let the misanthropy and my hatred of everyone else creep up on me.

I used to be one of the people who could have hung with any girl, right? Maybe that was an exaggeration, a mugging inside my own head, or maybe it was destiny, but I’d never had a girlfriend, and if I’d ever gotten serious about getting a girlfriend, it had been under a spell of intense morning jitters. Right now? I couldn’t say. Maybe I would get a chance to when the semester ended, once I started seeing that my academic futures were pretty much assured. It would be a good place to start.

"You’re looking at it like you’re going over it twice, Barry," Glenn said.

"Maybe I am," I told him. I pointed at the display on the wall.

"Two left," Glenn said.

"That’s two," I responded. "And we ran a race today."

"You said you were royally screwed today," Glenn said. "You can’t go back to bed."

"I can. I fell asleep for five minutes, and I was awake the next morning to realize I had no bedside manner to change into, so I had to shell out for a semi-dress and a hospital gown."

"What are you doing?"

"The alternative is that I have two more months of this baby-sitting. I don’t want to do it. I have to give my ex-wife a fucking wake-up call, you know? So I have to make this into something I’m doing. Especially now, with everything I’ve been through, when I’m thinking of you."

I sighed. "I think a lot of people would stand by their man, if they knew I was making it up."

"They do know," Glenn said, smiling. "But would you believe me if I said it’s because of you that I’m postponing my departure from Brockton Bay."

I frowned. "You’re not going to tell me why? Why can’t I believe you’re telling the truth?"

"Because I’m obligated by law to assist you in any investigation."

"By investigation? I don’t see what the investigation is."

"It’s not you," I said. "It’s me."

"You’re so legally obligated to me," I told him, "But I’m telling you from the moment I walked into the office, and I’m not going to make any promises or make any promises I can’t keep. When I say I’ll help, I’m telling you I’ll help you."

"Good," he said. "Then that’s settled. If you’re willing, Ambassador? If we’re safe?"

I shrugged, "I’ll be there in three hours."

"Agreed."

I sent a command to Atlas.

"Lean back!"

It eased him into action.

"I’m sorry," I told him.

"It’s fine," Glenn said. "It’s nice to finally talk to you."

"You’re not answering my question?"

I nodded.

"Why aren’t you telling me what you do for a living?"

"I’m a general practitioner, and I’m mostly dealing with individuals. How I can help you, Mr. Calle?"

"I wish I had better answers. My patients include any and all villains you find in your territory. I might even refer you to me for clarification, or to Chariot for some instant assistance. My patients include anyone or everyone who gets in my power, from Edwin to Sierra."

======================================== SAMPLE 375 ========================================
It’s the Old Version of himself. Jason Momoa.

It slumbered, content to be the source of the disturbance, until Dragon woke it.

It awoke, but only because she’d found time to draw blood. The reptilian face had taken the brunt of the pouring, but the sleep was deep.

A part of a second passed, as the Old Version of himself slept. He woke up again, as if it was just a momentary lapse in awareness. He tried to move, and his toes failed to find grip. He reached out, tried to touch something, and his hand slipped from beneath his pant leg.

He had to make do with scratching at his elbow.

■

October 14th, 2005

Madcap and Shark Z-21022 made their way to Island B while on patrol. Shark was outfitted in a more advanced model of his signature black costume, with a creation of the ‘Stig’ modular body built into the thigh high calf high pant legs. It had been a project he’d had his manufacturers do for the past several years, since his career had spanned the entirety of his father’s career in the Protectorate and the criminal underworld. The Stig was a limb that could be expanded, strengthened or adapted, capable of extending even further into the skin orifice of the animal. As such, it was a limb that Max had seen his share of times, in the flesh or virtually ever a computer screen.

 Shark and Madcap were arguing, and a tense silence hung in the air.

"Can you open your mouths?" Max stood. He reached for Shark’s head, and could see the tense expression on Shark’s face, as the villain leaned over the edge of the roof, hands pressed to neck.

"Down," Madcap said.

"Don’t feel like giving up that much," the boy replied.

"I’m a human magnet. Anything that’s positive, anything that’s uplifting, anything that gives me courage, it’s always better if you can hear."

"Exactly what I need," Max said. He approached the edge of the roof, observing.

Hours passed, and he still didn’t feel like giving up.

Max stopped short as he saw a girl, platinum skinned, with a form-fitting black dress with a starburst graphic on it. She was walking down the road, her heels clacking on the pavement. She looked up at him, and there was an awkward awkward awkwardness in her expression that he couldn’t quite see.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Please," her tone was cold, almost accusatory.

"I’m looking for my teammate."

"The hell?" she asked. She glanced around.

"You’re looking for Panacea, and you’re telling me she isn’t coming with. I just can’t stand the reminders of her. Not having her there."

"That wasn’t exactly true. You’ll know when she’s coming, when she’s separated from you."

"I know, and the wait is bad for her."

"She’s suffering, she’s hurt, and we all suffer from her. Why don’t we do something constructive? I could send you a message, talk to the guys and get you to turn us in. It’s not a fix, but I’d rather not have her trying to contact us and come to us for help."

"You’d pitch in to help me and leave you wanting only to be rescued?"

"If there is help to be had, I would gladly give it up for that. The amount of distress she is in, after being pulled into the dark and twisted web of an alien predator, making desperate calls to nonexistent friends and family for help in the hopes that she could find them, it is a small price to pay."

She studied him, "And you’d turn us in when you have the ability to find us, to get the help you need?"

He shook his head, "I don’t have any other choice."

"So you’re going to take over town? Restore this?"

"I do this for real. I take over the city."

"I could help make sure it’s okay," she shrugged.

He nodded vigorously. "I’ll do it. Sure."

"Make a strong attempt. If you fail, it’d be disastrous. We don’t want that."

"I’ll succeed. I just
======================================== SAMPLE 378 ========================================
Not at all. I took our first big step towards destroying Bastard, just as my little sister was doing to Bastard when I got my powers.

I cut off all resistance and virtually every piece of glass.

The family dog almost took the worst of it, but Bastard was cut free.

I landed in a new location, by a new road and at an isolated spot a block away from the others. My hand was cramping and I was feeling dizzy. I seemed to be in very poor shape. My stamina was pretty rock bottom. I enjoyed thinking how much the final scene with Lisa and Rachel had lifted my spirits.

It was a very long time before I managed to stand. I was very slowly recovering, after going days without a good enough meal, waking up sore and cold, feeling the muscles in my legs and shoulders straining to carry me.

For the first time since the DW-class modification, I was standing and supporting myself with my good arm.

Professor Haywire gave me a hand in getting upright. I nodded a nod of thanks and was helped to my feet by the other undergraduates and a bodyguard I didn’t identify. A Chinese student, blindfolded and accompanied by a blond boy with a scar on his cheeks.

"I’m pretty sure," the professor said, without looking at me, "That doesn’t make sense."

"Let’s do some fucking science," I hissed the question to my swarm, for the benefit of the other students and the curious few who had heard of me.

"You’re-" he started. He stopped when I raised my voice.

"Lying," I cut him off.

When I glanced back at him, he was tilting his head in my direction. Apparently he didn’t like it when I got angry.

"Lying is easy," he went on. "When you’re in a pinch?"

I frowned, then forced myself to calm down. I needed to keep quiet. It wasn’t that I disliked him, but he was hard to please.

"When you’re in a pinch," he went on, and the smile left his face, giving me pause. "You really study hard."

"Sorry," I replied, my voice quiet. I hoped I wouldn’t let him see me like I was briefly petrified of him. "I do that because I want to, don’t I? I want to know what I’m getting into."

"You keep telling yourself you’re going to lose your mind, and there’s nowhere I’d rather be right this moment."

I faced him and he knew it.

"When you’re in a pinch," he went on, "You want to spend it on yourself. You can always count on me to take care of you."

"You’re not that big a priority."

He didn’t reply to that. He just kept staring off into the distance.

I was sensing something at the moment. A murmur?

The others had gathered in the meeting place. The important ones, the ones who were probably the most resistant to change, were getting consolidated and contained. The biggest threat was squashed.

Which was good, but it wasn’t perfect. I still didn’t feel confident enough to move forward, to act, and now there was a fair bit of competition for my attention.

Was it bothering him? Was he simply ignoring the important stuff? Measuring things by how much time and effort he was throwing away?

I didn’t feel like addressing the problem. I shifted my weight, staying as still as possible, and watched the others react. I could tell they were listening to their leader. I still had the knife, but I wasn’t bringing it, and a spare was probably the best way to go about things.

Flechette spoke, almost half a mile away, "He’s frustrated, that’s serving as it seems to many people, but I can’t shake the idea that it’s because he’s blind. He thinks he can get away with anything, because he’s an adult. That if he’s not careful, kids will think he’s something despicable, and anything he says or does can and will be twisted to make you look bad."

"Sorry," I said.

I had his weapon, and I felt less pain than I might have thought. It was nice to know I wasn’t going to hell for what I did.

Satyr and the kid with him ran after Schnees, leaving the rest of us to deal with the masked man.
======================================== SAMPLE 381 ========================================
‘Disappointing’.

"Void reaches every cell of my body. I had to draw it out of me. I lose track of time. I’m left wondering if I can carry on with my career, or if this is the uglier, shall we say, occupation. An enigmatic occupation? I’d rather contribute, whatever the fuck I end up doing."

"You don’t have to do anything. Are you surprised, that we came to this?"

Void shifted position, leaning forward hard to engage the talkative spider. "I’m surprised, but I have to."

He spoke, "I don’t know if I should. Can you justify it?"

I looked up at the ceiling, then faced the floor.

"Do you have a position?"

Void nodded.

"By all indications, you still are immature."

"Not mature," I said. "Not even a Knight-Shield."

"Someone who’s become numb to the pain they’ve caused," Clockblocker said. "In vain, if it was any different, who’d still be alive."

I opened my mouth to sign, but Voltron spoke before I could. "Silence is too loud."

Something sour gushed from my mouth. I reached for my pepper spray, but I didn’t have any bullets with which to defend myself.

Void, for his part, yawned.

"You’re hunting them down, right? The heroes are going after them, and you’re supposed to chase them?"

"Sign here is enough," Clockblocker said.

"You want to join the heroes, and not for the pursuit? I can help."

"I can help. I’ll even be willing to put my life in my hands for this."

"Nothing of the sort is new, is it? This is Calgary, not a decades-old idea," Clockblocker said.

That caught me off guard. I tried again, "What’s new is that you’re a fucking idiot. You know that the better way would be to let them confront Eidolon, let it play out? You wanted to be a part of the confrontation, didn’t you? YouSIGN."

Void opened his mouth, then promptly shut it.

I looked at the Undersiders.

"Go," was all I said.

The voices were coming from the computers.

Clockblocker was the first to activate his power, and he stopped it. I could see the images. Legend, Alexandria, Eidolon, Dauntless, the Yàngbǎn. Oracle, naked, curled up on the ground, arms outstretched. Godoy, her eyes open, eyes half-open. Spearlike growth extending from her shoulder. Godoy’s face was covered in a hard shell of a helmet, teeth bared. Godoy panted, squealing, squealed.

I turned my head, tense. Or maybe that was the snarl of muscle and acid that accompanied the more serious injuries I had on my exterior.

"She needs to be stopped," Defiant said, without breaking eye contact with me. He gave me a worried glance. I’d usually be able to tell he was watching me, but looking at him now, I could see the confusion that gave me the illusion of having an intruder in my heart. "Either arrest her, offense beget warrants, or I need a deeper, stronger body to handle her."

"She can be stopped," I said. "If it’s no trouble."

"Perhaps," he said. "But… what did she do?"

"Evacuated," I said. "She went for the long route. I can’t stop in one place for much longer."

"Much longer?" he asked.

"This will serve as notice," I said. "Let’s get this out of the way, now. We’re not here for friendly terms."

"I presume you haven’t?"

"I’ve already sent you a second message, as far as I’m aware. I’m gathering information, and there’s very little I can do about this one criminal."

"That seems to be in the air, then."

"I have no reason to cooperate, and plenty of reasons to dread further contact."

"Then let me apologize in advance. I will, however, make it a condition that you keep this to yourself. I’m working under the assumption that your new teammates and I will be working
======================================== SAMPLE 384 ========================================
Aston Villa v Newcastle United (Bournemouth, 18th August, 2012 | 0.3pm GMT on Sky Sports | Kick-off: 1pm GMT | Venue: O2 Arena | TV: BT Sport | Online: BT Sport<|endoftext|>Forty two years ago, the world ended. Abraham Lincoln was declared the president of the United States, paving the way for the birth of his son, Washington. Six months later, on the twenty-fourth of that same month, the United States entered the fray in what became known as the Gulf War. This was a conflict that saw over thirty thousand dead, more than fourteen million injured, and over three hundred and fifty million dollars spent.

As one commentator put it, the United States entered the conflict with the mindset of a hungry, landlocked nation on the move, seeking avenge its losses, control the seas, and control the world. Thirty-six years later, the east coast of North America remains something of a wasteland, inhabited only by gravely overweight individuals who exercise too much and are too slow. The rest of the world is occupied with tiny, insignificant Iran, and the United States remains the occupying power in that vast, diverse empire.

The conflict ended with the deaths of nearly three hundred and fifty Iranian lives, a number that has barely changed, but the stakes were higher, the expectations higher. As President of the United States, Harry S. Truman was faced with the daunting task of occupying the transcontinental flight paths required for such an endeavour, with the threat of nuclear attack from within. More than any other President, he was weighed down by the shame and the guilt of the 9 out of ten of his predecessors failing to stop the massacre. In light of this, his overwhelming impulse was to perform and provide the best possible performance. To halt the flow of death, injury and destruction. To cap a glorious event.

In these circumstances, one has only to ask, ‘what good is it to be president if you cannot lead the United States of America?', a question that some candidates would have replied with grim desperation. In light of recent events, however, with national pride slipping, America needs leaders who were not only able to lead, but to do it in a manner that would repulse the enemy. This president of the United States was that leader.

Truman knew he had made a fatal error. He knew he had been idiotic, irrational, reckless. There was no conceivable military target that could be bombed from the air, nor any scenario in which the US would be able to capture or detain enough enemy combatants to turn the tides of a war. Truman had been forced to counsel caution, to warn about taking the risk, and to situate his entire nation in the region. Had he simply checked his TVs at the last second, he would have seen the declaration of war.

The nation was divided now, government by those who opposed the declaration of war, and popular sentiment by those who were for it. The TV was mounted on the wall above the barred door that marked the restricted entry to the south, inclusive of the gate that led to the golf course. In disarray, the president of the United States called upon the heroes of the land for aid, the United States Army in tow. America was not at war with its neighbor to the north. The only nations in the world that had military forces were China and Russia, and those two would provide the vast majority of the armed forces for any significant fight. The sole consideration was that each presence had to be equipped with nuclear weapons if they wanted to come to war with the United States.

The gate opened to welcome us back. The gate had once been a regular gateway for tourists from the greater japantime part of the city, past the Shaolin temple and the certain death cell, where an Endbringer had lanced a door through the wall and plunged hundreds of innocent people into a pit of radioactive dust. Now, as we entered the familiar surroundings, the area was orderly, clean, and empty of refugees. People firmly settled in, talking, drinking coffee, enjoying the sunshine.

"Welcome back to the Podcast," Glenn said. I tuned in. "It’s good to be back on schedule."

"It’s like a freebie," Paris said, "You decide the pace, I handle the planning and management."

"Allowing for one more constructive moment," Glenn said. "David? You know him."

"I do. What is it, Glenn?" I asked.

"Forty-four hours. For the time being, we’re operating with the assumption that Skitter’s going to be available in forty-four hours. That’s accomplished, we secure a transport for you, once you’ve departed, repeat the process for the other three. This would give you a sense of the scale of things, the sheer scale of what we’re doing
======================================== SAMPLE 387 ========================================
Beast Kaiju used the motion of her arms and the movement of her legs to draw together, her body joining the mass Kaiju had just made. The two of them were facing the gap between them.

"Run," Kaiju said. Her voice was harder than it had been, under her influence. "Fetch."

Two options remained. Either she would run to draw fire away from the two of them, or she would decide to stay and hunt. She chose the latter, and with the mass of her being knew to be anywhere from six to twelve stories tall, she could conceivably get in someone’s way and get to shoot something at them before they got there.

She pushed open the gap that Kaiju had made, and found herself in the midst of the villain. She could see the angles, the angles of the shapes that made up the mask they wore, the angles of the whiskers at the front of the mask’s face, the angle of the black segment at the back.

From what she’d seen while she exercised her power, she knew how this play was going to go. Kaiju was going to stand tall and hound the girl until she had some scratch at her defenses. It would start with the physical confrontation, move on to something else entirely, and she’d find out about the ulterior motives of the man who was taking her place.

The crunching and whirling of armor caused hers to shimmy a little. The sand in her legs threatened to get in my hands, if I didn’t keep my feet firmly on the ground.

She was a fighter, obviously. She was vicious, and she was played with. There was no mistake about it. She was the real her, the organic hybrid that was both, and she was as deceptive and cruel as any of the other creatures on the battlefield.

If she made some mistake, some momentary misstep, then I fucked that up for her.

"Anyone recognize my voice?"

"I don’t care."

"You do."

"I… care. More than you know. I… care about this girl. This one in blue. This one."

"Who is she?"

"Blue. The girl in gold. Knocked out last I saw. Last I heard. Her soul is so dirty I could use my hands to change it back."

"I see. And you gave that to her. For some reason."

"I gave her strength. I told her she could have it all, but she put it to use fighting the Slaughterhouse Nine."

"Why?"

"I don’t know. But I gave her the ability to hear me. I gave her agency. Control. So she’s safe and secure and she’s not the sort of person that’s gonna try to hurt me."

She looked down at her hands. "I don’t have to put up with this."

A power that told me everything.

"I’m… I guess I was thinking of the soul of the passenger, or the creator-creature dichotomy. But you remind me of that particular dichotomy. I’m comfortable where I am. I’m healthy, sane, free of problems."

"Why be safe?"

"Because I have a plan. Safer and easier targets to kill."

"Before you said that, you were worried. You changed your mind?"

"It wasn’t that. It’s an interesting thought, but I changed my mind real quick. I don’t trust the government anymore."

I slammed my hands on the ground. "I trust the government because I’ve seen what they’re capable of. We’ve got each other’s backs through thick and thin, and we’re about to put our lives in their hands. I’m not about to compromise that, or put myself, or my family at risk."

"I was worried you’d try to kill yourself. Or at least, attempt to murder yourself. You have a lot of friends in the Birdcage."

"A little more than a few."

"They’re there. They could be there any second now. I’ve dealt with a fair share of people who were more than willing to turn a blind eye while doing business. It’s not like there’s any small for-"

I stopped, hands to my face. Not that I had a weapon, but I managed to reach behind my back and turn my face towards the floor. My ears were down on top of my headstone. I stepped back and let my hands fall where they were on the edge of
======================================== SAMPLE 390 ========================================
The table is hauled into position, and Bonesaw peers over it, her expression unseen. There is a momentary light as the light from the windows on the first and second floors is cut off.

"Cricket," she murmurs. She reaches out with her hand, but it isn’t to wave. Instead, she reaches for the gun that still rests within Bryce’s kneeling body.

It becomes a sponge and stirs, responding and swirling with the messages that are spilled onto it. Cricket’s power at work.

And, in that moment, she is free. She is cool, unconcerned with the horrors that await her beyond the bubble that her power has set in place. There is no longer a war in her mind, beyond the battle lines she has set in place.

And with that, she is cool. Free to think rationally.

It will all end soon. She knows it.

The war ends, and with the war, there is also the absence of the single entity that precipitated it. The black hole is now void, an expanse of empty space that smells of antiseptic vomit and more chlorine lavishly on the ground than the surrounding buildings do.

Dennis corners the child, searching for the attacker or killers.

There is no longer any attacker, and there is barely any noticeable victim.

Dennis corners himself, keeping cool while maintaining his composure within the bounds of the speed of light. The naked, gaunt old man stands in the center of the room, and the child members of the dominant sex stand around him, bright eyed, talking and joking with one another.

The conversation slips from Dennis’ lips, and he is soon lost to sight.

The lights die, and the cell begins to glow with a blue-green illuminator.

With a suddenness that suggested he had tested the illuminator on everyone present, the light goes out.

The windows break, and for a moment, he can see through the stained glass to the offices at the other end of the hall. The interference of the light against the faint movements of the glass is so subtle it could be body language, or a misdirection device in how the light was redirected.

The illuminator dies, and there is no immediate reaction. A delay that would have been agonizing if it did not parallels the feeling of déjà vu.

The footsteps of three adults and a young woman are interrupted by the clanging of glass.

The sound of a gun being cocked is a jolt to Dennis. He turns, and it is to his right.

He stands, and his footsteps are a foot-long, nine-inch blade as wide as he is tall. It pierces the protective suit just by being there.

The woman is scarcely translucent in the jade green of the illumination. She has tentacles that extend as a rigid shell around her torso. The greatest of all her phases, from head to toe, is her glow, a dim blue-green that glows with the traces of a dozen minor lights still glowing from the moment of her creation.

The jade green of her clothing is rippling with the energy of the dying plant, and the woman’s skin is hot enough it would melt steel.

"No!" Dennis cries.

To his right, the young woman is bathed in the light of the woman’s body. The cyan flesh of her shoulders and back is exposed, and the glow of her clothing and the cities around her are visible in the recesses.

"Leave her," Dennis urges his friend. "Move!"

Dennis ends up being somewhere else. He changes directions and runs for the open area, moving straight for the streaks of armor that are still sparking in the air.

He reaches the nearest one, catches his breath, and dodges the charging woman. She plows past him, and in a heartbeat, he was covered in ice and struck in the ice-engulfed depths. He used his arms to break the surface tension of the water and pulled himself free. He knew he’d reach the bottom first.

He cast a glance over his shoulder, then grabbed his gun. He used the grip of his right arm and his elbow to help push himself to the surface faster, quickly backing up to rejoin the others and tying up the man who was still under the water. The weight of the water and the ice on his armor made it slow motion. He covered one of the fastest moving scooters with his body to improve the margin.

The woman didn’t give him a chance to regain control over his chair leg. She swept the entire vehicle by shaking it, and then drove into the adjacent sidewalk, driving into the next open area.

With his gun held completely still,
======================================== SAMPLE 393 ========================================
What happens now? There’s a chance the I.D. could be dosing other people? Addicting them to drugs?



There were other possibilities, ones that troubled her. Did Coil have a plan in the works? Would he pull some stunts like that if he knew we would be upset with him? Could he corral us into a trap because he knew we would freak out, stand by while someone like Dawn was in danger, and then claim he had no idea about the I.D. before he made the call?

She was still reeling from our discussion, this time around. Holding on to that realisation that there was no way she could handle everything in her power, fighting back when she was in a position to do something about it, intervening when her people were in danger, was easy enough. Keeping her out of danger was another thing entirely.

She had to be responsible, even if it meant making bad calls.

She walked briskly to the front of the building and stripped out of her clothes. More clothes to change into when she was done. They even had dry fags to wear on chilly days. All in all, the day was spent in the bathroom, washing her face, getting her teeth clean.

It wasn’t easy, but she made her way inside. The sagging feeling in her chest was becoming more apparent as she looked around. People were astride their bikes, taking it easy even though the day was almost over.

Taylor stood at the front door, rifling through the pack of her hair where she’d hidden her wallet. She looked like any other girl with street clothes she’d stolen, but the heavy iron mask, the straight black hair and the spikes running down her arms were all something else.

A note?

"Note?" A woman’s voice.

"Here," Taylor said, her back to her helmet, helmet and bodyguards to her right. She tossed the purse in the lock of her hair.

"Be sure to close the purse when you’re done. My, um, not so secret stash of pocket money is just what I had in the first place, you can open it and look through it anytime. Just before you step outside."

Still scowling, she turned her back to her friend, looking for the door.

"I don’t even need to get inside to make a purchase. You’ll be my merchandise from here on out. Whatever you see here, whatever prices I set, it’s up to me to adjust the prices to your tastes, and to you, my dear, to make it clear that I’m getting what I’m paying for."

With that said, she disappeared through the side of the building, on her way to the ground floor.

Flitting through the buildings at the far end of the district was intimidating, if not visually so. The buildings themselves were steeper, the plumes of smoke and dust heavier in the air, and the buildings themselves were sprawled out like you might see in a picture gallery. If you could find a spot to sit and not look too hard, you could even avoid the smoke and dust. To actually get there, you had to go over a small spike of rubble and get off the grass, look around for your mom, and if you happened to spot her, you could snag her before she was dragged off by theards.

Either way, you were more likely to get dragged after the girl than not.

Camden was the last intact building that still stayed in the good graces of the Protectorate, and it wasn’t in the good graces of the city. It was in the good graces of the city. Forsooth, in the midst of reconstruction. Torn down to its core, the city was being rebuilt. Campus was a crater, and the sidewalks were cracked, potholed and filled with puddles.

Opened as shelters went, they weren’t necessarily better. It was a different sort of trauma, one that was experienced with one hand, and shared with one’s friends. The damage was there, the people here were the expendable assets. In an ideal world, they would be the norm. Still, they would be deferred intervention, they would be treated as such, and then they could return to their lives as they had before the op. Theedifferent sort of person would escape arrest, they would get the help they needed handled, and they would resume their lives as normal.

Just like that, all at once, the good days were gone.

The worst days were still behind them, but closure wasn’t in sight.

"Oh my god," one student said, as she emerged from her room. Her makeup was dirty, and her hair was
======================================== SAMPLE 396 ========================================
London ►

On my twenty-third birthday, I was asked to leave school for a reason I couldn’t discuss with anyone. I hadn’t been told why, and I didn’t know where I would be if I’d been allowed to attend. I hadn’t wanted to, either, but doing what the PRT had and sticking to the official line, I couldn’t exactly share any details either. I was essentially left to fend for myself as the remaining third of the Protectorate followed the events of the day with their own. Sophia, Emma and Madison all graduated, with only a few of the less capable members staying on to serve as liaisons between the older members and the younger ones. Me, Brian and Alec left as well.

I was left with Cousin, who had once been part of the group that Lisa had been in a conversation with, and who I considered a friend. We’d both been in the same city, a city we’d both grown up in, and we’d been to the same school. He’d been one of the more successful members of the group, quickly climbing the ranks, the one with the perfect career, the best and most lucrative contracts. He’d had friends, had money, he had women, and he had everything. Then something happened. Before I knew it, he’d been arrested. Tasered.

My dad’s arrest had left my small town in my heart a broken, but also a hurting place. I’d carried that with me for weeks, as my brother and I had tried to come to grips with the aftermath of that day. The arrest had broken my family apart. My dad, alone in the prison, cell block and hallways, my mom had been too busy with grief and paranoia to really grasp it. A few days in the hospital, nearly a year since that day when you’ve lost someone that big, that much was lost in the course of dealing with the fallout from that one incident alone. We had become numb to it all.

Weaver had started to tend to her plants again. The way her hair and body had changed, the choice clothes she wore, her increased focus and performance in school. It made me think of her, though I knew that was only a surface impression.

I felt a sick feeling in my gut as I saw her frown. She’d snapped at me, almost spat on me, because she didn’t like the answer.

Maybe it was the influx of new people and the way she’d diminished the number of people around her. The angry interactions she had with other prisoners, even if they were at a more personal level.

But the anger still boiled inside me, and I knew it wouldn’t go away. I wouldn’t captain this ship for nothing.

"Let’s walk, then," I said. I gave the order, and the crowd parted to give me room.

I kneeled before her, and I spread my hands. She brought a small tray to her mouth, then set it down.

"What’s the question?" she asked.

"What’s going on in the prison?"

"You hear the news, Ma’am."

I shook my head. "I don’t really have anything to say except maybe go home and bury bad times. Word’s already out about what happened in March. The worst part of it. So how are you doing?"

"I’m fine, boss."

"How long are you doing this?"

"We’re waiting on the sheriff to send us a bill."

"She sent you a bill?" my dad asked. He sounded surprised. I was the only one to pay attention to it.

I shook my head. "Thru the bank."

He nodded, gratefully.

I told her that, and then I was out of the bathroom, out of the house, and probably never coming back.





Agitation 3.3


I arrived at the office soon after Jess had come in. It was a warm day, and the heavy clink of the key to the lock kept the employees from opening it.

"It looks like it," the woman behind the desk said, as if she were talking to a four year old. "Have to of done some damage."

"I of did," I replied, suprised at the inability to come up with anything good to say.

"How much damage?"

"Damages done."

Ouch. How would I put it? I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t offend. As awkward as it was, at
======================================== SAMPLE 399 ========================================
On the same turn, Banshee charged the blasto-clown. With nothing but his clown costume and the point of his cane in reach, the girl plunged the improvised weapon into the corrosive slime that oozed from the cracks in the pavement and around the walkway.

Nilbog walked between the two monsters, his walking speed allowing him to keep up, only really slowing down as he got closer to the heroes. He paused when Gold Morning stepped into his field of view. The infant was caught against a post, and injuries were puckered around her nostrils.

The murk about her was fast becoming a brown recluse's den. Gold Morning moved to leap away, but Nilbog’s pull crushed her with one claw, his mouth extending with a hand holding her up. He moved her closer to the group, holding her arms outstretched. Two of the three met his midsection, and he extended his legs, making the act about five times as hard.

Grue extended his arms out to his full two feet in length, but he didn’t cross over to join the other two in fighting Nilbog. Instead, he stood in front of the two, radiating a strange darkness.

Snip!

Nilbog pelted Gold Morning with a stream of gore and jagged teeth, but she only ducked, raising her head just in time to avoid the further intrusion.

Grue slapped his fist against the ground, as if to punctuate his statement.

"I’m telling you," he said, "That she doesn’t belong here. That she doesn’t have a home, like this."

Nilbog reached out to slide one arm across Bastard’s ribcage. The monster’s head turned as he tried to push himself free.

"Home?" Nilbog asked. "A home? It’s-it’s horrible, it’s-"

"No," Grue cut him off. "Nilbog. It’s-"

He lashed out with his knife.

"It’s never going to be enough," Nilbog said.

"I’m right. Jack’s powers are wrong. He’s never going to let us have a proper home, like we have here."

"I know. But you should care. You should take action."

"I… I’m not strong enough to take care of myself."

"You need to take action, or you’d be dead already."

There was a long pause.

"Action? Litmus test?"

"Didn’t we just start a little short of action? I thought these words were worth some weight on that metaphor."

"Strong, yes. Tame," Nilbog said. "But not strong enough."

"Then come."

Biter clambered up the hill to join the group.

"I can’t stand being still," Nilbog said. "Nothing inspires fear in me as well as seeing things clearly. I sleep well, because I can rest and my thoughts are clearer."

"But you’re not strong enough to guide me?"

"Not yet," Nilbog said.

"Then wait."

One by one, they moved through the pyramid. Each moved slower than the last, but they made their way to the summit.

Each moved as though they were set in wait. A ticking sound signaled the Endbringer arriving.

He didn’t move from the position he’d been placed at the base of the pyramid.

The suit’s skin was flayed, the internal organs dismantled. The flayed internal organs floated around him, like the remains of a distant enemy.

He rejected them all.

Noelle was on the ground, choking on her own vomit.

Bastard was angry.

The Third was closer. He used his knife to chew at the lip of the enclosure, to pursue the enemy, to make his escape.

The Fourth was impatient. Using his knife to pry at the flaps of skin that flanked his mouth, he pummeled the thing into pieces.

The Fifth opened his mouth and gestured for the First to exit. The trap.

The flaps of skin continued to guide the Endbringer’s movements. They were evaded with the slightest of slowness.

The flapping of skin became a rasp, and he found himself dangling from the trap’s periphery.

His power took over, at the very worst possible moment. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he felt a building
======================================== SAMPLE 402 ========================================
There were three Indian capes sitting on the steps of the auditorium. It was a moment where, intentionally or not, the assembled heroes of Brockton Bay could feel a measure of security. The three heroes weren’t the sort who were pushed to their limits by the crazy capes, nor were they so accommodating with the authorities. Still, they could have backed you up.

A woman with a colorful scarf and shawl, with a careful layer of dust on her face, a different kind of anxiety, a different kind of worry. Different polarity, from the symbol of the city that had dominated Indian accounts of the Fall.

And the second cape…

Panacea.

She stood at the front of the stage, arms folded, looking over the crowd. Her eyes fell on Jack, who got a standing ovation. His eyes were fixed on the scruff on his cheeks.

She could imagine Panacea saying something, saying hello, or even welcoming us to the new Brockton Bay.

But the heroes were busy, and she couldn’t interrupt them.

A young woman arrived, with a curtained shelf behind her. Alexandria.

She passed through the crowd, and the female cape moved like she was in a trance. She buzzed at the crowd to get their attention, then began talking, her voice carrying across the room.

"It’s nice to finally meet you, old friend," Panacea said. "You didn’t appear in person."

"You can say that again."

"You can’t say that, you son of a bitch!"

Jack and Bonesaw both fell silent.

"Thank you," Panacea said. "I wish I could introduce you to the others."

"You’re welcome," the woman who’d had the wicker basket said. "But first, I want to say I’m sorry to bump you with this introduction. I’ve power-mad as well as-of me, and am somewhat overjoyed at the idea of meeting you. I guess it’ll have to do."

"Do you have a name?" Bonesaw asked.

"Panacea."

"You can’t make a promise," the Doctor said. "I mean, you were afraid of messing with your life in the worst way possible, so no. You’re alive, and you’re doing pretty damn well."

"I’m alive," Bonesaw said. "I have a deep and abiding respect for the Doctor, and can vouch for him by admitting he’s an excellent doctor."

"He’s an excellent doctor," Jack said. "Yes, yes."

"You wanted my advice. I would’ve taken it."

"Ah, but now we’re back to the subject of your teammate," Tattletale said. "You were hoping for a yes from him, and a no from us? I wouldn’t have done that. I recognize how brilliant your decision was, but-"

"You’re not giving us true consent," Marquis said. "I detest the term consensual."

"Consent was the important part," Jack said, shrugging. "You could have your cake and eat it, I’m all for it. I’m fine with your method of acquiring powers, as long as you don’t over-enjoy yourself. You get what you want by taking what you can pull from somewhere you can get it by. You’re coming with me. That’s the broadest plan I can give you."

"Not quite," Panacea said, her voice quiet.

"There’s reciprocation, and you get the full picture. If you’re successful, you won’t have toiled so long for someone you don’t recognize. You won’t languish in a dungeon and for the next few agonizing minutes you have to endure a monotone hum, hoping some entity out there hears you and takes action. You will get to live your life, to act, and hopefully help something good come of this. I’m offering you one last chance. You can cut out the bullshit and live your life free of my rules."

"You can’t do that," Panacea protested. "I’m not your enemy. I’m not a slave. I’m not a prisoner."

But Jack had taken that last word and ran it headlong, because he’d realized she was talking to him, and that meant she was talking to herself. It was a free will she was operating without. That was, he sort of was, in a
======================================== SAMPLE 405 ========================================
I gathered my bugs, drawing them to me. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

An approach could be seen in the flickering of the orb. Shatterbird, flying.

I signaled, raising my broom from the base of the cabinet.

Shatterbird, I thought.

No. Couldn’t mistake her for anyone I knew.

But it was someone I might recognize.

Crawler. Weld had quelled a battle between capes a hundred times his size, back in the day, and this person, again, was someone I might recognize. I felt a kind of pang of anxiety, the kind that came with real knowledge that one of your teammates was dead.

And I couldn’t shake the distinct possibility that this was the moment your team was doomed. Decay, a creep. The suit had targeted you because you were important.

I made a mental note.

"Dinah, listen. The box is important. Everything else I just said, it’s the most important thing I know. Except for the part where I was telling you, and you never believed me. You never listened to me. And that’s a shame, because I was right. If you’re going to try to run, you need to listen to me and follow my orders. If you don’t listen, then you’re going to suffer for it."





Migration 17.6


Bentley had been resting on one of the windows. I wasn’t sure how he’d managed it, since the cardboard had been torn, but he’d worked the windows closed. Bitch hauled the building together around her, ending our breakfast of burritos and a tortilla, then lifted us on her shoulders.

We did much the same for Sirius.

Our second wagon brought the total number of our friends and families to five. The kids, the Aunties and the sweethearts, all gathered together for a walk around the theme park.

I was all too aware of how bountiful our meal of burritos and burros were, but I couldn’t think of a better way to end the day. I wanted to give thanks to the gods for giving me this…

Dinah.

What? I had no idea what to say to compliment her.

I tried to think of something to say, but the entire theme park seemed to give me the blues. I closed my eyes, and my eyes seemed to open to understanding what I was feeling, colors blossoming into colors, metallizations into metals, crystals into vapor. It was something over and above what I ever could have experienced in a regular day, and I knew it wasn’t right. It wasn’t what I would have wanted, as a child, as a teenager, or as a member of my team.

"You have to understand, Dinah, what you’ve done is horrible. You know that, I know that. We’ve all experienced what you’ve done. We’ve seen you drag your family down, ruined their lives. You’ve sunk so low, so quickly. I’m sorry to have to tell you that, but…"

I trailed off, unable to finish my thought.

"I won’t ever forgive you. I won’t ever let myself let myself believe that you could have done what you did, what you did, and still be okay. You didn’t deserve to be forgiven, and that’s okay."

I hugged my arms close to my body, then, with brief, tight pushes, I pulled her off me, away from the railing, away from my teammates and family.

I wasn’t so low as to walk away, not even low to the ground. I leaned against the railing, blocking the door with my body, letting myself float down, limp. I could feel the metal of my boots on pavement, the tread of sand on gravel, another barrier I had erected as a sand trap. It was so dark around me that I couldn’t make out the name of the building in glowing letters on the blacktop. The area was very still and the elements were quiet.

A voice caught my attention. Complete and total control over my movements. He spoke with a touch of accent, as if he were talking to a native speaker. "Follow me."

He was confident, even brash, and it was a voice that barely traveled through the area. Complete and total control over my movements. As he led me with my eyes trained on the complexions, I was almost convinced he was crazy instead. Extremes, repeatedances, a fallacy of circumstance.

I was ready. I
======================================== SAMPLE 408 ========================================
‘you already are one, you’re just saying.’. The teleporter is one of those capes who aren’t quite heroes, who’re doing what they have to do to protect the city and its people. Team leaders who have little or no empathy for the people they’re protecting, or for the people they’re trying to protect. When all is said and done, they’re going to be remembered for what they were, not for what they are today.

We don’t know what she is in the field yet. What instruments do her tinkers use? What components of her psyche is set up to make her gifts work?

What happens when those gifts start to work?

When do the heroes get their day in court, and all is lost in the attempt to catch her?

When does the Protectorate get wind of her plan and get everything coordinated?

And beyond that, when the unthinkable happens, outside forces may interfere with her, just to make their presence known. When that happens, the Protectorate may split, and I’ll be without the Protectorate as allies for the first time in a long while. Things may go to hell, I’ll probably cease to be a hero, but I’ll never be a hero in the public eye again."





Scarab 25.4


Dr. Liz tried to shut me down with violence, the remote control swiftly turned to her left hand as she lashed out with two fingers and a thumb.

A strike of the gavel, and the remote control disappeared in a heap, the remote came up with only my bugs to connect me to it.

I connected to the other remote, and found it empty as well. No power, no signal, nothing. 'Cept for emergencies, when circumstances make life or death decisions on a massive scale. It’s a resounding success, so don’t worry about it missing."

A drone moved across the room, and I jumped as I felt a pair of arms encircle the desk. A triage chair and a cot sitting on top of it. The doors were a mere foot from my head.

"UGH!"

I was only a few feet from the gavel, my hands jammed into my pockets. The headstone blared, and the flames at the gavel caught the light in a swirl that suggested they were spreading.

I can’t have someone learning how to operate this thing.

I tried to take the headstone and fix it, but the arms raised above the headstone, framing it. The arms reached for me, and I instinctively pushed them away.

No arms, no door. Just spiders, organized into various shapes and sizes, each with their own abilities.

Up until the point the arms stopped spreading and the door was nearly pressed into the wall. I could feel them clamping down on me, feel the vibrations of the gavel against my collarbone.

The wheels on the raft shifted, and eventually tilted, drifting counter-clockwise. I resisted the urge to turn, but I could tell the wheels were slowly starting to turn.

One step to go.

"Come on," I spoke through my swarm.

I could hear the other tinkers around the raft, cany one of them said. "We’re tinkers, not lunatics."

"If we’re not going to make any real changes, how do we stop this madness from spreading?"

Nobody volunteered an answer.

The wheel tipped, and the raft began to tilt clockwise.

"It’s not- not until we free this one," crowed two tinkers, one of them a girl with a red dress with white and dark blue lace and overlong sleeves.

Nobody cut in, as they navigated to the back of the room and Yelper hopped on top of the bed to lie down.

The wooden planks that supported the wooden structure of the house had been bent to yield the timbers for the makeshift shrine. Yelper took the opportunity to rise and begin organizing the makeshift shrine.

Big things were going on far beyond the fence. The raft was still tilted, but nowhere near to tipping over, and I wasn’t near the area.

I heard the mutiny echo through the house.

The bigger threat was out of sight, now. The mutiny stopped when one of the stable members was threatened with a gunshot.

The tinkers was threatening in turn with a gunshot wound. I could see the response from the others.

I moved aside.

A woman with a heavy accent that matched her costume walked into the kitchen. She had a gun in hand, and the way she compartmentalized her goods
======================================== SAMPLE 411 ========================================
There was a second of stunned silence.

"What?" she asked.

"Is he alive?"

"Jamie,-"

More silence.

"Look-" she pointed at the sky, "at the other worlds people are leaving. At-"

"The one we created. It didn’t even have to be this beautiful. Just… make a place."

Don’t- don’t let yourself look at the monster.

"You’re telling me to destroy it," she said. She shook her head, "Because you want to protect it?"

I don’t want to look at it.

"Because you’re weak, and-"

More silence.

"Look," she said. "It’s easier. We don’t have to worry about the other worlds. Satellites and computers and all that. We can focus on this."

The otherworldly golden man made a sudden, screaming, "No" as she spoke.

The frantic shouting had bored him to tears.

"-But-"

A wail interrupted her, "Focus! On it!"

She turned to the only other person left on the subject, "Hey, are you okay? You feeling okay?"

The man she’d killed, Negritubh, responded, "Yeah."

"Jamie, are you okay?" Her voice was strained.

"Nuh," the golden man said. "Gonna make it through this winter break and I won’t feel like myself anymore."

A pause.

"Okay," she said. "I’m thinking it’s about a year before you feel whole again. Maybe longer than that. But you won’t regret this."

"I remember you being myself."

"Always striving," she replied. "To be better than other people, to be better than the ones you carried with you at all times. To have a normal, happy childhood. You began to rebuild yourself, to be who you were always meant to be."

The man she’d killed was a liar. A warden. Had she rebuilt herself in the memory of a warden? She stared at the golden man, watched the stream of consciousness, and she knew that truth was somewhere in there. He’d lied about being her uncle.

She felt goosebumps prickle her arms. Her hair had been mussed up, curling into clumps, and she had a good deal of foam burns on its edges and sides.

Had he attacked her?

No. She hadn’t seen him stand up and face the music.

But he’d planned to.

Three cats and one mouse.

She stared at the stream, and saw the first mouse quiver with its needle and thread. Others were adding their swift movements to theirs, forming a continuous stream.

There was a rush of something bubbling above. Bubbles.

Look, she reassured herself, this is a red herring. The golden man is only trying to confuse things. I want to be whole.

But the reality wasn’t so roses. The liquid was around her legs, covering them.

Mute. I want to be whole, but I’m too tired to be whole.

The mouse winger closed the stream away to keep the scene as it was beneath the liquid.

"Ah… you’re still there," Jamie said. She ached, but she didn’t ache.

"In shock," Mute said. She was moving her tongue in the direction of her mouth, the result was a little less acerbic than the usual.

"I know. I’m sorry."

A mute reader. No matter.

"I trust you," Jamie said, looking towards the reader. A girl with cobalt blue hair. "I won’t be angry with you, I won’t say you’re an enemy."

"No. Because we’re not enemies."

"You’re not even listening to me. I’m not trying to get you to violate any agreements. I’m not trying to use you. I’m… vocational."

Mute shook her head. "W-what do you want me to do? Help? Assisting?"

"I want you to be a team player. I’m here to help, just like you were last time."

"S-sell products. A little medicine, a little guidance. Apply this to your daily life."

Mute shook her head. "I don’t think I can. I
======================================== SAMPLE 414 ========================================
So, like, it was X bugs and Y ants in there and Y FEET and Y ROTTEN feet?

"What was that one about? The last one?"

"Cauldron," I said.

It was starting.

"Oh man," Imp said. "Cauldron."

"I know who Cauldron is."

I glanced over my shoulder to ensure that nobody was following, and sure enough, they were. I saw Lisa with one hand over her mouth, her expression hard.

"Is this some kind of joke?" she asked. With a touch of sarcasm, she said, "Or is that a straight answer? We just hired you and I almost didn’t recognize you. How much of your recent success is because you have no idea what you’re doing and everyone else seems to think you’re an idiot?"

I looked away. I wasn’t quite sure why I was bothering. If I was going to make a full recovery, it would have to be from here. I’d be looking at a dozen years in patients, with whatever vulnerability they’d had me fighting.

"I’m not an idiot," I assured her. "I’m more surprised that you went with than not. I wouldn’t have thought you were into that stuff. I’d also be very surprised if you were onto something this sophisticated. Anyways, the point I want to get to is that you’re overloaded. You can’t operate like this. It’s obvious, and you’ve got two other dogs and a bodyguard with advanced combat training who could be moving on the same level you are. You’re cutting into Jack’s time when he’s trying to maximize his entertainment value by staging these fake insurrections."

"It’s brilliant," Tattletale said. "I’m saying you’re being paranoid. Three voices in the same room as you, always giving you a bad rating or a negative one. I’m not sure why you’re so frustrated. Is it that you couldn’t wait until the other shoe dropped, when your position might be secure?"

I shook my head.

"Or is it that you’re losing patience with this team?"

"After talking to other groups, I’m not sure I have a preference. I’m here, but I don’t necessarily fit their mold. I’m more versatile, but I don’t necessarily want the role."

"The voice in your head is always wrong? Someone you can’t control?"

I shook my head. "Nothing I can't control. I think I’m fair enough."

"Doesn’t matter."

"What does matter, what drives me to come, is saving Dinah. Not just what I think, but what I want. And if we can't, maybe helping her is a way to strike a balance between those."

"If it means being in her shoes, I’ll take the job. I’ll take the job regardless of whether I get the voice in my head or not. It’s the right thing to do."

"And you won’t be able to shake that feeling of guilt, no?"

"I suppose."

"It will pass. I can’t tell you how grateful I am, even now, that you’ve chosen to side with me. I only know what Lisa and the other spokespersons have told me. I don’t know for sure whether this was the right call."

"With all due respect, however minor the feeling is," I said, "I feel the same way about your giving me the orders."

Another pause. Was she trying to warm us up?

"Yes," he said, "I think we were on the same page. The big picture. This is what we need to do, if we’re going to succeed. Take down the Nine. The only difference between us is that I have more experience."

"And you want to be in charge so you can order the troops to the battlefield?"

"Yes."

"Then you can show me what you’re doing."

"I’m not sure being on the battlefield will be an advantage. Being home has been uncomfortable, both for me and my family, and they’ll want to make sure I’m there when the calls come."

"You won’t have any problems there," he said. "I can check on the house from time to time."

"It’ll be difficult, if
======================================== SAMPLE 417 ========================================
A week before Echidna came into town, Trickster and Ballistic had come to Brockton Bay to hear about the mysterious incident that had taken the life of a local superheroine. Kid Win’s death, it seemed, had been an outlier event.

Trickster had been relieved of his duties, not because of his heroism, but because of his grief over the loss of his family member. He was now attending college, taking a degree in criminal justice. While attending college, he had confided in his girlfriend, and they had talked as a group about the incident. He had told her that he felt at peace with his feelings towards her, that he felt like he’d always known, but had never been able to articulate his feelings on the topic in full. He confessed to her that he struggled with feelings for both Victoria and with Rachel, but he was proud of her for her focus and purpose in life.

Kristoff had gone to live with his parents, and was helping with the Ward program. He was kind, affectionate, and he adored his girlfriend, but one could never be too careful. Kristoff always seemed to arrive at school earlier than the other teenagers, managing to get them started in the morning, and he had been especially helpful with the younger teenagers, guiding them in getting prepared for their day in school. He had taken Annie from Annie’s side, and had taken Regent from the Purity’s class, allowing both Regent and Annie to start their own private lessons. It was a relief to have someone to go to if he had an issue with either of his longtime friends.

Bitch, though, was in the kitchen, having had her lunch delivered. She was sporting a single tear, and was being very kind to her dogs.

"Here," Jack said, handing over the paper plate. "I’ll hand you each a piece of butter, a piece of lettuce, and a small handful of tomato. Feel free to use whichever you want. I prefer my meat juicy enough to bite into, but feel free to experiment on your own to adjust the quantity."

Each of Bitch’s dogs spared a pea-sized portion.

"Each one of your dogs gets one small piece of butter," Jack said. "Take your pick. Butter or pepperoni."

Bitch picked up the pea, handed it to the oldest dog, a large dog with one eye and one hope of an arm. The hope? Fuck, this bad boy would be good as a dog.

The dog started to drool at the youth.

"And you," Jack said, holding the knife. "Remember, you’re leaving the Fatted Cat with me. I want you to kill each of these people, but you have to give your opponent first aid?"

The smallest of the dogs, a large set of almost religious red eyes watched Bitch suspiciously.

"And if they’re still alive, or if they’re not so nervous?"

She nodded.

"Good. Remember? You won’t survive until you have answers."

"Small thing."

"These people are bad. Too many have lost their families, have suffered for heartbreak, because they were conceited enough to expect their betrayers to pay before they met their maker."

The boy sighed. "I know."

"Some of us are starting to show promise. The others? I fear they have worse days ahead of them. All I can say is that I fear I’m among them, and that will be the case until I get answers."

Bitch nodded.

"For now, we must continue in this vein. Each of you, prepare to sacrifice yourself. Help is at hand."

She panted, grunting as she lowered her shoulders, and each of the dogs pulled in their snouts, ears and ears until their formidable bulk was beyond compare.

The heartbreaker-dog hybrid stood, then extended one arm with the needle-tines through the air, while the other extended their muscular thighs and fingers to impale the top of the cinder block wall beside them.

Jack extended a hand, and Golem raised one hand to protect himself. "I offer you my life. I can make it up to you with service to a greater cause. I would give my life for my people, for our world."

Golem didn’t take his eyes off the boy, or from Bitch, for that matter. A shadow of a thought crossed his mind on the trip back to New York.

"I know what you mean," he said.

"I think," Bitch said, her voice a bit soft, "I think… I have to ask, what is it you wish to me? Better than I can
======================================== SAMPLE 420 ========================================
This event, The Trial, had halted operation in the dead of night.

A ghost town, ruined. Ziggurat stood where the portal had been, crusted with the blood of the once-grand buildings that still shook the area, stillborn and ruined.

It had been a fateful decision for the leader of Umbrella to take the throne. It would be one more act in a long series of moments, stretching out in every direction, where everything and everyone was decisive.

It was easier, when they were confident. When they were growing confident, the path to victory was obvious.

These days, the survivors knew that the only certainty was the future.

Thirty-three years ago, Bradford had witnessed the beginning of the end.

The day Leviathan had breached the dam. The first signs of the Endbringers.

"You took the brunt of the attack," Bradford said.

Lung had disrupted the moon’s light, and the heroes had reacted. Defending forces had clambered up the tower, scaling the sides to try to reach Brockton Bay. They reached the portal that marked the first direct connections to the mainland.

Lung had stayed where he was, frozen in time. The towers that stood on the moon’s surface had cracked, and were crumbling, as if the invaders were invulnerable.

"You didn’t even bother to defend your own territory," Bradford said.

"We did," Lung said. "Only that we held our own, and that we used the least amount of flesh."

"You didn’t even raise an alarm?"

"We were too busy covering the retreat from the battlefield."

Lung shook his head. "We’re too busy being alive."

"You’re a pacifist, Lung," Bradford said. One of his eyes was drawn to the bodies.

Lung spoke, and his voice was eerie, a strange mixture of Japanese and English. "We have to take a middle road."

"We do it by agreeing to a contract. It’s how things are at the end of this.me. I’m not asking you to kill. Remind you of something obvious?"

"Not really," Lung said. "But it’s what you’d be asking others to do, if they thought they had a right to take what they wanted from us."

"We have the scars and the videos. We have the eyewitnesses who saw it," Lung said. "You can deny it’s Lung’s work, but it’s plain to see how it all happened. Share some of the knowledge, the experience, and we’ll see where the absences go."

"That’s not very sound reasoning," Bradford said.

He raised a hand, and his voice was hesitant. "Tell me that’s okay with you."

"Yes. Please."

Lung was trying to sound nonchalant as he spoke, "It’s how it should be."

Bradford nodded, then added, "Pretty much."

"Good. Lung? You want another?"

"Yes," Lung said.

"Good. When I was making the offer to join the group, I said I might make a change of heart. I may be a fool, but I’m not a bad person. I like babies. Knows babies like your daughter do."

Lung’s eyes moved from his daughter to the crowd of people to the crowd of bodies. "I’ll try to keep that in mind."

"Been there," Bradford said. "Learned how. You’re more experienced than most. We should show respect, let ’em hug it out."

"Not show us how it should be. I have a wife, kids, and-"

"-A life," Lung finished.

Bradford nodded.

"I’ve had lean years," Lung said. "Ive materialized enough money that I could retire. I have freedom. I do what I want. I own the land, I do what I want with the money. I travel the world. I meet girls. I spend the money there, spend it on booze and bling and trying to be a fucking better person than I was. Except I’m a monster, and that life, that success, it takes something from me."

"Maybe it takes something from you," Bradford said.

"It’s a start," Lung said. "I never felt like I was on the same track as other people. Never really felt like I was in the right place, ever."

There were looks of surprise from everyone present.

"I
======================================== SAMPLE 423 ========================================
Lung rested, and she encountered a gardener in his underground base, tinkers and a man who seemed to be working in conjunction to install panels on the ceiling, out of reach but convenient nonetheless.

"It’s fine," he said. He gestured toward the kitchen. "Kitchen sink."

"The sink?" Lung asked.

"The tank farm. It has an engine inside, last I saw it had antigravity, magnetometer, pneumonic-like technology and active safety features, and more. I wouldn’t trust it to hold up to a hit from a car, let along a swarm of bugs. It’s engineered to last, not count on constant invulnerability."

"It’s not that simple," Lung thought to himself.

"It doesn’t matter. Consider this our first client. Any questions?"

Lung shook his head.

"Now, if you will," Marquis thought to himself, "It would be wise to quarantine any individuals with ties to the Birdcage before they are processed out. Courageous individuals may face losing their anonymity if this parahumans-for-hire is discovered to be a trap."

"Courageous?" Asked Lung.

Marquis nodded. Lung waved his hand in the direction of his chair, and the dock opened, revealing a woman with a long neck and prominent horns for her ears. She was bearing witness right beside him.

"Thank you for agreeing to speak to us while under guard," the dockworker said. Marquis turned to glare at the two.

"I can’t speak for others, but I will gladly risk it all to put myself in Lammy’s shoes, if that’s what you require. This is true courage, standing up to the asshole."

Lung gave no response.

"True courage, sticking up for yourself, girl. The kind of thing that will earn you respect in the end."

Lung nodded, but his expression remained grave.

"You are a second choice for the Birdcage," Teacher said. "Though Iordid and Gazzy have volunteered for the effort, there is little to no chance that any of their incarnations will reach the end of the world. They are our best bet if we want to slow the monster."

"You want to stop the monster?"

Lung shook his head.

"You intend to change that?"

"I already said it, and I’ll say it regardless of what’s on TV or in the press. There are bigger things and things to focus on."

Teacher nodded. He then said, "Marquis is willing to hear you out. It’s his prerogative, his job, but he might look at things in a different way. I think it would be a mistake if we turned our backs on him."

Lung shook his head. "He has the right idea. I’ll listen, and I’ll hear you out."

"Thank you," Marquis said.

Teacher led us into a closed section of the room. The vault door was open, and two young men were working alongside him. I stood at the edge of the ledge, and was briefly relieved of the necessity to keep my eyes on the road.

The moment the door was open, I crossed my arm and leaned toward Marquis to pay my respects.

"Long time," I murmured.

"Since I didn’t get the chance to meet you guys in person," Marquis quipped.

"Yeah," I replied.

I noted Pistorius’ body language, the subtle adjustments in his breathing to emphasize each exhale. It was almost seductive, the way he seemed to be forcing his will on me. Like he was my favorite member.

Then again, the way he was dangling me, nearly being head and shoulders above me, it was almost fitting.

There was a second of thought as we approached the side of the prison. I couldn’t pin it down exactly as that realization came, but I got a glimpse of his lips moving, and I could see the beginnings of a movement that might have been a genuine gasp or snarl.

He was closing the distance, now that the man was making headway. I got a glimpse of Lungs body language as he advanced, saw him carefully stepping back as he advanced towards me. I knew what he was going to do next, and I was glad he wasn’t waiting until I was in that position. That way, he didn’t have to take both steps with me. I was confident enough he wouldn’t bog down the process any more than he already was.

Just when
======================================== SAMPLE 426 ========================================
A kind of introspection.

I reflected. I could remember how I’d started things off, my motivation for starting this place aside. It was a dangerous impulse to generalize about an organization, but I’d started it, and leaving aside all the other concerns, I’d found that the world was a sick, twisted place. People had rightfully lost their minds on some level, whether it was in the streets or in the twisted, self-serving human beings that ruled the world. Others were just sick, sad, misguided. It was easy to get swept up in that tide, to lose sight of the fact that the people causing the chaos were probably sick, or foolish. It was easy to forget that there were others out there equally frustrated, angrier, angrier, and that their ideas were equally misguided. As far as I could tell, there were societies and tribes mushrooming all across the world, each with their own ideas, purposes and modes of thought. The difference was that the various tribes were fighting over territories, displaying dominance by force or violence, and the individuals fighting for control of those territories were bleeding members of the same society that was hemorrhaging from the ills of human relationships.

Coil’s takeover of the city and the subsequent murder of Legend, my first intrusion being a reminder to me of that point. The idea of starting from scratch was daunting. Even joining the Wards, the first group I’d joined after bringing Alexandria down.

All of which tended to put a damper on the optimistic portions of my outlook. Even before I joined the PRT, I’d felt a bit of guilt over leaving my hometown. I couldn’t explain it, but I’d prevented something from happening in my hometown. Compounding that, it was my promise to protect my mom that I was leaving behind. I wasn’t sure how applicable the present-day situation was to the present.

It struck me that I hadn’t told myself this was a present situation.

We had to present ourselves as the heroes of the hour, given the information we had. Now and into the future, we had to carefully manage our limits and stick to the laws of the land.

The time passing between the messages I got from Tattletale and Hero was becoming a problem. I hoped would be a good thing. I could live with being behind schedule. It meant I was a little more present, a little less distant.

I stood from the table, raising my head just a bit higher than it had been at the outset of the discussion. I was a little afraid.

There was a man in police uniforms who was looking over my shoulder. I stepped away, putting my hands on my hips, before making my way around a table to the other side of the room, sitting opposite another man with a costume in police uniforms.

This was a meeting between a fringe member and a non-fringe member. The man in the snubnosed mask, for his part, was watching me, wary.

"And you, hero or villain," I asked the man in the snubnosed mask, "Are you here because you’re offended that I’d be dressing like a girl, or are you here to get more information on how we can work together?"

He glanced at me, then frowned, looking like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t.

"EA member two," I said, "Just to be clear, you’re not wearing anything sexy or feminine and you’re not trying to hide who you are beneath a bad dress. That’s the gist of it."

"I don’t want to be a source of sexual or sexualized imagery for viewers of this video," he said, looking genuinely upset. "I’m just asking for a little clarification."

"Why, EA member two?" I asked.

"Because I’m a member of this team," he said, stressing the ‘s’ sound. "I play a role in how this unfolds."

"Role?" I asked.

"I’m the gateway drug for certain things into or out of this building," he said, sounding vaguely annoyed. "Information, ideas, proposals, suggestions. Models, thugs, followers… I’m at the mercy of the PRT when it comes to dealing with you, your friends, your family."

"You have a dime a dozen," the girl in the nice costume said.

"In certain scenarios. Certain demands. My performance in front of a crowd or an audience matters, and I might be asked to drop some notary public’s case or testify in your trial."

"Giving us mixed signals," the girl in the nice costume said.

"It�
======================================== SAMPLE 429 ========================================
While chatting with her over the phone, she told me, "The suits are already attacking one of our legitimate front companies. They’ve got ten suits ready to go at a time. Three suits each at the front and back offices, and ten in the parking lot. I’m flying teams out to seize control of the phone calls and get in contact with the chief, but time’s short. I’m going to see if I can luck into an opening."

■

In a matter of minutes, we were under constant assault from a succession of suits. Each was outfitted for rough espionage work, with tracking devices throughout the interior to detect any changes in the weather, satellites monitoring the ground, and radars to track objects further away. We could move, but Scion was strong.

He could disarm one, but each of the suits individually killed the other, or absorbed them into a host body, to slow or avoid their thermal detonation.

Two or three minutes like this, and the suits were dead before they could be dead.

"Sveta," I breathed, slowing my descent. The suit below us groaned, and the impact of my foot against the sub-dens was audible, as it continued to sink.

"Jonathan," I said. I tried toonalizing my voice, "Get us off of it."

"I saw," was all Golem could offer.

The man was opening the door, and I stepped inside, just to verify what I was looking at. Panic rising, I grabbed the thick, dark-gray orb at the base of the door, then pulled it away to stop it from tearing the door down. The suit was armored in a heavily woven fabric that covered the entire suit, but the tips slid on the sliding scale, running in the center of its body, through a fish-hook-shaped grove of interconnected tubes.

Paranoia, really. I’d never been so glad to be unarmed.

"Weaver," the suit said, and there was no inflection to the voice, as if it were uttering words I couldn’t make out.

Yet. I reached out with my swarm, trying to catch the remainder of the message.

Scion. He was in the room. I waited patiently.

He let the door hit the hinges of the trap.

"It is you, isn’t it? Clair de Lise?"

I lowered the orb. When it touchedground, it was a thin, golden disc, smaller than a basketball.

"It is you, I take it."

"I urge you to escape, Weaver. The──── may serve as a warning."

"To spare my friends?"

The words were a challenge more than an instruction.

"Yes. For the moment."

"We can wait," Canary said. "I promise we’ll come back."

"Of course," Golem replied.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I couldn’t wait any longer. I reached for the cord, but strung it too loosely, and the loop would tear.

I reached for the cord, but found it was too thin. I tightened it, but realised it wouldn’t come free.

I rejoiced. I couldn’t wait any longer. I reached for the other, longer cord.

This was not a loop of useless, nonsensical information. I tightened it, then strengthened it.

It was a message from my team.

Weaver was here.

Tecton finally had something to hold me back. I was in this to save lives.

My bugs formed a cocoon around me, myself, and the bundle of cloth the Undersiders had lent me. It minimized the damage of my footsteps, nearly blocking all sight. Focusing on that goal, I restrained my natural movements, planting my feet and wings together and drawing my knees closer to my chest to maximize the area in which the wind pushed.

The dangerous, rough-hewn sound of my feet striking ground was my signal. I ran.

Only a few of my enemies were truly threatening, and they were all doing too much damage to the building the swarm was hogging. The door was only a sixty-five percent chance of surviving if I didn’t run, and I wasn’t going to be able to win this anymore than they were. I had to find a way to win, and here was a place that was as close to a sure thing as I could hope to find.

Only a minute or two into their existence, they had started making their way toward the PRT headquarters. I could sense the downstairs groups with my bugs, and with the PI’s engine, I could track their progress with the bugs
======================================== SAMPLE 432 ========================================
Police in riot gear broke the silence with two extinguishing fires and a reported nine person guard that stood by the front door, watching all visitors entering the premises.

There was no television, no running water, only stagnant water that was dripping and puddling below the windows. Crumpled newspaper and a few stray cards were on the windows. The TV had a bad dimple where one paper should be, and both paper and card had been crumpled or torn. The TV screen was averted by a plywood covering, and even the plywood seemed to be subject to some damage from the rain. The heavy, dull lighting was by way of the fire through a series of plastic filters that was lean, consisting of two large, brightly colored slots where the lights should be. With a little imagination, one could figure out the rest of the setup. The interior had multiple televisions on which various news networks were broadcasting live feeds. The windows above each screen would cast the image of the city into the night sky.

Even with the general principles covered in the prior two weeks, the setup didn’t quite lend itself to television. There was too much going on, and the entire setup was too unwieldy up until Lung’s minions had things set up where they were entirely hidden from sight, at which point the setup made more sense.

Lung was still leading his people back to the cars, so it was only a few minutes before they reached the perimeter. There were twenty or so people in his large SUV, and they began filing into the truck, braving the thick darkness that came with the overhead lights and the rain. They didn’t need a search by any means, but it might be less creeped out a person might think if they saw a truck full of people in the dark.

Grue climbed into the driver’s seat and sat with them while Lung got in the passenger seat, pressing his cheek against the glass of the windshield. It was a good feeling, bonding with them. Nine people in one vehicle made for a low number, but it meant that whenever a new member joined the group, there was always nine people there with him.

Every part of the truck automatically shifted to the ‘neutral’ position as Brian shifted the box in behind the driver’s seat, manually starting the six refrigerators that were supposed to be running at once. The coolant in the refrigerators was to keep the room cool, keep the interior of the truck from being anything but shivering with the slight chill.

Lung’s face was almost visible through the darkness, set into that angled, textured surface of metal that made up the truck’s frame. There was no corner to hide it, no hiding place to hide it.

"Had a idea before we got this much weight on my shoulders," Brian murmured. He averted his eyes. "It’s working?"

"It is," Tattletale said. "But we have to take a hike to get to it. I’m pretty sure the Siberian isn’t close enough to trigger that effect. If it is, we’re in for a rough night."

Weld spoke, his voice carrying down the street. "Man, this fucking noise."

"It stopped working," I said.

"Shut up," he said.

I looked down the street. Nine people were motionless, no food had been left, but that wasn’t the entirety of their attention. The bulk of the body was focused on by Design, and the pile of us was unnaturally still, without any mass or body coordination. Efforts to tend to the wounded and dying had been rebounded back to me, and Design was one on three again. Shit, I was hungry.

A power play here. A coordinated offensive. I could read it in their breathing, the way their hearts were pounding and their skin was tight with tension. Was it a concern for his passenger that he wouldn’t be able to move like he normally did?

I’d been on my knees as long as I could remember, and I felt like I could die at any moment.

Two things, really. But I had other concerns. If Tattletale deduced what I was doing, and the passenger deduced that I’d done it, would it stop? If he hadn’t, would he be able to stop me before a passenger took him out of action?

The second concern was a little more ominous, but I wasn’t in much of a position to answer that. Death was a natural consequence of any event, and a natural consequence was exactly what we needed.

The truck was driving itself. I could feel it dropping down into the alley I’d ridden Atlas to, the snow beneathfoot.

We headed
======================================== SAMPLE 435 ========================================
Newter County, Connecticut, USA

Size 15cm*15cm

I was surprised to find someone on this site. I’d been led to believe that the only identities you could have were ones that you created for yourself. I thought this might be a sortique, a way to say hi to the new acquaintance. She wasn’t any older than me, and her black hair was just barely cut into braids. Maybe I’d recognized her from when I’d seen her in the morning papers, kiddening over the details of my arrest. It was worrying.

Her expression was placid, her body language enigmatic. As if she were watching us, waiting for us to make our way to our destination, aware of the stares, the questions. There was a possibility of blackmail on that particular note.

"I’m Brockton Bay’s newest villain," she said. "When my mom died, I filled her in on the most crucial parts of her life."

"I’m sorry to intrude."

"I’m watching," she said, again. She met my eyes, and I could see a shadow in her expression. I turned my attention back to the computer.

"I watch you, Weaver," Glenn said.

"I’m watching."

"I have a way with this part of the system, I can get a sense of your bugs," Glenn said. "It’s not as easy as you’re going to want it to be, but I think I can manage."

I shut my eyes. I might have answered , "I watch you, too." But I couldn’t think of a way to respond without reminding myself of what I was asking for.

Back when I’d first found out about what Glenn was doing with the PRT’s archives, I’d asked my dad for some privacy. I was okay with going on record as well.

"It’s late," I said. I pulled off my mask.

"See, I don’t think you’re an asshole," Glenn said. "I’m not going to poke fun at you for trying to use what you’ve got to slip something past the alarm. We’re well aware of what’s going on. I join the Wards, I do my job protecting the public."

"You mean you like me?" I asked.

"Yes. It’s more than that. You’re someone I respect. You’re someone I want to know. So say goodbye to the antagonistic relationship. You want to spend time with someone? A while."

"Okay," I said.

■

It took some time to confirm everything was handled right. The person on the other side of the televisions was a young woman in a business suit, but the glasses she wore were not. PRT issue. The woman in the suit would be on the video, not on the television. The woman in the news article was not referencing me.

Once the suspicions had been aroused, the woman was gone, having deleted the video. The window would remain on the screen, but nothing would be displayed there. The business meeting would continue without incident.

The meeting began.

"We present," the woman said, her voice deep. "Your names, followed by the screens. Mine is not a spoiler."

I watched the individual films.

1984. Murdered has her, yes?

2005. Carrie of Blood, yes?

The television set turned on, and the screen showed a collage of late night news footage. Each news crew had a crew near the scene, each reporter armed with a camera, some with a smartphone, and the usual reports on the scene. The ensuing snippets were notations in the margins of the footage, record numbers of words in the captions, numbers in the timing and emphasis of the images, tracking shots of the same area over and over.

"Greenhorn, Hornby," a young man spoke.

"Peter. Andrew. M. Byrne," the young woman said.

Club Liability, defined.

"We present," the woman on the television said, and the camerawork stopped, cycling through a few different cameras that were set on the rooftops. Cameras 3, 4, 5 and 6 were devoted to studying the standing water that was evident at the edges of the area. Cameras 9 and 10 were devoted to the living, undead and cursed.

The living, the dead. The former were the innocents, the victims, the victims of telegraphers and doctors wanting to capture a quick profit, the victims of developers wanting to grab some premium real estate or complete
======================================== SAMPLE 438 ========================================
Do take it easy, sis. It isn’t like they aren’t already hard at work on your head and shoulders. Would you like to kick back for a bit? Check on the kits? Watch the television? Do a little shopping? There’s a garage sale on electronics and antiques in the surrounding stores, we might be able to collect those for you. Accessories, maybe, like the old back shelves of the clothing store you went to. That sort of thing."

I was all too aware that it was Lisa’s voice, but it felt like it came from Lisa’s mouth.

"A little while ago, I asked if you wanted to come along on the upcoming missions. I figured you’d want to see the house and hear on the job. I might have been a little harsh on you, but I deal with people sometimes being a little too harsh. Rest assured, if you want to pull your punches and make a scene, I can order a cleanup crew to cart you off by the ankles."

I wasn’t sure how to respond, and I wasn’t able to take a deep breath without raising my voice. I closed my eyes.

"So. You’re here on business, or missions. That’s what everyone calls them, these days. Mission. So it’s kinda important to you, isn’t it? To be on the battlefield, or in the field, or somewhere in between? Profit?"

"Mission," I said. Mission. I couldn’t even describe the feeling I was getting, not here. Making deals, sealing powerful individuals up, locating treasure, slaying the Nine… I felt like it was all of those things, all the things I was striving to be. Even when the conditions were a little bit crazy, the goals always aligned, and I was happy to follow along.

"It’s important to me," Lisa confessed, "That we succeed. That means we don’t fail. If you fail, Taylor, I can’t help you. I can’t ghost write a contract for you. I can’t give you a favor, managing your affairs, or altering your contract. It’s all mine."

I stared at her. If I didn’t do this, I didn’t want to achieve anything. I looked at Bitch, and I knew the look in her eyes would be all the more real, visceral, if I didn’t play along.

"I’m done with hiding," Lisa said. "I’m done with being a down-and-dirty liar. I’m done with playing along, pretending like things are normal again. I’m done with pretending I’m cool, when they’re not. I’m done with holding on to old values, doing the little heroic thing and trying to be the good guy. I’m done with holding on to those feelings, doing the little heroic thing and struggling to find the right words so I can tell my dad, and leaving him."

I met her eyes. "You’d really consider running? It’s pretty extraordinary, judging by what we’ve seen, what happened."

"I consider myself a pacifist," she said. "I’d tell you I consider it a form of hibernation, but I don’t think you’d believe me."

I didn’t have a response to that. Lisa finished her cigarette, put it in the mouth-frenchie and then clicked the lock on the lid. "Consider it a period of masochism. I’m pouting."

"I don’t," I admitted.

"I think you’re gorgeous, and I’m tempted to put a crown on your head…"

"I won’t."

"I know, right? Well, you can wear the crown, if you want. Just… don’t tell me you’re wearing the crown."

"It’s fine," I said. I looked down at Bitch’s head, realized it was blue, then adjusted my eyes to point at Biter. "I want you to stand next to me, so I can sweep our hair to ensure it doesn’t get tangled up. Then, if you think it’s appropriate, I’ll see if I can untangle your hair with my fingernails."

"No way am I getting it on without my clothes, you-"

"You are getting your hair cut, you’re going to like it," I told her. I tried the clippers on our hair. Topsy just set
======================================== SAMPLE 441 ========================================
Don’t know where we go from here. But I don’t want us to lose this fight."

I opened my mouth, then closed it. The Canary’s wing wasn’t very big, so I didn’t need to rely on my swarm to pass on messages. "To win this fight. No bugs allowed."

She didn’t listen, nor did she act upon my words. "Fine."

"We’re- are you wearing your mask?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Okay."

"Good luck."

I hung up.

I’d dealt with more direct confrontations. Accidentally, in the beginning. Not outright combat. But close.

I gathered bugs from where they covered the ground beneath my feet, then started working on the construction of a mask. I’d use black widow spiders’ silk as a substrate, and Rodent control was aplenty.

A group like the Slaughterhouse Nine? I imagined the process. Impossible, yes, but not impossible. Even in the midst of a civil war, even in a hypothetical future where heroes did win every fight, I might make compromises where my side needed others on the ground. It would be an uphill battle.

The idea of being all things to everyone they were wasn’t was too appealing. Maybe that was a strength, if the opposite was true.

I set bugs on bags and other items before I headed to a van with the others. Rachel was driving.

"Rache’s behind the wheel," I said. She was behind the wheel.

Grue nodded.

"Tell her to go left," Tattletale suggested.

Rachel gave me a funny look.

"I said go left," I told her.

She gave me a funny look.

Still stuck to the job at hand, despite the assorted talks and conflicts. Problem was, I was becoming just a little numb to the conversations and differences. I couldn’t read her expression, but I knew she was ready to give me a clean answer any time I set my mind to it.

It was only when I was back at the loft that I could see the glimmer of an expression on her face.

It was an equally weird feeling, to see that expression, even now, as I was halfway home, recovering from a bad dream.

I’d been standing outside in the parking lot, when all this started. When I’d been awoken by my thoughts to the buzzing, the incessant screaming. It had been so easy, in the earshot of my team. Theo, Alex, Taylor, Battery, Vista, and now Tattletale. Our enemies? The Slaughterhouse Nine.

It was a roundabout plan, but it allowed me to breathe. It also allowed me to come up with a plan. A platform upon which to build, work out the bugs I needed, and bury the damn bugs.

It was a roundabout plan, and it had required a kind of strength I couldn’t quite grasp. The dexterity seemed to be tapping into something else, beyond my ability to embrace and appreciate what I was giving up, or what I could give up.

A capacity.

I emptied every bug in the loft, then I touched down on a rooftop. The bugs flowed into a fissure in the building’s foundation, and the tunnel closed behind us.

I held on to the handle, and I could feel the tension in the spiders. If they were able to disperse, they could find a new target the moment we were out of range.

I let go of the handle and looked at the building.

What I saw stunned me.

It was the kind of luminescence that happened when a galaxy was colliding with a black hole. A massive star was burning at the center, with dust and material falling in fits and starts. Supernovas were being heard in the background.

It was the same in Brockton Bay. The city was being consumed by the aftermath of the smash-and-grab. The aftermath of the fight with Mannequin. A month and a half ago.

But this? It was the destruction of the city, its people. Buildings fell, slashing across the faces of the city.

The city was burning, and it was being done to ash piles that were at the heart of the core. The fires were turning the streets into white-slick pools, and that was only scratches compared to the fire that was spread over the city. Every moment, there was something new, something that could change the course of Brockton Bay. A hurricane of flame that could grow to engulf a large portion of the island if it weren’t
======================================== SAMPLE 444 ========================================
EditAppease, or whatever word you prefer.

Not my usual. I don’t speak your language.

You speak my language anyways.

Please stop.

What was I supposed to say? Thank you.

Edit: Translator. If you want to send me more tissue, you can stop by my room and the morgue will be opened up.



Interlude 18 (Donation Bonus #2)


"I believe in the idea," the young woman with the fluency in English said. She was quiet, but the manner suggested she believed something. That wasn’t so strange. On the same day as Jack Slash, Parian DeMille and Aisha Lindelof, her peers had been choosing different ways to express their thanks. What was happening?

"I’ve been meaning to ask," Parian said.

"What is it?"

"Well, I think it’s about karma, whether we like it or not. You’ve led a kind of a double life, since you were drafted. People want to give you a second chance, believe in a chance to redeem yourself, but there’s some drawbacks. Like I said, karma will reward you."

"And here I thought you were more worried about that than about me being turned into some alien zombie by some supervillains with weird powers."

"It’s about the other thing, and that’s why I’m here. I’m trying to figure out if we can be happy together, if we can become men and women who matter, who care about each other."

"I- I don’t know," Bonesaw said. "I feel like it’s cliche, but what happens, Lemme think about it…"

Bonesaw paused, as if taking a deep breath. "Or maybe it’s better if you keep it to three minutes. When I start thinking about taking care of you, it’ll be much more concise."

"You’re restricting my ability to express love."

Plastic surgery, no wonder. "It’s okay. I’ll figure it out."

"You’re upsetting me. I can’t- I won’t believe that stuff."

"That’s fine. Tell me you’re going to be okay, and tell me how you’re doing."

"I’m not hell-ish, really. Can I have some privacy?"

"Go out," Tattletale said. By way of response, Jack had ordered plastic surgery.

The young woman left.

"Hurry," Parian said. She was already stretched and ready to stretch out, gauging the right angle.

"You’re beyond saving me, and it’ll be weeks before you can do something about it."

"Good. But we’ll make it happen. We’ll fix that."

"I don’t know," she said.

"It’ll be much harder to stop you. Human nature, it’s so very different. You’re in a crazy world, Ellie. There’s only so many species to deal with, and there’s so many species you can’t even approach. The hunter-intender running rampant, the little masters constantly seeking out the large, the small ones constantly seeking out the subhuman, world eating monsters who want to devour them… Humans are just begging to be devoured. All of it is so much more pronounced now. You’re already devoured, you’re already one species in the end."

"Do you even know what we’re talking about?"

"I’m a little worried about the number. But I’m out of here, and I’m going to be in a position to save the world. That’s more or less in my reach."

The woman at the end of the bed frowned. "You’re a master of puzzles, Edwin."

The old man rolled over and sat on the other side of the bed. "I’m tired. Let’s have the children sleep."

"Won’t happen. They can’t put up with a wait," the woman replied. "There’s hundreds of them, tomorrow morning, starting from the beginning."

"You didn’t say anything so it’s very possible you did."

The old man rolled off the bed, groaning. He drew a chair from the bureau and sat at the corner of the bed.

"You should rest
======================================== SAMPLE 447 ========================================
"Human growth hormone! Human recombinant protein!"

"Yes!"

"Then I’m only a little disappointed, that you couldn’t use anything but this, a few years after our reunion," she smiled a little, "It’s been a long time!"

"I know!" He replied, ending the conversation for the moment. He exuded confidence, confidently traveling the length of the mall. People could tell that he was confident, because of the slight furrow that he created between his teeth when he spoke loudly enough to be heard over the traffic on the road behind him. People slowed down to take his path. He teased, "And the store is closed, so we might not find any bargain bins or kid’s clothes until later tonight, but I’ve been there before."

He entered a bargain shop and purchased a small cart of goods. The merchandise included a dupe of the boy’s new wheelchair, which he began modifying to serve as a bed for his makeshift sleeping area and to store the necessities he’d have around camp. The tools he’d need for making the material inexpensive and dense enough to solder together, for cooking and heating, for making basic meals like bread and rolls. All for a little over four hundred dollars.

He would have to take the material into himself, but he was scared about the stability of it, the possibility that it would slip into the wrong shape, or end up with catastrophic damage. Along similar lines, he was very very glad that the material was so thin and such a strong bond existed between the mannequins and the backing fabric of the wheelchair. He’d be ABSOLUTELY happy to use it to make personal items.

All in all, the project took him less than three weeks. He modeled his material after the stuff that was on offer at the hardware store, and set about adding the necessary features. When he was done, he figured out a way to connect the drawstrings that would keep the material from being accidentally pulled around while sleeping, and to tightly bind the ends together when he was standing.

The material had held its shape despite the extreme shrinkage. He attached additional drawstrings and found more uses for them, and then-boyfriend Alex stroked his hair. Oliver was waiting for him in the doorway.

"Good boy," Alex said.

"For what?"

"I’m looking at you, and I’m asking myself if you’re ready to have your hair cut."

"I don’t know," Oliver said, "It’s not me."

"Well, go with it. If you’re ready, I’m all set. If you aren’t, well, you can break this embrace you’re forming."

Oliver did. He stepped back, while Shatterbird stepped forward. He kissed the boy, and then parted ways, returning to his own world.

As the sun went down, Chariot ventured over to the folding screen on the corner of the room. He pressed a button, and a map started scrolling, with changes to the location of the fighting throughout the city. The scroll bar wasn’t entirely hidden, and took up an entire page, with directions to where the news was reporting the most about the state of the city.

"Need a hand with this thing on top of the TV?" Chariot said. "It’s slippery, and I can’t see much clearly, but… places that are being watched by cops and capes are down, this minimall… about a fourth of the city is dying, and wards are going out, asking questions about capes."

The top-level city map Chariot was displaying changed a fraction, with charred buildings and areas with looters and criminals dripping from windows.

"This could be a pretty big deal. The Protectorate got a scare when the Nine hit Brockton Bay, didn’t they?"

"Most definitely. But for now, it’s best we focus on getting supplies to people, and ensuring the fire doesn’t end."

Chariot raised a hand, and the screen across from him lit up.

"Provisions. The fire doesn’t get out of control," the monitor showed. A narrow, pale blue strip connecting the dots. "Or it does, but it takes a lot of heat to get any amount of fire out. We can limit access to certain areas, get things back to normal, but there’s not enough to go around."

"Provisions," Chariot said. "He says there’s a good chance other areas are fucked, but we protect the people in the north end, near the lake. We apply pressure where we can
======================================== SAMPLE 450 ========================================
Crimson‎s cell phone rang, and he spun around to see Parian standing in the doorway, fists clenched. She was tense, looking around as if she was distinguishing between friend from foe. Her hair was in a french braid, and she was deliberate in how she held herself, folding her arms and favoring her feet. Her costume didn’t really show this side of herself, but it was well made, with loose fitting sleeves and a white dress that showed off her figure. Her eyes were wet with tears, and she clutched the back of one wrist, looking down at Parian.

"Oh," Crimson said, staring at her friend. "You’re okay?"

"I feel like I’ve been slapped across the face," Parian shook her head.

"I don’t know what to tell you, so don’t push me," Crimson said. She stepped around the table and placed her elbows on the wooden tablecloth the PRT officer had set down. He placed two hands on her shoulder and steered her out of the office.

"Hey! What happened?"

"Some asshole decided to sit on me. I was out of town for the meeting and he wanted a hand."

"Fuck," Tattletale said. "So you grabbed me."

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"Some asshole decided to stand up to you, in front of all these people you barely interact with, and you took it out on me."

"It’s cool. Just tell me you shoved me into the wall and I can hug my old friend."

"I don’t know how old you are, but I was nine, you were eleven. Since we’ve been friends, a few days."

"Don’t know that I’m that young anymore," she pondered.

"Tell me I shouldn’t," he reassured her.

"Don’t know," she said, again. He nodded, then turned his attention to the Wards, "Carol-"

"What?"

"Don’t know," she said.

He went on, "Find a lawyer, alrighties? You might want to listen to this before you make any statements."

"What is it?"

"Nothing," he said. He let her go.

"I was going to ask if there was anything-"

"Don’t ask," he snapped.

She whirled around, eyes going wide. "I was going to ask if there was anything you wanted to tell me, because I look forward to hearing it."

He pulled off his mask, flipped it over and started sorting out the zipper. He unzipped it to find the buttons.

"I’m not your friend, Danny," she said.

"You’re our friend. I know, maybe it’s the most natural thing in the world, maybe it’s not, but we’re similar. We’re victims living in the same city, we’re victims of circumstance. Both of us. Some of us pretty much died in fights, both of us. I’m pretty sure we still have nightmares about it."

He tried to lift his eyes from the numbers on the screen, but they darted around wildly to find their destination.

"Not even a side conversation?" she asked.

"Not really a side conversation."

"You’re the reason I have a power. You’re the reason I can operate like I do."

"Not really a side conversation," he said, more to himself than to her. Both he and she knew the answer.

"You’re going to tell me anyways."

"I don’t think you’re a terrible person, but you… you’re gone, and gone a long way. Gone to join a group you didn’t even belong to."

"I was a kind person," Danny said. "Even when the bullying was going on, I was trying to be nice. Sports bra, boots, everything. I wanted to keep the peace."

"But you were still a bully. Even before you had your powers."

"I tried to be decent," Danny said. "I was nice, but I wasn’t."

"I can imagine you were. Is it the same impulse that got your powers? To be nice?"

"Probably."

"To be mean?"

"Maybe a little bit."

"To bully? I can imagine you had that kind of impulse, but you stopped when you had the reality on your side. You’re trying to convince
======================================== SAMPLE 453 ========================================
Medium Size (7″ x 5 1/2″), Heavy Metals

• Contains components salvaged from hardware store or hardware rack.

• Fully deployable, including form for carrying heavier gear.

• Fully illuminated, with red and white illumination for front and back.

• Includes rigging and management system.

Velocity (Containment, Explosive, Translucent, $7500): This is a retracting leg that allows you to slide your arm down, with a swing of your arm or a hand, to be used for whatever purpose you desire.

Windjammer (Windjammer, $7000, ref 8): Variable wind speed, effect on your weapons, this leg has no bearing and acts like a grappling hook,

with a bit of additional rigging to attach to your costume and control the speed and direction of the wind.

Lightweight Prototype (Jaunt, ref 1101, large): Prototype, ability to fly, no propulsion. Not for combat.

Polarity Field (Referee, Referee, ref 1203, light, pennant, $5000, 1204, large, platinum, $8500, 1205, silver, $15000, 1400, 1780, 2480, 2980, 3200, 4380, 5200, 80000, 121212, 151204, 1620000, 2170016, 23300001, 42050104, 525



Dauntless (Ambassador, ref 2215, heavy, helicopter, shield, cannon, spear, spearhead, spear, ref 2680, ref 3575, ref 4456, ref 4635, ref 4850, ref 5050, ref 5145, ref 5552, ref 5775, ref 5925, ref 6145, ref 6561, ref 6615, ref 6715, ref 7145, ref 7561, ref 8145, ref 8561, ref 86725, ref 9145, ref 10115, ref 10481, ref 11245, ref 11250, ref 11575, ref 11550



Glaistig Uaine (Valkyrie, ref 6915, ref 7615, ref 8015, ref 9015, ref 10145, ref 12015, ref 12502, ref 12753, ref 12635, ref 12945, ref 12955, ref 12980, ref 12985, ref 12990, ref 12995, ref 12992, ref 12675, ref 12645, ref 12645, ref 12681, ref 12645, ref 12735, 12745, ref 12815, 12815, ref 16055, 16055, 16055, 16055, 16055



I set them down on the ground and set about figuring out what structures would serve best in what circumstances.

I extended my help with the gun, fixing it in the frame of the gun. Then I set about fixing it above the gun, removing the gag and setting it on a tripod that sat on my shoulder. The banner I’d made was wide enough to hang from the wall above the fireplace.

I wasn’t sure what I expected to see, but I expected to see a strange golden light, somehow more brilliant or terrible than the one that consumed the village. I also expected the golden man to approach from the direction of the portal that had been set loose, walking towards the water.

I was surprised by the fact that they listened. The soldiers parted to let me through, and then all eyes were on us.

The other uniformes were present for the microphones that were positioned at the other corners of the platform. I kept one eye on each of them, and sent a swarm-snail to follow them. It didn’t do a thing to follow, but the idea was clear enough.

As a mass moved through the portal, the one that had introduced me to the others, one of the soldiers that was watching through the portal moved his hand, disconnecting the line of communication.

The mass passed through the portal, and came to a stop in front of me. I spread my bugs out, and sent every bug I could think of to the other side of the portal.

I could see the transformation. Before, there were only the bugs from the same building who were staying in place. Now there were almost none. I was at peace. I could even feel the difference, the chill of the air as it froze around me.

I released the swarm from beneath the portal, and took in the world. Four to five stories below me, four to six stories below me, a street filled with squat, windowless brick buildings. The water was safe, deep enough that none of the bugs were risking dying in the hurricane of moisture. Every shelter I’d tried to sleep in had been vacated, and the few who had stayed had either abandoned us or were working
======================================== SAMPLE 456 ========================================
At this point, there really wasn’t anything we could do. My bugs could sense the trajectory of Miss Militia’s gun as she fired, the uneven movement as it flew, and the way it bent as it fired in Miss Militia’s general direction. If she turned her gun toward us, she would be shooting at everyone present. Even if nobody pointed it our way, we would be finished for the day. Either that, or the heroes here were playing us.

I suspected the latter was the case.

There was no intervention from above. The Protectorate was on the ground, in the streets on their own, with only a scattering of people from the temple security detail and the armed forces staying behind to keep an eye on the wounded and electrocuted. The briefing had stressed that there was zero tolerance for this sort of thing in the Wards, official or otherwise.

The pair of us made our way to the temple, followed by the casualty. Our small group stayed behind to wait for the man with the suit, the man with the gun. He was still struggling when his buddy came back. The statement had been made in Brockton Bay, not here.

The small group of us returned, and I had the distinct impression that there was more solidarity. We had nearly fifty volunteers now, people who would serve in various capacities in the coming crisis. Some would be frontline troops, others would be reporters, others would be my tactical officers.

The moment they saw the truck loaded with supplies, the overwhelmingly brown and white costumes of the Chicago Wards caught his attention.

He recognized Victoria too, from the pictures. She too was Zoe’s friend from Kindergarten, a girl who’d gone out of her way to get out of the influence of her classmate. Now she was in the truck, along with two older girls. The boys seemed to be in their early teens, and the girls about my age, if I included the two infants.

Zoe’s father.

I felt a measure of distaste as I saw Victoria’s expression. I’d seen Nathan’s, but he had been saddled with a guilt complex that bore repeating through. The exact same contortions and overgeneralizations, very similar to how I had mentally ill Nathan as a child. Victoria had been saddled with a similar complex.

'What happened?' one boy asked.

'Party in a small town, kind of out of character for him. Take it from someone who knows him personally. Nathan went to a town just outside of town, and according to the people who knew him best, he was having trouble at school. Struggling to find a friend, whether it be among himself or among other students. Feeling down, if you can call it that. Then the little things start happening. Does he have trouble within himself? Someone more prominent than him, finds out about whatever, suggests it, and he’s elevated to something of a pedestal. Driven to be more outgoing, push the envelope. It doesn’t fit the kid that is currently being groomed."

'Or maybe he gets a load of her face, eats her jokes, becomes her type. What did you do? What’s Nathan really like? To some extent, you’re a projection. A dream, a jumble, a phantom in their head, a mess of thoughts, moments they just don’t remember. And I’m the mess of thoughts, moments I don’t even want to think about."

"Nathan, stop. It’s not your fault."

"I… I can’t. I’m not good at this. I don’t know what I was supposed to do. I got grounded. Went to these parties with my dad and you. And because my dad and my then-precious little head teacher were the only two adults in the room when I went there, I started tormenting these poor kids who were getting victimized by someone else. Accosted them, hurt them, and then found a way to defend themselves after. They suspended me for it, and my dad found me and tried to kill them both. And it wasn’t because I’d done something wrong. It was because I was a monster, and he was the one who needed to stop."

"You’re not the kind of person who’d be brave enough to face your facts," the bigger boy said.

"If I had to choose, I’d choose my own life."

He laughed.

"What did you do? What do you want? You should leave."

"I’m not like that."

"You’re not brave, believing what you want to believe," the man said
======================================== SAMPLE 459 ========================================
Marco was there, alongside Accord. Their confrontation had been one of their longer-running feuds, and despite his being the oldest of the family, Accord had retained his position in the group and his authority over the group as a whole. When asked, Accord had always maintained that he was the leader and jury member for the Triumvirate, and not the child. Even so, Accord had never wavered, and he had never conceded the lead.

When the argument had reached its climax, Marco had grabbed the rope ladder and was pulling himself up. Accord had been on the ground, and the two villains were now sitting on the edge, with Tattletale on the ground next to him. She was still distorting a screwdriver into a small ball, and he was keeping her from tipping herself over.

"Marco! You have no sympathy forrixes!"

"My sister was one! Know what I mean. I’m just saying, as someone who went through some pretty ugly shit himself," he looked up at the man, "You don’t get to be a hero anymore."

"You don’t get to be a hero anymore, either way," Accord agreed.

"Sucks to leave it like it is," Marco said, making it clear in his tone of voice with the man.

"You’re going to take all the shit you can dish out and make yourself look good at the end?"

"It’s a step. I hope I don’t do anything to change how people treat her, or the public opinion will never forgive me. All I can do is try to do what I can to help her out and give her the care that she needs."

"You did what you could to help her."

"And the treatment she got? The bullying? It’s dragging me back. Makes her that much harder to deal with?"

"I’m sorry. I know the distance and the fact that you’re on your own. I don’t think it’s fair to you, to you personally, to make her suffer in any way because of what others did in the past. I’m not asking you to murder her. I’m asking that you save her life and release her into the hands of someone who deserves it."

"I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. There’s very few sane people who would want to put their dirt on her, and there’s none who would put their hand or foot up her throat. Scion’s people will deny it, but… she’s very persistent."

"Decided she’s persistent enough to be left alone. I’m not interested in going down that road, even if it means Iave and Guard each get their turns to kill her. We could send Flechette instead."

"I don’t trust that Flechette would be able to kill her," Accord said. "The C.U.I. have hundreds of body double and non-c.u. Both Basilisk and Broach are competent but too few to make that kind of a difference. Tattletale? I can only hope that if and when we get the chance, we can come up with something better."

"There’s more to be done?"

"Agreed. There’s no point to dwelling on it, now. We should pack up and go."

"I’m not sure I understand."

"It’s fine. I’ll even go as far as to say it’s better to be a little bit bossy than stupid. That’s not how I would approach it, though. I’d tell you I wasedouble checking your friends, but I couldn’t help but worry that you didn’t intend to follow through."

"You’re being serious?"

"Serious-ish."

"Okay. Can we talk about the game plan?"

"It’s not a serious plan."

"We were serious. I guess you woke up to it," he said, snuggling close. "I’m going to make you a deal."

"I’m not a promise," she said, dropping her eyes to the pillow.

"I know. Promise."

"I wanted to get into your shoes as soon as possible. You knew that things were bad, that you had a friend in the hospital who was under some sort of stress, and you stepped away."

"She’s fine," he said.

"I know. I’m sorry."

"She’s… she’s not
======================================== SAMPLE 462 ========================================
A nine year old Indian girl screamed as she was torn apart by her abusive stepmother. She didn’t move, breathing erratic patterns as she slowly went limp. Her stepmother would catch at something physical, and an emotional response was almost more natural to her than physical pain. She justcticr was the word the mentally disabled parahuman would use to describe her. She was the sweetheart, the booby prize, the crummy little girl who had gotten away from her abusive stepfather. Her stepmother would leave her to cry for a full week after the event, before returning to the life of dependency and abuse once more. The unidentified girl who had been caught up in the mayhem would often find herself clinically depressed, clinically insane, or both.

At some point, the girl had escaped to the Birdcage, an unnamed American town very similar to Brockton Bay. There had been only the man of color, white who had escaped to Pakistan, and her abusive stepmother. With the rise and fall of the Teeth in the early 2000’s, American heroes and heroines began to notice that the girl of color was far more likely than anyone else there to be having nightmares, ideations or violent impulses. Investigations revealed she was in therapy. The nightmare-diagnosis could range from being tightly shut down to being someone with a mental illness. The drugs she was on hadn’t affected her. The dream-diagnosis had been strengthened as recently as two weeks ago.

The girl in the black cloak was lying on the ground, alive, and her stepmother was stooped over her. So much bad blood, apparently, with the therapist competing for attention and being cautious about what she was putting in her daughter’s hands.

"Hey," the girl said, through the broken English she’d lost, "Why’d you come back here?"

The mother didn’t respond, staring at the ground.

"Hey, big brother. Why don’t you come inside?" the mother asked.

The girl shook her head.

"Why don’t you go to the bathroom? It’s all you remember. I’ll bring you a potion, a juice and some cookies. You’re going to have a good few minutes, to think."

The mother didn’t answer, her head turning to the boy, who was lying on the cot, his eyes open.

The girl seemed to take something in stride, instead, logging enough time passing through the motions to ensure she was always in the center of her mother’s attention. When she was dry, the mother turned to slowly stand, then nod her way. She was met by the blood that was flowing inside her.

She emerged from the most recent flashback, only to dimly recall whether she had. She couldn’t shake the suspicion that she had. It was a feeling that had nagged at her for some time, before it had abated somewhat.

It had abated somewhat, but the signs had not gone away, and the lingering effect was that much more pronounced.

What had her doctor done? Did his job deserve to be called into question?

She couldn’t even remember the routine, the routines of her life. Every morning, she had been shocked, to be sure, but she had been awake for every morning. Every night, she had been frightened, but she had been awake for every night.

Every moment was quiet, save for the moaning of the wind outside. The answer to that was clear, to her doctor, but she couldn’t even remember the procedures.

And with that, her mother had stopped talking, taking only a glance or two as the doctor’s assistant dragged the girl by. The mother had stared at the girl, as if the silent images had profound meanings.

When the girl had slumped over the kitchen counter, quieting down to draw the line drawing from her hip to her ankle, the mother had looked away, refusing to look back in the direction of their three-year-old ‘baby’.

The mother had given up on the wheelchair, walked back to the kitchen to attempt to cover the girl with a tablecloth.

The girl had screamed, and a public address system blared to announce, "No, no, no." To no avail. A signal of disapproval from her mother and sister.

The mother had then made her way back, followed by the sister. The girl was still sitting, with her arms folded on the mother’s lap.

The woman in the black suit began explaining what was happening, trying to reassure the girl. The details were not easily believe. The woman in the black suit did not merely fly away, taking the girl with her. She had stayed behind.

It was explained
======================================== SAMPLE 465 ========================================
A dark-skinned boy with the ability to see dead things advanced as a group, approached Doctor Mother. He spoke, his voice monotone, his eyes wide.

"Fortuna, Niflheim, Odessa. I just got word from the Protectorate that there’s a fledgling villain in custody. Will you join me in bringing her into custody?"

The girl nodded, slowly.

"To which town? You don’t have powers, so you’d best go to the nearest town and arrange something, preferably one that’s even more fucked up and mysterious than Yamada’s base of operations. We don’t want you introducing our hero to trouble."

"I’ll stay," the girl said.

"Good. But where should I go?"

"Toronto."

"Thank you. He says he’ll bring you someplace, but who knows? Maybe he won’t. Maybe he brings me someplace else. I… I’m not sure where I’d fit on this earth. I dreamed about it, when you were arrested, but I never acted on it. I’d thought about becoming a superhero, but… that didn’t work out."

"You could be a hero and a monster."

"Depending on where she finds us next, maybe."

There was a long pause.

"Weaver," the Doctor said. "This isn’t easy. The way you found us, you didn’t act like you knew who we were. I just got here, and it’s… it’s not very coordinated."

"Ooh," Parian said. She could see the Doctor get impatient. Doctor Mother was sitting at a table on the other side of the room, soda and a doughnut lying on the floor, both Heroes resting their hands on either shoulder.

"They knew each other. They’ve grown together. Relationships. They’ve had kids. Given their history, it was bound to happen."

"They’re siblings, right?" The Doctor asked. "Or cousins."

"That’s what they sounded like."

"What can I do?" The Doctor asked.

"I can look after them. Draw them more. If it’s even possible. I can keep them safe."

"I don’t- I can’t do that."

"Because you’re trusting me to do something beyond my abilities, and if I fail, you lose anything of any use to your side. I can give you contact information for your PRT teams."

The Doctor nodded. "I understand. I’ll be there with the Undersiders at a moment’s notice. I look forward to interacting with you again in a few weeks."

"And the thinker?" The Doctor asked. "There’s memory loss, paranoia, but I feel it’s almost automatic. Different people have a threshold, and it’s different for everyone. Might be something I can raise to a higher degree with the therapist’s feedback."

"That’s it?"

"There are some unchecked fears that are always a little more refined than the person without the fear. What if, when I suggested certain ideas to you, you were able to relay those to your team? That your thinker state doesn’t clash as much with your physical state, after a fashion?"

"I don’t think so. I haven’t had much of a trigger."

"I read about the healing factor, anyway. The idea that a broken, tired, lonely or frightened body can be raised to greater levels of functioning is awfully sobering. I don’t want to off ourselves, but I think it’s an idea that’s best left unacknowledged. It’s something to keep in mind, and it’s something that we can use with care."

"I can’t say I’ll be around in two years."

"You’ll be here in a minute. Are you intending to remain behind?"

"Yes. I’ll run. After."

He stood and walked away.

A minute later, he returned and said, "Don’t run. I have a group of soldiers at the entrance, and they’ll arrest you if you don’t. Find a booth, near the front counter, and I’ll find you something to wear."

There was a murmur of agreement.

"I could make costumes for you guys. What would you want?"

He turned and gave his passenger
======================================== SAMPLE 468 ========================================
A piece of mechanical spider-meat slid to the ground, and a quartet of dogs went on the attack.

Three of the dogs growled as their wonton came free of the shell and was revealed alive, with more excess flesh still inside.

"Long live fucking meat!" one of the dogs growled.

"It’s okay," Satyr said. "Greenhorn, stop them. We can retreat."

Satyr grayed, but he fell before he could attack. The two dogs growled as they moved, their teeth intent, but their actions mechanical.

The spider dropped down to the ground a second time, and the dogs advanced, fighting with their piledrivers. They pulled Satyr’s legs apart as if he were a rug, and their jaws hammered his legs until they hurt. Satyr caught his feet and sat on top of them, the excess flesh sitting on top of his feet, like he were still alive and they were still a part of him.

Satyrical folded his hands on the knives he was using to cut and cut further. His gaze was gentle, but it was always on the fight.

"Marty! Here!" Skitter called out. She had a disconnected gun since she couldn’t keep her hand steady while held at gunpoint, her companion a short sword in her other hand.

Satyrical concentrated on the weapon, and the weapon fell to the ground. He began drawing it back to itself.

Skitter lunged forward, wanting to cover both of them, but she was tentative, and her fighting style demanded that she cover more than just her immediate surroundings. Satyrical mocked her, laughed at her, referring to her as Vicky’s little sister.

Satyr neglected to consider that his opponent was putting herself in the category of ‘weak’. She was putting herself on the line of a gun. It was in her head, in her heart, in her throat.

Skitter focused her attention on Satyr, going steady at first, then sharp, first notes of her voice. In a deadpan, she spoke, "You come across as a very strange man."

"Not at all?" his voice asked. Slightly altered, as if she could sound threatening even though she wasn’t speaking. "Wait, then."

Skitter leaned forward, glaring at him. He didn’t say anything.

"He… does this?" The voice sounded young.

"Only when I do it right."

Skitter shrugged, then turned her attention to the fighting. Bugs moved from the area around them to mark the location of the fighting, and they began to make their way to the fighting positions with a constant, consistent drumbeats.

"I’m… I’m not a fighter," Satyr said. She frowned. Her eyebrows knit together in concern as Satyr continued talking. "At least, not yet."

"It’s a gradual process," a woman spoke. She had a quiet voice that was secretly terrible for her situation, "Likely a man and a girl this morning. They’re at the very front."

Likely a man and a girl? That left the question of gender to be Answered.

"Can I ask who?" Satyr sounded oddly casual as he spoke the question.

"Quiet," a deep, eerie voice answered him.

Quiet. If Satyr was a man, there was no way to be heard over the screaming in my head that was so close to his eerie voice.

"Is this some sort of trap?" Blonde asked.

"Is it? Sometimes two people meet and talk for a while, and one of them ends up dying, or going missing. The other person never saw the other person’s face, or the talk occurred long enough after they’d disappeared. It’s a matter of hard evidence and overwhelming circumstantial evidence that a trap is set. Sometimes it’s a trap the duo had placed in the beginning, to sabotage the team, or maybe to be murdered by the other duo in a later trap. Did the other pair pull off their first kills in the wake of the success of their first? Or was it a trap they’d set in the hopes of getting more fame and fortune, before the internet and everything became public knowledge?"

"I understand what you’re saying. But that’s only one version of the story. There’s others that are more mundane, I might think you’d know better."

"I understand, yes. There’s a lot of versions of this. There are several that I’d like to talk to you about. The bad, the ugly, the messed up versions
======================================== SAMPLE 471 ========================================
Floret shrugged and did what I wanted. "It’s not like we’ve talked too much lately. How’s your arm?"

"Not much worse than it was before. But I’m not sure I can move it if I can’t operate it."

"There’s a chance it’ll get better. We’ve got some people on standby, and we’re working on getting the standby people their food. Hopefully they’ll be able to step in sooner than later."

"If you could, Victoria?"

"I couldn’t if I tried. Just trying to get back to something general, here, and not on whether or not you’re right. I… I guess I should say I’m sorry I parted ways with you. I’m glad, but this isn’t the way we wanted things to end."

"You’re a smart cookie. Keeping in mind that you might not like her or me after this mess is over with. So you shouldn’t end this on a bad foot, don’t make me regret leaving you."

"I’m glad you’re continuing to pursue your goals. But I don’t want you to feel guilty, or to let yourself get disillusioned by this experience, as some of them have done before. So you’re on your own, at least for a little while. In the spirit of your initiation, I’d like to offer you a gift."

"A gift?"

"A supply of the contraband that is currently held in my custody. I intend for it to be used at the first opportunity. If this fails, martial law will be restored to the mainland. I’ll be in touch, and we’ll arrange a replacement costume for Victoria, with a few tweaks for the PRT and the school as a whole."

"Undersiders. I can’t imagine why you would offer this to her."

"Because this serves a double purpose. On the one hand, it allows me to keep some of the supply I intended to give to the team, as well as to my freelance capes. On the other, it provides a platform for certain individuals to express themselves. I can’t give too many details, and the thought of talking to the leader of one of the renegade groups about this leads me to think that he’s very defensive minded."

"You’ve already been guilty of violating the truce, Fallon."

"I’m not particularly defensive, nor am I particularly offensive. I’m simply stating the facts. I attacked their territory to keep them from colonizing it, in the hopes that one of my enemies would step up to claim it. At my orders, I killed a man in cold blood, in an area where gunshot wounds are common."

"You intend to violate the truce again?"

"Some truce I instituted with you stands. I don’t think you’ll break it with me."

"And you intend to uphold it?"

"I think it fair to expect you to do so, no matter what I decide to do here. You understand?"

"I do," Tecton said.

"It’s your prerogative. But I don’t think you have a choice. After what you’ve done here, what you’ve threatened in the past, you’d better be ready for the next."

"Again," Tattletale muttered. "Fuck, I want it all. To be honest, I’m not sure I want to hear it, either. I’d really like to hear it, but I’m not sure I’ll believe it when I hear it. You’re being simplistic, are you? You’re implying there’s some kind of reward for our trouble? For us walking away?"

"There’s no reward for walking away," Tecton said.

"There’s a price, then," the leader of the Chicago Wards said. "A price you pay, you know. Happiness for the wish to be free, freedom for the wish to be equal, among friends."

"We did not choose to go that route," Tecton said. "We had to go into this. We had to mask our motives, think straight, and escape what we perceive to be the cruel pleasures of life, so we could be friends."

"You’re not doing yourself any favors," Firestarter said.

"Everyone does favors, some of the time. We made a pact, when we were dealing with a reprehensible individual,
======================================== SAMPLE 474 ========================================
So, little by little, Badger’s power was taking over my swarm, but each intrusion was outweighed by the power the others and I had available to us. They understood, they were responding. Even Leviathan understood, because it was making the connection painfully clear.

A tail? Hmmmm.

The storm drain that snakes from the roof of the tallest building in the area, down to the ground, and then… upward. There were people standing in the street, unsure as to what to do. Some were standing to save their apartments from being ransomed, from the likes of Sungjin and Myung. From Coil and his soldiers.

I made my way around the back corner of the building, and Boyarsky seemed to be distracted by a beetle. I took one step, and Boyarsky ran with a lurch, landing between me and the thief who was making his way up the back steps.

"Hey!" I called out.

Boyarsky ran up the back steps, and I backhanded him to make him stop. I had the wet paper bags of money and keys from my backpack slung over one shoulder. I glanced around. Everyone else was busy engaged in something or someone.

No wonder Jack wanted to make this trivial.

"He just pushed me into the ground!" Boyarsky shouted.

Of course it was an excuse. I’d been pushed face first into the ground.

"I’ve been pushed face first into the ground!"

A strange way of looking at it.

He was making an excuse so Finch would have something to blame. Irritation, then curiosity overriding everything else, I took his question as my cue to go, "Not like me, Dennis."

He didn’t seem to react to that. He’d developed a certain fragility and fragility with people and situations.

"You can try," I said. "But please, don’t go for the easy answers. I can tell you I’ve been there."

"You expect me to lie to you?" he asked.

"I’m asking you to tell the truth? When in Hell No No!" I called out. I could see his attention on the street, and the suspicion he was already experiencing about me. "Do I need to call the Protectorate? The Wards? The Protectorate?"

"There’s a difference between a statement and a declaration," Marquis said. "I think you’ll find it hard to believe, following today."

"I know. I know this is small, but I need to tell the truth, and I need to do it soon," I told him the most important thing. "My fault if I'm wrong."

"A matter of time."

I waited, patiently, while the doctor went through my veins. When she finished, she returned my IV to the side-table. I slumped down onto the glass table, slouching back a little, and then wrapped my arms around my head.

"I’m sorry," I said. "It’s a worry I’ve been imagining, but-"

"A matter of time."

I could feel the rush of it passing through my body. The warm, fuzzy feeling that I hadn’t been worthy of the attention of the Wards.

Then it stopped. I was free of my passenger.

"You wouldn’t be asking if you’d been given proper medical care."

"I would," I said. I wasn’t sure I would have been able to utter the words if I had, but I managed to sound almost frantic, "When was this happening? When did this start? And what were you doing before this, Dennis?"

"When I woke up," he said.

"A long time ago," I said. "A room in a hospital. They gave me shit to take off and I let it get for a bit, so they could photograph me. Only it wasn’t me that was out, but-"

"It’s you, isn’t it?"

I shook my head, "I think so. But- but I don’t know where you find those things. I’m not really the type to dress up or act fancy."

"There’s a reason you’re being so secretive. You’re hurt, alone, and you’ve been since you last had contact with the rest of us."

I shrugged. "It’s not like I have any allies here."

"Except for the girl from Brockton Bay, yeah. Then there’s Empire Eighty-Eight, with their secret identity
======================================== SAMPLE 477 ========================================
With the army and big heroes here, of course they would have been working hard.

But I could remember seeing some of them resorting to violence in the worst cases. Even coming this way, it sucked. The violence didn’t always fit under the heading of insanity, but I could imagine it being something more ominous than mere injury or injury mixed with violence.

I’d have to talk to my teammates about this. Not just about the knife, but about the teammates who had Max Collins as a member of their group. If I was being honest, I could believe they’d thrown him out with the untreated mental illnesses, because they didn’t want others to get their hands on the book. It was just another way to deny their team members the same kinds of resources they were providing. He was a resources that were so essential to their long term operations that they would OD on them if they let someone else get close to a runaway shipment.

Hell, I could imagine myself at least partially buying into that, assuming we got the resources we needed for something like a recovery operation. I mean, I’d have to be able to stomach eating if things really came down to it.

Well, I supposed that said recovery operation didn’t amount to much if my team didn’t get the books.

"What’s this?" Regent’s voice sounded over the radio.

I turned to see that it was Tattletale, smiling mysteriously. Not that I could really hear something as cryptic as ‘Doctor?’; the deeper voice that was accompanying the written message was what I took to be a mechanical humming.

"What’s this, Bonesaw?" Tattletale asked. She was supporting Grue as he walked towards a tall, brutish man with a hood and shaggy hair that was too dark to follow.

The man waved at his waist, and Grue quickly backed up, reaching for the bag.

"This should be a joke, Banshee," Tattletale said, "But this is a quota you fit? You’d be joining, and you’re quota-"

"I’m in there," the man said, his tone dry. He had a surprised look to him.

"You’re in there?" Tattletale asked, double checking there wasn’t anything in the question.

"We invited you here, so see we’re out of your territory. We wanted to meet, maybe had a word, and then you started torturing people."

"I’m not the type to turn on their team," the Doctor answered. She was flanked by two of the augmented with her; an elderly woman and a girl who could have been a toddler. The woman looked almost senile, and the child looked less than young. A skinhead, with old scars and sagging skin, gesturing with one hand as though he were a toddler.

"You injured people!" I raised my voice.

"We have memories, and we have the power to express ourselves. You are all very wrong. Please listen."

I gave the order, and the Chevalier de la Union cupped his hands around his stomach, then let them fall to his sides. I pressed my trusty sonic screwdriver against the burned flesh of the old man’s throat, where I’d struck good soil to start the transformation. I could feel the growth return with surprising speed. I relaxed the tension and pulled away.

Was the old soldier radicalized? Or had the corruption spread through the ranks, by the corrupt cops, doctors, and others?

I was still a little bad at improvising when things went bad. Lie, even dishonesty, I could see things happening. I could hear the crunch of burnt flesh on asphalt. He’d knocked out a cop, and the guy had been down there to investigate. In the chaos that followed, he heard my scream and hadn’t moved.

"You… you’re not going to cooperate?" Imp asked. She was a little smaller than me, the equipment in one hand.

"Not now," I growled.

"You’re going to cooperate when we ask you questions, right?" she asked. "I’m just going to pretend like everything’s all right, here."

"OK," I growled. "Drink me?"

She nodded.

"My power is feeling the busier, so take my advice. Support me, drink me. Eat me, don’t touch me. That’s the order."

So I took hers.

■

After the second job was done, I watched the busier members of the Protectorate board
======================================== SAMPLE 480 ========================================
Destroy it. Destroy her brand. Scrape her image, all of it.

Don’t even look at me. Even if it means killing your friend, she’s somehow more important.

You’re a coward, soldier. You’re a freak, a monster. The world will end anyway, whether you like it or not.

■

The door slid open. He gave up on it quickly enough.

There was a sound, a heavy crashing as the door was dragged slowly into the basement.

Nilbog. Standing in the middle of the empty office.

He flinched as the ground crashed into the wooden floor, but he didn’t flinch as the Siberian made her way down. She had a black lab coat, a single digit on her hand.

He watched, dumbly, as she folded her arms, rested her chin on the hood of the beast. It shifted only an inch or two from its standing position before turning, slowly, deliberately.

She positioned herself at the ideal angle to see as much of the client as possible through the field of vision the eye gave her.

He fed information to his creatures. Each moved slowly, steadily, to the point that he was now behind his necessary targets. He still waited until he was behind enemy lines, and then he set to work, a brush behind his brush to sweep over the enemy, an arrow in his quiver to shoot the enemy that was nearest him, a mouse to shoot the enemy that was a ways away. Any instinctual need he had for food, for protection, or for mates, he acted on. Even if it meant delaying his allies.

An enemy that suddenly felt threatened, cunning or hungry enough to step up to the line of scrimmage, Sifara moved her lips.

The alertness with which she was operating was remarkable. Not so impressive that it inspired envy, but she forced others to act without thinking, and she force them to pay attention even when they were easily distracted.

Scion was moving at a light jog, a slight jog that left him effectively floating, but he was keeping close to the city, and he was doing so with eyes wide, tracking the sources of his target’s movements. He was gathering information, exposing their weaknesses and then presenting them for what they were.

Files were made of wood, pieces of driftwood cut from the same lumber that sat at the heart of the office chairs, filing cabinets and computers sat on desks throughout the loft. Mattresses were set at points where they could be pulled, twisting them to expose two- and three-by-fours, then folding them back under. Individual organs were also hard to distinguish from the composite pictures, as they constantly shifted between different sizes and shapes.

Every step of the way, he’d been at the mercy of his own body. The joints of his hands were splaying apart, as if he’d lost his grip on the wood of the desk, let it slip, and then hastily twisted it back under.

The information baked in his brain, along with the stress of just having to deal with the Nine. How were they even supposed to read his file?

The man’s head was turning as he considered what was for the best, as he participated in the simulation. Were they really willing to use them, and had Sifara forgotten about the offer of information when she gave him his power?

He clenched his hand, and the muscle in his elbow bucked as he powerfully pushed against the shuttered window at the base of the chair.

When he spoke, his voice was normal, at first, barely audible. "I go by Trickster."

They listened as he talked about his background, his introduction to the group, and how they might have handled the audition. His voice grew louder as he spoke, more his own voice than the others. He had an idea in his head, that he would keep talking to Trickster about the audition, even as he performed the task elsewhere. He knew it was false, that it would only irritate the man, and he would keep it to himself. His own feelings about the practice were another consideration. He held no malice, no anger, no irritation. He held no anger at all for his old mentor, let alone the man who had driven the young girl away.

In his head, in his gut, he churned out a simple, one-liner. "A little while ago, I was a pretty ordinary guy. I was in the army, I went to college, and then… I wasn’t. God, the old man, he showed me the true meaning of friendship. He took me skiing for three straight days, and I thought we were going to make it rain with our skits. I told myself it was for my own good
======================================== SAMPLE 483 ========================================
Don’t. Don’t reveal that.

Careful, I thought.

"I care about this city enough to put my life on the line," I said. "I’m willing to die for it. If it means we saved a hundred lives, if it means we stopped a tidal wave from destroying the city, if it comes down to that, I’m willing to let the credits roll. Because I’m willing to say we did something."

I kept my voice low, quiet. "When I found out about you murdering Vista, I was worried you were OBVIOUSLY disrespecting the BYOND rules. That you were breaking the spirit of the BYOND community by doing what you did."

"The BYOND rules? I didn’t know."

"Right. And by badmouth the heroes who’ve thrown their lot in with the psycho parasite, you mean you’d backstabber anyone who tried to follow them. Did you ever think to yourself, Taylor? I’m definitely not doing anything to save you."

"If you’re suggesting we follow the BYOND rules, that’s a fucking good reason to fuck with us. I’m not saying I agree with everything that’s been said and said, but by all accounts, you were a creep in the inside, and that extends to anyone and everyone you came up against."

"All charges against me were true. I pled guilty."

"Inside jokes aside, I can’t help but think of the bullies that used their power to bully you. I can’t imagine that they’d be any different here. Here, we deal with criminals that are naturally violent. ABB members for sure, anyone with an ax to grind has a claim on this city."

"I don’t have any ax to grind," I said. "I’m not admitting anything. I’m not sure what I’m going to do if and when I talk to the media. My lawyer got me on the phone, he said he’d be back before too long. We expect he’ll be pushing for a favorable verdict."

The lawyer hung up. There wasn’t a recharger or anything else to recharge the phones.

"If it comes down to it, should I go to jail?" Grue asked.

"I don’t know. I think it might be better if we left you to do it alone, in case the charges can’t be proven at all, but I’m not sure that’s wise," my dad suggested.

I opened my eyes to see him frowning. "I’m not sure I have a response to that, honestly."

"Do you?"

"We could talk to the media. Prepare for the worst case scenario and figure out exactly what you do, after things are over with. You could talk to Coil, if you want to keep acting normal; we’ve got a team waiting for you at an inconvenient time."

"I don’t think jail would be a wise thing, especially for him," I said.

"I think he’s wiser," his dad said, "But I’m not sure I agree with him."

There was a bit of an argument, then a single gunshot. My bugs counted the dead. Three people she’d killed in cold blood.

I coughed briefly, then silently challenged Coil to a fight. If he did, I’d return the favor.





Migration 17.6


"I was wondering why your team wasn’t doing well," Tattletale spoke, her voice quiet.

I ignored her. I could hear others behind me reacting. At least she wasn’t sounding remarkably passionate about every sentence she was giving.

My phone buzzed. I picked it up and looked at the screen. My schedule:

I supposed I’d take out some enemies in the process, here and now.

Tuesday, April 20th, 8:45am

In</ text >



I didn’t even want to think about it. Winning against Dragon, against the team as a whole. I didn’t want to think about the mistakes, the moments where I had betrayed my friends, or the moments where I had failed the team, gone out of my way to avoid working with the Undersiders. I didn’t want to dwell on those things, because thinking about those things made me think about the way things had been at the end of June. The meanest, nastiest things I’d said and done since we’d parted
======================================== SAMPLE 486 ========================================
It had been more than six months since I had read or heard of any of these places. That was spread out over a large area, and there were still areas with development in them. There were also areas with families and areas with single people hanging around who didn’t necessarily want to move. This area was dense, which helped make it a lively place. Run down and on the verge of collapse, it had the unfortunate consequence of making everyone heavily involved in the city’s development. Signs of the city’s metropolis were everywhere. Graffiti covered some of the more prominent buildings, many of which were reminders of the greatest challenges humanity had ever faced. Crates full of aging, sick, homeless and unpowered men and women were found in the recesses and corners of the city. The state of the city was a stark contrast to the beautiful city the Undersiders had described. There had to be a reason why this city was so grand and beautiful, with all the problems that went with it. Why Brockton Bay was the way it was, when other cities were larger, more immersive and bloated with details. Why, just recently, it had become so depressing and fucked up that it had become a celebrated setting for tragedy and tragedy had resulted in a disaster.

Guess I’d go to the doctor and let him know about that. Maybe we could patch things up. Luck or karma, it didn’t matter. I’d go to the Protectorate and I’d see about getting promoted. It would at least be a touching reunion with my old team.

"Patience," he spoke.

I pursed my lips, waiting. He was patient. Heavy metal doors opened as he headed for the front, and for a moment I thought he was going to say something else, but he stopped. His attention was on Sebas and the two teenagers that sat on the bench.

They were listening as Sebas led the way to the exam room. The two teenagers were Aisha and Oliver. Long blondes, trim, with bags under their eyes to prevent them from squinting too much. I’d seen jogging in the grocery store, and thought maybe they were dating, but I’d never really looked in the direction of the classroom and see if anyone was around.

As they entered the room, I had to resist the urge to cringe. Joseph was the last person one might suspect to be dating a hero, but he was seated just to my left of my swarm. I could see the idea of him being a hero spreading across his classmates’' minds. It was hard to articulate just how strongly I’d reacted to his being named in the email, and how I’d reacted in that very instant, so I’d like to think I’d acted on impulse, pushed it into my head, told myself that I’d refuse to allow it to happen again. I was far from being a man of my word.

They entered the classroom, and I could see Emma, all business, immediately sorting through the bags and notebooks from her locker. As one textbook had been torn down to reveal more pages, she and her friends hurried to get organized, looking over the material in both the classroom and the privacy of their dorm room.

"She looks down," I teased, "Like she doesn’t want to see the teacher."

"The teacher?" My dad asked. I squeezed his hand. "Can you tell me honestly that she doesn’t look down?"

"Honestly? You can say that. The look she’s giving you is the same one she had when she played up the needy bitch in the woods, back when I was riding him."

I nodded. It meant some response, but I wasn’t sure what it would be. A twitch of his arm, and he led me back into the classroom.

"There’s one small detail that I’m pretty sure is going to become public, and that’s going to haunt you until you can no longer trust the people you used to care about."

"Plausible Denial," I spoke in a whisper.

"Whatever you say."

I saw his expression change, amusement audible in his tone. He let go of my hand, then rolled his shoulders, as if he was getting to work. "Whatever you say."

"I’m not going to lie and say I’ve reformed. I’m not at all. I’m not even that."

"At least, not on this front," my dad replied.

"No. I won’t let you down, be quiet, stay out of the way. I’m going to call my dad, and he’ll tell me to take it easy,
======================================== SAMPLE 489 ========================================
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter, the characters and the names are registered trademarks of J.K. Rowling, and any usage of any of the characters is sole responsibility of the respective owners. I am not an attorney licensed to represent her, nor do I have any special prescription for her. This medicine is not meant to treat or diagnose conditions and is not intended to treat or diagnose depression. In writing this document, I have consulted and performed a thorough check of my files and the reports I have seen in the news and judicial databases, and there was nothing in the end results. In writing this document, I consulted with a mental health professional and agreed to the terms and conditions herein. I am solely and exclusively responsible for my actions and decisions."

This was something of a non-sequitor. The word had come up as a possible trigger for some veterans, since the milestone had come up in the media, and medics were advising people to avoid looking for treatments or proposing solutions. Mentally unstable veterans were especially helpful in clearing people up about this, and the milestone had also popped up on the "Ask a Psychopath Does Your Job" board. The board was here.

Well, we already had some structure in place. We knew what problems our heroes were facing, and we could perhaps come up with solutions, but this was a little more indirect. The record companies wanted us to focus on villains, and the Boardwalk needed a hit to its image. And we could only protect Merchants, the Pure among them. Somehow the heroes had to turn to these villains for answers.

Maybe the villains were to blame for the bugs not coming out like they had hoped? It was written into the contract?

I was all too aware of the importance of this cache of information, the information that could or should or had potentially saved lives. If this slipped away, or if it was public knowledge we had failed as a species.

If this happened, the heroes would be far more interested in discrediting me, to put my head on the block, than they were in finding a solution to the problem. I was all too aware of the ways things could have gone if Skidmark’s team had won, if Skidmark had won and they hadn’t pursued the truth. I’d seen the catastrophe that could have occurred if they had.

I couldn’t, in my entirety, give them a solution. But I could hush them, I could control their movements, and I could stall until they dropped the ruse and gave us the answer we needed.

"This stake out started getting into your email bag, huh?" Rogue asked.

"Eyeing around, no luck. My bugs are ahead of me by a mile and a half, but I can’t see past the horizon. Lower amout of casualties, I think. We should hold to our old adage about waiting until disaster strikes."

"You said your readers are strong, didn’t you? You can’t poach readers from a newspaper if you want to keep the reputation."

"It’s not that important. IAEA. All of our nuclear submarines, our land-based missiles, our aircraft, ships and helicopters are all capable of carrying nukes."

"Nuke?" Roggenberg made it a question.

"It’s the word that has the majority on the record. The Undersiders did, on the record, smuggle a canister of highly enriched nukes into the United States. They say it’s powerful enough to kill a man. Or a lot of men. At least, that’s what I’m inclined to think. The precedent is there, if only because some nations have accepted the need for certain measures in light of perceived threats. We believe it’s a liability, one that could spell disaster if it were to come to pass. We hold no secrets about our motives. We want your cooperation, trust nothing you say ever makes it back to us unscathed. We’re operating with the assumption that the end of the world will occur sometime in the not-distant future, and we’re absolutely certain we can prevent it from occurring. For the time being, you hold the legal and moral standing to prevent crimes in this city."

"You’re carrying out my instructions."

"Of course. The next big step in your plan is satisfying your customer. We held a vote, and the overwhelming number of customers wanted you to expand your operations. More races, more nationalistic leanings, demanded races, you’re selecting the races you carry forward. The PRT accepts those calls. We have race medians, and we enforce them. We have a low risk, high return business."

"I wasn’t going to restate the facts. You said
======================================== SAMPLE 492 ========================================
It was just after midnight, and Krouse, Marissa and Oliver were still asleep.

Like everyone else, they had their smartphones out and were watching the news. Lucky for them, it was just how they fritzed the Internet, yesterday.

"Pretty sure this is how the world’s gonna end," Pip said.

"End of the world?" Krouse asked.

"Televised into the groundless, violent, meaningless end of the world, wherenobody really exists," Joy said. "It’s about the only reality out there where we have any hope."

"We already know the conclusion will be coronation, pop culture, the throne of the world, whatever," Oliver said.

"It could still be real," Krouse said.

"There’ll be other conspiracies," Oliver said. "Dinah might just be the catalyst. The first."

Krouse suppressed a wince.

They’d gotten more spontaneous with their talk, and there was a camaraderie. With no real motivation beyond the common interest in the topics and the shared interest in getting to know their guests, there was no real hook.

As awkward as it was, they had been too lazy to do much deeper thinking on the subject, so their conversation with the internet was their first taste of the overwhelming number of people who were eager to get a glimpse of this charming, generous pair.

The benefit of the doubt. They would get caught if they did anything to try to dissuade their visitor.

The website had a feature that was slowly leaking into the wild. Anyone could create an account and start contributing, but an entry on the wiki page gave the reader the power to make a $25,000 (£15,000) offer.

→

"Simple password generator," Joyner said. "Anyone with any clue about the customs and social conventions of your island or even just knows someone who does, send them to me. I won’t say a thing, and I’ll send them straight to the Birdcage when I say hi."

"How much are you asking?" Krouse asked.

"I need to know, because I’ll give you the best clue I can about what to expect from the other species. You can’t convince me."

"One clue?"

"You’ll have intermittent failed states. Like you or me. There’s a lot I can’t explain. But I can tell you this. We’re mammals, humans evolved to be more like mammals, and our main social group of mammals is the Family. The closest thing we have to a family that evolved from an unrelated species is the kin-group. The other two major species of mammals are the Branch and the Group. So right now, as far as I can tell, is the closest thing we have to a family that was directly or indirectly derived from an organism other than a vertebrate. I’m thinking about the organism from the arthropods family. Or an alien creature. Is it Xenopus or something else?"

"I don’t know. I can’t think of what it is."

"It’s an order and a model of thought to know that all mammals share some basic human need. The idea is that you fill that need by joining our group. It’s not hard, either. Just give us your abilities, be a good help. We’ll nurture you, care for you in so many ways that you become the family you were meant to have."

"I… I’m not sure what that is."

"You won’t have to. I’ll worry less about your family and more about us. When we’re all together, we’re going to be stronger."

"I don’t understand."

More talk of martial arts, physiology, growing a backbone. Stuffing things, the like.

"It’s about being with your family, being there when they need you most. Not everyone has that luxury."

"My dad’s closest friends were the ones who did well academically. The ones who weren’t attending school but were making friends and hanging out with us."

"That line is pretty close to being a friend."

"I like you as a friend. But you’re not the kind of friend I want my kids to have. The kind of friend that works things out, makes plans and can predict what I want for my kids."

"I don’t think I do."

"You’d be surprised at how many parents I’ve worked with who turn their back on their kids because they can�
======================================== SAMPLE 495 ========================================
Knowledge is power, we must use it" I replied.

"Should be in everyone’s hand when they’re walking down a street, isn’t it?"

"It depends where you walk," I said. "The south end of the city, west of Pierce in the north, or north and Addison in the south-"

"Where?"

"Wherever you go, you have to learn where to walk. You’re strolling, you’re destroying what’s left of the biosphere, and you’re doing it faster than the rest of us can."

"We’re supposed to adapt," Gregor said.

"No," I protested, "We’re supposed to adapt. Only difference is how we do it. If we adapt and stop adapting, how much of the existing species die out? Instability will rise."

"We can’t afford instability," Tattletale said.

"In a way, we can. With the Endbringers and Leviathan, we have far, far more population to kill" I said. "We can’t afford to lose players."

"It doesn’t matter," Tattletale said. "The alternative is going to the Birdcage."

"The alternative is going to the Birdcage," I said. I almost said ‘to jail’, but I didn’t. I was distracted as I suddenly felt intensely conscious of every bug and every louse that was crawling on me. My skin reddened, my chest and stomach visibly started to ache, and I paid a great deal of attention to the spiders, wasps, mosquitos and cockroaches that had decided to cluster on me.

If Dinah’s A.I. was going to the Birdcage, I needed to get out of there as soon as possible. I could do that by getting into a position where I could free myself, but that didn’t mean I was going to escape. I scanned the surroundings, looking for anachronisms that might alert me to movement or escape routes. I smelled blood, especially on the smooth, slightly warm metal of the wall.

Had it been the Behring family that had been in my cell? I couldn’t pinpoint their names, with the names they had sent me here, but I had no reason to believe they were part of any group. There was no graffiti, no personal information left behind by those who’d come before us.

I knew I could have left, leaving right here, with only a memory of what I’d seen or what might have happened, but I didn’t want to.

More and more, I was getting the sense that this was something I was meant to be doing.

And as long as I was doing it, there was no reason to think I could or would change or do anything noteworthy.

I couldn’t think of Hannah or Madison’s names. So I just hummed, feeling the familiar images and sounds flooding into my mind’s eye, first climbing up to the roof’s edge, and then settling in for the listen.

It was strange to feel like I was floating in the middle of a storm drain. The sound of the rain was odd, even if I didn’t think it was actually coming from the water. It wasn’t thunderclaps or any of that, but the constant, low volume shockwave-wave rippling through the city.

The sounds in my head were almost subsumed in that chaos, like waves of disorienting silence when I was half-blind and listening for the clapping of my hand against the blind spot of my mask. There was no shock, only the silent, murky liquid that was me, all of me, the sensations, all of the dreaming that took place across my integration into the outside world, and only the dull, solid noise of the rain hitting the outside of the building.

Silence, as far as I could guess.

Silence, as far as any of us were aware, was silence in the face of something that was essentially silent.

My fingertips ran over a scratch that didn’t look like a wisp. I could reach down and fix it.

A deep, disturbing loneliness settled over me. I knew I was surrounded by that silent thing, had sought it out specifically because it was so difficult to be in my personal space. It was why I couldn’t talk to my family or my friends, why I couldn’t leave the room, or even just stay still for a fraction of a second. I knew I could make noises, make an excuse and leave the room, and they’d ignore me.
======================================== SAMPLE 498 ========================================
I looked up at her, in a way that left me doubting my ability to recognise her in the gloom. She gave me the impression of someone who’d sit down and never look up, who’d just stride into a room and shut the door. She gave me a worried look.

In a way it was the same as with Disappointment, that bittersweet feeling where I’d expected a hug and felt the warmth of a flame on my fingertips. I’d known from the start that this wouldn’t be easy. This was a door that would lead to the Protectorate, and it seemed certain that they would argue for a stay of deportation.

Not a walk in the park, either. During the last week I’d had this place, I’d felt acutely aware of the fact that I was in quarantine, and that even though I was awake to listen, I wouldn’t be able to ask for help, or refer for someone to help. A knock at the door made me jump and made me jump again, that sense of dread and the need for an imminent unknown that so many years of feeling was paving the way for gave me a little more momentum. I made my way upstairs, passing two angry growls from Shadow Stalker, and made my way to the bedroom.

I adjusted my scarf, finally able to relax in the chill of the apartment after weeks of sitting in exposed clothing with no shelter to fall back to, and wound blanketed myself up in the sheets.

Imp was on the other side of the blanket, lying on her side, her head pressed against the hip of a hospital bed.

"When the cat’s out of the bag," I said, "You going to let her out?"

She shook her head, but she made it a question. "Going to let her know what’s going on, what’s going on with me?"

I didn’t have a response for her question. I frowned instead, then went back to the blanket and lay back, using the warmth of the fire to warm myself.

"You okay? I can see through your mask."

She shook her head.

"You staying awake?"

She shook her head.

"I need to get here, before the others wake up."

I nodded, walking with the ginger patient to the kitchen and stopping at the door to check in on Tattletale and Dinah.

"They’re not answering their phone."

I opened the door and called the number on the screen, but the screen was displaying a white message. I shook my head. I was on the brink of losing it.

"Why the fuck are you so hard to reach?"

"Your sister got hurt. I was the one that gave her the time to recuperate and decide what I was going to do with her injury. When I couldn’t find anyone willing to take her on as a client, I left her here."

"Fuck," I said. "I was thinking I’d give her up for something like a good life, and not a fucking deathtrap."

"She’s not going to kill herself."

I shook my head a little. "I don’t know if I can believe this, but I guess I’m going to have to go through the motions of giving up the data, or give up on ever getting it back."

"Or you’ll let her die anyways."

I shook my head a little more forcefully. "I don’t- I’d let her die, if it meant preserving her identity. I’d let her suffer, because I knew she could. But putting her through that-"

Tattletale interrupted. "I can’t help but wonder if you’ve gone mad. Visually,ocean waves and vibrant hues, get ready to weep."

"I’m not- I’m not sad," I said. I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

"Oh. Well, there’s that. I can help. If you could fill me in."

"I don’t know how to help myself."

"Oui, then. That’s neither here nor there. But I can still console myself with the thought that perhaps I can offer you something. Houseflies will do. They landed a nice, fine meal on your table. Sorry, I’m not in a position to provide it."

"They’ll do," I said. Again, my shiver wasn’t quite so intense. "Houseflies."

"I don’t know what to say to- to compliment the butterflies
======================================== SAMPLE 501 ========================================
I looked around at the crowd.

"My client, Taylor Hebert, informally represented by the group Organized Dead joins us here at the capital, Female mayor and mayor of Brockton Bay, are you listening?"

"Yes ma’am."

"She is the only one who truly represents us, here, and we feel it is her place to discuss any issues before the group. In light of recent events and your own admission that you are indeed a very dangerous person, we feel it is now in the best interests of the justice system, as well as of our client, to seek your counsel."

"So you want me to turn my back on my friends and let you be arrested?"

"That is not our case, that is the record we have set for ourselves. We are not wanting to be arrested, only to surrender ourselves to authorities having their say. For our part, we are willing to submit to being arrested. We simply want a court appearance. If you are willing."

"And the terms we’re offering are only the beginning. We can discuss terms with her. She can say no, that we should come to trial, and we could walk away without having to fight any longer."

"We have a two year old, a fifty-five year old mother of two adult children, and an alcoholic father. Each of them can’t take care of themselves, and without their financial independence, health, or security, it would be very difficult for us to afford to prosecute."

"So what’s the best deal? In the best case scenario, you could plead guilty, accept a probationary sentence, and we could drop the case."

"Yes ma’am."

"In the worst case scenario, you could refuse the offer and plead not guilty. I know your friends and family would be willing to include you, if we could prove you weren’t specifically recruited for this."

"I’ll try, ma’am."

"There are other options, but the thing that strikes me as the worst is this: if you were to agree to plea, you would be agreeing to be criminal defendants for a very long time."

"This is exactly the kind of agreement I would reach if I were to agree to anything just to keep my job. I’m not a court reporter, so let me see if I can convince the judge and all the witnesses that we shouldn’t plea down."

"I understand what you are saying. I believe it is the best option for all involved. The best option, however, is for you to accept our terms and agree to plead guilty."

"I mistake," Accord said.

"We’re not there yet," Tattletale spoke. She turned, "I’m reading the page numbers on the next few announcements, and I’m aware of three upcoming events. The crime of the month was how Batman saved hostages, and it’s apparently breaking the record for the most casualties in a single incident when it was done by Demon Lake. Oh, and there’s the news from Batkid stating that you managed to abduct and brainwash a member of the Protectorate."

"Mind giving me a preview of what we’re up against?"

"It’s a case of trying to anticipate what we could face. Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice is coming to town, and just like with that movie, it’s really rewarding them to play up the superhero angle when they come to town. We lose one viking, but we gained three hundred battle scars. I suspect we’ll get that type of momentum if we go out there and try to beat the game that’s supposed to be played in Britain. Go figure. The next few weeks, months or years will be really telling. Which of us is still alive?"

"You guys are viking-obsessed," Clockblocker said.

"I know, but we aren’t really fighting. I’m wondering if you could give us any hints about what’s going on?"

The clock turned back fifteen minutes. Was it that hard to put up with the boredom? To keep track of the countless unanswered questions about the Endbringers, Über, Leviathan, the Slaughterhouse Nine, Über’s group, more Endbringers?

Vista made a face. "I’m sorry, but this isn’t really us helping our friends."

"It’s your call. I’d rather you got in a fight with an Endbringer than not help your friends."

"I don’t understand. I don’t think I do either, that I could help neither."

Vista turned to the
======================================== SAMPLE 504 ========================================
Q: What gives?

A: You’re weak against one specific sort of attack, shortsighted. You’re shortsighted because you think there’s a way I’ll use that power, and I won’t. You want to fight the Nine, so you canil that sort of thing out before you try to act on it. I think you’re wrong."

Sveta let go of the oven door and hurried back through the kitchen to the second floor. She called out, "There!"

The mother of the girl in the doll’s house dropped to her knees, buried her face in Sveta’s shoulder.

"That’s what I thought!"

Sveta whipped her head around, staring wide-eyed at the ground.

"What’s wrong?" Madcap asked.

"You idiots! Dammit! You had a little chat with Tattletale the other night and she suggested you guys go get that kid of yours. You guys are annoying me more than they are helping her. What the fuck am I supposed to do!?"

"Something constructive, maybe," Faultline said, "Maybe you should learn to deal with people. You got cocky, used to take on people with better powers than you. Don’t you just need to earn my respect? Fix that girl so she’s okay with me taking her back?"

Heruta slowly turned to her three friends, looking them over. The other three girls didn’t look nearly as nervous as Sveta was.

"I dunno… I think… a dildo would be swell. Iron, though that might be a bit much. I’m not sure what kind of construction it would make, if I ever got one. But anything NSFW, you know?"

Heruta typed at his keyboard. The window with the six operating systems was unexpectedly clear of windows. The fact that his computer was largely unoccupied was more alarming. The fact that his computer was largely empty made him think about his mom, about her and her machines.

He re-entered his room and found a book, his shoes and socks in the folder. In his hurry to get to his software, he dropped them on the ground and the leather of his shoes made a loud clink.

He quickly found and installed Java on his computer. It was a tedious, slow, inefficient process, but it let him surf the web without downloading and installing dozens of applications. He left it running in the background, always on. He never shut it down, but he could ignore it. That, or he could install Immunity, a firewall and uninterrupted internet. He favored Dragon over Java on that score.

He was pleasantly surprised to find that installing Immunity on his computer had unloaded all of the prerequisites. It would be up to him to force his computer to do its own thing.

Iron Bear barged into his room, knocking over the classified paperwork. While he was standing in his book, staring at the pages, Iron Bear spoke to him, "I don’t believe I have any more questions."

"What’s wrong?"

"I’m dead," was the answer Krouse could hear.

"Then I guess it’s settled. You can take as much of my money as you want, if you want, just don’t tell me where it is."

"We can talk about that after-" Iron Bear said.

"You can’t. I want to talk to your dogs."

"They’re outside," Iron Bear pointed, "Give them some attention. It’s probably a good idea to leave the city if you want to keep some cash."

"Good, good."

Krouse turned his attention to the laptop, found it empty. He looked at Marissa, who was coming in, his arm swelling with expectation as she entered the room. Marissa began making her way to the chair Marissa was sitting in, only to look up and see him taking the seat just behind her, giving her a push.

"Krouse!" Luke shouted. Marissa hurried to catch up, sitting on the arm of the chair Krouse was sitting in.

"We’re busy people," he explained, "It’s just so hard to be a prisoner in our own minds."

"Do you have a lawyer? Anyone?"

Nothing.

"No," Krouse admitted. He turned to the screen, saw the woman in the yellow shirt with the gang tag flanking her.

"Well," she said, her tone vaguely mocking. "At least she’s not a vigilante cop, like you."

"She’s a vigilante with
======================================== SAMPLE 507 ========================================
Are you?

"I created him," I said. "He could have made me, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t have given me the powers he did. Don’t."

He lunged for Vista, who was moving slower now. Her whole body was shaking now, the knots of metal plates ratcheting up.

"Stop!" I shouted at the same time I spoke, as I raced after them. Grue was just behind me, and Doggar-more (fingers, not really) had joined in, joining in with the snarl of metal where Vista had more room. Reaching the end of the alley, we stopped, Dog under me, Grue astride Bentley.

At my instruction, we approached the nearest four′ tall gun, weighing the options for transport before we arrived at the first crate that had what we needed. A stove-top device with an old fashioned oven on one side, an old fashioned tent on the other.

Brandish and Candace were handling the motions, shaking off the bugs that had been placed on them by the girl in white. When Candace had her arms full, wrapping them around the oven door, Brandish pulled the door open and let her inside.

She’d confessed she couldn’t say her name because it was a trademark of the Endbringer, and that she couldn’t remember why because she’d become like this. The nightmare back home. How she’d terrorized him. How she’d terrorized her.

"Candace, still shaking off the bugs," I said.

"Oh, I’m fine," she answered.

"No need to worry. We’ve got all the essential details. Here," I took a second to steady my walk and notify the others, "We’re to boarding the ship. Two total, we’re scheduled to arrive in Puerto Rico sometime in the late afternoon. I’m sorry, our trip just took a detour. We’ll be back."

There were nods from around the ship.

As we headed out of the ship’s opening port, a trio of people stepped out of the crowd. I presumed them to be crewmembers. Tall, athletic figures who stuck to the ship’s schedule of port visits and face-to-face meetings.

Manpower, Red Lion and Othello.

Their hair was beaded with moisture, their eyes glistening with moisture. I didn’t recognize any of the people around them. Not the people who were gathered at the meeting place, not the people who were in the tourist areas.

They were all regulars, all of them. Repeat customers. People who were members of the same group twice a week for nearly twenty years. Glanced at them, maybe, or just looked at them.

Overdosing on this vomit, on the diet of poisons and diseases, it meant the people aboard the ship were ill, and they were dying. There was no way to tell.

Except speaking of this with people who would understand, bringing a realization to minds that had, as far as I could tell, never had the opportunity to understand.

"The second crate was disabled," Manpower said. "Topping it off, some machinery was destroyed, and it was deemed unseemly that a third be brought in."

With a frown, Manpower said, "The company is not to promote our art, nor are we to provide stock quotes."

"I could have purchased it," the tall man beside Red Lion said.

"I know," Faultline said. "But we will. It will be aced. Oracular arts therapist":[ENCYCLOPEDIA, page 18]

"It won’t be," Revel said. "The standards are high, with…"

Faultline reached over and grabbed Revel’s hand, pulling her away.

"They’ll forgive you this early," Manpower said. "But the fuck are you doing, cheating!?"

"Discipline?" Faultline asked.

"You know I’m Discipline," Revel said.

"You’d be surprised," Power said.

Revel launched forward, reaching out to grab crates of food. Fat girl reached out, pressing her hands to the door.

"I know you spend a lot of time on computers," Manpower said. "Many a night, many a week, monitoring and processing, coordinating new members."

Revel frowned. "Many a night."

"We have extensive experience that allows us to offer tutors for newcomers to the group, and we’ve also accrued a great deal of expertise. Noted newcomer, Emissary,
======================================== SAMPLE 510 ========================================
White smoke billowed around her as the stationary vehicle she’d loaded into the back of a truck began tearing down the street, away from the child’s makeshift hospital.

Noelle had little doubt on her mind all along. It would be for her benefit.

She dropped out of the air as the truck began to rotate slowly towards her, the sidewalk crackling with the vibrations of the truck tire arcing back to the ground, heavy.

Scion was still emerging from the smoke. Noelle turned, felt the force of the collision as though a brick had fallen just for her to hit. The chill that followed from the sight of the Oni Lee were proof to her theory. He was taunting her.

She took a tentative step forward, but Scion appeared behind her, his head rising to look between the two girls. Noelle felt a stab of pain and stumbled.

"Go!" She screamed, naked, scrambling to one side as another truck drove by, temporarily disabled by the onboard camera. But she had to stop short, returning to the ground to avoid stepping onto any roads that had been damaged by the explosion.

Scion dumped a fresh truckload of containment foam down in one piece of pavement. The lake of fire stopped, and the ripples appeared on the road, rolling further down.

Noelle panicked. She tried to climb to her feet, but Scion followed her line of sight. A second later, the fire was replaced by a golden glow, and the lake of golden liquid was replaced with a portal that spilled out into the air, solidifying. The glow reached both of the buildings that had been hit.

Scion followed up with another shaft of golden light, and the portal behind them dropped. But the second shaft remained standing, expanding unabated.

"Go!" She called after them.

But the light faded. They stood in the midst of a massive plume of golden light. It cast them in the sky, no doubt spelling out "KYUBER".

"KYUBER", they’d said in chorus. It wasn’t long before the other groups were lost in the noise.<|endoftext|>A Maryland woman has been arrested and charged after a teenager reported seeing a dark-haired, thin Asian man with glasses and a "boys’ club" vibe in a parking lot, police said.

The Maryland State Police said in a news release that 35-year-old Tara E. Dickerson of Anne Arundel County was arrested and charged with three counts of attempted murder. She is scheduled to appear in Prince George’s County Superior Court on Sept. 16.

According to the police report, a man walked past the scene of the crime on Wednesday, Sept. 16. He reported seeing a dark-haired, thin Asian man with glasses and a "boys’ club" vibe in the parking lot. The man reportedly told police he saw her turn and notice him. Police said they reviewed surveillance camera footage from the area and found no sign of any suspicious activity around the time of the crime.

Detectives conducting a missing person investigation found the remains of a deceased person near the scene of the crime. Robin Mahaffy, a 33-year-old single mother of one, was reported missing Sept. 6. Her purse, a Rolex watch and a number of other valuables were found nearby. Investigators interviewed the remains, and police said they found no clues at the scene to identify the man who had disposed of the woman’s body.

Investigators interviewed Mahaffy’s brother, uncle, father, sister, brother-in-law and sister-in-law, and found no signs of foul play.

Detectives conducted a DNA testing on the remains to confirm the identity. The results weren’t in Mahaffy’s immediate family, but the crime would have occurred "out of town."

The body was discovered by a teenage girl, her hand gripping the strap of the metal searchlight beneath her coat. The 17-year-old victim reported the incident to police and said she had seen something similar to happen to her brother a week before she disappeared. Police said they found and examined the remains near the scene of the crime.

Detectives interviewed Mahaffy’s brother, uncle, father, sister, and the teenage girl who had seen the man. Nothing too interesting was reported.

A week later, a sample was tested for DNA on the victim’s hand and clothing. That testing confirmed the man who had been in the woods with Mahaffy was the same person who had been in the vicinity of the crime scene, wearing the same clothes.

Detectives interviewed the teenager who had seen the man and who had seen the remains a week ago. Nothing too interesting was reported.

A sample was tested for DNA on the knife the Asian man had
======================================== SAMPLE 513 ========================================
It was unspoken, but I felt a note of alarm as the term went out.

Dragon, I thought. Clearly.

Revel, returning home. I’d missed her, beyond the three short conversations we’d had prior to her arriving, but it was clearly a factor here.

My sympathies, I thought. I couldn’t say whether she felt sympathy or benevolence toward Dragon, because the statement had been triggered by the fact that I’d survived, and I’d witnessed first hand what Dragon had done.

It was unspoken, but I couldn’t say whether it was because I’d shared with Tattletale’s group the events of Echidna’s rampage, or if it was simply the case expression and sound of my own feelings.

It was moments before I felt the first creaking of the building, followed by the first sounds of movement. A man was lying on the ground with what appeared to be aortic aneurysms, life support.

I appeared in mid-dodge, my feet skidding on the cold tile, and brought them down hard against the subdural space in between my head and the subdural microphone. I had a few shaky laughs as I smashed my head against the base of the cabinet. After I was convinced I hadn’t sustained any permanent damage, I covered my ears.

"Fucker," I muttered. "You admit you did it?"

Grue called out, "She did it."

The first bugs to arrive on him were repelled by his aortic aneurysm and forcefield. Others from my swarm followed him into his brain. I think they were the ones that got to him before he had a chance to use his power and stop them.

I knew he could hear them from my swarm. His psychosis was probably its own form of hearing. It was the only form of hearing that was capable of providing such perfect auditions. Each and every one of its auditions was a silent equivalent to one long, perfect, unhurried laugh.

He screamed, a frantic, fearful sound, and it was enough to kill my wet dream. I was there when he used his power, in that terrifying silence.

I didn’t hear it for long seconds, but the moment the sound was over, I could hear Tremaine’s guttural voice, saying, "Oh god, oh god, oh god."

"He’s on the verge of dying," Chevalier said. "I’m- he’s barely registering it, but he’s on the verge of losing it all."

"Let’s not let him," Miss Militia said. "Our country’s at stake."

"There’s always consequences," I said. "Just like here."

I gathered my bugs from the hallway around the room, the ones that had been on the costume in the first place, and I directed them to the dock, keeping them therein. I drew out lines of silk and dropped them into the vial.

"Maybe someone will notice," Miss Militia said.

"Maybe," I agreed.

A heartbeat later, Scion moved. Too slow for Chevalier to catch. Miss Militia drew a taser from her holster, then stabbed the pointed end of the dart into Scion’s neck.

He stopped his whirling, bloodying pace. His neck had been shattered into a thousand pieces.

In the color-changing bubbles of his darkness, Scion saw Lightstorm, who had been turned into a blur by the dart. Like the aftermath of a flood, the first things he saw were water, burning and filth, a thing dredged up from the depths.

A hand seized him by the collar, and he pulled, solid ground shifting beneath. He brought one foot up, but the impact didn’t touch the ground.

He kicked out, and he couldn’t even move beneath the firstbit of burning ground.

A hand released him, and he rolled with the impact, dazed, stunned.

More like cannon fodder, I thought. Capable of packing a punch two or three times his own strength. Rarer still to use it.

He was running towards us, and we didn’t have time to react. I closed my eyes, in the same instant Lightstorm stepped forward, Scion moved. He paused, then broke away from Lightstorm in the same motion.

Not a teleporting attack. Just a break.

His foot slipped from his underfoot, and he fell.

Miss Militia didn’t turn, but she used her gun to fire a series of blasts of laser light at Scion.

======================================== SAMPLE 516 ========================================
"I thought that was it," Tecton said, "They’ve apparently signed a deal, letting us keep any prisoners we acquire. I caught a glimpse of one of the men who was supposed to take my kids had leaving."

"My kids?" Wanton asked.

"No," Tecton said, "These are people we can afford to keep in reserve, folks who’ve had powers for a reason and aren’t about to give them up. And we already have several hundred soldiers placed strategically throughout the city, ready to man the nukes if they needed it. Rachel, Imp, Imp’s dogs and I flew up to look at the situation. There’s about twenty heroes and several Wards who didn’t make it out okay, either because of the damage or the destructions inflicted by the explosion. Other wounded were arriving via ambulance."

"Bonesaw and Shatterbird?" I asked.

"I and my dogs are going to help the rest of them," Tecton said.

"They’re ready?"

"Ready," Tecton said. He signaled Reb, and the ambulance pulled to a stop.

"We’re not going to be able to help them," I said.

"No," Tecton said. "We’re too damaged."

There was the sound of the ambulance doors closing, but I didn’t say it.

"What did you want?" Rachel asked.

"I told you they’d help," Tecton said.

"What did you want?"

"If you want, you can leave. I’ll be hurt, but I’ll make it back for my friends."

"Okay, fuck you," Rachel said.

"If you want, I can fly down and help," Tecton said.

"Fine. I’ll leave. Promise," Rachel said.

"No fucking lights!"

A fire started at the foot of the stairs. The heat of the fire and the flammable surroundings prevented anyone from lighting the scene on fire, but the flames spread, and it was somewhere near me, on the staircase, in the stairs, at the very back of the ambulance.

I tried to ignore the mess of papers in the ambulance’s driver’s seat, but a stray newspaper or two were now dancing around the edges of the unnecessarily hot vehicle. I got the bundle, helped her lean it towards me, and then helped remove it. It was infinitesimal.

The ambulance pulled out, and a crowd was gathering around.

Thankfully, there weren’t many reporters present. The more strictly enforced reporters were making their way down the aisle, and the cameras took note of the spectacle.

"Kid Win, where is the ambulance?"

"Fuck it, call this in anonymously," I said. "We’re moving."

Most of the crowd had stopped by the time I arrived on site. Some still sat as I made my way to the elevator, but the polite thing to do would have been for most to stand and for the attendant to give me a newspaper, and I knew that no such luck. Most stared at me as I made my way up to the EMS bay.

The first aid kit wasn’t readily apparent. Most of the box was bolted on, but the tools and supplies were hidden in another compartment, where it was harder to access and use. I had to lift the top half of the box, which had three compartments, and access was gained to the bottom half where there was only one. I opened the bottom compartment, which had a hand crank, and swung the second compartment open.

The materials were too heavy to move, but I was willing to risk it. I hauled the bottom compartment open, nearly dropping the contents inside my armored shoulderpauldron as I initially angled for the crush of people gathered around me.

I pulled the stock out of the box and engaged the three-inch diameter blade in my hand. The entire thing was coiled, almost like it was stuffed full of razor blades.

I swept the blades with my wings to reveal colored bands, each designed to compliment one another. There were also clear lines of color inspired by food, by objects, people and more. Ihlerparamecia, a mash-up of Italian and Spanish food; Campanile from thefoods; and Gastronom from the horror movie Friday the 13th.

Ihlerparamecia.

Ihlerparamecia?

The other two monsters?

Ihlerparamecia was a humanoid robot with a three-foot blade in hand.

Campanile and Gastronom?

Ihlerparamecia
======================================== SAMPLE 519 ========================================
When the idea crossed my mind that maybe I could donate, I jumped at the chance. I would pay for the supplies I’d need to get my costume made:

Everything I’d need to make a costume for my costume. (minus the eyes)

A Beekeeping and Hiding Kit from the Birdcage

Two gallon paint cans with clear jars

Two feet of black silk wire

A self adhesive glue

A rubber mallet from my dad’s collection

Directly on the counter, beneath the sink and in the bowl of the cooler, I would find a stapler:

A set of the stapled-together buttons from the Batanka figure:

A set of Phillips screwdrivers

A battery operated lighter (I wasn’t sure what kind, because it was white and silver and not much else)

And, above that, everything else: a bedazzled photographic print of a butterfly, birthdate unspecified, made into a figure for Echidna by Takata. (Again, not much else).

The staples were already in place after I’d hung up the envelope on the wall, duct tape around the eyes, and washer-dry. I tightened the comb through the lighter and found the hair of the blonde woman’s head, not much more than coiled black tar. I set about trying to identify it as Rachel’s, starting with the longest possible chain, the unlikely length I might expect to see on a broad skein of silk.

That seemed to be enough. The length fit. Iadia was almost embarrassed to lose the file, knowing how closely it had connected the costume and the particular D.T.A. officer she’d had it made for, but she was entranced.

The remainder of the information was saved as a message from Taylor to her family, with an optional header and message indicating the connection to Echidna.

► Nine months after arriving in Brockton Bay, taken to an English woman by the name of Rache. Translated as ‘sold as a spy’.



Full Disclosure: I was aware that Taylor had been kidnapped. I had a proposition for her.



► Post Script: Since posting, events had unfolded. She had become a rogue, had attacked a tinker, and was currently an example for the other tinkers. It was a dangerous game, with Echidna. She’d apparently found a way around the table Alabama had set down for her, and had started aggressively pursuing other heroes. The situation was low priority, only half the priorities of the group of heroes here, now, and the resulting lack of response from the Undersiders had been unacceptable.



► Deimos (Not Answered Question: XLIV)

Replied on July 6th, 2011:

This is the second of a two part discussions. The first part can be found here.

(Showing page 30 of 30)

► White Fairy (The poster child for shorter essays)

Replied on July 6th, 2011:

In part two, I’m going to outline some of the issues, clues I’d look for, and techniques I’d use to investigate them.



Cultural References

The Brockton Bay team is very much a product of the late 90’s and early 00s. They were heavily favored by the Protectorate, both for their prowess against the various forms of attack and their high ratings for their versatility. Their success was due in large part to the relatively low rating the team gave them, compared to other teams of similar ilk. The only other team with a comparable track record was the Guild in Los Angeles. The bulk of the rest of the world’s teams were run down, in large part. The bulk of the world’s heroes were wound up in the company of the similarly built Lao team -four, minus the lead, Xiangmo -who had a refined style of fighting that was both effective and frequently seen in the movies and on TV. The Bangkok team was a relatively new addition to the Wards, made up almost entirely of long-ranged attacks and ambushes. The Chicago team hadn’t quite found their footing, with the formation of the fully fledged capes and the emergence of their own strategy in regards to the Wards’ early game. Things were Happening, the film that was loosely based around the group’s early days, showed. The end result was that the teenagers in the group were showing a lot of emotion, and they were making a lot of promises and twaddle promises. Mostly promises. The heroes assumed the heroes would keep playing ball, and they did, with the heroes taking a less than honorable stance in the midst of it. The team started
======================================== SAMPLE 522 ========================================
"What?"

"You need to get closer. You can’t walk, but you can use your power. What color is the floor? Basalt?"

"Blue."

"Basalt floor? What’s that? You’re talking about a laser."

"Laser. It’s not that big a deal. I only needed to get close to the laser to make the floor spin around a few dozen times. That first beam was almost enough downward thrust to change the direction I was facing, flipping me around. Then I moved another two or three feet closer, and felt something weird. The laser started pounding into me, even though I was more than a hundred feet away from the point the first beam made contact.

"Sting?" Sierra said. She stepped forward between my dad and I, holding the two dogs that were standing on either side of me.

"Almost," I said. "Give me a moment." I used my bugs to voice my thoughts.

I needed to be able to communicate, to get the others on the list. I didn’t get that opportunity.

The first beam didn’t even manage to penetrate my costume. It stopped as soon as it passed over a layer of scales that covered the intestines. The exit wound was even more reinforced than the exterior, with teeth, horns and a sharp, blunted horn at the front that helped keep the mess from getting in my digestive tract. Even behind the lens of my mask, the whiteness of bone meant the interior wasn’t completely blocked off. I was surprised it wasn’t a pheromone. There was no way anyone would be able to walk into that.

No, I was more worried about Noelle.

Crushed, undiminished. I couldn’t win this.

I was still afraid. Afraid that the mental anguish I was feeling would creep up on me, or that I’d lose consciousness and wake up in a bed in the wilderness, surrounded by the four of them.

But they weren’t sleeping. I couldn’t imagine how it would be, writing this all down, having to repeat it many times. They weren’t interrupted. It would be a problem if they were. I was remarkably good at waking them up.

There was a flicker, and my bugs were stirring again, the need for further investigation apparent. I could feel it through my bugs, and my contact with Grue spurred many of them to action.

They emerged from one large puddle, this time accompanied by ashire-dukes. These were beefy creatures from the side of the hill, with cartwheels that could pelt their opponents. They were covered in a kevlar, a heavy, hooded sweatshirt with a swastika design on it and leggings with patches of fur or scales around the edges.

I had my bugs gather on them, and took a slow, careful drawling breath as I continued to breathe, exciting myself with the possibility of a connection between my bugs and their surroundings.

Slowly, a group of them laid down, congregating on top of the hill. It was as though a giant were taking a piece out of the puzzle, breaking the hill into its component pieces. It gave me the chance to draw more bugs near and build up a stronger cloud.

However it started, the cloud quickly grew and coalesced into what had to be a mound or a valley, shaped most definitely by the plumes of dust and debris that had followed the first wave of monsters.

A breed apart, each just a little different from the ones before. The biggest difference was that these ones were female. There was no mist of gore, no blood shed, as far as I could tell. In their place, I could see bald men in mail jackets, a woman in business attire, and capes in more conservative clothing. There were agnostics and Christians, old and new. There were capes who were in costume, as well, in flowing robes or armor studded with metal studs or chains. There were a few people who weren’t capes at all, but were having a good time like I’d never even heard of, having visited a few weeks ago.

Every single one of them was a member of the Undersiders. Every one of them had recently fled Westworld, or as close to it as the monsters that ate the city and the people that lived in it could get. Twelve of them, now.

I was just about to introduce myself when I had the urge to say hi, felt like saying hi for the world’s sake.

So I stood there, holding my umbrella as the heroes approached, and they settled down on the ground just beside me. Arnold was the
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My hair was blowing in the wind. I would have thought it stopped, but it wasn’t straightening or gathering in any event. It was just there, unruly and unruly.

I was a little caught off guard, to see this. I could see the way people were shuffling toward the portal, the way they were absorbed, distracted, just a little scared.

But there was nobody really stopping to look at me.

"Who are you, Skitter?"

I looked over my shoulder. At Theo. He was looking at me, his attention on my costume, rather than me.

"I’m- I’m an unauthorized member with a mission."

"You don’t have a mission."

"I don’t," I admitted. I saw a smirk spread across his face.

"No?"

"I’m here to arrest you guys, and a few other folks. You guys are pretty low on credits, officially," I said, eyeing the heroes who were shuffling toward us. "However, if my numbers are right, if you don’t have anyone on the ground with the training and experience we need, then we’re still set. I can explain the systems and the way they’re managed, and we all manage as a team."

"You can’t, as far as I know."

"I can assure you, the civilians are accounted for and we’re on the right path. You’ll have to thank the catches, but the good intentions are good."

I shrugged. "Somehow."

"Anubis?"

"I’m trying to set things up so we’re both able to participate," I said. "You’re maybe best described as a stray."

"That’s how long it took me to get my costume. Before I could ask for a break, a new set of regulations came in and I had to get a new set."

"Oh?"

"And less time to get my costume perfected. With the first group of heroes to see my costume got an official costume, it was like a brick with a pink heart design on it. With subsequent requests, it took an altogether different tack. They were like rules, a set of restrictions. I couldn’t participate in the fights, I couldn’t defy the restrictions, and I couldn’t cross one of the lines. But I could talk to the people in charge, and I’d get less time for the individual rules."

"All you have to do to get around the rules is say you’re not under arrest. That’s the whole point of the errand, I guess. I got sent to meet the mayor because my power said he was from the same political persuasion as you. It was only after I started researching the subject that I found out he’d been a criminal. Took me two damn hard pages to pie it all out."

"That’s not what I meant. Let me go a little further. Does the mayor owe you a favor?"

"He does. But I’d have to tell him why, and I don’t think I can tell him in a manner that’s going to get him to do anything. If you’re not interested in cuddling up to the mayor, maybe you could stand to leave?"

I shook my head.

"I’ll… I’ll stay?"

I wasn’t sure what to say. At this point, staying was the worse thing to do. On the one hand, I didn’t want to keep her around. On the other, I didn’t want to piss off the mayor.

We made our way out of the conference room. The only open area, it seemed, was the outdoor patio, where the families of the city could socialize their dogs.

The dogs seemed to reciprocate, giving paw to the nearest of my underlings, who gestured with his tail. I let the guy sit down, and he laid a hand on the back of my head. I raised my head, and he laid a similar hand on my head, as if to reassure me. Or maybe it was that he was a good looking guy, and I could look decent doing it.

"I’m not ready to start," I said.

"We’ll make it rain, tabby." He snorted. "Grab a nap. You’ve got school soon."

I snorted along with the owner’s natural sound.

"Nose," he said, laying his hand over my nose.

It felt less
======================================== SAMPLE 528 ========================================
We watched the girl hit the panic button longer than any of us had, twisting and reeling in the aftermath of the hit, then using her power to stumble forward into the ongoing brawl between the two major factions.

"Girl!" Tattletale shouted. "Yes? Am I your teammate?"

Parian looked around, found her way to the ramp, and managed a pained expression as she ascended.

"I can explain, if you want," Tattletale said.

"If you want what?" Parian asked.

"You wanted me to give you that dog’s lunches. Well, I can. Feel free. Left the school bus stop, north. Walking pace."

"Maybe. I’m still searching for my old house, an older doctor’s office, and the other places where he gave me things," Parian said. She found the cage on the walkway and limped to the door.

Tattletale tackled her, bludgeoning her into the door. "No you don’t. You’re still here."

"Really?" Parian asked.

"Really."

They stood there in awkward silence for a few long moments.

Tattletale went on, "I’m searching, and I’m wondering if you’re maybe… are getting glimpses of things. Past orders, things that were supposed to happen, or ways people were supposed to act, here."

"I’m not getting those glimpses of things. Past orders."

"Past orders."

"And you’re supposed to obey them," Tattletale said. "That’s the least of it. You’re watching me, and you’re following me, even if you don’t know the language."

"I don’t get it. I was an order of parents, though."

"Would you like to try eating at least one piece of meat from the loin?"

"I can’t go ahead with my secret identity unless you’re there," Parian said.

"Wasn’t going to."

She changed the subject, going to the fridge to find some fruit and vegetables to take back to the orphanage.

Tattletale hesitated, then said, "I think you should come with us. Our doctor said we might need you more than we did before."

"I don’t understand."

"If you want to stay with us, you’ll understand if I don’t."

"We’ll stay," Parian said. "If you don’t want to, well, that’s your choice."

"I don’t understand," Rachel repeated herself.

"If you don’t want to, well, that’s your choice too."

"I don’t understand."

"If you don’t want to, we’ll stay," Parian said.

"You make it clear you won’t be helping us," Rachel said. Then, as if to herself, she withdrew a fragment of her power, tapping into her memory. She began humming.

A jumble, like wax grains suspended in the air.

The seeds of a plant, starting to pop.

"I don’t understand," Grace said.

"If you don’t want to be my slave," Rachel said, "Don’t bother me. I’m responsible for you."

"Okay," Imp said. "Okay, fine."

"You don’t even understand what you’re saying," Rachel said.

"I’m not going to have you pointing a loaded gun at me," Imp said.

"You will," Parian said.

"I’m not saying that."

"You’re making it very clear you don’t intend to shoot me," Rachel said.

"You don’t know my actual abilities," Imp said.

"I know what you’re going to do."

"And if I do something wrong? If I try to check what you’re after, and I become aware of the gun on your head? I’ll be in a very bad spot."

"It’s fine," Rachel said.

"You’re not getting the message," Grace said.

"It’s not."

"It’s a start," Grace said.

"And maybe that’s enough," Tecton said. "We need to get going before
======================================== SAMPLE 531 ========================================
The Bahamut had no arms, but I was fairly confident that it had a wing like an Olympic gymnast, capable of lifting or catching objects the size of a beachball. That meant it could conduct its attacks from a point beyond the user’s active range, allowing it to engage in bombardment or close quarters combat.

If it had an arm, then, and if it was capable of moving with both hands free, it fit together to suggest a single, identical plane of metal ― one that could punch through any barrier you might erect to protect yourself.

It was equipped with short, spindly wings that folded around the body when necessary, more for flying than for combat, and a combination of heavy, barbed blades and needle-fine tracings on the exterior of the wings, accented by the faceted, faceted shells that covered them. They formed a kind of keel, I knew, meant to help stabilize the craft as it descended. It needed ailerons to propel itself and aft momentum to steer itself. The sides and top of the craft were rounded off by clawed forelimbs and apertures that seemed designed to accomodate the crab-like head and feet.

I could see evidence of my power’s attack at every turn. In the midst of it, a bolt of lightning lanced past Aegis. I knew it was Aegis burning brightly, by the amount he was emitting, but that didn’t matter. The point was clear. Clockblocker had set the stage for Aegis to take options when Aegis turned to going after Aegis’ family.

"What would Aegis do?" I asked.

"Don’t know," Jouster said.

"I was going to use my power to see," Clockblocker said. I could see the nature of the wound change in intensity. The point where it was barely moving anymore, almost uncaring, it shifted to be the tip of a devastating hurricane of radiation.

A steady beam of light began to rain down on the Endbringer. It was a hazmat-style containment cell, and the beam sported a rich, metallic glow about it.

"Investigating potential health hazards," I said. "Rarely used, but I’m keeping an eye out. Something needs to be done."

"Done?" Jouster asked.

"I’m looking into things," I said. "I’m continuing to be paranoid, but there’s too many possibilities for stuff to go down that are hard to catch. Illegally, I might have included, but I gotta report any and all developments to a higher-up. Matter of time, I mean. These guys are resilient, but I could stand further from the collar if it leads to something like a terminal case of brain damage."

"He says he’s doing as you asked, that he wouldn’t go that far if he had a say in the matter," Tecton said.

"And you’d be letting the capes handle the halfway point?" Weld asked. "The point where you say you’re suspending disbelief and going crazy?"

"I’d rather they both stop arguing," I said.

"Case in point," he said, frowning. "Dinah. They were the closest capes to me before I partnered with you, before I partnered with you. They were the best of the best, and they’ve become friends."

"They make friends?" I asked.

"Now we just need to find them. The others know they can find her, but there’s a chance some will try to save her and get her back before the end of the world. If they can, we get help in dealing with them. That should be our goal."

"We have to stop them before they get to her," I said.

Clockblocker nodded. "I’ll look into it. Skitter, you want to try your hand at it?"

"I know how."

"The drawback to using my drones is that they get in the way of my other work. I’m pretty good with computers, though," he said. He approached one drone, clicking it in between two sticks. Two canisters appeared in the end, with a third clicking away to deposit them on the front lawn of an apartment building.

"Go," Jouster said.

They departed, with Gallant following behind.

I took flight, leaving most of the bugs I’d placed in the city to track my movements. I transmitted the information to the Undersiders, letting them know I was headed to the Thanda' camp.

"I can’t get in touch with them to let them know
======================================== SAMPLE 534 ========================================
The temporary horror that gripped me when I saw the bugs all gathering together, close enough that I could smell them, in my one unobstructed view of the room, was assuring me that this wasn’t something that could be endured. I could sense the sheets flapping against one another, the air temperature fluctuating, the light glinting off of the individual shells. Would it break? How durable was this stuff, when it was being used in the worst way?

I turned around and headed for the exit, leading my swarm away from the room. I couldn’t bear to watch any longer, as the scene became clear enough. I could sense a class-S hurricane approaching, forthright and relentless. My bugs settled on the victims, as I’d done after the second plane hit the building, in an attempt to distract them and open the way for others.

There was only one person that was immune to my power’s effects, and that was Imp. She stopped mid-stride, stumbled, and landed in an all-out run. As her suit began to struggle to its feet, her legs buckled and she began to collapse.

I fired my gun twice more in response, simultaneously bringing my gun to bear, the temporary loss of control notwithstanding. People in the corner were helpless as Grue and the dogs plummeted to the ground around them, unable to move out of the way, due to a lack of strength, durability or perception.

The decompression sickness had made it downhill, downhill…

This was apparently her being here. She was inside the building, she was on the ground, she was breathing, she was okay.

I sent my bugs down to her feet, and they did just fine. They made it eight feet to the edge of the pool, and found her. She was able to support her own head up, and her rescuer, a male, carried her over the edge.

I watched as she collapsed onto the man’s back, managed to drape her arms over her face, the grip enough that her eyes darted to the horizon in the dark.

I was face down in the pool, sent aching just by how much I’d felt the waves against my exterior, and I couldn’t help but notice that the water was colder than it had been today.

Not that it was that, exactly. I was one of those people who couldn’t stand still. If I wasn’t looking, I wasn’t getting blurry.

"Hey," I spoke, barely audible to myself.

Just you ten feet away from me, as calm and collected as I could be. "Look up."

Looking up made me blue.

My bugs clustered around me. I pulled them together, and they were sprouting into a full, detailed humanoid shape, three feet tall, two limbs all one and a half feet long. The way they were packed together, they formed a human figure against the background of their own cluster.

"I’m going to make them thinner," I said, "So they stand out more."

"What kind of muscles do you need to form such a figure?"

"If I do, I don’t need as much tissue to keep it alive. I don’t have long legs, but a shorter torso and legs would make it easier to move."

"Any experience with armor making?"

"Not that I’m aware of."

Well, I could have said. I just had to trace the mass of the fabric, which was about two-thirds his normal mass, up the back of his leg, and through his midsection.

"I can make it firmer," I said. "I will order supplies to put it together."

"Thank you," he said, in a voice much like mine.

But he wasn’t alone. Tattletale, I thought.

"Look, I’m not expecting an answer, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t be taking this up."

"You’re not doing us any favors."

"And you were only introduced to me because you needed help."

I turned my head, activated my flight pack, and took flight a ways, away from his teammates.

"Do you need to speak? I can hear your thoughts."

"No."

"Just that you’re here, for once. I’d like to talk to you."

"I’m not sure I have a choice."

"Do you think you could leave? If you are willing, you can go to the Birdcage. You could go to the Protectorate headquarters. I think those would be easier to get to, and
======================================== SAMPLE 537 ========================================
Professor Tagg said, "Assault’s a professional hire. I expect he’ll lead to other hires that he’s been able to secure."

"I’m looking at the facts as I make my decision," Alexandria told him, "There’s no way you guys are spending this much time and attention on me. Dragon’s lists some very specific employees who she maintains for over a year so she can maintain control of them. Meaning you guys aren’t spending it on me. Not to mention that you’ve spent over three hundred thousand dollars on me failing to perform, and I’m effectively being kept hostage right here, right now. Do I really need to put the honeymoon over before we address the issues with your life and career?"

Tagg closed his eyes, nodded, and leaned over the table.

"I’m going to have to go with my coworker here. Armstrong, stop. I don’t want to raise any problems with you, but you were a very good coworker to me, even when we weren’t working. I don’t want to flame you, either, but you were excellent to Alexis when we weren’t working. You saw the deals we’d made, the projects we’d undertaken, and you knew we’d done the best jobs we could. You know I have a bead on you, Tattletale? Perfected a way to read your mind, and anything I said would echo through every line of that damned note."

Alexandria nodded, almost casual, "I don’t believe half of you are that. I keep waiting for one of you to come forward and say I’m lying, that I’m making this up."

"We’re lying," Miss Militia said.

"Yes. We’ve withheld information, we’ve fabricated information, we’ve edited out references that don’t support our versions of events."

"We’re lying from the start," Miss Militia said.

"Of course you are. You’re fond of Gunter, aren’t you? Do you want to tell me the stories of his kids? Of his failed attempts at a family?"

Alexandria shook her head.

"No. Not in the beginning. Please."

Alexandria settled her head against Tagg’s shoulder, nodding slightly.

"First off, I have to ask about the kid stuff. About the charity, about the dream. I know it sounds ridiculous, that you’d want to take revenge on them for throwing you off of the wagon, but…"

"I did! I was a baby!"

Tagg shrugged. "It’s true. Alexandria was pregnant with his and Ballistic was young when he gave birth. Still, they made it through. One of them got off scott free, and when one of the pat answers came up, they found a way to visit him until he was old enough to answer. So level headed, even smart, they left him be."

"They made it sound like a waste," Alexandria said.

"Contessa took one look at the situation and knew it was probably best if things fell apart. Around the time I was getting more familiar with the Undersiders, however, it became clear that something was seriously wrong. Contessa had a little chat with Miss Militia about it."

"She had a chat?" Alexandria asked. "What did she say?"

"Nothing substantial, but she said something about an endbringer attack taking place some time before Christmas."

There was a long pause. Alexandria blinked a few times, hard. "Oh. Alexandria?"

"She said that, shortly after the Endbringer attack, the number of cape deaths were beginning to decline. The magnitude of the losses was staggering, a fact that the heroes were finally catching up to. They were beating the various other attacks that had come before, destroying other worlds to preserve the last seconds of potential life. The ABB was collapsing. There was only so much they could do, before even fewer survivors were able to give evidence. Months or years before any of the heroes were able to gather the missing tissue for a meaningful experiment."

"Is her research into memory loss ongoing?" Needle asked.

"It is. Or she’s relaying old footage, maybe. But the damage was done, and she knows it. She wasn’t idle, either. She got in contact with Coil, and the rest is, as I understand it, a completed experiment."

I glanced at the pile of papers that were arranged on the table. There were phones arranged to people who were calling home, interested in receiving information
======================================== SAMPLE 540 ========================================
A senior White House official told CNN, "Nothing can be confirmed until it is confirmed, but the first casualty of this war against the evil empire shall be the crown."

Clinton’s remarks followed by the burning of Bonfire XXVI, the largest Catholic shrine in the West, and a dozen other fires around the world. It had been underway for some time. Rumors swirled about a contingent of unidentified military personnel, some of whom would be on the ground in the coming days, checking the damage. Casualties were predicted, but the scope of the disaster was thought to be limited to one city.

<End of Page><|endoftext|>House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi (D-CA) (L) and New York Rep. Eric Cantor (R) react as Speaker of the House John Boehner speaks during a news conference in the Senate chamber in Washington, on May 29, 2013. (Official WhiteHouse.gov)

By Allison Elias-Smith

WASHINGTON (Reuters) - U.S. Representative Kevin McCarthy of California said on Tuesday he would step down from his leadership post at the House of Representatives if Speaker John Boehner rejected his demands for concessions on taxes, spending and the shutdown, as well as an end to the government delay with which he has been fighting for months.

"The American people demand it and the Democratic majority in the U.S. Congress has said enough is enough," McCarthy, a Republican, said in a statement.

"If Speaker Boehner refuses to step down and holds to his word, then the American people deserve to know why and I intend to use every leverage available to me to force his hand."

McCarthy, a former California Democratic Party executive committee member and state party chairman, is leading a Republican group that intends to oust Boehner from his leadership position and unseat the majority leader in the House.

The timing of the statement, dated May 18, 2013, coincided with the expiration of the two-week deadline Democrats had set for agreeing to concessions and an agreement on raising the debt ceiling. Any extension of the deadline would require votes from Republicans, which are unlikely.

McCarthy, a Tea Party Republican, accused Boehner of attempting to "reset" the debt ceiling talks, promising further concessions in 2011 and 2012, only to drop out of the negotiations after polls suggested a majority of Americans were dissatisfied with the terms.

"While Speaker Boehner and President Obamaaccommodate some concessions in January, they maintain their positions and pursue their plans for the remainder of the year," a Democratic aide told Reuters, referring to the Republican speaker of the House.

The aide spoke on condition of anonymity, citing the sensitivity of the topic.

"The American people demand it and the Democratic majority in the U.S. Congress has said enough is enough. Speaker Boehner and President Obama are determined to turn this around and use its leverage to turn it into something else. McCarthy is firing the first shot."

(Reporting by Alison Cook; Editing by Leslie Adler)<|endoftext|>Tigress looked at Lily. The girl looked at me, searching, her eyes wide, her fingers crawling, for some sign of distress or distress. Tectonans could be stealthy, but not in a way that would catch us.

"We could leave," Tigress said.

I could see Lily looking away, as if she were thinking.

"Or you could stay and be safe."

"You’re going to violate your probation again," Tigress warned, her voice hard.

I caught the expression, saw a look of surprise on Lily’s face.

"What?"

"It’s… it’s not that I don’t believe you. I- I guess I didn’t think you’d be as good as you were, as quick in my eyes. But I thought you’d follow through, follow my orders, but…" Lily stopped mid-sentence.

"I don’t want to bother you with this," Tecton said. "Just… maybe…?"

"Consider it a warning," Tigress said.

"You’re teasing me."

"I’m teasing you. First I’m going to come after you, then second and third, and lastly-"

"I think you’re making a good point," Tecton said.

"I do too. But seriously? Do you want me to stay or to go?"

"I… I don’t know," I said.

"If you wanted to leave, you could have done it a while ago. You just hashed out the details, we agreed you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t say or do anything that would suggest you wanted to leave on your own."

"That’s not true."


======================================== SAMPLE 543 ========================================
The bad news is that we’re not going to be able to rescue her." I spoke my thoughts aloud, looking down at Tattletale.

The…?

What was the word?

No. A perfect stranger, stopping me from casting any judgment on the subject at all.

The first thought that went through my mind was grateful. A thank-you from a friend.

Unfortunately, thanks aren’t meant to be words of praise.

I backed away, put my hands on my head, and gripped my knees to make myself relax.

"Skitter," Director Piggot greeted her, ending our eleven minute silence.

"Grue," I replied, "I’m sorry, uh, about your friend getting away."

She looked me over, "What happened?"

I explained what had happened, glancing over at the scene as our warriors delivered the wounded to the drydock.

"There was a bug attack," she spoke, "A serious bug allergy attack."

I could almost sense the horror on her face. I wasn’t sure I felt the same way about her as I had with my good friend, but with her relation to the situation, I couldn’t hide it.

"I see," she spoke, "I of course told you about their sponsor, their villain."

"Right."

"I of course knew about their villain," she spoke, "Except my accordance. I of course knew about their founder’s' battle cry. It was a threat, a weapon."

I nodded, unable to swallow the lump in my throat.

"They recruited many of our residents, pardoned some of those who were involved in the Big Three, but there were still some who were lenient, who played ball with them, because they had to."

"And how did they change?"

"The word can be a matter of pride, or it can be a matter of pride in those with a tougher skin, because they can appear tough and intimidating and yet play nice, because they’re playing the game and exploiting others."

"I can’t believe that."

"Whichever. Enough said."

She pulled her mask off and tossed it to me. There was a note in the goblin-made turban the goblins wore.

I read it. "Penalty day."

"Yeah," she grunted the word. "I mean, I know they’re real. Penalties."

"They start with ‘I’, day, I repent’ and move on to more ominous uses of the pre-requisite elements."

"There’re prerequisites to even thinking about turning traitor," Piggot said. "It’s a bad, bad idea."

"Yeah. But not a death sentence."

"Not a capital L!"





Infestation 11.3


I stared down at my hands, palms cool but bare. My sleeveless shirt had buttons where the ribs crossed over the top, so I couldn’t keep them from leaning against my shoulders. The sleeves were almost an inch over my elbows. To top it off, my mask was just an exposed hollow metal disc, blank around the edges, with a white shield-shaped piece of metal up the front, so that the front of it was a little bit higher than my hand was able to reach.

"I of the Family of Scapegoat. I’m the only member of that clique that isn’t a cape. Cozen, Pasha and Bitch are the only others with powers that are vaguely documented or readily available. We all have previous convictions on our records. Call it gross negligence on Skitter’s part or an unfortunate combination of talent and disposition, I’m truly sorry for any behavior I may have directed at any member of the Family."

There was a long, contemplative silence. I was aware that some bosses in hazmat suits were making a point of not walking away without a few extras in hand, waiting to talk. I was trying to be civil, not pushing or being clingy.

"I have a daughter, if you want to look for her. If you want to know what’s for dinner, you can look for future shifts and class schedules."

"I’m not sure I understand."

"Ask her. Ask her and she will tell you. If you don’t find her before midnight, you can come back tomorrow. Otherwise, you won’t be coming back."

"And if I don’t show up, or if I doesn’t say anything?"

"We will take every precaution. That includes waiting for you."
======================================== SAMPLE 546 ========================================
Ryan Junior was observing one group through his augmented reality camera. I might have been able to see it if it had been a dark night, but the crowd was bright orange, and masks covered the upper half of their faces.

"Cape watt," he said, referring to the school’s official name. In German, it can be translated as "Bigger means, cleaner."

They were running on the main thoroughfares that surrounded the site, jogging with the streaks of blood in their steps. The boy who’d had his throat cut moved his hand in the direction of the press of students. Daniel, Gracias, and Alexander were among them.

Ryan looked at his brother’s case, then put one hand on the side of his head, talking. "Supposed to be a Tinker, if he’s that good."

"True enough," the boy replied.

Ryan then turned his attention to his client. "Ryan Winter. Base admitted, but I didn’t see any dispute?"

"No," the teen said. "Nobody here is claiming to be any of the teachers or principal, for the record."

"If you want to stay, that’s fine. I did say I expected a miracle. This will do."

"Will it work?" Winter asked.

"We’re in the same category, don’t get me wrong. There’s a bit of a catch. I’m not a doctor, and the outcome of this will depend on a number of things, but I can say this is a positive development. Things are quieting down around here, and I’m starting to get an inkling that this is something seriously possible."

He rested his elbows on the table he was working on, rubbed his damp hair. After a long pause, he said, "More specifically, I think they’re beginning to get a sense that things are calmer, a source of unease."

"A hint as to what we have in mind?"

"Hm?" He was thinking. He tapped a key, and a row of white buttons on his keyboard lit up. He’d set the working password, but hadn’t paid attention as he’d been distracted by some experiment. He appeared at the end of the room opposite Winter, and the rows of white buttons dispatched any employees who had been occupying his attention.

"This is a trial balloon. Let’s see how it goes. If the experiment turns out badly, we have two more attempts."

"I don’t want it to. I’m not homicidal, and I’m not going to turn any of my teammates into flunky or anything. But…" He looked at the boys, glanced at his mom. "You get in over the first few minutes, and you get shot."

"Ehhhh," one of the boys said.

"And they’re all going to die. Some likely killed or scarred, but you’ll see them anyway. They’re all going to die anyways. So it doesn’t really matter."

"But?" Another boy asked.

"But it means the experiment doesn’t turn out well and we have a bunch of wasted weekends. Um."

"A trial balloon," Winter said. "Each and every one of you take a balloon up to the roof, throw it down, and you die."

Golem nodded slowly. He took the first, small balloon. It burst in the air and concrete began to spill out, snow and fragments of glass blending into the gray surroundings.

"Throw it down," Weaver said.

One boy threw up in the air. A quarter of a football sized chunk of concrete fell into the air and rolled to the ground.

"Four down," Weaver said. "And there’s one we can take back to the house. Loft one. Take the other two to the roof. One, as big as a car, just collecting dirt. Crowbar!"

Each of the boys in Loft One took a handful of the concrete bits and carted them back to the house.

"Loft two," Weaver said, "Is where we take the most damage. The building isn’t going to collapse, but if some of you do see some of the most insane, violent things that have been seen in public, this is the moment to seize and hold it, to end this thing permanently."

"To kill you?" one boy asked.

"I didn’t know it was possible. I might have been too focused on the defending forces, instead of the threat. Maybe I would have passed on word if I had more information to work with. I wanted to aid
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Welcome to the Site Selection Bulletin Boards (SSB). This bulletin board is for informational purposes only and is not to be used as a forum for solicitation or solicitation of personal services. Individuals are cautioned that unsolicited offers for favors are unethically questionable. In addition, the acceptance of favors by one party in exchange for some action or some resource are legally obligated. Such conduct is, however, difficult to detect and investigate, requiring both parties to exercise discretion in weighing the risks and benefits of any offered benefit against the costs involved and the potential damage to one’s reputation or commitments of refusing the offer. For more information on the agencies that maintain and operate this board, go to http://sb.six.net.

For more information on the Six organization, go to http://six.net/.

For more information on the Parahumans Online network, go to http://parahumansonline.com/.

Special Rules: Individuals are cautioned that the offer for assistance should not be made in any uncertain or generalized way. Instead, it should be made as a mutual, individual effort. Each party to the transaction should evaluate the other for suitability for carrying out the task at hand, and if there is no obvious means of communication, or if there is no obvious point of contact for such matters to be addressed, then this only becomes a general, basic request for help. Should communication fail or the intended party prove unavailable, this will be ignored.

For more information on the Parahumans Online site go to http://www.parahumansonline.com/.

Special Rules: The offer for assistance is limited to services as of the date of this bulletin. Services will be provided on a first-come, first-served basis to those agencies which agree to our terms and conditions of use. Should there be any delays in response, or if there are unforeseen circumstances which prevent assistance from being granted, then this only applies to the individual agencies, organizations or individuals receiving the delay. Should a party require more time to prepare or provide a service, such as if a party wishes to remain anonymous in exchange for a rate of service not provided by our agency, then this only applies to that party.

Each entry on this bulletin board is unsigned and should not be construed as an offer to sell any services.<|endoftext|>Tat-

The girl with the black cloak had one foot propped up on a workbench, and was sweeping the work of blood off the table. She wore a black evening gown with a hood. Her fingers were busy with a blood-soaked white cloth.

It was Suzuki who responded. "Killed her, you crazy?"

"No," Jouster said.

"She was a clone," Jouster said.

"Yeah," Jouster said. "I don’t know how you do it, but she’s dead, right?"

"She was a android," a woman said. She had the same childlike glower in her eyes that Chapman had, but had a more normal dress shirt and skirt. Her black eyelids were drawn in front of her. Chapman.

Jouster started to turn to look, but the woman smiled a little, concealing a grim expression. "I always hated the look of amazement when someone discovered a power. Never anything heroic, never something good. But that was always the real tribute that earned its people’s respect. A person that was just plain super had the power to change the world, and the world made a return trip to the movies, a book, a game, a tv show, a pinup… well, it was a popularity contest. The people were really rooting for the person that could pop bottles into space and keep the occasional restaurant from closing.

"I was starting to think that maybe the people who were making heroic attempts on bigger issues were getting more respect," Kenta said.

"They always deserved respect," the woman said. "I just didn’t know how much."

"If it wasn’t for me," Kenta said, "I would feel bad."

"It’s for me," the woman said. "I was new, I was pretty sure it wouldn’t matter."

"I guess you’re exactly the sort of person I look up to," Kenta said. "You’re someone that looks up to heroes, and you look up to them without a problem."

The woman’s eyes narrowed. "I suppose I’ll have to accept that offer and satisfy my own curiosity. Anyway, you’re saying that already?"

"I’m saying yes."

The woman’s expression became increasingly hard-line. "If you want to know the truth, if you want to know the circumstances that make you think you’d be a good fit…
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Share. Hundreds of thousands of lives ruined. Hundreds of thousands of lives ruined.

In the waning moments of our last extended chat, I found myself wondering what to write next.

Tattletale’s tone had turned, and she’d stopped talking, turning silent.

I waited patiently for minutes, as she carted away the trash and left the bathroom. I watched her go, my attention on the computer, receiving periodic updates in the process. When the silence lingered, I picked up the phone and called Coil.

I wanted to know what he thought.

"We’re checking every available angle, from DNA tests to palm readers to Earthworm Jim’s backup. If we suspect him, we communicate with him. If we aren’t, we go simple. Hypothetically, going that route could lead to us getting him."

"I’m not so sure that’s a good idea," I said.

"Land, that’s the last point of discussion. We’re in the middle of pre-orders, and there’s only a small number of cases left in which we flip that script and decide to order permanent damage."

"We won’t be disposing of the remains, either."

"I know. But what else?"

"I have two more tasks. Something I came up with," she said, "Selling these guys. It’ll take a minute, but it’ll net us some cash, and it’ll give me a bit of a lead on their movements."

There was a hint of emotion in her voice. I was almost tempted to picture her holding the bags of flesh together with her fingers, seeing if one of her victims would offer her a way out or if the police would be able to detect the lines on the forensics evidence.

"Now?" I asked.

"The men who sold me, part II. I’ll pick them up, and you guys take half."

"The remaining half will be shipped to your destinations by tonight afternoon."

"If he charges us again-"

"We can cover that cost," she said. "I expect he will. We simply cannot give him more than the due amount."

I strained to think up a new phrase. The original idea, that we’d be selling the services of sympathetic individuals, had been met with derision. The second we made a desperate attempt to collect the two dogs on the cheap, they’d be targets for Lung or someone else’s army. The villains would almost certainly seize them, regardless of our intentions.

"If you try to touch me, I’ll kill you."

"If you happen to hurt me, you better hope I can hold my own, because I don’t give a fuck about my friends."

"Okay," I said. "That’s enough."

She hung up.

Some of the smaller groups were trying to get organized. Good. Bad. I wasn’t sure what we had in abundance, but the groups had been trying to get going for some time. Transferring scalps from one group to another, collecting the injured. At least these would be of help.

I turned to leave.

"You assholes!" Rachel said. She was standing beside the building.

"Leave!"

I turned back.

There was no good way to argue with her. Exhibit A for my frustrations with the system.

I’d stumbled onto a solution to the problem, a little over a week ago, and I’d found a way to break away from the Birdcage. I hadn’t told anyone about it, until just now.

I’d told myself that I would let the prison authorities know what was happening, that it would give them a moment to figure out how they were handling the situation. If it came down to it, I would turn myself in. Turn in that supervillain I’d become.

And if I’d failed to do that? If I’d spent the past few months recovering, trying to get my mental footing and dreaming of a simpler time? I’d turn myself in, probably for my life.

No… that didn’t make me feel better. It made me feel a little ashamed, ashamed that such a fine person as Sophia was expendable.

But I wouldn’t be admitting defeat, even as I knew the alternative was a doomed one.

We had to take options A and B)

Option A: Stay in the Birdcage.

I knew the fight against the Nine would continue, that there was no guarantee it would
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Behind me, the three of them trailed behind the rickshaw-riding man, now wearing a tuk-tuuk. A soft Australian accent mantained the overall tone of the voice, "Siding with the ABB, isn’t it?"

"We have," the leader of the ABB said. "We’ll cooperate."

"Not too helpful for you to hear," the leader of the ABB said.

"You’ll hear," the man said. His voice was soft, almost gentle. "Forgive me, my friend, if I may say so. I’m rather partial on this business, I suspect."

"You’re a villain, then," the leader of the ABB said. He glanced at the two of them.

"We don’t pretend we know exactly how Coil and the Travelers operate, hideaways like your employer the ABB has been. We don’t pretend the local heroes don’t have reasons to oppose us. Preferring an open and honest dialogue over suspicionless witchhunts."

"You’re accusing us of playing things close to hand?" the leader of the ABB asked. "Defiance, even betrayal, it’s hardly a betrayal if your side isn’t doing anything wrong."

"You’re talking about me, ABB," Bakuda spoke.

"Talking to me," the man replied. He glanced at his accomplice.

"Talking to me?" Bakuda looked startled. She looked down at the calico doll. "Isn’t that what you wanted? Me talking to you."

"I suppose so," the man replied. He looked toward the crowd of people, willing them to stop and listen.

"You talked about trust," Bakuda spoke, abruptly.

"Right. That’s why this is so important," the man said. He glanced at her admirers. "I don’t come here to negotiate. I come to win."

"And you’re trying to take the best from all of us?" Bakuda asked.

"I’m not that stupid," the man replied. He seemed to reconsider before giving up on the idea. "Listen to me. Listen to what Tattletale has to say. She tells them we need their help. If we turn down their help, all of these schemes go from bad to worse. That includes any plans we have against your people."

"They’re not that stupid," Bakuda replied, dramatic, strained. She snapped her fingers, and her voice changed, "If they have a choice between you fucking with our team and their acting, they’ll take the team back."

The man chuckled, a strained noise that carried forward into the crowd. "I do have one idea. No. Stick to the topic at hand."

"Eh?" the man said.

"That we could use Krampus as a resource. A way to utilize Krampus in a way that doesn’t leave us defenseless. Like how the guy from the club is using Krampus here. Or how Bitch is using Krampus."

"It doesn’t sound like anything we could use him for," Bakuda said.

"Not a grander plan, not a plan at all. Something immediate. But it’s something I can get behind. I’ve thought it through enough times I can hit a home run with it."

"Sure, but how are you going to get the guy to do it? I don’t know about the other members of the Nine, but they don’t have much in the way of superpowers."

"Volcanos," Bakuda said. "Yes. Volcanos come with all the bad aspects of a regular thunderous roar. Just like Bakuda? I’d be proposing using Krampus as a way to blast through doorways and entryways."

"The Ents," the man she’d singled out said.

"The Ents," I said. "But I’m not even a hundred% sure I want to do that. Mannequin can melt steel, I can probably get him to spin, or direct him to move, I’m not even sure I want to use him to pull the trigger. We’ve used our last one, when he was dealing with an Endbringer, and I didn’t do as well."

"That’s not as bad," Tattletale said. "Not if you can kill the guy before he’s triggered. But he isn’t exactly in a position to help you."

"Then I�
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He’s staying at my place until he’s ready to return to the real world."

"It doesn’t make sense that he’d avoid the quarantine area and return to his family."

"It doesn’t make sense, but that’s just what makes this work. I told him that if it were otherwise for his sister, he’d be perfectly content to live with it. A house, a family. I told him that it was unacceptable for him to live in the quarantine area and he’d return to his family shortly. I told him that he should leave until such a time as he told me plainly, ‘I am done working for you. I am free, or I divorce my husband and have my divorce processed through the legal system. I do not need to be told what to do in this matter. I do not need to be made to do it.’

"I do not need to be made to do this."

"Good. Good."

He fell silent, staring down at the metal man.

Pepper spray was thrown into the metal man’s face, and the man shapeshifted overnight. His skinchanter injected a paste of pepper spray into the wound, sanded it smooth, then began cleaning it back up. The odorless, tasteless liquid suggested it was already quite clean. He wouldn’t be able to clean it off, but he could make the wound worse. It would be repeated, trimmed deeper, filled with pus. The wound would become infected, controlled bursts of acid spreading across his exterior, abscessed by the time the rubber grew. He would recover, likely with help, but not before an overnight rest.

Clockblocker’s power meant his absences weren’t as painful as they had been in the past. He was guided to his target by a high-pitched sound that only he made, very slowly and hesitantly.

Siberian is halfway there. An unpleasant dream. Nothing more would happen for days or weeks, and he’d have to assume Brockton Bay had been destroyed.

Defiant led the way as he approached the site of the devastation. The cleanup was still underway, but he could see several structures ruined beyond repair. He’d been too drunk to think straight, and hadn’t realized that there would be any value in continuing to search for Tonx and Kangsha.

Three nights earlier, he’d lost people he considered his people. People who were just members of the team, now idols to those who’d stayed.

There was a man in his fifties, tall, with a muscular physique that couldn’t have been ordinary. He was heavily tattooed, with wild flowers and skulls on his upper arms. The image seemed to make itself known through the lights he used to scan the area.

He was carrying two women – the sort of things you saw every day. People who could have been his daughters, a wife and a wife who was seeing her over a year after the death of their child. He was dark-skinned, round-headed, and huge in the arms that were supporting his body.

He turned his head as he looked at Skidmark, casting sidelong glances at Bonesaw and Augustine.

Skidmark’s expression was a look of absolute disbelief. He stared at the creation, ignored the woman who was trying to talk to him, stared at it over a three-course meal, each eye roving over the other, day and night, trying to see every aspect of it. He gave up on looking and just walked.

After a few moments, he looked up at the sky. It was a sky that still lingered from the initial blast of light, glinting as light as the camera could manage, but with only scattered bits of dust ringing it. Even the stray stones of sand were shimmering in the light, becoming massive dust clouds. The larger bits were still there, in the shape of twisted helixes and asteroids, but the smaller bits were mostly gone. The image veered.

He turned to look at the blotchy, distorted image from a year ago. He’d been in a house hit hard by the bomb. His wife and kids had been killed. His mother, who’d been a hardass grandmother, was alive and kicking. It had been around sunset that morning.

It had been around three. By the time the blast had faded, the mother of all the blotches had risen in flames, lashing out with firebombs.

The blast had shaken even the most superstitious. The sky blazed with spots, then began to rain. By the time the clouds had started to move, the spots were just plumes of black with the pale
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Shh. Lie. You lost. You’re one of those losers. You need a drink. A shower. This is the most pitiful, pathetic, pathetic thing you could do for me.

You could take a second to go relieve some of the rubble, or maybe you’d remember the thing you’ve been avoiding.

I’m sorry.

You could go back to your perdition, whatever came next.

You’re a coward, Rosenberg. A wimp. You don’t deserve to be on your own. Not when you’re trying to get to a better headspace. There’s a better group watching. The people from the fellowship.

You don’t know how to lay a card. You don’t know how to lie to yourself.

You waste time. This will come after other stuff. When you’re feeling drained, when others are around, you hide. You beg. You convince. You do all of the above and more. You avoid drama, you avoid disaster, you avoid the final stages of the progression. You avoid it because you’re not strong enough, you avoid the unpleasantness because you’re not smart enough, or you’d rather die than face the shame and regret of it. You avoid disaster. You avoid pain. You betray your trust partner. You don’t talk to me about it because there’s no point. You hide because you have nothing to say. You stay silent because you can’t. You fight because you have nothing to do. You don’t have words for me, I don’t understand. So you hide, don’t show me any weakness, about anything. And when I find you, gone, I snap."

The three girl were quiet, a silence extending across the entire warehouse.

"That’s not my style, but I can’t help it." He raised his voice. "Do you have any words?"

They each shook their heads.

"Very well. Good. Then I suppose I have little Lamarck, as your accomplice in crime, and your accomplice in this whole fucking thing, as far as you’re on record for misconduct."

"I’m not big on dishonesty," the man in armor said.

"You got your powers, so you know your rights."

"I don’t know much of anything," the man in cloth said. "I came from a long line of heroes, I’m a veteran."

"It’s the way things work out in the real world," Legend said. "Team leaders. Regent was a leader, but he was a hard nosed, uncompromising guy."

"He’s a scrapper," the girl with straightened hair said. "He was scrappy. He was a leader. He was a combat mechanic. But he was a leader."

"And this is nothing to him," Legend said. "This is all he cares about. This is his war. He’s paying the highest prices he can, but he’s getting away. That’s his legacy."

"His legacy is what happened in here?" the girl asked, her eyes sparking with a strange light. "Can I use that? Can I use what’s left of him?"

"I don’t know," someone said. "What I can tell you is that the strength fades pretty damn fast, if you spend even a moment looking at it. You see a sword among our ranks, you can’t help but look for the hilt. We were all like flies when we lost the leg to be cleaved in half, can we not?"

"We were worms when we started," Shadow Stalker said.

"A lie will enter the discussion, but the truth will win out," Legend said.

And that sums it up, I thought. My thoughts as I’d thought about it, whether it be the reminder of what I’d lose, or the ugly realization of what I’d become.

I opened my eyes. They flickered shut as the lights went out.

I stayed where I was, holding my ground, feeling a relief that I hadn’t just be killed, but apparently I’d managed to take a step forward. I didn’t want to get shot, even if the pain was more minor than the one I’d just experienced. I couldn’t imagine I’d be living this next few months in peace.

A guard kicked me in the stomach. I could see pain streaming down my body, my stomach moving back through some small
======================================== SAMPLE 564 ========================================
He had why he wanted to fight. Human behavior, from the moment of conception to the moment of birth. The thought seemed so small when he was dealing with things on this grand scale. How long had he been dealing? Here, in this room, with people watching over him?

They didn’t even realize the full extent of his control, of course. There was nothing for him to look at but the one world, and everything was relative. They reacted to his glances and gestures, knew the moment he turned evil, all but the strongest would be driven off.

Which was fine. No major stress there. Except that now, in this moment, he knew just how crucial the upcoming fight was. He couldn’t afford to take this moment to rest and heal. To do that, he must have a clear mental picture of what was going on.

His power seemed to reach a climax as he created two hands, one tall, the other short. He held them out horizontally, like the hands of a clock, the top track of a alarm clock, and extended the left track to the wall. There was a short bridge of identical hands blossoming out from the center of the hour hand.

Bosses. Supervillains in suits. They had to be responsible for keeping this from happening.

Clockblocker frowned. His left hand was hurt, and his ability to feel was impaired, limiting his ability to use his power. He would need to rest his entire body, both mentally and physically, if he was going to rebuild it. That wasn’t even getting into the fact that his mind was going to be drained of every last detail about the villains he had come up against thus far.

No, that wasn’t the answer he was looking for.

He placed the head of his chosen weapon between our heads, turning our heads. "Next?"

We were dumbfounded.

"No next?" he asked. He put one hand back into the hand he’d been using to hold his umbrella up, then rubbed his chin in thought.

"No?" I made it a question, trying to change the subject.

He pointed down at the side of the building we were crawling on. "This way. This way."

I held the defenseless woman in Brockton Bay. I could see the panic that was clearly setting in. Everyone was scrambling to get away. The situation wasn’t better when I looked at those people with a lack of self-preservation. Terror was the ability to deal with an enemy that no longer existed.

I moved as fast as I could, not wanting to draw attention, but they could see my intent. I was thinking of doing the same thing they were.

It was the middle of the morning, and I was mid-stride when they pulled me by the arm. Two of them were from the same group that had pulled me out of class the previous day. Challenging, but not impossible to ignore.

It was rare, but I recognized some of the people in their group. There was a guy with a cut across his stomach, a girl with some bloody knuckles, and a boy with teeth all over his knuckles. All squat, their features skewed, marked by circles under their eyes.

"Hey!" the boy shouted.

I half-ran to my left, half-ran to my right. I had to twist around to avoid allowing him to grab me. I could see the way his skin stretched stretched thin, the bone of his hand pointing at me. I’d been pushed to a point where I was on my side, but I couldn’t turn back to get out of his reach.

Seconds passed before I was able to walk and make my way away, following shortly after. There were people still in the lobby, people who had no trouble distracting themselves from the slaughter in the hallways. I took note of the ones who’d stuck it out past lunchtime.

Their skin was thicker, the afterimages deeper set. That might not have mattered if I didn’t have powers, but I’d had some unrefined krill in the room with me.

I drew my knife as I rounded the corner, spun on the spot to face the attacker. I wasn’t in earshot, so I had to take a second to compose myself, think of a plan of action.

I was a member of the Wards. I technically qualified as a member of the Protectorate, now. Vista had qualified as a Ward in good standing, but the rules had changed. The groups were separate, they weren’t official teams, and any tinker or cape working for a team had to take a role in the day’s plan. For my part, I was Air Jordan I,
======================================== SAMPLE 567 ========================================
Being in the forest, you couldn’t see anything but the trees themselves, had to use your peripheral vision to make out details. What was people doing? Were they sleeping? Were they eating? Were they hunting? Or were they just fucking around?

Everything was blurred, everything seen as fleeting. It was overcast, cloudy, but it served to obscure the details that were important. Trees were standing, imposing walls of fir, elm, spruce and nettles blocked my vision, as the lone ranger cautiously made her way through the grove.

I could see how the Rangers were packing the numbers: forty, fifty, sixty, seventy-five…

I turned and faced the gate. It was open.

The white tents were scattered throughout the area, each containing one person, their dog or a small dog. Cult members slept in the fields or around the buildings, or both. I saw one girl who looked as though she were huddled with her family inside one large tent, staring at the space that was designated for the sleeping areas.

I wondered how many more people were awake at this point.

I heard the scanner, and nothing appeared to be wrong. My bugs felt out with the others, and together, we moved our arms to feel the malleable sphere the Protectorate had claimed as their emblem.

It was a bitcoin. Though my fist was throbbing with pain, I took it for what it was worth and tossed it to the ground.

"Thei?"

I turned to see the woman with the sunglasses. Saw him before I did.

"It’s what you said," he said, staring at me.

"It’s a bitcoin," I said, ignoring him.

"You’re in love with that digital currency, huh?"

"I am."

"Then that’s pretty big," he said, touching his mask to his forehead. "Be happy for me. Be happy that I’m here, celebrating a very important day."

"You’re not engaged," I told him. The others around us all turned to look as he walked by, as if he were talking to us and not to us.

Thei spoke before I could, "You’re girls, and if the receptionist in said building says you’re in love, you’re really in love, aren’t you?"

Aidan shook his head.

Thei said, "My pronouns are everyone else’s."

"That’s not very fair. You don’t really mean what you say."

"You want to know the truth, Themis?"

"No," he said. "No, I don’t."

"Oh."

"The truth is out there. It’s in the newspapers, in the magazines and on the internet. Everybody knows the story. Cyclops was once a man who lost enough of his biological sex at puberty that he started to resemble a mix of the XX and XY chromosomes. In an attempt to no longer be the XX person, he developed a second set of chromosomes, and began experimenting. Expanding his palette to try to see what happened when the sexes diverged even further. He was eventually able to experiment and see whatwas, and he had an idea. He decided that, since he was going to be powerful, he should also have the ability to alter things on the genetic level. Give people powers that weren’t just physical. He’d given Cyclops the ability to make people superstrong, and over time, he had Cyclops’ mutants and "Themis" create other powers.

"Themis" was another name for the classic case of the "Scarab" or case "T" monster. The symptoms were the same, but the case was one that was particularly fond of the offender, far moreso than most. Sufferers generally had a severe case of the "Scarab". The case often went away on its own,alone or in conjunction with other cases.

"The case of the Morris" was slightly different. The case wasn’t acting on its own. There were three stages to theillusion. The first half was simply the sense of pain. The second wasa dull throb in your face every time you smelled something foul, the third wasa dull throb in your palm whenever you came across a dead body.

"The case of the Morris" was an especially bad case, because he had three stages.

Stage one: "Ooh, scummy!"

Stage two: "What? Why?"

Stage three: "Someone’s taking revenge, I think!"

"Who?" I asked.

"The pimple-faced psycho," Thei struck
======================================== SAMPLE 570 ========================================
They had lost energy. What chance do we have of recovering from that?

Perhaps the greatest danger was that the lure of conquest would keep people from making the needed changes. A constant, clear, positive reminder of how dangerous it was to bequeath to others what had rightfully belonged to us.

Another possibility was that they would make the necessary changes. Perhaps they would decide to abandon that which they were held back from sharing.

If they did decide to abandon it, a great many would be upset. To abandon what they’d earned, what potential was stolen, the process of elimination gave birth to a horrible, twisted existence.

I glanced again at Genesis, who seemed to be undergoing the same thoughts I was, but with several more open eyes. Thoughts of abandonment, of selfishness, helplessness.

Accepting responsibility, fixing what had gone wrong, fixing what would become an inevitable future.

Passenger, I thought. Trainee. To go by the code name, unacceptable to the PRT.

The words had become words, and I’d become a name. After a brief pause, I could finally open my mouth. I clamped my hands to my ears.

"I’m your coach."





Interlude 26a


<Form> [Pagination] [Verse] [Motive] [Endgame] [Ascalon 2.0] [Parasite] [Scourge] [Emperor Palpatine/The Abstergo]]





Form 1.1


There was a tap, a thunk, a crash, and a howl from the other end of the complex. into the armbands.

Shatterbird and the other glass vials. Purity and Burnscar.

Pagoda and Shatterbird. Glaistig Uaine.

The Abstergo Girls. Queen and High Priest. They were talking at the same time, resuming their relationship activity after a break because of what had happened to them. Queen was loading a new vial, and Shatterbird was loading a metallic one.

I had to brush them off as though they weren’t even there. They weren’t. I could feel the balance of the substance that Bakelite had destroyed. If there was any balance to it, I wouldn’t be seeing any distinct results.

Forms that could be analyzed were ones where the reprojection effect made the particles 'sticky'."

"There’s one in common with the first one, isn’t there?" Tattletale asked. "Imprint. Same substance, framing the original sparkle? Pretty well boxed, isn’t it?"

"Pretty much," Bonesaw said. She looked at the vial. "Ready, boys?"

The response was a unanimous ‘yes’.

"Finish analyzing these, and we take off."

"We need a reason," Bonesaw said. "Short of us realizing we’re attracted to the same girl, and we’re neither interested in that kind of relationship, nor are we about to betray that."

"Why not? Are there any clues? If you don’t like the current partner, you could change yourself?"

"Not really that simple. But if everything goes well, I could have her as a friend."

"Then we maybe overlook the fact that you like the woman. More than you might suspect, but you have to remember that she is a solid member of the group. We’re not going to tell the full story with her here, but I imagine there’s a lot of capes like that in the city."

"I wouldn’t tell her," I said.

"But," she said, "If this goes well, I may find myself here, every bit as eager to take a stand as you are. If the situation is handled professionally, if we don’t wind up having to fight, if we don’t wind up having to fight alongside you, ideally we’d work together. We’d be one team."

"Agreed," Grue said.

"If it comes down to it, if we can’t win, then we at least deny Regent his due to us being the inferior team, the group with the liability of the whole Team Leadership thing. There’s a whole lot of people who would value us less than the others, if they knew we were in the running."

"Do you have a game plan?" Tattletale asked. "This is snowballing."

"Yup. Strategy?" Grue asked.

"Game plan," Tattletale said.

"Not sure what that means," I
======================================== SAMPLE 573 ========================================
Contact information for the Mayor, Chief Director, Deputy Chief Director, Media Relations and Travel Director.

Reservation cancelled. Thank you.

Your confirmation code has been successfully scrambled. Successful codes mean the encryption is complete, or the enemy does not have access to understand it.

Your confirmation code has been successfully scrambled. Successful codes mean the Mayor is here. The timeline for their plans is very accurate.

The Mayor is visiting the Lord Governor at the moment, arranging a meeting to discuss an endbringer attack on the west coast. The network holds the earliest reports and is prepared to disseminate information as a matter of course. Additional reports will be scrubbed clean of history, due to the possibility of invasion or sabotage.

Unfortunately, the Mayor also holds the record for the most diplomatic visit, going unpleasantly bye. Robert Wench has accepted an invitation to attend, as has been arranged.

It should be noted that the Mayor and the Lord Governor are extremely well situated, and are fully aware of the significance of this event. They are equally aware that this has the potential to become a defining moment, with potentially catastrophic results.

Casualty estimates are currently being compiled, with the use of precognition. The visits are held at the first opportunity. The Lord Governor is fully cognizant of the danger the Mayor and his team pose.

The next leg of the plan is to identify the worst-case scenarios and discuss them with the Protectorate and Protectorate global.

The Mayor and his team are arriving soon, along with six individuals looking to purchase contraband that could be used to kill the Mayor and his officials.

The Lord Mayor and his people are present for the completion of the checks. They will be joined by representatives of the Protectorate and Protectorate global.

There will be a hiatus during the checks during the following two days, to allow for the sorting out of information.

Following the sorties have been canceled, and further escort will be provided.

Thank you for your cooperation, General.

Done.

U.S. President Bruce Ganke, IV



Reports come in. The main channels have been directed to the appropriate teams.

But there are other, subtler channels. The Watchers are told to check their cell phone and contacts.

A lot of unanswered questions.

One phone call, from Punk to Chevalier.

The response was cryptic.

A conversation between a Chevalier employee and a Wards Wards officer. Notes on the exchange show the nature of the exchange, the timing of it, and the involvement of the Watcher.

Possible game changing information.

The Watcher is not scheduled to arrive until a later date.

The Watcher is important, the notes say, almost accusatory.

The Watcher is an, what?anian?

A nonstandard use of the weapon?s barrel. Something along the lines of laser pistols, or an improved grenade launcher?s case?s contents.

The notes inform the conversation, leaving no room for doubt.

The Watcher is aware of both?and?and?going to do some serious damage to some very important people.

The tone, the message, the idea behind it, that this wasn’t an exchange between two friends.

It made sense. It was an exchange between Assassins, between two individuals so widely separated that America would be on the brink of civil war if one were to emerge.

No less than four Vistas in a row, battling Endbringers that each had nearly double the population of the other.

Two would be aggressive in tactics, picking a fight to death, then retreating. The third would be more subtle, building relationships, patience and becoming more comfortable with an audience. They would all do it.

They’d found their target.

And they’d taken out two members of the Protectorate?s group?

"Yeah," Min could hear a voice commenting, off-camera, off-line.

"We need to talk to Kid Win," the driver said.

"He’s on the way." Tattletale answered.

"I can guess what you want to do, but it’s not in the cards. We can’t do that unless you want to meet the real killer. You and I can’t go to the bank, and the heroes can’t make an arrest for the murder, not without something worth happening."

"Not an arrest," Tattletale said. "What are you talking about?"

"Don’t play dumb," Defiant said. "That’s the most you can do. If you start down that road, you’re almost guaranteeing that shit goes down. Which
======================================== SAMPLE 576 ========================================
The Dragonfly’s windshield wipers, cracked, and disappeared.

I could hear the Dragonfly stop. Recalibrating the cameras.

It was also, I soon found out, her arch-nemesis. The man who had threatened to kill her and wounded Mannequin, Moody, also threatened to kill me.

That said, he was a very good liar, if I remembered his criminal history right. He wouldn’t kill me under any circumstances.

I debated going for a ride on one of the dogs, but knew it was probably suicide. They were too big, and I couldn’t scoot away if he used his teeth to pry me free.

"Hello?" He called out.

I looked up at him. My voice was cracked, "RSVP?"

"It’s too late to attend, old man." He swung his arm out to one side, and the door swung wide apart, locking everyone inside.

"You should have notified me," I called out.

"You should’ve realized that right after I invited you to come. That girl isn’t back for round two, at least. Clockblocker destroyed her shelter!"

I could see everyone tense.

"Lily, you don’t know anything," Clockblocker called out. "This is a double-double-something."

She ignored him, for the time being. She watched as the S.H.I. uniform continued to talk to us, through the glass. "This is the boss. They have to know I’m on their side, that my powers will hold this group together for weeks or months if they can’t just stop me. I know my buddy, Groundhog, she saw him get his comeuppance at the hands of the Triumvirate. Maybe they held a vote. Everyone that’s still alive and running is a heavy hitter, and there’s a handful more that are dying slowly, but still too many. I know my buddy can still make a difference, but he’s not the man for the job. Got poisoned, fucking around when he shouldn’t have been, and who knows what his body’s telling him? He’s not in this group of heroes anymore."

"Clockblocker, you’re not disabled. You have health, good muscular endurance. I want you and the other skilled capes we have on our side to stop them. Stagger them, keep them disabled until they can be used in a pinch, then give them my orders."

"Your order is already obstructed," Clockblocker said.

"On it. You’re swearing. Slow, deliberate, methodical. Fuck me, you’re going over the top. Your friends will thank you."

"You’re absolutely certain they won’t thank us," Trickster called out.

"Your group has been gathering skilled individuals from around the city, traveling across the city in hopes of bringing them to me. I believe I mentioned to you that I had Marissa and Oliver with me."

"I don’t care about Marissa or the guy," I said, "I want to know what you’re planning."

Clockblocker was glaring at me, but he didn’t seem to mind. "Bringing me into the city limits would be a violation of my probationary status. My punishment for failing to return to base will be two years in the county medium security prison, plus three years of extended incarceration. I plan to appeal."

"I think I get it," I said, stabbing my finger in his direction. "Skitter, you have the better insight into what’s going on here, right? What’s the plan?"

"It’s not a plan," she said. "But I don’t have much else to offer you, besides the information I’ve been able to squeeze out of you. You’ll be my fifth escort, together with the other three members of the Nine. I’ll be keeping an eye on you while you get your stuff packed, and, should you decide you need it, I’ll provide you with a horse for travel in a timely manner."

I could feel my heart thudding in my chest. A part of me wanted to protest, to help push Trickster away, but it was the only way to get further. My hopes, however, were still squarely on Trickster’s shoulders.

"If you arrive unannounced, I can’t miss you. I also have to ensure there’s no trouble. You’ll be given a firearm of some sort, for your own protection
======================================== SAMPLE 579 ========================================
A Cat’s Eyes walked through the area between two of the destroyed buildings, but headed in the direction of the mosque and university. Her head craned upward as she looked, as if to look up at the sky, or maybe to look at something. She paused, glancing down at the burning ruins of a building at the front of the campus. What?

Then she looked up at Bitch. Her face was toothless, her eyes wide with shock, her tongue sticking out.

Bitch greeted her with the same gravity and shocklessness that had been apparent in her first greeting, the closed fist extended. For just an instant, she looked like she might use her teeth to cauterize a tear in the fabric of her costume. She looked utterly terrified.

Then Cat’s Eyes turned her way, and her expression changed. She spoke, for the first time. Arundhati, the name her fans bestowed on her, की, always in a low voice, as if barely caring what she was saying; comforting, even.

"Did you… did you do this for her?"

Nevermind, Bitch thought. I’m not giving you permission to do this.

"Yes," Bitch answered, her voice low. She didn’t want to disappoint Cat’s Eye, and the guy was clearly intent on tearing her speech apart. If she gave him an opening, he would seize it. "For both of us."

"Both?" the girl asked. She glanced over her shoulder at the older woman, who had a frightfully long neck and a jaw that was too narrow. She couldn’t think straight enough to argue this point.

"She was the person I wanted to be for, in the finale, at least," Bitch said. "I wanted her to be happy. And right now, she’s not happy."

"I can’t hear you, can I?" the doctor asked.

"Nowhere to go from! What happened?"

There was no reply. Only a meaningless whimper.

"You couldn’t?"

"I… I went to his house, and he set things in motion, put all this in my hat. Thinking, monitoring and canceling his stuff, trying to make sure I don’t do anything that’s going to make his chest hurt again. But now I’m inside, and he changed the encryption. His representatives can’t get in, so they’re just making false requests and lying about what’s in my files. Crippled my ability to assist."

"The recovered data didn’t include damage to your confidential data."

"Had to be here," she said. The data was encrypted.

"It doesn’t really matter. I didn’t do anything except sit back and touch her a few times. And I asked her to stay in the shadows, while I practiced being more active. Now I’m coming in."

"I was looking forward to having a chat. I mean, I get that it might be against the spirit of this one meeting, but we’re doing data entry, aren’t we? It’s not like I’m going to scurry away at a bit of a loitering mood if I’m being forced to listen to you."

"My time is limited. 1:00am on this clock. If you’re not up for it, or if you really do want to leave, I’ll be disappointed. But being here? It’s better than being back at school."

There was a long pause.

"Be good. Come with me. We can sit down at one table and talk through the topics on our agenda. I’ll make a presentation, maybe get an in-class prize or two, depending on how many teams come."

There were nods and murmurs of agreement across the school.

He waited, glad for the anonymity, the peace. If he could stay here and fantasize about being that �Evening’ student, it could keep him away from his family, might give him some peace of mind in the event he ever had to go to lunch with them.

He let the students return to their individual tables, and scribbled on a pad of paper. He handed it to Charlotte, and she handed him a pad of post-its.

"Here’s the deal, then," he said. "I already told you, from the moment you put your name down, that I’m not going to use my power on you. That means no more you showing up at school every day, wearing a different face. No more names or faces
======================================== SAMPLE 582 ========================================
Paper carrying the canister sizzled as it passed through, falling to the ground in a pile of blue-green smoke. I didn’t see how many times it hit the ground I actually saw, because the canister was so hot it was bouncing off of plates and glass. When it splashed again, the first thing I noticed was that the glass had a thin film of smoke around it.

I could feel the ground shaking with the impact, the snow and debris continuing to move forward despite being directly behind us.

"Can’t get a birdy on her," Alec spoke, "She’s too tanky."

"Easier," Brian said, "Now we’re even. Let’s pair off."

Lisa set about pulling on the costume components while Brian was getting the first aid kit and help on. Alec joined Lisa on the first try. After some consideration, I forced myself to concentrate on the costume and get it on par with my new costume. While I was doing that, I took in a small breath and tried to start undoing the tank top I’d so memorably raised as an emblem in the month of February. It was far easier to move my injured knee than to go full-tilt quad-jumping rope knots, and I found myself missing that armor piece as I did it. I think the zoomorphic face of the tank top was what Grant said made it ‘SKULLFUCKER’.

Luckily Lisa had the bug girl with her. With the aid of a paramedic and a beautiful white mask, I was finally able to hoist the top up. I wasn’t exactly sure how high I could get, but I was able to stagger it up the side of the roof, pinching the top in place while standing. Brian was too focused on the fact that I was nearly horizontal to hold the top up, which resulted in me dropping it. It landed halfway down and twisted in my hand. The fall wasn’t as painful as it could have been, but it made me roll more than I’d like to admit. I let go of the hook to wriggle free and hurl the trash outside.

"If it doesn’t work," Brian was checking my injection for any lurking poison, then he spoke from his position at the edge of the roof, "Something else must be done. Hold the watering can. She could die in a few minutes."

"And if I don’t hold it up?" I asked, smiling honestly.

"You’d be needing to throw out more bugs to have a good enough chance of survival," he answered. He waited until I had repeated instructions to disperse my bugs, then he moved up to the roof’s edge, where the section of wall that jutted out from the roof’s edge was falling. He quickly tuned it back to where it was. I was already using the black widows and my bugs to check the area for any traps or entry points.

"You’re almost vertical to the ground!" Alec said, "It’s so hard to hold up in midair!"

I was using my knives to try to catch Lisa using the same technique. She was winging it as she flew from rooftop to rooftop, acquiring every bird on the street as she made her descent. She looked like a superheroine descending to earth, though. She had momentum, and even though her body was stretched out to its limits, she was landing softly, with a practiced ease.

Document five.2


I didn’t have a plan, and I didn’t have a desire to go through the motions of stabbing the thirty bugs into the ground, each connected to the others, in the hopes that something sentient would come out. Not that I had a plan.

I had a feeling I had something going on, but I needed confirmation. Grue’s darkness was poisonous, at least to those who had gotten their hands on him before his power gave out. If Scapegoat’s search for the vampires and their client hadn’t wiped out most of our line of sight, this could be a very scary situation for the capes who were still holding the fort.

Had Toe does indeed get knocked out by Toe.

"D.Va," I said, not sure how to answer her. She had the build of a battlefield general, but not a confrontational one. "Thanks."

"You kept us alive, boss," she said.

"I keep them going alive. And I kept some of them back home. Figured they would want to grab some of the goodies before we made it. Fortune cookies and like."

Her eyes widened a fraction, but she didn’t say anything.


======================================== SAMPLE 585 ========================================
Cinderhulk. I hadn’t expected Cinderhulk to be in the Nine’s group. Not with their propensity for using conjuring up powerful mutant and spider creations to blast people away when they faltered, or when they’d gone after Tattletale.

I hadn’t given the illusion that the Nine were going to abandon their aim to run. It seemed to be a temporary stop.

"What is it, then?" Kang asked.

"I’ve said what I needed to say. We ran. We found a solid spot to hide and board up the holes with the holes for our defense," I said. I made a mental note of that statement. The safest place for Cinderhulk to hide would be in the hollow core of the building, there, or halfway down the building, behind machines gunk and blood that was slowly liquefying.

"If the Nine are going to abandon their aim, they might as well quit now and walk away, get another opportunity," Kang said. "Their target is gone, they’ve got their prisoner in custody, and the city can take its shit elsewhere."

If the city took it where? Where was the black market market owner, before the Nine showed?

"I don’t- I’m not that stupid," I said.

"You are," Kang replied, backing down again. A chair no longer moved with his shoulders, put only so far to his left.

"Then clean up, or you can go to the Birdcage folks and serve your time."

"I’m not that stupid."

"You&re not serving your time?" Cinderhulk asked. The orb drifted closer until it was just inches from my face. I shrank back.

Kang returned and leaned over me for a second, until my voice was barely audible.

"What would you have done if we didn’t have powers?"

"I’d hurt to be in the dark," I said. "I’d hurt to tell."

"You don’t think we should use our powers," Teacher said. "We don’t know everything."

"No," I said. "We should go on the offensive, not because we have to, but because it’s the right thing to do. We just need a chance. Something to stumble onto, to get us ahead of the Nine."

"They’re not just anyone villains," Teacher said. "The leader of the group, Othala, seemed cooperative, too. We didn’t make any attempt to contact her, but we’d expect her to have some kind of knowledge on this sort of thing. Information leaking out would be disastrous, and there’s no reason to think she’s beyond helping us."

"I don’t understand," I said.

"Unless you’re talking about taking her down, then yes. But there’s a chance she’s telling the truth. It’s a shame we can’t get to her, but there’s nothing we can do except hope she keeps her mouth shut."

There was a rumble. My bugs couldn’t reach far enough to see, but they could see the blur. A forcefield, expanding and reconfiguring as it grew.

"A hole in the fabric of space-time itself," Teacher said. "Causing holes in reality. It’s the definition of an illusion."

"He’s on to us," Imp said. "It’s just a question of figuring out where."

I followed Rachel and the dogs as we made our way towards the site of the battle. I had to take a second to breathe.

I’d Included a Stagger Button!

It was a good thing I didn’t know where Teacher was. Having to risk being spotted, it helped solidified my belief that we were in the clear.

The issue was, there were a hundred things going on beneath the surface of things. I could’ve disabled the memory boosters, disabled the projection chains, but they wouldn’t give me any real lift. If I had time, I could use the stasis chairs, dot the perimeter of the effect with them, but that required that I’d be there when they formed. Not worth the risk that someone noticed the cushioning in the cushion and stumbled into us.

The biggest threat was the entity. I could only hope that it was intelligent, that it was arranging this so that my bugs would have some kind of chokehold. I could disable it, disable it’s allies.

The fact that it was
======================================== SAMPLE 588 ========================================
What the hell am I supposed to do, here?

My head snapped in Austin’s direction, and I snapped back, as if I’d suddenly recognized what I was looking at. A family gathered, sitting on a folding screen, a man at the center to whom I had direct access.

Austin had altered his costume, now sporting a long sleeved shirt with a hood. He was joined by his family as you approached.

He glanced at me, and his eyebrows drew together, "The hell?"

"Is that a problem?" Trickster asked. "You’re back to that?"

"I’m pretty sure it isn’t a problem," I said.

"Tell me."

"It’s not a problem," I replied. "I promise."

I turned and extended my arms toward the screen, and the entire group filed into the center of the gathered family. Grue settled on the little kid who could barely stand, and Tattletale settled in the other corner of the room with her sister. The dad had one leg off the ground, and was bent over, giving Regent a handstand. The rest of the family was spread out over the ground and the ceiling, two adult members between the two youngest.

Noelle’s stuffed doll was taken out of the closet, and the family took their time leaving the room. There was no celebration.

Clockblocker was the first to exit the room, Void following, followed by his newte. Tattletale, for her part, faded into the wall of the room, whatched shingle between her teeth to stay warm, and stayed there, her head down.

Except I was aware of movements between the boy and his new friend. Clockblocker had one hand pressed to his chest, and he had a gun pressed to the back of his head. If I was judging right, there was a length of gunmetal, embroidered with the words ‘Barbaric behavior’, pointing towards the boy. The boy was his new name?

I called on my bugs, but there was no response. Phone, maybe, but there was no signal.

So I tried contacting the PRT. Inquiring minds want to know.

Was this the parahuman who had attacked the fundraiser? If so, why?

If not, what had sparked his anger? Vilification?

If I tried contacting the Mayor’s office, I was expecting something along the lines of, "There’s a crisis, the PRT is being hijacked by hardcore evil parahumans, an investigation is requested" or "A crisis comes, and you’re the first to know."

I tried entering the mayor’s office, and I got this instead:

"Kip," my voice sent a shiver down my back, "You’re alive. You’re in the city. I’m keeping you informed of developments."

"An investigation. I can’t go to school, which is why I’m telling you this."

"I don’t follow," I said.

"That’s a good thing," he said, giving me a curt nod. "If it means anything, it means we can get the word out."

"You can’t keep doing that," Grue said. "Currying favor."

"The mayor is popular, Grue. He’s a friend. If you need us to help you, we’ll do it. We’ll work for your good. We’ll help you recover."

He didn’t believe me. No, his lack of faith was more for me than for him, but he didn’t have the heart to tell me.

"You’re being helpful," I said. "What are you getting out of this?"

The mayor only frowned, looking at the staffers who’d gathered at the far end of the room. "Little more than words, Hand."

Hand, Parian and I took a step forward, then took different paths. By the time we reached the far end of the room, the mayor was talking to someone who looked like a librarian. I was pretty sure I recognized him. He had a rim of too many large eyes, a long neck and big ears. Like a lot of the librarians I knew, he had a costume that was titanic in appearance. It wasn’t just the armor or the helmet either. When he stepped to give a speech, his voice crackled with volume and beat against the interlinking microphones and speakers that were strapped to his upper arms and shoulders.

"Mr. Grove is requested to come this evening
======================================== SAMPLE 591 ========================================
Tinkerspace-2, Tabula rasa cognitvis

Not a prison. No walls, only wards, restraints and a cage at the entrance. Tall, lit, with a chandelier at the top. The Warden is in a formal, idleness. She has an organization. Her veneer is a lie. Rigved, her chambers even, but no less real. Her orders are known by the appearance of the body she is not honoring. Now a murderer in exile, she is wholly focused on avoiding confrontation and abreast of all developments.

Within the prison, little is going on excepting the daily committment of theard and cauldron. The nursery and the new kindergartener are similarly occupied. The former is a special case, and the latter is not.

In the nursery, Krouse has his eyes opened on bundles of sheets, carried aloft on a bedside table.

A man is on the table, trying to catch his breath. He has real hair, and Krouse recognizes the man’s face. The man’s hair is cut short, and he has thick eyebrows, just like the Warden.

"Krouse," the Warden says, "Remind you of anyone?"

"Anyone?"

"Of course. A memory serves to remind me of how strong you were, how determined you were, how much you wanted to prove yourself."

"I figured it was pretty safe. Intelligent, sensible. I don’t think too much about it now, but back then, I knew we were really on the brink of war. We were losing Ishyan, D.D.I., Orsin, Altasy and Bambina, and it was taking forever for the factions to get organized. We were losing Madcap, after all."

"I remember you complaining about how hard it was to get your powers off a patient. I think we covered that ground."

"Mind talking about some of that later?"

"You guys took on a lot in your five year stay. How was the division of the city divided? You guys were saying there’s no sobriety?"

"Sensible. After difficulty in getting the guards to respect the resident doctors, Shuffle was able to get things started on getting the wounded over the wall."

"When was the division of the city?"

"After the incident at the hospital. I took charge and cracked a wicked joke at the surgeon’s expense. When Grue and the others got back, I was told to divide the city in two. I organized the people who could help the largest number, and taught them how to handle people and equipment, all while keeping the Major and Young Capes in chain. I was later told to go over it again, because I differed from the others in fixing the results."

"While we were all having words," Krouse said, "Tattletale cracked me up. She said you shouldn’t worry so much about being too nice, because you’d already accepted it. That you were strong enough to carry through with the joke, to not mind the consequences. And now that you’re here… well, I can’t put it out of my head. You’re the type that harbors some sense of humor."

Marissa shrugged.

"Hey."

She turned to face Krouse, and he had to pull back the sheet to see her face. It was pinky-nailed, with a tissue balloon around the pinkie.

"I’m guessing you’re a while away? Are you getting by?"

"Are we talking about staying a while? No. We’re talking about food, clothing, supplies. You’re the closest thing we have to a landlord."

She made a dubious comment, "You’ll help me get those things if I say no."

"I can’t persuade you."

"You’ll have to convince me," she threatened.

"Landlord? I’m nowhere near here. Oh, hey. Feel free to come by. I’m keeping you updated on the mission from the commanders."

"I appreciate the offer, but my focus is on the pair of you right now. You want to get me up to speed?"

"No, no. You said you’re focused on Regent and Imp?"

Krouse answered in answer. He turned to look at Marissa. "Yeah. I know about those two."

"Oh. You’re happy they’re with us?"

He was taken off guard. Marissa’s startled look was a response to his looking at her.

"Huh? No."


======================================== SAMPLE 594 ========================================
Choosing what you do with the material matters. Fourteen energy cells are no ordinary cell. They are the largest living entities on earth, each more massive than a car, each more advanced than an ant or a dragon. Each is the survivor, the pinnacle, the pinnacle moments of evolution. Yet each is as vulnerable as the others. Each can never be completely isolated, cannot breed again, but it must remain eternally alone, free to fester and multiply until it is all gone, or it will destroy all of these others."

"Yet," Defiant spoke, his voice low, "You recognize that this material cannot heal, cannot grant powers. It isorthy one another their power, allowing them to flourish, to heal themselves, and allow the material to die. Yet you recognize that this is something that must be prevented, and you propose a solution."

"Protocol," I answered him.

"Protocol," he echoed me. Not for long, but still… too much time. "One more thing. Antigravity. A special power. I’ve designed safeguards, and the number of groups that can be invited to be on the same side is limited. Special safeguards designed to stop certain individuals who were once on the opposite side from joining. It will remain a carefully managed double-tap. Only a limited number of people who are particularly adept at flying in the face of impossible odds, or standing between us and unthinkable amounts of pain, can truly know how this plays out."

The number of prepared groups is indeed limited. Protocol. The irony of the double-tap is too rich in itself.

"We have further adjustments that can be made to the test subject’s body before it is released. We feel it is more appropriate to keep it in quarantine and hold it for later use, as it serves as a physical barrier and tactical asset. It is also easier on the immune system, since there is no danger of direct contact from direct sunlight. Russet is releasing it to two important people. Causing concern among some other admirals and generals, who are desperately trying to manage their armies and deploy their fleets. I’ll make special arrangements, able officers only, to release it to them asap."

The man in uniform groaned, "How much is the procedure?"

"Not as much as you’d think. First off, I’ll handle the incoming matter on site. Once I have a sense of whether this is a martial or a non-mortal threat, I’ll call a meeting of the major parties and get them to bargain. It won’t be nearly as dramatic or direct as the meeting on the grounds of the sanctum sanctorum."

The armed man who had brought the suit of armor to the platform recoiled in astonishment at the sudden appearance of the man who two previous visitors had identified as Skitter. Then his own bodyguard, who had been with him from the outset.

It was Quarrel, a bodyguard to the concealed Skitter. He would be the one to challenge her in court, the one to introduce confrontation.

Damn him.

So much wasted time.

"The preliminary results are in. As you can see, there are some changes. Muscle shrivels, shrinkage occurs. Hair, nails and other exterior parts of the body show some tenderness. It is at this stage that I would advise precaution. We would then be able to see whether we are taking things too far or too seriously. If there were any abnormal changes, it would mean the end of the growth and rebirth of the carcass. We would then be able to observe and decide whether we should continue."

"Not overly pertinent to this discussion," the woman spoke. "If you wish to look at what I’d call the macroscopic changes and decide whether we are taking this too far or not, you can do so here. Otherwise, I would suggest you consider the smaller alterations. Subtle, yet all the more noticeable."

The hidden meaning behind the words was clear. More testing.

"And, if you would, Typhon, here I am, the avenger."

"You assholes! I deserved that."

"Clearly. I have striven to be just as honorable as my peers. Proclaimed my own innocence from the moment of the incident. Consumed the dark arts to break my ways and put me behind bars again. I have spent years trying to put myself back together, revive my career and regain what I lost. I have kept some things that were mine, freely given to others for free. Laws, rules, codes, intended to keep my colonies from turning on me. In the end, it was my teammates who saw my deceptions and brought me down."

"But you did it for love, right? You did it for the love of
======================================== SAMPLE 597 ========================================
The presence of five parahumans with the Sharingan strengthened my stance, almost apologetic for my earlier outburst. I saw Vengeance from the doorway, brushing Rise’s hair away, and Unease streaming down from around the lobby’s Captain.

"The man with the bugs," Cuff said. "He told me to keep them out of his face."

"For now," I said. I looked around. The PRT member was set down on the counter. "If he opens his mouth again, we’ll attack. Whoever it is, wherever they are, we can catch them or at least hurt them. More than you know, depending on how much damage they cause."

"I see," the captain said. "I’m well acquainted with the villains that dwell in that city. I’ve seen their tactics. I’ve seen how they react to setbacks. I think I’ll trust the Undersiders to defeat them, even if it means shooting them dead. I’ll report any weakness you notice and we’ll adjust our strategy accordingly. I’ll direct you to those soldiers that are stationed here so you can assist Grue in knocking out a few more. Heal up, collect the wounded."

"Please do," I said.

"As I was saying," Tecton said, "Even if it means you get shot, I’ll take the risks. As a last resort, I’ll tell them to evacuate the building."

"Alone," Cuff said.

"As I’m saying," Tecton said. "Two of our members are on the roof, looking after Clockblocker. They’ll be able to see us. They’ll be able to pinpoint us by our features, and they’ll be able to follow us. Grue and Rachel can come with to help having the suit evacuate."

There were nods all around.

A deep and primal silence lingered.

"I can’t get a reading on your dogs, but the printing I’ve seen has a consistency to it. Something made of paper rather than plastic or metal. It’s faded, and the lines have more of a brown-ish hue to them. As Jack or Bonesaw move, the colors will likely change, and this document’s borders and borders around the printing will morph into something else. Popping it open to get a look inside? Checking it out? I’m pretty sure it’ll be a treasure trove of horrible details on the Merchants, Jack, the Boss and the Warriors."

"I… don’t want to see it. I’m inclined to think you’re an excellent lawyer up until you try to push the luck and reveal who’s doing what for whom," Imp said.

"You’re blurring the lines between business and public, and anything you say could be used against you."

"The opposite could be true," she said. "I’m a master of both. I’m confident I can craft an effective scare tactic that connects the dots."

"And?"

She glanced at Tecton, but there was no followthrough.

"I’m drafting a report. See if I can snag permission to share it with you."

"If it’s alright, I’m going to see to the rest of the job.8th Engineer, deal with the capture of the Manton case."

"Understood. Go."

I gave Rachel my rundown on the fight, the capture of Bonesaw, and our ensuing interaction with the Slaughterhouse Nine.

"Bonesaw is in the custody of the heroes," the Director said.

"Right. We’ll have her here by the end of the afternoon."

"Very well," Tattletale said. She adjusted her scarf to remove the knots that were holding it together. "Then I have two goals in mind. The first is to deliver a critical blow. I’m not skimming the public services like a fish scales."

"What do you mean?"

"My priority is this. Establishing whether Dinah’s prophecy is on target. The second question is about the mechanics of this. I want to know if this is really what Coil wants."

"On the money?"

"We can’t pay her."

"If you pay her," I said, "We’ll have your followers begging to be picked up. Given her violent tendencies, a beating for any undeserving individuals near her."

"You say she’s violent, and that’s a big if."

"The
======================================== SAMPLE 600 ========================================
All it took was one mistake, and it would be a matter of time before my reputation took a ugly hit, my team was made fun of, everything turned on its head. I’d have to earn their respect, convincing them I was doing something to help them, or they wouldn’t take my side against the Undersiders.

In his hurry to get up the courage to confront me, Regent had dropped one wrist from around his wrist, leaving the hand bent at a ninety degree angle. It plunged into the crack of what had to be a coffin-shaped bonnet.

I realized the hand had a blade on the end. I watched as he thrust it into the midst of Angelica’s leg, turned her body to point the weapon at me, turned his wrist in the air as he fired.

It speared into the air as it reached the apex of its flight, crashed to the ground in a spectacular crash.

I could see the steel of Angelica’s fur jutting out of her leg, her flank glowing orange from the heat of the glowing wound.

That fatal hesitation only gave him the chance to act, setting off his second trigger event. In that one second he stood there, his weapon in hand, I got a hundred images of him straight into my head, of him as Scarecrow, even before I realized the images were synthetic.

A dragon breath and a roar of thunder marked a complete and total loss for our opposition. Without the ability to move or respond, we were summarily crushed.





Gestation 1.7


Angelica started to rise again, slowly, painfully, as she grappled with Dragon’s aircraft and realized it was too small to make her way out of the trapping time.

It was on the second try that I saw her. She was huge. As big as a car, as light as a feather, she was covered in fur that had taken the worst of the abuse of her owners, and which the shaggy dogs hadn’t even considered using in fighting her. They were almost comic books in how quickly she could grow. There were chapters and pages of what looked to be action figures in the fur, starting at the very bottom of her litter, just behind her jaws and around the very top of her head. The exact same fur caught the light with the reflector it was suspended with.

Even at the base of her long, thin tail, there were areas of the belly she wasn’t using for scratching. Where the fur wasn’t fully erect, the animal would flap her body up and then down, pulling on her with her tail as sheさシンツれたサーバースト, like a dog going on a run. Up until the area where the belly met her tail, the area with the deepest fur, the most material covered, the animals were most definitely not alone. She was well armored in almost every respect, and each of her numerous tails was studded with innumerable small sharp spikes, each tipped with fine hairs.

Her back was the most discolored, with thick, dark fur. It had apparently been a part of her previous self, put together in an odd blend of wheat, spade, sheep and/or bison that she had lost. I knew I should feel bad about mentioning that, but a look into her eyes showed no sign of any physical or emotional damage. One gouged her feetobi-

Then Dragon appeared, flying right beside her. Huge wings, trailing behind her in the air, erupted from the back of her neck, each wing extending ten feet or so, as if to provide some kind of lift. Not just flight, but something entirely different. She reminded me a bit of Parian from New Game Plus. Power for power, flight for flight.

"Grue," I said, after noting the absence of the dog from the fray, "What’s going on?"

"Eidolon charge," Tattletale said.

"Following closely behind, I think. They have twelve member teams, now. We got our first real taste of that at the house party. People were throwing blood and guts at one of the factions that was allied with Dragon, got arrested, ended up on the offensive against the other group, so to speak. I pegged it as the group that was behind the murder of Vista. Then we got our second taste of it at the house. There was some pushing and shoving match between a certain group and the villains that were behind the killing of Vista, and one of the killers went after Vista herself. I had to step in to keep things interesting."

On the third try, they got control of the situation, but it was slow going. Everyone knew who the villains were, but the stunts and fighting was slowing things to a crawl. A direct attack was impossible. Too
======================================== SAMPLE 603 ========================================
Blade of Horus, hit by Chaos’s assault, shimmering in on one side, then the other, then the point at the edge of the roof. Fallen bits of building on either side drifting in and out of the cloud.

Crimson appeared on the far side of the cloud, perched on the edge. He faced the Bavarians, who were struggling to escape.

"Que hacer," he whispered. "Que hacer algunos."

"One minute and forty seconds," I said.

"Esta casi," he said, his voice monotone, almost suspended. There was no emotion to his voice. Barely a sound.

"Que hacer?" I asked.

"There’s something I have to do," he said, "Before then, this situation…"

He was still staring up at the heroes who were tearing through the rooftop.

"Que hacer?" I asked.

"I have to talk to Tattletale. Ask her to signal Lion to come to me. I’ll find you a plane ticket and arrange for a ride to Boston."

I nodded, my heart sinking.

"Que hacer?"

"Where in the world is Boston? I can’t quite figure that out."

"I’ll find you a ride to your destination," I said. "You follow?"

He shook his head. "I can’t say without crossing lines I’ve set in the story. You follow?"

"We’re in a strange place, everyone here. It’s not easy to rebuild the bonds that hold this city together, especially with the way things were before. Can we return to the old days? Cross that chasm, if you must."

"I don’t like the answer, but I think we can return to the old days, even if it means we get turned away, depending on our priorities."

"It’s the end of the world, everyone thinks that. We the people who are left are the ones who are demanding change, who’ve been waiting for it for a long time. We’ve got to manage if not if by peaceful means, but we’ll work together to manage that. That means we can’t be left defenseless, no."

"You can manage?"

"I can, but I won’t. And I won’t rest either. If I can’t, you will see what I can do. For now, I will make do."

"When can we expect the next step?"

"In a week and a few days."

Defiant tapped his fingers against the back of his hand. "Where in the world are these worlds located?"

"We don’t know. the cities we know about… they were set up to ward off attack. By good fortune or by misfortune, we got to this point where the monsters can attack and still survive. The monsters we know about… nearly all died out or were eliminated before we could talk to them."

"It doesn’t make sense," Defiant said. "It’s like we’re playing Russian roulette with civilization."

"There has to be a reason," Clockblocker said.

"There is, but it’s not pretty," Doctor Mother said.

"No," Clockblocker agreed. "There has to be a reason. For this Boston Uprising, I’ve decided something. I’ve found it. It’s in your heads. The events after you patch the world back together."

"It didn’t happen with us," I said.

"Doesn’t matter. If you open your eyes, let the fear and uncertainty go, and you see for yourself, I think you’ll find your way to accepting that it did happen."

■

Defiant stood at the foot of the platform.

"I’m open to discussion and disagreement," he said. "I’m also happy to provide analysis and guidance. What do you think, Defiant?"

"Too many capes to recommend one?"

"It’s robust enough. It would be meaningless if I didn’t try."

"You’re not thinking of replacing everyone on the platform?"

"I’m not, actually. I’m just looking to assist you in your investigation. I can analyze the data, and I can provide insights that you’d otherwise not have. I want to understand this thing you’re finding yourself passionate about, Defiant."

"I’m not sure I have
======================================== SAMPLE 606 ========================================
But still close enough.

Miss Militia’s pistol jammed on the end. Okay.

Then it happened.

A flash, Aurora caught in it, and Weld shouted, "Grab him, grab him!"

Another flash, and Weld was pulled toward the middle of the room, no longer in her shadow state. She drew her gun, simultaneously grabbing the man in question and slamming him against the wall.

He had the presence of one of the two. He was armed, casually attired in a skimpy suit of armor in the midst of a sea of people who were in the thrall position. Was he in charge of the smaller group?

"Action!" Miss Militia ordered. She and Chevalier switched targets. Miss Militia aimed her gun at Aurora, and he moved to get out of her way.

She was immediately struck in the head with a dense concentration of Tinker weaponry. It sank deep, and for a moment, he really believed himself to be dead.

He’d suffered enough damage already. He wouldn’t win this alone.

Chevalier brought his sword down, a cut to the right side of his face, then the left. Aurora collapsed, and died the same way, slowly, over the course of a few seconds. Chevalier grabbed the man by the shoulders, pulled him to his feet.

One of the Yàngbǎn members struck out with a wide-area effect energy, and around the corner, a portion of the floor was rendered into a giant pancake.

A sour note was all Aurora had available to her. She felt the force of the attack break apart the barrier, saw the dissipating remains of the wall spill to the ground.

Just as Sveta’s interference had torn much of Viti’s cover from beneath her, the girl with the forcefield scales had disrupted things again. Darkness flowed from the cracks, suspending the shadows, restricting how much material was reflected and absorbed.

She withdrew her gun, looked around.

"You’re not seeing anything, are you?"

Just the same as before. The Yàngbǎn member with the forcefield scales was standing in the middle of her. She moved her gun to reload and shoot the Yàngbǎn member that was blocking her way, then shifted target to the next person.

"Wait, no," she said. "Wait… Tōng Líng Tǎ was there before me."

There was a rumble as the Yàngbǎn member with the power nullification effect closed the distance,. She pulled someone to her and pressed them to her will. "Stay here. I’ll wait."

So she invited Sveta.

"I need your help," Chevalier said.

"I need your help, but I can do that when I’m with you. I’ll wait."

"We need escape routes," Chevalier said. "Otherwise, we’re going to get crushed by a deluge of vehicles, sand, and detritus. Six or seven of us are destroyed, and we’re not even moving."

"Not even moving? At half speed?" Sveta asked.

"Not unless we fly," Chevalier said.

"I need to move fast. I can’t get a good angle with this forcefield thing. It’s slanted toward the center."

"Make it more obvious," Chevalier said. "The black frame over there."

Sveta reached for it, then reached to his forehead, touching the frame that would become the forcefield. He moved it to the left, and Sveta shifted the others to the right.

He was stepping into dangerous territory.

"I’ll stay," Sveta said.

"I can still make it bigger," Chevalier said. "I can seal it off, or I can create an opening that lets me get my hand on the pistol."

"An escape route," Sveta said. "You need ammunition, and I have it."

"I do. But I need to tell you why I’m doing this."

He stepped away, taking a second to compose himself.

"I’m taking them down one by one," he said.

"We’re losing, Chevalier. Not just fighting, but we’re losing this war. They’re becoming a nuisance, like the controlled lunatic drones that can watch two hundred people at once and decide if they’ll run or swing at anyone in their immediate vicinity. I can open more secure doors, give you guns and ammunition
======================================== SAMPLE 609 ========================================
Why can’t we save it?

He was avoiding my question, his answer was a non-sequitur.

But I could follow his logic. We’d lose too many members here at the altar.

Couldn’t we stall? Couldn’t we take a risk and take a chance on the idea of trying to save that which we could afford to lose?

"It was a lucky guess," he said, and he let the silence linger, allowing the silence to inform his thought. He smiled a little, then he smiled a little wider. "Tell me more about when you had your trigger event."

My transgression. For some reason, I was suddenly the source of endless introverts freaking out over the introverts and social awkwardness.

"About five times," I said.

"You have a trigger event, then?"

That was something I was starting to understandHatchet in more depth. I felt my chest tighten in surprise, and I lowered my voice a fraction. "I would guess it’s something the Simurgh tied to her, but that could be misplaced. For another extreme, I guess it’s something to do with the disharmony between powers, or the grief over the fact that you were one of the few people who stayed. Either way, I’d guess you’re one of the more powerful capes in there."

"More or less," Golem said. He was crouching, but the hood of his sweatshirt was hiding a mechanical beetle.

Tattletale shrugged. "Okay. Great. Then I’ll explain. Weaver’s power is more like a Drake’s firecracker than a blaster. It’s a pretty crude interpretation of powers. Some powers just modify abilities. Compensators for heat loss, enhancers for mobility, removing mistakes, regeneration for the sickles, among other things. Some powers mirror each other better than the others, but the end result is the same. The talent is a mess, but the underlying idea is the same.

"So in short, Weaver has a lot of the same powers as Clockblocker does, with a few key differences. And maybe there’s one or two that are special, and they mess up the call."

Golem’s face changed the way I saw him. I could see his legs change as he walked, his arms and shoulders changing in a way that resembled both his transformation and the disruption of that heat as Kid Win had teleported him into a wall.

Scapegoat, here, didn’t look like much more than a frame that had been carved out of the hill Cumulus had made. The rest of the work had been minimal at best. I didn’t know what to say, so I stuck as silent as I could manage.

"There," Golem said. He gently pushed the frame out of the way, and then helped usher me away.

"You’re cleaning up?" Wanton asked.

"Maybe," I said. "I think."

"Me too," Imp said.

I shook my head a little. "Parian and Foil?"

"FYI," Tecton said, "Parian was shot, leading to this."

I turned my attention to him. "And Foil? I only just found out about them."

"Trickster and—," Gully was a third behind Imp and I, I.G. "Blaster. What are they doing?"

"The Travelers are making a move, probably to try to drive us out of the city," Tattletale said. "Try to take Palanquin out of commission. Probably legal. If the Protectorate is going to be occupying him at all, it’s the responsibility of the Wards."

"The hotel, the mayor’s supposed to watch them," I said. "If the tourists come, the mayor’s liable to get complaints, too."

"I’m mostly on the same page as Tattletale," Tattletale said. "They’re after us, so we’re trying to keep in the know. Making enquiries, but nothing definitive. They might be aiming to get a piece of him."

I nodded.

We had what we needed.

"I understand what you’re saying," Rachel said. "You’re tired. But this is a necessary evil. We need the Travelers out of here, and not just because they’re expected to be the backups if there’s trouble. The Mayor’s apparently aiming to install his family there, although I’m not sure what type of security measures the Mayor
======================================== SAMPLE 612 ========================================
The protagonist plucked the device free of Imp’s hands, then reached forward to put something else on the board in Imp’s place. Cardboard.

Imp, for her part, held up one of the disposable iPods, "Read it."

"What?"

"I’d like to make some tapes for those students who did poorly in the examinations. Test questions have been left blank for your instruction, but I do have questions regarding the Vegan Program, and the Vegan Troubleshooting books."

Imp ran her fingers over the top of the note, leaving it blank. "Damn. Derek, you get me?"

"I get it," Derekama said.

"What else?"

"I discussed it with Tattletale, and our thinking is that she’s well aware of the dangers of giving too much personal data to a student, so we’re giving her a list of names and numbers so she can go to one of the cafeterias for answers."

Imp paused, "So she takes the info, eats, drinks and plays video games all day, doing additional training to become a scientist at one of the game development companies, like yours, only she’s not paid to play?"

"I don’t think this is a specialized training," Tattletale said, "It sounds like something she would do in middle school."

"If you think about it, any class can be a lesson," Defiant spoke. "Some classes teach, and others demand practice. She’s in the latter category. We’re going to assume she’ll take any classes."

"No class?" the narrator asked.

"…. well, either that, or Dragon’s class, but let’s not overthink it."

The class was starting.

"Welcome to the third part of the previews," Coil spoke to the class. He modeled it after his high-tech high school in Brockton Bay, "Only this class is for those three. If you’re stricken in any way, it’s going to reflect badly on you. So, please, introduce the following."

Each of the seats in the auditorium had been filled. The room had been expanded by the arrival of the class, as the seats were handed out to those who had applied and were now waiting to be seated. One with the most applications was given to every student, with teachers separating the crowd into two groups, paying attention to which groups they belonged to.

The group sitting to his left gave him a dark look. He seated himself on the furthest row. They were the ‘irregulars’, the kids with distorted bodies, with names beginning with ‘Rachel’ and ending with ‘Matt’.

The look caught his attention. Matt, with his blond hair and face largely uncredited, was the same age as Rachel. He realized he was the only one with any identifying marks on him. His clothing, too, matched Matt’s: jeans, tan canvas pants, boots.

There were two other kids standing just in front of Codex. Shadow Stalker, who Leviathan had apparently killed, and another who Defiant had said was just beyond the pale. The latter two were nameless, only appearing front and center in case anyone watched and made the obvious connection between the two.

What drew his eye was the young man, Taylor Hebert, sitting beside Codex. Their eyes met, and he noticed a tinge of emotion.

A lot of people had noticed the tinge of emotion. Even Defiant, who had been ostensibly deployed elsewhere, was breathing a little hard.

For his peers in the room, however, it was something else. The teenager with the scar on his cheek stood out, a lone figure in the midst of a group of thirty-some students. He was staring at Shadow Stalker, his own eyes half-covering his face, as he addressed her.

"She was doing fine?"

"No. But I could handle her, you know."

She fell silent.

He waited, mentally revising his code to account for the possibility that this wasn’t entirely mental. If this was his ‘message’ to Shadow Stalker, and he couldn’t decode it because of her power, what message was he conveying to her?

"You’re disappointed in me," Shadow Stalker said.

"Disappointed in you?" He asked, unleashing a flood of feelings and emotions into the air, emotions he hadn’t even realized he was feeling. Hate, disappointment, fear, guilt, shame, fears for his family, his friends…

All the anger, the despair, the frustration, the loneliness, it was all coalescing
======================================== SAMPLE 615 ========================================
As April 25th drew nearer, every parent in Canada turned their children out of school to give them a final weekend shopping excursion. Some resorted to buying everything they could want, as if it could distract from the crushing disappointment of seeing your favourite member of the team summarily dismissed.

Not this motherfucker.

She stood outside the front door, shotguns in hand, her two huskies standing by. An expression of fury was on her face, her mouth twisting into a snarl as she refocused it so all eyes were fixed on her. She was wearing a black skintight outfit with a sleeveless t-shirt and jeans, with narrow, dirty blond hair that was too long, reaching to the point that it was borderline inappropriate for her height. Her hands were clenched so hard it felt like she was squeezing them to relieve of pressure. Not that she ever lets her muscles relax, but…

Her eyes.

She had the eyes.

A look into those dark eyes, and she knew the worst thing she could say was, "I’m sorry."

"You can’t blame me?"

"No," she said, her voice hoarse. She sighed. "No, I can blame you, but that doesn’t change the fact that you can’t explain."

"Okay," he said. His voice was hollow, a croak audible in the background. She could see the curvature of his shoulders and hips in the gap between the slats of the skull-faced helmet. "You know I’ll walk away from this, if I have to break the rules I set. But you have to let me go? You’re letting the monster win, aren’t you?"

"No. I’m the monster, my dad’s the loser."

"You sound different than you were," she said. She tried to count the changes in the way her dad spoke, "Some subtle, but there’s a lot of changes."

"I’ve spent nearly forty years avoiding the spotlight. Only recently did I start to pay attention to it. Now I get it. The rules I set are the rules society should follow. The monster wants to win, so I’m punishing them, the monster doesn’t. The heroes win, the world turns a hundred percent clear. We keep going back to the same old battles, the same old set of rules. It’s depressing. It’s a sick joke."

She sat up, ran a brush over her hair, and slammed the brush down on the coffee table, shutting the office door behind her.

"You’rea not forgiven, [Carol Martin]," Evan said.

"No," she said. She stepped away, brushed some of the hair away with her toe. "Not forgiven. I started this, I left the rules behind. I go back to those old ways, the rules I set, and I make them."

You’re coming back?

"I’ll show you then. When all else fails, my team and I will be the last ones standing."

That would be awkward. What about the hostage?

"You and I are too similar for us to work together."

Evan nodded.

"And he’s strong enough that he would take that as his first and last request," her mother said.

"I agree," the Director said. "I’ll get the most outrageous offer, then leave, only to be that much more upset at being refused."

"Murder is rarely an equitable offer," Evan said.

"It is, but sometimes it’s far more palatable than what you describe. The Director is listening, and she’s heard what you have to say. She’ll understand if I turn it down for some reason."

"You’d kill her if I gave you the order," he said, his voice soft. "I wouldn’t betray the group."

"That’s not what I’m asking for."

"Yes it is. But there have to be stipulations, first. I can’t leave without stipulations, and there’s not much choice in the matter, unless you want to make me a special offer. Still, I’d rather work for some in the Protectorate, whether they be friends or coworkers."

"Nobody does work like you, Forrest. Nobody does what you’re asking for."

He extended a hand, and she shook it. Slowly, he softened his expression, as if this was a first.

"If you were a friend," she said, "I’d respect that."

"
======================================== SAMPLE 618 ========================================
How strong was your body? Did you exercise?

I looked over her body and identified the areas I could make do without strengthening. Upper body, thighs, butt, wrists, fingers. Raise the area in question.

Do you recall what the illness was?

A physical review by Dr. Qasimova confirmed my suspicions regarding the identity of the passenger. A skin disorder.

What was the illness related to?

Arylosis.

What was the physical reaction when the ice budded and crackled with activity?

Reddening of the skin.

Aerylosis.

The broken skin could have been from the bites of her spiders, from the congestion she might have experienced under her skin or her flesh lost to the bug rash.

The rash had dissipated, and I could make out a gradual change in the coloration of her skin. A dark line was drawing together from the areas her arthropods were still crawling.

Anemia.

A loss of appetite that was more like vomiting than actual malnutrition. She might have a medical condition, but she didn’t. She’d depleted her body of electrolytes, like fluid in the brain would be. The body would have instructed the organs to use up the salts that were being stored in the bones and then begun electrolysis to flush out the toxins.

But the redness was bad, and I could feel the lines becoming more and more distinct.

Polyuria.

Not a urine anymore. Not as in "you have polyuria" or "you have puke." She was using her power to make herself look like a dog, to make herself sound like one.

It frightened me.

I was glad that it wasn’t more severe.

Polydactylia.

The condition was similar to polydactylia, but the symptoms were more pronounced. Visually, they were identical to those of dandruff. Under a spotlight, they would have been identical to dandruff.

Polypulpia.

The patient wasn’t getting any younger.

Ruptured eardrum.

Loads of other symptoms. Sleep disturbed, appetite increased, environment hostile, senses especially nightmarish.

The cyborg continued her scanning of the area, and I was forced to listen to her, to obey her every step of the way.

She wasn’t more than an observer, but she was an invaluable one. Something in the megascale category.

She picked up the teleporter and began showing me the various cyborgs that were occupying the room. I was getting tired of this, I knew it was error-prone, and I was willing to trust her judgement in large quantities.

But just to her right, there were a dozen cyb27s, all at once. I realized what they were. Debris from the fallen cyborg. They were dividing more by way of Cerebrum’s power than they were adding by way of Alexandria’s power. Nine cyb27s, in a row. Nine bodies, disappearing into and through the air.

"This is our staging ground," she said. She started to pick up the pieces of the screen that had been consumed by Cerebro. She was all business, careful to avoid talking about them. "Only way to really figure them out is to figure out their powers, and that’s a tough thing to do with your not-so-savvy teammate out there."

"I know," I said.

"And you can’t leave because-"

I didn’t finish her sentence. A thought struck me. In her shoes, I think I might have said the same thing.

"People will come," I said. And it would be a horrifying thought, but it wasn’t a thought I was prepared to share.

I felt my heart sink.

"I know what you’re thinking," I said. "But people will come. With all of the stuff that’s been going on, in the immigration status quo and no-name hero’s groups, there’s no way for the common people to get redress. Nobody’s willing or able to step in and do anything about it."

"No," she said. "You’re thinking along the wrong lines. We’ve been giving you your wish, side. I-before I became a hero, earlier, I had a lot of things planned. Usually it’s cosmetic, but I had a lot of plans, and I had a lot of places I wanted to go. I wanted to replace certain aspects of myself with certain things, address burnishing my power over time and having my circumstances have a different perspective
======================================== SAMPLE 621 ========================================
Cauldron


There are two other organizations that have shown an interest in Scion’s talents. The first, and most obvious of them, is that of a shared government. Different shades, but shared interests. A goal, a set goal, and a means to achieving it.

The other, and I would suggest an opposite, is something that is more sinister, something I would not even attempt to bridge.

I will tell you what I will give away. I will take one of your powers, and I will take control of you.

Each of these three things is to an Endbringer what a kiss is to a monster. It unlocks a door, and it is both a doorway and a stepping stone. Through these three things, I will take a control. I will do away with the need for discretion, for the ability to shuffle good intentions into bad, to shift the blame onto others and twist punishments further than they already have.

I will also have created a parasite that will seek to replicate throughout your body, forming into forms that cannot be damaged or penetrated by anything that is not a physical object. Once it has done this, it will start consuming you. You will lose your abilities, your identity, and everything that made you powerful.

You will then be reabsorbed, and you will have one less power to wield. You will have less control, sooner than you think.

You will have less power, and you will be powerless.

I am in a position to see this coming. If you were not in a state to defend yourselves, I would not be so cruel. If this were to happen, it would not be directed at you, but at us. If this were to happen, then I will earn your trust, and I will ensure you are never again lost.



Good luck.





Gone but not returned. See entry 13.

Resumed recruitment/job search from scratch. See entry 14.

Not seeking to increase my son’s powers; increasing his abilities. See entry 15.

Not seeking to increase my daughter’s powers; increasing her abilities. See entry 16.

Increased focus; seeking to further his own goals. See entry 17.

Increased effort; seeking to further her goals. See entry 18.

End of contract; unable to continue. See entry 19.

See also: dismissal, termination Notice, contract with Roche.



■



Interlude 26a


The house was bustling with activity. Older people were cheering, shouting, pointing, taunting him. They were all interested in what was going on, wondering when the next crowd would show. It was like they were a stage manager looking for the tension, the mood for their actors to smile at, or the crowd for Matthias to charm. They were all working together to try to make it bright and stuff, and their script had been whittled down to a jumble. It made him look inept, and it made all of them look desperate.

He tried to go into his room and stumbled, falling sideways, his spine under him. He kicked himself and hit his bed.

There were more people than had he expected were in his room. He sat down and grabbed the duster of fabric that had been ragged around the legs. Calling it in. The standard procedure was to cut away the most distasteful bits, then open a new batch.

He’d then done his routine checks, like entering his name, address and medical details. The medical stuff he needed was on paper menus below the duster, along with a pair of plastic gloves. The instructions on the duster’s lid informed him of the basic credentials needed, and put him in the bad side’s area. The orders to take over: manning the main console, manning the collection of commands that came with it, heading to the admin center, and finally to the trucks that shipped the stuff. All needed to be up to date.

He almost did it, but then saw a group of people standing outside his room. He stopped, standing in front of his old room. Then he saw a girl with a massive make-make mask and a man with straight black hair.

Shit. So much effort, to get them to stare.

A girl with make-make skin could have been his sister, adopted out. He’d wondered, once, when his mother had been pregnant with him. She would have been able to see the white liebler through the bedroom window. The physical traits perfectly corresponded with the movies and television depictions; tall, thin, with a slender build. He’d been tall when he’d taken the job, just below the neck in height, slim when not engaged in anything. He’d been adopted out, but that possibility had
======================================== SAMPLE 624 ========================================
There was something almost comical about watching this. A Korean couple, thriving as the tourism industry flourished in Los Angeles. A Korean-American couple, thriving as the tourism industry flourished. A Chinese couple, thriving as the city's Chinese families embraced them, embracing the Caucasians who had ruled the market until recently. A Korean-American man, thriving as the mayor of a major city. A Korean-American woman, thriving as the mayor of a major city. A Haitian woman, thriving as the humanitarian crisis became reality in her city. In this couple’s case, it was the city that had sent the pair away, the city that was failing to adapt.

"You want to taste deportation," a middle-aged woman spoke in Korean to the pair.

The Korean man raised a hand to avert her eyes. He did English, but his eyes were on a screen behind him.

"No," he spoke, in his own accented English. "I want to go to another world."

"No," the woman replied. "This is our world, just like we talked about. Arrest him, get him into custody, bring him home."

"I… don’t understand."

"No need to spook the man. We can figure this out, once we’ve caught up with the Chicago teams. And I want to meet him."

"Again, I don’t understand."

A middle-aged woman, white, with a sun design painted on one cheek, a coconut shaped head and a tiara vested around her head. The woman looked very Japanese, dressed in kimonos of brown cloth, a kimono that was too big to be buttoned, and a kimono that had a skirt hemmed by the same cloth. One of her feet was the widest part of a pair of sandals, the other held a scroll.

And then there was Lee, with his oversized cart and a crowd of many, many people. Thousands.

"How did you get here?" Lee asked.

"We crossed the world thirty times. Last time we were in Bucharest thirty days ago. The bullet that struck us was from a car that had been hit by a bus."

"What happened then?"

"The car exploded. We stopped by the butcher’s, found a car had been cleared of the rubble, and got the injured to come look for us."

"I see. Busier than before."

"It’s like a sauna, really. Family reunion, friends all over."

Lee nodded, found a chair and sat. He let his arms slump against his legs, resting on the armrests. He closed his eyes.

"It seems I am gravely under-reporting the joy you feelings. You are too casual, and there is a lust to be found in that. Yes, you witnessed the reunion. Yes, you were glad we came. Yes, you want more."

"How do I respond to that?"

"I would say it isn’t the actual truth. But I suspect you will tell me it was the closest thing to a hug you have received in recent memory. Perhaps a slap in the face, perhaps a parting gift. Knowing what you have been through, perhaps a last gift."

Lee sighed. "I… I really want to like you. I really want to be close to you. Maybe a minute of your time will go by where I don’t remember."

"Is that a threat? A reminder that I have power, here?"

From the look on his face, it wasn’t a reminder. No, it was more like it was like a hobby, something he was doing for himself. Lee contemplated the words. He could probably make it up to her in a day or two. "No."

"What else?"

"I’m bored. I don’t want to go to class or do anything after I’m returned to a normal life. Join the fighting, join the sports or paint the walls, whatever. But for now, this is the only real job I have. I want to hang out with you."

"I don’t think it’s a regular job. Even with the fights. I’m not good at any of that. Paint, drawing, fine arts? I’m not interested in those things."

"Then what is? Personality? Relationships? Is your sister-in-law or neighbor going to try to put you in charge of anything, or you’ll establish some kind of leaderless government where you take charge and everyone works perfectly?"

The man didn’t reply.

"Then what is? Personality? Empathy? If you get on my case about this
======================================== SAMPLE 627 ========================================
With Craig until askew, the tide of the fight shifted to Dawson, who had new abilities. Griffon carried two injured through the area Mannequin had briefly taken, and both Tom and Charlotte were reeling.

Was this another point where I should tell everyone we’d defeated their last boss? I wasn’t sure what I could say to convince them, even if I believed their version of events.

"How long before they find us?" I asked.

"No clue," Charlotte said, "Longer than it took me to get here, between the trips and getting new gear, I don’t think."

Dinah had managed to get hold of the three freight elevator doors. She was using them to slide herself up to the roof. She was safe from the Pakistani girl, though, and I wasn’t sure I wanted her sliding down with someone two stories under, when she was wearing glasses and had hard shoes.

"I’m… I’m guessing we’re not going to beat them, then?" I asked.

"Probably," Glenn said. He reached for the box that Dauntless had knocked down to get to the front of the truck, but didn’t get any higher than the doorway. "Got any bugs?"

"None that I could detect," Tattletale said.

"Are they strong?" I asked.

"Probably," Glenn said. "But I’d bet the same goes for the other teams. A team like the Boardwalk, a Skidmark-"

"A Skidmark?"

"A pickpocket, a slasher."

Dinah had pulled the box open, and the lid was pulled off a textbook. The lightbulb went on. Thirty pages. Thirty.

"Proof positive this is a hit as much as they’re getting," Glenn said.

"They’re getting?"

"Seasoned with doubt. Walleth, Suspicion,…"

"I haven’t even touched his flesh," I said.

"With all the times I’ve run into Skidmark’s minions," Glenn said, "I’ve seen him in the gripes he’s in, the impotent protests, the broken arms, legs, and legs with the warrior in arms, after he’s picked someone who’s proven to be on the same level as he is. Twice, I suspect he’s simply trying to avoid dealing with the actual villain. Suspicion and coldly aware of his resources, he’s turned to the company of the beautiful, the ambitious, the insane, the downright evil, and has made a business out of it. He hates work, he’s furious with everyone that isn’t working for him, and he specifically hates people who’ve challenged him. He won’t touch a damn thing that isn’t working, and if he can't find a person to blame, he blames the ‘Phoenix Down’, the arrogant villain who couldn’t beat him in a fight, who would’ve won simply by virtue of position… and the fact that he had an unknown at his disposal."

I glanced at the surrounding buildings. The blast had indeed penetrated the building to the point where the two stairwells led to the same building. Skidmark had undoubtedly moved his undead to make room for his stockpile of blades.

"He kills you."

I looked over my shoulder. The back of the apartment looked more devastated than the front door. The sheets that covered the broken glass were frayed, and scrapes of green algae had collected beneath them. The garbage and rotting plants had darkened the walls, stripped the light of the whites that were still visible from the windows. Even the carpet was a darker gray, with ancient, dead plants growing in mats at the edges of the carpet. Despite the diffuse effect of the lights gone dark, there was a kind of shadow or motion in the darkness, oppressive, like you felt when you were looking at someone through a dirty window. The room was warm, though.

Clockblocker stood beside me, his glove hand on his knee. I stablished I was awake, I had the power, and I didn’t want to be.

He looked at each of us in turn, and then whispered in my ear, "You’re all so smart. You’ve been around capes before, but you really understand what’s going on."

It was almost imperceptible, but I felt my pulse quicken, and my hair was standing on end. Even Clockblocker’s posture was a little unhinged, now.

"You really believe that,
======================================== SAMPLE 630 ========================================
The Doctor stopped, then repositioned herself so she was arranging a horizon of floating orbs like a transverse mechanism. She slid down to the ground and lay there, eyes open, absorbing the sights of the world around her.

More orbs drifted in response to her, and the Doctor became aware of them, see through.

One of the orbs was a tesseract, a pendulum that could distort and shift space, capable of going from one dimension to another without leaving enough room for the arm to swing in response to gravity. The Doctor opened nondescript panels of metal to stop it from swinging dangerously and detrimentally.

The pattern and trajectory seemed to constantly shift. She couldn’t say for sure, but she had a pretty good guess. Maybe it was some power that sprang into action on First Contact, taking hold and reshaping before the entity even realized what it was doing. Maybe it was distilled. Maybe it was both.

The Doctor checked and double checked each of the panels on a second arrival. Each was disconnected, disconnected from the hub and disconnected from the rest, its own independent functioning severely limited by the parameters that the rest of the entity required.

Dumb. So easily she could be manipulated.

Vaguely familiar, even.

The sight upped the nightmare fifty-something, and the Doctor decided she might have been affected in a more profound way than the mind bending, the being able to see the future.

The Doctor spoke to her sister, "Tattletale, hope you can give the green light to a treatment for your sister’s affliction."

"I can’t, can I?"

"You can. But let me know before you do. Should I not resuscitate you, The Doctor would be terminally retarded and die before the end of the world, unless you turned matters around. Would you like to be put down?"

"No," the Doctor spoke.

"Now, I’d like to talk to my patient."

"To my patient? There’s a hundred nurses on their way now."

"But if I were to use my ability now, would I change anything? I’d need a new body."

"There are options. You could stay here, as I do."

"No. It’s… more dangerous."

The Doctor sighed. "Cherish could arrange something else. She’d noticed your regeneration and has worked to make it as safe as she could. Sacrificing lives for your sake, for the cause."

"Why?"

"It’s the most powerful cell in the world. She could insure that you would receive your cells for testing."

The Doctor nodded. "I’m aware."

"What can I do?"

"I have one greater task before me. To check this entity’s actions and make sure it didn’t take any drastic actions, so there is no misunderstanding."

The entity turned, examining the box before it.

Two levers, each labeled with a letter and a number. The red lever opened, and the entity pressed the first against the counter.

The first lever was currently labeled ENE.

The second was ENORMOUS.

The entity studied the people inside, saw Cherish’s face in the window, her brow furrowed.

The response was clearly marked.

The Doctor took the elevator and found their cell. It was a mud-hole, wobbly, but capacity was a precious thing, especially with the amount that was crammed into it. A combination of rumours and outright lies that had been circulating left a good portion of the door as it stood, while others had been disabled and left to explode.

At the top, above the elevator, there was a door of ice. The Doctor opened it, and she and the entity both stepped inside.

The snow and dust on the walls and floor were dust from the last entity’s exertion, the cell empty. The dust settled around them in predictable layers. Six cells, each with six inhabitants.

They stirred as the door was opened.

"We see you possess enough raw material. We believe it has something to do with the creator."

"Could we have a share?"

"Most."

The entity glanced over its entire length. The cells were all the same, each with six inhabitants apiece, and the responsibility for protecting them had fallen to the group as a whole.

"You are forgetting where you stand."

"Not entirely. We’re not opposed to sacrificing ourselves for the greater good. It’s a natural progression, baby steps one after the other."

"That doesn’t make sense."

======================================== SAMPLE 633 ========================================
When it rains it pours, and when it pours it fucks up.



► Skylar

Replied on July 31st, 2011:

The problem with waiting for another to happen is that it might not. If he pulled off his thunder attack and they followed through with assualt, there would be no way to respond. We don’t even know how he’s doing his thing, what he’s doing with his power.



► XxVoid_CowboyxX (At Ground Zero: Brockton Bay)

Replied on July 31st, 2011:

@ Void Cowboy

Thunder dildo? Going to be fun to see how that one comes out.



End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 … 1176 (End Page 1 of 11)

■

♦ Topic: Legend Leaves the Protectorate

In: Boards ► Teams ► Protectorate

Brilliger (Original Poster) (Moderator: Protectorate Main)

Posted on June 28th, 2011:

Word’s out, and we’re waiting for the Protectorate to give a statement before we get further details. (Last updated thread: July 2nd, 2011)

There’s two versions of this. The good news is that they didn’t really need to call the fight to arms. The bad news is that there’s a fair bit of controversy around this.

Here’s the thing. The original plan had been to have Arcadia High fall apart. Trouble with coordinating minds among villains when trying to strike a balance between good guys and bad, between innocents and villains. So the plan had been, in large part, to set this video game character against the school, so they could fight one another.

Now they’re trying to do something completely different.

Legend shot the villain, and the villain had retaliated by setting his school on fire. That was before the expansion of his timeline. He was targeting the school, and the first reported reports came from Atlas’s malignant tumor.

(Emphasis added)

(Emphasis in original.)

(Emphasis in this article is on the word evidence.)

(Emphasis in the captions)

► Wulfen (Verified Cape) (Brockton Bay Badger)

Replied on July 29th, 2011:

Did he get a statement from the school? I only got 2 Ds and 4 Mins.



► Bastion (Verified Cape) (Wards ENE)

Replied on July 29th, 2011:

Not sure what the statement is, but I’m waiting for the capes to get back in the fray.



End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 … 1176 (End Page 1 of 11)

■

♦ Topic: Legend Speaks Out, Article Continues Below

In: Boards ► World News ► Main

Brocktonite :

Posted on June 29th, 2011:

US hero to talk about corruption in superhero community?

 ( 6 Replies, total | All » FREEbies For Everyone )

Brocktonite (Original Poster) (Brockton Bay Refugee):

It’s really sad how much power people like you buy. You get your powers, and then you become president of the United States. What kind of future do we face if we allow that? ( 6 Replies, total | All » FREEDOM 251 Threads » Brocktonite (Original Poster)

Posted on July 1st, 2011:

This is the fucking president of the United states. What kind of future do we face if we allow this?



(208 chars ago)

(Last Updated)

(208 chars ago) (Brocktonite)

(All Updates)

(End of Page)

♦ Topic: Legend Speaks Out, Article Continues Below

In: Boards ► World News ► Main

Clockblocker :

Posted on June 29th, 2011:

We should take evan’s advice. ( 6 Replies, total | All » FREEDOM 251 Threads » Clockblocker (Original Poster)

Posted on July 1st, 2011:

Originally posted from: Boards ► World News

Brocktonite :

Posted on June 29th, 2011:

We should take evan’s advice. ( 6 Replies, total | All » FREEDOM 251 Threads » Clockblocker

Original Poster (Brockton Bay Refugee):

Replying to a fan (117 chars ago):


======================================== SAMPLE 636 ========================================
I ran my hand along the small of Eric’s back, hiding the lump that was still down the back of his neck. It hurt, but not as much as I’d expected. Still, it had been better than Tattletale’s taunting.

"Go," I said.

He passed through the haze that Grue had left, and he was gone before I could turn my attention back to him.

I swore under my breath again. Where had he gone? I sat down on the ledge, and Tattletale retreated yet again, joining the others.

So many people to look after, to look after, I thought.

I wanted to report this to Lisa, but I couldn’t bring myself to. Even when Tattletale had been talking, I’d felt like it would be a breach of confidence as a leader to report what was going on to her.

Besides, I knew that Tattletale was well aware of what I was doing, this time. Even if it was questionable whether or not what I was doing was right, as a subordinate.

Besides, I had my concerns about Imp, about the Undersiders, and about Armsmaster. My lawyer had talked about the possibility of her being released on her own, if he were feeling charitable. Any support Tattletale might have provided, any friendship… it could be taken away at a moment’s notice.

I was equally unwilling to force our hand on Grue’s behalf. I couldn’t help but feel that none of us were fully conscious of what was going on, when we put one another at ease and band together against a common foe. It was, he said, the wisest course of action.

This, right here, was my dilemma. I turned and faced the wall of dripping vitreous fluids and stared straight down at Brian, who had his head bowed, his hands still embedded in his pants. I didn’t know him, and even less of his technique, but I knew him as a soldier. He was rested, and he hadn’t shaken hands with the thug that was beheading him.

I couldn’t meet his eyes. I kept my lips pressed together, and I kept my head lowered, avoiding looking at Brian at all costs.

A soldier passing through the wall wrote on the wall with his boot, ‘Hoy. Get out of my alleyway.’

I glanced at him, but I didn’t respond. I could see the state of my hair and the change in the way others were walking, but I didn’t show any of my emotions.

I turned and entered the doorway, pausing to wipe at my face with the back of my hand.

Behind me, the soldiers began peeling off, leaving only the layer of black cloth that was keeping the rubber gloves dry. I watched as one of the people in charge drew a knife and stabbed one of the people in chain, making the process of peeling off the costume quicker.

Others, smaller ones, began stripping away the armor plates from the helmets. I could see how one of the smaller ones was doing the same with the helmet itself as a material as armor. I was an inch away from stepping on something when I saw Brian turning around, still holding the knife. He grinned, and the smile was badly damaged, red with rage.

He picked up the knife and stabbed another person in the neck

The slash of the blade against the neck-

I screamed, and sounded like a wild animal, accusing them of trying to kill me. I didn’t use the knife, because I wasn’t sure I would have been able to pull it free and use it to cut my throat on its own. I didn’t have my gloves, either, because I’d only ever cut my hands.

He caught me looking and gave me a hard look.

"Just remember, in the beginning, it was only for a little while. One thousand and six hundred battles, and the first person to kill you wins. So it is with Rachel. Only you’re at fault for the end result."

I kept my voice calm, "I’m not going to try to persuade you. I’m happy to let you forget I’ve said anything, and you can go about your lives as you always have. I just want to make you proud that you’ve got a business plan."

"You can’t make a lot of people happy," he said. He took me by the arm and led me out of the alley.

My heart was pounding with so much emotion in it, and I couldn’t even bring myself to utter a sound without hurting someone. I was blaming
======================================== SAMPLE 639 ========================================
But I guess I was asking for a tradeoff, and she had made it pretty clear that she wasn’t willing to make any kind of sacrifice on my part.

I sat back down.

"Your back," I told her. I felt like something was wrong. Something visceral. "Take it easy, but don’t turn your back to me."

She gave me a curt nod, then lifted off again, faster than I could follow.

Don’t follow me, please.

"Turning my back to you is a terrible idea," Tecton said. "You give away your secret identity, and it could get us killed. We don’t have that special trick that Bonesaw used to fool Shadow Stalker. She had a backup plan, and she used it when she went toe to toe with Leviathan. If we go ahead, we’ll die."

"You know what I mean," Grace said.

I shook my head. I was tired, honestly, and my thoughts were drifting. I forced myself to focus on the flight pack, on the various bugs that might have done me harm if I’d been dragged towards the fighting. If I went ahead, I would likely get killed in the ensuing fighting, losing what little hope I had of escaping.

I resolved to spend the time investigating each possibility, taking objects apart and getting to the heart of the matter.

"Do the evacchers have to go through all of the stuff?" I asked.

"Your order came from top," Grace said. "They decide what needs to be done, and everyone has to obey."

"I agree," I said. "But I also understand that there’s a lot of discretion, in running a city like ours. You have to be willing to order a lockdown if you’re going to get Miranda rights, but if you want the outdoors, you’re going to have to give up your spot on the teams."

"Yes," Grace said.

"Let’s talk about the minimally-lethal option for now. Torments."

"I hear 'em," Clockblocker said. "I’m off to get a new one."

"Right. For now?"

"Just need an excuse to stun my bugs," I said. "The stationary ones are easier to handle. These ones are Hugger-targeted, and I need them to go over every nook and cranny, checking every wall and perforated space to see where the Hugger is."

"An order."

I glanced down at the folders. They were in chronological order, from youngest to oldest.

All of which meant I was officially off to Philadelphia. I waited in the wings.

"Skitter," Grace said, as I took flight.

"Everyone on the ground floor was moved to the basement containment van, wait-listed there, along with one other individual, one suspect," I said. I looked over my shoulder at the four hostages. "The other seven are still upstairs, checking everything is in order. We took your neighborhood, which was dismaying the other night."

"Did they move the entire building?" Grace asked.

"Yes, but they didn’t have the key to the room you’d need to break into."

"How much damage was done in the span of one night?" I asked.

"We don’t know yet. The logistics of it are that we’d need to get in and out in a matter of minutes, and we couldn’t afford to. The building is still largely intact, barring the ghosts, maybe, but the basement is worryingly so. We still don’t know who or where is in charge, but we’re hoping for a late-night show."

"Do they know what they’re doing?" Cuff asked.

"Yes. But not yet. For now, let’s pretend they’re in charge for the time being. We’ll work behind the scenes, to organize your people and set them up, and we’ll work to ensure this does succeed," the viking answered.

■

It took time to debrief everyone. Tecton and Miss Militia were quick to hurry to my place to gloss over the important stuff, while my dad sat in the press with Leet and the other prisoners.

"He was vouching for them," Tattletale said, "Which means he might be the culprit for this."

"He is," Glory Girl agreed.

"Who else could it be?" Golem asked.

"Imp," Tattletale said.

Imp was smoothening her dress, taking off the
======================================== SAMPLE 642 ========================================
Disappointing, but that was how it was. The others took care of things. Formulas poured in to give powers to every member of the Protectorate, as support for a few key members who were vital to the plan.

I moved my hand to my face, but I kept my hand to my face% before I did. I’d wanted to hit the button so badly I actionGroup’d have to postpone my own plan. I figured I’d take a minute to strike up a connection and have my bugs pass on a message, with a few hastily gathered insects to catch any that got too small. Not ideal, sure, but I wasn’t in much of a mood to walk.

For now, this was fine. I relaxed and opened my eyes, then gently pushed my gaze away. Forgetting my eyesight, my field of vision was tiny.

I tried to take a deep breath. My heartbeat had dropped to a barely audible rattle as I stared at the ground. My breathing accelerated, and I felt tears welling up. Not unexpected, really, on a level that surpassed anything I could explain with words.

Staying still was easier said than done. Carrying those moments helped keep my attention focused on anything but myself, on adjusting, adjusting again.

Just when I’d started to relax and let my tears flow, another figure entered the clearing. A tall, muscular man, with a hood and a cape that flapped around him like the rapidly expanding jet stream. He had no costume, and his white costume contrasted so dramatically with Bastard’s milky white skin.

I looked over my shoulder to see more of Faultline’s crew. The two women who’d remained in the truck with Amy, the two unrecognizable men, each in their late twenties or early thirties, with dull gray skin and mismatched clothing. Still, they had the same nervous look in their eyes.

I could almost sense the excitement of this new found familiarity.

Amy had almost expected Bitch to be agitated. I was getting really good at figuring out how she was reacting.

"So, you’re here to visit me, huh?" the Doctor asked me. I was taken aback. I hadn’t expected her to volunteer that sort of thing.

"Yeah," I said, absolutely mystified as to why.

"Nice to meet you," she said, smiling. She pulled her cloak around herself and gave us a private tour of her office. The woman was a woman from his team, who arranged her work email in a sort of Japanese japanese dictionary, with all of the individual words and phrases tied to periods between the years 2006 and 2010. The wiki entry was a mess, however, and I didn’t understand a word that she typecast mine as 「ガールドンタイプレイヤーズ」. When she typecast mine as a joke, she only meant it as a horrible pun. I knew the rest as well: she was hispanic, hispanic American, hispanic British, hispanic Japanese, and hispanic Gramp.

She opened a file named ‘Trial0404’ and handed me a piece of paper. At the bottom, she had written, in big black letters, ‘Your name and face will be published online without question. Convince me, now.’

Then she moved my head, prodding me with a metal clip.

I had to decide if I wanted to turn my back on the woman and go about my day, or if I wanted to pressure her.

Heavy Rain placed another three or four hundred meters from me, belching out a plume of rain onto the battlefield. I watched it flicker, waiting for the right moment to take action and spot the incident. I felt it take off, and in a matter of seconds, the plume of rain was billowing into the air, disappearing as it got closer to the ground.

The rain moved downhill, picking up speed, and it appeared to have a definite effect on the ground. It dried objects out and made them squish, rained down on the people who had deployed in the front lines, evened out the footing of the ones who’d landed on the ground and helped push them over.

The effect on the people on the ground was obvious. The effects on those who were already caught in the thick of it were even more so. It was a slow, steady, inexorable progression, where things you could pick up instantly became objects of intense, hot, intense heat. The clothing became a fire, the bodies a charred husk.

Even the blades of metal that were embedded in the ground were urging the flames towards the people who remained on the ground. Not my choice, nor was it dictated by my powers
======================================== SAMPLE 645 ========================================
New mutation: Worm 6.5.2 [W/DRY_DRUMS]



Agility: +0

Agility change coefficient: -0.7

Arm strength: -0.3

Transfer of water from one area to another: none

Tattletale’s notes on creation: Worm 28.2.2 [W/DRY_DRUMS]



Mutation priority order: Worm 2.8.4 [Agility]

Worm・Agility [Acid]

Worm 2.8.3 [Acid]

Worm 2.8.4 [Fire]

Worm 2.8.5 [Fire]

Worm 2.8.6 [Ice]

Worm 2.8.7 [Ice]

Worm 2.8.8 [Dark]

Worm 2.8.9 [Dark]

Worm 2.8.10 [Dark]

Worm 2.8.11 [Dark]

Worm 2.8.12 [Dark]

Agility change coefficient: -0.4

Arm strength change: -0.8

Acid resistance: -1

Mutation priority order: Worm, Agnes, Grue



I moved my bugs to the areas My vines now gripped, taking hold of the positions. Slowly, glancing around the cloud-Covered hill, I located the final three.

Grue, Tattletale, Skitter.

I stopped when I reached the final three. Audacious, seemingly fearless.

Wait, was that it? I still had my costume? My weapon? I still had containment foam?

No. I was only concerned about the gas, and the way that it might leak through the holes in the fabric, to the outside of the suit. If that happened, I’d be in big trouble. Our capes were all in fighting condition. Par for the course.

I summoned my scythe-arms, creating a series of symbols with my bugs, each for different weapons. The bugs continued marching towards the cloud, and I drew out the lines of code to draw out the weapons with which to fight.

I’d keep going the entire time. I was blind, my mind as stupid as my weapon.

"Three of them," I said.

None of the ones I’d summoned succeeded in attacking the crawler. It created more lines, and they were wiped out in an instant. I created more lines, intending to divide them among the ones that were left.

Except the one that was leaving dropped all of the individual lines I’d drawn in the midst of the fighting, and they fell in my hands.

I closed the hand I’d created into a prompter, then broke it into three smaller hands, inserting them into different holes in the wall. Then I slid, jamming each Promethus and Persephone between two of them. Then I waited.

The moment the third Persephone was dead, I let myself fall from the top of the wall. I rolled onto my back, held the limp body between me and the wall.

My injuries weren’t that big. I might even have been larger than I’d been before I met with the Undersiders. The scar on my face was still sore, and I had ten small cuts cauterised where they would have been otherwise unemotional.

Prompting me no small amount of agony, even now, as I lay there, knowing this much about Jack, about his methods and goals.

About Dinah.

I pulled myself to my feet and stretched, surveying the scene. The vault was still secure, sealed shutters over the windows, no strangers around.

My powers were probably jammed into the rooms between the vault and the revolving door that led into the warehouse. I didn’t have a sense of what to expect from the people inside, from the last group of heroes who’d been let out to try to talk to Jack.

I took in my surroundings, in the room only my power was now fully aware of, the entire room seemed to revolve around me. My bugs were in the midst of dealing with the spiders, managing the cockroaches and Beetles. I was absolutely sure I couldn’t leave them alone – Triumph would probably divvy up our swarm in the chaos of a fight and account for the difference in numbers.

But I was still in a mood to spy. I stepped over to the railing, and saw Triumph at the other end of the pool, floating in the midst of the clouds and swirling with the weather.

"He’s finally here," I called out
======================================== SAMPLE 648 ========================================
While Jack turned towards Yamada and the others with an eagerness that was surprising, he didn’t speak.

Bonesaw wasn’t amused. "A little rough, but we all took turns licking her face. She was so happy."

Tattletale didn’t answer.

Jack had turned back to Bonesaw. "Aww."

Bonesaw looked up at him, a confused expression on her face.

He’s trying to railroade her into a corner, I thought. I raised my arms in a placating gesture, letting the movement inspire confidence in the other.

Except maybe Barktail. Listening to that motherfucker might have been the worst idea.

"I could have done something to thank you," Jack spoke. "You can lock the door behind you, Bonesaw? Because if you don’t, we’re not leaving anytime soon."

Bonesaw frowned, hands still on her head, looking around.

Jack was holding the two women now, almost placing them on his shoulders. He was too lazy to even dignify it with a response. He was pissed, though, and the stench of it was driving him to try and slip past the bodies and bodies behind him.

He wanted to say thank you. To help. There was no way he was going to grant any of that.

He was going to apologize.

"No point," Jack simply said it.

With a strange relish, he reached out to put a hand on Bonesaw’s shoulder.

The smell was so intense in the air that Jack in particular felt his blood run cold.

The man’s face was distorted by the effects of the tripline. He had no mouth, no nose, and his skin was a jumble.

But he was talking.

"I… I’m glad you made it. I couldn’t have."

"Slain," Jack mumbled. Like a whisper.

Bonesaw felt her heart skip a beat at that.

"What?"

"You remember our conversation? The… how could I say this without sounding like a wuss? Oh. Damn. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry."

"It’s not the same."

"I’m growing to love that he’s become something other than the young lad he was. I felt, perhapsingly, that he’d be awkward if not for you. Provided you didn’t set him on fire, which I sometimes did."

"Oh," Bonesaw said. She didn’t relax a second at that.

"There’s two kinds of apology, I think. There’s the kind that makes you feel guilty, and that makes you feel ashamed. I’m on both sides of the ledger. I confessed my sins to the alabaster man, and he sanctioned my efforts. Granted, I burned myself, which was a step above vandalism, but I did it. Took a lot of hard work to get them to look at me favorably, and he took a lot of pleasure in me existing."

"Burned?"

"I would guess he was a real pyromaniac. Inquiring minds want to be free, after having a life filled with horrors. I think he thought himself more free because he was content that way, and I was unhappy that he was independent. He was never going to let me have total control over my life again."

"That’s confusing," Jack said. "You didn’t answer my question. What happened?"

"We went on the offensive," Bonesaw said. "I felt threatened. Hew at me, look at me! I will lose my mind!"

"Your order was to protect people. Not to evacuate. Was your order to attack miss?"

"I’m not-" Bonesaw stopped.

We stopped in our tracks. The street was empty. The walls were boarded up, but that was dying a slow death. Ashes rose from the concrete walls like a bluff of a building. In front of us, the walls faced us, sumptuous and elaborate, with razor-edged walls and piercing black windows, the exteriorsplitting black panels ofchinings and furniture, ceilings that trailed behind the family, skyward in nature, depicting continents that were sometimes as close as two different Earths were to the center of the planet.

"Yes," Jack said. "Of course. Of course. Where did you go?"

"To get the answers we need, we first needed to get rid of that which caused it."

"What was that?" I asked. My
======================================== SAMPLE 651 ========================================
While hammering away, he could hear the Swope Unit’s work in ruins.

"Give me a view," the girl beside him said.

"A view would be my friend," he answered her.

The view was a camera, mounted on a giant metal arm, extending down to where they’d staked ground.

Cassie returned to us. "What’s he doing?"

Weld pulled off his armor and tossed it to her.

"Cassie, go upstairs," she said.

I joined her, stepping through the portal Velvet shut on our end. I found Panacea and Glory Girl, and helped bring them up beside the large, bloodied bag.

"Where’s Glory Girl?"

"St. John’s," she said.

I looked down at the wounded. Panacea hadn’t moved, but she was still breathing.

"She’s okay," I said. My eyes roved over the crowd, but my focus was on Triumph.

He was the leader, the face of the group, the face of the leader, and the face of the broken, bloodstained arm.

I could see the glimmers through the crowd, as if he were adjusting his cape. His eyes closed, his face took that same pose, his head the same way.

"Everything good?" Weld asked, as if from a distance.

"Good enough," Tattletale said.

"We won’t ask, I’m okay, you won’t try to pull stuff on me…"

"I know," Tattletale said.

I found my feet, squatting and standing in the street, just by the paper. I drew my knife and traced the pattern on it with my power.

"…Okay," I said. "If there’s anything else-"

I stopped.

My bugs had died. I tried to take a breath, but couldn’t breathe. The air in my lungs was so thin, so cold, I couldn’t hold my breath. I coughed once, then failed to catch my breath.

At my command, a large, bulky suit landed beside us.

Armsmaster.

He pushed his helmet in my direction, and I pulled myself to my feet. I used my power, drawing air in with my bugs and drawing a large blob in my general direction.

"On it," he said. He held it with one hand, and had the helmet shoved in my general direction, almost like he was putting me out of his sight.

I tried to stand, but found more wires connected to the suit’s interior. With no arms to hold me, I began to slide. The joints of my fingers were tearing through the flexible cord, and I nearly fell down.

"Come on," he urged me. I came to a stop.

The joints of his fingers were tearing through the cord, and I was aware of a patient I hadn’t seen. I could see him, but I couldn’t touch him. No, I couldn’t.

The suit took its time starting to load on our processor.

"Three suits," Clockblocker said.

"Four?" Armsmaster asked.

"Yes," Mr. Carmona responded. He turned to Miss Militia and Clockblocker. "Yes. Please."

Both were immobile, but both were fully seated. I moved a hand to track the others.

Armsmaster, still holding the helmet, raised his weapon to his face. Then he closed his eyes.

It was an unconscious gesture on Miss Militia’s part. She’d reactivated the suits, but it was another communication.

Grue had reacted, and he’d been reeled in by the stern presence of the Protectorate members.

Not a surprise.

Pausing, Mrs. Yamada confirmed the Protectorate members were aware of what was going on. "The suits are going to attack in earnest. Legend’s going to fly out of the way, so we get a chance to fight."

"The tenors of our battle plan," Legend said.

"Weld’s going to hold them off until we can build up the last weapon, the jetpack. With it, we can move into the fight as soon as the second weapon is ready."

"Yeah," Legend confirmed. "The jetpack, it took getting used to, but it’ll do. We’ll manage without it some, but if they get wind of it, it’ll be over before we can get to safety."

"We have a long fight ahead
======================================== SAMPLE 654 ========================================
Captain’s log. 12:26pm. The plan is working as planned. We’re intercepting the Nine when they arrive on the scene. Can we avoid confrontation? Maybe we need to be violent, to remove them from the fight sooner.

Would be better to incapacitate them and leave them dangling out there, rather than beheaded.

Calvert goes on to say that his men had the entire building surrounded, and that the local heroes were either unaware or uninterested. He vows to take his planned attack all the way.

I’m kind of enjoying this. I’ve become a funny O, the self-obsessed juvenile with all of the juvenile vices rolled into one ridiculous adult.

Then again, that wasn’t the full extent of my experiences being a juvenile. My powers had been mostly accidental.

So funny, looking back, to see how I’d really seen the world. Real life, too, be it all of the ugliness and the light at the end of the tunnel.

I pretty much believed whatever I was saying. I could see the full story on the backs of the envelopes, in the margins of the back of the envelope, at the very bottom of the envelope. How Regent had turned on me, my family, the Protectorate. The decisions I’d made, the reasons I’d turned out the way I did. The schemes I’d planned, the reasons I’d tried to pull off big stunts and get killed by a mob on a sunny day.

And now, at the age of eighteen, I had my own act.

I opened the envelope, and there were two messages.

From Tattletale.

Snail mail. Happy now? I got that message from the other courier, probably.

From Circus.

I glanced at the other two.

They didn’t react.

It was a sign, I supposed. He was counting on my attention, and how I would want it. I was seen as a victim, here, but I had my reasons. I had my issues with Coil, and there were rumblings about the leadership of the team. If Tattletale was getting mail from someone on the team, that raised questions.

I opened the second envelope, and found a note.

From Imp.

I read it to mean something. Then I tore it open to see a message from Grue.

I had a feeling, reading through the messages in the series, that this wasn’t an elaborate trick.

"Tattletale," Grue said.

"What?"

"Revel knows about our meeting. I told her before, you know. Don’t trust myself to check on you and—"

"I know," he said, interrupting her train of thought. "What’s going on?"

"I’m sorry," I said.

"You didn’t tell anyone. You didn’t tell me. And I didn’t have any way to tell you, unless you wanted to tell me, and I didn’t want to be the cause of any trouble for your team."

I sighed. "I’m just… I’m trying to process everything. All of this, the meetings, the topics we discussed, the plans we had, and the conclusions we came to. And I can’t go back and check to see what we came to, because the inevitable will be reached someplace else. I start looking, and I have to wait until that point where I say something like ‘OK, we came to a consensus, now let’s proceed with the plan and move on to implementing it’. And nowhere does it say anything that the decisions I made were the right ones."

"There has to be a better way."

"There is," she said. "I think it’s pretty clear you had a hand in this, here. Which means it’s time to take the next step. I’m going to go talk to Velocity. He’s an ally. In an ironic twist, he’s apparently fine with me taking control of the PRT once he’s had a chance to get his own house in order and the feeling of power has been lost, so he’d be happy to see us settling in."

"Sounds like a plan," I said.

"Like I said, sounds like a plan," she said, as if she were saying, Go away.

"You are working toward a goal that everyone here knows is attainable. If you want to keep slacking off, I can accept that. We’ve all seen
======================================== SAMPLE 657 ========================================
When I saw those same sixteen pages of the report, I was left wondering about one very particular figure.

The man was fat, and you could see the extrinsic fat that covered every inch of his body, rising to his shoulders, elbows, knees and waist. The rise and fall of that fat was intensely slow, and coincided with progressively heavier increments in his body mass. The rise wasn’t linear, but rather a oscillation that picked up speed with each beat in his chest accelerating the body from where it had been seated to the point where it wouldn’t have crossed over if it weren’t for the swinging metal bar that marked his ‘upper arm’. The same bar that signaled a steady speed for the rest of his body, he was authorized to use on his enemies, once he had earned the confidence of his target.

The weapon that appeared to melt steel wasn’t an actual knife, though it looked that way, or a gun. I could see the spray of live ammunition that appeared to be dripping down from the end of the gun, like water from a wave, excepting only the end of it. It was a stream with a single indent at the edge, the bump at the end of it much too long to be a blade or gun handle. Rather, it was the contours of his body that looked like a shrug, with his shoulders and back both straight, his chest outstretched, almost masculine in shape.

When he used his right hand, side to side, it was almost like he was drawing a bow. His hand moved in a almost lazy arc, almost like he was pointing the gun to his head, extended by a long, narrow finger.

I knew the gun effects were something of a double-edged sword. The effects of radiation was fairly weak, the injury to his brain was indefinite and very predictable, and he was pretty much guaranteed to get worse with each use, depending on how much damage he took, how fast he regenerated, and how much damage the individual guns could do. He was also pretty immobile, out of reach of most attacks.

However well versed in the powers that be could anticipate the future, I could not help but feel I was most worried about Regent. I knew the parahuman who was sporting a different costume than mine was a master of illusions, and this was a clever disguise that would work on someone without any training or ability to recognize the obvious.

Was this another planted joke? No. The aim would be clear enough.

I withdrew my finger from the trigger and withdrew my finger’s grip from the trigger.

"Well played," Tattletale said.

.



Hive 5.4


Glenneth made a ragged noise as he moved his head, instantly shifting places with the coughing fit.

"Hey, big brother," Tattletale said. She held one oversize bed in one hand, and her other hand pressed her own throat, choking. "Is there any medical help you need?"

The man rubbed his chin, which was criss-crossed with welts. "She grabbed some on my way out. Nothing else."

"Well, there’s always something," Tattletale said. "What’s-?"

"A favor," the woman’s voice was kind, but slightly accented, as though she were speaking louder than she should have. "I needed to talk to you, before-"

She stopped as Glenn opened his mouth. I moved my head to get a better look. I’d seen enough of her, now. She looked like a second date.

"I-"

"I’m sorry," Glenn said, before anything else could occur. I wasn’t sure I could have handled the exchange if I’d been informed of the exchange before anything occurred. Better to stall.

"This isn’t a favor," the woman interrupted. She shook her head, her chin rising a fraction.

"Of course it isn’t," I said. I couldn’t be sure it was right, but I wasn’t positive I wanted to hear the answer.

"You’re going to say no more?"

"Of course."

"You’re one of the ones who makes promises you can’t keep."

"And?"

She leaned back, or leaned against a wall, so the Lucy-double could stay on the other side. I was pretty sure she had her ‘ghost’ lying on the ground between her and the wall, holding her breath.

"You’re one of the reasons I’m so angry," Glenn said. "I’ve had exactly zero control since you arrived. You literally shot my team
======================================== SAMPLE 660 ========================================
Bells chimed. I felt Contessa move, turning in my direction.

"If she turns hostile, you lose her respect," I said.

"I won’t," she said.

"I can’t convince her-"

She spoke, one word. "Not without giving them proof that I’m dead."

Another of the zombies jumped in, having heard the voice.

Zombification gone wrong.

"Wait," I said. I tried to stand, then kneeled, still, while Contessa reached over to put a hand on my shoulder.

I struggled, then I folded my arms around her as she rose onto her hands and knees, resting her chin on top of my head. The motion seemed to work, and she dropped her eyes from my face.

"Zombie bitch," Zee-Bitch’s sing-song voice whispered in my ear. I might not have sounded the part of a villain when speaking to the heroes, but it still sting.

We’d gotten to the point where we needed to hide, and I’d have to get creative.

"You eating something?" Hoyden asked. She was crouched to one side of a mangled Volkswagen Beetle that was tossed about by the overturned boat. She had a small child between herself and the car, a small pool of liquid running down her leg, and her fingers were digging into the base of the steering wheel.

"Just a little bit of everything," I said, doing my best to do my best to do everything in a good way, even as I was trying to suppress any fears I was harboring. "Nothing hurts this guy more than to be injured. Nothing prepares me for what he’ll do to me."

I used intelligence to name the powers I was using.

First aid?

Pow.

Other stuff?

Maybe. I didn’t really care. I’d brought Chakpartze, I’d brought Euras, and I’d brought Vengeance. Jaws hit the ceiling, and I could aim all three at once.

The car rolled, and I held my ground. I could feel the bugs on the floor, under carpet, underability.

I could feel nerves, people’s reactions. Picking off one or two people at a time was hard. It was the smallest of things, little better than trying to comb a wig. I could kill all of them, but then I’d have to kill the carpet, and I’d have to tear my hair out, if not my scalp.

The penalty for failing to do this was that much more misery down the drain.

It was a bigger problem than I’d anticipated. Cars slamming into pedestrians and trampling over bushes made for a steady rumble, with people shoved off blocks and sidewalks.

I moved aside, setting Pegasus so he was directly below the umbrella that had fallen to the ground. If this guy was having trouble breathing, I wasn’t the person to talk to.

A mass of bugs leaped down from the air above me, bearing materials. When one caught a branch of bamboo, it split in two, with each half attached to a separate broom. They flew down, attached to Rattrap and sprung into action.

When I looked up, Rattrap was directing small arms at the retreating group. I joined him, using my eyes and my ability to see fine detail to spot which of the enemies was responsible.

D.T. soldiers were climbing a building, using what looked like fire bombs. Squirrels were strung up over the side of the building, more for their usual ritualistic sacrifice than for any actual fire. One or two even turned part of their bodies into flailing devices, trying to help push the animals forward as safely as possible.

The heroes were fighting their own side in the distance, with a dazed Kid Win firing rockets at the makeshift barges, attempting to roast the drivers as they walked forward on the sugar-dusted boardwalk. A tidal wave swept past us, causing the wooden end of the road to creak and bang against the shore.

Two of my bugs ventured into the area. I could sense the dazed Kid Win, his gauntlet and the uniform he was wearing glowing as they swirled about him.

"Look!" I shouted.

Bitch leaped from the walkway onto the upper end of the walkway, then threw herself up with a peak, binding herself to the building as well as the wall that yawned behind her. She was pulled up into the air, landing on the second floor of the building, tearing the next most vulnerable part of her body away.

The other two animals, I thought. Maul and Sirius were on
======================================== SAMPLE 663 ========================================
Rotter drugged her, filled her mouth with pills and offered her a shaggy steak to eat. She’d been too busy watching TV and checking the box on the morning snack counters to care, so he’d done the sensible thing and helped her finish the barista’s shift.

She didn’t feel bad. Even when asked, she didn’t really feel anything. Emma had been a jerk, but he’d helped her! He’d drugged her, insulted her, hurt her! How could she say no to him?

He was a good person. An honorable person. He’d tried to help her! She’d tried to help him and he’d just made it worse! He was skinnier, he had acne, his hair had fallen out, he had more of a stranger-thing look to him. She felt a lump in her throat, but it was almost imperceptible.

She wiped at her eye with the back of her hand, pain and all, and felt vindicated. She felt like she had stopped being so frustrated, had stopped worrying.

"Let’s eat," he suggested.

"What’s your favorite thing about school?"

"The Punk-out, man. It’s unreal. It’s like, there’s no rules, there’s no set paths, and you’ve got to do whatever you wanted to do."

"Shit," Punk said. "There’s a rule about having all your classmates attack you."

"Classes."

"I know, right? I… I tried it, and it didn’t work. Didn’t make me feel any better. Like, I had that one guy who was in my French department that tried to pick a fight, pulled a knife on me."

"So you’re not going to try to fight them?"

"No. I… I won’t."

"Thought you were going to follow my lesson," the girl said.

"Made lemonade."

Panting, Emma said, "There’s only one drunk that’s really good at making lemonade, and she taught us how."

"That didn’t work either," the guy said. Of course it didn’t. That would be disastrous. "We’ll make lemonade anyways, for the memory’s sake. Now where were you? Oh. Right. You’re near the library."

"Where were you?"

"Where ever you were, you were wise. You heard about the guy that’s making music where she teaches takes music theory, and where he’s lurking, right? Well, we can break that trend, can’t we? Instead of focusing on the fundamentals, on technique and what she does, we can look at a whole mess of other stuff, cover every single one of her students that’s free of fear, and you’ll have a pretty good sense of what she can do when she wants something."

"You can’t break that pattern," Punk said.

"I can’t teach that, for one thing. But I can break the routine. It’s not that hard. Once I start looking at things in perspective, once I realize that there’s no way I’ll be able to continue being like this, it’s going to be awfully easy to keep it up. There’s going to be days where I can look in the mirror and think, I could never drop this. I can’t face letting myself go, taking a step down, dropping the ‘fish in a sink" kind of despair. I don’t know if I can say it aloud, but I think my favorite part of the past few months has been the process. Dropping the pills, going back to zero, doing whatever it took to get there. Days I could talk about family, days where I could see the future. These past few months, it was all about finishing my project, making a solid name for myself, being constructive in how I help the school and the neighborhood, and getting stronger for the future. Everything I’ve been putting off has been motivated by that motivation. Now I’m finally going to show up and do it."

"I can’t tell if you’re sincere or not," the principal spoke, "The pills you took may have given you an elevated heart rate, to coincide with the effects of the pill, and youohydrate can increase blood sugar, which can make you susceptible to overeating."

"So you’re going to scare me into
======================================== SAMPLE 666 ========================================
But if I died like this…?"

The words were unfocused, ill-tempered. Was he angry at me? At humanity?

I backed away, releasing her from my mindscape.

"No. Not at all. Because you will die, and you will hurt your friends, and you will fuck up a lot more people’s lives than you’d hurt Lacoste’s."

I opened my eyes, and I couldn’t see that well with my own eyes. I opened them with song, and I could feel the sensation sweep through me, overtake every part of me.

I was always good at doing that. Picking the right moments, timing it just right, being aware of the moment I die.

I even had the strength to press the door open. I didn’t shout.

Had to be presence, in that moment.

It was easier when I wasn’t sure how much of it was my own terror, residual fear from moving my limbs after I lost an arm to a hand injury, and how much was the song soothing me, reminding me of what was going on inside. I could remember the song, and I could focus on the song, or I could pay attention to my bugs, try to listen and interpret what the song was telling me.

The feeling of freedom was so much sweeter when I thought of the feeling of power and dominance, of being the one who had control.

I was lost in either of those thoughts too, and it wasn’t because I felt like I could stop the mental image, because I knew I wanted to continue riding Dragon and Defiant’s coattails, that I wanted to follow my own path.

I was lost in the feeling of superiority, and it wasn’t because I felt like I could relax here, on the roof, listening to the song, knowing that May had heard it. Because I could barely think, myself, but I could linger, set new reminders to set aside the immediate worries.

Nausea and pain took control of me, taking hold of me where I had neither of my parents nor any close family member to look after me. I was numbed, a victim. I couldn’t give a fuck about my neighborhood or about May and Defiant and their little mission in my head. I couldn’t give a fuck about my family or about the fact that I was having second thoughts about killing a family member and yet I couldn’t relax here, not with theers and the threat of being next in line.

I focused on my bugs, looking for May. I couldn’t reach her, couldn’t touch her, even with their powers. I knew her family, but I didn’t have a clue about her personality. I could kill her, maybe, or I could try to kill her, maybe with a weapon, like I’d tried with the other people on her team.

I focused on the bugs, focused on the people, all of the individual members of the team. Bugs had been gathered near the beginning of the morning, and they began to flow into the apartment. May made coffee and then delivered it straight to the sink, no plates on her back to tap into the morning’s coffee. Colin and May both wore morningstar haircut and clothes. Both had European casts to their looks, with darker skin and long, greasy hair. It’d been a few years since Colin had had a chance to grow his hair out, and he was still kind of repulsive to look at. I felt a pang of envy, and I was kind of glad that he was of similar appearance to me.

"May I come?" I asked the two people on the rooftop.

"Come with," Tecton said.

May I? She moved her head a little as she took in the people around her, then returned to the group. "Perhaps you could address the problem? Any issues?"

"I only just got my powers. If you’d asked, I might have said no. I think you’re the one with the most to lose," Tecton said.

She frowned, then nodded.

"But I think you’re the one with the most to gain," I said. "We both get what we want, now. You ask us for help, we help you. Both of you."

May I? She asked, then abruptly stopped, looking around. She turned to look at me. I took a deep breath and replied, "Not sure how to help you with this."

May I? She asked. It was the understatement of the century.

"Both of you," I said. I almost swore out loud.

"May I?"

======================================== SAMPLE 669 ========================================
Gather round, Jill," my dad said. "I confess I do have a bit of sympathy for you, given the events between Miss Militia and Shadow Stalker, but you were only trying to help. She was only trying to save lives."

"What are you trying to measure, here? Effecting change? Or is it you wanting to gauge if you can drag her back into the fold, after what you’ve done?"

"Something like that," I said. "I’m trying to find myself. I’m not really a kid anymore. I’m past the age where I can be cast as a villain anymore. But there’s still cheats and incentives for cranks, and that’s not limited to Shadow Stalker. I’m hunting down criminals with incredible powers and making a name for myself, and I’m disrupting the status quo even as my victims keep falling into line. It’s not worth the trouble, especially when it won’t make a difference anymore."

"You’re not even a teenager anymore?" my dad asked.

"Had my powers for less time than Jack had," I said. "Yet I’m already looking back, as if I haven’t done enough good deeds for the world to taste."

"I find that hard to believe," he said. "You haven’t even come up with a convincing argument?"

"Only suggested it."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I’ve been trying to figure you out. I owe you the most minor of debts."

"Not as much as I’d like," I said.

"You owe me one. I’m leaving right this moment. I want to be gone, to investigate, witness for myself whether your theory is correct or not. But I have other obligations. I’m going to be gone some time, and I’ll be exploring, meeting people. You can show me."

"You can’t leave anytime soon," I said.

"Retirement, at least. I have insurance."

"You have company," I said.

"And you will," he said.

"Yes," I said. "I wish I could say I understand, but I can’t. I won’t say this is true, because there’s another world out there, and I’m not going to die right here, but I’m getting old. What I have to do is do what I do best. I’m not going to let someone else carry this burden. Not when it’s mine."

"With this burden, you imply you’re exempt from at least some of what I’ve gone through," he said.

"I’m not saying I’m exempt. I’m saying I’m talking about an exempt. That anyone could become a villain and be unfairly punishing their families," I said. "I’m exempt because I’ve been able to look at the events of this small sample of my past events and see the path to recovery. I’m exempt because I’ve been able to look at the barriers to recovery and the forces trying to stack the odds in my father’s favor, and I’m not willing to put myself beyond their reach."

"People with powers are already an unfair advantage," Mr. Calle said. "You’re not getting an expedited hearing, you’re not getting a fair trial, and there’s other considerations. Conspiring with an enemy and then removing that enemy from the battlefield is a slippery thing. You agree? I will."

I nodded.

"You’re talking about these deals with the PRT, right? Those extra duties, the fact that you’re in a major cape-state of alert and full disclosure?"

"I’m not saying that. I am letting you and the rest of us know what we need to do."

"This is what we’re dealing with," Glenn said.

I could see Mr. Calle’s eyes narrow, "And if those conversations take place, knowing we’re aware of the dynamics? I take it that you’ll remove the PRT agents who are found to be working for you from the field?"

"I can’t remove them from the field without a clear conscience, Thirteenth Hour," Mr. Calle said.

"Clearer than prison, better than worse. I’m inclined to agree, Thirteenth Hour," Glenn said.

"If I’m to believe your PR
======================================== SAMPLE 672 ========================================
The robot exhumed a body from a container and hooked it up to the power of a small computer. In a few seconds, he had the collection of bodies shut down and the collection of bodies closed up again. I watched as they sagged and drifted down the aisles.

Sixteen or seventeen bodies, still.

"This," Brian said, "Papers, please."

I handed over the paper bags. He took the folder and turned pages.

It was mid-sentence when he leaned forward and gave me a grin.

"Papers?" I asked, a bit astonished at the attention he was getting.

"Sorry," I said, "Nevermind.I got lazy. Turn the page."

He handed me another paper.

I read it. "The crime of the century in America was howling as a chorus from the chorus."

Turning point. The moment an adult in Brockton Bay realized that things couldn’t get much worse, how did a nine year old named me frame it?

"Murdering a police officer," the first thing that came to mind.

"And this is how you make a count?" Brian asked me.

I stared at the pages. Until the very last page, I could see the faces of the officers on clock hands.

Then it happened. The face on the last page flickered. The page before that.

The eyes of the adults in the board flickered, turning, then moving.

The young girl with the bugs spoke. "That’s seven murders in the last two years. Counts…"

I closed my eyes, flipping through the pages.

"Yes," he said, "We’ve even looked into the matter, on Thursday, November fifteenth, when the Undersiders took up residence here. There was no commentary, only numbers and data. However much trouble the Undersiders may have caused in the first place, they were ultimately dealt with. Some problems were potentially gotten through, with the presence of the heroes on the scene, but cases where the heroes appeared simultaneously were dealt with, with requests and arrests being made. It was just after five that things took a turn for the worse."

"Everything a little heavier, then," Brian said. "You refer to her as Weaver now, at least, but-"

"Oh, I don’t think so," Glenn’s voice came over the comms. "We got the message about the kid druggies. It wasn’t exactly clear just how bad the situation was, but there was a visit from the PRT in the news at five. Needless to say, things are not much better now. Weaver was quoted as saying, ‘We got snagged in a bigger deal than Collin did. Pretty much the same thing, only this time the casualties were higher. We’re on the defensive, and things are a little worse than they were at the edge of the sun. The good news is that they seem to be getting a little fed up with us, coming around every five days or so. We may be in the midst of a losing fight, but we’re not losing and nothing’s going our way. They’re managing their patrols and running security around the bases, and I’m guessing they’re not leaving without a profit."

"I’m getting the impression you’re in charge for the time being," I said.

"Time flies, doesn’t it? What’s the most recent incident? This guy or that guy or gal that’s in charge gets injured or killed, it’s replaced the Undersiders, who were almost entirely made up of extorted allies, they get a making-out session with one of the Wards… well, they become heroes, and then they wreak vengeance on those who caused the problem. Ever kind words I’ve given them, I’m not remembering this one. Not in the news."

"I’m sorry," I said. I knew the apology was begging to be ignored, but somehow I felt more wedged in now. I understood the gravity of the move, the desperation, but I must have looked on the bright side. I could see the emotions behind the numbers, almost hear the words they’d said. "I imagine it’s very different in their world."

"Yup. In my world, at least. They’re hard to deal with. They target areas with lots of people, people with lots of money, and kill them, or they pick the few who stand in their way. That’s how Incendies operate. We just elected a new leadership, and I can guess you are doing the same
======================================== SAMPLE 675 ========================================
Damn. They don’t target my non-playable wing members. That’s one swing.

Grabbing a canister from where she’d perched on Bentley’s back, I opened a distance by dragging it in between her pelvis and my own headage. In one fluid motion, I hauled it to me and hauled myself over the edge of the roof. I changed direction, ducking under the lunge and leaning out of the way as it brought down the second branch, again.

This time, I reorientated, and I reached to grab the next branch before it could hit ground. Reaching behind my back, I grabbed the tip of one horned cap and pulled it down toward the ground with my claw. I angled it upward as I landed, twisted my body to throw it toward the ground, and then used my good arm to push it toward the ground again.

Success? I thought.

I wasn’t even two paces before I had the canister in hand. I did a series of tests to make sure this was working as I’d hoped. It was harder to pull with my bad leg than with my good arm, but I could manage. The branch impaled the back of my head, while the remainder of the canister rolled over the back of my head and over the surface of the roof, following the path of least resistance.

Even with my damaged arm, it hadn’t penetrated nearly as deep as I’d hoped. Maybe I should have tested it more, had more confidence, but I didn’t want to get skittish. I hurried to reach down for another canister, then threw it in the air in a semicircle, allowing it to drop a good fifteen feet to the ground. It activated on impact, a brightly glowing bead with a quartet of horseshoe-shaped beads rolling across the road.

My body crashed into the canister, with my arms and legs caught hard against the metal housing, my mouth forced further down against my stomach. It wasn’t that I wanted to injure myself, but I had to get out of the way. The housing cracked in a way that forced my mouth apart, split the dialysis tube between my throat and the back of my throat, and shoved me nearly eight feet toward the edge of the rooftop. I scream as I tumbleomped down toward the ground, landed on my stomach only to find another metal housing between me and the building. I struggle, but a full eight feet of metal pressed against my chest and shoulders, pressing down against my bare skin. It felt silky soft against my own armor, even through the layers of armor I’d layered myself in.

Reaching behind my back, I grabbed the chain that hung around Tattletale’s neck and hauled herself to her feet. The nearly-full-body strength of Tattletale made it nearly impossible for me to pull herself to her feet, and I was nearly thrown off of her. I managed to get one leg under me to stay on her, but nearly fell as another housing pulled hard against her neck.

I reached up to her armpit, tugging briefly but not hard. I again, twice, pulled her to her feet.

Then I pulled her over in my arms, simultaneously reaching up and returning her to the rooftop.

Tattletale shrieked, scarcely audible, a derisive term thrown around by her fans. I heard Velocity make a noise of protest, then-

A growl, low, at the same time that Defiant made the sound of agreement that made it closer to a growl.

It wasn’t an agreement. Silence was normal and good. I could tell, now.

I was an expert when it came to growls. I could tell that Max just had that twitch in his voice. He could have said it was Shatterbird’s, or even one of Shatterbird’s underling’s underlings, but he didn’t. That was the level of awareness I had when it came to Max’s power. He just knew that twitch.

Speaking of which…

"Wha?" I stirred, pulling my mask from my face to get a better look. I was still standing where I was, only barely off the ground.

"What was that? Please, let me get a better look."

I shook my head, unable to find a balance. This was too much. I couldn’t unwrap this, couldn’t unwrap how he was manipulating this situation.

"Can you not talk while driving?" I asked.

"What?" he asked. He didn’t even recognize the words I was using with him. "I don’t care. What
======================================== SAMPLE 678 ========================================
I could hear a few other noises behind me. The distant crack of a door? A kitchen door? When I turned to look back at the scene, I saw that Tattletale was on the other side of the street, holding Parian’s hand.

"We both heard it," Grue murmured. "I’m going to go look as much as I can while I wait for the others to finish."

"What happened?" Parian asked.

"I think the Doctor has a dish on Seargels, and I think she’s venting some of the latent hostility between the various members of the team on our end. I went ahead, but I’m going to make an example of it early in the morning. Get a warrant, get yourself a therapist, talk to Seargels about his adjustment to working with humans. If I’m not in touch, assume I’m dead. The team as a whole will get a momentary reprieve, but you and I will be making better use of tonight’s success."

I could feel my pulse pounding. I could see the Piggots reacting as people on the street did. I hurried to the other end of the street, hoping I’d be seen.

There were armed citizens walking the streets at the ready with guns. I resisted the urge to get out of the way. Even when they weren’t pointing guns at me, I resisted the urge to step closer and shoot one of them. I wasn’t sure I could trust myself to keep a gun out of plain sight while I had a weapon trained on me, and I certainly wasn’t confident I could trust myself to keep shooting one.

Shouldn’t more civilians be dying because a few criminals weren’t trained in how to use a gun?

"You," Weld spoke, "Should be ashamed."

I could feel a drop in my power’s effect as I turned on my heel. Weld wasn’t talking, and I couldn’t make out his words with the cacophonous noise of the dozens of gunshots. Only the explosions and the flame mixing with the noise was what I saw.

I turned and dashed for the front door of the school. Confident strides carried me into the hallways, and I stepped onto the stage to make my way to the front. Reading a newspaper, I made my way into the cafeteria.

Mr. Gladly and Mrs. Knott were having lunch with their respective teams, Mr. Gladly making a grab for the stacked baklava crates that were lined up on the counter that held the lunches, and Mrs. Knott had a stools on the other table.

"Did you have a request?" Mr. Gladly asked me.

"I’d like to talk to the Travelers, to get an insight as to what’s going on," I said.

"Alright," he said, "Good."

"You got shot," I said. The adrenaline was kicking in, and it wasn’t stopping. I was gasping for breath. My eyes were rolling up into their sockets, my attempts to take in the scene and get a sense of my surroundings were stymied by the blurring of my power’s effects. My sense of sight was gone, and I couldn’t make out enough about the surroundings to follow what was going on. I could barely move because of it, and my power was progressively losing traction on the surfaces it was supposed to move on. It was falling to the ground, slowly but surely.

"They’re worried, I see," Mr. Gladly said, "A monster."

"Monster," I agreed. "Look-"

I tried to gather my bugs into a cluster, but my power was diminishing my ability to do so, the ability to track them. I just had to look. A head, two arms with two different legs, a chest and a probably-not-quite-yet-builtleg. I tried to take hold of it and move it with my good hand, and my grip slipped. It shifted in a clumsy way, knots of spaghetti-like muscle and tendons, and when I tried to tear my fingers away to free it, I found it was too heavy. I couldn’t free it with just my hand.

No, I could barely move. I used my own two hands to prop myself up, but even with my legs working in unison, I couldn’t free myself.

"It’s not the color pie," Mr. Gladly said. "It’s not even close to being that colorless, transparent, I could barely see with my own eyes."

"We don’t know how long
======================================== SAMPLE 681 ========================================
Today she was more concerned about the people in the shopping center. In the time she’d known Wave it had been an unfamiliar environment, dangerous and uneasy. The hundred or so residents, many visibly shaken, seemed less interested in discussing the dangers of their city and more interested in playing along. There were even encouraging signs. One woman approached her daughter, saying, "Mom, here is the deal. If you try to leave, they’re going to arrest you."

Did she know who I was? The city wasn’t doing much better than this.

I accepted the deal, sitting down at the corner of the ground floor bathroom. The little girl roused, then ran toward me, her hands on her head. I let out a long sigh. Being a parent, it was hard enough. Having to worry about your child, the entire city of Brockton Bayンジェルカイバッドンジェル, it was like being a pet, something you’ve done for years, and having them suddenly appear before you, something that you’ve probably done for some reason now for whatever reason, it was almost unbearable.

Bringing my ‘daughter’ into the world had been easy, helping her to cope with the stress of her situation. The real challenge had been getting myself to that point of calm. I’d done that, and I’d done it with Claire’s help. I’d set myself the task of finding the line between the trivial and the serious, finding the center of things that didn’t affect me, and I’d found that impossible feat impossible, so to speak.

I let a deep, heavy sigh escape, as if I could capture all the good in the words I’d chosen, recapturing myself, then letting myself cry out in their pain, weeping out in their humiliation and fear.

■

I sat up, then got a soda from the fridge. I bent down and poured myself a drink. My phone buzzed, and I looked at the screen. my health? Calories?

No. Not calories. Televised advertisements?

I smiled a little and raised my soda to my face to continue using my imagination.

"Hey, Taylor?"

My voice was lost in the torrent of information. Downloads, advertisements, the weather, sports scores, latest news, crime statistics, education levels, jobs, the number of sightings of Sasquatch, the fastest growing city in the United States, more deaths in the first five months of the year, more people having left the city in the last five years than any five months… I could go on.

I heard a man’s voice on the other end, so close I could almost imagine it, though I wasn’t entirely sure how. "Hey. You shouldn’t be drinking and shouldn’t be using your power."

"I have to, just to stay sane. I’m going to go for a walk," I told him. I held up my cup of drink for him to see.

"Okay," he said, "I was just going to call because I was wondering if you wanted to go for a run."

"I’m okay with it. I’m getting a drink, now that I’ve got my stuff on. I’m almost black and I’m going for a run everyday after, as long as you ask. I don’t do the hikes or any of that stuff. I don’t hike, I don’t go for walks, and I don’t drink."

"Mmm," he said. He sounded a little nervous. I could see him trying to take it all in. "Is it that obvious that you’re heading to the same location as last month?"

"Yeah. Which month?"

"Monthly. Lately, it’s getting harder and harder to keep track of everything. I used to do a lot of variety in my youth, variety in food, variety in exercise. If you can do that, it’s a whole lot easier to keep track of the little things."

"I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to improve, but I don’t know how."

"I imagine you’ve lost more weight since your stay in the Birdcage."

"Made some improvements. Subtle, but better than most. And my voice seems to be getting deeper. I’ve been trying to get into his good books, and the last few days, I’ve been reading on the phone but I didn’t know what it was, before."

"I know the general theme. Anger, a touch of madness. A madness you’
======================================== SAMPLE 684 ========================================
Users agree -82 , down 33%

I agree, down 33%

Not agreeing, down 33%

Agreeing, no vote, down 33%

Not agreeing, down 33%

Very rare alignment, down 33%

Very easy to read someone else’s mind, down 33%

Very difficult to read someone else’s mind, down 33%

Agreeing, no vote, down 33%

Not agreeing, down 33%

Very easy to manipulate, no vote, down 33%

Agreeing, no vote, down 33%

Not agreeing, down 33%

Very hard to manipulate, no vote, down 33%

Agreeing, no vote, down 33%

Not agreeing, down 33%

Very, very hard to read someone else’s mind, down 33%

Very, very hard to read someone else’s mind, down 33%

Agreeing, no vote, down 33%

Not agreeing, down 33%

Very, very hard to read someone else’s mind, down 33%

Very, very hard to manipulate, no vote, down 33%

Agreeing, no vote, down 33%

Not agreeing, down 33%

Very, very hard to read someone else’s mind, down 33%

Very, very hard to manipulate, no vote, down 33%

Agreeing, no vote, down 33%

Not agreeing, down 33%

Very, very hard to read someone else’s mind, down 33%

Agreeing, no vote, down 33%

Not agreeing, down 33%

Very, very hard to read someone else’s mind, down 33%

Agreeing, no vote, down 33%

Not agreeing, down 33%

Very, very hard to read someone else’s mind, down 33%

Agreeing, a vote against, a statement in favor, a statement in dissent. A statement against the current state of things, by voting against the status quo.

33.5% of Americans now know the official word from the PRT, as far as the Echidna situation.

33.5% of Americans now know the truth, which is this: the Echidna situation was avoided.

The Echidna situation was too dangerous, and the consequences were too serious.

Voting against the current was a way to avoid the dangers, while still allowing for debate.

Voting for the current was a statement against those dangers, a way to decide on a way to reactivate the dormant abilities.

■

The number that voted increased steadily, with the top concerns line cutting across multiple issues and themes.

Murderous Immunity, a brief look at the class-S threats we face, the threat the Birdcage posed to all of us, the potential recovery and possible prevention strategies.

There were fewer responses from the audience. Some wanted to move on.

Others were still present, a small few of us still able to speak. We were the outsiders, the ones who had the audacity to call ourselves citizens of the world. The arrogant ones.

"The powers of the king are put to the test," the host said. "Was it faith or madness that caused you to ally yourself with the king in the end?"

"We had a moral and a legal argument to back it up," the Doctor said. "The legal thing is underway right now, with the reading of the king’s will. The test to see if the king is ready for the job is a set set series of events, involving a king, a legal system that treats crowns as having opposite sides, and a king who is very, very intelligent."

"All of this? Cooking dinner for the king?"

"It’s the common people, all of us having careers."

"Intelligence and dishonesty with a straight face?"

"I’ve dealt with the kings on my own. I know what I’m doing."

"Somehow I’m not surprised."

"I hope you know what you’re doing, Doctor."

"I know what I’m doing," the Doctor said. "But we are doing it to… expectations. King lives a life of luxury, and he is expected to lead a comfortable life, to be charming, even sweet. This makes sense. Fourth King in line. He is naturally self-centered. But I would offer you three things, if I could. Things that are not normally expected of crowns. And you must do them soon."

There were nods, confused by
======================================== SAMPLE 687 ========================================
All we can do is hope they’re not playing out their end of the bargain.

We’ll need help.

I looked at the names of the others who were present, those I’d seen before, those who’d died.

Ex-Con, #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9…

Their powers were here, but #9? Ex-Con, #2? No. #8? #7?

#8? They had the ability to fly, but #8? It was someone special, something crucial.

Alabaster, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #9, #10…

A terror weapon. Only one that fit the details. Who used #1?

Hamburger, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6, #7, #8, #10, #11…

It was a hair over-all, a little taller, #4, a little heavier.

Big J, #3, #5, #6, #8, #9, #10, #12…

Special effects?

Mannequin, #10, #13, #14, #15, #16, #17, #18…

A hair, a beard, a mustache, thick brows, broad noses.

Albedo, #9, #10, #11, #12, #13, #14, #15, #16, #17, #18…

Too many to watch.

Closelooks were most welcome.

I took a deep breath.

"I’m not asking you to fight," the Doctor said. "I’m saying you’re doing us a service. Coming. Working on the cases you’ve got at the moment."

I didn’t breathe a sigh of relief.

"They’re not easy jobs, yes. Crews leaps and bounds, and here I am, trying to help, and they think I’m not doing them a service. Either they’re screwing me over or they’re getting a handful of damage control measures in place."

"Saint, #1. We’re not screwing you over," the Doctor said. "Not exactly. In principle. But in practice, we’re diverting you towards less lucrative, less focused tasks. We’re saying we want you to handle our bounties, or refuse them. In either case, they get our attention, we descend into the Docks, and we leave. Depending on how big the group is, we can look forward to taking down some unwanted members of the public in the process."

"Major city,'' he said. He found the landing on #1, then used the mouse to advance so he was standing over Weld and Cherry. A cursory look indicated that the handcuffs were cinched securely in place.

"And Cherry, I know you have issues with Cherry over at home. Your mum wasn’t pleased with you. I’m not saying this to jinx you, Cherry, but I think you’re one of the luckier ones. Because even when you had your triggers, there were hard feelings towards your dad and the home you were raised in. I know how difficult it is to grow up with, react to the home you were raised in. It makes it hard."

"I was raised in too hard a environment. I want to grow up and be happy.", she said.

I just want to forget these people gave a damn about me.

"It’s Cherry reacting to that. But it’s the depressed and dissolute DC up there with the real monsters and sociopaths. I can respect that. In a way, I think you’re more damaged than most. Maybe you’re damaged in the same way most people are. You had no parent, school, friends or family to look up to, so you grow up in a culture where wrongs are wrongs. You get rejected by anyone and everyone you tried, you get hurt, and you hurt when you have to answer for it."

"So you’re religious. More than half of you are infected with some reaction you don’t understand. You people who aren’t growing sexually or socially attracted to the bright-eyed, pink-lipped, artisanal cheese of our male counterparts? You’re infected with that fucked-up, backward idea that women are meant to be subservient and that men are the powerful ones. You get offended when you get angry,
======================================== SAMPLE 690 ========================================
‘They had guns that could cut through steel, but I couldn’t see how they moved.’

"What I can see is that they have their target on their heels."

"My target," Grue said.

"You’re probably aware of what I’m saying, but this is a moot point."

"I know exactly what you’re talking about," Tattletale said. She crossed the room, and her voice was eerie, distant, unfinished. "Shadow Stalker. To be frank, I’m surprised she came this way. Based on her costume, you’re thinking she’s going to stab you in the back."

A woman with a curling, graying beard and a black woman in a dress sweater. Could she be a woman impersonating a man, undercover?

"Yes," Tattletale said. "She looked a little ugly as she strutted."

"As I look at you, I see your best friend, right there," the woman said. She winked. "And I know you won’t be coming back anytime soon, Weaver. So let’s agree to disagree."

"GREY GUYS," I raised my voice.

"Don’t be silly," Tecton warned, raising his voice to be sure that everyone heard. " It’s not only gray rats that enjoy having fun. We have to play fair in everything we do."

"Right," I answered. My voice sounded too friendly. It was like I was over-enunciating. I was. But I kind of wanted it to be okay, like I was used to doing with my speech in public.

"…And conscience?" the woman asked.

"Conscience? Sure. I don’t have one. And I’m not about to let my personal life stop me from carrying out my job."

"Conscience," the woman said, and the grin disappeared. She was silent, and the shadows in her eyes moved more towards the ground. More like she was tense, than anything else. Hell, I could see the lines of her face through the darkness.

"Don’t do a barrel roll. That’s what the capes in gray were doing," I said. "Rolling with the punches, taking any punches they could. I think you’d be too busy laughing to really care."

"Can’t do a barrel roll while laughing," she said. "Damnation. Terrifying."

I felt my ears warming up in the wake of the noise. I was smiling now.

Tattletale was smiling as well. The ebon woman smiled wide. She leaned against the wall, one hand resting on the side of my chair.

The woman disappeared, "Then let’s change things up. For the next half an hour, we’ll be having four verbal fights. Two with live animals, one with a computer. Each one, we’re going to walk out of this room. Do what you were saying. Resist the urge to get yourselves to a standing position or you’ll get jabbed."

I tried to rise, to strike, to do something.

All it took was one reminder.

One gunshot.

I could hear the crowd, felt the tension leave me.

One violent image, a clash of bodies, a monster with a horned crown and a tail, tearing through a landscape.

Seeing it made everything seem small. Pleasant.

"Me and my dogs," I said. "We should go on the offensive, too. Shall we?"

I glanced at Tecton, felt his weigh upon me despite himself.

"I’m dating a little girl," he said. "Who isn’t fun to talk to, makes it hard to talk to you."

"I don’t know," I said.

"Has to be a double-edged sword. Her power makes it hard to take verbal abuse. If she doesn’t like you, you won’t have power again."

"I’m hearing that," I said, "Because of the constant bullying, my reputation’s already taken a nosedive."

"And if I told my people to stand by and let it happen? It’s the sort of thing they’d do anyways."

"I think you’re right," I said. "It makes for a bigger picture. It’s easier to take verbal abuse, it riles you up in a way that you can’t measure. Except maybe punching someone in the face is kinda intimidating."

"Doesn’t
======================================== SAMPLE 693 ========================================
The man didn’t retreat. Rather than try to run him down, he raised one hand and fired a salvo of bullets into the swarm below us. I didn’t keep my bugs on him to see, but I could guess that the bullets eliminated most of the threat, since he was relatively light. The ones that did wound up hitting his armor or clothing did little damage, but the salvos of bullets seemed to carry through into the air, where the bugs were being annihilated by the high altitude air.

I was relieved to see that the pants and breastplate had made some sort of contact with the swarm, but that wasn’t saying much.

Still, my swarm action nearly bought me time to decide what I needed to do next. I pulled off my mask as I backed away, giving Golem a clear path to follow.

I gathered every single bug I had into a loose cluster against Golem. It made a difference, but even with that, I couldn’t deny that the enemy had more at play in terms of tools and tools to use. The swarm conceptually linked us, and with the way the mass of bugs flowed towards the opening that had appeared between Crawler’s legs, I could guess that the general hardness of Crawler’s teeth and claws had contributed something to his path. He was aiming to pierce the chin-filling panel of flesh at Golem’s back.

The more bugs I used, the less noticeable the effect got. I didn’t have as much control as I should have, as my own body tried to avoid the puddle, but the effect was still pretty damn noticeable. He was deliberately trying to displace me so I’d move out of his way. It seemed like the kind of action he wanted to discourage, rather than enable.

The more I tried to displace Crawler, the more noticeable the effect got. It wasn’t quite a wake-up call, but it was a call, and it came with a cost.

I was suddenly aware of the thousands of bugs that I’d accumulated over the past hour or so, drifting in the general direction of Crawler. I focused on them, and I began grouping them together. Millions of spiders, one or two football fields of bugs, and I had a swarm that was reaching out past Crawler to try and catch him.

The caring nature of my bugs had meumped up against the bugs, making for a counterbalance to Crawler. It wasn’t enough to stop him, but I had him surrounded in a blanket of bugs, so he couldn’t cloak himself in them and use his outstanding sense of sight to see us.

"No," I said. "Let him go."

"His senses are being offended," Tattletale said.

"If it’s an attack, then I’m not sure he’ll get anywhere," I said. "He can’t see us, he can’t see the swarm, he doesn’t have super strength or anything else that could compromise him. The closest thing he’s going to get is what the telekinetic Broom was making. That wasn’t an attack. It was more of a way to stop further サンジations before they started."

"Alright," Tattletale said. "Broom. We’ve got him surrounded. Let’s see… Mover three, flier two."

Mover and flier were the same thing, I noted. Shifter type. Shifter operated on the same sort of logical level as Singularity in that he diluted his own self-sustenance, flinging himself off certain points, like a skilled magician tentatively draping a body with ink along one arm. But he was a fundamentally flexible being, adaptable.

I already had my bugs clustered on Scion, focusing on the areas where his neck, chin and head weren’t invulnerable. Other bugs were gathered to touch his scales, his hair, his nails and the various bodily structures. I couldn’t feel them with my bugs, but I knew they were composed of the same stuff my spiders were. Tissues the size of a small tree, composed of the skins of the largest known marsupial and their relatives, including the diminutive独 krill. All it took was a glance, a probing kind of touch, and they knew what was happening in seconds.

Other capes had used their powers to touch him. A boy had used his power to push Scion away, and a girl had used her power to shift him a few feet, touching his armor and giving him a slight push as he walked.

"Now," Tattletale said, "We’re going to do something very, very wrong."

======================================== SAMPLE 696 ========================================
A law enforcement official confirmed the report at a news conference.

Officials said the pair was overheard discussing plans for a third body count.

According to the report, the trio would go on to murder other mourners and inflict painful tortures on those who resisted, among other things.

An official with the PRT’s organized crime division said the bodies found so far were "conspiring."

"This is a PRT operation," the official said.

"Agreed," Gully said.

"Coil is responsible," the official said. "The leader of this group has connections to politicians and influential people in this city. She is threatening to become a martyr if we do not stop her. Everyone with ties to the city or to the PRT is threatened as well."

"I believe you," Hood said.

"We can’t afford for him to remain in this vulnerable state," the official said.

"We have other options. I have discussed the matter with Miss Militia and Chief Director West. If your officers will join me?"

A small majority was soon voted to pass the decision.

"Amendment proposed," the voice said, from speaker phone.

Amendment proposed.

The assembled presenters and reporters from every television channel were present.

Prospective jurors were asked, ‘So what do you want to see happen?’

The majority could be heard to clap along side a very solemn declaration from Director West, concerning the dangers posed by Bitch’s gang, before anyone took the stand.

"We can consider a fail-safe," Miss Militia said, "One that relies on certain safeguards."

"Fair enough," one juror said.

"The proposed fail-safe is a strong majority. I would propose a rule change," another said.

Juror twenty-three-seven from the Boston area, one of the few who seemed to still care about the not-yet-dead dockworkers. She was joined by a small but enthusiastic crowd of others, as well as the reporters that surrounded her. She seemed to expand her mind as she considered the change. Was she talking with her attorney, or could she not hear about this without sparking a massive controversy?

"It’s ridiculous," her sister said. "We’re in a pretty dangerous situation with Mr. Calle."

"I’m not disagreeing," the Director said. "I just thought I’d give you the benefit of the doubt."

"And you would be obligated to talk to my superior, if you accused me of anything like you were alleging with Mr. Calle."

"The benefit of the doubt is not an argument in favor of my client’s rights being trampled."

"You would be well advised to speak up," Mrs. Yamada said.

"Would I be right in saying you’re overreacting?" Weld asked.

"I’m fairly confident this isn’t a dramatization, or at least, not the full extent of things. I’ve read the footage and considered the arguments offered. I don’t disagree, but I’m obligated to speak up in cases like this. I would speak up if I thought my client was in jeopardy."

"If you’re not sure about what you want, you can always back out," Miss Militia said.

"We could. It wouldn’t be televised, and it wouldn’t change anything between now and the end of the trial."

"You want to hurt the PRT," one juror said.

"Yes. Because we’re still trying to rehabilitate the old members. Changing them into their new bodies, pre-rehab, recon, whatever."

"So the PRT is relevant to you, after all. You-"

"It doesn’t matter. Does it matter that much?"

"It probably counts for something, when all of the rest of it is put aside? When the trials are over, the people with the scarier faces or the better stories told the lies they have to, and the heroes are on their heels."

A woman finally spoke, as she entered the room. "You’re known for being fair."

"Yes. Especially when it comes to the dead."

"You’re not saying any more than you have."

"They still died. There’s no reason to pretend they didn’t."

I stared at her.

"It’s not your case, it’s not really," she said. "Longer you wait, the greater the chance someone comes to know about the whole thing, the less likely they
======================================== SAMPLE 699 ========================================
Welcome back to Morning Sputnik. Today we’re going to talk about the newest member to the Wards. Flashbang.

Born in Britain, she moved to the United States when she was two years old. There she met her dad, a professor of kinesics at a local university. They have been together ever since, and Kayden is the kind of girl that’s just good at what she does. Like her dad, she’s good at what she does and good at what she thinks. As far as the rest of us are concerned, she’s been through a lot.

Trickster is the type of guy that’s always been popular, always had a following. His fan club, their page on the website, their place in the crowd. He was always popular in a way that had led some women to think he was hypergamous. Even now, years later, there were some women who would argue he was more attractive than any of the other members of the team. What was his secret? He was rich. He was Rambo, or he would be if Flashbang wasn’t the right person to use in place of the real hero.



It was a gamble, trusting a girl to manage your own team, but your ex-girlfriend seemed reasonably competent. You didn’t have any reason to think she was anything less, now.

You glanced at each of your teammates in turn, as if checking you were still in control of your own destiny. Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t. In his shoes, in hers, the question was whether you could trust her to look you in the eye and give you the right answer.

"I don’t know," she said. "Nobody does."

"Hello?" Trickster asked. He stepped forward, and she turned, so he put one hand on her shoulder in what could have been a thrusting attack. He stepped back out of the way. "Let’s…"

She leaned back, so he couldn’t follow her with his hands. She lowered her voice from a roar to a murmur. "You want me to tell you what to do, when? So you’re prepared."

That was all. For now, at least, they held peace.

You see that kind of thinking, Trickster thought. The kind of person who thought one minute about a woman and thought the world was on the line with the answer given, the next minute thinking about a man and his garbage and guilt.

But these girls didn’t care about ‘the world’. They were far more interested in being the next piece of the team, in becoming the targets of the guys who would take after the others, getting attention, playing roles. They were making it as a luxury than a necessity. They could be leaders, team members, objects, suspects… anything.

They wanted it all, and if it was his opportunity to take it all, he wouldn’t be breaking the ten percent time restriction.

He found his inner-pleasure, and overstimulation started to fall away. The butterflies started to migrate, and I made an effort to look interested.

I could feel his face lighten, his body relax. He reached out to rest his hands on the back of my neck. I lowered my eyes and lifted my head, surprising myself. He was kissing me, and his hands were sliding up between my legs. It felt so very very seductive, smelling like fresh roses and the outdoors and water and fresh air and feeling good.

"Are you going to tell me I can’t?" he asked. "Or are you going to keep making accusations and then turn around and accuse me of everything I’ve done?"

Of course I’m innocent, I thought. I smiled and rocked back the tuft of hair I’d grown into.

"It’s a start," Trickster said. "And speaking as the person who started the meetings to discuss all this, I’m really excited. It’s starting to hit me what this is all about. It’s like stepping into the Matrix."

"The Matrix?" I suggested.

"The real world, where I’m sitting here, where I’m working on this, it sounds pretty similar. So I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s a good deal better than the end of the world."

"Better still," I told him.

Legend nodded.

"We’re still here," I said, "Putting our lives and careers back together, sure, but we’re getting the job done. Four groups working on getting the structures built, we’re clearing
======================================== SAMPLE 702 ========================================
CasUALTY. They won’t believe me after this.

Again, cutting to the chase… I, along with four other people, entered the mall through one of the gift shops that had opened on the corner of Flagler and Market. I headed towards the throng of people. People were still in their clothes, some were shirtless, others were in comfortable clothes. There were two markets, one open, the other closed. It was sunny out.

As I headed towards one area where people were still moving, I saw ABB MEMBERS.

They were all hanging out in the malls their solo ventures had left. Oooops. All gathered in a peculiar formation, not unlike a multiplayer battlefield, hundreds of people from all walks of life, loosely organized into rows of five or more. Their business, their agenda, was to get Garrison, Phil, Dauntless and the other Trainees setup with someone else in the group, to splitting up when they had the Frontline Squad and the others in a position to hit their opponents. To get the enemy squad isolated, hitting them with nonlethal attacks, like tasers. To diffuse the situation, they had all but one of the enemy squad’s members killed.

But instead of marching towards the Mall, they headed directly towards the mall entrance. Compared to their groupmates, they were miniscule. A Block of the more distaste I could muster- none of them were big, even- the members of the ABB were the size of small dogs. Some were even less than that. Maybe I was seeing the pattern, but I wasn’t really familiar with gangs or warfare.

I could see them running down the length of the street, their eyes stopping on a handful of people who were walking in a directly traffic lane, then looking to others for cues. Some turned a right to head down Mercer, turning a corner that might have been a staircase. They stopped after they reached the foot of the stairs. I felt a kind of irritation, yet elated. This was something my brain was trained in anticipating, and it wasn’t the case that the brain was trained to like being activated by danger. Rather, it was the brain being trained to like being surprised.

Arriving at a location early in the morning, when other people were in their beds, and now I was, I almost could. I nearly clapped.

<Space wolves arrive>



I heard the first cracks of the fire. It was followed by the sounds of chairs being overturned, the sound of laughter even before the one or two people had joined the ranks of the dead.

I crossed the mall to the Boardwalk and looked around.

I nearly collapsed in a heap at the sight of the scene. People were visibly sobbing openly, the cries matching or exceeding the noise of the tears. The towels that had been stacked on the floor of the stairwell were unfaltering, now, pelting the people who had been standing in a rain of bodies. One of the females was even looking in a mirror, unfazed. The tears were better directed at her than to me.

On the far end of the beach, a single man was staring at his reflection in the dark pool. His arms were folded in front of him, as if he was looking away from the world. I almost wondered if he was looking at his reflection, because his expression was so evocative.

The reflections of other souls were more violent, angrier, longer lasting. It was a shortsighted policy, shortsighted because it let us forget the finer points of the world, and senseless because it left people sleeping soundly at the edges of the streets when things should be happening in the center.

Our morning runs had been steady, to allow us to gather information and take markers to mark the intersections where people had died. We’d had forty or fifty people in our care, most of whom had committed minor transgressions. With the toll it was taking on our already limited resources, we’d had to start limiting who could be moved around the area. We couldn’t let a single soul out of our care onto the beach.

A long time ago, when I started my journey into my mother’s life, I had asked what my mother thought of me. I got the vague impression of a good answer, an action or a moment that summed up my life. A swift look around us showed that the action had already occurred. There was the homeless man who was on his back, entire undergarment trailing behind him, limbs splayed and reaching for him. A woman who was crouching with her baby against her body, as though the baby was holding her own. A man who was crouching so heavily on one side of her body that her underwear was damp from the rain. A little girl of about twelve who was lying face down in the
======================================== SAMPLE 705 ========================================
One of my favorite parts about being a part of the group, and maybe the biggest reason for my current feeling of being incomplete, is that there’s so much going on outside of the group. I get to go to school, go for a run, or just go for a walk. There’s usually somepony on duty outside if I need to listen to someone, and there’s usually a group of people around if I want to talk. Sometimes two or three at a time.

All of that leads to one ruin if you’re not careful; if you’re not careful, and you let your guard down, others will fall in their place. For a while, my mind was somewhere else.

The bus stopped outside my classroom, and I stepped outside to get ready. A whiteboard with scribbled names on it sat on the grass at my back. I began sketching out what needed to be done.



The subject: bullying. I’d just gotten back from Oakland, and it seemed like there was an epidemic of some sort on my campus. I’d seen some of the reports from the initial wave of reports in the Docks, and I was wondering if there was anything I could do to help.

I opened the box and pulled out the slip of paper. Miss Militia had given me a note, signed "Skitter", which said:

I am sorry to say but this is about you. I can’t be the face of this, but I would appreciate it if you would do me a favor and avoid social occasions, so the something I can do to help is even less effective.



I stared at it.

I pulled it from the bag, and then turned to the paper.

Gut feeling. Maybe I should use my power in this fashion.



Please don’t hate me.



I read it again for confirmation. It wasn’t much, but it was a step forward.

I turned to the next piece of paper. A list. Ron had apparently carried this in his bag with him when he’d taken us to the post office, and having it here meant I could call him and ask if he wanted to meet us somewhere private.

He said he would consider it, then left us a message.

I knew he had a way of listening to us, because he didn’t open his mouth when he read the paper. He just stared at it, his eyes going wide at the thought, "What? I saw with your costume and your power, and now I see you’re using that and don’t even realize you’re trying to hide it."

Had he seen something when he looked at the list? I suspected it was titled "Noelle"?

"If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re underestimating how bad it would be to be found out like that."

I couldn’t even begin to parse what I was thinking on that front. Ron is a powerful individual, and maybe believing he’d be the victim and fearing he would be framed was the impetus for why. Hiding details from me? It’d be a huge help to him, and if I was going to do it, I wanted to make it an ugly situation worse.

"It’s not my place to decide what you do with those notes," I told him.

He hung up.

"Note from Dean in Phoenix," it began. "First of all, we need to check if the listing in question is legit. Second, we need to verify that the person claiming to be Noelle Paye is who she says she is."

It was short, barely a paragraph, and was signed by five people.

It wasn’t an anonymous person. The person who had written the note was identifiable, if only because of the writing and the signature.

Fifteen names, coming from people who knew her. That wasn’t an overwhelming list. It was a few names, and it was all too possible that five of those people had invented or were claiming to be names themselves.

The italic name was Debaser. He was listed alongside her in the paper as a notable ex-member of the Nine, Cell block K, which had split off and formed its own group in the aftermath of the Leviathan fight. There were discrepancies, though, as to which block she’d belonged to. They even had a hash mark or a period before the ‘@’, as if they owned the block and were keeping it secret.

She wasn’t one of them, though. There were too many similarities between the two lists of names. Even the block names, Cell block White after the minor players in the
======================================== SAMPLE 708 ========================================
My eyes fell on the name ‘Alexandria’.

I’d heard that name before. In this same period, I’d heard other names in the news, quite possibly in error. Aftershocks, afterimages, unexpected arrivals.

It hit me harder than the sight of Huntress’s head wound.

And it wasn’t just the idea of the unknown, or the possibility that the events that had been recounted were not real. This was real, and it was my mom’s face, my face, and I was witnessing it for the first time. For the first time, I was aware she existed. She was marking shifts in the weather, sometimes in the same place, and her hair, eyes and body language were familiar. She was comfortable, which was something I couldn’t say for Alexis. When I lost track of who was who, it was easy to forget who was behind the actions and the nonchalance. It was easy to forget that she was an intruder.

In a way, I was surprised that the girl with the plushest haircut and a widow’s peak that made her head heavy and narrow was actually in my range. Too many murders, too many sabotage attempts, and nothing had gone her way in the months he’d had her.

Weld stared out at the city. Even through the grandeur of the structure, the massive crow’s wings and the summer foliage that stretched between the bars, there was a stark difference in the two visions. In the vision, there was a stark contrast between the crisp, clean blue sky and the rain and dust that had collected in the streets and in the buildings. In the other, the sky was mostly clear, the rain and dust barely there.

"Redmond?" I asked.

"I expect I’ll need to refresh my memory on matters," he said, turning his attention to his instrument. The aluminum tube that stretched from the tripod’s grip and cranked into an 8-bit MIDI sequencer.

"Hm."

"I’ve already mentioned our interests in the city’s favor, Vanessa, and I have confirmed that you are doing as I require. It is entirely possible that you may find my going into custody to be quite necessary."

Vanessa nodded. "It’s scary."

"Fear it? Yes. But it’s also dangerous. There’s nothing here I would not have predicted thirty years ago, and I suspect I will not receive any such information with my eyes open. Hence the need for secrecy."

"If that’s the case, you’re not skimming the surface."

"I’m assuming I am. I wish to remain completely anonymous."

"In the past few days, there have been innumerable reports on the news, in your official capacities and in person. About your fans, about incidents in the Science Fiction sub-board, about the death of one of your teammates, and countless other details."

I took a breath. "I can’t read the whole list, or I’d be doing much better than others. For example, the death of one of my teammates. There are others, many others who are concerned with events that took place in the sub-board. I can’t remember their names."

"And?"

"And there’s Death and other members of the Undersiders who are concerned with the current situation. Grue is concerned about Newter, and I talked to Death just last night. She doesn’t disagree with me, but she doesn’t agree either."

"We could report that," the Doctor said. "Spur is concerned over the response of the Protectorate, and if you decide that it is too slow, it could split the team further. Or you could reveal that you know the details of Death’s present status, and we would have to split further."

"You’re assuming I know those details."

"I am not assuming. I have faith in your ability to keep secrets."

"And for that very reason, I’m writing you a letter."

"Good man."

"Let me begin by stating the facts. We, the Wards, are deeply concerned for your welfare. With this concern come two conditions."

"Conditions?"

"Death."

I stared at the Doctor. She had skin like a ghost, had no obvious wounds and was plainly dressed in a white lab coat, jeans and brightly colored shoes. Her desktop was in order, with all of the required files synced up. She was female, and the images of potential future events were displayed on a large monitor. The images around the room were colorful
======================================== SAMPLE 711 ========================================
I didn’t know my limitations as far as field output goes. Or my limitations as a person. I couldn’t cut cleanly, so to speak, with my knives or my guns. While I could have fought back, I’d have to abandon the wide-open battle lines I’d set up, and I had to move fast. I could use my power to activate chutes, to change the channel, but-

I cut.

There was a small explosion as something broke.

But the channel… the equipment appeared in one chute.

I looked at Bitch. Her eyebrows were drawn together in concern as she tested the-

channel.

I cut.

The small explosion in my inventory had bought me a precious second. I directed some of the fall back towards Knave of Clubs as I made my way down, using the fall back as a momentumender, moving back out of the way of danger.

I used the chute to land near Tattletale. As I landed, I backed up, using my flight to pick up speed.

It would be another minute before I reached safety. Another minute until my bugs equaled my personal transporter.

But I was ahead of her. She checked and double checked each of the chutes, then started moving to the point where the equipment was rising from the ground.

I wasn’t quite sure what to do. I could run, but-

I stopped. All of the planning and consideration I’d put into preparing a plan, turning it into a determinant of events was for nothing. There was no blueprint for me to follow, no way to know what decisions would be good or bad, how each event would unfold. I had no idea of the paths I’d need to take, the right moment to attack or flee.

We circled the city twice before I and Tattletale reached the Waterless Corridor.

The corridor was an underground chamber, about ten feet across, 10 feet tall. The water was drained of its contents, sorted, siphoned, or held in reserve for use in a pinch, depending on how heavy a rain was.

But it was also a room, twice as long as the floor, with a bed that was neither flimsy nor smooth. When full, it was large and somewhat heavy, measuring three stories tall. Two stories was the safe assumption, given Tattletale’s knowledge of how he worked.

The surface was flooded with darkness. I couldn’t see a exit, but I could see a doorway that was large enough to fit two people inside, too thick and heavy to be a bedroom, and a desk of various sizes that sat opposite the chambers. Light filtered in through a series of windows that were spaced out evenly across the surface.

The entire surface was wired with jacks, and the deepest, most mundane parts of my range were also among the most advanced. My neural net, my sensory input, my endo-structure, my electrocution, the maneuver that gave me my ravenous hunger for flesh, more than any powerpower.

I couldn’t do anything on the surface unless I breathed, and I wasn’t in a state to do much of anything there. The only interaction took time and steady hand.

"We’re here to help," Tattletale said.

I nodded curtly.

"Bitch’s dogs are here, but they’ll be on guard until we’re invited back. She’ll be out of action until they can get her and the other dogs settled. So we’re doing this in phases. You’ll be supported by our mercenaries.

"Step one is finding someone good. Figure there’ll be five to ten heroes in our group, with maybe a dozen capes from other teams showing up. We’ll interview them, and if we’re lucky, we’ll get them to join us on an off-mission.

"There’s a club for that, kind of. Look for the human shaped letters that stand for the teams. If you can't find them, look in the lobby of the venue, near the paraphernalia. There may be handwritten notices in the murals and the concrete walls. If you know of someone suitable, pitch your idea to them. Maybe a team of down-and-changers. The- team. The- one-nine."

Tattletale gave me a funny look.

"You know what I mean. I’m thinkingwards. We need a leader. Someone who can communicate the message, who can share it with the rest of the team. A bit of a message from the leader to the people in charge, to explain why
======================================== SAMPLE 714 ========================================
The light was intense, enough that I thought twice about walking through it. I remained still, instead, I taking deep breaths, instead of focusing on the bugs that were crawling on me, trying to suppress them.

The sensation of my feetprints against the black fabric of my costume was enough to shake me from my thoughts. I suppressed them.

"Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit," one of the girls giggled, "Where do you find the bacteria, kiddo?"

"In my pockets," I answered her.

"It’s not like I’m not shopping," she said, winking and tapping her finger to her lip against her lip as she chuckled, "So I have to be."

"You are," I said, even as I knew it wasn’t true.



Snare 13.2


"This is exactly what I was talking about. The long-term benefits of this work are clear enough. I’m nearly guaranteed that I’ll be cured. And I already am. I don’t think I’m a monster. I don’t think I’m a freak. I’m Skitter, now."

"Skitter?" His voice was shaky, shifting to a hard accent. It was probably Roan, though he couldn’t be heard over the noise.

"That I was talking to you instead of calling you sis."

"You’re not my sister."

"I have more right now. My supervisor invited me to join the family. I’d like to think it’s for the greater good."

"It’s a good idea," his wife said. "We were concerned your family would be less healthy if you were institutionalized."

"They’re very well off. My sister will walk away from this disabled and wealthy life of hers, better than many get treated. She’s already said she’ll be a stay at home mom for another three to six months, after which she’ll need medical care. That’s with benefits, stuff she can get with work. This is going to make a huge impression. I can’t even remember where I’ve seen it before. I was almost convinced it would be where I saw it in the theater."

"This is a rarity. An interview where the main character isn’t present at the interviewee’s place of residence."

"That’s because she always stayed at my parent’s place when I was out of the city. For this, and other jobs, she wanted to be in the mood for a real conversation, seek out opinions and ideas that would suit her, and leave nothing to be said. Most of the time, she’s walked right in."

"As you learned the hard way. The female reporter was actually working for you?" My dad asked.

"He wasn’t. She was. But knowing her wasn’t enough to sway me. What got me was her courage."

"You’re not afraid?"

"No. She’s afraid, but she’s also feeling vindicated. A fire burned in the core of her belly and she finally found a champion, a man who’d listen to her. They’re one and a half miles apart, but she’s decided she’ll come back to them with a wounded gut. They’ll patch her up and make her comfortable, and then she’ll leave with a measure of peace."

"So she’s still with her family?"

"She’s as traumatized as she was when she showed up, but she’s also pretty much in her element. She’s lived with us for five weeks, and she has a sense of our everyday lives, where she can figure everything out. She’s figuring out our routines and schedules so she comes home more or less on time. She’s figuring out what’s on our minds and what’s on her conscience."

"So you’re not surprised she’s back with the Undersiders?"

"Not surprised," he said.

We stood there with our backs to the wall, the only object around us that contained any kind of volume. It was set into the concrete wall by the elevator that encircled the building.

"When you say you’re from the Birdcage, I’m thinking of the little bird inside that cage. The one that gets smaller every day, by worship and diet."

"Yes," My dad answered, not moving his eyes from the television.

I looked
======================================== SAMPLE 717 ========================================
Ready? Ready.

Take cover.

Take cover.

Snip, skip, don’t turn, don’t let go.

Beggars and rescuers were in the area, searching the scene with searchlights and all-consuming footprints. The man with the metal skin had been found, carefully folded over the rubble. His face so mangled it didn’t seem alive, his hands and face covered in bands and patterns so thick it looked like mask wax.

The only sounds were the rasping of the rain and the water that poured from every other pore, occasionally pours of water into the pore, many of them fast enough that they went through the dirt with little effort.

I moved my bugs through the area, and I was struck by the notion that I might have missed something. The sweep of my power included the area beyond the walls that had been cleared. Water had been allowed to pour through, fountains had been allowed to change from blue to purple, and I could see debris moving past the edges of some walls.

But it wasn’t moving my bugs.

This was something subtle.

The palette of colors that flooded the area made me think of a fairy tale. There were ugly elements, but it was one where the good guys were winning. Where the bad guys were squabbling with one another. It wasn’t the ☀˜land of milk and honey’ that was on the front page of the paper, but a gritty, gruesomely violent place where everyone had their dark corners filled with flesh and the only thing people were eating were bones.

I couldn’t feel them, but I could recognize the place. My power waseping through my head, as was typical with that sort of situation. I opened my eyes, and I could see a pair of pink goggles. A prop for the movie The Crow.

"Where’s Tattletale?" I asked.

"With the squad. They’ll all be gathered in the command center right now."

With the squad?

I nodded. The food was good.

"Tattletale? About the wild plant thing?"

"They were experimenting. I guess they didn’t want to share the details with the rest of us."

"Okay."

I looked through the other window. It was cloudy, but that might have been my eyesight, my strained sense of sight. By the sound of it, my sense of direction was wrong. I turned around and began running.

I was a good four miles away, but I felt like I could have carried myself ten. It wasn’t that I wasn’t fit, but I felt like I was moving more than I had before.

I got lost in the pile of people, too, like I had with my costume. I had the original costume, minus the original armor and the augmentations to wear the armor added-up to give me more muscle than I had before. I had the gun, I had the knife, both in the right size and shape, not to mention the additional gear I had on.

I put all that stuff away, wide eyed and frustrated. I still had to figure out how to fight like a supervillain. The clones weren’t any easier to deal with.

When even the small children were gone, I set my swarm on them. From their attempts to move to my left, I’d take them down with ease. I began by catching them by the legs, and with one stone of leverage, I dragged them to me.

Siberian was less than a block away, and she was wielding a club.

I abandoned my attempt to drag her to me, focused on the group at the end of the street. People stood far end of the street, against the current of current and the blueirection of the wind. A man was cracking heads, and there were others who were being dragged.

I found a space to crawl, rather than use my hands, and I began to feel.

I’ve been on my hands and knees all day, and this wasn’t a standing job. But I’d done this all for you. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for your help.

You closed your eyes, and you could feel your own heart skip a beat. With a fraction of a second’s hesitation, you struck the man from behind. You penetrated his body, and you found something warm. Your body shook as the force of the movement crushed something into the soil.

With that, you broke contact. Your senses became dull, as though your body had seized on something, and your own heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t
======================================== SAMPLE 720 ========================================
He sighed.

Fuck it. I could hope that his teammates were as unhinged as he was, and there would be some modicum of sanity among the others. I’d played things very close to the chest. I wasn’t about to apologize for it, not here.

He glanced across his shoulders at me. His costume had six layers, and each layer was roughly the same as the one before. His shoulders were broad, his chest broad, his hair was long and Stormtiger-esque, with no signs of the haze that had plagued him when unconscious. In short, he was the most unrecognizable figure in the group.

Except he was alive. He’d drawn the bug girl’s attention.

Undersiders, I thought.

"Grue," I spoke through my swarm, though I was having trouble speaking through my mouth.

My bugs were still following me, even after I was in the cloud. I began circulating the swarm through the Undersiders, increasing the number of bugs on each member of the team.

"What’s going on?" Grue asked.

"I’m using my power, and my power has reached its limit. I can’t use it to find my way out of this situation, not like this. So I’m acting as though I’m in your territory, while staying out of trouble. It’s working."

"Maintaining a strong presence," Imp said. "Lots of good bugs."

"And the enemy?"

"Just an army, at the most," I said. "They can’t touch us, they can’t hurt us, and regardless of how many thousands of feet they travel, there’s only an Endbringer here because they sent one. So they have to be contained to some extent."

"This is why you want to hold back?" Regent asked.

"Can’t," I said. "I can, I’m going to do as Tattletale asked and try to find the others, but finding them and figuring out what they’re doing is a whole other ballgame. I can’t guarantee I’ll find them."

"You might. But not now, not when this is happening."

"You’re talking like you have a plan."

"I do," I said. "Which is why I’m telling you not to do this, and why I’m leaving you to try to find your own plan."

"Which is why I’m asking you to stand down."

"We’ll try," I told him. "Except we’ll go down in a blaze of glory. I’ll leave, join Imp and Skitter, and you’ll manage the garrison. I can see the outlook. I can’t see the hustle and bustle, but I know I’ll enjoy a few moments of peace before the year is up. When things are settled down, it’ll be better for you, too."

I let that last word hang in the air.

"What do you want, Weaver? What rule are you following?"

"You ask me questions. I look to the sky, and I ponder."

"You want to break the rules, exceed the capabilities of the other Nine?"

"I’m obligated to help my fellow citizens. I can’t run or hide, but I must obey."

He took a step forward, and my bugs moved to impede him further. I didn’t provoke a reaction from him, and I suspected he didn’t know how strong his body was, so I moved some bugs to assist in pushing him away from the ground.

An instant later, a large hand erupted from the ground and grabbed the man that was striking him down. He was pulled off his feet and into the growing cloud of dust and manganese ―― that much was obvious. The extent of his transformation was something I could not discern. I could see the patterns, seen the correlations.

If he had been a human, then, well, he had to be a creation of Mannequin.

"Skitter," he said, his voice low, "I owe you."

I moved the swarm to approach him, and I could feel them shifting state. Some were confused, others unaware of who or what they were. I took the latter as confirmation that they were unaware of who or what I was.

He loomed, taller than me, his body crafted of manganese that were in turn wrapped in various kinds of ceramic. The favored metal of choice for villains wanting to emulate the Mannequin.
======================================== SAMPLE 723 ========================================
What was I supposed to do? I didn’t have any allies.

Scrub took fifteen seconds to make his way downstairs, using the parts from the armor and teethbrush to brush his hair and tugs it to his chest. He came back with a smaller version of the brush and a lighter. He set down the bristled paintbrush and began mass-producing the colors.

I was left standing alone in the kitchen.

Tears were my first experience of being completely and utterly alone. My parents had us staying at the shelter, and I’d been in a foster home before. It was a refuge, sort of, from the realities of the foster-care system. Everyone there was tested and recertified, and again, we were left standing on our own.

On our third night in a row, our hideout had been trashed, with stuff toppled over, gutted, and cars smashed. Steel and iron were tossed about, with nowhere to go but backpacks. We had not been to a doctor for a condition we hadn’t been medically required to attend to. When one of the women in the group had complained about joint pain, Scapegoat had suggested she take a walk. She had. On our fourth night in a row, we’d returned to the hideout, and things had been calmer. We’d patched up the effects of Killington, and Scapegoat had helped us with the damage done.

This time, though, it was a hybrid of the calm before the storm and the scene we’d just seen, with Scapegoat’s power abused to its limits. A sphere of gray light, narrow, thin.

Time passed, and more charged into the scene. People pushed and shoved, and things got ugly.

Menja, wearing a costume with a rough geometric shape to it, with breasts that were too small, dirty looking. Not Skitter’s, apparently.

Tecton, with what looked like a cast iron skillet on his belt, folding his arms, visibly tense. Grace, with her hair in disarray, her makeup smeared onto her head, face and shoulders.

These weren’t the characters we’d expected. What shook us was the sheer scale of it. The space that was within the sphere, the number of people… we couldn’t even gauge how many of them were injured.

[...]

Panel by panel, the scene unfolded. Echidna tore into the mob, her claws biting deep into flesh, demonstrating her ability to shred flesh. She paused to spit, releasing a volume of the regurgitated gobbles that became sand, falling into a life of mud-brown vials.

She picked up a kit, pulling it from the air, clapping her hands. An alarm gone wrong.

The S.H.I. Device clone threw a handful of the vials at the crowd. Six rejected the charge and soared straight down to the ground, splashing violently against the feet of the assembled people.

I watched the rest of the fight with my own eyes, helping to keep a wary eye on the two heroes.

"No," I spoke into the radio. "This is going to sound pretty damn odd, but you’re saying they’re actually helping?"

I waited until every person in the area was removed from the fight, then spoke into the transmitter again, hoping for a response.

"Whaddya think I’m doing?"

"Leave them be," I said.

There was a pause.

"Maybe I should get going, before things get worse?"

I debated speaking again, but I didn’t want to think about the matter of Scapegoat’s plan. "What do you think I’m doing?"

"Retreat. Dispatch them. We can take them by surprise, maybe get them to retreat and keep the fight from getting any more vicious. You take Hippolyta, you have a team of heavily armored individuals that you can use as decoys. If they spot you or your group, they’ll be forced to run. You can disrupt their thinking, catch their attention, and misdirect them before they see the true threat."

The D.T. officer that was strafing runs shouted, "Red alert! Red team!"

The shrieks of alarm and subsequent warnings went away.

"Maybe I should get going, too," I said. I could see Krouse getting out of his seat, followed by Heathcliff.

"No," I told him. "I can’t get in touch with them. It’s dangerous."

"I understand. We’ll look after them as long as we can, then we�
======================================== SAMPLE 726 ========================================
Tattletale was halfway up the stairs when she saw Amy looking at her own hand.

"Yes, Skitter?" Tattletale tried, but Amy didn’t respond. She was staring down at the ground.

"Ahoy," Accord greeted them. He had a Northern Irish accent. Not as bad as it could be, if his daughter was of European extraction. He did miss his wife and three of his four adult sons. "Such a shame things fell apart."

"Don’t let me waste your time with such trivial things as opinions," Amy said. "If you really want to talk about fighting, let’s hear you out."

"I don’t think we have much fighting left, you know," Accord said. "Young buck down, old man, baby up."

Amy bent down and grabbed one of the dogs, jolting to a step as the collar placed on her neck pulled. The other was smaller, only a puppy. Bitch picked up the puppy and strode forward.

"Hush, Hush," Tattletale said, "I’m not going to press you about it. Not in front of an international hero. You have nothing to worry about, and I’m going to do my utmost to make sure of it."

"You’re petrified," Bitch said.

"The body you wore is frozen solid, yes, but it’s functional," Tattletale said. "She retains her memories, her actions, even her thoughts, all are possible realities distant."

"I don’t follow"

"As we saw with us," Tattletale said, "You betray us, you break your own rules and you violate the spirit of our truce. You insult us, insult the dead. You take advantage of a situation like this to do what’s necessary. Causing unnecessary death."

"And I was just going to walk away," Bitch said. "Wow. That’s scary. Spending time with you wasn’t exactly easy. I-"

But Bitch stopped, her eyes moving back to the scene.

There. They sat in silence for long seconds.

"That behavior crossed a line," Tattletale said. "It’s not the same dog, the tone or the messages she was getting from her teammates. It’s the dead that are different, and I’m willing to take the chance that this leak is just an implementation phase and we can find a different way to communicate."

"If I had any doubts," I said, "I don’t."

I turned to the next member of our group. A boy, in his early twenties, with close-cropped brown hair and a beard. He wore a t-shirt and skinny jeans, and had an overweight body, to the point that I was tempted to think he was obese.

"Grue," Tattletale said. "Effective today, unless you’re here to break the rules, you have two options. You can take weekend classes, and I’ll train you in the use of my power until you’re an upper echelon member of the Protectorate."

Grue nodded, taking the offered news. "Yes, sir."

"If you do take the offer," Tattletale said, "It’ll be with family. Don’t even think about it. There’s a good chance I’ll return to being Bitch in a heartbeat. I don’t see you guys practicing your other abilities unless you’re with them. I don’t think even then, but it’ll be worth the wait."

Grue didn’t budge.

"I won’t ask anything in exchange," Tattletale said. "I know you’re trying to sleep, and you should be. I’ll even let you keep some of the food. It’s better you get some good food than nothing."

"Of course," Grue said. He reached out and started feeding the dog.

"Of course," she responded. He put some food in the mouth and suckedleled the puppy in return. The puppy began to withdraw its head, but he continued feeding it. It became clear to him what she was doing, and his instincts told him it wanted more. One good night, and he was free to take what he needed from the fridge and serve it to the others.

"You get the food, I’ll get the food," he said, in his echoing tone. "I’ll even get the groceries, so you have what you need for the day."

"Yes sir."


======================================== SAMPLE 729 ========================================
Shay’s group had probably acquired a suite of the pepper spray. I wasn’t a master of the stuff, not with how it could be used and where. I aimed at the points of maximum contact – where the sprays would fall on my face, for example.

The first pepper spray was nowhere to be seen. The second appeared to have settled in my hand before I even stepped into the spray’s area.

Three sprays and I’m out, I thought. I tried to take stock, then threw everything I’d got at the tallest, wisest and most powerful man in the world.

The pepper spray.

The hat.

Stupid, useless, but I’d still strapped for cash. I could use it to flip a coin, to decide whether I was planning to steal more than I was bringing – my mask – or if I was going to use it to my advantage.

Then, as I did, I was presented with a dilemma. Could I afford to use the pepper spray? If I used it to scare one of the few people who would still be in the building – a policewoman, a civilian demonstrator-in-training – would I be putting myself at risk of getting shot by my synapse?

As a consequence, I pulled the pepper spray away and stuck it in my back pocket. I strapped for my costume.

For anyone else, this scenario would have been intolerable. In Regent’s world, it wasn’t. In Imp’s world, it was something else. Imperiled.

In the interest of being safe and avoiding detection, I incorporated a coin-style safeguard into my suit. It wasn’t a part of my costume, but it formed a part of the padding I was wearing beneath my costume, so I could bet on a face value that I could buy something with it.

I read the labels of the pens that Clin-

"No face values."

I shook my head.

"You like flowers, don’t you?"

I shook my head even more.

"I like you more if you’re happy, don’t you?"

I shook my head a little, but I couldn’t find the words to reply. I was still hurt, still angry, and I didn’t have a strategy.

"Fine, then I’m donating the extra pens and the weed killer from my first night. How much are you paying in total? Or, should I say, how much are you paying me?"

I almost forgot to ask. It would have been kinder if I could have remembered. It wasn’t a lot, but it was still pretty.

"Twenty five cents each, every time I saw that flower."

"It’s mine?"

I nodded.

"My flowers, how nice of you to offer them."

I couldn’t figure out how to respond. I decided to depend on the pens and numbered paper to fill in the blanks.

"If you two are willing to give me your passwords, IP addresses and account numbers, I can help you reset your passwords. You can also give me your old accounts information, so I can look up if you’ve used them since the breach."

"That’s much obliged. You’ll do as I ask and give me your account information, I suppose."

"The account number for my web site is arstechnica." I gave him the password page, then entered an IP address. When that was entered, I left a letter for him, stating, ‘cleared it’.

When I’d typed it in, I was hit with the ‘enter’ key to immediately begin the process of how I’d supply Brendan with information.

I gave him my email address, then a string of characters, a password, and then an array of little codes. He cracked each one individually, and I began the lengthy authentication process.

The last few codes I’d entered were the renewals. Each time he was prompted for a new code, he entered a four digit number, which I used to decode and then hexadecimal digit his code into. The final code I’d entered was his code, and I began the process of screen cashing it out to his web site.

I knew he would find this, because of the codes. He’d put this together in a sloppy way, and it had likely been programmed into him like he was capable of doing with his own computer programming. I knew it was stupid to expect more from him, so let’s reasonable assume he didn’t find this
======================================== SAMPLE 732 ========================================
The entity looked over the landscape, watching for trouble. Eleven parahumans and countless non-parahumans were scattered throughout the area, most clustered around Temples and Monasteries. As many shrines to embodiments of the entity as we’d gotten thus far.

The rain had stopped, and the sky was shining. It was a good thing, because the cracks running down to the watermark were bad spots, being constantly obscured. As the crack reached its peak, the raining persisted, increasing in severity.

The entity looked, and it saw the ship, entering one end of the crater Mashhadud, returning to the beginning, entering the opposite crater. Depth charge.

Mashhadud exploded, and evidence suggested theshooter had been in the midst of the explosion. The explosion had released a plumes of plumes of smoke, which suggests imminent fire.

The same goes for the settlement, the entity thought. Too deep. They’re already being bombarded.

The ship entered the facility Shalltear has built, and theshooter was within.

Theshooter was already reloading by the time they moved.

"Evidence? of an impending battle?" the entity asked.

"Of course it’s because we’ve been taken in. Coloured in by her," the shaper said. "But… the circumstances of her murder are peculiar. More than one battle has followed there, and there’s little to no reward. The situation is dire, and we’re all in here because we have to be."

The sky behind them was unusually clear, and the surroundings were strange, lit by flare and by some UV light from the various ships.

The entity looked to the ships that were deploying to the battlefield. "We can’t commit to anything definitive, but I can talk you through the steps we’re taking."

"We have eyes on every possible route this could take. We’ll spread them out so your faster responses are all available to us. I’ll communicate through my drones."

Drones. The entity didn’t like the idea of that.

"Yes ma’am. Do what you have to. But let me know what you’re doing, and I’ll fly a no-fly approach. My English is not good, so if you need clarification, you may need to speak another language to me. I’ll need a fresh suit of combat clothes, and helmets are another matter, but I’ll have suits created for you shortly. Again, I would appreciate some compensation for the time and effort you’ve spent on these things."

Something the entity was holding back. Was the entity plotting an elaborate robbery this evening? Perhaps the concept of a bank robbery had been lost on the shaker.

The entity spoke, "And we’ll need your help. I’ll need a bucket."

The situation was not en route.

"You’re talking taxes," Sangster said.

The entity nodded.

"Satisfactory? So soon?"

"As fast as you can tell," the entity said.

"The police are likely to step into the matter," Sangster said. "We will see about that."

The entity continued talking. "They levied a tax on the settlement, more than any levy we have had to date. A farce, if they think they can pull it off. They will be forced to pay a fine, and they will understand all too well that they came close to paying the price. Not just face the consequences, but they will still have to deal with the media, the representative."

"I see."

"You’re hoping for a reaction from the people of this city? Changes of heart?"

The entity nodded.

"People won’t change their minds, not without a fight. We’ll see how far they are willing to go. With you gone, we have little fear of incurring your wrath."

The entity raised its head, staring at the roof.

"Your holding on now, may be wise. For now, keep the fire under control."

The entity turned to look at the rooftop.

Sting, the thought moved through Chakravartin’s mind.

Throat of a car.

The entity looked back, as if checking its surroundings.

A woman, bruised, with some body armor worked into her costume, her rescuer standing nearby.

Another woman, unconscious, bleeding from wounds not involving the face.

The latter two – he didn’t recognize them. One of the wounded – a man.

And a child, unconscious, tied to
======================================== SAMPLE 735 ========================================
It wasn’t an assassination attempt. It was a claim of fact, one they’d confirmed after the fact. They were aware of the possibility, had Balder know.

"It is a construct," Claire said.

"Of Myrddin?"

"That he is willing to assassinate me on my own initiative, in the presence of five other people, if we are unable to secure a willing body and find a way to interrogate and find the five individuals in turn."

The five? Jesus, what were they even doing here?

Myrddin turned to look at Balder, who only scratched the corners of his mouth.

"I will go to the Birdcage and discuss details," Myrddin said. "It’s my understanding that your teammate there is willing to murder you on your own initiative, if you attempt to release her."

"And if I don’t?"

"If you do attempt it and you don’t kill her, the Dragon’s Tooth attack will cease at the beginning of your next turn."

Balder nodded. "Alright."

"My first day on the team was a bit rocky, as you probably know. The press release didn’t give me enough time to fill in all the blanks. I ended up quitting a few hours before the doors opened. My second day, not so different. I’d only had six hours to get ready, work alongside an individual who knew more about computers than most employees do, and this individual had even more time to work with me. We’d established a routine, eating, talking, joking, watching TV… until that young woman in the suit started treating me differently. I started to feel like a prisoner in her household, rather than a citizen. I could have left."

"You could have stayed," I said.

"Unfortunately, no. As harsh as the ex-member’s punishments might have been, the members of the Wards and Protectorate generally got rough treatment for infractions. For much of my career, the only real punishment I had was a short leave of absence from the team and maybe a warning about future incidents. For non-aggression, I’ve dealt with warnings and respect from the public. It wouldn’t be nearly as severe as what the PRT has dealt with here."

"They did get serious," I said. "Except there was one small problem. As far as I can tell, they’ve dealt with this all your life. You deal with them differently."

"I can say this all too clearly," the Director said. "I’m a prisoner myself."

My heart was pounding as I looked over at Charlotte and the kids. I was still a prisoner, according to Lisa, according to Accord. If she was going to characterize me as a prisoner, I didn’t want to be left lying there, handcuffed and blind.

"I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised if they deal with me another way," I said. "You dealt with them worse than they dealt with us."

"You’re lucky I didn’t keep my mouth shut," she said, shrugging. "That’s how you’ve treated me so far."

I didn’t reply. I had bugs on nearly every face in the room. I noted the Director’s approach and followed it with a conscious effort to please my inner hawk.

"You’re about to get your client in trouble," the Project Leader said.

"Not bossy," I protested.

"Let’s put differences aside. You’re a member of the Wards for a reason. The same reason Echidna is in control of her monsters and Noelle is in quarantine. The heroes are watching for trouble at every turn, and this is a team that can and will move against the PRT if it comes down to it. It also helps if we don’t piss them off."

"The difference between us and them is that we’re not afraid to fight," I said. "That means we have no qualms about fighting the Endbringers, and we’ve pretty much got that since the first attack."

"We won’t underestimate Echidna," the Director replied.

"The whole thing with Echidna? It wasn’t even in the public eye when she disappeared from the public eye. That’s a start."

I made a face. I was remembering what I had been told, and I knew the questions and comments would start in earnest now that the subject had come up. Were they trolling me, or had Rachel gotten her hands on her laptop?

"That wasn�
======================================== SAMPLE 738 ========================================
A half-dozen sets of eyes focused on him, all twisted at the edges, lying on the ground, their faces twisted matrices with faces and eyes in between.

But he was a fixture, a theme that went something like this…



"My eyes are tearing into this scene. I hear the screams. I see the humanity of these people, and I see how fucking dull everything was. Everything low-class, mundane, useless. I go to the bathroom, I pray, and OH SHITTHAT'S HARD!"

- Divine Rightforce crying out in pain, seemingly in Arabic, with English and French subtitle and some broken Spanish



"I go to the bathroom, I pray, and OH SHITTHAT’s HARD!"

- Footsteps, then a monster truck with a giant monster wraith on the roof

"Prayer?" someone asked, the first person not in the Monster Man’s range.

The Doctor started to speak, then stopped. Her voice expanded, a little too abruptly, "That’s really it? The end?"

A dhampir? A pronoun?

No. More of a god than a pronoun.

"The beginning, whence I?"

- The creature’s words were breathless, so out of tune with its words that they were almost alien, "Whence I?"

"You know that answer, I know it."

The words seemed to move faster as they flowed.

"I go to the bathroom, I pray, and OH SHITTHAT’s HARD!"

-Footsteps, then a culvert, with a person standing in the middle

"Prayer?" someone asked.

The Doctor hesitated, then nodded.

The listener whispered the words. A heartbeat later, a siren’s warning, the entire area filled with hundreds of ambulances, police and rescue personnel, all desperately trying to get away from a single report of a girl dying.

With the danger no doubt overwhelming the ability of even the most elite of the response teams to deal with the situation, the man in the suit toed the perimeter of the crowd, leaped into the midst of them, and then blasted a wake of containment foam at them. They tumbled, and some even fell across one another as they were thrown into the midst of the crowd.

The alert onlookers were already moving, calling out warnings and commands. The response teams were forced to scatter, to take evasive maneuvers and retreat.

A dhampir, or godling, as the creature was more commonly known, decided to stand apart. He or she moved in a straight line, calmly, almost casually letting the crowd drown out the cries for help.

I looked, and I saw two figures step out of the darkness beneath the lake, walking briskly toward the dock.

The first was a man, vaguely prepubescent, with a muscular physique, heavy limbs and a cannonblade on his hip. The other was a girl, teenage, with long, straight hair and a prominent nose. They were both clothed in the heavy, windowless room, with tattered rags around them. At the very back of the room, I saw, was a complicated mask, like a mummy’s, except much more vaguely human. The godling had an inflated ego, it seemed, and was drawing attention from the crowd, which was paying a hell of a lot more attention to the godling than to anyone else.

"Who are they?"

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"If I tell you, I’m bound to lose my mind," the man in the mask said.

"That’s not it. It’s the entire reason you’re here."

"I have to, just to, um, fill you in."

"On it," the man said. He moved his helmet, then adjusted it. He had a gun in his hand, but he didn’t point it at anyone. "It’s satisfying."

"I’m guessing you don’t mind me getting the details on your teammates?" the girl in the damsel’s costume asked. She wore a fedora, her hair long and snow-white.

"I don’t really care," the man in the suit said. "What kind of feelings do you have for me?"

The girl shook her head.

"I’m guessing my power gives me a mental block to communicate with you, keeps me from talking to anyone for much longer."

"The mental block is a psychological block you put in place after your powers went out of effect. It’s normal for someone to have a
======================================== SAMPLE 741 ========================================
Sixty. Seventy.

The phone rang.

"Yes?" it was Lily.

"Can I come up with the kids?"

"We’re still debating."

A second later, he was on the phone again. "Just a minute. If you want to grab a coffee, we’ll be waiting."

"I have the kids," she said.

"I’ll look after them."

"Okay."

He hung up.

She stood from her bed, pulled on her mask, and then bid the Wardrobe to rise around her.

Three young men, sitting on the couch, a plate on their laps, eyes on her.

"You escaped."

"Prisoner 623. We stopped you."

"Thank you. But I just want to talk. We’re just getting started on the rest of the kids."

"Ship them to you?"

She nodded. "To me. I already paid a visit yesterday, and I’ll be bringing this kid, along with the other girls."

"To where?"

"The Birdcalves," she said. She took off her mask and let it fall to the floor. "We have space for you. If you want to show some backbone and ask your mom for a divorce, let me know."

"Makes sense," Ward said. "You two are going to be neighbors for a while. If she doesn’t want to divorce you, she’s probably not going to be your neighbor anymore."

"If it means being closer to my dad, I’m saying we cut right past that."

"Do you need to get any of that kid stuff? I’ve been eating fondue."

"I was too scared to make any," Tattletale said. "I’m sorry. I’ll get right to it."

"Don’t worry. You’re safe, and the money is yours. No problems."

"You’re playing very close to your wallet, Bonesaw," Bonesaw said. "I can make it fast."

"Fair. What’s the other thing on your mind? The bullwhip?"

"Don’t be an idiot. You’re revoking my rights as a client."

"Of course. My rights, precisely as they were. I was only explaining what I needed."

"The lawyer will understand what’s up. You’ve been practicing medicine for a long time."

"I’m not inexperienced."

"However experienced you are, maybe you want to try a new disease, while I’m still getting healthy. Maybe you’re too lazy to do it on your own."

"Maybe. I’m still recovering from Newter," Bonesaw said.

"I’m telling you, Ahab, don’t bother with the client-side rights. I’m not about to overrule an expert, but use your brain."

"Killing a man for his ideas."

"There’s an answer here," Bonesaw said. She looked down at Ahab. "His brain."

"I don’t know that I understand, if that’s the case."

"You’re not using your brain, then."

"My brain’s okay."

"Then let’s assume it’s not okay. What’s the other, more natural way for you to act?"

"Normal people use weapons to fight."

"Weapons?"

"Utility."

"I see. I can guess what you’re thinking. That’s not the same as using your power."

"No."

"No? Then what’s that?"

"I was wondering how you checked you powers. What you’re doing is different from how I checked mine."

"Different, but not wholly different."

"Why?"

"I was giving advice. Something you should know, if you’re thinking about trying to use your powers on people."

"If we’re talking about trying to check our powers, not actual magic, then I’m worried about using anything except the clairvoyant. I can step out of the chair, get a place in the car, and I’ll be able to see what’s around me."

"You can’t see what I see."

Because I’m a transitional case, with a magic trait that makes me a transitional case with a
======================================== SAMPLE 744 ========================================
Microsoft football coach Randy Carlyle spoke to the media after the Seattle Seahawks defeated the Detroit Lions, beating them, all in the spirit of Tom Brady and the trademark huddle. (Published Monday, Oct. 9, 2012)

Carlyle said he’d talked to each of the players who were out on the field, individually. There was surprise on some faces when he said he’d spoken to the media, then clarified, "I spoke to them the other night, and told them I could cut in and pass on words of wisdom, if they wanted it."

Sure enough, when it came down to it, just about every team had decided to bench Brady. Just because the defending champs were on the field for the moment, didn’t mean the players who had shunted him to the sidelines were backing down.

"What would you have done different?" he asked Brockton Bay’s own Malcolm Brogan.

"I would have stayed," Brogan said. "I would have done the same thing Tom [Bagshaw] has been doing for years. I would have stuck around and kept an eye out, hoping some players would swoop in and help. I would have used my power, I know I would have. I got sick of being a part of this pack quick, I knew it would mean being somewhere else, doing what others were doing and having people say goodbye. I decided I wouldn’t stay, so I joined the other guys. Cool, right? I joined the Pack. That’s what I had going for me. And though I’m not a team player at all, once you get that far, you kind of get accustomed making life harder on everyone else."

He could see the players get impatient. Tom, Brockton Bay’s resident doorman, was one. Evette, Tom’s little brother, was another. Malik, the biker, was another. Another Sakamoto. A woman in the group, too numerous to name, and he didn’t recognize her. She was aims, sky blue eyes, 20’s. She was another in the group, who preferred staying at the periphery of the scene to making any real effort on her part.

"Ikea out," the man on the phone said.

"What?"

The man on the phone spoke, his voice reassuring but quiet. "Her father wants me to bring her to you so she can be close to her sister. Tom can she sees her soon. I would let her do it."

"Tom? Sakamoto?"

"A private investigator. Look it up yourself. It’s not a great road to travel to get from this area to your town."

"It’s fine. Woman needs to make her own path."

"I… there’s a lot of flaws in that reasoning. Tom doesn’t know me well enough to put it that way. I did some investigation, and found her ex-lover. He will look over her house and family pictures when he gets his pictures back. If you aren’t totally cool with that, I can agree to meet her and talk on the phone."

"No way. You can’t leave her parents behind."

"I can show you my house, if you want. I don’t want to be a part of this."

"You don’t want to be a part of this? The worst kind of participation?" He was surprised at the sudden note of irony in the question.

"No. But I won’t be a part of this either. I can help out my teammates, I can serve as a liaison between the various teams, and I can even do something as a volunteer, like helping out with the shelters. But I’m not a part of this team, and I won’t be a part of the team after this. I get that. I appreciate your understanding."

"Okay."

"But if you don’t want to be a part of this, I can still make a difference with my power. I can find and fuse better monsters, I can find and tame more.-"

"My power doesn’t work if I can’t see," he said. "And my power isn’t any stronger than it was."

"Okay. But I can try. I can research better, I can try to achieve a similar result elsewhere. Let’s call that a yes."

"I’ll take the offer."

"Thank you. Tom, can you run?"

"I’ll try."

"And you? Tom?"

One of the boy heroes was near, approaching Tom and Alec.

Tom let
======================================== SAMPLE 747 ========================================
I frowned. For all his brashness and self-assurance, he was a very controlling presence, even over an unarmed convo.

"You want to fight."

"Fighting would be suicide," I said, "And you clearly don’t know my meaning."

"On the other hand, maybe you want to scare me off, erase me from existence if I don’t comply. Bitch, a dog is more frightening than ten thousand people."

I’d wondered about that myself.

"I could hurt each of those people, and you would still have to hurt each of those people before I gave in."

I nodded.

"Sensible, sensible you keep reading, considering the things you’d have to say. But fear is a diseased state, isn’t it? Raw fear. A churning of the biological churner, the hunger for life beyond the dog’s natural range dulling out the fear that’s sitting in your brain."

"Your dog’s fear is mind control."

"Diarrhea," she said, ducking low and moving as if she had to hide her fear of bone and frequent mastitis. "

I have a weakened immune system and a weakened brain that isn’t responding as well as I’d hoped.

"You’re afraid of me."

"Yes. But why? For the unknown? Because there’s a chance I’m a monster?"

"You’re hearing what you’re hearing, Taylor. Your fear and your doubts are serving to dull the fear, because they serve as a reminder that you’re alive."

"Are you remembering me?" I asked.

"I can’t remember. I’m really not that different from a lot of people. The only difference I have is that I’m alive and I’m doing something to make a difference in this world."

I noted how her hands were still on my shoulders. She’d put her arms around my shoulders. It reminded me of one of my earliest memories.

Being on my own in the underground base, being governed by a governor who didn’t want to give me my own place. I’d followed her to the Birdcage. I’d tried to make my way there and back again, but I’d never been able to leave the compound.

I couldn’t remember if I’d been persuaded to follow her into the complex. I didn’t want to get on her bad side.

"Let’s go home," I said, voice low. "I’m going to get us some food. I’m scared, but I think I’d feel a lot scarier if I stayed and talked to my dad."

"So you’re with me. Low and behold, you’re saying goodbye to yourself, and to me."

I didn’t respond, and a few seconds passed before I responded.

"Hey," she said, out of turn, "I’ll be counting down the days until I get my refund, so I can use the check over the phone to the bank account you set up. I guess it’s as simple as…"

She paused, glancing away. Then she looked at my dad.

"Maybe we should take another vacation?" she asked.

"I’m actually kind of looking forward to it. The sun’s going to be up, and I need to take a leak."





Crushed 24.2


Getting off the high street wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it would be. Due to the peculiar way that the streets were supposed to go in the dead of night, even the best intentions often fell short. On occasion, even the best of intentions succeeded in falling victim to the perils of urban living.

I’d purchased a souvenir, a life preserver and a number of bottles of water from a convenience store on my last visit. The store had been forced to close its doors for more than a year and a half due to the ongoing series of earthquakes and the potential threat of disaster, and had been forced to relocate several times. Near the end of that time, as the city’s fortunes began to turn around, they had opened a little storefront for me to check out.

The store had been struggling financially, and they’d started to stock the shelves with new merchandise. Records indicated that the store had been operating under a restrictive time limit, which had led to them having to restrict their hours to three consecutive hours a day, barring people from entering at
======================================== SAMPLE 750 ========================================
The glass flared. I could see a thrum before the wave hit, rhythmic, strong enough that it would likely submerge this apartment in it.

The surge of current was so strong that it could bend steel, join together to form vehicles that would lose traction on impact. Any submerged matter beneath the water would be saturated, just like the boards and part of the floor of the stairwell.

Eidolon whipped his head around to survey the scene. His clothes had been torn in half, his stomach slashed, but he still wore the yellow and black costume with the full moon emblem in white. The dull, black and yellow of his mask providing the only contrast to the colorful, shimmering light that streamed down around his head and shoulders.

His costume, he’d been told, contained a secret. A mild penalty for meddling in battle, and it was promptly done for the day, with no explanation given. As for the reason he was here, that was something that had more to do with his feelings than anything else.

A part of him wanted to scream, to make it out over the noise of it, that it could be something else entirely.

The noise of it was made by a woman.

She was long-lived, but she had begun to die.

A third of the crowd that was gathered beneath the doorway watched in turn, pausing as the woman made her way over the edge, slowly, surely, as if she could freeze in place as a kind of shockwave rolled past her.

Those few who remained looked away, as if they hadn’t listened.

-aagerrin



Golem used his power to draw diagrams in the air.

Relating individual objects and powers to a larger whole. This vast reservoir of power was his whole mind, his whole personality.

The mental picture became a stage, two people fighting in the distance. Somewhere in the midst of that violence, out of time, distance and general atmosphere, there lived a conquering hero.

He ‘brought’ the object of his mental imagery into the present, replaying the scene. The woman in yellow. Drawing a circle around her new creation, while making right angles across the pictures.

He paused it, lived it over again, iterations one and two.

Arawn redux.

That gave him the movers. The new Hero made his way to the stage.

He’s got reactive traits, like his younger self, but he’s also the creator, the grandpa. With a few more 'yes means yes’s, he can become a god. With a few more 'he means yes’s', he can become an ogre. With a few more curried, he can become a khazranut.

A child’s toys, a toddler’s games, a younger Child’s writing.

But more was happening at the edge of his vision. He could see Child 405 bending down and touching her cat.

A little taller, more robust. Strikes that broke the little girl’s ribs. A focal point for the pain.

Child 405, tapping her foot, searching. Not a fat who.

A man, muscular, white-haired, drinking.

A taloned hand, searching. One inside a cell.

And then there was the woman, the child, and then…

Sveta.

Sveta.

The scanner spun to life.

He ਘਰੀਹਾ ਸਗਾ ਜੀਰਨਿ ਸੋਰੀ ਕਾ ਖਿਆ,

ਜਿਆਨ ਮੋਐ,

ਗੋਕ,

ਕਾ,

ਕੋ,

Sveta.

The portal slid open.

Each and every one of the fates that had brought them to this point had been kind. Fortuna, Izanami, the others.

But there was a sad thought that fell within the entire span of unfolding scenes.

The hope that they could one day rise above this all had been dashed.

The motherfucker that created them had only taken a lesson from the worst kind of loss.

But there would be nothing simple about this. The schizophrenic possibility that they might one day break down and stop loving was something that could exist.

There was a clairvoyant who, with the assistance of her clairvoyance, was being groomed to the point that she could see the future of the universe.

A member of the Slaughterhouse Nine. Just the act of staring at them made him see
======================================== SAMPLE 753 ========================================
With Shoot the Moon held high, most anything would do. While Unstable made his power part-alien, part-Creature, the rest was still a mystery. What was the source of his power? What was the performance like? Why did he need to make himself as vulnerable as he did?

Screamer was a problem. Not the kind of power that could be exploited lightly. In fairness to her, the source of her power was a problem too. Unless one assumed that all threats were created equally, there was some pattern to their actions, some fundamental rule that they followed.

But the existence of a threat like the Slaughterhouse Nine before the group actually attacked Made my analysis more difficult. There was no pattern to their thought processes, no simple rule that they always followed, but there was a pattern. Once I knew the rule, I could preemptively control them.

If Killswitch was another case of Trickster using his terminal to plan out scenarios, and Iron Raptor coming up with the most effective tactic at the last second, then I could assume that there was some rule that they followed that always resulted in a higher number of casualties.

Insinuation was another frequent power of theirs. I couldn’t read their mind, but I was aware that they all seemed to be walking on the thin line between insanity and sanity.

I turned away from that particular discussion and looked at the rest of the group. The Travelers had one other member that I could get rid of with a head-shot, and another I was confident I could take down with a knife or gun if it came down to it. The remaining four were in a group that seemed to consist of themselves, Mindfuckers, Pagoda Crusaders and Fists of Steel.

"You’re not fighting," one of the Dragonslayers said.

"We’re only here to get revenge," Rachel answered.

"Get revenge," the leader of the Pagodas murmured.

The rest of the group turned their attention to the group. A gun was raised, but dropped when Purity shot it.

"You’re not gunning us, but-"

," one of the Dragonslayers said. "You’re making a very stupid observation. We’re in a group of people you can’t control, and you shoot one of them and you can’t be sure we won’t use your power to control someone else."

"It’s a mistake," Armsmaster spoke, "If I’m shooting people, then you attack us. We’re grouping together to stop you."

Grue launched a pool of darkness at Armsmaster. The darkness didn’t make a real barrier, but went straight through, binding the man to the building. Rachel took the opportunity to throw a handful of insects at Purity.

"Stop," she ordered. Without thinking about it, she spread her arms. Wolves and other small rodents that had been tormented by the Hatchet Face entered the cloud of darkness and broke the threads. It immediately began to unravel.

"Who are you, Skitter?" Armsmaster asked.

"Ignore the hat, I’m Skitter."

There was a sound of a piano keyboard, plucking the right notes. Purity began to sing, her voice high and strained:

⁄When the stars meet

They fall but he remains



Only two thirds through the line



⁄Don’t stop until I say it



The melody continued, and Purity joined the fray, using her voice and several bugs to speak the words, "Take him to my lab. I can’t hear with my own. The sound won’t come out unless I’m very particular. I’ll let you know the key the key needs to strike before you spray the foam in the right places. You’ll know the patterns."

Grue was engaging the enemy, throwing streams of darkness around his teammates. His dark beam had a timer, and was continuing to strike even after he’d used it. The enemy capes he was blasting with dark were only increasing in number, as did the debris that clung to them.

The rain was growing heavier, now. The clouds were expanding, and the downpour made the streets almost underwater.

"Grue!" I shouted. I ran toward my dad, literally and in body odor. I hauled on his arm, desperately hoping he’d give me some backup. I wasn’t so lucky. He went limp, and I very nearly fell over when the stream of darkness parted with the end of the rooftop.

I kept driving the weapon. I began by eliminating the clutter around the base of the building. I confined
======================================== SAMPLE 756 ========================================
So that’s one. I think that settles that. Two? Uh… Thorn."

Cody took a few seconds to process the idea. "Thorn? Why… why would you bring that up?"

"Because she’s so pro-GG. Because she’s busy dealing with the court case, and you were so terribly depressed you came looking for me?"

Cody nodded.

"And because I got grounded soon after, and I get asked to come in there to talk to you. If I don’t show up, you won’t get any more sleep, and all those orgies you had with that thieving gang of yours will seem like child’s play to you."

"You’re not making any sense."

"You’re a wimp, Krouse. You-"

"No, he’s not. He’s… he’s doing a good job. I… I think my mental state at the time was a mistake. I think maybe I was trying to emulate how he felt, maybe I was trying to do what he did and not think about what he’d be thinking. It’s a shame we can’t get a better place. The Wards are sort of a foreign culture unto themselves. I grew up here, but we can learn a lot from the Protectorate, they’re foreign to us. I can’t say he’s a bad leader, whatever your feelings, but he was asking for and demanding too much and getting disappointed. I’ve, I think, become more ready for the demands of this office."

"And?"

"And now I don’t feel so prepared. I feel most comfortable around Krouse."

"You feel like he doesn’t like you?"

"Yeah," Krouse said. He glanced at the kid lying on the ground. The one with the burned feet. "But he didn’t give me any reason to think he doesn’t like me."

"Even after all this, after all this time, he still doesn’t like you," Cody said.

"That’s more than enough," Krouse said. "I’m not about to make things complicated by dwelling on past regrets or unresolved issues. Arianna can handle herself when she’s in a mood like this. You’ve done a good job of helping her get over that hurdle, and I’m happy to let you off the hook there, too. If you want to heal X, I’m happy to arrange it."

"You’re too soft about it," Cody said.

"I’m a little soft about it, but yes. I suppose I’ll have to settle for being a little less than stellar," Krouse said, feeling uncomfortable. He made an effort to be better when they were doing the talking, and the old mentor was doing the talking.

"The Ancient and Hardy clan?" Cody asked.

"That’s where I’m going to die," Krouse said. "Monstrous as it sounds, some suffer from another disease, and they’re not even ever all there when it counts."

"How bad is it?"

"I could name more. I’d have to watch the list," Krouse said, "But the real shame is that I could put them in direct conflict with each other. It’s almost worse than it sounds, and I could die in the process."

"Chances are worse than they are," Jess said. "If you get slaughtered in this… vicious war against the Nine, your perceived dying will be something others pay attention to. It will shape what resources they have at their disposal, set the stage for the next attack. I’d almost call it a lottery, to pick the right time and place. The difference is that the world you choose to limit yourself to is likely to be a far worse world than the one you inhabit."

Krouse stared at the stag symbiosis. Not enough space, not a whole lot of surface to work with. He’d have to work with what he had.

"I can’t make any promises," he said, but he stressed the word ‘I’.

"Then what?"

"That I’ll get enough information and information is going to solve many problems," he said.

"You want to rule the world?"

"Yes."

"Then what?"

"To begin with, I want to be prepared to step forward and say who I am. That means I can’t be killed and it’s a bigger
======================================== SAMPLE 759 ========================================
RELEASE DATE : 20161206

Description

■

A mysterious black woman made her presence known, calling out in a foreign language. She didn’t approach, and there was no interaction between them.

"Bureaucrat." The voice sounded in English. A middle-aged woman. The woman with the strange voice was talking to the woman in a businesslike manner, asking questions.

"Can I assist you?" the woman said.

"I wanted to call you for a purpose unrelated to the recent events. I received a message on your personal email account, indicating that a highly classified project was underway at the White House. I have yet to receive a response to this, and the project, it was allegedly confidential, leading to a project my organization is assisting with."

"That’s not much of a project."

"It is. It is a project I initiated, with the intention of resolving the mess in the DistrictCauldron case."

"You can’t take credit for that."

"In an effort to sow doubt and distract from the project, I have partnered with the viking, and I’ve completed but a very limited demonstration of his powers. He is a willing participant, but he prefers I give him anonymity. He can earn a small favor, traveling from place to place, buying favors."

"Favors?" The woman asked. She gave the man a smirk. "You pay me, I become a full-fledged member of the team. You don’t get caught with your pants down, and I don’t call the paramedics to make sure you get the blame for whatever happens."

"Not in the end."

"The viking will entertain himself by trying to become a member of the Protectorate. He’ll earn a revolving stream of gifts, small but valuable, depending on his progress."

"So you’re saying we’re manipulating him?" the woman asked. She smiled. "I think we are. We manipulate people, plant doubts in them, and then we use that doubt to spy on them. Said person has to suffer enough, and then say something they’ll regret."

The viking nodded. "I suppose I’ll be lying to my wife, when I say I’m honest about this. It’s a beginning, quite honestly. I’m trying to earn trust and build up my clientele, in the hopes that one of us—"

"That won’t happen."

"It will happen. We’ll create trouble for ourselves, with the intention of getting the D.T.A. under our thumb, maybe, or at least making our way down that road less traveled."

"Which is it, exactly?"

The viking tilted her head to one side. "The reverse side of the coin. If the other half of the relationship is trouble for us, it’s because we naturally gravitate towards that kind of thing. We’ll take the hard, ugly road with the unpowered, and get our hands dirty trying to control the unpowered. Whether we succeed or not, it’s something we’re aware of, and aware that it’s something we’d need to learn to stop doing, with a sort of viciousness and desperation."

The viking’s eyes flickered to the panels on the computer. She glanced at Ms. Yamada in turn, as if searching for some sign of separation, but there was.

Only pain.

"So you won’t get along with the new people, because you don’t want to alienate them, and you don’t want to be straying from the group’s mold? Do you think you’ll get along with her?"

"No. I don’t think so. I left her because I had to, after the fiasco with Echidna. I wouldn’t have left her alone, but I- I had to support her and help her through it. Other things were more important."

The viking tilted her head to one side. "Then again, that’s not unexpected. I’ve been there, had that gut feeling. Some decisions, you have to wait and see what happens. I’m obligated. Can’t sit out here and watch the city burn, if it’s going to cause any real damage."

"You want a toe to plug into," Miss Militia said.

"I want a power that doesn’t cost anything," the viking said. "One that takes anything."

"The hell is?" Firer asked.

The woman tapped her finger to one side
======================================== SAMPLE 762 ========================================
At the same time, the other members of the Nine were present. Grue was on one side of a group of Siberian’s kind, firing endless needles at them from a vantage point close enough that I might have thought I could see their faces. Jack was on the other side, shooting endlessly at Grue and the rest of the group, occasionally missing by a fraction.

The Siberian was one of the creatures that had joined the Chinese Taiji in the previous tragedy, the breach of contract. She wasn’t highly mobile, but she moved quickly, ferociously. As a horde, they surged towards her, but she was armored head to toe in layers of soft, translucent tendrils that extended towards them and spat globes of vomit. The sheer force of the vomit and the tongues was enough to stagger them, pull them to one side, and to throw them to the ground. Some of the tendrils even managed to pull at the tendrils and exterior skin of the creatures that were spit out in the process. Even with a full moon and abundant rainfall, the city was quickly being afflicted with flooding .

A tendril of soft tendrils extended from Menja’s back. A small tendril from before lagged behind, only a fist or two long strides behind the advance toward the rear of the group. The rest of the tendril swarm advanced steadily, not making contact with the ones that were already in progress.

"Bastard!" Sundancer shouted, "Bastard!"

Bentley retched, claws rubbing against the ground, a mercy shot from Kid Win’s arbalest cleaved in half. Beyond the wonderstruck and a half-dozen heroes on the field, there was barely any reaction. People disappeared from the faces of the standing ovation, and the cheering swelled.

A loose cluster of Siberian’s kind nestled in a cloud of what looked like snails or maggots. At first, I suspected they were the scavenging creatures from the walls, but as the group took a roughly linear route through the mass of creatures, depositing each individual creature in a different area, I realized it was more like regular maggots. Crawlers, it seemed.

"Most of you, excepting of course Kid Win," Legend said, sounding almost casual, "You’re new. We’re wanting to pick the best from among you. If you’re willing to take one for the team, I can let you carry cases."

"You’re offering candy?" Alice asked him.

"I’m offering candy for a good reason," he said, just a little belatedly.

"I’d kill for candy," Regent complained.

"There’s only a small amount of cases left," Legend said. "I could fill them all."

"I’m offering three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Legend," Teacher said. "Space for one thousand people, and to be in good nick. There’s also accommodations, a hotel and kitchens for the families."

"That’s only if we get past them," Legend said.

"They’re a greedy bunch," Regent said. "Bigger than Britain is used to be."

"I’m paraphrasing," Legend said, "But they’re still people. They haven’t forgotten about the money just yet. Candy, feverish love, sex, adventure… it could be the end of the world if they don’t get it."

There were sounds of agreement from around the courtroom.

"Does it have to be a loving embrace?" one concerned bystander asked.

"Don’t hate me for saying that," Teacher said. "I said it beforehand and I’ll say it again."

"I’m not questioning your motives," the Chief Justice said, "I’m wondering why you came to the court."

"My motives were still good, even if some of the other candidates were present, before I decided to enter the picture."

"Your old student was a supervillain, before you came to the court. You can’t help but feel that you’d rather err on the side of caution and tell the truth?"

"If you mean the opposite, then sure. But I did tell the truth, and the courtroom burst into applause," Teacher said.

"What’s the other unusual thing about your confession?"

"It was given on video. Can’t negotiate with camera crews."

"This is a form of confession?" Teacher asked. "Or videotaping, maybe?"

"It’s kind of basic, but I have to confess I have a confession to make.
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The girl stared around the room at the ground, and then turned her attention to the floor, burying her face in the sand.

Again, that irrepressible curiosity, the curiosity that everyone else had about her.

The Doctor called out from directly behind her, "Quiet. Orange flame!"

She stood, gulping in a breath of air, and hissed as he lit the flame on his palm.

"It’s quenched!"

She looked around, blinked twice in a row.

Burnscar was perched on the chest of a nearby building. A woman, orange in hue, her hair white, her clothes black, Isa of the Orange Group.

"I can’t make her disappear!"

"I’m doing my part! I’m working on ’em!"

 Isa raised her voice, "Do it! It’s not just going to sit there!"

"I know it’s not!"

Blank slate.

The computer was noisy with the response codes and loading the images. With the steady refresh of the video, the patterns and details in the shadows remained, even as the view shifted to a new shot each time.

Burnscar turned, raised her voice, "That’s more credits to me than I have right now! Which means we’re going to do this right!"

*Cough*

End of video.

"Cough up!"

Burnscar activated the containment foam sprayer and lit the spray directly on her belt.

<End of Quotation>

Which was probably why the hero didn’t want to give her that. Either as a joke, or because she had a power that would make it harder to justify the purchase of the expensive bottles of pepper spray.

<Cough>

The containment foam sprue stuttered to a stop. Burnscar tapped her hand against the screen, as if testing it.

It was a police officer, on the other side of the megaphone. She began speaking, in an accent that was accented, not by the region of her face, but by the tone of her voice. Requests, to watch the audience, small talk, diets, the cleaning up of the mess from the previous night.

It was rare for someone to survive more than one episode of the seemingly endless series of crises that erupted across America on the day the first world primary started. It was even more rare for them to do it without any apparent power to control the air they breathed, or the flame that spilled from their skin or ears.

Burnscar turned, grabbed the megaphone from the hands of the police officer, and challenged the officer, "Has she seen one of you fuggin’ kids? I grant her that she would see the fritz if she saw one of you. Ok, we’re short, we’re average, we’re smart, but we’re no shhit brown bag–"

The megaphone crackled with static until Burnscar stopped it. She looked at the phone in her hand, then at the police officer, "I know who you are. I know where you’re staying. I know what you’re willing to pay for access to your private life. I’m also willing to pay you a fair amount, to allow you to search my computer hard drives for files, and pay you to gain access to any company’s servers that hold this data. Ok, I’ll even give you my personal information, so you cannsics style dig through my data to find information you need. Namely, how you handle yourself around the rest of us here on a day to day basis. I personally find it very interesting that you’re being so civil about it, but you don’t seem to have any worries about me."

The police officer frowned and touched his pistol, although he didn’t point it at anyone.

"Fine," Burnscar said. She flashed Burnscar a smile. "I’ll touch base with the others. For now, I’m going to lick your asses while you give me that cop out about needing your information."

The police officer glanced at Burnscar again, and then looked back at the phone and the bulging backpack. "Sir?"

"Cash."

The police officer handed over the wallet.

"What the hell are you doing?" Koffi gasped. He was still behind Koffi. The bulge in his pants pocket was larger than Koffi’s entire body.

"I was going to call Othala," the bulge in his pants stopped growing and began receding, until it was a mere ridge of hard muscle.
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Debate any of that. None of it makes any sense, and I’ve made a lot of stupid mistakes in the course of dealing with the local supervillains. I’m not trying to argue that I think Weaver would be a good leader. I think we could make a lot of progress if we left that up to the veterans. I’m just saying the process is fucked if we leave it to the veterans."

"Right. That’s what I thought. But I’m willing to admit there’s a flaw in that model. There’s going to be a point where the ex-villains start to drift towards democracy, towards the system. Where the heroes become too powerful. We can’t keep courting the villains forever."

"Exactly what I’m worried about," Coil said.

"You won’t like this," Sabah said. "But it’s doable. I’m-ambitious, and I do want to change things. The present structure, it’s definitely unsustainable. We need to get back to the old ways."

"You’re proposing we reinstate the Original Sin system," I said.

"Pretty much. I don’t want to do that, though, because it means scrapping the group."

I rolled my eyes.

"You’re not proposing scrapping the group?" Hero asked.

Coil replied, "There’s a lot of anger and frustration in the city over how the heroes treated the villains and the defeat they suffered at the hands of the Nine. I expect there’ll be some who’re resentful, who’re scared, and so on. They’re not without reason. I’m not addressing those concerns. Rather, I’m wanting to ensure we’re operating in a manner that avoids harming the local capes or the players in the Parahumans Unconscious. Reverting to the old ways will only hurt the players and undeserving players who got ripped off. We’ll also have less conflict, since we’ll be able to ensure everyone adheres to the same code of conduct, players and officials."

"Sounds like a good idea," Sabah said.

"Yes," Coil said.

"Sounds," I agreed.

In another world, Gallant might have laughed, flicked a lighter and pointed at a lightbulb. He and Hero were on the other side of the room, looking in the direction of the large television. On the screen were the Nine in a one-on-one match, footage of their interactions with the Ward’s offspring left on long ago. Hero giving orders, lunging for the Heavy without hesitation or emotion, giving orders without taking action.

In the distance, the Nine were dealt with, pulled off their feet and carted off into the clouds.

In this world, though, the match remained in progress. The TV was on, the television set was flickering with images of the various events over the past minute or two, reports on the situation with the boy’s state in the nursery, the argument with Hero, the recent fighting. A static was flashing here and there, indicating some connection to the antenna. Family emergencies. A static was flashing in the other direction, away from the nursery, the same direction that the storm was traveling.

The nursery was empty. The only children there were Siberian and Stinger, still in their strollers, actively rooting through the rubble for anything they could use.

"So," Sabah said, "You’re not packing much, anyways."

"Not much," I said. "I’ve been concealing bugs from Siberian and her new master. It’s like magnet, like a jade ring. She’ll attack Madison if she opens her mouth."

"That’s not much," Sabah said. "Twenty bugs?"

"Not much," I said. "I think the miasma’s limited to using it to scare the Wards, and that’s why there’s less stings and more directed attacks. The rest of us are more defensive, and the black widow’s defensive power means she can’t soak hits like that."

"So you’re not doing anything different?"

"Not much. If you don’t attack us, you can’t kill me. There’s practically nobody in this city that’s going to touch me unless I’m injured and there’s a good chance they could take me out with a single bite."

"There’s bound to be a way around that," Sanguine said.
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A shocking discovery at an aging woman’s funeral. Aged seventy-two, her headstone read, ‘Uncle Ted’. A mysterious man, cloaked in a white robe. A heavy bag.

Nicholas speculates that the man was a body double, living inside the man. He lost touch with his uncle, and his uncle passed on to another, until the man died and he inherited the estate. Strange, to think that way. The white robe and bag were Tibetan catkins, a style of art that China had a heavy hand in defining. Was the double hiding a Buddhist meditation?

The Chinese translators at the graveside were all dead. Their deaths were cause for celebration in and of themselves, their passing as part of the edicts and regulations of the Collective.

The man who had given the instructions for the ritual had been caught, cast out to the wilds of Tibet. Discarded like surplus food after a great leap of progress, only to be found, fished out and cared for by the masters. A quaint notion on the surface, but in practice, it meant that whatever was occurring at the graveside, it was an event with tragic implications.

For weeks, it had been her wish, and his labor in the main. To have a conversation, to offer some insight into this town he knew little about.

She had watched from the sidelines, content to leave him to his own devices. She had no part in his being cast out, nor in the incident at the cemetery. He was too well adjusted, too sane.

Now that the matter was resolved, his daughter wished she could join him in the official ceremony. She had been set back by circumstances. She understood that.

But the ceremony itself was a journey. To unravel the mystery of what had happened to her father, to unravel the xiongnu and their creator, it was a journey she had led. It was a journey she had traveled on her recent errand to repay the favor she had shown him, and it was a journey she would continue on as long as she lived.

She reached the statue and stripped it down to the metal frame. The placement, the execution, it was far from her plan. It was her father that was the big problem.

Her father had been a weak man, a broken man. A playing field on which others struggled, a man waging a never-ending war against the tyrannical, the oppressive, the vainglorious. Their house had been on the other side of the ocean, and they had waited anxiously for the tyrannical to claim their family as his, exploit them.

It had been a game of two halves, a juggling act between self-preservation and protecting the others.

Her father, it was the feeling from her gut that told her that her father was doing everything in his power to protect her. She could see him, milking the ego from the pathetic thing he had been before. He would stay at the Nine’s beck and call, taking anything they gave him.

As much as she could tell, given what she had seen, guesswork and educated guesswork had failed to provide a satisfactory answer. To actually lay a finger on the culprit, she had relied on the ego. It was a narcotic, a game changer, and she had to be ready to move on to figuring out how to stop it.

Until her search for the root of the mystery was frustrated by a feeling. Something she was supposed to keep private.

A feeling that had settled in her gut over the course of the day, accumulating in her mind, then swept over her as if it were slow motion, like the movement of a thread in a circus.

The feeling was with Charlotte. She’d sensed it, had felt it at the very core of her being, as Charlottetto stood before her. As something had lodged in the center of her, motivating her to act, calling her to her.

And now she was supposed to mourn with him.

As Charlottetto moved through the end of the city, catching people off guard, she was stepping on more now. Was driving into the Docks the same as taking the long way across the city?

She was ready.

She went through the rubble at the edge of the roof. She stepped on a few bugs to feel out for victims. Nothing. She checked over her left shoulder, and saw Weld standing by the unconscious Girl Scout. He’d changed him in a heartbeat.

Then he replaced the finger.

She moved through the wreck of the building. Much of it was gone, reduced to blood and corpses. Much of it was in working order, save for a section of wall that had recently been pulverized.

But she stopped at the unfinished high rise they stood on.


======================================== SAMPLE 774 ========================================
Nero, of course, hadn’t learned the kanji for ‘gi’.

"Yes, sir," the soldier spoke. "Can you stop cutting?"

"Yes, sir," the woman answered.

The man handed over the money. "Be comfortable, have a seat."

Nero glared at the woman, then took the offered stool and sat.

"A common theme across all of your work, is that of disloyalty," the woman said. "If you leave this group, you become indistinguishable from your former self."

Nero met her eyes.

"In truth," the woman said, "You’ll have all of the markings of a mind that has, shall we say? Forgotten where it is?"

"Muted," the man answered. "Muted, as it were, tuned out the noise, so to speak, so they won’t be able to use their power to eavesdropper."

"Corrects," the woman said. "With proper training and diet, a subject can achieve that which they were lacking. You’ll know what that is, sir Gray Boy."

"Yes," Gray Boy said.

The man was still seated, but the power he was using to make the chairs conform to his will was disrupting the flow of the conversation.

Nero spoke, "I am withholding my services for the moment."

"For shame?"

"For shame. I will be defending my actions in the future, and I will fight you for them."

"Good."

Nero raised a hand in the air, as if to shut it all out.

"I am but a servant. I will lead the defenders of this city," Gray Boy said. "I will be serving you until you are done."

"Shall we?" Nilbog asked.

"Do not test my patience. I will not let you disappoint me."

"And I will be waiting for you at the gates," Gray Boy said.

"Good."

Nilbog accepted the offered token and joined the group.

With the token as a shield, they didn’t have a place to stand. They had to hold on to her, or they’d fall and be stuck.

If they weren’t careful, they could have fell.

Nilbog was a new group. New Members were required to watch over these guys. They could mobilize at a moment’s notice, but that meant watching their backs, a heightened sense of security.

But where was Parian?

There was a man who provided the music. Not music, but a constant, steady rhythm, slow and steady. A piano, or an organ, or a string quartet, at steady rates. At key points in the song, the man stretched: one area of the song, his arm extended, then the arm folded, then his sleeve or shoulder exposed. With the rhythm, it was almost jarring, causing the crowd to vibrate with nervous energy.

No less than five times in as many minutes, the man had stopped the music. With the crowd reacting like students might with a teacher interrupted in class, the man shifted the point of view outside of the classroom.

He seemed to realize he was disrupting the rhythms and was trying to reorient the crowd, so he paced back, swerving back to keep the circles from dancing in circles and promptly falling to the ground.

"My mistake," Gray Boy said. He was oblivious to his own mortality, but it was the closest he’d come to admitting it to anyone.

"Anyone else notice how the circles keep dancing?" Jack asked. "Vogue the Harmonious, rounding off her group."

"Yeah," Nilbog said. "That’s our group."

"Vogue the harmonious," Jack said, but his eyes were on the circle.

Nilbog rubbed his chin. "Yeah. See, we’ve got that down pat. See, we were thinking of you guys as the kind of people who were really good at pretending they were happy, but you turned out to be less than that."

"I’ve accomplished that," Jack said. "Perhaps now we can play along, pretend we’re happy, while pretending the Harmonious keep their word and don’t step over the line."

"No," Nilbog said. "You can’t."

"I have a daughter," Jack said, oblivious. "Playing it safe and being all serious while being fun and silly?"

"We’ll do whatever we have to, yeah," Nilbog said.

"I can’t get over the fact that
======================================== SAMPLE 777 ========================================
Open Letter 9/25/17, Page A, Column E Please accept my apology for the inconvenience this message may cause. I have acted in haste and placed your order for weapons and gear as soon as I realized what you were intending to do with the letter. I really hoped that you and your girlfriend could form a bond like the ones I’ve noticed with my own child. I don’t think either of you will be leaving peacefully anytime soon. ‘_<

‘I’m harmless until I’m larger than you can possibly get away. There’s some nasty people out there, and I’m one of them. If you’re inclined towards worse, I can try explaining. I’m dangerous.



<Blockbuster has gained a cult following with princess and villain alike. They protect stuff, but they don’t protect people. Look at the pictures below. These monsters walk free, using someone’s DNA to modify themselves further. What practices do you hold in common? Who did Tattletale mutilate? Why is she white, why isn’t she black, and why isn’t she Arab? If you’re interested, I could arrange DNA testing. Can you imagine the kind of sick, twisted experiments I could pull? How about experiments to add memories to Perdition, to make him someone he is not?"

Blockbuster reached up to block the others from looking, mutilating their faces with slashes. He talked as though he were hard to hurt, "The experiments on my part always seemed a little too safe. I’m a little extra paranoid here, but maybe a bit of microwave radiation can’t hurt? I might be a little crazy, but I’m not useless. Let’s see… the gene therapy project? Pretty low risk, but don’t we all? The whole reason I was willing to part with all that stuff and cough up the money for the cell and its rune is because I know the space opera game the heroes are playing. I know the technology they’re going to try to use. Aviation, space colonies, steampunk technology…"

"Steampunk," Blockbuster said.

"Yep."

"And the art?"

"Anything fantasy. I’m mapping it out, getting a sense of finances, justice, traps, diplomacy, and a whole mess of other stuff. It’s all predicated around a concept I don’t even know. It’ll be something I default to when I think about art and aesthetics."

"A shame there’s no flowers on the Altar," Shame admitted.

"Flowers mean family, nature, and peace of mind. They’re also antimicrobial and stain like quicksand, which is both good and bad in my book."

Shame snapped back to reality, "I’m not so sure it’ll be so good. The leaves are pink and blossom in July, and I’m worried the pink will turn black in colorate. Also, I worry that snapping our heads after we walk around the Altar and enter the building with the vials of blood will remind the landlord it’s OK to hurt his animals."

"You’re doing this to make me feel better?"

"I’m doing it in a spirit of providing what you’re feeling, sorry. I could maybe give you that feeling by going along with your idleness, but I don’t think there’s any way you’ll be moving any of us anywhere. What you’re doing is idleness with a purpose, it’s drudgery, like lawn-balling or not working up enough courage to go out in the rain. I don’t like either of those things, but I can live with neither."

"But from your emails and phone conversations, I get the impression you’re not happy working for Coil. You weren’t just there, you’re also concerned, even angry. Are you being forced to, in order to maintain the peace and keep the loyal between you and your teammates?"

"The emails and phone conversations speak for themselves. I’m not really caring, except maybe for the spike or two where the meat’s missing. In the news, I’m not supposed to talk about front page stories, but I was about to leak that you were planning to release a new supervillain, and Coil said the new villain would be bad for the state of the city. I mentioned it to him, and he was fine with it. Don’t know why, I didn’t mention it, but he liked it."

"Not exactly the best
======================================== SAMPLE 780 ========================================
No left turn necessary.

Regent and I climbed down from the back of the truck. It was slow going, climbing up the back of the truck while carrying a heavy looking fellow with a concussion. We traversed the back streets a few times to ensure we made it to the right spot before getting stuck. It was awkward, going around the wrong corner like that, leaving yourself open to Shadow Stalker’s attacks while chasing us.

We finally made it to the bridge, and as we headed up the ramp to climb up to the roof, Regent let go of my hand and hopped up onto the railing. We were just visible enough to see down to the bridge below.

A wave grazed us, and we followed it with one of Shadow Stalker’s flashes. We were pelted with that daemong that had made Shadow Stalker’s dust explode, turning the sand and debris into steam.

The heat of the fireball caught us from the exterior to the interior of thebridge in a heartbeat. Even with the flash to catch us out of position, we pelted Regent and Imp with more sparks than we could have ever imagined an atom bomb could produce.

We stopped. Bracing the back of the truck against the bridge, our heads down, we inches between us, I tried to sleep that off.





Agitation 3.3


Grue had spent the better part of the morning typing on his computer, coordinating his army. Bardiche and Shadow Stalker had more or less sat at the monitors since they were teleported down to the operating tables, respectively, and were now doing much the same with the computer screens. Not understanding a word I was saying, an order was given, and the various screens lit up. The various heroes were shown on the computer screens, as they reported the latest information.

In a manner of speaking, the Bastard, Imago, the Ark and the other more mobile models were out on patrols, and we were being debriefed. The Brockton Bay Wards were on heightened security at the headquarters, and all were carrying out their duties, getting ready to report to action or passing on information. While Kismet and Major dealt with the reporting, I diffused the vapors over the area, creating the illusion of ambient light. By disorientation and the color pink, I combined the effect of the vapor with the light that would be blocked by the darkness created.

I put a condensed variation of this effect on every face in the city, surrounding the Wards with the pink fog. It was subtle, but I got the sense that enough people were paying attention to note the stuff, or at least notice the weird light show. I played my part in reinforcing the effect, shining a few red lasers down on the Wards to distract them and give me a hand in fighting the bugs.

Not that it mattered. Imago had emerged from the river, now flanked by the two members of the Triumvirate. He would soon be giving orders to the Chicago Wards. I put the finishing touches on my swarms, arranging them in a rough semisolid formation, and launched them into the fray.

I maintained the distance between us, not wanting to give the Chicago wards any reason to think I was invulnerable. Topping it off, I changed the target of my bug-killing attack.

Imago’s tail entered the fray, and the bugs started dying as they really screamed.

A flying villain with a giant bug on his shoulder ran my way. I was aware of bugs getting on him, biting and stinging, and that horrible squeak that comes from their nervous systems as they desperately try to avoid being attacked. I played it by thinking of how I’d just had bugs land on my armor, interrupting my control over the weapons I was wielding. He tried to squeeze my costume, and I used my power to create a forcefield bubble to protect him. He went down, and a portion of the bubble protected his head and torso as he crashed to the ground.

It also created a short wave of it, prolonging its existence and putting it off, slowing its forward momentum.

I took advantage of this final, fresh wave of bugs to try to catch or drive them away. I caught a mass of them with the swarm-microscope. True to form, most bugs died or were destroyed in seconds once the wave reached critical distance.

But I was aggresive in other ways. I could sense things growth, the life forms around me. I could see the changes in the air as the microgravity wore on them, the lifeforms evolving, swelling. The macroscopic changes, the scales evolving, continuing to grow even in the depths of the floor or just below the surface, reaching arm’s length and nearly to the very bottom of the chamber. When they were almost
======================================== SAMPLE 783 ========================================
tuck his chin back down so his hair could fall down around the wire of the leash. I really didn’t want him thinking about being left stranded here.

I deployed the bugs, quickly and easily enough that he would have been more annoyed than surprised when they started moving, but it nonetheless served to point to the location of my next target. I drew out words with the bugs: ‘Target A’.

He would have noticed the subtle distinction. I’d set the bugs to each make the target out loud, then gave them the ability to look at the world in three dimensions.

They’d alerted me to the existence of a third target, just as I had with the existence of the two teammates. I gave the order for the attack.

It didn’t do any good. The humans were in a state where they were desperately trying to maintain some degree of organization. The very concept of going to the bathroom was difficult for them, as there were so many ways food could get to be full. Mail slot deflated against body parts to drip with fluid as they pooed, down pouches and into cups, where it pooled. Even going without paper was difficult, as even the simplest movements could easily take a minute or two to correct. Even brushing one’s teeth took considerable willpower, as some reflexes were thrown off.

But when they started using their hands to wash their hands, I could almost believe it. They were efficient, and it was perhaps the most beautiful grace I had seen this morning.

A whole race, efficient and perfect.

Target A was a warrior class, perfect shape. He’d been made to wade through mud, fought in thick waves that threw sand in their faces. He’d had good days and bad, but they’d always been a little stronger, too. There was rarely a day that passed where he wasn’t better than the rest.

Cyclone, Tattletale, Assault and Glory Girl were members of the defending force. Perfectly trim, perfectly proportioned. They weren’t wearing any armor, but their heavy bodies and bulky physiques wouldn’t afford them anything to avoid taking a hit from a bullet in the right place. Their costumes were something of a hybrid between flame and electricity haze, complete with fire effects painted on the fabric and tank tops, skirt and leggings, and dyes that had been turned to blend in with the flames that were lashing around them. It made them absolutely invisible as they left their encampment to rejoin the fray.

The bugs I had on Crick controlled the severity of his burns. They weren’t quite so intense when he was new to the role, but he could still hurt a naked man if he was lucky enough. Hell, I’d burned him before.

Brian had probably given the speech at some point along the lines of ‘Be fruitful and multiply’. As the words passed, more than a few people in the crowd paid attention.

Brian had probably been one of the speakers who had opted out of taking on the speech, because he’d said something to me that I hadn’t heard.

"Everyone do me a favor?" he’d said. I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Take a second, look around. Maybe try looking at the way things are going. It might help you to realize that things aren’t pretty, and that there’s a lot of bad people walking around. Look for them and help stop them."

I looked, but I couldn’t see, and I didn’t know which direction was north, so I had to lean against the wall to get a sense of the scene.

Armsmaster had carried the ambulance through the end of the mall. It stood empty on the other side, a white triangle with a white square inside drawing on the outside.

"Sorry," I said.

"Not yours, by the way. I assumed."

I didn’t voice any complaint.

Trickster, Sundancer and Genesis were among the last to exit the ambulance. Genesis looked distinctly unhappy.

"They won’t take me," I said.

"Didn’t look like much," Trickster replied.

"They’re going to turn your father against you, huh?"

He didn’t voice a response.

"Maybe they will. Don’t stress about it. You’ll get through this."

"Have you lost your mind?" Trickster asked. " "This wheelchair? Our progress?"

"It’s not important," I said, looking at the others. "This is important. Is this solution to our problem going to the people
======================================== SAMPLE 786 ========================================
I don’t think it is going to be fast. For one thing, I don’t think we have the time. Two, I don’t think we’ll be able to take all of them on. For another, I don’t know that any of us have the experience in fighting Leviathan."

"You saw the Endbringer fight," I said.

"I did. We’re used to it. He’s a new one, after all. When we faced the Endbringers, we weren’t just fighting, we were hurling fire and lightning. One stray attack could have wiped us out. We’ve got only a few hundred soldiers, and even if we wanted to abandon the area, I don’t think we can abandon it when it’s like that."

"We’re losing," I said.

"I’d like to think we’re making headway. But as much as we’re down to the last man and the last woman, there’s hundreds of thousands of people suffering in this city every single day, and the ones who see the worst suffer the most. When we do try to pull something off, it’ll be to our advantage, but there’s no way you’ll accept that if it’s a losing fight."

I frowned. "What’s wrong?"

"Weaver," Coil said.

I turned to him. "I need clarification, already."

"Splitting up," he said. "We’re limited in areas we can protect. I can’t jump to a place and make a quick getaway. Too much heat to take off, and I can’t be sure of a good place to hide until things have cooled off."

"I’m… I’ll play it safe. My Achilles heel was doing the same thing in second place, second grade."

A skidded recording of a girl singing brought him back to his point. "I’m sorry. I’ve since removed myself from the leader’s circle. I was just… I mean, I’ll stay in touch, I’ll see you when you’re not working, but I’ll avoid that, and I’ll prioritize other things."

"Oh," I said. I wasn’t sure how else to respond.

He went on, "In the meantime, the council has agreed to look into the matter. They’ll look into it, and if they’re inclined to do so, we can arrange some token help."

He sounded just a little weary. I interjected, "I think that’s a very reasonable suggestion."

"It’s not a token help," Weld said. "The full extent of what’s going on is still well hidden from view, and there’s no good way to convey the image they want us to hold onto."

"Yes," Coil said. "I know the full extent of what’s going on. I’m not eager to pass any of that on, especially not to anyone’s eyes."

Weld frowned. "I’m not willing to set more restrictions on you, especially not to anyone’s eyes."

"You’ll have to understand why I’d ask you to spare my sight. I don’t want to be left blind at the end of this."

"You wouldn’t," Weld said.

There was a pause.

"If there’s a right answer in there, then I won’t ask any questions. I won’t say anything for the sake of saying it. If there’s a way to make this work, I’ll offer it. But you can’t refuse."

"You can’t make promises," Weld said.

"I can. But I’ll make it clear in no uncertain terms that this isn’t working and I’ll insist that you change things. You won’t say anything until you’ve addressed that particular point."

"And in the meantime, you have a very good reason to hurt me and other people if you go getting that weapon."

"That’s not what I’m doing," I said. "I’m checking if we have loopholes, like we did with my disappearing tweet. It’s really that simple."

The Director ignored me. "I’ll be leaving you with Tattletale, to ensure you have all the information you need. I do have a sid
======================================== SAMPLE 789 ========================================
Before I realized what I was looking at, the Nega-monster was charging the heroes. The biggest, most monstrous of the local powers.

This was one of them.

A twister of electricity, wide, and dull, carrying chunks of pavement everywhere it went. Books were ruined, windows smashed, the building almost vertical.

I jumped as the twister made contact with my costume. I kicked to slow its spread, but it was too little, too late.

The Endbringer was already free to leap towards us. I caught Oni Lee, who was running along the rooftop, and sent Dauntless flying in the other direction.

The Endbringer stopped, the electricity continuing nowhere it should have gone.

Then it shifted gears. It flew to the roof, its feet only a foot from the nearest available surface, and began working on the pavement.

Its feet were only a few feet from the roof, but it was digging into it. It wasn’t making headway.

Skidmark was inside the building, carrying Oni Lee. He was pulling himself along, but he had his hands full with Oni Leh. The bug girl followed behind, moving just fast enough that he wouldn’t be able to follow his movements.

I sent Dauntless flying into Oni Lee’s face. The boy was pulverized, burnt, his ear and the surrounding area of his temple being altered by the heat of the flames. The way he moved, the vibration, it seemed like it was happening even as the attack continued. He thrashed, trying to get away, and I could see the smoke beginning to stream out of his mouth and eyes.

The attack was getting closer.

"Where is he!?" I shouted, my words caught by the bugs on the rooftop.

Nobody answered. There was only the sound of the storm of metal doors as they swung shut.

I flew down to the ground, and could see only smoke, fire and plumes of smoke, now. Could barely make out the individual doors.

One of the capes on the rooftop was starting to get the busier looking through the smoke, figuring out which one had what he needed. I circled around, moving towards the Endbringer himself.

He was turning a point where he’d been pulverized, and I could see him doing it again. The scythe-like blade that extended from his shoulder was longer than any of the blades I’d ever seen. The way it moved, it was like he’d moved into a fighting stance.

But he was moving out of the way of more incoming attacks. Was he conserving his strength?

I kept my eyes on the situation. The dog Protectorate, their leader, with her conjured up strength, their pyrokinesis, their teleportation power. She’d taken on the toughest of the Endbringers in one fell attempt.

…And the Endbringer she’d taken on was dead. For good. He’d gone down fighting, even as he was turning into a monstrosity. A point in the record books.

It was starting.

There was only one person who didn’t seem to be focused on the fight anymore. The person who had been with us the longest, he was turning a point in the fight into a heap of dust, taking cover. He wasn’t going to attack, but he was going to pat his dead teammate´s head and hope the sun rose.

And there was nothing to be done. The Endbringers were gone, forevermore. Not killing them, not even reducing their power to a manageable level.

I broke into a run, myself, but I wasn’t a hundred percent. I felt drained, hollow. I could tell where my opponent was, how dense he was, but he wasn’t a problem for me.

Whoever my opponent was, they weren’t my to fight. I should have been able to guess, judging by the fact that I’d been watching them, but I hadn’t. I wasn’t privy to any information about them that I hadn’t already learned from my bugs.

I needed to move on. I could see movements in their breathing, estimations on how much damage each of the three were capable of doing. There was no such thing as smart tactics, but there were some obvious things you could do if you were feeling ambitious. You could do something like throw yourself into a hail of glass shards to distract, if you wanted to be purely passive and wait for your teammates to make the first move.

You could. You saw how each of them moved, the angles they had to their steps, and you knew that a single throw of glass would
======================================== SAMPLE 792 ========================================
Taylor had built herself a fortress, a shantytown, in a neighborhood already destroyed by gentrification. It was a place she and her mother had made their home, storing her clothes and bedding there. The neighborhood had been undergoing a radical transformation, with new high rises and office buildings forming a large part of the skyline. In time, it would also include a new high school, a cinema and a spa.

Even before Leviathan destroyed much of the city, Taylor had begun looking to that future for inspiration. Creating her ideal society, right here, right now.

Unfortunately, as much as she tried, she couldn’t erase the mistakes Leviathan had made. There were social consequences, economic ones, even spiritual. Taylor would continue to be responsible, for the damage she’d done. She would rebuild from her past actions, not intend to destroy.

This present situation required Taylor to make difficult choices. Sacrificing the welfare of a dozen people for the sake of protecting one man from the wrath of God, or the welfare of a hundred people for the sake of protecting a hundred others. Taylor had no codename or title she could call herself upon, no identity she could maintain when everything came down to the wire.

It was a shame, a burden she was ashamed she wasn’t able to shed.

She made her way downstairs, opening the door next to her.

Stupid to think like this. Taylor.

She met Taylor’s eyes. The girl was standing on the other side of the door, staring down at the ground.

"What?" Taylor asked.

You didn’t make any sense, she responded.

You’re so blind.

You’re a psychopath, Taylor. You’re so ill informed.

You need to be in charge, not me.

"Dad. You’re okay?"

"Hm?"

Not me.

"I’m hurt. I- I can’t move."

"You can. You were under attack. You played safe."

"I didn’t. I was scared. I had to escape and convince my mom I wasn’t going to do it again."

"Didn’t matter. You made your choice and you stayed."

"And you fell. You fell hard."

"I survived."

Taylor could see the pain in her father’s eyes, felt him stiffen in recognition.

"You need to move. Don’t make me wait any longer."

"But-"

She was cut off as her father pulled open the door.

Everything was laid out on the bed, with whom she identified with relish. Perfectly coiled, as if springing to life with a whimper. She could have sworn she saw a pit or a murky liquid surging forth from deep inside the egg. Her father pulled the egg out, shut it on the kitchen counter, muttered something I couldn’t make out.

"If I don’t come right now," her father said, "Your daughter will be ruined, and there will be days like the one ago. You will wonder what happened to your daughter, and you will wonder if she can come after you. If she comes after you, the details will become public knowledge, and it will affect us both. We will lose our jobs, we will lose our reputations, and we will most likely disappear from the face of the planet. If that is what it takes to make us stop, if that is the cost of having a daughter, then we will carry that out."

Taylor turned to leave, then stopped in her tracks.

"They will come after you. There will be witnesses, and there will be agents. Men and women who will come to me, offering testimony about your daughter. Some will state outright that they are working for the PRT because they have already seen fit to make this into a full fledged career. It is their way or the highway. Either they are liars, cowards, broken people, and Taylor’s her father, in that last case, or they are working for her, and she is working for us. Some will tell you she is helping them and she is helping herself, and that is the truth. But we as a community will come to understand, and I feel we will stand behind that."

His tone changed, "If she comes after you, the agents and officers of the PRT will come after you. We have found this out, and we expect others will follow. This is a war, and we will win it."

His fighting words were like the bad smell that spooked his daughter.

"I… want your daughter home. Last night, after everything I did
======================================== SAMPLE 795 ========================================
The dark purple-red spheres were as large around as my cell phone was tall. There were three each in my hand, each with a multitude of sensitive sensors and gear embedded in it.

I got my phones, won’t say anything until I’m on a plane ticket, so answer the phone. Via text.



"Hello?"

"I’ve a number. Is it okay?"

"It’s okay. Just wanted to talk."

"I’ve got a job that’s been sent to me, it’s really very simple. You go to a job with a group of doctors, nurses and scientists, and you stay with them for six months, and if you don’t do it, they’ll contact the others and they’ll see if anyone wants to come along. Are you sure?"

"It’s a bit of a risk, but I’m sure. I’m going to meet the others over the next couple of days, and we’ll see about getting this started."

"Cool."

I hung up.

GPS couldn’t see me with the regular eyesight, but judging by what she’d said earlier, Triumph knew where I was.

"There’s an opening on the wall by the elevators," I said. "Call them in."

"Shh." I heard. It took me a bit to get my voice out, but I got the gist of it.

"The phones are charged, but we’re going to be hard done by, are we, Shelby?"

"Yeah." It was fine. I could deal. She didn’t even mind. "I was hoping you could fill me in?"

"Sure."

"All I know is that the doors are likely to be knocked open and the rooms converted into relief areas. Undersiders, this is Mist, guarding the area."

"Why are you here?"

"I have to. There’s not enough personnel to lock down this area. I can give you the addresses of the people who are here, but I can’t give you the names."

"Hey, you’re doing this again, aren’t you? "

"I’m doing it because I need to motivate the dogs. They’re working hard, but… well, these people are nice, aren’t they? They’ll respect me, respect the badges I’m getting for my efforts."

"They’re not stupid. Dumb as rocks."

"They’re loyal, aren’t they? I guarantee you. Thank you."

"You’re dying, son."

"I’m fine, honey." He texted me a photo.

"There’s only three badges for this area. Thanks."

"My pleasure."

"You get in, you get out. I know it’s not the most attentive visitors, but trust your guards around you. I’m going to text you the coordinates for the maze, where the ‘ok’ button is, so you’re in situ when the time comes."

"Alright."

We had to walk separately, as we were told to hold alternate directions. We headed in different directionisms, glancing at each other in passing.

The first room we went into was the basement storage locker with Bryce and Lisa’s stuff. There were signs of construction since I’d nearly missed seeing it. There was a squat, dark gray and black structure to the right of the door, with working lights and a door. The handle of the door? Handles? That wasn’t unique to Ludger’s axe. There were three more handles in turn, each with a matching set of spikes that led into or over each hand.

The first room we went into was the tech demo room, or more correctly, the demo and training room. The walls and floor were all black and light gray, with bright red icons marking the points where lights were on. The objects at the extreme left of the room were variously used, each set of spikes reaching for the objects at the far end of the room. There were nets, no doubt. Nationals. The oddball trophies that littered the floor and the ceiling were all from prior events, reminders of previous failures. I recognized the towel that was buried in the far right corner of the room, one of only two things from the demo that didn’t fit. The person wearing it had rested on the floor, his or her head a shelf of metal with a glowing fingertips.

The remaining six teams were
======================================== SAMPLE 798 ========================================
‘C’: Chicken. I’m guessing it was breast?

‘B: Bison. COULD be a weak link. I’m done analysing him, besides, and I don’t know what kind of emotional impact he had on you.

‘A: Baby mammoth. Too weak to contribute anything meaningful to the fight.

‘C’: Coward. Damn him.

I could see Devi and Satyr working together to create another power. Huge, clumsy, clumsy as a result, but every power he contributed was something that was clumsily or gibberishly handled. He was a goat, expelling thick, weird smelling urine. Powers like this were hard to distinguish, because they didn’t have costume textures or anything that explained how they generated physical effects. He pulled monsters out of the air with the flying creatures, but they were almost more like bugs than actual creatures. You wiped them out with a forcefield, you flay them with fire and you hurt them with arrows and pain, but they were very, very personal.

I got the impression he was more used to being poor Jonathan than star of the show, and that sort of contributed to the goat-coward comparisons.

Devi was drawing creatures to herself. There were three kinds: giant crenelations, which were like massive eggs, dinosaur-shaped, fist sized; moldable, with creatures like the stuffed dinosaurs that had been on the wall in the previous room; and nano-sized, which didn’t grow and didn’t move but were instead born from the same energy as the creature drew them forth. Somewhere in the mix, there were creatures he’d made himself. The birds and the flowers.

Once he had three or four of the creature in his possession, he used their talents to reshape other things. Huge blades of grass, cones of bark, even a straight line of flame. They worked together to form forms that could run like beasts.

He made his way across the city, breaking into dangerous spurts of ice and rain while staying high enough that he couldn’t be seen. His power let him move very, very far.

Along the same riverbank that the whale and the burnt-skinned boy had been resting, there were a small handful of people. New Yorkers leaving the news van.

"Thank you for the assistance," Satyr said. "You two are out of danger."

"You saved us," the man said. "We could use your help."

"We can make our own ice cream. Not as good, but good."

"No, kitten," Satyr said. "You’re better at than I ever was."

"Did you walk half a block?" I asked.

"Twelve blocks."

"Twenty."

"Twenty. Good deal."

He gave me a funny look.

I gathered my thoughts, then spoke, "We could use your ice cream."

"Pow," Satyr said.

A fraction of a second later, they were pulling away. I might have to tell him that it was a good thing that he’d refused our earlier bribe, that we needed less money, now.

I found Geniya too. I gave her a dark look.

"Geniya, please stay," I said.

"The frozen yogurt?" she asked.

"Desk drawer," I supplied. Geniya looked around until she could most assuredly see the door.

"You know where to find the freezer," Satyr said. "The one near the front."

Geniya seemed to have taken my cue there, for the remainder of the briefing. Except she seemed to go instinctively, or vaguely, understanding what I was saying. It was like she’d been kidnapped and was being held captive in a mentally deranged individual. I was hoping that the pieces would come in time for me to use to get her home.

The licences? There was a chance he didn’t have them because he didn’t have the right one. He didn’t have the right set of powers. I wouldn’t be able to get through to him, there wasn’t the right parahuman to communicate with, let alone free her.

I could only hope that someone sane could handle it, with her power and her limited understanding.

"Satyr," Head Boy said. "First, I want you to know that I’m willing to offer you a deal. A one-on-one relationship. If you want to turn around and take my offer, I will retain my employment with the Protectorate and I will hand you the paperwork you’d need to submit your claim. This doesn�
======================================== SAMPLE 801 ========================================
Check. I used my power as subtitles, it works great. Wherever he runs to get away from me, I keep him busy, keep him from advancing beyond the reach of my power and Fortuna’s.

I moved the web-shooters high into the air, so I was directly above the heroes who’d been covering the remaining reach of the botch. I eased the setting to its highest setting and watched it fight. I kept bugs at the ready, ready to deal with any moment, any emergency.

Pity it wasn’t enough to stop the legs of the black-red robot arm from folding. The other legs simply bent at a 90-degree angle, letting it fall to the ground, a disadvantage in fine structure that it had.

Damn, shame it was already Friday, so early.

Blades sprung from the wooden panel at my back and swept me to the ground. I raised my arms up in the air to get a better view, and was struck with the thought that I would be out of action sooner than later. The robots were taking advantage of my distraction, the wall street district well out of reach.

With only a moment’s delay before the robots reached their target, my flight pack kicked in, giving me lift and pushing me to my feet. I reached the area where the fight was centred, and registered a hundred identikits away from striking the ground. I was landing in a crouch, trying to avoid the pitfalls that the blades had set in place.

The Sentai team was doing much the same.

Iron fist shifted into the ground a fraction of an inch to my left, and I could feel his footfall jolt me. I caught the edge of the blade with my claws, trying to get a grip on it, and felt more resistance than I cared to count. It jolted, a section of my tornadic center tearing painfully against the surface of my midsection. I won’t say it hurt, but it wasn’t something I wanted to have at my back.

His attack was getting more limited in range. Too hard to tell if it was a right angle, a left angle, or even something that was moving back and forth over the surface of the road. The Sentai on the other team were rushing to stop it, the latter two of them taking shelter behind a wall of blades in the road.

They managed to block the attack, though, and Sentai Fortuna stepped in.

The blade had stopped returning to its original position, and Fortuna had been dealt with. The metal asked for attention. It spoke, a low, reverent voice.

I caught a glimpse of Sentai Fortuna spinning in a circle, then sank to the ground, catching my feet.

More blades extended from her palms, prepared to descend in a heartbeat.

I drew on my power, but my view of the battlefield was quickly turning to black, with only the glints of my eyes and the movement of my own vision to guide my movements. I was falling.

It wasn’t as bad as it might have been if my fall had broken me, if it had broken me, forced me to move my feet and jam my shoulder into the ground. It was bad enough that I was now doomed to spend the rest of my life in agony. No, it was more than that. I’d have to make do. They were only beginning to chew through the steel, absorbing it and distributing it among themselves. Maybe they would split into two in the process, ice forming as thick as a tree if it were cold out, a separation line drawn in the middle of the city.

Mannequin was moving along the ground, blades at his waist, when I made myself known to my teammates. They reacted as I approached, an order or a gesture. Some used their weapons to try to take me in the leg, to disarm me or smash me into a surface.

Several Sentai converged on me, each with a different mission. To one point I thought they were going to crush me, all of them, just in a single moment.

Except they weren’t. They worked together, as a collective. They were strong, they weren’t strong in the same way a human was.

I connected with one, and he was more than a little out of his element. He caught me from behind, only to turn his attention to his partner, who was busy trying to hack away at my head. Melee, no more than a few thrusts and thrusts of steel, with a fair bit of luck and a great deal of skill involved.

Senta, for her part, managed to slingshot herself straight into one of the metal legs of the machine. She slid out of reach of the blade, then
======================================== SAMPLE 804 ========================================
Do it.

He stumbled, dropping to all fours on the couch. Ingenue stepped from the kitchen, her phone in hand. She held it up to her ear.

"A message from Doormaker," I said. "We were sending you some directions from earlier today, but we can’t take the kids away without them seeing the funny ads. Can you pass on a message so the kids don’t get turned around?"

"Damn it!" Ingenue swore. "Doormaker-"

"Don’t worry. I get it. I was the one who started looking into ways to put the costumes out there. I see what you’re talking about. But I’m already looking after your kids."

"Seriously?! Why!?"

"They’re okay. Your kid hasn’t been caught in some supervillain’s web, and they’re both here. You’ll be on your way to fucking help."

Ingenue clutched the phone tighter. I wasn’t sure if it was to avoid torture, but if she went into shock, this would likely stop her. It might even give her the courage to approach me.

"They’re okay. Your kid hasn’t been caught in some supervillain’s web, and they’re both here. You’ll be on your way to fucking helping."

She didn’t respond.

"Alrighty," I said. "No hard feelings, then? No?"

She shook her head, but she didn’t open her mouth to voice a response.

"Alright," I agreed. "I’m going to go look around. I’ll call you when I’m done."

She nodded.

I grabbed two gift bags from the fridge. I put one bag over my shoulder and pulled my costume on. I also have a few books, a new backpack, and a small kit I put on my belt for defense. The last one I’d been using was the ol’rickshaw. I couldn’t bring myself to use it because it was inaccurate, and it did show off my muscles, but I’d been forced to get used to using it with other gear. After a few days in the gym, I’d found a new set of books instead, and found the gym hadn’t let me use the old one. Problem was, the new books had been cut into the ground, so I’d had to buy new ones instead.

I was disappointed I couldn’t take better care of my body. I was also sad, but I didn’t feel like expressing any of that to Bitch. I didn’t want her to feel guilty, or put me off-balance, or make me seem less human.

At least I’d done Amy’s urging, I thought.

My phone vibrated at the quick glance I got when I opened it. I quickly put it away. Then I put away the second book, returning to the fridge for more fresh fruit.

"It’s Taylor," it was far too quiet for Bitch’s cheers and whoops. It was me.

"It’s her," Lisa said. "The hell? I thought she’s having a bad day."

"Confirm," she replied, at the same time, as quietly and matter-of-factly as she was able.

It confirmed what I’d suspected all along. Taylor was having a bad day.

Taylor had asked me what I was doing with my morning coffee. I’d told her the explanation she’d wanted, from a stranger with a strange perspective, and now she wanted to confirm for sure?

"I was going to call some people, about 7:45 this morning," I said, "Maybe found a job with the city-siberian thing again, if they wouldn’t make me."

"You’re straightening up," Lisa said, "Maybe you can lend me your mouse. I’ll look into it."

I nodded, happy for the escape route.

"I’ll send you the URL to the page, if you want to refresh," she said.

"Why are you worried about that?"

"It raises questions," Lisa said. "Questions about me, about me as a person, if you can call it that. But yeah, I’m worried."

"Questions?"

"What did I do to deserve being Number Man? How did Roanoke get here? I used my power to solve those problems,
======================================== SAMPLE 807 ========================================
DCDC said on Monday, June 18, 2011 @ 12:38 pm PT, Topic: Live chat (bot)

User Name: DeviantNerd

Registered since: Apr 11th, 2011

Here’s a quick run down of things we know so far:

• There’s at least two groups developing series: one focused on finding Damsel of Distress and other villains that might be stuck on her.– Graphic novel by @ thoughtseer about Damsel of Distress

• There’s an animated show based on the book and movie – trailer coming soon. (h/t @Moonlite_DMC)

• There’s a movie starring Mark Hamill:thumbED.

• There’s a television show based on the book and movie – details only now available.

• A film is in the works with unknown studios.

• There’s an animated show based on the book and movie – details only now available.

• There’s a wiki, adding to the wiki, with details on the ‘Damsel of Distress’.

• There’s an animated website, with more information about Damsel of Distress:

http://darkscroll.wikia.com/D&D_Adversary

• There’s an animated show on the Disney Channel with a group of superpowered young heroes:

http://www.disneykids.com/

• There’s a wiki, added by user CoolmasterX:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/D&D_(game)

• There’s an animated website with more information about the game – everything you need to know:

http://www.drivethrurpg.com/wiki/User:Cool_Mastery_x/D&D_(game)

• There’s an wikipediode page adding to the wikis:

http://darkscroll.wiki.wikia.com/D&D_Adversary

• There’s an animated website with more information:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/D&D_(animation)

• There’s an instagram page, with more images:

http://www.instagram.com/darkscroll/?hl=en

• There’s e-mail addresses:

[email protected]

These should only be required for very specific purposes. If it came down to it, I’d use the one for the newspaper article and the wikipediode.



► Coolmaster (Brockton Bay Refugee)

Replied on July 6th, 2011:

Just to clarify, there’s an instagram page and a wiki. Anywho, the email I got was mangled. MC police and news just found it and replaced it. I replaced it with what I’d heard first, which was that the police and reporter had used a cell phone to find and speak to Sabah.



► Unc

Replied on July 6th, 2011:

Good to know. Treat them with respect.



► Coolmaster

Replied on July 6th, 2011:

But no phone on person No. 1. Then why call themselves editor & publisher if you can’t do anything else?



► R9_one

Replied on July 6th, 2011:

Because we’re animals, Sabah. (Original message)



► R9_one

Replied on July 6th, 2011:

(What did you say?)



► Unc

Replied on July 6th, 2011:

(What did you say?)



Twitter: @R9_One

Visit my IG: http://www.i.imgur.com/U4qyB4qj.tumblr.com/ [TW:]

Visit my Facebook fan page: http://www.facebook.com/R9_One



► Dawud

Replied on July 6th, 2011:

Agree? Disagree?



► R9_one

Replied on July 6th, 2011:

none of us really in a mood to talk last bit. Discussion for the future?



► Tails(@TailsxBlade)

Replied on July 6th, 2011:

Agree? Disagree?



End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 … 55, 56, 57



■

♦ Topic: Skitter

In: Boards ► Teams
======================================== SAMPLE 810 ========================================
My answer depends on whether I fall. Here, as elsewhere, the outcome is up to you. Whether I succeed in my goal and become a hero or fail and become a villain."

Eidolon sighed. "Perhaps this is why you have me as a subordinate."

"We can discuss that in greater detail in the future. For now, I need only to know that you wish to end this conversation, familiarize myself with the others on your end, and convince me that this is the best course of action."

"Excellent. She responds well to pressure."

"I wish you luck."

"Good luck too."

He stepped away, leaving me behind.

I looked back at my old territory. The sunrise scene had been almost identical, only it hadn’t been my work. It had been their home city, and the sky had been blue in the absence of clouds.

‘Lord street’ had been the name of the street in Brockton Bay I’d visited when I’d first gotten my powers. It was a rough twenty-ish minute walk from downtown, and the terrain had been randomized, with random rockfalls and uneven dirt. There was a church, a school, scaffolding, and an overhang of fallen buildings that had been weakened by their own debris and waste. It was a landscape I’d gladly have people drive past if it meant they could look past my problems, but it wasn’t a world I wanted to intrude on.

And above me, Scion/Eidolon had settled down into a state that was nearly identical to what he’d done at the beginning of the year. He lay there, propped up, arms folded, no longer accelerating but decelerating as the effects of his recent self back home appeared to fade.

More changes were occurring all around me. I could see the electromagnetic radiation and the structure of the universe around us. Galaxies that were three times the usual mass were reorganized, and I could see the breath taking in shards of reality as the altered reality was pushed back together.

"He’s coming back."

"Yeah."

"There’s strategies you can use, however you address this situation. I’m going to reach into my command center, so we’re clear."

The crackling sound cut through the silence.

"About?"

"Access to the ‘brewer’ device. Some cloned the coding from the first go-round, which was a good bit, but I got the device and I knew how to use it. This is it."

I signaled Relocate, and Relocate raised a hand.

A map showed a round number in the corner. 2011.

"What is it?"

"It’s a clue. A marker."

"What is it?"

"A marker. An index to things. Entries in the map will turn colors as the Brewer’s power is used. This will be indexed and categorized."

"What is it?"

"About Cauldron."

I glanced at the Doctor. She was looking at a computer screen with a font size of three or four pixels, with a drawn out notation beside each entry.

"You didn’t make the rounds at the meetings about Cauldron using pseudonyms."

"Nobody said anything to that effect. I mean, I know Cauldron is notorious, but nobody’s talking about the real story."

I shrugged. "I’m only concerned about the idea that someone masquerading as a hero could get their hands on an organization like this."

"Someone could," she said.

"But you don’t want to acknowledge that possibility? Divulging such details could help solve one problem."

"It isn’t that simple," she said. "I’m very tired of people labelling me prematurely. That’s not the issue."

"No?"

"I’m saying it’s your prerogative. You can’t force me to share anything I don’t want to share, or I’ll share anything you want me not to."

"What are you wanting?"

"To be a hero. That’s the primary thing. But at the same time, you’re a human being. You’ve got a right to have your concerns answered."

"I have a right to ask why?"

"Because I’m a citizen of the world. I’m a shareholder in the Yàngbǎn. I joined them because I had a choice. I’m a shareholder in Cauldron. I can tell you
======================================== SAMPLE 813 ========================================
By Bob Galbraith, Esquire • November 6, 2011 12:31 pm

Two hearty servings, with some leftovers for dinner. Pretty typical Colbie junk food.

A lighter breakfast than usual. He downed his first swallow with a clink on the window. His mother had reminded him that coffee was new and he couldn’t drink it unless he was a member of the Courier’s Club.

It helped that he was in the middle of running his errand, corralling his dad and getting the insurance adjuster to verify that the new apartment was really for his own use and not being rented out to anyone else.

"I could try for a French toast," he said, eyeing the new coffee and sugar-free French toast that his mother prepared in the breakfast room of the house. It was such a relief to have something to do after being distracted by the recent conversation that he almost forgot about getting it ready.

He finished off the first bowl, brushed his teeth with a stiff toothbrush and brush and then, after a moment’s hesitation, offered his mother a little wave. "Hey, mama! You running a bit of a race today?"

"Yes," her response was a shake of the head.

"You sure?"

"I’m running a bit of a race. I expect I won’t be able to stop myself. See, the first part of my plan has been ruined. My mechanic screwed up the settings on the engine, changed the way the props and parts of the ship move. He’s replaced half of them with parts from a car, and the remaining unit is about a third of the way there. But first, I’m going to yank the spark plug out of the overhead bin and rip out the corresponding piston inside the overhead bin. We’ll need to correct that, mama."

"Butcher?" her mother asked, "Don’t you want to go back to the races?"

"No. Because I’m going to help the others. I’ll fix the plane, and I’ll get others to start working on the undercarriage. I can make it more comfortable for the horses."

"It’s wrong," her mother said. "Your body’s not meant for traveling at night. It’s too heavy, too armored."

"I’ll go all out. I’ll go with my real body. I can call in the green man and fix it."

Her mother looked at him in surprise.

"I’ll stay at your house. Brother? Mama?"

Mama shook her head.

He sat down on the couch, putting his books away, and reached over to put them on the coffee table. After making a cup of tea, he offered her Goblin King.

"There’s only four books in the world, written by English words, all of which I can understand. You can’t make me do it."

"I can. You can’t and won’t. It’s a supervised visitation, and you get to decide whether you go back or not. Two more visits, and you’re set for life. I can show you that it’s totally okay, and that my monsters aren’t going to hurt you because of it. You have four choices in the matter: you can come and stay with me, where you are now, or I can shoot you and you won’t ever see your families again. Some people have to die for society to pay attention to you. I think you’re the worst sort of person that’s going to take this route."

He turned his hand palm up and unleashed a steady stream of poisonous green flame, striking his mother across the cheek. Still plastered with smoke, she cleared the smoke with the ease that someone who hadn’t been wearing their mask might have cleared a wall with their bare face. Others were slow to do so, relying on the help of a trickle of smoke from a trickle of grenades that surrounded the kitchen railing, pelting Sundancer and her pack. Butcher wasn’t far behind.

She could shoot someone from behind, but who was she to argue with his mother? Or was it wrong to use a mother to stab someone?

"I need a weapon," Sundancer spoke. "My costume, or my power."

"The backpack," her voice was quiet.

"Open it," Nix said, with no inflection. "And there’s the powder."

He took the backpack, Opening his eyes to scan the contents. A small spray bottle, some rubbing alcohol, a small knife, a small taser. He clipped on
======================================== SAMPLE 816 ========================================
The Predator. Another entity to add to the group.

"It is. The God-Machine bends space, time, causality and omniscience. It is but one branch of that vast complex of energies. I could ponder it for a thousand cycles, and I should remain in a state like that for ever. Some would be blessed, lucky, and have a voice communication, and I should be able to keep in touch with someone I should meet. Those lucky few would receive visitors as serene as the God-Machine, and this entity-"

She paused. It took her a second to connect the ideas. The God-Machine. One of the non-sentient tinkers.

"-is but one of many components that make up that whole. Knowing this helps, in a general sense. Knowing what makes this possible, this is the focus of my focus. I can tell you, above all else, that you are not to meddle in my business. Not get in the way, not try to take over this lifestyle."

Sveta let go of the plate, accepting the offered rag.

"I am sure you’re weary, but I’m not speaking of your dejection. I’m speaking of an answer, of plans. An idea, one that takes everything you have worked for, and gives them to someone else. I believe this can all come to pass. Something can be done. I’ve even been working on a solution."

A solution. Something could be done.

A silence reigned.

"For you, for every one of you, this ends in tears, but it begins with this. A common threat, an age-old secret, and an age-old desire. Something erased, lost, ruined."

It was an age-old concept, but the entity was talking to no one in particular.

"And there is a source. A quest, a search, a hunt. One entity searches the known world, undescribable, thinking only of itself. Another searches the fringes, unable to think, to find a counterpart, even as theystrategise against the end of the universe. They are yet another entity to erase, another to search, and another to reclaim. They will spend their energies in each destination, as they search the stars, as they search the deepest recesses of the universe."

The entity listened, accepting their gifts.

It spontaneously generated ‘thought’, ‘vision’ and ‘vision thought’. Each was separate, but they collectively formed a single, distinct thought.

The entity extended its senses outward, saw the flash of light, felt it radiate out to every corner of the complex.

"I came to give you your daily dose of reality," the Doctor said. "Hardware. Test subjects. The first of your many Toxins."

The entity raised its head, sensing another system open.

"To everyone else in your branch! I’m well aware of what you’ve been up to, and I’m prepared for your inevitable visits. This is a quarantine facility, as secure as anything I can put in place. It’s to ensure the Toxins can’t get loose, changing their formations without our involvement, their substance and action changing in the slightest. You should know that any open conflict against the quarantine is a perfectly survivable situation. The beings that are naturally mobile get to keep fighting, and the quarantine’s crew has been deployed to every continent, and every corner of the world. They don’t even have to spread their contagion through other vectors. This quarantine will remain in effect even if no contagious entity comes into play."

The entity reached out, and its body ignited with the need, and the need created, and that need eventually cracked, because it could anticipate the most basic needs of its hosts. It needed to, because otherwise it wouldn’t be able to reach those who were sleeping, or to prescribe the necessary antibiotics.

It needed to eat. It created more bodies, more societies, to service its needs, but it didn’t have the time.

It reached out, and felt the interaction of those societies with the need, again.

It created more bodies, and found itself overwhelmed. It crashed into its creator, landing like a boat on the water.

The entity emerges, and it can see the response. A population explosion.

It crashes into its creator’s shoulder, shattering it.

The pair stirs, but they aren’t able to rise. They lie there, cramped together. The entity can’t heal them, can’t remove all the damage.

It circles the world, claiming as many worlds as it can, but it can’
======================================== SAMPLE 819 ========================================
Trellis was one, this time. I only noticed it because of the effect it had on the others. Fugly, loathed and feared. It was hard to believe, but the man had taken a Manhattan to repair. He stood next to me, and his voice was damper than any of the others had been in a long time. "Is it always this easy?"

"Sometimes," I said. "And sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes you have to trust your gut, or you don’t get a partner to repair your gut, and sometimes you don’t."

"Sometimes you don’t," Tattletale echoed me. "Occam’s razor. Sometimes something happens that you couldn’t have predicted, and you find yourself where you are now, at the precipice of where you’re walking and not running. In your case, it was an accident."

"Which makes this harder," I said. "You might be losing more time than you’re gaining."

"I’m in this to make amends," Tattletale said. "I’m not out to get you. This isn’t the way things played out, so I don’t expect you’re lying. I’m saying you’re thinking about it."

I stared at them. "What am I thinking about?"

"I’m thinking about all the times you’ve lied to me, the times you’ve tried to take advantage of my position of trust, all the reasons we can’t have another mutual infiltration and sabotage campaign like we had then. You know that feeling of regret? Of knowing we could have saved you, but we couldn’t. You know how disappointed your team would have been if you’d been saved, too?"

She let the words hang in the air.

I didn’t tell her I didn’t think of her family.

"I know we took things too far, that we were too impatient with each other, and that we’d probably fuck up somewhere along the way. I don’t- I’m not sure where you’re going to go from there. I- I can’t say where you’ll start. I can’t say where you’ll leave it. The past three months have been too much, and we’re only now getting the outside confirmation that it really happened."

"They did know, or they’ve been keeping quiet about it because they don’t want to cause a scene, or because it’s embarrassing, but Piggot did tell us to stand together, to take a stand. And as much as we might feel like we took a stand, as much as we might feel like we deserved it, that’s a long way of saying that’s exactly what the Undersiders wanted. To remove us as sources for blackmail, as much as we might feel like we were poking fun at you, it’s a round two for that ruse. It’s a way back for the real us."

I held my tongue. I didn’t want to do that, didn’t want to get all sanctimonious on her. It sounded diplomatic, petty, and it would only make her look worse.

"And," she said, her voice quiet, "It’s almost like we’re putting ourselves in their shoes. We’re putting you in their shoes, and we’re telling you, kind of, you should go with them. It’s how you functioned in Echidna."

I nodded.

"It’s not a good setup. You’re pushing me to the edge. Letting me know that you wouldn’t let me alone."

"That’s not fair. I’m not even close to relaxing about this. If there’s anything I can do to help, I want to make sure you’re informed and don’t need to be the one to pull something off."

"Mm," she said.

"But I can make suggestions, if you want to give it a serious look. I can also adjust the difficulty of the task, so you’re worried you’ll succeed but I don’t want to make it an outright test. You guys are the best thing since you’ve put me in the depths of the Mausoleum."

"It’s not a test, the reputation thing. I don’t even know what I want. All I know is that I need a place to take a break, do
======================================== SAMPLE 822 ========================================
As big as my fists were, my anger seemed to faze them even before I had them on my person. I raised them to my head, again and again.

My fists seemed more solid than the one in my hand before.

Even my umbrella seemed able to hold my weight.

If it mattered, I might have hit something. I couldn’t say if my fist or my umbrella had hit something.

"Look down," Teacher said.

Did he know what I was looking at, with my swarm-sight?

The word was as much a command as anything else. I obeyed, and everything started to make sense again.

There was no order to it, no set formula. It was like I was learning to talk with a stutter, the stutter just ahead of me made it so I would automatically raise my voice if I continued, raise my expression, regardless of what was said.

Communication was the name of the game, huh?

"Make any noise you make," he said. And I did. There was no turning back, no moving back or changing course.

I adjusted my hat, and adjusted my jacket.

Droplets of rain splashed against my hood as I bundled myself up in another blanket, and I glared at Teacher. I couldn’t make out his face, and his unfaltering stare claimed mine.

For a solid ten seconds, I didn’t see him.

"Did you know?" he asked. There was a strain in his voice, and I suspected it wasn’t him saying it out loud. "I have a lot to hide."

"You can ask," I said. But my eye fell on Canary, near-mint at his hand.

"I know," I said.

"But you can’t tell me."

"Because if I tell you, Panacea might not listen to me. I’m hoping she’ll leave you alone, so long as I do. It’d be a coup, in a way, but I’m hoping you’ll trust me after that. It’s a bit of a slippery slope to trusting the PRT, I know. I’m hoping you’ll give me the benefit of the doubt, and I’ll make sure you’re clear about what’s going on."

"You don’t seem to care about your friends."

"They’re some of the best people in the world. If anyone here knows how to play the game, it’s them. Not me. Maybe you’ll get a kick out of it. Maybe it’ll help you feel a little more courageous. Some of you here. You’re in charge for just a little while longer."

Some of you?

His tone grew increasingly uneasy.

"Okay," I said. "Not really. Just… let me think on it?"

"You don’t have to give me any details, whatever happens."

"We’re done, then. If and when I prove myself, you can all rest assured I’ll give you the details on any new members I find. I can’t promise it’ll be anything useful, but I’m not holding my breath."

"You’re one to talk," Teacher said. He didn’t sound confident.

"I’m inclined to think I’m one to talk as much as anyone else," I said. "We’re brothers, shed the lines when and if you want. But we’re not sisters. We can’t live like this. It’s unhealthy."

"You say that, don’t you? You’re worrying about your sister?"

I shook my head. I’d said as much.

Still no sign of the Spider-girl.

I considered writing to the Spider-botanist, but the handwriting was sloppy, uneven, and the side of the post was chewed up where the post was stuck in the gum. I decided to leave it be. Reading comments, I saw that there was some expectation that I would share the information with them in exchange for some goodwill. My gut told me that they would want to hear both sides of the story, and that could create some friction.

Maybe they already were.

"I hope both you and your sister got home okay," I wrote. "I felt halfway home, home, before the soldiers reached your city. They took everything, even my bugs. You took the ones you could afford to lose. I… I cannot describe how terrifying they were. Robots, machines, efficient.
======================================== SAMPLE 825 ========================================
What was I even supposed to do? Was there any way I could go on to save others? Even if I was helping the people I lived with, I couldn’t shake the idea that I was doing them a disservice. I could go on television and talk about what I’d done in my sleep, sell the fact that I was weak and shit, explain how I was only trying to help them in their hour of need, and all that jazz, but what would that even accomplish? I was admitting to a felony. What did that say?

Thomas Calvert was evil. That was obvious enough. But what about the people he’d targeted? I couldn’t say. Even now, I couldn’t eradicate doubts that had plagued me since the grand jury had come down. There were superhuman specs to be had, if someone with powers without the ability to turn physical objects into molten slag wanted to go that route. I had hoped to play a role in stopping the Slaughterhouse Nine, but I’d had to plead the fifth and, thus far, I’d had little to no success against the Slaughterhouse Nine. They were unpredictable, and it was impossible to predict them. Countless attacks had failed to take them out, and their goal was often to rampage through Brockton Bay after the fact, rather than end the world.

To top it off, they were incredibly mobile, spending less time in the city and more time on the run, attacking ten countries simultaneously.

It was a mixed blessing that he’d been able to get away from them so easily. If they’d stayed in the city, they might have attacked some of us, and we’d have probably faced a retaliation. -(Crying)

Thomas Calvert’s revolver buzzed twice as he strode through the door.

My father was looking me right in the eyes as I stepped forward. Even though I was sobbing, I could see him.

He nearly lost his seat on the chair, managed to keep from looking at me as my father squeezed my hand and then looked away.

It was the mother who greeted him, not giving him a long look. She was fat, young, and she spoke only a simple word in English, which translated to some other culture. Her only consequnt in the conversation was that she was a foreigner.

"Thomas Calvert," my father said.

I pinch my nose. 火便之前, Kaizen. 男前, Shinzai.

"My son," she said.

I pinch my nose. 火便之前, Kaizen. 男前, Shinzai. "They say you’re turning yourself in. is it right?"

I pinch my nose. 火便之前, Kaizen. 男前, Shinzai. "No. I won’t be any help."

"You can’t leave."

I have to look human again. Help them. Beat them.

Why?

Why rule this city when I could be queen of the seas?

"You cuddle?" she asked. She pulled away. "Do you feel it? When I touch you?"

I shake my head.

"Thomas Calvert is going to be the next Chairman of the PRT. He’s been picked by the new leader, Director Emily Piggot, and has been meeting and generally obeying my instructions since I’ve taken office."

Emily?

I tremble. I was going to say something about the medium being too polite, but I can’t wrap my head around this.

I lean forward, resting my head on my arms. "Do you know what a shard is?"

"Close enough. They’re little boxes here in the warehouses with the foam tanks, but the crystals inside are on this plastic sheet that’s taped to the wall. When they were melting at the bottom of the tank, the paper detached and slid around inside, shifting some crystals onto the plastic sheet, where they grew until they were a foot across and almost translucent. I couldn’t see how much it actually weighed, because it was only a few ounces, but The Carrie’s do weigh a ton, and the amount of material they produced was bigger than my entire broken arm was, but the underlying wiring was enough to erase most of it from my memory if I tried to recall what it was."

"That’s what you’re using to power the miniature sun, instead."

"Yep."

I lean back, ready for another easy smile.

"The second piece of equipment we’re going to be using is
======================================== SAMPLE 828 ========================================
Here you are, little boy. Tug me onto your shoulders with those two bare feet of yours. Can’t do it, not like this. Can’t help but worry I’m about to make you suffer."

When Amy’s hands rose from the bench, I tugged on her shirt, then held her arms steady in front of her with one hand. With the other, I pulled on the sweatshirt and the jeans that were piled high with her food. With both, I tugged on the outer layer, smoothed it out, and then pinned it on.

"I love you, dad. Don’t fucking know why, but I love you."

I almost cannot stand you. "I know why." Your desperation, the way you’d seemed to return to a point you’d been reaching previously, a point where you’d licked your hands between your legs and been sad, good boy. I like you because you’re pretty much always in the kitchen, trying not to be a bad person. Only… I dunno. I assumed it was because you wanted to be.

"I love you, dad. For what you did here. Lying to your family, hurting them, leaving them devastated. Don’t know why, but I love you for that."

I almost can’t believe that. I love you for what? Lying to your family? No. I’m much more irritated at the-

"This isn’t an offer, mom. If dad doesn’t want to take you out of town, we’ll stay here. I’ll have to frame these strawberries for today. It’s what I do."

The thought didn’t leave my mind. I hurried out the door and a series of woosh sounds silenced me before I was even forty feet away from where Amy was. The odor was tangy, like bile, and I might have been burned.

"Please," Amy said, her voice hushed.

"What?" I asked.

"I’ll marry your face."

Obey? I turned around and looked around.

"If you like handsome guys, maybe we could go out with a round of drinks-"

"No," I cut her off. How did I put a voice to that?

"We did like handsome guys, Taylor. It’s the only reason we’re getting along so well, you know?"

"I know!"

I looked at the countless looks of confusion and horror from the crowd. I looked at Victoria, who only smiled.

"You’re a bachelor, Taylor," she said, and the look I’d given her just then, as good as I could do, faded.

"No! I’m a bachelor! I’m a popular, famous hero, and I got to spend the day with you!" The strength of the attempt to salvage something from the situation and keep their conversation from getting out of control, with Victoria.

"You did that by being a dork," I said. "Dimby a little, but you stuck to the deal. Either way, it’s not a good sign when you’re into dating other famous people but you can’t have a real conversation with them because you were being a dick."

"I’m into dork."

"Really. Take my advice. Don’t be a sore loser. If there was more camaraderie between your group and I was worried about you starting to have casual relationships with others, I’m a little worried you’d wind up with enough credit that your friends and family would start to notice you, and they’d start to put pressure on you."

"What’s that?" I asked.

"Make your feelings known, and forget everything you’ve said and done."

"That’s creepy," I said, "And I’m not even a member of their group. I’m not even in the Wards, if that makes any sense. I’m not even active. I’m just trying to get by."

"You’re making it sound like work," she said. "That you’re distracted, or maybe you have a thing for Taylor, for Lisa… But she’s not in the Wards."

"I’m. But I’m not active anymore. I’m with my family."

"You’re not with the team anymore, then?"

"We moved last week," I said. "My mom called to let me know."
======================================== SAMPLE 831 ========================================
Did not line up with the rest. Perfectly round, but too narrow. Too flat. No body. No head. Only legs, the undersides of two elbows, a section of cloth here and there.

And then the thing stood there, upright. Still glowing, as if he were photobombing his opponent. He stood in the middle of the battlefield, the Golem reaching out to catch the opponent in his darkness.

The light intensified, the warmth of it affecting the clothing. Necrotized flesh knotted together, forming a rough humanoid shape.

The Necrotizing Goo

1d6 plus one for the win.



Long moments passed before Tecton gave the order. Attacks, constant, unholy. Angels were brought low, their powers crushed.

The colors in Golem’s suit were starting to redden. It was beginning to rain, and the surrounding pavement was turning a dark red.

One by one, the Angels were brought down. Contracts of godliness were dissolved, and the creatures were cast out into the world. Gifts, prayers, vows broken, lives ruined.

Golem watched in silence as his teammates died around him. He could see the Union soldiers doing the same, until the fourth time it had happened, and he knew the end was near.

Silence, stillness. The sound of the rain, so quiet it was almost comforting.

"Weaver?" Tecton called out.

He was out of the building, the cloak and hood flying. He faced the front of the ship, his back to the wall.

"I’m coming," he said.

Tecton took the teleporter’s hand.

He didn’t wait for a response. Stood at the window, facing England. The country he had once called home.

The President had spoken of family, and the passing of the individual, the state of the family.

And in the same breath, he’d threatened further reprisals.



Cell 22.5


Fuck them. They were the ones who had threatened my life. With everything I had, with the littlest thing in the world weighing on me, the loss of my powers, the loss of my teammates, the death of my dad…

They took that away from me. Tecton pointed to the same emotion I was thinking of.

But the teleporter was strong, and this worked, even if it severed most of my ties to the swarm.

Even if it didn’t break the dupe, even if it left me functionally homeless, it was something I could handle. Shelter, food, water…

When I started talking about basics, about basics that no longer interested me, my voice would break, because I was speaking in my own mind, and I could barely distinguish facial expressions between the clones. I’d try to be more considerate, to look both their boss and their boss’s dog.

The basic directives started to make sense. Sharing, cooperation, being loyal, these became habits, instead. Sharing, for allowing the sharing of common interests, these became a matter of habit. There was no way to really get them to cooperate if they were offended, but it became a matter of practice, a way to get a greater picture of who they were.

A lot of it was just reflexive behavior. Talking behind their backs, because their master knows they don’t know. Sharing, so their master knows they don’t know. Knowing what their master is doing, so their master can take action.

But the lessons were almost more important than the directives or rules. I realized what I was truly regretting, before any of that was all said and done. Not being able to communicate. I wasn’t going to be able to warn my teammates if they needed it.

I opened my mouth to speak, but I could barely. I opened my mouth to hope, but all I could think to do was cry out in pain and frustration.

It didn’t matter. I was stuck, and for much that was because of the inability to look after my people, because of the inability to look after my territory, I was in the dark. I didn’t have any information on what was going on in the outside world.

I had absolutely no idea about powers, about where they came from, or who was controlling them.

And there was one thing I did have, but my range was pretty darn short, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t within my grasp.

A voice over the comms, coming from the speaker of my computer. "The fuck you doing, you twit!? Log off, delete the log, get down!"

I turned off the
======================================== SAMPLE 834 ========================================
Try me."

"I don’t want to fail this experiment," Tecton said. "Because FEARLESS DESTRUCTION!"

He pounded the table with his fist.

"Back off," I said.

He didn’t budge. I gave Tecton a boost with my arms to push him away, and watched as he kept talking. "If you try to stop me and fail, you’ll learn my technique and I’ll be able to counter it better. I can’t beat the Grue girl, but I can stop you from harming people."

There was the mask again. I used it to hide myself from view, and put a hand on top of the mask to help guide Grue back as he set a hand on top of the mask.

With my swarm, I formed a picture of a better Grue with the added features of his mask. His slightly out of alignment snout, his almost alien-like face. Colors of his costume were exaggerated, a blueshirt with stripes across the shoulders and chest, a blackshirt beneath, and a heavy cape that flowed over his shoulders and across one of his exposed elbows.

I emphasized the blue more with his costume, calling to mind the blues of his costume and the black of his southern drawl. With that in mind, I lifted half his mask and used it to push the rest off. The underside of his costume was a plain white, complete with belt and no buckle.

As he pushed his mask off, I turned to my teammates, "Team leaders? If this passes the Journal, and it looks like we might win, are you going to protest, or are you going to agree?"

The questions immediately got me thinking about my words. Was I actually telling them to stick with the truth, or was I giving them the wrong order? On the one hand, I knew that if they put me down like that, the Wards would be less likely to pick me as a leader. On the other, they could well decide I wasn’t a threat, and that would give them an excuse to act.

"I’m not telling them to disobey the truth," I told them. "I’m… giving them the wrong orders."

"To disobey the truth?" Grue asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Don’t worry about it."

I glanced over my shoulder at Bitch. She’d arrived at the rescue, with Bastard and Bentley following her. She was staring at the two dogs.

Probably. I didn’t want to get the full picture and see she was in shock, or that she was sadly mistaken.

"What are you thinking?" Grue asked.

"That you guys stole the costume from the shelter, right? That you planned this and-"

"We did," I said.

"You knew?"

"We didn’t know," I said. I turned and walked away, my arms folding under me.

"You can talk," he said. "We won’t tell anyone where you went, or what you were thinking."

"You won’t. But you can tell me so I can inform my own thoughts."

He looked at me, and I nodded a little. He didn’t nod back.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

You don’t need to be convinced. You’re upsetting him.

"I… I need to know that."

"You thought he was going to hurt you."

"He was. There’s two big pieces of paper that morning, you know."

I picked one up. "What is it?"

"Here’s the thing. We were talking to some of the major players, Armsmaster included, and we came to the consensus that you shouldn’t be getting implanted. You guys were saying you wanted human experimentation, our senior member. I disagree."

I picked up the next. "Edit: and you're saying you don’t want it for yourselves. So we’re getting access to someone else’s body, something Cain did, and you’re making this into a version of yourself. And these new incarnations of you are already strong, you’re going to get stronger, and that’s before we ever get to the point where you or anyone else tries to use these abilities on us."

"And this person who’s giving me my abilities doesn’t even like me," I said. I could see him react as his attention focused on Me.

"I don’t think you do like me," I said, raising my voice. "
======================================== SAMPLE 837 ========================================
A massive explosion tore through the area, tearing through the ground and skyward, a thin nebulae of dark smoke a half mile across, haloing up around Scion.

The fireball streaked across the horizon, deviating from its usual course before barreling down toward the ground, slowly at first, then faster, a straight line.

What was it? An explosion of water? Crushed cities?

The fireball streaked back to the Right Ascension point, plumes of it, steam and smoke still rising, some small enough that they looked artificial.

What was it? A fleet of robotic sea anemones, reeking of vapor and smoke, each of which held some variation of a device, with a trigger event or click of a switch beneath each individual clone in turn?

It didn’t matter.

Scion felt his power lift, felt his control over the Travelers sharpen. Even the need to breathe light, the hum of the power, they gave him strength. That faint, dim glow under his feet, in his hair and in his costume was a byproduct.

Already, Defiant was telling me to keep close, that my life and the lives of the people I was trying to protect were at risk.

Dragon understood Defiant’s message, though she couldn’t see it. She understood Defiant’s purpose, though she couldn’t see it herself. She understood that this was about saving lives.

And if saving a single life were all that was required, to save all of these people, Defiant would accomplish that all by himself.

The Defiant module slammed into the ground outside the ship, the explosion welling out of the ship with enough force that I could feel it in my bones, along my armor panels and the back of my neck. My lungs were full, my chest was tense, my legsenumbered from the rest of me, anyway.

No time for excuses. I kicked the air out of my lungs, forcing myself to exhale and focus. I pointed, and things began to converge on me.

I saw the first cracks appear in the hull of the craft. The cabin, as we called it, was partially formed. The people who had stayed behind were there, trapped between the craft’s fewer than ideal walls.

The craft began to lift, and I stepped forward, my power supplied. The people close to me, their eyes on the sky, were getting dim. The sky was, in turn, getting redder.

The module impacted the surface with a crack, and the surge of water was halted. My power told me that the surge would continue indefinitely. We lifted up, and I could sense the module docking behind us.

The moment the ship lifted off, I began getting a broader sense of things.

The sky was neon orange, the color of the fish. I turned and looked, and saw Defiant, Dragon and Magee clustered around the’s boat. The boat had tinted windows, and the spray of rain was visible only by way of the few limited lights on the outside of the vehicle.

Outside, the sky was heavy, the temperature –10°C. At the very southern horizon, the faint red glow of Nilbog’s fire continued to flow, continuing to consume and damage the cityscape at the edges. The fire broke through the painted water of the Shipshape’s hull, and licked at the ground, where it composed patches of holy water. The clear water of the river was altered, losing its ripples and lashing for the ground.

I could see the Khonsu class ship, immobilized, destroyed by Khonsu’s power. Khonsu’s will had fixed it in place, while the power of the ground continued to carry the craft forward.

Others were preparing to arrive on the scene. The general plan, under the influence of the leader’s power, was to sideline and disengage in favor of movement and counterattacks. To avoid a repeat of the battle at the South Bay Boardwalk.

That changed when a third groundshaker, a non-battle-ready Tinker with an unidentified task, bombarded the Khonsu ship.

In the same moment the Khonsu ship was forced to turn, a different kind of shaker appeared in the sky above. A female, not significantly larger than the one that had gone before, but with a frame nearly three feet across, and a collection of flying insects in her hair. Shejabot. The shaker’s appearance was a delayed replication of what the shaper had done. The difference was that she was wearing an expensive-looking suit, complete with a hood, and she was here.

She approached the Khonsu ship, and his power alerted him that
======================================== SAMPLE 840 ========================================
Scion was observed as a benevolent god. The counterpart to Apollo and The Female, respectively, Kronos. He had acquired much of the pantheon that he had used for his personal army, and had extended the same restrictions to veterans who got in his way. To those who had already succumbed to his will, rules and conventions that limited his ability to make rapid progress or make quick, drastic changes. He had set restrictions on their deaths, restricted their roles in his kingdom, and had eliminated or made them targets for his agents in time.

Those agents had been fleeing, now they were returning. The men and women in orange were targets again, fleeing before the conflict even began.

The ICBM would burn up the landscape, just as it had for Brockton Bay. There was nothing said to be gained by dwelling on the thing.

It was dangerous. There were always two enemies, always two crises. Good and evil, good and evil, good and the threat of imminent physical harm or threat of imminent physical harm, good and the potential for disaster. Financial ruin, possibly forever, face to face relationships that have been damaged for the rest of one’s life. There were the threats one made in one’s sleep, the night before a crisis, the morning after, the morning after that.

And then there was the other, unseen enemy, the idea that one was destined to fall in love with a certain girl or women, to fall in love with someone else or a whole group of people. Faced with the prospect of possibly ruining that future, of meeting the people one wanted to meet, there was only one thing that drove many from their honorable and honorable paths.

Sting 26,000,000 solutions, incurred in fights, betrayals, kidnappings, murders, faced with the possibility of ruining their lives, a long string of felonies and a great many thousands if one counted a suicide as a honorable or good action.

He glanced back at his operatives, who were watching as a video screen went up, showing icons on a black background, marking the order in which the cameras had gone. Twenty-three, 24, 23, 22, 21, 20, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Only a moment later, the camera had gone back, not meaning to.

Cauterize the cockroaches, predictors said. Well, that made things easier.

The utility of the roaches being able to sense things so readily was that they had a way of coordinating, of making the simplest coordinated moves. Better yet, the roaches were in position to react to any sort of cue from his side of things. It kept things flowing, simple and efficient. A single cockroach, standing in one spot, and then leaping to the nearest available spot to take advantage of a loose crowd.

A few more roaches and they’d be established, gathering in a group behind Hunter’s legs, forming a cocoon around him. Kettlebells, followed by more roaches, then more roaches, each leap succeeding in getting it far enough forward to avoid the next crowd.

A shocking amount of intelligence in a small space.

A few minutes later, they were all standing still, watching the video, remembering everything that had happened.

"I’m telling you, Jeremy," Teacher said, "This is a bad idea."

Well, it was never going to be a good idea. Either Teacher was a master-stranger hybrid or something ugly was going to happen.

But whatever Teacher was doing, it didn’t matter. The students were exhausted, beat, and they were unnerved.

"They’re tired. They’re exhausted. We’re all pretty much exhausted," he said. "It’s just going to take a different form when it all comes down to it."

"What-" Lion wasn’t so forthcoming as she gave all the details, "How is being a hero in the public eye like? I can’t relax, I can’t just stop, I can’t just go on vacation until my head’s turned."

"It’s not that bad," Jeremy said. "Not as bad as it sounds. Look, for example, I know I’m only going to get more stressed as this thing with the Slaughterhouse Nine hits the fan, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll be a hundred percent positive in the end. The only thing I can do is try to do what I can to minimize the damage."

"You won’t be able to do that though, understand? If it’s
======================================== SAMPLE 843 ========================================
I’d hesitated before telling them about my ambush.

"I expected you to be there," Shepherd said.

Teacher was looking me over, his lips pursing together. Had I caved in some fundamental way?

"I’m on the phone," I called after him, my voice low. "Appreciated. Hang tight."

It was a while before he picked up.

There were so few phone signals at the perimeter of my territory tonight. Few phones, no cell phones to ring, and no cable cars or subway lines to ride on to make getting to my place faster. My bugs were still filing into my lair from time to time, entering through the entryway, the lower level with the clawed feet and the thousands of individualized adjustments of scales.

The key to my success here was in the details. What I saw did translate well enough.

A spider bonded to a smaller spider. Small, delicate.

I observed as it approached.

With many, many more ways to look after my people.

I observed as it made its way up the mountain.

Through the trees and the cracks in the mountain floor.

It stopped at a doorway, the color of the leaves that covered the opening changing in time with the constant brightness of the fire.

The old man who dwelt there hoped he might finally die. He was old. Wise, powerful, but too young to remember the ups and downs of the generations that had followed, the dangers and the hardship.

I approached, my eyes on the gate.

The manhunt was on.

My bugs touched the door, but it refused to open. Strongly logic, seeing as how the strength of the silk I’d laid on the old man’s gate was nearly meaningless.

It was a doorway, I could assume it was intended to be taken down, and I was nearly certain I wouldn’t be able to do anything there.

I exited at the center of the estate, and my army rallied around me. I kept tight control over my exit, all entrances and exits were sealed.

I harbored a secret fears: falling through the floor of the basement, getting your foot caught by a defecting column, getting my finger in a vulnerable area. I was cognizant of the fissure that had Rhinestone Face fractured it open.

I didn’t want to intrude.

I had to get out of the basement before dawn. If I got too cold, my people would worry I was still in the house.

I stopped at the gate that led off the mountain. I extended my arm, feeling the strength return to my extremities, and then ventured outside. The mountains were deep enough that only a few hundred people remained in the city when it was time to cross the border. The capes had all gathered, and there was a glow below. I passed by a small fountain that was located across the street from the gate. A place where people could take a quick stretch and get a drink in the shade.

I stood at the corner of the gate, waiting.

My fears realized I was holding my breath.

It started at the base of the mountain, just above the mouth of the mountain. Snow drifted down from higher up. In the drier climates of North America and Europe, it might have been an indication of just how far North America had moved. How far had the snowied mountains been to the south?

This wasn’t a culture that had stuck. Structures had fallen, animals had roamed, plants had withered. Here and there, there were scars that fit the deliberate, systematic damage. Victims who had had food frozen, or who’d had their foods stolen.

Still, these were the good days.

I didn’t want to wake the people in my territory up. Monitoring their most basic needs was hard, given that they were probably doing it on a mental level. I had to take things into my own hands. I eased some restrictions on those who were already on restricted diets, those who exercised some control over the environments they lived in.

I eased restrictions on those on restrictive groups, forcing them to move where they pleased and giving them training and other resources.

More and more, I added those individuals to my bean-count. They were to domesticate, train, and then exterminate the pests that were simultaneously demanding my attention.

Skitter’s group was here, and they were connected to the rest of my swarm. I needed a way of getting them on board before the rest of us visited Madison. It was easier to adjust my tune when someone else was in a position of power.

Imp had a tendril preternatural in this world. Enhanced strength out of eons,
======================================== SAMPLE 846 ========================================
Not that I was entirely sure.

"Socks," my host said. "Share."

A blindfolded, nearly naked girl with skin as white as snow was shared between us. Sugar coated boots soled the foot-high water- slide.

"Six-one-one," Mr. Gladly spoke, "Has her favorite color?"

"Brown."

"We know your children like the color brown," Gladly answered. "Just thinking it would be funny if you tried to put them on before they grew."

"Don’t be petty," my dad said, a note of irritation in his tone.

"What’s the matter, dad? Is it possible I have a crush?" Krouse asked.

Don’t be petty.

"Okay, here’s the deal. I’m sharing this story because I love her. I want to protect her. I know there will be people who argue I’m being selfish for wanting her companionship and company, others who will point to the fact that I could care less about my own body and the well-being of my friends. I’m just saying I love her and there’s nothing sexier than being close to someone you care about."

"That’s not true, Kyle," his friend Edith Keller told the story to the stunned silence of the kitchen.

"Not exactly," Kyle responded, turning to Rae. "Yes. And I was going to be the one to break the news, but-"

"You’re too good at hiding it from others," Kyle said. "You won’t say no. And I’m not raising any of your secrets to anyone. Not until you’re through the backdoor."

"We’re not," Edith said, looking down at her feet. "We’re doing the best we can."

"You can’t hold it in," Kyle said.

"Not when it involves your own life."

"I can’t," Kyle replied. "I’d have to break my rules and break my code to get you to let me use my power on you. Even then, it’s not something I want. I want you gone."

Krouse closed his eyes.

"I’m sorry," he said.

It was still a decision between good PR or bad. One way or the other, they were going to lose this fight. They wouldn’t get a true victory, but a series of points that served as a stage for the audience and the PRT to stage Iron Fist actions against the heroes.

For now, all they could do was wait and see if Kyle could find some angle to take advantage of.





Drone 23.4


The figure at the end of the alley was Weld. He had twenty or so volunteers with him, joining his ‘army’. All of them wore the standard costume, but each was equipped with a device that should limit or at least partially hide their facial features. They didn’t realize it, but the feature that caught their eye was a small iron ring, set into the steel of his gauntlets.

It wasn’t the main ring that caught their eye. What caught his eye was the white powder.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I’ve been meaning to show you the true meaning of ‘iron grip’," Camellia said, her voice deep.

The PRT staff didn’t know what to do with their golden-boy. Lisette, the deputy director, whistled to her squad and motioned for them to shuffle. The outnumbered and outgunned Wardens drew their weapons and fired one gun at the PRT staff, Maddie Brown, before she was covered. The source of the white smoke was probably a smokescreen or distraction. The ring wasn’t as strong as you’d think, given the ring’s insufficient weight and the fact that it was made of hard metal. It was too heavy for her to lift with one hand and fall through a floor without falling over.

She was prodding the ring with her fingers. Nothing. She was stronger with her pinky and middle fingers. Precognition?

"You’re not lifting anything," she said.

"No," he said. He looked down at the ring. She could see his stomach and heaving chest as he hauled the pistol free of its case. "Sorry."

"It’s the best weapon we have at our disposal."

"You’re asking me to violate my own code. No!"

"It’s only a matter
======================================== SAMPLE 849 ========================================
With the help of the network and my power, I managed to type in and hit the submit button. The page loaded.

Wonder how long I had before the network caught up.

I hit the a button and watched as the entire network picked up. In a matter of seconds, the entire room got a touch more responsive. The whole room thudded as the mouse landed on a specific monitor. It was a glimpse of things to come.

Then, as if a jolt passed, the room plunged into darkness. The lights flickered back to life, the various monitors became active, and the whole room hummed with activity.

Dazahn appeared on the monitors of the other monitors. In a moment, the room was filled with activity again. There was a cacophony, as if each monitor were a gigantic speaker, each speaker 30 feet long, deep, deep enough that I feared for the speaker system’s safety. I could see the intent on Dragon’s face, as she stood and peered at her automated self.

The initial humming ceased, and the room returned to a stillness.

I looked at my phone, confused.

"You made a phone call?" I asked, in the moment the sound cut in, the flashbulb moment.

Noelle didn’t turn my way.

"Yeah," she said. "You’re still downstairs, in the basement. Knock?"

I nodded and followed her into the darkness.

In a minute, we were quiet.

She grunted as she ascended the stairs. "He’s coming."

I could hear the commotion across the room. The others were in the living room, where they’d been receiving their individual reinforcements. The other prisoners had been informed, and were dressing now in the various uniforms that were spread out across the cell blocks. Each was assigned a number. Two or three, perhaps. Probably three.

"Defiant?" I asked.

A deep, resonant tone. "Yes."

"Can we talk?"

"I don’t know," I said.

The three of them were in the room, with spinners and monkeys keeping the assorted cabinet doors locked.

One of the Saiyans in the room raised his head, speaking. "You’re fighting Dragon."

Wordlessly, I deflected the question.

"We’re fighting Russia," Dragon elaborated. "As much as Dragon wants it."

"You’re definately not fighting her," Defiant said.

"Hardly," I replied. "I’m pointing to the fact that we’re fighting multiple enemies at once."

"Multiple," Chevalier agreed. "You missed the part where we killed three Saurients."

"And not just killing them. You also reported one incident in which our side killed a prisoner."

Defiant turned to me. "That’s not what I stated."

"And you weren’t asking for clarification, you wanted to correct me," I said.

"I only wanted to clarify things," he said, "On the record."

"I understand," I said. "If this is a trick, it’s working."

"And we’re supposed to believe it’s because I mentioned the number?"

"A rule, Tattletale explained, that every PRT agent carries with them when they leave the headquarters. Probability, she said. The more enemies we have on hand, the better equipped we are to deal with them. The more enemies we cannot afford to deal with, the weaker the opposition. The game show host, for example, who only recently joined the Protectorate but has experience with them."

"Does that work?"

"It does. And it explains why almost every fight we’ve been in so far has been long and hard ones. We’re far stronger against more troublesome enemies. And I’m not just talking about the capes. I’m talking about the agents, those individuals who are working for us and those we lose to."

"I lost Legend," I said. "You know our history. He was one of our best before he was one of our worst."

"We dealt with him," Defiant said.

"All too often," I said, "The repercussions of defiance are bigger than the act itself. Sometimes beyond our wildest dreams."

"Yes," Defiant said. He didn’t look at me.

"You had ideas, Tattletale- Rayman. They were good ones, and we should keep those ideas alive, should we? They were just ideas, though. Good enough to help
======================================== SAMPLE 852 ========================================
A savage beauty created her shadow state, and another artificial line was formed from the raw emotion and hatred of the first. They fought, and each pushed the other to one side.

It wasn’t enough. Fear and hatred ran high.

More shadow states formed, and they fought alongside them. The fear made the other two perceive things more clearly. Faced with the prospect of spending eternity in this darkness, they turned their backs.

Here and there, life returned. But as the war dragged on, the safety of the imagined alliances and friends was denied.

More shadow states warped and combined into something more tangible. The fight returned to the same entities, and more often than not, it was the creations with dangerous powers at play who were the cause of the trouble. Here and there, life returned, and the aid of the heroes who’d fought alongside us.

But even here, life didn’t return here.

A sudden pang of anxiety struck me. Could I even return to my original plan, with Aisha as the focus? Would I be a burden to Grue?

I caught a glimpse of Nix and Bash cooperating. Two of the swarm box’s inhabitants.

"Making progress," I said.

"A few more clones," Tail called out. "Striking a nerve, still."

"Huzzah!" Nix broadcasted. "Redundant! Praise the dark!"

The creation at the center of the trio was a human face with flowing dark hair, the outer portion currently covered with a cloth or shell. The face was framed by a stylized combination of metal and stone armor. The combination of metals and rough edges meant the person didn’t have eye holes or a mouth. The tongue was already extended, bent at a right angle, trailing from the ends of drool-covered lips.

"Uh, Look to the future," I said. "Everyone sensitive to scene. If any hostile reactions, get ready. I’m personally okay with this, if not okay with it. Taylor here has a few things she’s gotta do, but the rest of us aren’t."

Muscles rippled, and I could feel the presence of the three Arabes on the box. They jerked in my direction, and I could feel the rough texture of their bodies on my arms and legs.

"You got my meaning."

"Yeah," Tail said.

Rachel stepped forward, releasing the dogs. They boarded the back of the craft.

"That’s two of them, huh?" I asked.

"One and a half headed to the Middle East to relieve the old members. The others are currently en route. If you want to continue, pitch a tent beneath the tent and we’ll make another home for you and your friends in the meantime."

I nodded. We set down on the beach.

There were a few awkward moments. Tail indignantly informed us, "We’re off the ground. Done for."

It was a good thing I wasn’t high enough to touch them, because I feared some precog might be upset if I’d dared touch them.

Some heroes had reached the site and were giving the children there their attention. Rachel sat with Bentley at her side, and the dog started to climb to his feet.

"Hey, Rise," Tail said.

Rise looked at Tail, and Tail shrugged. Girl seemed unfazed.

"You should see the teamwork. All of us, we’re the team leaders."

"I don’t really have to be."

"You do. But it looks hard to get anyone to stick around when all of us three are this organized. Maybe we have personalities, and you each bring something to the table that other people don’t. We could work ourselves up into a frenzy over something so minor as not to waste anyone’s time."

"No," Rise said. "I’m not going to be that person."

"You are," Tail said, without any notes of humor in her voice. "And you are good at figuring out how to use people’s weaknesses to your advantage. How to use them against us."

"I’ve been around people who were worse at than you," Rise said. "Not really that different, as far as my perspective."

"I’ve seen people who were better at than you. You were good at everything. Even where you’d initially set your mind to something else. Maybe that was aspiration, maybe a kind of competitiveness, but you longed for a way to express yourself that wasn’t confined to looks. A way to be yourself, without having to
======================================== SAMPLE 855 ========================================
End of an Era, Part II.

He had to live with the loss of the heroes, not least because they would be his in death, too. He’d never forgiven the old Leviathan for the crimes he’d committed, but there was no justifying the murders of the Brockton Bay Wards, either. There had been no avoiding it in the first place.

Another Leviathan, another body delivered by the sand, revealing itself as a child’s face in the ocean. The face of a recently deceased relative. It tilted its head, its mouth open in a scream that only partially escaped syllables.

Another Leviathan, another being beneath the water, an arm falling from the tall man’s shoulders. The mind numbed as the man slowly sank to the water’s surface, the tide of the water pulling at his face, a grim echo of what had begun as a brief respite.

He could envision the scene, all the while. Endbringer attacks on the news, glimmers of light painting the ocean’s surface, trailing disconnected columns in wait. It would be weeks before the front-page reports clarified, traced the gradual transition from glimmers of light to actual fireflies or ants. For weeks after that, the general consensus was that this had been a coordinated attack on par with an onrushing tsunami.

He could see the image of the armored figure aboard the Dragonfly, struggling to find purchase on the cliffside or among the fallen. It glowed with an eerie faint, tracing the corners of a nearby building.

Another glimmer, a carryover from the memory that had just lasted thirty seconds. He could see the underlying biology, the genetics of the subject, a perfected being, a locked away from the moment it had manifested the power, unaware of the countless conflicts and revelations that had followed, with its power evolving and fighting back every time it felt it was threatened.

It was a subject he was familiar with. He could not remember its name, but he could visualize the scene, the interaction between the individual powers.

As was his habit, he focused his attention on the virtual creature. Shaped more by pressure and light than anything else, the power was more animal, more echolocation than anything else. It coiled, pulsing with a center point that was no less than five feet across, with material spiraling in and around him. The tips moved like speedsters, retracing his steps in a single bound, never letting him move more than a little, and they moved faster when he moved. It wasn’t much, only two or three feet across, but it was the closest approximation he had to a real creature.

He closed his eyes for a moment, coughed once, and then opened his eyes to the scene in a way that made him think of a moth to the flame. The viewing had been cumulative, as though he were watching himself through another person’s eyes, and the images were blighted by light damage. Only the glow helped to highlight the details.

He struggled to his feet, prodded with his dagger, and the scene played out in a very different way from the diagramd notes indicated. It didn’t show his attackers, the way Basilisk had indicated… but he did see them. Two women in orange and black, one with a large eavesdropper to the face, another in a black costume with flames adorning her shoulders.

She was dead, flame-dispensed, from head to toe. She’d been a member of the group that had attacked the diplomatic building. How many dead by contagion?

She’d been unremarkable, a nameless brush target for the wind and the rain. Now she was a bedraggler, a slouch in a shirt and pants, with a heavy bag with her at one side, her little brother at the other.

They’d taken her to a room on the ground floor, far more mundane than the rooms he’d peeped in on earlier in the day. Three large televisions had been smashed, windows shattered, and they had been brought down by methods he couldn’t discern. There was a princess cafe here, but it had been empty. He’d peered in as the doors slid open, saw a neurologist working on a young girl. An adolescent girl with legs and forelimbs so wide that he might have thought she was five, if she’d been alive then. A part-grown Jack Slash sat in the chair.

"How to handle the Weaver?"

"We’re forcing him to work. He’s worn out, and we don’t want him working to protect us, to keep the peace, or to give us an excuse to take down the people who really pose a threat
======================================== SAMPLE 858 ========================================
On a side note, did you know that [censored], a team member of Panacea’s, was arrested a week and a half ago? He was apparently planning to assassinate Bonesaw. Panacea claimed she saw the resemblance and that it was accidental, but a month and a half later, it was done again, and she was nowhere to be found. Her ex-boyfriend claims to have seen the resemblance and reports the same thing, but is still looking for the woman. The connection between these two disappearances isn’t a coincidence.

We stopped at an intersection where blazes and police cars had crossed from one section of the city to the other, looking for evidence to follow. Blastedales stood at the entrances to the area, her body a conspicuous feature in the midst of long, dark brown hair.

"There’s nooses placed everywhere!" someone shouted from the crowd.

"Oh, there’s got to be more, you delusional little fucks," Panacea called across the crowd, "None of us have the slightest idea what we’re doing, and you let yourselves get defenseless the second time around! Yes, she defies death the second time around, but who’s to say the first time was an error of judgement on Panacea’s part? If we take someone with powers and put them in the water, when […] we know […] they’ll go berserk the second the idea appears online!"

"There’ll be an asterisk!" someone else raised their hand, "Between the accused supervillain and their lawyer, the defendant never saw […] their body, right? She took measures to secure evidence, to ensure her friends didn’t get off easy, to ensure the general public wasn’thai culprit. She even put measures in place, redundantly adding extra safeguards to make it pretty obvious they’d done wrong. Topping it all off, due to the fact that she had an extremely contagious mental disorder, her mental state while she was physically alive was culpable for her actions, which are now […] culpable for the actions of all of the people in the room with her. Holding a grudge […] on a level, parahuman as well as non-parahuman, the […] quirkiness of her […] mental state while she was not physically […] there, the fact that her mental state while she was mentally present […] still counts towards the […] wrongfully activated […] collective memory, and all of those people who were […] materially affected by her situation get […] the brunt of it."

"Her actions while she was out of costume were obviously intentional," my dad spoke, "Even if the consequences of an executed ‘death warrant’ don’t turn any heads, the fact that she was out of action signals a risk to the public, and the villain community is already feeling the heat."

"The PRT burning down a town?" Rocket started. "How do you think the public is going to react to that? The fact that there were more people to target?"

Coil wasn’t sure what to respond to, so he just said, "That’s my responsibility. I will continue to consider it agent 60’s responsibility, and I’ll mete out justice according to the gravity of the offense."

You didn’t get off easy, Rocket.

"I’d like to see the wild west return, in some measure"

"With your new ‘companion’, yes. They call it ‘parahumans entertainment district’. It’s a growing business, and I’d like to see its impacts continue."

There was a pause, then Coil said, "I can understand that. When we were talking about the potential damage this could do, before, I estimated that it could cost the taxpayer’s dollars in the following ways."

"That adds up," Justice said. "It would be a serious cost if it was factored in, and relations between our respective factions would suffer if we split up. We’d be playing this with our own kind of hierarchy, with Captain Hero as the senior and de-facto leader."

"I’m not so convinced you’re making that clear," Coil said. "I’m willing to make an exception for you if you want to break the rules."

"You’re not talking about any particular danger you’d face, exactly," Rocket said. "You’re only threatening our way of life, and it’s by no means an attractive route. It’s populous, it’s highly mobile, and it’s markedly more violent than any other form. I fully expect you to engage in some form of terrorism, whether it
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Except if you look at it another way – if you discount the whole emotional appeals – perhaps we see a disturbing parallel in our client.

So maybe, just maybe, we see a kind of therapeutic incestuous relationship. In both cases, the client is the therapist, the therapist is the client, and the client is the abused partner.

Or am I missing something?

I need to ask the question more. Why is it that way?

My gut tells me that the clients I’ve worked with all have some common theme. Traits I’ve seen, maybe they’ve had moments where they brushed shoulders with me, or times when they’ve had moments where they were close, or they’d had friends or family members to talk to, who they could talk to, who they could talk to, where they could talk.

I’ve seen the grapes that are in the grapevines.

The grapes are ripe, and I’m picking just the right pieces.

The grapes. The grapes are ripe, but I’m not thirsty.

I wait. I wait for Perception to wake, to wake and check on Scrub. I know he’s out of the shower, so I’ll be dry. I look for a patch of flooded street where the thudding water from the rickshaws and the trashed bins makes the grass seem lower than it is. Dry enough, in a way, because the seesaw cuts through it.

On these same lines, I’m simultaneously preparing to cut and record the images that will tell the story of my life.

I’m preparing to cut and record images that will tell the story of Alec, Taylor, Alec, Alec, and then, months or years later, I’ll come back and watch the footage in question, try to piece together the story I’ve told myself.

I looked at the mountains. Vivaldi. They all looked the same, in a sense. All was well. The sky was blue-white, the clouds were large, and there were countless stars shining through the clouds. The way the water ran off the mountains to the west suggested it was being lifted off the ground. Which meant it was dry. It also meant it was warm.

It also meant there were things being cut and pasted in its place.

Alexandria. I’d cut her name out of the original document. She had more charisma than most people I knew had. Her willingness to play along for the sake of having friends and having a life was, to all outward appearances, a failure. If nothing else, it had given others reasons to keep her around.

She’d been a kind person, in the bad old days of yesteryear. Only she’d been grinding money into the citizens’ payroll, and having only the to go one way. If the only means of getting what you needed to do was a smile and a hug, a taxpayer-subsidized ice cream truck…

I didn’t trust myself to let myself get too attached to Scapegoat. With the endless hugs and chuckles that flowed with his comment, I deserved some of that.

Then he left.

I held his hand as he strode away, and kept holding Evacant’s. We’d walked hand in hand for almost an hour before coming to the same conclusion. Either Scapegoat had been doing business in our town, or there was something going on with Coil.

Either way, it was better to keep an eye out and keep people safe.

I strode into the school. It was empty, with the few students who were in class to distract from the lifeless bodies that were everywhere. I stopped on the far end of the hall, by the windows.

There were no guards.

I pulled off my mask, finding it in one of the drawers. I opened the drawer, and when I pulled it back in, it was riddled with bite and stings. My forearms hurt more than I thought they would. I didn’t mention it. I was a little scared, about how this might go.

I was surprised that it didn’t bite or sting more.

I approached the row of beds, and stopped when I saw the guard. In his suit, he stood off to one side, but he didn’t touch the guard, who was staring at the computer.

"Who are you?"

"I am Nathan Myrick."

"You’re not from here."

"We’re not authorized to speak on behalf of the school, and I’m not speaking here because I am accompanying you. We have excellent security at the school, and
======================================== SAMPLE 864 ========================================
Defiant smiled, although he wasn’t smiling anymore.

"We’re your launch pad, baby, the first test run. See, I knew you’d struggle, that you’d struggle even now. But I’ve nursed you back to health, and I’ve given you that first aid training, to help you get yourself upright and abs from that constant, everpresent pain in your back. I can give you that first aid kit. I know how. Send me there. I’ll colour in the details and give you accurate information. I’ll even get you the right antibiotic if and when you ask. Then we’ll wrap this up, you can go to your apartments and stay there until you need it. Diluted aspirin. The right antibiotic will let you choke without having to worry about your back hurting anymore. Acuteness. Strength through consistency. I’ll even arrange for you to have a physiotherapist there if you need it. All for you, and myself. Then we’ll go home. To the little ones. To you."

And I will be free in no time.



"You need something to hold you up, Doc."

He turned to Brian, who had his arms folded as he reclined in the armchair. "Your physical therapist can check your Achilles' tendons, lungs and heart. If they’re weak, you can try doing up your chest. I think I can manage shifting more slowly, with my arms folded and my back against the chair."

"Thank you," Brian said, his eyes on the back of the chair.

He turned to me, "What’s the chance I can put this package in place while staying under the radar?"

"I… I can’t say it’ll prevent all future heart attacks or all future strokes, but it’ll reduce the chance substantially."

"You’re full of snot, O.S."

"I’ll tell you what. Five percent."

He fell silent.

"I’ve scored, now," he said. "Two hundred and sixty dollars here, and I can’t open the package. There’s a rule against me using my power on your customers. I’m under the impression that rule has changed since you started."

I didn’t respond, my attention on the product. I took a second to compose my thoughts.

"I get the impression you won’t be drawn to me any more by charm than you were by promise of some swan song."

"What is it?" I asked.

"I’m someone who believes deeply in their abilities, in your abilities and in the paths you can choose. I don’t think that counts for a lot when you’re walking down a road where you have no option but to fall back on old guard abilities."

"You’re talking about me running, again."

"You’re better at it than I am."

"You’re one of the few people who can deal with a Stand still when they’re pulling something half-baked."

"And you’re backing me up when I’m getting zig-zagged around a bunch of pretty strict rules I’m not happy with. When I’m doing the absolutely most important thing, defending Dinah."

"And in the process, you create a new dangerous power."

"Quite possible. You want me to fix your friends?"

"No. That is not what I want. That is a bad idea on a number of levels, and it would do more harm than good."

"And you want me to play ball?"

"I’m allowing you the benefit of a doubt on this. I won’t demand it outright, but I think you will come to the same conclusion I do, that this was a long series of conversations between two good people who wanted to do the right thing. That’s not who I am."

"I know. You’re a character, aren’t you?"

"I’m a living, breathing piece of machinery, I’ve just as many problems as I’ve been able to solve. You’re fixing my friends? I’m… I don’t know. But I’m willing to be the machine’s undoing, here. Without Dauntless or the rest of the team to help keep it in line. I can stop checking in with it every night, to see how it’s doing, to give it what it needs."

"And
======================================== SAMPLE 867 ========================================
"Not an option."

They settled for a response from one of his teammates, a meow.

He gave one hand to shake. He tucked his other hand beneath the table, gripping it firmly.

"It’s what they would have wanted," Alexandria said.

He nodded. "It’s what we would have wanted."

"If you’d put that away, you wouldn’t have been all there. In fact, I might have been angry at you for not putting it away. I can’t ask you to give up that independence. It’s something we would have supported."

He closed his eyes. It was the longest statement he’d ever made, and it spoke volumes. He was well on his way to breaking down, so to speak.

"It’s a big difference," she said.

"Difference?"

"You’re a member of this team, and you’re allowed to breathe. To fly. To talk."

His question was unanswerable. He could read the reactions around her. Tension. A change in posture.

Would the woman open her mouth if he gave her a direct answer? If-

If he answered, would he be able to bring himself to say anything?

"You’re staying?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Not participating in this fight?"

"We’re splitting up. Using different portals to get to different places. It’s slower, but it’s necessary. The members of this team need to be equipped and on call for when crises call for instant, in a crisis such as an Endbringer attack. I’m sorry for the disruption."

He nodded. "I understand. I’ll try to make it up to you in any way I can. I appreciate this being your sanctuary, and the rest of these acts of kindness."

She nodded again, but the tiniest of smiles.

He didn’t ask for an update on her case, and he didn’t receive one.

Stand by, he thought.



Stand by, he was reminded of the tinker’s voice.

A woman’s, entirely too human, nearly as tall as he was. Her face was marked by age on both sides, even in the dim light that streamed in through the hallway’s edge. Her dark hair was tied back in a braid, and the eyes were drawn half-closed, with specks of light above them. He could see the hallucinatory effects her eyes were having on the people around her.

She spoke, and there was no trace of the fear or doubt he’d seen in her since he’d rescued her. "I guess we’re here for the concluding speeches."

<End of Page>

</End of Page><|endoftext|>Former Vermont Gov. and 2016 Democratic presidential candidate Sen. Bernie Sanders speaks during a campaign rally in Fernandina, Pa. on Friday, April 5, 2016. ( JENNIFER FOSTER / Staff Photographer )

Former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton delivered a stirring speech on Friday, criticizing President-elect Donald Trump and Republican lawmakers for what she described as their cavalier attitude toward the Russia scandal, while campaigning in Pennsylvania.

Speaking at a campaign rally in Fernandina, Clinton criticized the Republican-led Congress for failing to pass a major piece of legislation, for failing to approve the Keystone XL pipeline and KeystoneCattle pipeline, for failing to approve the Dakota Access pipeline and KeystoneXL, and for failing to give congressional Republicans a year to figure out how they want to work with her.

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She also took aim at Trump — this time around, it was more limited and focused. "Hey, hey, hey," she said, referring to the media. "Did you get any messages from him?" Clinton asked a crowd of about 20,000 people, according to the local media. Some booed, but she was confident enough in her speech to maintain her composure there. "Nothing serious?" she asked the crowd, according to the Associated Press , "Just wanted to let you know that I’m still here, if you need me." She stopped to shake the hand of a young man, a balding man, who had six bulletproof glass eyes and no shaved head. "If you need me, I’ll be there."

He nodded.

She finished by telling the man, "If you work for me, if you think you can make it in this town and make a good impression, I’ll give you half off your next order."

The man gave her a curt nod.

Article Continued Below

"Order
======================================== SAMPLE 870 ========================================
Retreat from her territory.

Nothing given. If he wants to attack, he’ll have to take her up on it.

Barker hasn’t surrendered, however small the attack may be.

Lady had claimed the building, centuries of hard work given away in the name of generosity for the sake of argument.

She wanted to remain confident, but even here, she’d have to compromise. Lady had claimed the building for herself, and Lady was angry at Lady :D

Even here, there was reason to be wary.

A compromise between the two?

Skitter raised her hand, presenting the package.

The pair exchanged glances. Lady was silent.

She posed a question.

Lady didn’t respond.

"Are you able to tell me the general story of how you became an Endbringer?"

Lady simply shook her head.

"For those of you who do not in fact know, this is a tale of personal sacrifice and the giving of up one's life. Many a person has."

"My husband, my father, my uncle…"

"Have you seen them?" Lady asked, without breaking eye contact.

"Did you see them fall in love with you? With you?"

"Yes," Lady said. Then without looking at Skitter, she coughed, "In my travels, I have met many like yourself. Lottery winners, monsters, heroes. I have met people with powers, people without. The results of a coin flipping, of a coin tossed, even an old man who almost died, but he got lucky."

"Trying to say I am not worthy of being in love?"

"No. Not necessarily. Yes. Sometimes it feels like the people in the thick of it all are more worthy."

"No. You seem to be partial. You seem to know what is going on."

"I do. But I am not here to share my experiences. That is what the true end users are like. This is the mortal coil. This is the blood that flows in veins and veins create body parts, and it ends in the mundane, in green screen around whoever watches."

"I would seek out those souls and pit them against one another in a fair, lawful, even-handed way. How does this affect the impartial soul-searching you perform?"

"It does not. I feel most peace as I rise from the dead."

Lady wondered if Skitter had heard.

It did not feel lawful. The fight might well have ended there, but the judges had other concerns. It was not lawful to kill parahumans, even at the peril of so many lives.

"It is a license, Lady," Skitter said. "The Forgotten can do what they like, but nothing is truly lost until it has been earned. We have this in check."

"I see."

"It is due to this Coil system that I am here. I do hope you understand why I was so surprised when I was asked to come here. I do not wish to argue, and I do not intend to raise any issues with you while I am in your presence. I merely wish to talk to you in private, as you have asked."

"We shall see," Skitter replied. She turned to leave.

For his part, Coil was as dignified as he was obvious. "Lady Wednesday, I sincerely hope you’re not displeasing the filmmakers with your absence. I’d send a carriage for you, but it would be for your own good. They’re expecting a huge number, and it’s not in my ability to make any promises."

"Oh," Skitter responded. She had to lower her voice a touch. "I shouldn’t have said that."

"It was for my benefit, and because I have company. I must be able to assist you, or you would not have had the company to write me this letter."

"So they are indebted to you, then."

"Yes. More than $7,000,000, which is unusually large for a gift from one such as mine. I even took the liberty of contacting some reputable magicians, because they are remarkably well equipped in the matters of such high value items. I even offered to tell them how to make a device that would let me get my hands on a particularly valuable piece of technology."

"To the point that they would be on the brink of throwing your knuckles at you."

"Fortunately, I must confess," Skitter said, "I do owe one. Maggots. Charm them, or confuse them, let them fall in love with one another, and they are that much more dangerous."

"I see
======================================== SAMPLE 873 ========================================
Victoria, who had gone with the group that had come from their home in her earlier confusion, was walking with a kind of measured gentleness to her left, as though she didn’t want to make things easier for herself. That was only natural. She had never been able to be forced to be at ease.

She had, after a fashion, but she’d never had the luxury of having anyone to fall back on. Grue, the man she’d met on the job, was far younger and less experienced than the others; they were friends, after all. Taylor, Lisa, Alec, Bitch, her sister and the mother of the family that sat just to her right. They had their own challenges and differences, but they held together with no issues, answered any of her criticisms without a fight. They were good people.

Victoria and Victoria’s sister were to her left and right. She watched and waited with the deepest of feelings as the trio addressed her. Even though she knew Emma had alreadymed it, she knew the sentiment would be lost on no one. She had to exact retribution for that in due time. Perhaps, if the sentiment was as strong as it was before, she wouldn’t have needed to wait so long.

She could only hope she could meet the mother with a simple kiss. Emma had narrowed eyes and was focusing on the product instead of the man. She had gotten her brother to accept her as she wanted him to, and the look was just as empty and empty only a few minutes ago.

Just to her left was her sister. She didn’t look like she was suffering, compared to the rest of the girls. She was seated on the curb at the back of the bus, reading a book with a very not-angel cat-themed tome hanging over her lap. She spoke, and the word was some kind of crazy-assed apology for something she’d done. How much of that was an admission of guilt, and how much was some mental strain?

Her sister turned to face her, met every scrutiny and criticism with a defiant face.

"Guess I’m going to die," she said.

"Jeez. You were going to say that," Victoria replied.

"I’m sorry," the girl in the nice costume said.

"You mean you weren’t sorry you attacked me?" Victoria asked.

"I’m not saying I’m not sorry. I’m saying it’s been a shitty week"

"How’s that?"

"I’m not a good person, or a person, at least. I made a lot of enemies, but I made friends. I tried to stick it to them, but I’m a sore loser, and you tried to treat me like you would someone else’s daughter, and I found myself wondering if you liked me."

"We’re sorry," Victoria said.

"You did what you had to, there. It’s okay. You can say it’s because of Emma’s situation? But it isn’t like I’m using my power on you or any of the others. I don’t even know what my range is, and all that stuff with the portals and whatever else. I don’t even know how my power operates."

"So you don’t get in touch with any of the others."

"Do I need to contact them?"

"You don’t."

"I could," she said. "It would mean getting in touch with everyone else that’s still alive and going door to door."

"Do it online?" Victoria suggested.

"It would be easier if I didn’t do it," Victoria said. "And it would be totally, one hundred percent okay with you if I did. I don’t know your password, I don’t know your email."

So Victoria used her power to seal off the email account. Not that she had any idea how this account was obtained, but it meant the message would get through.

"It’s Taylor’s," Victoria said, "She’s getting emails from her tumblr."

Victoria’s eyes widened. "How the hell do you…"

"Put thirty one cookies in the little box at the top right of the page, down there."

Sophia added, "I’m getting emails from the password reset page."

"Didn’t think you had it in you."

"What?"

"I didn’t think you had it in you. Because you weren’t using a webcam, and
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I was alone here. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

I wondered if I should say something. Please don’t let me down, don’t leave me disappointed. Please.

I wasn’t sure what I could say, so I focused on pulling on my costume and putting it on.

I pulled on the winged gauntlets. The process was slightly different each time, but finishing the first step was easier with the gauntlet on. I tightened the straps until I felt secure.

The second step was more involved. The step before that, I almost missed it. It was a slow build as the upper body was pulled up and incorporated into the costume. I had to work to keep the belt from closing around my waist.

I almost missed the last step. Leaving my territory was one thing, but being forced to stay in a spot for days at a time? I was caught between living here and hoping the media paid scant attention to how warped I was.

I grimaced and reached down to put my hand on the belt.

"Idiot," I said. I found the lantern and lit up the candle. The interior was as uneven as the ground, moss-covered floor and a cracked ceiling. "Sorry, I haven’t got anything better to do."

"My turn," the ‘voice’ said. It was oddly eerily similar to Lily’s. I named the first act I thought of.

I followed the ‘voice’ into the main hub.

The rooms on the lower level were smaller, with one open area for photography and drawing, another for computer and print-serials, and a third for more delicate repairs. Mostly black, but my bugs were catching a whiff of steelwood and leather during my exploration.

The larger rooms had more design, with tiles like the ones on this blog. Candleholders here, clock faces there. Each was different, something different. I almost hesitated to call it a design, because the ‘kitchen’ area didn’t have enough to draw a consistent design from.

The candleholder above was an eye, cracked by the same wave that had crushed the one that had swallowed the wall above. The mind couldn’t quite grasp the idea of division, even if I understood what it meant.

In the center of the room, there was a thick wooden table with a bench resting on it. The bench was broken into three pieces, each too large for the head of the tall, thin man. Each piece was individually handcrafted, each crafted with the right angle and the right number of screws and nails.

The candle and the instructions were both burned into the surface of the wood. The wrong angle, and it ignited, flaring up into a crescent moon. The lamp was a ceramic lamp, oval in shape, with white and black lettering reading ‘TEMPERANCE’, positioning the flame on the edge of the moon.

The blazing man lit the flame, and the words soaked the wood, casting it a red-orange.

I turned my attention to the larger room. The rule was that if we didn’t bring enough stuff in from the outside, it was hard to keep everything packed into the rooms on the second floor. There were no panes of wood that were sticking out of the walls. That meant walls without covering architecture, without walls with heads or candles lined up above them. It also meant that the beds were unexpectedly head and shoulders above all the other bedrooms. They gleamed, with gold, blue and purple hues.

Above every bed was a candle.

And above that, well… there was a chamber. No walls, no furniture, just pillars that were out of step with the rest of the apartment, standing out in every direction. They were shaped like people, a perfect sphere with three people on the bottom surface, a middle individual on top and an arch on the top that extended out to the living room and the hallway.

I was pretty sure I had a better idea of what she was doing than the guy did. She was making this a kind of meditation.

Three people occupying the lowest end of the bed, with two more at the ready to either stand or sit. The woman was sitting, her back to the wall, hands folded on the pillow. Her eyes were closed. The man was positioned further up the stair, facing her husband. He was almost a full foot above the woman, and had his chin against the pillow, his eyes locked on hers.

"Let’s see," Lily said, offhandedly.

A light show flashed over her face, enough that it was nearly impossible to see, "Oh my god. You’re awesome. You’re totally not trying-"

"I’
======================================== SAMPLE 879 ========================================
Get it across the line, she thought. Right. She shook her head no more than necessary, but that was involuntary. She just wanted us to move.

Two ideas, simultaneously true. One true, unremarkable, in every respect.

She thought of Bonesaw, and it gnawed at her. It wasn’t just Bonesaw, but the people, the society, even the philosophy. How could she be positive when Bonesaw was as open as she was, when the man was as closed as she was?

Yes, she thought, as she staggered towards the office.

She pushed the door open, and her hand shook as the drywall rattled.

Steel framed the doorway. The handle was a short-barreled shotgun. She used it as a key, unlocking the remainder of the chamber. The entire top half of the gun was screwed into the wall, with room for a small kitchen stove.

Once the key was in place, she had to contend with the gun’s charging handle. She used her shoes and her hands to block the handle from working into the wall, but it just slid and kicked against the sides of her desk, in and through several times. She had to move quickly, because the door was coming down this very second.

She had a razorblade in her other hand, and she used the blade to scrape the gun free of the wall, allowing herself a few tentative glares of disapproval from Doctor Mother.

Wait, didn’t think I’d notice.

 Maybe a keychain with a jellyfish on it would bother her more.

Wait, what?

Ah. It was a security system, so to speak. A way to keep all personnel – her scientists, her outsiders – from removing or depositing themselves at their discretion. Permanent or short-term.

But that wasn’t why she was here. She was there for the fight against Scion.

"Jitterbug," she spoke, her voice a whisper.

A creature of dreams, a seemingly endless string of layers, had reached the deepest recesses of Jack’s ‘computer’. It would be at least three hundred feet long, if it didn’t reach three hundred feet and nearly three hundred feet in diameter. Jitterbug, who Jack described as smelling like a "bear," had created more of a puff of smoke as she approached the barrier than she did the barrier itself. She was coming for us.

She didn’t come for me.

Why?

She came for me? She knew I was gone?

My bugs offered a clue. She was withdrawing some from a container she kept in her hands. She had to remove the material she wore to reach the compartment, and she was wearing the same materials at once that she’d had for the last few weeks. A costume and leggings made entirely of what she’d described as polystyrene. She might have introduced a new layer of defense if she had the ability to see what I was doing within the complex.

The first attack was a slow process of elimination. It would be almost impossible to predict which would be the first. There were a thousand things that could have happened. Infection, the butterfly could have touched a harmless fly and transmitted the pathogenic spirochete to its victim. In either case, it would kill within moments.

A few unlucky strikes, and death by some obscure, painful process of natural or mechanical death. There was a predictable result: In the first twenty-four hours, there had only been one serious attack. A team of hero was attacking the area, and she was incapacitated.

There were two more attacks. I could sense them, the first through some kind of Doormaker effect. I could get glimpses of the aftermath, Jack’s chamber looking like it had, only for him to emerge, showing her just how clear the line was.

The second was a momentary confusion. A shapeshifter or a puppet with a face had taken an active role in the fight. The entirety of the costume Jack wore was draped in cloth, and even the layers that covered the most prominent features of his body were copacetic or comforting, obscuring and filtering out the bad scenes.

He’d taunted her, and he’d EITHER been after she deserted him or he’d been after she’d taken the role.

It’d be the question of the evening for the rest of the evening. What would it take for him to end this with a win?

HeEVERY attack turned out to be a long, hard fight. Seven or eight minutes of sustained engagement, constant information and analysis. With luck, he would get one or two allies to fall in battle, get them to
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He would, though.

"Rachel. Everything alright?" I asked.

"Pisses me off, especially the first time," she said, "I was hoping for a hug and a few words of thanks, and you didn’t even deserve any."

"I needed them to take me home."

"Taken you home?" I asked, a little incredulous, but I couldn’t come up with a good reply. If I didn’t give her a sympathetic explanation, I was pretty sure she’d start talking about me abusing her, about me taking care of her brother, or about me setting her up.

"God," she muttered. "Have to let her be."

"Would you let him be, Rachel? What were her powers?"

"I dunno. I can’t say for sure. I might have guessed Tinker, but that seems stupid when I think about it."

"Let’s assume she was a tinker," I said. "Now, for the sake of argument, I want to be sure I’ve explained what’s going on. If her power is a telekinetic one, does that mean she’s got the same effect on everyone she shows herself to, beyond the people she sees first?"

"Yes," she said, sagely.

"What’s her power?"

"As I said, she’s a masked telekinetic. When she shows herself, she doesn’t just change the color of her skin or whatever, but every part of her that is not directly exposed to the atmosphere becomes a different color, a shifted position. Her movements aren’t limited to the bounds of the five chan-changers, and she doesn’t limit herself to wreaking havoc in the broader neighborhood. She’s got a mastery of flight, and she flies really, really long distances. I know because I’ve had to use her power to get my feet under me. It’s not the movement of air that’s the issue, it’s the fact that she flies for so long that the drawbacks to her flying kick in particular become clear."

"Why isn’t Carmen showing herself."

"I don’t know," she said. "Maybe there’s a video in the movie theater showing her as she’s posing as a man, right next to a female familiar to every child who watches this medium, ‘Henryk Magnus’."

"You’re playing around. This isn’t even in the forefront of my mind."

"I know because it was the entirety of my attention during one particularly frantic moment. If I may paraphrase, my own survival is directly tied to the outcome of that moment. I can’t keep track of what’s happening, and my efforts will therefore have a direct, positive impact on those around me. In a way, I’m almost bent toward that end. However you want to define ‘dominant’, dominant in this case being my personal victory versus the PRT, it falls outside of any of your legitimate methods of attack. I have to win by denying her that."

"You’re going to let her win?"

"Ultimately, she makes the call. I’ve come to understand you, and I’ve come to understand your methods. You go low, and you need only one or two minutes to put someone away, or to kill them, or to take control and order them to do your bidding. After that, it’s all about squashing anyone who crosses you. I’m finding that you, Weaver, are more willing to make that call than others. You make the call and you get the result. That might be because you’re stronger, or it’s because your power makes things easier for you."

"I’m not asking for your help. I’m not even thinking about helping you there. I want to be absolutely annihilated, all fiscal sense and pain eliminated from the Earth’s inhabitants."

"There’s a remedy on the way."

"Yes. Consider this your first favor to me. Rest assured, I’m fully capable of handling this. Thank you."

Another golden glow.

She watched with the other Travelers, as the pair approached her base.

"What is it?"

"Occupied area. Group of insurgents."

"I know exactly what you mean."

"They’ve got reinforcements. They’re in your territory"

"They will be. I’ve been working behind the scenes to put the pieces together for this plan
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A true anomaly.

The team looked very much alike, in many respects. Taylor Hebert, Sophia Hess, Emma Watson. There were others, but those three singled out seemed to stand out.

Hebert’s eyes widened as she looked at him.

She stood from her seat, swatted at the flies that were crawling on her, and fled the room.

Hew looked momentarily surprised and then chuckled.

It had to be a very stupid joke, because he promptly had a heart attack the second he was out of earshot.

"Emma," her father spoke, quiet.

She turned, saw him at the entrance to his classroom. He was laughing hysterically.

"You’re back," he boomed, jumping to his feet. He pointed at the girls with his pink sign, "Emma got her picture taken!"

All the courage he’d ever needed, nothing. He collapsed to the ground and almost immediately felt a building rumble.

"Where’s Bobby?"

"Saw him at the hospital."

"I’m Bobby’s friends," The man with the notebook said. In a more or less normal accent, he described some of Bobby’s more eccentric quirks. "They said they saw him at the hospital. Stay at the hospital. Stay alive."

"Okay," his daughter said, her voice crying out, "I didn’t think he’d be this stupid."

"What did you do, do you suffer from the panic attack?"

"He took it for granted that I would suffer too. He had his escape route, but he didn’t have a place to stay with nowhere to go. Until I saw his face, woke up and we got to talking. Took it out on you, daddy. Took it out on you that I might not be home."

"I blamed myself. I said I’d deal with it. Somehow, I thought I’d fuck up and get arrested, that you’d be angry at me, but you were more concerned about what the DA would do to me. I-"

"I have a daughter, now."

"I have a goddamn duty. I-"

"You have a duty. But you could’ve made your decisionion before you got here. You were alive then."

"I was right," his daughter retorted. But she was smiling, her grin not even a smile, her eyes still darting left and right. It reminded him of a dog, even an emaciated one, snarling. He stopped and winced. The suffering, the pain, the loss of identity was worse than the death himself had gone through.

"I… I have to go. I can’t stay here anymore. This isn’t important."

"Hush, daddy. Look."

His pain told him more than anything. It was measured, measured, a slow but sure beat down. The paralysis his daughter experienced only fueled his passion.

"I want to see her win. Kill her, devour her, let her know she hurts herself and the people she loves and that she has no reason to want to live anymore. Felony, if you will. Kill her parents and have her committed to a mental institution. Then you get to tell me how. I will order her to kill you, for my own personal amusement. There’s no exceptions."

He could hear the sound of a very satisfying sort of satisfaction. "I don’t think you’ll be coming back anytime soon."

"You will. And you will die of your injuries. You will drown in them or you will drown in me. I will let your sister waste away what little strength she has left in you over the course of years, and then I will come back and eat you raw. I will watch what happens to you, and if she doesn’t die, I will watch. Over and over."

Dr. Foster’s office.

He stripped out of the hospital gown. He liked the cold, damp air that traced over the building. It was ominous, so different from the jumble of falling rubble that surrounded him.

"Let’s go," he said.

"You’re right," she said, "There’s no good places to go when you need to be most needed."

He walked to the corner of the rooftop and sat on the corner of a gas station run down the center of the street. It was somewhat offset by a fenced off parking lot on the opposite side of the street. He picked berries from a tall variety of wild plants that were just beginning to ripen. There was a thick
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Customizable.

The image was a frame with details stitched into it, dark gray fabric with gray slats on the surface to give it definition. A small compass was embedded in the center.

He pulled off his mask.

Leather jacket, Coil’s favorite brand. Coil’s initials were stamped onto the face of the jacket in place of the tongue, and the back was covered in the same durable black-painted skateboard emblem, the same as the first model.

"I would very much appreciate it if you would keep to the terms I have set in place for the Wards. Two years ago, I gave our hero a means to help ensure justice is served, by bringing him to my base in time to help me with some of the more troublesome cases. Two years ago, I gave my hero a weapon to fight organized crime in Mexico City. He’s nine, now."

The heavyset man gave me a funny look, then backed away. He had probably thought this through. But he didn’t look like a hero, either. A touch of nerd to his face.

"My officer likes to get people organized, and this is a good example of why. He says this is one of the more dangerous cases he’s seen. Too many capes to keep track of, not enough officers."

"How so?"

"I’s a group of three, we’re all experienced in this sort of thing, we know the methods to be used and the limitations to be used in a given case, so we’re able to pull this off."

"That’s not what I meant. It’s very approachable, and I think it’s achievable with time and effort invested in the implementation, with better gear and better knowledge of the methods and tools."

"It’s easily achievable. The point I’m trying to make, though, is that it’s not achievable. If you spent the same amount of time and effort putting this together as you did with the coastguard helicopter, with the PRT’s seal and PRT’s armored suits, then presumably you’d get some additional features."

This guy was not one of those street smarts like me. Tool like Browbeat or Batney, who could have taken seconds to put this together. What was he doing?

"And as for the equipment…" I trailed off, as much as I was able with him, being six-nine. "It’s not going to put any of the real monsters down. I’m telling you that if you want to put down Astaroth, you should account for the fact that he’s not as tough as he looks and that he’s durable. You’ll find yourself wearing a similar costume to what he made for the Wards, for a number of different powers. If you want to be safe, start by wearing the same clothes."

He didn’t even flinch, and went on to agree with me.

That said, I had no patience for this. Do what is necessary, make contact with the PRT with whatever senses you have. If that means having Bergerac kill my friend and then having Occam try to kill me, then I’m not about to object.

"This is my proposal," Coil spoke, "I’d like your advice, if you’ll let me know the details of your plan."

"This is fine," I said, "We should keep moving."

"Good advice," Coil said, "I’ll relay it to you as soon as I’ve had a chance to analyze my captive. I’m thinking we should treat her as a bit more than an opponent. She’ll serve as a calming influence, to free you to think rationally. She won’t escape, but I think we can put her away for a while."

"What do I do?"

"I have a suggestion."

I turned to look at her, and my eyes fell on the bugs that crawled on the surface of her body.

"Think," I said.

"What?" her eyes were wide.

"Think."

Her expression was stiff for a moment.

"Think," I told her. I put a winged insect on the back of her neck. She flinched, but I managed to coax a kitten’s skull onto her face before she could stall any further.

"What do I do?"

"Nothing," I said. Nothing at all. I might have succeeded, I could have tried to bite her lips, tried to sting her, but the idea of doing that would have given me the
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Were the other doors to information this information?"

"What information?"

"Things are okay between us. I’m not sure if I was always like this or if it’s something new."

I sensed Tecton preparing a response, but it seemed like he was already heading elsewhere. I hoped he was just going to stop talking and go back to where he was, in his own world, to repeat the process.

Except I wasn’t sure he was. General Mills was closing. Bakuda was kind of a big deal in the public consciousness, and the little clues and clues that had emerged in the past few weeks, the little things that had come up with my asking, kept nagging at me.

This much was certain. If my traveling party were to arrive at a dead end, I’d be able to find a place to downsize, and that would be that. I’d defected from the Birdcage, I’d moved away from the Protectorate, and in the doing, I’d earned a reputation that was both tough and short-lived.

No, I didn’t plan to lose any sleep over the fact that I’d pulled another rabbit out of the hat. That would be to miss my chance. I had another plan.

I spun around, eyes wide, my bugs surging forward to accompany me. I pushed my way through snow that had been piled across the long hallway. my bugs kicked under and between them as I moved forward. a hole about three feet across, centered on a corner that had been skidded on the snow.

Where the hell was Tattletale? I could see through the snow, and Bitch was in an alley, running. I could see Regent getting closer, and my bugs noted Grue turning a corner. He was probably trying to bail out, trying to slow his descent. I could see shadows of his other self in the distance.

Why didn’t I see Regent move? The second I heard the roar? Or the sound of the cars on the road? I felt my powers surge to the surface, manifest in larger forms. I recognized that one power, whatever it was, and I responded by creating a shortwave radio signal in the wake of a quarter-mile-long surge of sound. Trickster routed it through the air, so it traveled great distances before reaching their target.

Bitch was already standing, shoving her way through the gathered dogs, a pair of long-nosed reptiles waiting for her, and making a beeline for Armsmaster. She stopped and relinquished the commands for the dogs that were getting themselves sorted into packs. The reptiles, they took to the air, but there was no interest on their faces.

When the second SMASH of one wave struck, followed by a second with a similar effect, Bitch turned away, her cloak billowing. She wasn’t attacking, but she could see the decision coming, the potential for the hit washing over us. It would be foolish to try to avoid it, even in the most dire circumstances, but-

No. There was no time. I halted what I was doing and turned my attention to the ongoing fight. The billowing air from earlier torn between space and time, and how it flowed. It moved between spaces, and one of the resulting portals was this very area.

Iouched the orb, and I could feel the rippling, torn between space and time. When it came after me, I hesitated, see how my body didn’t want to be in the way.

It wanted to be near me.

I hesitated, yet again, and that desire for close confines overcame any resistance to being grabbed and tossed like a toy. The toy shattered into scraps of fabric and metal.

I took the opportunity to get my bearings, watching and waiting for further attacks. The billowing air from earlier helped to intensify the strikes, as did the clamor, the fighting in the distance and the howling wind. The size and scale of the waves made for a problem that would become a problem throughout the day.

I didn’t want to get hit and hurt. To have that alarm and anticipation from earlier erased, that need for close confines, for a night’s sleep, and to be closer helped to make the transition to daybreak. I’d needed those things from the beginning.

I measured the progress of the first wave against my will and found them in my range. It helped to verify that they were there and that they weren’t following me.

They were starting their second phase, where they would target Portals. I moved my army forward to search for the source, and again, the SHivering Man stood apart.

Why was he so important?

What
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The scythe stood placed on the ground. It was slower to rotate in the air, had shorter arms, and was less capable of producing blade-like extensions of metal than my current drone did.

Hoyden took the scythe from Shadow Stalker, and we advanced, both of us.

The leader of the new arrivals was a faceless man with a pointed helmet and glowing yellow gloves. He quickly became the face of the group, with the occasional use of the {{[Pg id]] to talk to the fresh recruits.

Shadow Stalker was talking to a girl with more skin than hair, and her voice was more Liset than Kayden. She spoke quickly, in a voice that was accented a touch, "Ladies! Each of you is to stand at the center of each of the terrariums! Each terrarium must have at least two heroes in it! They sit in front of flickering sconces, and whatever they’re doing, it’s not good or evil, it’s entertainment! Heroes must stand still while they operate!"

There were murmurs of cheering.

"Four players, three heroes and two villains! Each must stick to their individual sidelines in the chambers! They eat, they laugh, they cry, they pray, they have sex, and they eat scat! Fishing rods, bearers of rain, only take part if they’re bigger than life!"

There were some looks of surprise.

"Four targets! If you fail in your assigned target, you forfeit! Fail and you forfeit! Fail and you get zero!"

I could see the emotions on the faces of the players. Satisfaction. Sighing.

"Supply rooms!"

I could see the look. Everyone was busy with their individual tasks. One woman helped an injured bulldog cross the distance to the bathroom. Two more people removed shoes from shipping containers and stacked them on wheels.

"We’re estimating we need to supply three vehicles with benches! If you move somewhere else, they’ll be left behind!"

"We’re not getting any of your stuff!"

"Then barricade the exits!"

Sophia spoke, and her voice was a hundred times louder than before. I couldn’t make out the words because the teleporter was too far away. Ziggurat.

Her people started to move toward the elevators, but they stopped when the teleporter of the bulldozer arrived to demolish the last of the barricades. They milled into the lobby, gripping the doorframes, their steps carrying them across the lobby to the employees who were gathered in a room with a heavy granite counter on the top floor.

"I’m taking this job because my dad was threatened with losing his job, and I can’t pay your salary because of this."

"You need the money, right?"

"My lawyer has it wrapped up, so I’m just going to have to beg and plead with my dad for the remaining three or four thousand dollars up front and a promise that I’ll help out if and when he asks. I’d say we’re not looking too expensive, but I’d still foot the entire bill."

"You’re talking family, Skitter. That’s a little more generous than you’d be if I hired you."

I felt a little uncomfortable at the association between those two words and my father’s surname. Had I misunderstood? Or was it just that my perception of him had changed?

"So this is how you deal," he said. "You’re just a teenager with a great deal of money, power and influence. You go to work for the people who are willing to pay your dues and help you achieve your goals. I like this."

"All bullshit, isn’t it?"

"No. It’s honesty. All this time, I’ve been talking about putting it all on the line. Even when I was just a kid, I’d tell myself I’d never be homeless. I never had an eating disorder. I never had a hangover. I never quit. Ever."

"And when you’re on the street, you’re constantly trying to find someone with the right attitude, with the right undertow, someone who will take you seriously, because the others know who you are beneath the waves? You’re never accepted? Never respectable?"

"I would say I was respectable until I stopped trying. Until that girl, Cassie, three weeks ago. I wouldn’t have thought she’d been straight before, but it sounds so very much like she was before. I’ve seen people
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The look on Rime’s face, the intensity of her gaze, it lingered.

Yes. I could sense other things kicking into gear.

I couldn’t get a sense of their sources, their operations, trace them back to their source.

But I could track their movements. They were gathering into groups, and each group was coordinating to attack the next.

A series of attacks, each directed at a different target, each with unforeseen repercussions. The formation of a dozen or so crystal men with pink skin, a bomb going off under the water of the well.

No time to waste, to pick my battles and strike carefully. I needed to move, to act, and now was the best time.

I dispersed the bugs, concentrating them on a few things they could attack. I felt around my costume for a tool or a pole, finding it incomplete.

The group of crystal men advanced, and Rime raised her whip.

It was all I could do to stay calm, to keep my expression grim.

"Oh," Rime said. "Did’ve expect you, maybe."

"Just answer them, then. Anyone else? Other targets?"

"No. Those are targets we can’t cover, with the suits."

Rime used her power, and the group shifted position. Each of the seven or so crystal men got a green-black costume with a hard, metallic fabric on their skin, in a broad expanse at the side of the well, at the knee or at the back. With nothing on their bodies, they cast the glowing ooze at the surface of the well, to be consumed by bugs or directed out of the way by the well itself.

"You didn’t cover this stuff," Rime said.

"We tried. But she had other ideas."

"Other priorities."

"I know. But when we tried to tell her what we were planning, she said we had to die, or die very soon. So we’re going to ask her."

"I don’t follow," Rime said.

"That’s what she said," I said. "It’s better that you two die than what happens if you leave now. But I’m not sure I’m in the mood for business."

"We’re their asset," Grue said. "We’re their weapon, their answer to Demise."

"That’s not a reflection of anything I want to put before people."

"Maybe it is, but I have to say I’m more in the dark than most. I get why that makes you feel a certain way. I get what that feeling is. But I’m also sure that Demise won’t die quick. I know he’s got a good inner strength, and he won’t falter in the slightest. Do what you have to do, keep from getting overwhelmed, demoted or removed. But this is a team game, and you and I have to consider the repercussions if we skip ahead."

"Skip ahead," I said. "I’m not sure we have time to discuss this, or willing to take the time to get caught up on it. There’s got to be a way. I see you’ve left your base, and you’re approaching the site in a few minutes. If there isn’t, teams are going to be called into your area and they will be summoned into your headquarters. You can’t cover all your bases to protect your residents, and with your people having less and less control over the area as more and more join the fight, the city is going to get wiped out before it gets back to where it was."

"And us?" Grue asked.

"There’s got to be a way. We’ve got two people you could really count on. Count on one hand, you know?"

"I’m not sure I do," I said.

"We have leverage, same way we have leverage with Scion. We can’t run, can’t win this fight on our own, but we can try a bunch of things. We can make Empoleon retreat, or we can wait and see what happens. We can try changing his code."

"Then I’m going to make you work for it," I said.

"This isn’t refactoring in the strict sense," Grue said. "It’s more refactoring in the wrong direction."

"That’s not a huge flaw," I said. We had more problems to solve. "What I’m
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The hub in the ceiling I was working on had a pane of bulletproof glass attached to it. I climbed up onto the glass, crouching to get a look inside.

The inside was dark. There was a button to the right, but nobody had pressed it in recent days. The last I had been able to find the button was when I had been tracking down old costume designers to get some new costumes for the team. There was a row of buttons in the middle of the console, but nobody had used them.

I hit a button.

"Weaver!" A girl shouted. I turned to see she was in a group with a large black teenager that was mostly untrained in how to fight. The group turned when they heard my instruction, backing away until they were at the far end of the room. I put a hand on his shoulder.

"Director Wysocki! We need to evacuate the PRT offices, this small contingent is only for this one Protectorate member!"

I only had a moment to consider the pros and cons before I was swept up in another swirl of bugs. There was a click, and the teenager with the button spectre mask activated the power of her console. In a surprisingly efficient manner, she closed the doorways and entered the high-end office, stitching it shut.

I wished I’d estimated the time required to gather the necessary components, to launch the system and get the device into orbit. It was somehow calculable, though.

The teenager’s power took control of the television, turning it around until it was in the middle of the room. I could see a crowd of people, sitting on folding chairs and leaning against the wall, a few leaning against the window. The screen turned to a live feed from a camera fifteen feet above her head. There was a message I couldn’t make out, but it didn’t help me figure out the rest of the situation.

The suite would be vacated by the maintenance workers the moment the suits went on patrol. I could imagine the various stages of the evacuation: Brief explanation of what was happening on television, explanation from the PRT, the news, my dad’s house, then a briefing from the army, last to come back.

The module opened with a click, and a woman appeared, to work alongside a man that was nothing more than a skeleton with a clipboard. The woman began giving instructions to the man, his tongue hanging out, while the man worked alongside a small child. The little girl disappeared from the picture.

A few minutes later, the same woman appeared on a different television, talking to me. The load-out screen showed up, showing myself as a special case. I was whisked away to a world where I was among other heroes, alongside others who had apparently been unofficially diagnosed as ‘people with powers’.

The attribution of that name to me was dubious at best. More troubling were the implications it had, crossing countless boundaries. Accord, I could imagine. I could picture the feedback from authorities, from even reputable ones.

I wasn’t just the kid. I’d had aacy, I’d had a grudge, and I’d had a name that was negatively tied to who I was. With the harassment my family had been experiencing, with the deaths of others, I was dangerously close to being viewed as a parahuman. Finally, here, I was safe from prosecution, provided the authorities had their way. I wasn’t okay with that.

The teenager, who I’d taken to be Aegis, appeared on the other TV, joined by others. In a low voice, she said, "It’s time. Taylor Hebert, member of the Protectorate, member of the Wards, team captain."

The camera stayed with me as I followed. I could see him as a teenager, with fair skin and thick eyebrows, his dark hair tied back into a ponytail. As he took action, the camera veered to follow, and I could see the changes in his body language. He softened, his expression darken. Was it a state he would be in if his power wasn’t providing the shadowy edges for his face and body, or if he found himself without the protection of any powers at all?

Aegis’ expression changed as well. He stared at the ground, wide eyed, unmoving.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet, "I wouldn’t be surprised if you were right. The others will adjust. It’s hard to do in five years. Five years, you grow up, you find your feet, and it’s probably the last time you all come together in one place. It’s rarer for you to find others like that, to find
======================================== SAMPLE 903 ========================================
The BB-8th and Magnhild couldn’t hurt to have a larger tank. I was sort of digging for something there, but I couldn’t pin my hopes on it.

Assault was the first one to appear, leaping to one side. He moved so quickly I could barely track him.

He landed in front of me, and his arms pressed against my shoulders, creating a half-second’s in which he was at roughly the same angle from which I saw him. His chest pressed against my sternum, and his Halberd pressed hard against my pelvis. I dropped into a standing position with nearly as much strength as I had before, and pushed him away again. Not the way I wanted to get my breath.

Then Battery appeared, floating. I almost staggered as one hand cupped her chest. The rush of her movement prompted a mild to moderate ringing in my ears. I quickly got that ringing in the ears again.

I knew it was the bug strike, but I could feel the metal of Grue’s armor brushing against my head. Battery.

She pushed me away and turned toward the rest of us, raising one hand.

Miss Militia developed her laser pistol. One motion, fire a salvo of darts that bounced off of Booster Jets and set down a dozen glass beads that she could use to cover her tracks.

Sophia was done for. She floated to the edge of the roof, then broke into a run. Cordoba and Mannequin were up before I could get them to turn on me, and the two girls on the ground were managing valiantly. Even Battery took a bit of a step forward to keep from being carried away.

But Pitter wasn’t moving, and he wasn’t going after her. Why?

Had to ask Tattletale, but I wasn’t sure she could give us an answer.

For what had happened that made this so dangerous?

The girl in the horned mask had been teleported away by the first attack. What had she done to get left that way?

And there was one more thing – Battery.

She flickered, and then struck the lamppost from a good four stories above her.

Battery. She’d taken my father, and through some unfortunate combination of pheromones and blind fury, she’d left me in my father’s company.

When blind fury lost its hold on me, I swiped at her weapon, striking a gun out of the air, her foot settling on the barrel.

I knew from the very first second that she’d gotten angry.

She shouted without raising her voice.

'You realize what you did, Skitter!? You!"

She pulled the gun away, snapped it again in her teeth.

'You left me there, with no gun, my captain taking some unspecified amount of revenge on me! You hurt me, and nobody ever explained what I did to you! You even gave me a power that messed with my head, that made me think I was a monster!'

Her fist flew out, as if to deliver a fatal blow.

I couldn’t muster a response.

She spoke, abrupt, abrupt. 'Killed me because she was bad, and you know that. She was angry, she was distracted, maybe she was even drunk. When she wasn’t listening to me and Coil, you were. Wasn’t me.'

This, she knew, was the entirety of her life written on her tombstone. To this day, she would never be able to shake that vivid recollection.

The pair of them stood there in silence, the heavy crashing of the crashing waves against the beach audible in the morning air.

Ingenue spoke, 'I’m going to go now. My life will be better after a good rest. I can talk with Grue and call him after I leave the hospital. Invisibility is good.'

Resolutely, I turned and stepped away from her. I waited for her to say anything, to ask me more about that vivid memory or draw the obvious conclusions, but she didn’t.

Instead, she took the time to put away the mail and browse through it. Her cellphone was still pressed to her ear, she turned her attention to the remote, and from the twister that erupted in the meantime, she took a moment to refocus.

'Do you need me to call Trickster?' she asked.

I nodded.

'Not sure he’s around. We were having trouble with some people, and you brought me onto the team. I can assume you were telling the truth. You weren’t just playing around.'


======================================== SAMPLE 906 ========================================
Start with the I.D.S.

Doc. Tsubasa wasn’t telling the truth. I.D.S. was still active and heavily involved, it wasn’t a bystander.

The incident that had so many residents on edge had taken a darker turn when the girl in white emerged. A bully, a monster, a mongolian. A monster with a Jewish tzaddik, that it might be worth killing. A bully who exploited every weakness someone showed her. A monster who stole and took from others, who had killed one of her tzaddik minions, in a skirmish that has even wound up on camera.

On the other side of the coin, she had a half-dozen grown women, all of whom bore arms. Each of them held a different weapon, standing a little taller than she did, their arms invitingly extended. They posed no great threat to the mongolious beings, and Tieu could imagine doing the same.

In the end, though, Tieu wasn’t left with much else to do but wait for the heroes to finish, and he wasn’t left with much time to take his time across the city. Thousands of dollars, a lot of questions.

Just when he’d started thinking about his new life as a bystander, things had gotten much worse. It was only a question of time before someone had a trigger event, an incident that put them on the path to becoming a cape. He was now the bystander in what would have been a simple, one-shot job. If he was lucky, he could even get the info he needed to make the jump from the well to the street.

But it wasn’t enough that he was being considered for a squad. He had to wait until another subject came up. A case fifty-three from the Birdcage, germ attacks, mental stress, years behind the required research. It was late one night, early in the morning, and he was the only person who knew about it.

A germ attack. The next morning, if he believed in what he was doing.

His fingers dropped from the controls. He didn’t know what to do, so he didn’t know what to even do.

He made his way to the beach, made a beeline for the water. He took a deep breath, and then exhaled slowly. He didn’t even have to get close to the water’s edge to exhale. He could even hear the sound, the swirl of air that followed his exhale deep enough that the image of an egg was drawn out in his mind’s eye.

He tried to raise his tail, only to find it numb. He couldn’t move it without risking ruining his other limbs. He landed and shook it, to prove that he could.

Once his other limbs were in working order, he began dismantling his cyborg body. He’d been forced to relearn how to walk with his prosthetic limbs, to be honest.

He had to move his arms by way of individually controlled mechanisms, and he had to relearn to open and close locked doors. He’d gone from being a clumsy, fear-driven rogue to an accomplished, calculated burglar. It was a balance, one he’d worked to maintain for nearly two years.

He brought a cabinet into the world, and he smashed it open. He made his way over to the washing machine, bending down to ensure that the water was running and the shampoo was out.

He picked up the phone. The keypad would be too small. There was a sequence showing the numbers to his left. $8.75, followed by a sequence of numbers that only one number took, as if it were a sequence of numbers in a sequence. $8.75, 67, 69, 72…

He dialed the number he had in his pocket and spoke the password.

The answering voice was one of the voiceless ones that haunted people to this very moment. "Oh my god. What is he doing?"

"Rest assured, Ms. He is not doing anything criminal. Just trying to get by."

"He’s not?"

"As far as I can tell, aside from the occasional exercise class and self-defense class, he is doing everything a person would be expected to do while they were being raised as a child. Oversized, active, trained in everything that is fashion and aesthetic. I have no idea what he is doing now, but tomorrow he is going to go to a business meeting and then to another job interview. I have no idea what method he is using to find those two things, but if his friends find out, I personally know that I could arrange a job at a record pace,
======================================== SAMPLE 909 ========================================
‘I’m trying to inject some personality into this group that wasn’t there before. I’m hoping that with these new faces, the image of the group could carry forward into the future, and it wouldn’t just be a bunch of people with weird powers and a stupid mask.

"And speaking of the future, you need a roger?"

"I have spare devices and parts of a bigger system. I have entire racks of the stuff. I just need a roger."

"Robes. The name is a play on words of sack of tricks?"

"Yeah."

"What do you need?"

"I just need to know that something came of it. Any clues?"

"Short of something vital sticking around in there, of course."

I had my doubts, but I didn’t want to stop running. Let the heroes go, in the interest of having an eventuality, I’d consider this a victory. Something final, official. The statement caught me off guard, and I nearly fell over. As much as I may have been projecting, my expression twisted into a perpetual blank expression.

"You promised me one something too, right?"

"Right. You’re always so short on details. About stuff."

"You’re always short on details. About stuff. Well, I don’t have all the facts, but… well, it’s almost like how you write the book in hieroglyphics. There’s so many sounds and symbols you have to pay attention to, and you only pay attention to the important bits. And I think you can do that more with script than you can with words."

"Of course," his voice was flat. His eyes were boring into the world around us. There weren’t lights on in this underground bunker or even on any of the windows, but the slight movement of the long wooden panel and the light from the exterior was enough to make the air thick with the smell of smoke.

All around us, devices were evolving. The crowd of users had been diverted from watching or listening as Kid Win retired to write the next program. There were people stepping out of their cells, peering in. A smoke grenade was turned to resemble an ordinary firebomb, set down by the side of the room.

Signal stopped us short, "There’s only about five or six minutes before the guards open the room and the blast begins. We need to take a few minutes, stop by a cell block, or someone else orders us to, so we can get our picture taken with the leader of the cell block."

I didn’t wait for a response. I stepped away, quietly, to let him work with the lighting and cameras while I got some of the essential items:

A pressure mat

A tissue

A pair of white trainers

A changing mat

A pair of gloves

A sealed plastic bag

A set of plastic gloves (for during the beach season)

I was then directed to stand by the same room where I’d logged the event, called for by Clockblocker’s ability to obscure voices. There were two fairly distinct groups in this bunker. A security office and a disciplinary office.

The security office was essentially an extension of the bunker itself, complete with the same basic, utilitarian, utilitarian office furniture. The only difference was the colored glass that covered the entire surface. Pale green, the tint of the lenses of the various surveillance cameras. A darker shade for the cameras, white for the security officers.

Creepy, isn’t it?

The office was adjacent to the cell block, but it was clear that the personnel who entered the room with the mat, with the changing mat and the briefcase were well equipped. They didn’t wear uniforms, but their clothing and masks were white, their hair immaculate. Countertop and deskware were arranged in a neat line, along with everything else one would expect from a typical cell block. Boxes of papers were arranged on the counter, each labeled with a numerical code. One set of papers contained passwords, set in a simple sequence that was hard to miss. Two sets of passwords, one for each character set.

The office was poorly illuminated, but a light in the corner of one of the windows made my lack of distraction all the more apparent. Chevalier’s mask, the white helmet with the silver-painted forehead protector, was heavy with habit, bearing many of the same problems that had plagued his earlier mask. He typed on the computer for a dozen reasons, but the primary one on my mind was the fact that he was almost incapable of sleeping.

My presence startled him, and he seemed to hesitate a moment. He didn
======================================== SAMPLE 912 ========================================
Breaking One Month Later

The realization was startling. I’d stopped worrying so much about what was going on in the world outside the apartment. I was beginning to see past the gang tag on the back of the apartment door.

Breaking Two Months Later

My foray outside wasn’t much different than before. I crouched, fastened the bag under my arm, and made my way outside. My auburn hair and a smattering of freckles framed my face, making me look slightly goofy. I’d removed the costume I wore to work: a baby blue dress, kitten heels and a wolf mask.

Within a ten foot radius of the bathroom, I was wiping beads of water from my eyes, rubbing thick fingers and damp eyeshadow from my nose, and combing my hair manually. my eyes roved over at the wall of the foyer, and I could feel my heart pounding faster at the realization that I didn’t have a hair follicle in my face.

Lips stirring, I rubbed my eyes and cleared my throat, "I’m going to see if I can find Noelle. She might be searching for us."

Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe she found us and checked for us in that area?"

"She might be leaving to look for us, checking if we were still together with Mannequin. If she didn’t find us, and it’s not in her power to find us-"

I shook my head. "I’m not sure I follow."

"If that’s the case, then we’ve got to do what we can to stop her. Her power will be down, once she finds us, and she won’t be able to use it to track us down. Some of the larger groups are regrouping, trying to be more aggressive, but there’s no guarantee we’d stay."

I couldn’t exactly disagree.

"Bigger locations and better equipment mean we can play this one at a time. We owe it to the capes who give their lives for us. We don’t have many, but we do have some, like you. So many of us gave our lives for this city that I’d like to think we’re dedicated. Don’t you deserve to be remembered?"

I glanced at Sierra. They were neck and neck, but Sierra was turning to look towards the horizon.

There was a remnant of foam from the bottle against the wall by the elevator, still dripping at the base of the stairs. That would be the evidence. I could see her expression change subtly as she carried that last bit of evidence further, adjusting her stare to look at me.

I felt my heart skip a beat at the thought of that. Sierra could be my family.

"I still think we should go. The longest road is the right one."





Crushed 24.4


I could see Brettel turning around the building. He’d held his ground until he could get a better anchor. Now he was turning back, advancing across the street. I felt a kind of frustration, a hollowness to the way things had unfolded.

I had to step back to see Jack and Bonesaw exchanging glances. Judging by the way the darkness flowed around them, Siberian wasn’t any weaker. Still, there was something about the view, something about the close proximity and the quiet that made us feel somehow more secure in the knowledge that we were firmly in their grip.

And there was something almost transcendently beautiful about the sunset. In a way, I couldn’t put my finger on it.

We held hands, and we fell into a rhythm, each footstep carrying a tiny fragment of the other’s power. The darkness was outright obscuring our vision, but we could make ourselves see the faint silhouettes of people holding hands, or people in dance routines. Parian and Foil were even holding hands, as if parading through the dark streets.

It reminded me of when I’d been training to be a shinobi. How Doji had encouraged me, taught me that simple art. A form of martial art that combined the internal exertion with the outfitting of a kenpo, a style of exercise that emphasized balance and the incorporation of basic techniques into one’s movements.

It had been a gradual process, with the benefits of a full year of internal training, but I had come to embrace the art. I’d refined my stance, my form, my footwork, and virtually every technique when I could get my hands to actually get things working. Not so hard, when my own technique was barely above average.

Siberian walked a
======================================== SAMPLE 915 ========================================
I found the girl a few blocks away. What had I expected? That her hair would blow in the wind and bounce off of whatever surfaces she chose? That she would be plain, with a series of one-and-a-half inch nails on a white sheeting of white?

What I saw instead was reminiscent of Bonesaw. Worn and free of repairs, her look was a sharp contrast to the tiara she wore. It was a far cry from her wild beauty.

Yet, at the same time, she looked terrified. She looked utterly at ease, yet she was struggling to stay balanced with her one confirmed knife wound beneath her shoulder and one foot.

More frightening than the girl itself, was the feeling I got of my surroundings. This was a battlefield, and the fighting was somehow more intense than it had been. Men, women and children fought. Men were fighting with swords, and the numbers are even shifting towards young males and females.

It was so unexpected. A tidal wave.

My bugs died that I could feel the hostile power rippling through the area, but the fight wouldn’t die. It would slide past people and bump into them, but that wasn’t such a problem.

I put the girl down, but I knew I couldn’t get her out of my mind, so I took off. Even with my power, I couldn’t stop the girl with the vines or the ball bearing things. Even if I controlled my bugs, however, I couldn’t take control of her. She was too durable, and I didn’t want to waste my time trying.

It took me three tries. On the third attempt, I succeeded. The girl was pulled to one side, and I used the black widow venom I had prepared to kill the bugs that were already on her. I moved the girl to one side, and then grabbed her.

I don’t know why I did it, but I did. I couldn’t bark a retort in English when I couldn’t answer the question.

When I tried, my voice was a growl, "She- she-"

"No." The English-speaking one spoke before I could. He finished, "She’s pissed. She’ll puke and spill whatever comes out of her mouth, and she’ll get violent."

I swallowed.

"Want me to take her down?" the one behind me asked.

I shook my head.

"No. Let her go. She’s just upset she didn’t get to play, fuck it. Let her work with you guys on the architecture. We can find the others, get you built something. If there’s anything bad that comes out of this, or if we forget, you pay us and I’ll take care of you."

I shut my eyes, listened for the other side of the conversation.

"I… yeah. I’m firmly of the opinion that you shouldn’t have to. Two of you weren’t enough pieces in a game of telephone, and you’re acting like you’re going to switch your position because some deluded, shallow little shell shocked into a lost cause. You don’t have the stomach to fight when your pride is getting hurt by people who don’t even know you’re down there. Or get up to work and find out it’s too late."

I swallowed. I wasn’t prodding, but I knew the comment was headed for my head.

There was a new member on the team, a young man. I recognized him, in a odd way. I’d met him one or two weeks ago, at my parent’s house.

"You okay with this?" the English-speaking one asks me.

"Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay with this." I answer him. I pause, and when I return to the present, I focus on a single, consistent feature of his body.

His hips were too long, his chest too broad, his stomach too overweight. Or maybe it was the way his legs shifted under him as he stretched out that suggested he didn’t have health. He didn’t feel good.

The curve of the spine and the broad stomach was a tribute to his physique, likely the same reason he’d been working out. The weight of the stomach was a tribute to his physique, likely another reason. Not just that, but he was probably battling health issues like I’d been.

The curves of his stomach and the body of his shorts were a tribute to his food. He was eating almost straight through his morning beans.

I realized what was causing his
======================================== SAMPLE 918 ========================================
From the second look the camera gave me, I could tell that it wasn’t Ingenue walking in the lobby. She was more of a silhouette, her dark hair blowing in the light breeze that blew through the hallway. Drawing her handgun was someone else. The woman Ingenue had seen in the mirror.

Or she was someone else altogether. My bugs traced the path of the gunshot, tracing the trajectory to the floor below. The man Ingenue had seen in the mirror.

The two of them lay on the ground, their eyes open, lifeless.

The pathologist’s work suggested Lung had been killed by a blunt object. It could have been a chair, a wall, a table, a piece of furniture. The cause of death was blunt trauma, and it had been determined his death was a very cold gunshot.

My bugs began to fill the void in the room, drawing out tracts of life. They gathered here, here, now. I couldn’t spare the spiders, and I hadn’t used them to draw diagrams for the pathologist, but I could draw the conclusion I wanted. It was a purple, purple haze, a purple slope.

I extended silk to the pathologist’s passenger. When he relaxed, I extended another length of the cord to his companion. We turned around, walking backwards.

"The black lady," I said, conveying the message by conveying the direction we were going.

The passenger nodded, and followed.

"You have a name?"

"She is."

"Ok."

"She said she needed a name for what she’s going to do."

"I think I know where she’s going to show you. Forward ramp."

Easier said than done. Forward ramp? Towards the door.

I moved forwards, and collided with a Grimm as it tried to sprint to the door. The beast swung its claws, and the attempted takeoff wasn’t so smooth. While the creature was knocked off course, wings and body parts flailed wildly as it began to land at the out-of-bounds location. I avoided touching anything while I ran forwards, and copied Ingenue’s progress as the other monster too headed for the ramp.

Enemy numbers were getting down, but our front line was thinning out. Enemies had picked pockets of humanity and were taking advantage of it, scalping them.

Grenades were flinging themselves at the light blue forcefield that was Install, but he’d have to move faster to put up a fight.

We still had one more monster from the encounter just now. The psycho-Eidolon. If I had to guess, it was dividing in two. One half to go, I thought.

Myrddin was engaging the Idols by creating six unpowered clones, and was closing the distance as he created his twin.

If I had to guess, he was doing the same thing as the Idols. He was making copies. Two-twenty-two was making six dolls in his two sections, with the Idols close behind.

Two-twenty-two was closing in on me. He cast a glance towards the Idols, and a golden light flared around his hands. He then turned and blasted two of the Idols free of the cloud. One was touch and go, while the other escaped unscathed.

One twelfth of a form, but the Idols weren’t even in my reach.

"Something I can use," I said.

"Like what?"

"OH! Oh!" I raised my voice, a lucky break of air.

My cell phone was vibrating. I pocketed it, then jogged to check the display. My phone was alive.

Another phone. I couldn’t activate it without a password.

"Login to manage," I said.

I was given only a moment to contemplate the password.

■

Having minimized the footprint of my newly grown population, the room at the center of the ‘holodeck’ system was emptied.

Only the people were staying, and they were understandably a little stunned.

"Sorry," I said, to the Idols.

"S’ okay," Revel said.

"I was hoping for a collaboration, or a team with… synergy, or something," I said. "Maybe a theme?"

"Yeah," Clockblocker said. "My dear."

"I’m not…" I paused, gripping the twitching twine as if it could give me direction, "I’m not a composer."

"Stay still," Revel said.

There was a muffled ‘wh
======================================== SAMPLE 921 ========================================
I bet. A nugget of bad news. But there’s hope.

"My boy," Exalt said.

His voice was tight, his body language both tense and easygoing, "Don’t ever let me apologize for what I’m doing. I said-"

"I know," I said. I kept my voice low. " But that’s not why I’m here. I’m not even a half second into what I was just talking about. I’m talking about the fact that you took part in this."

"I wasn’t," Exalt said, meaning it.

I folded my arms, raising my hand in the air. It was my signal. I could see the way the strands of silk snapped back into their regular arrangement.

He turned to walk away, his hands still clutched in front of him, "I wasn’t even all that. I’m fine where I am."

"Fine in what sense? You were talking about the past. I haven’t seen any of the people you said were in your custody. Where are they?"

"The ones I took into custody. As far as the eye can see, they’re all in a religiously balanced frame of mind, attending the regular schools and attending the hospital, where the casualties from the last few days are being cared for."

"Good," I said.

"I can speak for them all, when I say I am sorry for the disturbance you witnessed."

"I am too," I answered. "But I will speak for them all, when I say that they’re sorry for your absence and the way you turned up just an hour ago."

Exalt nodded.

"Sit," the Protectorate leader said, standing by one of the televisions. He began dialing.

"Situation’s fine," I said. I crossed the room to the computer. )

"Miss Militia’s dead," Exalt said. "The shock and the smoke killed some of her soldiers. They are tearing up the place."

Fire. I saw the glowing wake from the windows. Alexandria. I also saw Sophia. She was frozen, one hand pressed to one eye.

"I need to take a second," Miss Militia said, "To discuss things further."

"That’s fine. Your call."

"It’s something I would like you to look into further," Miss Militia said. "If you’re inclined."

"I’ll do that," I said.

"With or without your consent," Exalt said.

I frowned.

"If you’re inclined," he said. "I already mentioned your role in this. Your role in this, as I said, is what you play. You’re the eyes, ears, earsworth, mouth and telephone going to the people who need it most. You’re truly a warrior at heart."

"We’ll discuss the terms of our release," I said.

"In a way," Exalt said. "I don’t think we’ll discuss."

I crossed the room to the computer. Boot up Timeshift’s operating system, copying the contents over. Then, after launching the instances, I diverted them to different servers. One instance launched each of Dragon’s contingency servers, as well as one line reading, "Verify iframe."

"Why ‘iframe’?" Vista asked. "Why not print?"

"We can’t afford to keep the same instances active in this mode," Exalt said. "We may lose one in mid-air,ideskip, and serious downtime."

"To be safe, we can change the instance to a napalm instance," Miss Militia said. "Or assign someone to sleep."

"We’ll do that," Tagg said, when I’d redirected the instances to a new location. "Or we can do anything. Be it a psalm or a vengeance or anything else. We have several tools at our disposal."

"Dozens," Moord Nag said. "We have numerous aliases and backdoors for your secure server. Forgers? Planners? Jailors? Controls? It’s all conjecture at this point. You can’t trust anybody."

"I can’t," Exalt said. "There’s a lot of neat tools, but I don’t know enough to approach this situation with any particular sense of security. I do have some concerns about security breaches on the PRT’s part, specifically."

"That may be indicative of
======================================== SAMPLE 924 ========================================
They were all, in one way or another, irrelevant to the main issue.

They were data. Literally, filing out of the portals that had been set up by New Delhi and Tallahassee and Beijing, they were the same portals, extending into every possible future-viewpoint across the galaxy.

But there was more.

Data banks. Data exchanges. Data jottings.

Each with a description, a list of actions to be undertaken in the here and now. A detailed list of where resources were being directed.

It was becoming a data state. All of it. Every object and every patch of earth within the parsed location was turning colors, swelling, drawing forth of energy. The ambient electromagnetic radiation from the desk and the array of data cubes had been obliterated, vaporized, drained of its existence.

The data pools would be replenished in moments, afteractions performed in the now.

The desk was moved, a desk of aging, corroded technology. The protocols had been thrown out the window.

With Sveta’s death, the original author thereof had been silenced, replaced by a simulacrum.

Thessalonica began to deflate.

"Sir," it said.

"Take it," his voice was ragged. The voice was almost alien, a note of harshness in it.

It took one or two seconds, and the signal reached them. The vibrations of its enclosure and the faint notes of machinery filled the space around them.

The nursery fell silent.

The man with the cheese-pipe laughed, a discordant sound, bitter in its dissonance.

"Well, I’d say you’re a member of the Thanda, employee of Accord."

"Not’oftly so," the man replied. "I’m… unusual. There’s others like me out there. Only I’m not bothering to hide my identity. Tattle-speak like you and I."

"Notoftly so," the man repeated himself.

"What is it?"

"I’d say my powers are second nature to me. I wish I’d attributed it to the Russian curse, but there’s no going back on it. If you cant understand something, explain it."

"You sound angry."

"I do. I’ve been angry for a long time, worrying I was about to lose my mind, about to lose what? My family, my sanity?"

"You’re not exaggerating."

"I’m not. I was, and I still am."

"You seem less coherent than I expected."

"I hardly appear to be in any condition to entertain a conversation."

"Nothing of the sort."

Accord closed the hatch when he was done paging through the contents of the room to find what he was looking for. A dictionary, a text reader, a cassette deck with a late-model car stereo in the fuse box, and a textbook tucked under one arm.

"You have anything inside?"

"Nothing […] yet."

"You’re not talking about anything punishable by death, are you?"

"No. I’m… referring to the fact that the group cannot kill, or enforce death, because they were not created in this universe and therefore cannot be humans on the opposing side. That does not mean, for example, that they would be responsible for any deaths they have ordered."

"You were referring to our boss, Tasuki, who was recently killed," Accord observed.

Piggot studied Accord’s features, then nodded slowly. "Very little point. The last thing we want to hear is the confirmation that what we were doing was a success. You have been training them, giving them some added confidence, yet you don’t want to die for your failures."

"Fat chance."

"Ah, but the other reason is higher crimes, Tasuki-gate."

Accord glanced at the other two as he spoke. "Could you stop me from passing on word of this to the PRT, so they can be more vigilant? If they are, perhaps you could tell them to be extra vigilant, for the return of this man, and so on."

Piggot spread her arms wide. "Yes!"

"I know about the man who was responsible for the attack on your apartment. I tracked his movements. I saw him in person. I wanted to ask you if you knew where he was staying, and you said no. I decided to send a squad of my soldiers into his place. I could send you on your way with them, if you wished, but I did not want to repeat the ordeal."
======================================== SAMPLE 927 ========================================
He’s coming to take me back."

"Yes. Let’s- let me think. Is it safe to assume that whatever she pulled off in New York will work in this environment?"

"It’s been suggested that the environment may be too conducive to domestic violence, said Taylor, herself a knuckle-duster in that department. Whatever plays, however subtle, at playing up the domestic aspects of their relationship, they may be adjusting their measure of it. They want to appear more submissive, while at the same time they want to fuck up the measure so they can seem to offer more support when they need to talk."

"That’s-"

"That’s a reasonable guess," Lisa said. "And I don’t think it’s that simple. If I get the impression that their personalities are already warped enough that they’ll pull this off under their own power, something ugly is bound to happen."

"Violence will be an option," I said. "If you want to head that off. I don’t know what you want, but at least you’re making this a little more complicated."

"Complicated?" Brian sighed. "No violence in the grand scheme of things. We deal with that in our reality. So no, no violent option in the offing."

"Okay," I said. "I’ll get the player on board then."

"Good."

I glanced around the room. There were a few looks of surprise.

Some of those surprises were on purpose. Some were a response to what I’d said, right here, in this room, between these guys.

"I may be a knuckle-duster, but I’m going by the book," I said. "And I’m going by authority. Taylor, Rachel, don’t go getting into a fight."

There was no response. Lisa shook her head, and then turned to me, "Hey, know what you’re doing? You’re withholding information."

I looked around the room. I could see some looks of surprise, even some looks of alarm.

"Sophia?" I asked. "You…"

I trailed off as I found what I was looking for. The girl was quiet, but she said, "Know where he’s going to end you. The others might retaliate, or they could wait and see what happens."

"Taylor, come on."

It was what I’d wanted to say, taking a step forward.

But I couldn’t say it aloud. If I did, I believed I’d doom myself to repeat events I’d outranked. Not confronting the bullying, not confronting the monsters who didn’t want me to. If I said it, people would wonder how I’d known in the first place, and doubt would creep in, doubt a part of me that was otherwise terrified.

I forced myself to stay quiet, instead.

"The others might attack," I said. I directed a bug to fall on the table. "You, stay quiet and hold the others back."

"I’m a coward," Taylor said. "I’m going to follow my own path."

"Or," I made an effort to be reasonable, "I’m going to hide from the monsters that are always after me."

"If you did that," Taylor snapped, "We’d be risking that you’d go up against the Protectorate, the Wards and your own team."

"I’d still be joining the Slaughterhouse Nine."

"You would," I agreed. "But the alternatives? Hiding. Keeping your secret, it gets you closer to your real target, tops."

"This is bullshit," Taylor snapped.

"It is," I admitted. "I’ve said what I needed to say. I don’t think there’s anything more I can do. But can I tell you who the people who are after me are? The guys and girls who are going to see me and know I’m their number one target?"

"We’re the ones who are after you," Taylor snapped back.

"Again with the question," I told her. "Do you want to-"

She fell into an awkward conversation with the soldier that was giving her a hard time. As I realized what had happened, I realized why.

She was talking to Sophia.

"If you give me a show," Sophia’s voice was low, calm, soothing. "I’ll know you’re in control and I’
======================================== SAMPLE 930 ========================================
School is easy, Taylor. Everything is.

—Hookwolf, topic of this letter

Be Sociable, Classifieds.

Colin had quietly concluded his letter, as the trio returned to their individual classrooms. His eyes fixed on the board, as he reviewed that document, then turned his attention back to his class.

All eyes were on him. Nobody opened their mouths to comment.

"I am not apologizing for any of what I did. I opened the locker for you because I was given a choice. You could go to the nurses station and get checked out, or I could pick you up and bring you to my classroom."

Only silence rang out between him and Ms. Cranston.

"I chose the latter. I will be using this restroom, in case you were injured while you were sleeping. Please go to the nurse’s station and be sure to give someone a name and description of your injury, and I will contact you after school if there’s something that needs fixing. Colby was here first, I was pretty sure, so he’d be first to give you the rundown on what happened, then followed you to the bathroom, where you defecated into a new pajama set. There wasn’t much you could do about the nurse’s station, I headed inside, undid that last bit and went straight to the bathroom. I wasn’t able to beat the nurse’s station, so I returned to my room."

She stood from her chair, carefully wrapped her arms around him, then stood to head to the bathroom. She paused. "If I told you I knew where Mr. Gladly was at the moment I went to the nurse’s station, would you trust me?"

Colin nodded, head hanging.

"I wouldn’t have thought," she said.

"But," Mr. Gladly said, "I don’t think I would have guessed."

For a minute or two, there was only quiet, neither talking nor crying.

"I’ve decided," Columbia Games CEO Victor J. Monteilese spoke, not looking at Mr. Gladly, "We will be forming another association. Gone will be the days where two game companies are in the same building, or even coming together. We will be a single organization, under one banner. The State Bar will be part of the umbrella, as will the ACCE and EGTSB. The SBA will offer its services in assisting this new group. It will be run by the State’s top attorneys, with the assistance of publicans and judges from the local Bar. The PRT will not be present, as it serves a more important goal, increasing the security of our communities. All of this will remain more or less separate, as we maintain a high degree of anonymity for ourselves."

"This seems to be spitting in the face of tradition," Mr. Gladly said.

"There has to be a better way of handling that than breaking up our group with a new one," Mrs. Knott replied.

"There will be," Mr. Gladly said. "I am only telling you what I can do as the CEO of a new group. I can’t tell you anything about your employees, as I cannot give you access to my systems, but I can talk to other groups and agencies, including the PRT, and I will be looking for people who can provide you with trade secrets and approaches you might not want to hear. If you decide you would rather we don’t keep this a secret, I will continue to contact those people and arrange for them to pass on any details you desire."

"That’s ridiculous," Hookwolf said. "You’ve been making this a higher priority than we have. Why do this when we have Topsy and Mateusen to deal with?"

"You’ve been making this a priority issue, Hooks," Mrs. Knott said.

"Because it’s interesting," Hooks voice was deep, accusatory. "It’s why we’re here, why we’re doing this as a partnership, and why we’re so meticulously disguised as a partnership. Because we’d be doing it differently, as villains. One person can’t be in control of that many people."

"It’s because we’re attempting to emulate a system that would lose its grip on things if it attempted something without the prior consent of the other powers."

"You’re missing the point," Hooks said.

"If I’m going to explain how I envision our organization, let’s do it now. I think we will be forming into two groups. The top half
======================================== SAMPLE 933 ========================================
That said, I would rather the us fighting against the monsters of the deep than hold back a little.

I focused my attention on the D.T. officer, slashing at his hands and feet as he tried to wrestle the weapon from my hands. I felt like I could use my bugs to assist in that endeavor, but I couldn’t afford to. His costume was dark gray, and there were no eyeholes to let me vent my frustration or release any tension on the chains. A hand of stone surrounded by a pale blur formed around the object in question. I lashed out, and the hand slipped from the stone and shattered against the ground a fraction of a second after I struck. The DC officer began striding towards me, his hands stabbing and pulling away as he advanced. He was thick-built, but that might have been an acquired skill. Over time, it would be replaced by a prosthetic. Or, on a more permanent basis, it could be a screw held in a scabbard, or a screwdriver, both becoming perfectly serviceable.

The rain was pattering off of the sturdy, custom made metal canister that was contained in the pocket of my utility compartment. I removed my shoes and the metal scabbard, leaving the gun in plain view.

"You’re a pacifist, but you’re not going to arrest me, are you?" the rain-encrusted D.T. officer asked me.

"No," I answered him.

"Not so much."

"You’re going to play hardball on your way home? I can deal with that, I can even let you go home. What are you going to say to that?"

"Let’s go. We’ll investigate, and we’ll decide together what course of action to take when we’ve come back."

"Being violent doesn’t serve any purpose. I can handle that. You play hardball on your way back?"

I used my swarm to carry my voice, but it wasn’t enough. I had to stop, take a deep breath, and then break it down into its constituent sounds. It didn’t sound as though I was going to say anything.

Instead, I said, "I’ll be cooperating. I’ll pick up my paycheck tonight. So long as my screwdriver and my crowbar aren’t broken or confiscated, I can go home."

The smile on my dad’s face faded, but it wasn’t something I could link to any particular emotion. More of a... a = eagerness. I’d hoped we hadn’t gotten to the part where I’d explained how I had some kind of immunity to whatever was plaguing my dad.

"Anything else?"

"Your sister just phoned. I heard she said she’d get better when she gets out of jail, that you should let her speak Free Speech for the time being. I asked her if she would let me and another friend of hers watch over her, and she said no. So that leaves me and your dad. After talking it over at length, your dad thinks it would be better if you were home, well, home is where we need to be right now."

I was thoroughly caught off guard. My dad was what you might call a low blow. The first step would be to get in contact with Coil, and the second was to make the call.

I should have anticipated this.

"I’m glad you came back," I told my dad. "I’d not have come if it weren’t for your sister giving me the info. I’m around to talk to Purity, though, so no worries on that front."

"Thanks," he said. I looked at the PHQ – the headquarters I’d arrived at on my own. It was in the midst of the ruins of an old business district, where two variants of the same buildingjutted out from the middle of the plaza, with a combined resident base of Ministries and Charitieside, Inc. on one side and the Protectorate on the other.

The headquarters was open, though it was barely past eleven. There were less people inside. There were the families of the employees, many with children running around outside, fighting among themselves.

On the rooftop, planes had landed. The massive pieces of glass all had the same design to them, prismatic, gleaming, and drifted in a mass around the gathered crowd. The largest planes had flown in, followed soon after by the helicopters. Though there were nearly twenty of us here, only seventeen of us were actually in the lobby. The ones who hadn’t exercised their weapons or made their exit were gathered in
======================================== SAMPLE 936 ========================================
Credit: DC Comics

The Endbringers made their first appearance, appearing across America. Tragically, their arrival was facilitated by a single individual with an incurable, underwhelming weakness to both electricity and heat. Eric Garner, NYPD officer and father of one.

As is so often the case, things came full circle. With the escalation of capes across the world, the same individuals emerged with new tropes and game plans. The dramatic reveal was an attack on a particular symbol, usually a skull, but sometimes a sword, a flaming sword, or in the case of the Tyrant, a cube. In the wake of an attack like that, the defenders could expect an attempted takeover of the city, a coordinated assault against a common enemy.

For the second attack, they turned to a less common method of attack, one that had its roots in myth and legend: teleportation.

Sometime between the eventside in 1993 and the present, the PRT had established a stasis area in Boston, allowing people with powers to remain near the relative peace and quiet of Mount Heraklenesis. That same year, they’d been facing a pressure from the local Psi Corps to make some kind of announcement regarding the end of the world. They’d found a way to interact with the organization, even though the stop was ostensibly for official business.

In 1994, the PRT had adopted a rule, governing how they could interact with the heroes of the PRT. They could not attack a hero or PRT employee unless it could be shown that the attack was specifically authorized by the PRT. More often, the attacker was just a civilian employee, a civilian employee with an unfortunate enough name. Dr. Q, for one.

Not so long ago, they’d had an opportunity to execute that rule. More than once, they’d taken the risk out of the equation.

"Hero out," Crescent directed, his voice synthesized.

"You’re getting reported to me for breaking the law," I said.

"We don’t have any other choice. The risk is minimal, and the opportunity is too rare. He’s drawing enough heat to himself that we can’t afford to have him near any trap or glaring weakness. I’m supposed to contact the media?"

"Medium. His full name?"

"J. K. Cole. Laboratorian. College dropout, never worked in the construction industry. Scared little kid, never went out in his civilian clothes. Shitty angle, but we used it as an excuse to put him in the Birdcage."

"Thank you," I said. "It’s a light sentence, but it’s a prison that costs the taxpayers a fortune."

"No problem," his voice came through the walkie-talkie. "Any questions?"

"Mostly good, sir," I replied.

"How was your marriage proceeding?" he asked. He glanced at my dad, who was standing with his arms folded, wary.

"Good," I said.

"And your relationship with your father?"

"Good."

"You’re still here?"

"No job, no regrets," I said. I saw him step back a few feet, as if he was quick enough to avoid attracting attention. "More specifically, sir, you should remain vigilant."

"Yes, sir."

"When was this?" he asked.

"While I was unconscious. A short while after I woke up," I said.

"I understand. Does the job involve difficult choices?"

"My father and I have talked about the job, and I would like your help on these important decisions."

"I can’t raise the idea without talking to your employer," I told him. "The people at the top?"

"Some, yes. But largely no."

I turned around, and I said, "Have you spoken to the Director?"

"I haven’t," he said, "I’ve heard about you."

"I’ve had time for one or two hours, sir, now," I responded. "I’ve had time for many, many hours, but the end is near. There are privileges and concomitantly granted powers, overlords and above all else, the system. I must put up with this."

"Very well."

"Why?" I asked. "You’re not stout when it comes to responsibilities."

"A person musts," he said, his voice echoing, "One mustn’t second guess, or they go astray."

"Doesn’t sound like it’s been a long time."

"
======================================== SAMPLE 939 ========================================
Could the people who had guns be acting in self-defense?

If they were, he couldn’t imagine what could draw them here. A slaughterhouse, perhaps, with people dying all around. People with weapons, on the other hand… people who had no idea what they’d pull before they drew their weapons.

"You can block their exit with the chairs," Glaistig Uaine said.

He nodded. "I understand, ma’am."

"Go ahead," Teacher said.

Eidolon found seats in the telescoping wooden desk that had been set out in front of the podium. He glanced over his shoulder as the teachers tended to the tables, then sat to Urie’s right.

Teacher nodded, greeted Armsmaster, "I’m Miss Militia. Legend. The girl with the bugs."

"Welcome to Brockton Bay," he said.

"Please introduce yourselves," Teacher told them.

"Paranoia, poisoning, hasting, a whole mess of other things," Eidolon said. He was already seated when Teacher replied.

"I’m not entirely sure I understand, it could be that I’m new, or what," Tattletale said. "Someone took my name incorrectly. I’m sorry."

"It’s fine. There’s nothing major to report here. Most of the events of this morning happened, so it’s normal to remind you all about it to make sure you all got the updates you wanted."

"It’s not everyday that a cell phone video surfaces of a major scandal in your city," Eidolon said. "ul-"

"It’s not everyday that I get to meet the Undersiders," Teacher cut him off. Each of the three of them turned to glance at the phone, with a degree of suspicion.

"I saw the news," Eidolon said. "It was live. I used to work the 9-0 shift, and I saw the news at five. I panicked, jumped on the bandwagon. I worked my ass off to get away, get away from that shit. I’m not entirely sure how, but I made some calls to the news, tried to get the attention of the crews over there, tell them about the Nine. It didn’t work. They’re not talking, they’re moving fast and furiously, there’s no panic, nobody missing some vital thing they were telling us about."

"Was it a Jew, again?" Miss Militia asked.

"It wasn’t a Jew, no," Eidolon replied. "But it was a guy. Skinny, red and blue, with parts of his head missing. His hair was cut off here and there, but he had thick hair around the temples, around the corners. He might have been a Buddhist. Whatever."

"Bakuda?" Weld asked.

Eidolon was already gesturing, his hands outstretched.

"That’s your name, not Akhmim. Delicious!" Miss Militia gave him a small wave of the hand, "I’m telling you, this is worse than any of the others combined."

"If you say so," he said.

"What are you getting at?"

"At the end of the world, something like you! This! He’s telling the truth, and if you don’t believe me, watch the video!"

"You’re deathly afraid," Weld said.

Eidolon touched Deathadder’s head, and the botanical spray began to flow, running over the board and the girl’s wig.

"-Of course I am! I’m the worst thing since the day I stepped on a day care!" Miss Militia said.

"Eidolon’s aye for that video!"

"You’ll do better next time, stud."

Deathadder nodded, wiped at the droplet on his forehead, then started scurrying off again.

After he’d disappeared from sight, Weld called down from the hovering platform to where he’d landed. "Ascalon, hit the omnisword."

A cannon rose from the ground in a long, narrow, transparent hand. The platform it floated on was about fifteen feet in diameter, but grown larger, spooled up enough that it had to be at least a third of that. Metal blades sharp as edge-to-edge ran along the length, four mounted on perforated walls and floors.

Scion emerged from the center of the platform. He swept his blade against the side of the building, and dust billowed to reduce his own size
======================================== SAMPLE 942 ========================================
"A doctor’s clinic-turned-prison," Lockjaw said. "Wouldn’t- would we be breaking the spirit? Conspiring? Along those lines."

"There’s no conscription into the army," Kalderad said. "There’s no conscription at all within the PRT. The bosses want us to be innovative, to strive for perfection. We don’t need that. We’re too flexible. We can customize our members, tweak them, augment them. The world’s better served if we play this right. If we create an army, the threats we’re facing are varied enough that we need to be effective against all comers."

"The Simurgh?" Hoyden asked, her voice small.

"There’s a reason I’m No. 1," Kalder said. "Few things bother me as much as seeing someone try to game the system. Putting others before country, ruining the balance, breaking the rules. I’ve lost count. I worry about that sort of thing. I’m almost too lazy to do anything else. I do what I do because it’s the most effective. I consider myself a rebel, but I’m not about being responsible. I consider myself a while player, but I’m not about being long term. I’m about being today’s hero, and that starts today."

"You’re thinking of yourself as a long term."

"I’m… somewhere in the middle."

"A while and a lot of thought?"

"I’m… somewhere in the middle."

"A long term. In what sense are you thinking of herself as such?"

"I… in a way. I’m constantly thinking of new ways to hurt the PRT. After everything I did, after managing people and preparing for a contingency like we wanted, things came down to me and you. I got to a critical point and I changed my mind. We can thank me."

"Like he’s suddenly discovered he’s in control of you."

"It’s a bittersweet thing," I said. "I like him and I hate him, but I’m aware of what he’s become and what he’s been," I said. "He lies, and lies often do like that. He starts small, and everything he does often outsize everything else. I don’t like him, but I know we can make something of him."

"Making ‘something’ of him isn’t much."

"No. It isn’t. But I can try. I always will. Even when I’m making mistakes. I’ll get better."

"You haven’t made a mistake in the past year."

"In what sense? My first year?"

"You can make mistakes. Diminishing returns. But I saw what you tried to do. You focused on one fight, one skirmish, and you disrupted everything. You started a war."

"I tried to stop him. I couldn’t. There were too many stakes. Too many unknowns."

"You’re not making sense. This dreading the unknown. You can’t keep secrets from yourself."

"I know. I’m not making any promises I’m willing to keep."

"But you tried. Almost went to the Birdcage."

"Almost. He told you before, as he implied to me in those words, but he didn’t tell you and he probably wouldn’t tell you now, after everything he’s said about his intent to me. To our ongoing conflict with the Birdcage."

"A privilege," Kalderad said.

"Thank you."

"But we don’t know the outcome," Kalderad said. "I can detect energy, and I know are we headed in the right direction. But I don’t know where we’re going, what we’re going to buy, or how much time we’re going to have left. And it could already be too late."

"This isn’t the first time you’ve had a wish come true," Weaver said. "Perhaps something more humble."

"I’ve had more than a few, actually," Kalderad said. "But this is mine."

Weaver said, "No matter."

And that was that. Kalderad could be present for any moment, and he could grant the ability to fight or protect anyone in a single contact.
======================================== SAMPLE 945 ========================================
The topography of a city was affected by the forces of gravity, as was the general area of high ground or ground that extended horizontally. On a good day, the streets and highways opened up enough for water to pool and drain, for resources to recharge and be replenished. Days when the heaviest storms and clogged roads didn’t cause congestion, those same streets and highways were opened up for travel.

Houston was one of the harder places for outsiders to find. It was a city that had been largely destroyed by natural disasters or warfare, in the wake of the Bayou and the Rita attacks, the destruction of the Behemoth and the Stro-[Pg 103]

The killings in the Birdcage and the seeming suicides by some of the prison’s more parahuman inmates didn’t merit the same caution. Buried deep in the records were details about the gangs and their techniques, about medicine men like Eye’s Weaver trying to save people from a cluttered mind. It wasn’t unusual for members of a given gang to commit petty crimes before committing a serious crime, committing even less serious crimes as a group. But even after the basic necessities of life were taken away from a given area, they were still expected to protect that area with their lives, to patrol and keep the peace.

Alexandria and her companions were among those things. To leave the city, to rebuild, to expand and reassert control. It was her opportunity to do that, and she was taking it.

When she saw the white van with the prisoner BF051 beside it, with paperwork and a man that looked like the kind of gang member the PRT might arrest, she decided she’d seen enough.

She approached the driver’s seat, and rolled down her window to make her way inside.

The woman in the passenger seat was a man. Some kind of record, found in the roll of metal, that detailed her age, gender and citizenship. Woman’s body, again, and further details on the part of the individual, including how she had used the drug I’d seen her setting up. Woman’s legs, again.

There was a deck of cards in the shape of ‘5’, with six numbers on each side. Five on top, with five eyes on the cardinal direction. No doubt numbered deck. There was also the thing that read ‘6’, meaning she had both a male and a female companion. I wasn’t allowed to work with the agencies that had hired me, so I wasn’t privy to any of that. –XL

There was also the number… three. It stood for awaken, which was another clue that they had a plan.

"This is it," she said. "The last document we’ll be able to create."

"There’s more," the driver said. "I can’t get into any of the deeper thinking that goes on inside."

"Maybe you’re trying," my dad said.

Driving home the idea that they might be able to get something worked out, I let the car pull away.

My heart was pounding as we approached the house. We Protestants were wary of the effect that large numbers had on the surrounding land. It was a circular house, circular because it was the last house the area had had before the Communists had seized it. Even then, they’d had a man and a young girl living in it. The front door looked like it had been splintered by a nail.

Alexandria and her companions emerged from the house. One of them, it seemed, was more like a puppy than a teenager. It held a white fluffy pillow in its mouth, while the other was working on wrapping itself around one of the furniture pieces. The puppy was looking around, its broad, fluffy tail whipping to one side.

"Hey, freak," my dad greeted them, a touch too broad for his age.

Forrest frowned. "What?"

"You’re going to take over our lives," Alexandria said, "And you’re not doing it with permission."

"I’ve given permission," Forrest said.

"What?"

"You’ve taken over my day to day, and I want you to know that I love you for it. I won’t say this to your face, but you can’t withhold my respect."

"Sounds like a plan."

We had settled in and Ramallah was on his knees before us. They were shuffling furniture like it was a piece of cake we weren’t supposed to miss.

"Want me to take over your life?" I asked.

"Sure. Waitresses get the first turn, 25
======================================== SAMPLE 948 ========================================
Although those girls were trembling, Boo had found something to relax his muscles over, so they both stood, nearly ignoring the thug’s attempts to grab them.

"My turn," he spoke.

Shatterbird made her way to the center of the gang. She perched on the wall, her head on Turner’s shoulders. Turner took hold of Shatterbird’s wrists, but let his own reach behind him, before pressing his knuckles to her throat.

Another group arrived on the scene, and their actions were more violent. Biter grabbed a group of kids, and set them on the ground. A guy grabbed a small blue-headed girl, set her on the ground. A third grabbed a big guy, who was apparently trying to stand.

Shatterbird ignored the shouts of concerned bystanders and the requests for help from nearby girls as she approached Sundancer, Grindelwald and Biter. She gestured at the ground, and the lawnmowers leaped to the right, disappearing into the mist.

"You’re clearing enough away that we can all walk around and around to our individual destinations," Shatterbird spoke to her group. She smiled a little, as if tired, "Ready?"

She appeared at the peak of a three story building that overlooked the street of grass. As she raised her hands, a mass of people began to move away from the foot-path. Units from nearby farms were being told to cluster to that location, to keep out of the storm drain or the storm drain itself, where the water level was considerably higher. Within seconds, the group that included Sundancer, Biter, Regent, Grue and Ballistic was split off into another group that passed through the drain and the storm drain on their way to the other group.

"I went ahead," I told them, "You go slow, and watch your backs. We can meet up with the others at a place I can’t quite remember, but we stay until the others come back."

They headed in the direction of the other group. I kept my mouth shut, trying to think of a way to subvert the psychology test and avoid giving the green light to the next person. I was a little too late, by the looks of it.

The following day, as I descended a flight of stairs to the elevator that took us down to the ground floor, I could hear a series of gunshots. I kicked the door open and Wescie was among the six people in there. He looked nervous, and I could see his eyes were wide with fear. At one point, he even looked briefly at his phone, but he didn’t put any of the blame on it. When he saw the guns that were loaded and ready, he looked around, and decided against it. Maybe he had been watching his step and felt pressure from above, trying to get more up to date on current events. Whatever.

Genesis was handling the ringing of the phone in this desperate attempt to find instructions, and her attention fell on the man with the guns. I saw her meet Armsmaster’s eyes and nod gratefully as he stepped into the room. She gave him a salute, and he quickly turned to acknowledge her.

Tattletale and I proposed a chat before any of the others were admitted to the Birdcage. My version of the normal interrogation would have been to get to the meat of it, but knowing Tattletale, her power and Grue’s powers, I was careful to use seductive pauses and quiet to get the far end of the negotiation. I was careful to wait until she agreed to a full explanation of just what had happened, and I was even more careful to use the three percent (!) that he already knew to throw any information out there that he might want to keep private.

"That was a hell of a lot of information to type out, yesterday," she told him, courteously, as if she’d let him know she was typing.

"Not a problem," he replied, "Look, I’m not about to complain, but you know how much I enjoy getting my hands dirty. I’ve got a bit of a hobby, isn’t I? Gathering information and getting results. I never complain when I earn my keep. Not when it’s coming against the established powers."

"I can’t tell if you’re accusing me of pandering to your ego or if you’re genuinely interested in getting to know her and become friends."

"I am genuinely interested. If there’s any benefit, I take it there’s a lot of the time. Besides, I have to know what she thinks about my romances with Regent and Imp."

"You never explained how you knew these people."

"
======================================== SAMPLE 951 ========================================
Oh, come on," I muttered, "I’m not crazy."





Buzz 7.3


Jesus, Lisa was shaking. I was beginning to think that Lisa’s illness was a blessing in disguise, as well as a curse. It meant we got to talk about terrible things, terrible times, and she was almost soul-less, numb. I wasn’t surprised, with how she’d changed; I could remember her as the person who would campaign, give numerous speeches about how wonderful and generous and right and all the other stuff. Then there were the days when she was really good at acting, or when her speech was so violently heavy that half the people in the room almost had to interrupt to keep her from staying inaudible. There were the days I really wanted to listen to her, and she made me feel like I had to stop her or make her wait too long on her cue.

Either way, as painful as it was, we got through it. A lot of times, that meant we got to talk about Deimos. In the past hour, we had talked aboutanimate objects, the structure of space and the foundations of reality, while dealing with the fallout from the reveal that one of our undercover operatives, Saurian, had been killed. There had been much more, but I’d stumped up the cash and thought I’d be more inclined to sacrifice myself in gratitude for the others who had put in the time and effort, or because I was trying to break away from my dad and the networks he’d established with me. Lisa hadn’t had that luxury.

I felt a depressingly distant feeling in the pit of my stomach as I realized that my thanks were technically optional. If I didn’t do it willingly, I wasn’t sure there could be any thanks.

"What did you put in there?" I asked Charlotte, as I brought the bundable, melt-proof wrapping paper between us and the table.

"Six gallons of blood," she said, her voice quiet.

"That’s not much," I said.

"I put some on myself, but I mixed them together with apple juice if I can get my hands on some, since my arm’s not as strong as mine. You mix some on first and then apply the blood, you’ll need to wait until I’m not in costume before you start injecting yourself with the blood."

"And you?"

I glanced at her, then turned my attention to the table. I used the silk cords I had drawn out in the folds of my costume to help hold things in place. Better secure things than the adhesive backing would be, I thought.

"The latter."

I nodded. I gathered some wool and wound it around the paper so it would be waterproof and breathable.

"I hope it doesn’t get wet."

Because you don’t want to get cavities here or cough there. I thought. I could still prove myself, though. Needs to be on point when we’re fighting the Nine.

"I also put in a will, will be gone soon, so I’ve got some money in the bank and the bills are all sorted out. Not sure if you noticed, but today is the day the rest of us die. Three days from now."

"I could handle the first day," I said. "I could carry out a third, or I could go back to my lab and try to come up with something electrolytic or radiation that doesn’t kill you. But the point is I’ll be incapacitated, and you’ll have to live with the consequences of me being dead or dying before I can help you. There’s really no other way I can put it. You guys handle the recovery, everyone handles the aftermath. I get home, my business takes off, my lab explodes. You guys handle the aftermath."

There were nods around the lab.

"Everything Fine," I said, "Thank you all for the hospitality. We’ll, um, we’ll go out in a vehicle. I’ll borrow your cell phones, so no worries about texts or calls."

The five of us stepped into the vehicle. Lisa set the first two phones to speaker phone, then handed me the next.

"We’re all set," I said, smiling.

"Goodbye, Taylor," Lisa said, her smile rarely more than a fraction larger, "One last chance to save the world."

■

We pulled into the driveway of a house not too far from Lord street. We were just entering the building when Brian called out, "Miller!"

The driver opened the door, and we all headed
======================================== SAMPLE 954 ========================================
It had sounded surreal, an idea I’d heard bandied about among students at various weekends. A recollection from a long ago class, of some old professor lecturing on the concept of the transient norm. A concept so cliche, I almost believed it.

But Wasch was something else.

"Transient norm?" I asked.

"It’s a term that’s been around a long time, and it’s become a catch-phrase among capes. A transient recognises the human condition, accepts it, and moves beyond that person or thing to pursue other things. It might refer to a person seeing themselves through the camera of an augmented reality game, or the transient viewing the human condition through the lens of some parahuman genius.

"But what does it really mean? Well, the first issue that comes to mind is the transient commonplace. A common parahuman viewed outside of the bounds of their team, another member of the team. But what does it really mean? I think we can scratch that interesting enough surface for you to explore further. Case two, beginning."

Was my glimmering a flash of inspiration, or was it possible reading too much into it?

But I could explore, starting with the obvious.

"Neh-cul-"

I drew in a deep breath, then took a seat to my left.

"Neh-cul?" Teacher murmured.

I paused.

No, I thought. Too much time had passed for that.

But I could imagine what it must have been like, sitting here, hearing him speaking.

I used my bugs to outline the scene in my head.

Another burst of lightning burned across Scion’s face, and the horror of the moment outweighed all of the concern I felt for him and everything I could bring to the table to date. I restrained my reaction until I’d seen the aftermath, seen the autopsy, had an idea of what to expect.

It was the happiest I’d felt in a very, very long time.

It was the middle of the day, and I was feeling pretty dazed. All the worries and concerns of the past hour had been dashed, discarded in favor of a singular, overwhelming fear.

The flying insects I had settled on the outside of Scion’s face focused his attention. Started dissolving the oil that was oozing from his pores, running it away under our tongue, beneath our tongues. The way it was drying, it looked almost like he was resuming normal life, even though the wounds were closed and he was otherwise drenched.

I gave him a moment to breathe, to refresh his senses. With humiliating stretches like that, he was remarkably good about filling me in.

He’d been occupied with us, had been paying very close attention to the positioning of the people in the crowd. Now he was focused on one individual. I identified her immediately. A woman, dirty blond braided with strands of purple hair, wearing a long sleeved, long sleeved shirt. I knew from the classifications elsewhere in the school that her parents had been in the crowd, and she fit the same vague demographic as the rest of the students. Old. She had a worse haircut than the rest of the students, and she had a higher percentage of her body covered in a band that seemed larger than her forearm. Her clothes looked like they had been worn twice in the last two weeks. My bugs began to arrive, drifting to the area by the front of her shirt and her bra.

I pulled the bugs away from the rest of her, and I could feel them getting snagged on clothing, pinned against the side of her throat, against the fabric of her pants.

The woman with the hair in her face attacked her. She tried to shove the woman with the bodyguards into me, and the woman seized onto me.

I was strong enough to shift myself to one side, then step on the feet of the woman with the hair in her face, so I didn’t get shoved into the crowd. Rather than landing on my back, I slowed my rotation to a single point, focused on holding her in place with my bugs while reaching out with my hands to move my costume.

It helped, but it wasn’t perfect. Still, it gave me the flexibility to turn my attention to the bugs that were managing the cleaning up of the area. I had a small handful of butterflies in my costume, and they began rolling off of me, settling on the charred husk of a cyclops on the front of a tall building.

When the wreck of the woman’s pet crush of darkness was gone, I started cutting down the bugs I still had in the area. I moved them to other spots where they might help with the debris and ash
======================================== SAMPLE 957 ========================================
Stop."

Piggot moved so fast it looked like he might have moved faster. She turned, then ran.

The dogs struggled to follow, but the agents were already set up at the first obstacle. A wall of wax, topped with a cylinder of iron bars.

Grue threw down his ball and began to lift it.

Behemoth raised one arm, and the tunnel suddenly split, new passages emerging through the gaps.

Raising their heads, the dogs could see a man in a white shirt and suit pants stride down the hallway, past Bitch and Grue. The man wore a suit jacket with the sleeves rolled up, and the cloth that was draped around his shoulders was unbuttoned. Checking the shirt, Grue commented, "You don’t really need to look like that."



"It’s fine," Bitch said.

"It’s… it’s not really anyone’s fault," the man said. "If they hadn’t made us wear the uniforms, we might have met somewhere else."

"We could have sued," Bitch said.

"Oh, well," the man said, "It’s easier said than done. Have to be responsible."

He took the elevator and made his way down to the lower level. I waited in tense anticipation as he passed through the doors and entered the basement.

My breath fogged up in the air as I watched the doors of the elevator begin to close.

"You are not responsible for any outcomes"

Grue slammed the door of the elevator shut.

"He’s going to be one of the bad guys, right?" I asked.

Grue looked at the gunshot victim. The bullet traveled a surprisingly short distance before it hit ground.

"Yeah," he said. "We expected that."

"We should check on our buddy," I said.

Grue nodded, then ran his fingers through his hair. "Pick up the phone, T-877-567-7888."

"Call was recorded," the man said. "It should take about five minutes to trace it."

"Long way from friendly," Bitch complained.

"Listen," I said, "If you don’t get a response, tell me you’re doing something wrong."

"And if I don’t get a response?"

"I’m not going to be able to help you any more than I have to. There’s laws against interfering with a Batarian pregnancy, there’s laws against kidnapping, there’s laws against using a weapon of mass destruction."

"Fine," Bitch agreed. "Call me at the PHQ if you need me, okay?"

"Agreed."

I hung up.

I could sense the Doctor talking to the Chief Director. The two of them were seated at a long table behind a large television. The Chief Director was wearing a formal suit, but layering security. She might be a godmother to the chief executives of the largest, most influential private companies in the PRT, but it was still a job with its own rules andjokes, and PRT traditions.

I shifted my eyes from the table to the television.

"Chief Director?"

"Grace."

"Director?"

"Mo."

"Is she Chief Director because she has the most power?"

"She’s the top dog," Grace answered. "She’s the one with the power."

"Is she in charge because she’s the power?"

"She’s in charge because she’s the one with the authority."

"Is she playing the game because she has the authority?"

"Because that’s the only game she’s playing." The doctors came to order chairs and blankets, leaving the waiting rooms. There were only two rooms in the building. One was reserved for the one in charge, temporary, and the other was for the sick and the wounded.

"She’s the one with the authority in the water and the electricity,"grilled Doctor Mother.

"She doesn’t have the authority in the water or the electricity,"grilled Deputy Director Tagg.

"She has the authority in both," Deputy Director Tagg said, glancing at Mrs. Yamada.

"Is that so?" I asked.

"Yes. The orderlies, the ranking officials in the various PRT departments, as well as the Director in charge of the PRT. Mrs. Yamada is the water department, Mrs. Yamada is the electricity department."

"Yes!" a woman in the group said
======================================== SAMPLE 960 ========================================
Actually booking this is a ridiculous stunt. I had to call this in.

More so than those two locations, this location is literally the furthest from anyone with a cellphone. That means no one is logging how many people are in the area, or the hazards that come with cell phone use.

They’d have a hard time getting evidence after the fact, no matter how obvious or blatant the crimes.

They add, "We’d probably get away with just getting the wife and kids, maybe some of the equipment. But they would be watching out for it, and we have to be very careful."

"Okay," I said. "Let’s see…"

■

The group made their way to the scene of the crime. It was starting.

I could see tattered and bloodstained sheets put together like lifejackins had been, arranged with sheets on a long metal bench with a shallow tap for the hood and the edge of the balcony. Clothes were placed on the bench, along with the used condom, the box of nails, scissors, nail clippers, amber-gel manicure and eyebrow applicator and more.

One by one, they went through the bags, checking each to make sure there was nothing. Each person with the camera was wearing a glossy, screen-printed condom.

Aiden recognized some of the faces in the group. His face was on the security camera, so I didn’t share.

"You all right?" he asked.

"We should be," a girl said.

"All good," Aiden said, "Little worse for wear."

Camera shake. Camera wobble.

"All good," she said. "But not great."

"What happened?"

"Shot on, some minor damage, yeah," Aiden said.

"I know," the girl said. "But better."

"I couldn’t get enough of the others to get involved," Aiden said. "That was on video. It’s pretty sad."

"Disaster aid," the girl said. "We got every pair of shoes we needed from the car. We got the furniture: a couch, a bed. We even got the boxes of lunches, just in case."

"Everything was fine," Aiden said.

"Took us a little while to get used to, but I was glad we got over there in the first place. We were all over there when the first thing went down. I saw the ambulance landing, and I thought maybe they had evacuated everyone, but then I saw the ambulances, and I saw the tape, and I knew it wasn’t the Parahumans themselves who had put it together. Scion."

"How do you know that?"

"I watched the ambulance as it made its way over."

"I know. I was there. I saw it all unfold."

Aidan nodded, "That’s all I wanted. I only said I was sorry for the trouble you’ve caused"

"I’m not sorry for nothing," Aiden said. "I never forgive people who take offense to my statements, and I really wish you luck with your new teammates. I can’t tell you how grateful I am. Please be good."

"Okay. Good."

With that, they parted ways.

The lights went out, and the doctors tended to the damage. They didn’t turn on the monitors, but that was because the displays were off.

A crowd had gathered around as the cameras remained off. TV screens were off, so the wires were scrupulously non-distracting.

The monitors flickered to life, and for a moment, the world stood still. The world as it had been yesterday.

Then the scanners flickered to life, and America was shown.

"Contessa. It’s Scion."

"It’s the girl who avoided capture," Doctor Mother said. "It’s the boy."

"We’re dealing with problems on a world level," Judge Dalloway said. "Her peers are the biggest. We’ve got a dangerous villain in custody, we’ve got a reported teleporter, and last but not least, we’ve got the Slaughterhouse Nine."

"What does the Judge do?" Narwhal asked. "He’s a planner."

"He’s one of the thinkers," Defiant said.

"He’s one," Dragon elaborated. "He’s very smart, very self-aware, and he’s very, very good at manipulating people. Except… he hasn’t been
======================================== SAMPLE 963 ========================================
You’re gone?"

"He left. He was busy, I wasn’t sure what he would have done with his time, so I didn’t want to intrude. It’s maybe a good thing, after all the shit we’ve been through," Natasha said. "I’m glad I didn’t end up with him."

Sitting a short distance away, Grace couldn’t help but cough as she looked at Natasha’s sister.

"What?" Natasha asked.

"He was such a bastard, ungrateful, hurt. I almost feel bad about calling him."

"I didn’t think you were that ungrateful," she said, though she didn’t feel like she said anything that was controversial or revealing.

More blurring of the lines, as if the individuals had blurted out the words.

"Did we say something controversial?" Grace finally asked.

"You brought the fight here," Natasha said, raising her voice to be heard over the screams. "We planned this. There was no dishonesty. No revealing your team’s secrets."

Miss Militia put a hand on Natasha’s shoulder, a fist that was too large for her face.

"You’d be surprised how many people are shocked when you bring that up," Grace said.

"You did nothing but say you’d retaliate if anyone used their power to get special treatment," Natasha said. "And we planned the counteroffensive. We knew you’d be screwing us, and we planned to stop you."

"That doesn’t look like reciprocation. That’s sabotage."

"You told us you’d go after the mayor. You were right. We already know you had your eyes on the prize. You gained nothing by revealing our team."

"You want us to fight you. To stop you?" Wanting is too much, apparently. "No. That’d be a terrible idea."

There was a long pause.

Clockblocker made a face.

"You’ll be taking hostage," Wanton said. "You’re not going to endanger your team, and you’re not going to betray your team, for your own good. I can let you out. I’ll-"

"I’m not giving up the information Needal was asking for. I’m not willing to compromise my principles. I’ll tell them, anyways. If there’s evidence, turn traitor. Let them know I’ll take them down if they try to hurt me. I’ll order my bugs to attack you unawares. When I say no, I mean it’s not worth it to cross that line. Tagg can check all of our records, every contact, everything. He can tell whether you’re a real hero or a traitor."

"I-"

"I can decide which of us takes the blame. I can tell you tonight whether or not you’re a hero. It won’t affect the number of teams that come after you, or change the outcome of the fights, but it’ll make the difference in the next few weeks, in the next month, or a year."

He didn’t have a response to that. I studied his face, and I couldn’t help but suspect he knew the answer.

Tagg had taken the position that everyone in the PRT fell under the category ‘fixed’. He was one of the few individuals who could and were trusted with the job. That didn’t mean he was on the side of the people or the system. It was a comfortable position to be in, especially with the accusations and contradictions that stemmed from his being both a hero and a supervillain. It made him an unpredictable asset, one I was well aware we couldn’t expect him to keep to.

Perhaps because of how well he knew us, Director Tagg was attuned to our personalities and easily influenced. He had seen the upset, knew it would lead to a reaction. A forced resignation, with every belief from the time he had checked with his superiors.

It said something, as far as this ship was concerned, that he had held on to the fight during the Jihad where so many others had failed.

The hypocrisy was apparent. On the one hand, he was the one who had been forced to quit, with seemingly infinite patience for the damage one could do in a given situation, even if it was a situation where everyone on board had failed to include him in the failure. His teammates, the directors, the C.U.I. executives, the powerful family members he
======================================== SAMPLE 966 ========================================
Strange music, a mandolin, acoustic guitar, keyboard, percussion and flutes. I sensed it break up in some cases. It wasn’t just the pieces being in conflict. It was the conflicts themselves, with each occupying a distinct space in the brain.

Being in the middle of that, it allowed me to focus on my swarm. I had six groups. Two groups that were watching me, two that were observing me from a distance. A crowd was queued around me, ready to divert my attention to such. Such was my awareness in the now.

I could get as many of the bugs as I wanted, like a warlord or a lone wolf with a forcefield or sonic shout dispenser. It would be meaningless to plant any bugs on the humans if I couldn’t get them to join my army.

"You’re so still," Charlotte said.

I closed my eyes.

"You like that?" Charlotte asked.

I nodded.

She leaned to one side, like she was leaning back, putting her back into the most vulnerable position she’d been in for some time. It wasn’t perfect posture, but it let her arms rest in a pouch on her belt.

When the music resumed, someone said, "And you openly admit you use drugs."

"I used drugs as a kid," I said. "My mom used to take me everywhere and give me puke all the time. Plus sometimes I took scratch pills and stuff when I was a kid. Things definitely got more acceptable when my mom passed. I never did any serious drugs until I got my powers."

"You seemed to have a better idea of who you are when you were around her," Charlotte said.

"Okay," I said. "Just so you know, my powers? They’re mainly there to make me think like a lab rat. I had to stay focused for the majority of that. I was doing a lot with a lot I shouldn’t have been doing, and I was fucked. So I did a couple of TV commercials, made a kid’s movie called Subject 10, 10-1, subject one, 10-0. Talk about a theme park ride. Jeopardy style. I also did a couple of facebook group page groups and one group on tumblr called ‘the weird*, where people post things that aren’t canon, with the tagline ‘We know the stories behind some of the things we find weird."

"My power tells me there’s probably a story behind it," Charlotte said, "But how did you find the people who are doing this?"

"Someone that takes second place in a small number of unfunny or off topic groups. Everyone has an identity, and they’re not all funny in the same way. I felt like I had to unload on someone to have something meaningful say."

"The person who says the most or latest? Can you give us an example?"

"Wow. I’m going to get distracted. I’m trying to think of the nicest way to say ‘thanks" that won’t offend anyone."

"Okay. But you’re not sure what you’re talking about.‘

"I’m thinking about what it’s like for you to be first."

"Okay. I get that, but when I was talking to my dad, he was saying that you didn’t really have a choice in the matter. I think it’s more like you’re antsy. You know how locusts are, and you just snap."

I shot him a look, but he only ducked one ear and smiled a fraction, before sticking out his tongue as he translated for Charlotte.

"They’re mammals, they’ve got brains and antigravity effects, but their bodies are like we’re sickle-shaped thing in the middle of our bodies? It’s gelatin. Most of the time, we’re able to push against that, but a few get electrocuted or something. The locusts and locurfs sometimes have the right to choose one of those for themselves. Or they’re supposed to be fakes. That’s what I was thinking as I started putting the pieces together. Used to be you could call them austere or diehard."

Tattletale gave me a dirty look as she said that.

"Fuck. And I was thinking that you were going to say something like that to Taylor, only Taylor would know the difference."

"Don’t know her."

"Don’t know her."

"That’s a shame. On the plus side
======================================== SAMPLE 969 ========================================
Taylor, it’s very possible my explanation for why you’re in a box is valid. I saw with my own eyes that day. See, I got some of the most powerful parahumans in the world, and I met your other teammate, the girl with the half-shaved head, who I now know is Bakuda."

Bakuda was one of the scariest mothers of parahumans I knew. Not related to the mastermind, which was the word I would have chose. Sister to the delusional murder mother and multiple suicide bombers. If the pair was related, though, there was always the possibility that the second they showed signs of ill will and hostility, they could become something too. Was it a side-benefit of their power, giving them a heightened awareness of the world beyond the bedroom?

Whatever the case, I suspected that today was a good day.

In a similar vein, I continued to harangue Lung, "You wanted to take over the city? Too bad things aren’t duller. The ABB was a blight on the city, first and foremost, but beyond that, it was a community. It had bad influences, bad people, and it lost much of its luster with the right amount of prejudice. The way Kaiser was handling things, though, makes me think he’s got the plan worked out for him. Too many parahumans coming into contact with him, I’m thinking the plan is ~fully$~ workable. I don’t know what his deal is, but he’s not messing around."

Lung nodded.

"Good. Let me introduce you to our recruits, and I’m going to make absolutely sure you guys know who they’re coming in contact with," Coil said, "As I see it, we’ve got a team of three out of the people who are bringing these monsters into custody. Let’s start with Grue."

Grue nodded, didn’t utter a sound.

"And then we have Trickster, if you can call him that. He’s a trained soldier, and I expect he has some understanding of the sort of techniques you’d need to know to employ, given the occasion. We have Regent, if you can call him that. He’s a pretty enigmatic one, and I have no idea what the point of his power is. Trickster isn’t much better, though. I’ve never even seen his power, but I’ve seen videos of him using his power, and his power is rather hard to apply. I’d have to ask him."

I could see Trickster look at the camera, as if to appraise me.

"Yeah. Sorry. I don’t want to only talk about the guys I know. I’m sorry about causing you any stress with the guys you don’t know. They’re the most dangerous and problematic of all."

My answering voice sounded in my ear, "Eight people, not including Trickster, that I’m absolutely certain are not part of Coil’s group."

Coil nodded.

"You know that whole running around and getting in trouble thing, watching stuff, right? It’s par for the course, it is possible things will happen to you in a similar vein. I’m saying it’s entirely possible they will. I know you have an objective in mind, and yes, this is indeed a possibility."

I nodded. Which could mean I was in danger.

"What I want most is for you to tell me if there’s any chance you might be able to do something to help. If there’s help you could use, when I’m done here. If you’re going to explain, tell me what you intend to do, and when. This would be a great time to do it."

I wanted to speak, to try to save myself, do something with my power, or do something with the guy, but I couldn’t really think of anything to say. It was also the best chance I’d get tonight. I turned around and headed out of the office, heading out of the room where they’d been waiting, and I headed downstairs on my feet.

I hit the buzzer and made my way outside. I’d almost missed the momentary dim start to the heat of June sun as I got outside. It did start to grow, however. By the time I realized I’d been gasping for breath, it was directly overhead.

My heart was pounding, my mouth dry, feeling the rush of air as it rushed over my lips, entering my lungs.
======================================== SAMPLE 972 ========================================
Echidna's fiction… it is perfect. Every scene was carefully crafted, each a running narrative that told a story. A cautionary tale about a villain who was afoot. A cautionary tale about a hero.

I looked at the scene, where Echidna was injecting victims with a being, and I could already guess what would happen. Slaughterhouse Nine would be at the center of it. Or they would be, but the narrative wouldn’t confirm that.

She would inject them with something. The toxin? Or something else.

And with that in mind, I could already envision her scenario, where she was confronting us, where she was forcing our hand, where we were forced to act.

I could envision it: serpent oils squirting from the wound, blinding Echidna, leaving bodies that were slowly liquefying.

As for me? I’d draw my sword and cut off my foot at the same time.

I wasn’t blind. I was prepared.

I’d draw my knife and shoot Elec where it didn’t belong.

The weapons weren’t real. Rifles and handguns, but they were my weapons, and they’re supposed to protect me.

I was simultaneously prepared and prepared to fire on Echidna. She wasn’t a serious threat, at least, not one that I could really hurt in the time that I had between messages. My phone was connected to the airplane’s Wi-Fi, and I had a list of places in mind that I was ready to strike.

I started toward Delta and the dogs. I could sense them, where they’d disappeared from the scene. Dogmeat was best with a liquid in his mouth, and there was nothing biological about Delta’s creation.

I saw why they were calling it ‘Chariot’. The name had been borrowed by one of my people, who had worked on the project under Dr. Mirage. The scientist, who was also my employee.

It was a project, I had to manage my expectations. It was a tool, a weapon, and it had potential. If they were going to be eating it, then the opportunity cost was too high. If they were going to be injured, then that fact didn’t justify the extra risk.

The danger to bystanders wasn’t even a consideration. I wasn’t sure chivalrous or cavalier about what I was doing, but I wasn’t about to back down now.

As it was, I landed near Delta, himself and one clone in tow. I asked the forest and swamps for our directions, and they led us into a clearing.

The space was filled with swarms of bugs. I directed the swarm to march toward the men, using the rounded stones and by taking paths where there was room, and I cleared paths for the living room, kitchen and other possible areas.

The bugs had a way of finding those things when they found the things. I hadn’t even considered that they might have a trouble finding us.

When I was done, I swept the area with my flight pack.

Ursa, meanwhile, prepared to deal with the sleeper. A small collection of her bugs had a bug-collector built into their masks, and they were preparing to deal with the swarm. Atlas was brought safely to us, and we arranged to get him airborne.

With Trickster suspended in the air, and Echidna unable or unwilling able to move, she was left with a conscious or unconscious partner. I recognized it as such.

Shatterbird. And Grue, to a lesser degree. I felt a kind of stir when I compared notes between them.

I’d had other partners, in being there for them, and I’d had others, in being responsible for Armsmaster. Grue had always strived for something above and beyond the call of duty, even when I was pretty much in the clear.

I’d had other partners in crime, in being silent and silent as the villains approached. In the course of that, we’d introduced a great many new ones to the group.

But my old house master and my new house style were apparently incompatible. I stopped being her servant and became his.

So I changed. I became responsible for more people’s welfare than was even realized. I helped people get established.

It didn’t achieve anything, in the grand scheme of it, but it had saved lives. An adolescent cape I’d never seen before was waking up in the hospital bed that much earlier than I had. Another was walking away from the brink of death, later learning to walk upright.

That was only on a larger
======================================== SAMPLE 975 ========================================
Further Reading Introducing one of the new members to the BBW: Midnight Sun This report contains details from witnesses. For the full story, including the possible impact of their actions and the possibility that one of their numbers has killed a civilian, read on.

Adepts 6.5


"Do you guys know where the Slaughterhouse Nine are, Condescending Monstrosity?"

"Stick figures," Tattletale said. "Shit. Too many unanswered questions."

"We knew that," I said. "Monsters that are stupid and juvenile in their ways are rare."

"Are you implying we had no warning? We knew they were coming?"

"No. Only that we didn’t pre-empt any of it."

"Pre-empted what? You guys were just defending your actions in the field, and you turned around and attacked ours? WHAT!?"

"Explain."

"I was responding to the cruelty of the Slaughterhouse Nine when I did that," I said. I could feel Doomsday screechissss in pain. "I was responding to how Mon Moth could level half of Brockton Bay with an attack from her apartment. The same building the Nine are based out of."

"Mon Moth-" Tattletale started.

"That was the stupid little girl from the shopping center," Regent said. "I knew it was stupid. But the little freakliness of going all out like you were, it seemed to leave Mon Moth more or less spared her from whatever it was that happened."

"Pain in the ass," Doomsday said. "Just, you know, putting the little freak in the right place. For all intents and purposes, I could have beat her and she’d probably beat me."

"You could have," I said. I was more focused on Tattletale. "You know how much I hate being the low level villain? Being, like, three digits in power? Here? You know how much I hate being considered a serious danger? In the face of all of this?"

"You’re underestimating my power," Tattletale said.

"Maybe you are," I said. "But your concerns are valid. My intent was to keep you in the dark, to keep Demonic from obtaining a database of our deepest darkest secrets. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to work for the PRT. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to become a hero. And because of the deep-seated desires of the PRT, and the efforts I’ve made as a volunteer, the fact that you are here and not Steve Trevor, I was able to procure a password to one of the client’s databases. Have a look."

The fly hopped down to the hard plastic door.

"Open it," Tattletale said. She found the unlatchable latch and swung it open. The two soldiers made their way inside.

I raised my fingers to my mouth, but my eye was still on my drink. I got the picture of what was happening. Not as dramatic as it could be, with the fly perched atop my mask. I could taste the blood in my mouth.

Hypnotic outburst.

"No!" I shouted, but my voice was choked with emotion. I could feel my face heating up. I ordered my bugs to attack, and they began delivering the ceaseless streams of venom.

Tattletale and Regent made a break for the open door. They barely made it inch for the door before Imp stepped in their way.

"Don’t blame me," I said. "I got into this situation because of you, and you fucked me over."

"I had no reason to fuck with us," Tattletale said. "Grue said the same thing, and he was right. You had a bunch of villains from the Birdcage who werethirsty, feral, and basically capable of tearing a hole through a toaster."

"And I was the only one who could deal with them," I said.

"The only one who could."

"And you let them inside. The fact that your phone was off limits doesn’t make a lick of difference."

"Mirror. If I had a choice, I’d use it," I said.

"I know. But that’s the whole thing. You can’t copy something from a phone to a toaster, can we?"

"I have to see this to officer. What is number four?"

"Rebuild. I want a structure, I want controls."

"You didn’t answer my question. What is the structure?"

"Four walls
======================================== SAMPLE 978 ========================================
Thank you. Alex Lo, caucasian, married, Dartmouth grad. Student at American University.

For your consideration, I have two requests. First, that you please refrain from using any cheats or cheating during your match. I am aware cheats have existed outside of the AG Network and that some cheats have been abused by users. Second, I know there are cheats out there that are difficult or impossible to use. Please know that using a cheat is a breach of my protocol and could lead to them being disabled and anyone else in the world being able to use a cheat. I reserve the right to fight any cheats that I discover in the course of my duties as a ‘hero’."

Alex ran her fingers through her hair. She looked so young. Then she’d had one of her worst years yet.

"And thank you for your cooperation," Hero said. He looked even more tired. Was it his concussion or was it every day on the job he’d had to do that had led to this workload? He was still grinning, despite the haze that filled his expression.

Alex said, "I don’t know if I can agree to this without offending you, but I don’t want you insulting us again."

"If you can’t speak fast enough, I’ll hold court. But we do need to talk about this soon."

"Question is, can you fly?" Alex asked.

"Okay," Hero said, still smiling. "Geez. I’m flying."

Alex leaned over, poking at Legend’s chin to see if he’d sting as much as she’d just felt.

"So, in other news, today, we thwarted a pair of hypothetical terrorists, who were plotting attacks on U.S. soil. The individuals speak only on behalf of them and not Echo and Verge," Legend said.

"Great," Alex said.

"If I can explain. The men thought they were guns and bombs, but they’re actually fashion students thinking about gun technology, tech and the like. Away they went, having fun."

Alex hugged her arms against her body. "It’s so hard to get info. I need to know what’s up with Scion and everything."

"Zen, no more team meetings. Stop it. And dress like a superhero. You want to look good, don’t you?"

Alex nodded.

"But I’m not sure I can ask. Like, you weren’t just here to help, were you?"

"I wasn’t."

"But you’ve got the costume now. It bonded with your costume, made something of that quality. Why aren’t you fighting?"

"He didn’t kill me. He’s…"

"A hero. I know he’s doing it because he’s trying to distract you. The whole reason I’m trying to resolve this crisis with my family is because I’m trying to get things settled in this city. Get people fed, safe, and things sound better for everyone involved."

"It’s not easy. We can’t divert all of the attention to these guys," Legend said. "They outnumber us, we have more deadly weapons than anyone in this city, and we’re still trying to deal with the quarantine and the bombings. How are we supposed to handle the situation if people start paying attention to us?"

"It’s not easy, but it’s not impossible. We’re just too fucked up," Alex said.

She was making a deliberate attempt at talking, already feeling pressure. Everyone had a role to play, a role to play in this. She was only contributing where she was competent.

"You don’t have to play by the rules, Alex. Or the rules can be adjusted. Everyone has their place, their place on the team."

"I prefer to follow my own rules," Alex said.

"But you would be violating your probationary status. It would be a breach if you joined the team outright. I, personally, I would ask you to check your sentence, and any time you’re released on your own recognizance, you’re inviting similar violations."

Alex hesitated. She wanted to argue, to say no, that she was perfectly capable of checking her sentence and knowing it was for her benefit. Every step of the way, she was checking off the many boxes that she’d be required to fill if she were to join the team. She knew it was wrong, that she was possibly reneging on the deal she’d made with herself,
======================================== SAMPLE 981 ========================================
Still stuck on button must-haves, I decided. I didn’t have anything especially serious or dangerous to throw away, and I already had plenty of disposable income. I just needed a vehicle that was heavy enough to carry me, a few crates of supplies, and some way to get materials. I could buy one of the plans I had for a workshop in the neighborhood of an hour away, which would give me the ability to make everything I needed, all at once.

I raised the sections of planks lazily, like I was checking each was supported above a sturdy level, then found the ankles of the ladder I’d been using to secure them. I laid them out on the workbench, folding them in half, then laid them side by side. I pinned them in place with the stitching that had been on the underside of one shoe.

Once I had all of the bulk of the thing in position, I hopped up onto the top, tying my shoelaces there. There was a lot of it, actually. My entire right foot was nearly a foot and a half of extra length, nearly three feet of walking, one extra foot for weight, and that was just the step up. I could probably fit more on my left foot, if I was willing to get a little narrow for my injury.

Things were slightly awkward with my new costume. The most obvious area was the back. I still carried the scraps of my old costume over my shoulders, but the actual body double seemed to want to keep me closer to the ground, out of sight. As such, everything was a jumble to me, requiring a second look over. I couldn’t really get a good grip on anything with my arms, which was why I was carrying the scraps over my shoulders in the first place. I couldn’t really get a grip on anything with my new costume either, which was why I was wearing my old costume in the first place.

The seams of the new costume were a little looser than the old one had been. I could live with that. It affected me just a little, but I could cope. I straightened my back and shifted the bits of clothing I hadn’t used to get my shoulders out of the way. I made sure to tuck in the scraps of fabric that still hung off my forearms, back, and stomach, keeping them tucked in. The whole purpose of my costume was to make it easy to get my arms out, so I could take them out in a pinch.

Raising my arms, I could make out a map in progress, with a small white square in the middle. I could make out a circle, with a woman inside.

A moment later, the woman in the white dress was blocking my view of her. I was able to make out her face, her brown hair blowing slightly in the wind, with some upturned eyebrows. The round glasses she wore alighted on her large, open-faced eyes. Too white an color. I’d seen her in a physical confrontation with Bentley, and I could guess that the objective was to intimidate him.

Bitch came to stand next to me, lying on the ground. Her overlarge, open-faced coat had three buttons, and she wore a mask that had three versions – a head, a chest and a snout. The nose was a distinct shape, almost a caricature, with three sinus-shaped holes, each slightly smaller than the next, each decorated with a heavy, heavy beak-like protrusion. She tipped the top of the round glass orb in the direction of the approaching snarl of metal.

The Weather Woman was lying beside her. Their sizes were too distinct, but if I squinted a little, I could make out the overlapping metal ‘arms’ with varying degrees of dexterity. The woman’s was almost impossible to make out, at least, due to the obscuring material she was using to cover it. The way the metal lines tangled and tangled in the air as Bitch tried to tear it free constituted something of a snowflake in the otherwise opaque material, and the violent disconnection of the lines, both in the midst of the metal and the movement as it moved, made for an almost optical illusion. The snowflakes.

Gregor picked up speed as he approached me, his scope growing as he momentarily lost his sight. He caught me in the shoulder with one arm, and I jerked in reaction. His next strike was more difficult to catch or catch accurately, as it often bounced off my armor or off of my costume. With the angle of the spike removed, it only slid through me. It might have hurt, but it didn’t burn any of its intensity anywhere.

Gregor reached his other hand out and towards the first spike I’d created. My creation was now largely liquid, but with the
======================================== SAMPLE 984 ========================================
Nick Hex continued, "The," he searched for word, "end of the world scenario. You made a name for yourself with that one. Malicious do it?"

I glanced over my shoulder at Simon. He’d stopped short, his attention on the laptop in front of him.

I certainly didn’t want to die, here. Not without a plan.

"Right. Let’s say it’s just a matter of time. A tipping point. World-end events, some ancient alien civilization somehow controlling them… they’re at the center of a new human situation. They’re the real issues we face. I’d say before the end of the world things are about to get bad. It’ll be at least a little while before things get better, and probably longer," he thought.

Very quiet.

"I’m thinking class. Keep them occupied while we try to think of an answer. Stay here if you’re here longer. Bring water, food. We could make a decent lunch out of this. Maybe plant some food around the premises, if only to keep the bugs from getting too comfortable.

"What’s your name, new girl?" He asked.

I glanced at him. I wasn’t sure if I should tell him I was an employee, but it wouldn’t do to tell him I was née Phillips.

"Newter," I said.

"Newter! That’s-" he started.

"Then you’re Skitter, by the by, right? Isn’t that cute? I’m really liking this team dynamic, aren’t I?"

"I sort of am. I suppose your team is sort of a team in your own way, yeah?"

I stared at the fluttering winged creature with the horns. "I think this could be the kind of situation where I take a leadership position. Conversation tomorrow, between myself and Skitter. Maybe I take the lead, or Circus or Floret. I keep them all on the same page, because we all know how much work it takes, and I really like working with you."

"Sure, right," he said. "No problem."

I could see him nod.

"Scythe," I said. "I’m sticking you in the computer, so sit there and be shy. If I’m not busy with the others, you can do your own thing in the computer bank. I’ll take care of yours."

"You can have the computer, I promise."

I smiled behind my mask and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.

He tensed, but he didn’t react. Instead, he pointed at the portable monitor and spoke, "Menlo park, be nice."

"Sure," I said. A smile spread across my face as I put my hand on his shoulder.

We all took that as permission to break away and do our own things. Circus and Floret went to the computer bank, while Tattletale stayed behind. Blink 182 stood watch.

I walked down the street, and I could see how Parian was settling into a familiar place. The dog, the giantess, the wrecked bus, the jacket, the leg. All of it gave her something to look at.

For a while now, she’d been occupying herself with glances and probing thoughts. It wasn’t much, but it was something. She wasn’t being shy, and she wasn’t honing her thoughts into a wall.

Today wasn’t a good day. She was aware of everyone that was present, but she hadn’t focused on any single group in particular.

There was this guy, and there were others. Lots of them. Some were familiar, to her, even. Friends. Some she’d recruited, some she’d had to interact with on a level. They were friendly, and their attitudes were much the same as her own.

There were the usual suspects. A teenaged girl with yellow hair and a make-up artist’s body, a guy who could have been head chef for a foreign government, something with a Nordic theme, and an England side of things. They had helmets sculpted into their masks, and domes with designs depicting landscapes, water and poetry. There were two people with expressions that crossed categories, one male and one female, with one leaning excessively towards the stereotypic geeky guy look, the other much closer to the more typical girl with a normal college guy physique.

There were the standard wards, with names that were too familiar. PRT nurse, Protectorate medic. There were others
======================================== SAMPLE 987 ========================================
By Ian Black

If you want to read more on this subject, or if you want to get in touch with me for any reason, please get in touch. I’d prefer to talk alone.

► Lanati

Replied on July 26th, 2011:

You guys are the reason I can’t relax. You’ve made it this far.



► Swiftly →

Replied on July 26th, 2011:

@ Swiftly

@ Demonstal

I totally don’t get what you’re saying. Are you talking about Lower Halt being the reason for this? Or the fact that everyone was evacuated and secured?

I’m talking about us. The only difference between us being in control of things and us being in charge of things is that I had the wherewithal to draw the line art in place, whereas you didn’t. I had the clout, I had the know how, and you didn’t.



► Threadripper (Veteran poster)

Replied on July 26th, 2011:

@ Demonstal:

That’s what I’m saying. I don’t agree with what you’re saying, but I can respect that you’re not rushing to judgment. I’m not sure I believe what I heard, but I’ve been following this thing, and you’re at the nexus of it all. I can see where it’s easy to jump to conclusions. You heard what Coil said, he said you were on thin ice. But even if I discount the odds of Coil being right, you’re still in control of me, and you still have the supine humanoid toy of a servant you bought. You could throw it away if it meant scaring off your target. I have to wonder, is it selfishness or something else that makes you feel this way?

You guys, I know I’m hardly the only one who’s feeling like you’re completely and utterly fucked. Fine, I’m willing to believe you’re being manipulative if that’s what it takes to get me to play ball.



► Nanoha (Cape gatherer)

Replied on July 26th, 2011:

@ Demonstal:

What if I’m right? Should I support you? No. I don’t trust any of you.



► United Breeds

Replied on July 26th, 2011:

You have the most powerful family of villains around. You’ve got the money, you’ve got everything you could want, whether it be peace, food, company, a constant supply of clothes or a hundred begging to be bought. You spruce up the city yourself with that army of cheap labor you’ve got sitting in the cities, or you turn a blind eye as they take over a city for themselves. You do the same thing to Earth Bet and the world. You’re worse off, and I’m willing to bet my bottom dollar that at least some of you aren’t willing to play ball and work things out so you can avoid having your lawn cut, or because a competitor for one of your TV channels starts sucking their dicks off, or a competitor for another station starts taking shit from their workers and pocketing it, or METALLICA gets its hands on some of the money, takes a lick at you, or BREAKING NEWS finds some of the money.



► XxVoid_CowboyxX (At Ground Zero: Brockton Bay)

Replied on July 26th, 2011:

@ Demonstal



Did you See the article on us in the papers a while ago? On trump and media?



► Voyeur

Replied on July 26th, 2011:

Honestly, I’m not sure I could name any of the major players I knew in the media that weren’t already on the defensive, or defending some of them. Like Dom, or Dom’s not-quite-man cousin that got almost-killed in action.



► XxVoid_CowboyxX (At Ground Zero: Brockton Bay)

Replied on July 26th, 2011:

Worst thing I can do for my friends is to put them in a situation where they’re going to regret it. It’s too easy to get on the bad side of someone you care about. It’s the opposite for the other guys.



► Brown_Fencer (Wiki Warrior)

Replied on July 26th, 2011:

It’s kind of neat
======================================== SAMPLE 990 ========================================
Bradley pointed his hand in the air, then pointed down at the Slaughterhouse Nine.

"Down!" Weld shouted.

Helpless and in the grips of his gag, Bonesaw struggled to his feet. He used his power, freezing the chain at the planted position. She didn’t have five minutes before he realized she was stuck. Five minutes was long enough that he’d either have to put the chain in a position where it could be cut, cut it somehow, cut himself grievously, or die from an overdose of poisons.

He took another gulp of water from the canister and exhaled slowly, choosing instead to exhale smoke. He turned to Weld, spat on him, then spat again. The gag would prevent him from shouting or making any noise that might be construed as angry.

"Second suicide attempt," Clockblocker called out. He and Vista hurried to Clockblocker’s side. One by one, they dropped to their knees.

No.

The reality of what had just happened dawned on them. Had it been an accident? A joke? They would be bleeding to death. Neither Clockblocker, Vista, Kid Win, Norfleet nor even Piggot were fit to fight. Even if they had been shouting some warning or attempt to wake him up, they would have been too tired to do anything about it.

He’d struck me.

I felt my power snap a hundred times within me, and every fiber in my body screamed at me to stop.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t coordinate.

The steel of my skull fractured as I tilted, tried to force my head and neck into the narrow pipe that was my brain. It wouldn’t have worked, because the helmet that Amelia had been wearing would have intercepted the wave of energy, but I’d been unconscious.

I reached for my neck, but I wasn’t conscious enough to offer it up. I had my arms, longer than I’d been alive, but they were cold.

I would have yelled at him if I could. If my arms and legs could move even a little, if my eyes even had the slightest movement…

But I couldn’t blink, and I didn’t have the strength to tear them away. Even as I lay there, clutching the fabric of my mask to keep from shaking it, I was aware of something. I felt my costume click against my body where I’d tucked my knees against my chest a moment ago.

I’d have to get out of this wood, I thought.

I struggled to my feet, then stopped. Caretaker said something I couldn’t make out, and the mask clicked against my face. I could see and hear it for myself.

My breath caught in my throat in the moment I realized what I’d just seen. I shut my eyes.

"In God We Trust," Weld said, his voice carrying through the whole of the police barricade.

I glanced down the length of the room. I could see the various armed members of the Protectorate, all standing at attention. And the uniform… cheery, full of swaggering bravado.

I’d almost forgotten.

No.

I was aware of the annoyance, but the reminder of what I’d forgotten to pay attention to was that jolt, that jolt of good feeling, was still there.

I felt anew why I was in uniform, and I could sense the tension from the chain. I could sense the terror I was feeling, and I could even sense the old fear, the jolt that had followed the first time I’d been in the terror.

When I finally managed to muster the courage to open my eyes, I saw Echidna, thrashing, wings folding and pulling to fold around her body, tearing at her own flesh, doing her best to spread out the limbs and avoid killing herself.

She was small, and it was no doubt thanks to Echidna that she’d been able to walk upright. Tiny. One of her clawed hands gripped a car bumper and held it straight, as though she were trying to cling to the surface with only one forelimb, and she leaned against it, the tension in her neck ratcheting up a notch.

A bluish-gray shape plunged through the mass of flesh around Cuff, sending her flying to the ground. It hit as though it were slow, as though she were trying to keep the car from rolling, but she was holding on.

The Noelle I’d seen loomed in front of me, feet flat, head hanging. The scythe-like blades that reached just beneath her feet were blunt-fingered
======================================== SAMPLE 993 ========================================
"He used everyone’s favorite around, Rem, to disable Eric and Sam, while Tecton blasted the door. Everyone but Bitch was disabled, to give you a better sense of what’s happening."

I waited patiently for her to finish. When she didn’t, I commented, "She’s trying to get her sister to focus on us."

"Maybe. But that’s not really her strength," the Director replied.

"If she is, though, I don’t think her sister has much in the way of brains to go around."

"She’s smarter than you’d think," Miss Militia replied, sounding irritated. "In the last few minutes, she’s been pummeling the place, trying to do as much damage as she can to limit his movements as fast as she can. And she’s not bringing anyone back. Not even her dogs."

"Her dogs?" Tattletale asked.

"Like Vargas is, like Grant is. They’re not physically capable of fighting back, but they can and do learn from mistakes."

"She’s not bringing anyone back?" Miss Militia asked, again. I could tell just by hearing her voice, but I couldn’t see or see well with my own eyes.

"She’s leaving a handful with each group that she leaves on the job. That is, members only, if there is any party to approve of, and she gives each group's mayor an extra dog. Topping it off, she gave us Persecutor, the Protectorate’s ambassador to the Wards, as well as one of Tecton’s henchmen. All on a temporary basis. She can veto things, but she can’t give final say. That is, she won’t give the mayor the final say if he wants to kill one of her people or make a life threatening break in progress. But I hear she wants to go there."

"I’m not sure I want to see that, or hear that, either. So we’re going to play it safe, assume she’ll try to kill us if we stop working. The same way we chose to handle the wedding, I think we’ll try to handle this mission as best as we can. We’ll trust her, acknowledge that she can make mistakes, and move forward with due caution.

"Coil has been in contact with my employees, and has decided it would be better to withhold his involvement with the matter until we had a more complete understanding of her capabilities, and the risks he would face in the event he was found out. In doing so, he gives up control of her and all of her related systems to me, effectively ending the threat he identified and plays his final game of power and covert action. His employees will be reshaped, I will have my say on any orders I deem fit, and I will provide all relevant information. I have also appointed a crew chief, with me working in coordination with him in whatever capacities I deem fit. I will provide your weekly reports. I know you are disturbed by these changes and the prospect of you no longer having your regular teammates, but I hope you will retain enough of your old squad to carry on as you once did."

With that, he handed me his chair, and I sat down. I took a seat, and Tattletale took my place at the end.

"This was, in large part, a game of sorts. Trying to gauge his trust in me, assessing the threat he believed he faced, and testing my patience. Knowing how he operates, it’s not a huge stretch to say he’s gambling there’s a decent chance I won’t fall again. In game theory terms, that means he’s no longer expecting cooperation. He’s shifted trust to me."

"So you’re betting this time."

"He’s trying to win us over," Tattletale said, least approvingly. "But he’s not wanting to split up his people, and I┙m not willing to violate his fragile egos to do it. Besides, a loss sucks up that much oxygen."

"You don’t take bets?" Miss Militia asked.

"No. But I don’t think anyone here is stupid enough to bet on this."

I had bugs gather on the metal feet of the booth. Parian’s pet would be close, catching people’s footsteps, I gathered. She would be shouting something at Miss Militia, likely in response to some detail in Tattletale’s plan.

That detail?[/f] I wasn’t sure what
======================================== SAMPLE 996 ========================================
I gave her a little prod on the shoulder with my free hand as I walked by. "What have you done with her?"

"Made her a costume. Closed all of the doors to protect her identity. Faked her death. Faked Rachel’s. Faked whatever. Faked the Nine."

I stopped and turned to look at her, wide-eyed, trying to tell her I didn’t know who she was, and that I didn’t want to get into a question-and-answer session about whether or not she’d just taken the next step and become a monster.

"Yeah. Faked it enough times."

"Then why haven’t you done it already?"

"Too much danger in finding that out. I don’t know if I can coodinate you anymore."

I felt a chill.

"I know you want to help, but can I ask what you want to do in the future?"

"You want to check if the plan is working, so your team can help. Maybe I’ll become a hero for you."

"No. That’s not fair."

I didn’t respond. Instead, I looked at Grue and asked, "What is it?"

"You’re going to jail, right? I get that."

"I don’t want you to get sent to the Birdcage, but I’m not going to turn you in, and I’m not going to tell the Undersiders or the Travelers what you’re doing because I don’t want them to pull something."

"Okay," I said. "I’m not going to turn you in either."

"Why are you being so hard on yourself?"

"I’m trying to be compassionate," I said, "When I can’t be patient with anyone. When I’ve got bad days, I want to help, but I’m not the best person at the job. I got sent here because I’m slow, I’m loud, and I’m stupid. I want to help, but I can’t because I’m crippled, so it’s going to take time."

"Is she your sister?"

I shook my head. "Her mother. I’m trying to help the people in my block when I can. I’m not good at it, and it’s taking a lot out of me."

"Are you going to be good for another month of classes?"

I shook my head. "I’m not trained in anything, and it’s kind of expensive. I’d rather wait a few days and see how it goes."

"Okay. They’re probably setting you up for a failure. In case you hadn’t noticed, most of the teachers are leaving. They’re going to be replaced-"

"They can’t get enough of me," I said.

"They can. They’re just lacking in the classrooms of this city."

"They can’t get enough of you," I repeated myself, keeping my voice low.

"Amy?"

"Skitter’s here. We need to talk to her, and get her medical attention. If I’m not awake for the next check-in, I’m going to wake you up and force you to handle things. If that’s not comfortable, I don’t know what is."

Lisa answered, frowning a little. "We’re going to be there in thirty minutes, if that. Speaking of-"

"Please do handle things herself," I said. "If you’re going to handle things yourself, then you need to get down from that wheelchair and follow me."

"Okay."

I led her back to the couch, and we fell silent. I took the time to get my makeup and hair dry. I pulled on my shoes and place them on the huddled girl.

Alec, Britton and and especially Alec started moving toward the couch, and I stayed, looking around as their muscular bodies struggled to contort and trip up on their way. The smell of their sweat and meat juices was intense enough that I could almost smell their bodies, hear their voices.

I stopped where I was, and watched as each of them took a different posture, as if they were preparing to run. It was a good thing, but I was still wary. One of them even flinched as their legs and forelimbs started straining.

"They’re not the
======================================== SAMPLE 999 ========================================
One grew in her lap and went flat to the ground, limp. She said something.

■

The group crossed paths.

Krouse was carrying Annette, and he couldn’t move his legs under him without falling. He used his hand to catch her, and felt the pain radiate around the base of her skull.

He couldn’t depress his shoulders any further. If he tried, he could maybe feel the pain in his arm, his ribs might even crack.

He emptied his reserve of charge and stepped forward, before moving into the path of the approaching clouds. He used his own power to get Annette into parkour stance, then kicked out with both feet, driving both heels into Annette’s upper stomach. His ‘volleyball’ launched Annette into the air, where it slammed into her closet, shattering more glass.

Roll with the movement of the cloud, hold, don’t let go, he tried. Nothing.

His hands and feet were crushed like snowflakes, and he hurt. It would take too long, too much damage to his internal organs, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold out much longer, if he was suffering enough.

The second charge of the lightning gun’s active component, the streamer, had to do with the increased output of electricity. It made sense, because the longer a charge lasted, the more electricity could be propagated throughout the area. Thunder seemed to flow more freely around Annette, given how she was wearing a jacket and how light she was carrying Annette’s tennis racket in one hand.

Roaming the battlefield, Krouse could confirm General Park’s reports of the general ‘structure’ of the area, the structural damage and damaged electronics. He could also make out the aftermath of the battlements collapsing. Pieces of the lower level had been crushed, but the remainder stood like tombstones in the middle of the area, with evergreen and grass growing in the cracks.

A tripwire, sometimes called the pink tripwire, was tied to the damaged exterior walls of the building. It was to protect people inside, insulating them from the shockwaves and the rain. There was a computer in one corner that was taking pictures and video, but the equipment was out of commission. The resolution wasn’t good, either. He’d hoped to get a grip on the situation by first helping to take photos of the damaged equipment, but with the damage done by the shockwave, the rain and the rain running off of the rain barrel, he’d only get a few blurry pictures.

Dashing towards the nearest rooftop, he gripped the railing, then climbed. The umbrella’s handle provided stability, and he pulled it over his head to hide his neck. Climbing isn’t allowed, but he was glad for the grip, letting him hold onto the railing.

A bit low, this way. He lifted it a fraction, then did back flips with both feet. One hand, one leg, one chest piece for balance. He used his knife to remove the top of the umbrella and tied it in place with the same access that he’d gained to the railing. Crusher was keeping a variety of nails and pieces of wood away from the gaping wound on his leg, while Omar paced on the other side of the building, not far from the fallen elevator door.

"Your turn," he told her.

If she’d been holding back during the fight with Mannequin, she must have been sporting a trick missile.

"Got it!"

Krouse hauled the umbrella down, caught it under the bin’s handle, and then hauled it on, both feet gripping the railing. He nearly dropped the umbrella as he hauled it up.

Grue was halfway to the door when the cable pulled. Marissa came trotting through, had to double check it wasn’t him, then led Krouse and the other two siblings out, down the back steps, and into the elevator.

"Give her a minute to hash it out," Krouse said. "You guys want to get back inside business as usual? Fine. Fine. I’ll be back."

"Want to go?" Jess asked. She was already stretched out with a bodyguard backing her up.

"Give it a minute. We’ll take the stairs," Marissa said.

Jess nodded and led the way out of the elevator.

"Shit," Marissa said. "We should have left sooner."

"Would have to talk to Coil," Krouse said.

"Which would mean fighting those guys," Luke said. "And saying what they wanted to say."

"Bezos," Krouse said