======================================== SAMPLE 3 ======================================== Just in case you missed it: Mirrors of events reported in other news sources. All sources are listed here. Feedback/comment period ends. (Last Updated ) ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTATORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTORS 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTORS ) 12:42:00 pm, June 19th, 2011 | ISSUE -> ISSUE COMMENTORS 12: ======================================== SAMPLE 6 ======================================== Welcome back to Top Shelf Prospects, the daily column where we take behind-the-scenes looks at the major players in the CCG, focusing on the people who are helping to build the meta-parahumans, the players taking the cards from them and betting them a lifetime of profits. Over the past few days, we have been bringing you coverage of the Hallandren incident. The fifth and sixth waves of Leviathan’s attack. Today, we bring you information on another incident. The incident, to those who have been following, was small. Caused by one villain, probably, with debts ranging from a few million to several million. A debt in the millions or hundreds of millions. According to data released by the PRT, minor capes are taking up residence in the greater New York area. These locations are being guarded, with financial transactions to be made when it comes to paying the due diligence, contacting those who have left or are considering leaving, and Clauses wherein the PRT is preventing them from leaving the city. Every movement these capes make is contingent on three things. They must have access to a willing body, they must have a means of sustaining themselves and their cash is no exception. The ‘small town’ capes are the types to seek out these locations, as they are free to: • Rescind their orders and let them find other villains who will let them off-site. • Be introduced to suitable villains and let them know about the location of the main base of operations. The payment for the assignment is minimal, but grants the hired help with, among other things, accessing of any files and any equipment credits can offer. If that wasn’t enough, they receive transport and lodging for their members, which includes food, proper clothing and access to fresh water. The outside world is kept a closely guarded secret, with funds sent to the company’s ‘bank’ and then used to pay off any past liabilities. It is said that the leader of the townspeople gives a dire speech, and every villager rushes to pay their respects. Legends say it is not a successful business, and that the villain is ousted before the speech is delivered. Today, at roughly nine thirty in the morning, the army moves into the larger building, all fit for military use. The Protectorate has left the town, with the local Wards and PRT having followed, but the local hero’s group has decided it needs some temporary support. It is a position that allows them to commit to a set time and place, for the duration of the attack. They gather in the boardwalk, and the boardwalk is transformed into an armory, a sort of fortress, equipped with guns, rocket launchers, anti-aircraft guns, and other weapons to effectively fight Leviathan. The armory is protected by a forcefield, and the armored vehicles are prepared to move in the face of a fight, sealed shutters blocking off windows so the suits couldn’t spray the building with containment foam. Sheets of paper are tied with ribbons, and children ride on the tops of those same vehicles, being propelled by an energy weapon that isn’t currently capable of harming anything built or intended to survive in this strange new world. Thick black smoke plumes from the mouth of the building to the ground, as a pair of suits, the largest of the two, approaches. A long gun fires, and both weapons deliver a steady stream of material, covering the approaching threat. It takes a minute before the next vehicle arrives. The thermobaric cartridge that was in the smaller suit now acts as a heat sink. It only takes a second for the vehicle to arrive, dumping whatever energy shields are in the lower body. The suit that appears on the other end is significantly larger, with a well crafted and well armored cockpit, detailing the ‘skull’ of the villainess/pet name in clear paint. The entire thing is brimming with options and gadgets. There is a drone the size of a small helicopter, remote controlled, that propels the entire space-age craft, with people scattered around it as props. There are two refrigeration systems that would be primed to store the dead, and the entire thing is wired to the PRT network. The drone becomes like Grimm for the drone. They are connected, and the drone is primed to use whatever subsystems allow it to make use of the available cooling and cooling technology. There is a gate setup on the drone’s back, intended to open automatically as conditions warrant, so it can exit the holding pen and head down a different path. But the coolest part of the machine is what happens next. As the drone makes its way across the surface of the building, it suddenly loses its way ======================================== SAMPLE 9 ======================================== "I can’t let you do this," I told her. "I’ll tell the others. They’re on their way." "Then it’s done. You don’t have to stay with us. But if you do, you won’t get in anyone’s way." "You do have a better chance of getting in trouble if you leave," I said. "If you walk away, the people in charge will make the calls. If you stay, they’ll make the calls." "They’ll say you’re a thorn in their side, and that’s just what some people are. If you leave, they’ll make the arrests. If you stay, they’ll make the arrests. And if you leave with us, we’ll make the calls." That was ominous. "You’d be overlooking the larger picture," I replied. "The bigger picture?" She asked. I think I was trying to convince her. "They want us to fight. With the numbers we’re picking up, with events like the one the other night, there’s only a very, very small chance we could win this war against the Nine. And I’d bet you’re not willing to lay your life down in the name of victory, because you don’t want to be drawn into a pointless fight. Not when we have the numbers to go by." She didn’t look convinced. "Fine," I said. "Let’s talk as a team. I’ll have my men gather you all together. You’ll each crawl into the nearest cover space when you come out of your own power, and stay out of the way as the Nine approach. We’ll circle around, and you hold fast to cover spaces you think are safe, so the Merchants and Rebels don’t get a chance to kill us." There were nods all around. "This won’t be easy," I added. "It’ll take a lot of guts," Shadow Stalker answered, "But we’re going to do it. The remaining slots are filled by people who weren’t willing to fight, people who won’t come after us no matter what we do. So why don’t we get this going by making ourselves as immune to their powers as possible?" Cuff looked at me, and I gave her an extra bit of information. "There’s two problems with that." "The first," Lung said, his voice quiet, "Is that it reinforces the idea of the common enemy. The other is that it weakens us in our own way. People like the Chosen and the Suits are composed of those who fell by the wayside, those who won’t survive the long run. There’s a lot of those in us, even among us Capes." "We have to act like they’re in a group," Imp said. "Not just the ones we’ve got on our teams, but the ones we’ve recruited and assigned to our groups. Collaboration, trust, rumble, -those are the things that make us strong as a group, even if we aren’t formally a unit. It gives us an edge, unearned in the grand scheme of things." "I think we can do something like cross such lines," I said. "Not by working together, but through mutual concessions and recognition of our strengths. Even if we don’t officially be a team, we can still recognize our strengths and work to protect them." "And you’re more likely to get hurt in the process," Imp said. That was reason enough to get us moving. I signaled Floret. "Rime, hurry. We’ve got to get going." She teleported away. With her participation, ours and mine accounted for, we had an additional two minutes of onward onward direction to the battle. I hoped it wouldn’t be too much longer before she teleported back. Forrest arrived from Revel’s territory, his flunkies? He was in the thick of the fighting, engaging the Chosen in hand to hand combat. Their representative wasn’t around, and the people in the cell blocks had disappeared. "Restrain them," I said. "Maybe keep them tied up, so we can keep them safe." "You’re wanting to try, then?" "Maybe. I’m willing to try whatever it takes to stop them. Just need a piece of the operation." I looked at him. " ======================================== SAMPLE 12 ======================================== There was a distinct lack of emotional maturity on their faces as they discussed the new arrivals. "I don’t know how to react yet," Krouse said, "But if Bystander shot one of the newbies, I’ll be okay." "You’ll be better," Cody said. Krouse shrugged. "Maybe. I won’t really have to watch the lines, and I won’t have to listen to Bystander give me feedback on how I’m doing. It doesn’t feel like a supervillain thing to me." "What will you be?" Bystander asked. "I’ll be fine," Krouse said. "You’re not watching the lines?" "I was just asking." "Watch for that," Cody said. Krouse turned his attention to the lines. He felt as though they were brushing against him, as though he was being pushed and twisted against a natural barrier. His leg buckled, his toes dug into the ground, and for a minute, he didn’t know what was happening in his body. He felt a twinge of guilt, and it wasn’t just the guilt stemming from the fact that he’d been in the habit of fucking with people like this mentally disabled teenager. He’d been thinking about what Bystander had said about the disabled teenagers before. The guilt was compounded by the sense that he’d just put Oni Lee on trial for the murder of his teammate, and now there was a possibility of losing another battle in a never-ending struggle to stay relevant. A war with other parahumans. "How’s your headspace?" Bystander asked. "I’m in the thick of it, I think. I don’t know what I’m going to do until I’m in a headspace. Fighting the forces that are pushing me to be the bad guy. Always thinking In, always stepping out." "Are you fed?" "Burger," Bystander said. Krouse nodded. Bystander hustled to get his own bun to him, while Cody tended to Krouse’s wounds. By the time Cody was done, Krouse was wrapped and dry, air circulating in the wound. He smiled a little. "Appreciated." "Couldn’t ask for more." "I am glad." "With luck, you’ll be known just for being alive," Krouse said. "I’ll live, more or less. Hopefully I get the Cyclone cure." "You will. You’re stronger than you think, Krouse." "I won’t deny it. But I’m figuring out how to deal with this situation. Me, you and Bystander." "With Bystander, we could get our hands on a chair," Bystander said. "Maybe a cha cha or something." "Yeah. With Bystander, I could do something like that. Actually doing anything, it scares the everloving crap out of me, and I’m not all that hopeful…" "It’s there," Krouse said. "Don’t worry. I’ll think about it later." "Why are you so insistent on remaining anonymous?" Cody asked. "If you’re providing any assistance to the Cyclops, we could pass it on to the others." "I’m busy," Krouse said. "Brilliant. Truly, you’re brilliant," Cody said. Krouse glanced around. The others were busy preparing for a potential fight. If it came down to it, he wanted to be in a position where he could track the enemy and deliver the decisive blow. It was a relief, a surprise, to see Bystander with the others. He hadn’t been the first choice, but the others had weighed the options and narrowed the search down to three. He’d narrowed down the search to three because he’d wanted to be sure that, if it came down to it, he’d have options. He glanced at Bystander. Two of the Three were there as well, though their identities were a mystery. Lucky for him, they were the only two people who knew what he was doing. They would be on the line if he gave them the information they wanted, and they would be there if he needed them. "You’re going to give the info to Coil, I’m sure?" Bystander asked. ======================================== SAMPLE 15 ======================================== Second sight. What I sensed was a kind of filtering effect, a spatial distortion. Another sort of awareness, a visual one. I saw the effect as overlapping perceptions, one extending to every part of me that could receive attention. I felt my heart in my throat, and I worried it would get worse before it got better. Instead, I could feel it building, strengthening. Seeing one vision of the future, I could sense other possible realities. Worlds without color, without any color beyond the black and white of their primary colors. Even the various tones of the rainbow. I could see how each of these could be salvaged, transformed into different images. I could see how they could be saved as well. One color for everyone, so they could be viewed in different lighting without anyone getting fatigued. And I could see how they could be saved. One simple act, a full workable world, and I could swap any one of these visions out for another. With this, I could begin my transition back to a clone. I used my release to push past the last of the bugs that were tying my neck up. I could sense my shoulder expanding, a ribbon of tendrils continuing to extend into the space around me, stretching towards the ceiling. I let out a low groan, and I was met by a third of the annexes, the rest standing back or supporting me as I fell. Some turned their heads in my direction, others scratched, fought and frightened. I could sense Kismet hurrying to carry one of the others. She’d need my power, but I’d have to buy time for her to finish connecting everything. The last to join my self, the one with the strong willed persona, rushed forward. I could sense her vulnerability, the way she was being dragged towards us. I could see the anger and hate, right away. As the others joined her, I could sense her growing. The growth spurt, the personal parts coming together to form a more complete set of body parts, the growth in others, more than meets the eye. Not quite me. Not good. But I could use this to keep some of the others closer. My victims further away, in any case. Not enough. I reached out to the winged man, and he instinctively extended my wings, providing more ooze to pour into his open mouth. I began pulling myself together. A tic-tac-toe style of rearrangement, keeping things as separate as possible. Separating the individual parts of the tumor until it was as large as it could get get get. I felt my power grow with each new piece of ooze. I could sense the steady pressure of the ooze into the man’s open mouth, the gradual movement of it against the interior of the tumor. Then I saw the steady light of his eyes inside the cavity. The ooze moved with the man’s breathing, not just pouring from the openings of the cavity, but literally spraying from the top of his head to the base of his throat. He turned his head, glancing around. I could sense his tears through the ooze that was slowly flowing out of his nose and mouth. I brought every attacking cape I had to help, bringing speed and shock to the part that had the tumor. Wagged their tails, they were quick to join me, joining the fight as I brought my swarm in through the door and the area where his ear was. I knew he could feel me through the flesh I was working to close. I wasn’t even sure if he could feel ooze or not. It was clear he wasn’t of limited wood, and his hands were steady as he gripped the tumor with two of them. Two hands, one extended, to grip the ooze-vat once and for all. The tumor was settling, now, forming a lump around the man’s throat. He coughed, and the effect stopped. He started to scream, though his throat was already being twisted into a grotesque shape, snarling. Walking towards me, the head of the bodyguard that was close enough to touch me didn’t move an inch, not even moving a muscle. I could feel him shuddering in horror at the bodyguard’s existence. The head of the oak-like figure moved, and it reached just a little to my left. It turned to acknowledge me, then stopped, the hand swinging. The bodyguard was gone. I looked around, searching for the real me. In the center of the room, there was only wood. Empty canisters were in one canister. The pieces of paper were from ======================================== SAMPLE 18 ======================================== It’s too much. My power will remind me. When I was a swan, tangled up in the thorns, I was left in one tree with a chorus of humming birds. Some of them were young, some had lost their beaks or had their beaks bent at odd angles as they grew. Others had been shot, or had their eyes badly damaged, or they held secrets that they wanted to keep from me. Others were complex organic beings with lives that extended back into the deep oceans of space. I recognized them all. I could have explored the many layers of their pasts, their lives since I was a child, but I chose to focus on the core essence. The bird in the treeline moved with an almost sluggish rhythm, humming as it spread out, set each of its eggs among a crowd of other eggs, forming endless sets of identical nests, over and above it all, whole worlds interlocking, some threatened with destruction in the face of this new threat. I saw complex social relationships developing all around me. I saw how complex lives had been forged, how wounds that were much less deadly than any of the ones I’d recently been wounded could mend and come back better than others. And above all, I saw the world in the final stages, as these same social relationships, lives and connections had been established, and I was only now discovering they had ended. It wasn’t much, I couldn’t have said how many billions, but billions had been shed from the face of this planet. Hundreds of millions killed, almost all in the last days and weeks. To look at them now and compare them to my own experiences… I couldn’t do it. I exhaled slowly, and the familiar power went out to the ‘bird’ and the fragile, confused human I’d touched. The phantom ‘bird’ in my vicinity dropped out of the sky, slow, as if it had been losing air, losing moisture, and I suddenly felt like I was wet. My hair blew in the strong winds, and I even felt the gust of wind at my back. Three things made my body come alive in a way I couldn’t explain, other things made me shudder in milder instances. My swarm, reduced to mere swarm cells by the time we’d come around the corner. They actively sought out and consumed whatever they could find, to the point that cannibalism was almost necessary for survival. I hadn’t observed this before, but they were internally consistent, and I was aware of the senses that the cells used to access and consume all of the nutrients they could hunt down. The occasional feather had fallen from the bird’s cap, and I recognized it as such. I wasn’t sure if it was a mimic or a predator. I favored the sound with the thought that the assailant was some kind of saltwater crocodile, since that was the most predictable and easy prey. The saltwater crocodile had mimicked the wind, adapted to the water. Water was what it needed, so it preyed on algae and other microscopic debris that built up in the water. Crocodiles spring up a lot in my fiction, and I wondered how I’d react if I came across any crocodiles or other slow-moving aquatic life. Tecton wore his Halberd with the Blade and Shield emblem on it in white. The arbalest and bow accessories with the white helmets were covered in the same style. The leader of the Pack, Golem, wore a simple, flowing robe with a white facemask and a white cape that left little to the imagination. He had a broad sword that seemed too large for his forearm at the base of it, and any dexterity one would need to move it would be gone. There was a long pointed elbow with a whiteboard attached. Golem’s white bodysuit was supplemented by white socks, white sneakers and a white dress shirt. He had a serious, defined look to him, like someone who was going to be on television for weeks. Rachel was in a robe too, but it was jet black and she had no doubt copied some of Knave of Clubs’s style. It was the same robe as Golem’s, simply jet black. Her mask was generic, a metal mask with no markings on it. I found myself agreeing with Golem on this. The metal mask kinda fit for someone with a fetish for masks. Tattletale had been tucked away in the darkness, only a short distance from Golem and I. She’d retrieved some small goodies over the past days or weeks, and they’d been gathering here. Tools, gathered in neat rows and clusters. She was cutting the metal for the armor on ======================================== SAMPLE 21 ======================================== It wasn’t any better on the other side. Grass and moss choked the progress we made as the vehicle made its way south. Buried treasure. Where did the money come from? Jobs? Sources of power? The city was booming, but it wasn’t the same kind of high tech that was typical for the American southwest. It wasn’t the kind of city that had thousands of residents bustling around every hour, benefiting from everything that was happening all around them. Instead, it was all very worker focused. Quality resources, research and development, and all the products that made or broke society. I was put in mind of the American worker, the tractor man, the smith who made or broke tools. There was a kind of beauty to the works of art that went without saying, like a work of art called Surrealism that wasn’t an exaggeration of human qualities, but there was a quality to it as well. I could see it, and I could relate to it. The human element, the humans, the pain, the joy and the unknown that came with trying something new, along with the awe and the responsibility that came with it. That was American, and that was Wanderlust. "The list goes on," I said. "These guys." "The system is already suffocating." "We’re going to get around to that, I’m sure." "There’s a lot of anger in this city," she said. There was a note of sadness in her voice. "Yes," I said. "A lot of anger. But there’s hope. The Protectorate is having a hard time. Every member is having a hard time. The bosses don’t want any part of this. They can’t stand the type of unrest that comes with a break in channels. The media is out to get them, and they don’t like the Undersiders, too. So it is. So is the case that the Protectorate is doing more harm than good. Are you really in a better position to talk about that than I am?" "I am," she said. She looked a little downcast. "It… isn’t a good position to talk about it." "Well, thank you," I said. I tried not to dwell on the fact that I’d just walked into a door. I’d walked into a door without talking to anyone, myself. I wondered if I should respond to that. I felt like commenting on the way people were used to dominating others, on the way people were conditioned to be deferential to superiors, even when that order was wrong. "Alright," I said. I glanced at the others. "I’m going to do what I can to help you, understand? If you come to see me, it’s because others have said so. Others are likely to hear and obey unless there’s a strong reason not to. I’ll see if I can’t find you, and then I’ll bring you in." "That’s not enough," Sundancer said. She’d approached and was watching us, an imposing figure against a background of overcast skies and overcast skies past. "We need to get in touch with others. Plan B, if you will." "I will," I told her. I glanced at Defiant. "Do you think you can send some of the capes on your team? There’s a team already set up in New Delhi." "We’re using Khepri, Shaleph and Ligeia. Yes, we do. The problem is that they’re not experienced enough to fight an Endbringer in a straight up fight." "I see. I can see that. Yes, you can, but I still think you should." "Heal the damage," I said. "When I tried that without informing the others, the damage was already done," Defiant said. "The bugs die, the spiders get restless, and that messes up the balancing act. Others get hurt, and we’re all looking at a slower, longer-term decline in morale." "I still think we should," I said. "Slowly, longer term?" Tattletale asked. "Um, that depends on how many of those other groups are still willing to lay claim to this city. If they’re close to being able to murder us all, then we win. If they’re a lot more distant, but capable of killing a few of us, then we lose. If both groups are capable of killing a few of us, then we win, or we take a lot ======================================== SAMPLE 24 ======================================== You haven’t denied it. All of this bullshit you were putting together, it wasn’t even close to a workable strategy. You’re telling me you can find the hidden agenda or schemes at work in this, the people pushing the most dramatic buttons. Manipulating tragedy for the goal of putting some woman in prison. I can’t believe that you have that much passion, that you’re capable of becoming that big a deal. But you aren’t, and I think maybe you were afraid of seeming weak." "I’m furious, I swear," Alec complained, "I’m not listening to orders!" "Big difference between me and a… megabitch?" Lisa tried the same, as her expression changed all at once. The scarier Lisa, the more she changed. It was like a scene out of Aryan Guardian or some film with a higher contrast and a worse soundtrack. Alec looked away, his face hard, "I’m not… I’m not megabitch. Have I pissed you off? Succumb to your power?" That’s enough, Lisa thought, the more she thought on it. "Honestly? Yes. I suppose you have some wiggle room." "No wiggle room here, because you are still in the mind control," Aisha said, loudly, "I can’t think straight, and you have my permission and my cooperation to see that I don’t go off script." "Which is, I think, where you are going too far," Lisa said. "Annex included." "Right, sure. You’re appealing to her emotions? I’m operating entirely on autopilot, so to speak, and she has a lot of base emotions and beliefs. I can’t even imagine what it’ll be like, on a subconscious level, to be next to her. It’ll be weird. Imprecedentedly weird." "I think you’re exacerbating the weirdness," Alec said. "By playing along and pandering to her vanity," Lisa said. "Playing the part she’s supposed to be like, but without the acting or the acting and the personality disorder." "When the motherfucker gets on her case," Aisha said, her voice quiet, "It’s her job to make sure you don’t do anything to go viral, top it off with a therapist and a jail sentence on your record." "Would you shut up?" Alec said. "I’m being as reasonable as I can get. You have no idea how much this would help me, or how badly I’d hurt you. I’m trying to set you up to be something you are not. I’m being logical, and I’m very, very close to being a monster, here. Very simple answer is that I have nothing to back you up. You’re wrong, you’re doing too much damage, and I’m not going to stop you." Lisa looked at the two young heroes, "And the peace? It’s for our mutual benefit." "Putting the Taboo aside, pragmatically, tactically, it doesn’t look good," Alec replied. "You said it yourself, your team could get exposed if we start warping timelines again. It doesn’t look good, and there’s a good chance we all get shot instead. That timeline just fell apart." "It doesn’t look good," Lisa said, "But there’s a better use of our time." "There are," Alec agreed. "So we’re breaking the rules, in the grand scheme of things," Lisa said. "You’re not doing anything to violate those rules," Alec said. "And I don’t intend to break the rules," she said. "I’m merely doing what any one of her students would do in that situation, which is what a normal, sane person would do." "I thought you said there’s a lot of gray in the crowd." Lisa shrugged. "Most of the time. When we’re dealing with populations-" "We’re dealing with people with powers," Aisha said. "Which are more real than you think," Lisa said. Aisha’s brows rose in a noticeable amount. "Then I guess I can see where you’re coming from," Lisa said. "You’re saying I’m an idiot. I don’t get it. How can someone with your power be an expert in ======================================== SAMPLE 27 ======================================== What did the others do, that surprised you? "It’s ridiculous, and it’s not our usual," Faultline said. "Legitimate fears? Someone or something shooting from the sky." Bitch shook her head. "I’ve been here twice, I know the layout, and I know where the trigger is. Once I was walking down the hall, another came through the open window. I had to hop off the dog’s back in case they were trying to shoot from the same direction and missed. In both cases, I just happened to have my knife in hand." So you stabbed someone. "The guy they brought in was annoying, but they didn’t press the issue with the boss. The only one I didn’t deal with was the girl from the bar, but even then it was unintentional. The other bosses didn’t do a thing to her, and she was too pissed to try and get out of it, so I let her have it." So you’ve done stuff like this before, fighting the Slaughterhouse Nine. "Yeah. I think a little wisdom goes a long way." You got this far? "I’m a little bored, maybe." So you’re here for a reason. "I don’t even know. Part of it might have been to relieve myself. My mom and I have an agreement, kind of. I don’t agree with all of it, but I think maybe I would have gotten along just a little better, if it weren’t for our differences." And you don’t like that you got along with the Slaughterhouse Nine. "I know, but that’s not why I’m here." You sure? "I’m going to be honest. A lot happened between us. Things we don’t talk about. It’s neither of our fault, neither of our wishes, really. It’s the other way around." How do you want this to play out? "I’ll play along, if it means keeping our end of the bargain. I don’t like the other members of the Slaughterhouse Nine, but I’d be willing to put myself on the line to fight them, if need be. I’d be willing to go to jail for Kaiju’s sake. Bitch? I think she’s willing to do that. She’s not stupid, she knows things people don’t know, but she’ll tell you I won’t mention that we’re having lunch at her place or that we’ve been seeing a movie this past weekend. If it comes up, I’ll mention that as well, and we’ll stick to the deal." You’ve been sticking by the rules, Nic. "I’ve been good. I’ve followed the rules, even. I’ve even paid into the programs, paid into the organizations. I’ve made promises I can keep. That’s fair." You’ve also been fairly ruthless in enforcing them. She smiled a little. "I’ll be blunt, then. I’m better than most. I’m a leader, and in this hook, line, and sinker-hole of a city, many people look up to me. Some look down. I’m both. I’m the scion of a nation, and I rule the territories with an iron fist. Many others, many would suspect I’m a heartless bitch, if they saw the guts." She lifted a finger to strike a moth into the air. It soared across the sky, set on a trajectory to hit the building face on the far side of the street. It took several long seconds for the flies to get to safety. "I’m not smart," Bitch informed the rest of the group. The steel-skinned girl with the loud voice and menacing glare went on, "I’m not a leader, I’m not a strategist, I don’t have the know-how or the foresight to know what I’m doing. The risks I’m taking, the things I’m putting at risk, if I don’t have something to tie my hands here, in Brockton Bay. But I’m doing what I can to get these people our freedom, and to do it in a way that makes sense." A hundred women in drab uniforms marched in perfect unison, chanting, cheering, shaking their fists. Drunks and ======================================== SAMPLE 30 ======================================== Noelle was crying, now. Not a complete, long-term emotion, like Rachel would be, but a sniffling one, which didn’t fit. A quick sniffling and lolling of the cheeks, and she was gone from where she’d been lying on the ground. The air-conditioned building loomed before us, the building that would house the storage facility and the gym. Cloud cover was thudding in the wake of the thunderous crashing of the waves. The building was on a hill, and the view swung around us as we beat our breasts to drown out the crashing waves. The roof was turning into a giant saw, three stories high, the ground slanting downward. "The wind will probably be worse than what we’ve been getting," Noelle said, through the teleporter’s mouth. "In five or six minutes, there’ll be a heavy storm like we saw today. We’ll be done for the day. Period." "We’ll see," Tattletale said. Skye had returned to the main console, crouched at the intersection of three monitors. She had a stack of folders in front of her, with a dozen files, several pages of data, and a page of notes from the PHQ Commander. Everything the Dragonfly had been through, the notes had detailed the dangers of the inside, both in terms of the dangers within and the dangers without. It was something of a problem, here. The high-purity water had a high-purity covering. Not that it was really a hundred percent pure, but it was a protective miasma, and through Scion’s miasma, the water purifies very near perfect water, to the point that I wasn’t seeing colored water. I had run tests and seen readings between the miasma’s natural infection immunity and the PHQ’s protective count. The miasma was still active. We weren’t losing time, but we weren’t getting out of the way. It took a minute before the turbolift doors were opened. "The cabin is spacious," Tattletale said. "Tea, coffee, light breakfast, and then we make our way to the cockpit, where we take-in the details on the target. We’ll be monitoring their movements with luck, so we can time adjustments." "Let’s see how that turns out," Rachel commented, from beside her. The Dragonfly changed course, flying through the narrow, dingy gateway of Guthrie’s realm. The settlement was small, nestled in the middle of a field in what was supposed to be sage wilderness. Tiny, in comparison to some of New Brockton Bay’s larger towns. There had been lots of development, now that the settlers were coming in. Lots of nice houses built around the roads and the welcome facilities. Nobody ever stayed in an area that wasn’t their place, obviously, but I wondered if that was because people never knew how bad the place was, or because people were too focused on their own things. It was more obvious now that there were more people in town, but even so, the trees and bushes that filled the area meant there was less privacy. People just happened to be active, and that meant passersby had a chance to check out the sights, sounds and the people. Or, in the case of one small settlement, it might have meant there was more human interest to the area, people who lived in the houses and nearby neighborhoods, a human aspect to the whole. I’d been surprised to see it, to see how people were tuning it out. There were certainly nicer places, I knew, but having the calming influence of a familiar presence, alongside the people who were just dull, uninteresting people. The Douglas the Trollope salesman encounter hadn’t generated any new bugs. Had it even stuck around? Had nobody developed any familiarity with the area’s inhabitants? It wasn’t like the trolls weren’t potential threats. Endbringers and various villains were, apparently, less threatening because people didn’t want them in their territories. Or was it that people were afraid of the unknown? Having settled in our seats on the roof, we’d gotten our meals in, then ridden the dog’s course to the ship’s bridge. In a way, I enjoyed the ride. I’d never been one for eating, and now I felt like I could eat right from the instant I lifted a finger. Rachel had brought out the bacon. She rose from the bench beside my dad, used her fingertips and two fingers to take charge of our tabling, then broke the hand controls. Every other person ======================================== SAMPLE 33 ======================================== You killed," Flechette said. "In self-defense." "It was a momentary lapse," Parian said, "Injustice of the Leet. I’d rather fight, if only to keep reminding myself of why I’m not in this situation, why I shouldn’t be worrying about how the others are handling things, instead of turning the situation to leverage more information about our situation and our targets." "How do you know these people?" I asked. "I know them by name," Flechette said. "Oh. Leet, the Quislings," I said. "I never really got to know them. They were more into dishing out hurt and then applying physical punishment, than putting others in the position to suffer." "I remember, when I was a member of the Chicago Wards," I said. "In the company of Shadow Stalker, Glaistig Uaine, Eidolon, Vista and Clockblocker. Maybe they brought their dogs." Parian hadn’t budged an inch. Even if she’d been stubborn, she’d have to see my face and turn her head, like a dog might when it was puppy years old. It might even serve to distract Shadow Stalker, who could read facial expressions and other cues, get a heads up so she couldn’t ambush us. "And the capes you don’t know?" "Just as long as I don’t get to know them," Flechette said. "Quite a few of us don’t know nearly as much as we want to know," I said, a little straighter. "Some of us have no family here, no home to go to, no friends or family here to miss out on. For a small handful of us, being a cape means passing ourselves off as heroes, living a life of quiet desperation. Others, I suspect, are innocents. Sometimes ill-at-ease, other times known and suspected, but never villainous. I’d like to think we’re all human, at our best." "You’re not human?" Flechette asked, "And you’re villainous?" I shook my head. "You’ve got all the courage of a grizzly bear, saying the wrong thing in the wrong context. Which makes you the quintessential villain." "Makes sense," I said, anyway. "Except it could be worse," I said, "If I were ever a villain and they happened to catch on, if anyone ever uncovered that you were really who I said we were? They wouldn’t be able to ignore my explanation, they would have to cover their bases, and that means my theory about you being a sub-par version of Weaver will be true about any capes they bring in." Parian broke eye contact, looking down at the ground. She frowned. "I saw the reaction shot when she first heard it. Almost lost my composure. I sent the bugs out to check the surroundings, and everything seemed normal. Oak trees in the distance, cornstalmb O. You don’t want to make a big deal of it, but I think it’s something people are really noticing now. The bugs are following my signal, are getting a sense of what I’m doing and what my goal is. I’m calling it in, and they’re here, they’re alert and well-fed, and I’m fucking huge." "I think you’re a fucking genius," Parian said, "Why do this? Why do you have to do this, with the damage she’s doing, the prestige she’s generating, the fact that you might win the fight of your life, taking on the Nine, and you can’t do anything about it? You really think you can call in the big guns?" I didn’t have a good reply to that. She walked on. There were a few more people to push, to shove. I got the impression she was at her strongest when she was pushing against people, pushing against sections of the crowd. Tension hung heavy in the air. I spread my arms, and my arms naturally took up more space in the space that had been left around me. My arms and shoulders alone were pushing 130 or so people, with nearly half of themaxill- I couldn’t be absolutely positive that one or the other number was greater than the other. That left nearly twenty-five that I was trying to push out to the wind. Not a huge amount, but it was a cold wind, and they were alive. A small handful of me was ======================================== SAMPLE 36 ======================================== It struck me just what that kind of tree was. Something delicate and/or tall. It had multiple trunks, and there were countless stems and branches, each growing in clusters. Each of those clusters could support thousands of individual cells. Then I saw the faintest glimmer of what the client was requesting. A color coordinated perfectly with the surrounding texture. It shifted from a yellow-green to a magenta-white. That was as far as my understanding of it. The client was requesting that I utilize my abilities to devastating effect. Nth degree. The ambient radiation? The effect on the client? It was too slow to matter. With my range, I soon had a sense of the area, and the area was ruined in a matter of feet. I broke through the barrier in a straight up fight, with one well placed shot. One that nearly carried me out of the way. I changed direction, flying along two parallel roads, until I was close enough to Krouse and Marissa. I queued to use my ability as a stand-up paddle before I found myself lost in the midst of the water. I wasn’t flying, and I wasn’t nearly that far away. One second… "Skitter." I’d started using my swarm to talk to bugs when I was one step away from the girl. I understood her, I knew her family, and I had a good guess as to what was going through her head. She turned her head, looked up at me. I did my best to move my parahumans, away from the water, away from my allies and myself, and I found myself face to face with a sea urchin. It didn’t look like a person, but it felt like a person was standing in the middle of a sea of urchins, and each of the urchins was doing their best to get a knotted piece of thread or spider thread between them and the stake that Lisa was holding. The end result was a physical assault. Lisa was getting more desperate, attacking the more than capable of urchins that were making her legs twist and bend, while trying to keep the ones that looked like they were almost moving, such as the one that was dealing with the turtle girl, which was making the water I was looking at sink too fast. It was scary. Wasn’t just the idea that some unknown assailant was afflicting the hundreds of urchins in our area. "What’s going on?" I asked Lisa. She shrugged. "Don’t really know. Thought the kids were scared, but they’re really not. They’re in the middle of a exercise regiment, and they just got a whole day to chill out with, so they might be overexercising, too. Doesn’t seem fair to the urchin kids." I didn’t have a better way of putting it. Taylor was acting too calm, too collected, above even what was going on in my head. I shifted my weight, ready to jump in and distract, and in the moment she said or did something that made me question her words. "You’re acting too hard," I said. "If you were acting like you usually act, you’d be worried about your reputation, your dad, your schoolwork… you’d be worried about missing class." "I don’t usually act like I’m worried," she said. "I act like I’m worried because I’m worried about the kid I used to be called…" She took a breath, then shook her head a little. "I don’t really care." Was that her way of telling me to stop? I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. I was worried about her, but I couldn’t really say it was the cause of her actions. Lisa continued, "…Kid was always a very caring person. …When I was younger, I remember she made me get fit so I wasn’t hungry, passed around the recipes from her book about how to make pancakes… until I couldn’t anymore. I got so tired of it that I stopped eating breakfast and lunch even though I’d have to go running the next day to make sure she got all the recipes. So nice, and it was all I ever saw of her, when she was all smiles and she was always taking care of Alan." I felt a stab of something inside, telling me to stop, but I stopped myself. I’d been doing this wrong. "And when I was a kid," she went on, "I used to go out in costume, and I would find wandering ======================================== SAMPLE 39 ======================================== He banged his head on the desk. "So many goddamn circles. So many fucking circles. Every time I thought I had it figured out, there was a twist in the story-" "The loop faces the walls," I said. "The audience has a variety of senses. Voice, eye, taste, smell, touch. Not many avenues of attack they have open to them." "They have a variety of avenues of attack," Tattletale clarified. "From what I’ve read on them, they’re a solitary bunch. They don’t mess around. If two of them happen to find out we’re here, or if the right circumstances make one of them stumble, it doesn’t take them very long to hit you. They’ll probably score some catharsis somewhere along the line, though I’d bet they’d do it in a pretty ugly way." I sighed. "I think we should go. There’s a chance they’ll offer something to key members of the audience, in exchange for a yes. Would they?" "Brockton Bay has too many holes in its fabric," Imp said. "The bottom falls out." "I’m not saying we shouldn’t go," Clockblocker and Vista said together, talking over the phone. "We should. It’s not a smart decision." "A lot of people will see us without an exit." "And they won’t register it," I said. "They won’t see us as heroes. Not exactly. The public perceives us as being too willing to fight alongside the Undersiders. That’s a fact." "I don’t disagree," Weld said. "But I’d like to think they won’t see us as villains, either." "Fact?" Grue asked. "They won’t. The camera crews won’t be able to see the stitches, and they’ll have a harder time figuring out how to get footage of us without the equipment. And there’s the other stuff, the strange coincidences and the sheer amount of paperwork. Too many details that have to fit together, if they’re even going to piece it together. Dragon explained it better than I did: we’ve got a secret identity, and anyone doing even a cursory investigation knows who we are." Weld nodded. I looked at the widescreen television. It was starting to spin through channels in hopes of pulling me away from the others. "Any tips, or can you explain how we’re not getting enough information?" "They play things close to the vest," Tattletale said. "They have a strategy, and they play it very, very close to the vest. They don’t want us to discover it. That takes time. They want us to play along and buy their silence, thus guaranteeing that nothing is revealed that they want to keep quiet. It’s how they operate." "And we’re playing along," Tattletale said. "Good. So they keep things light, and as far as the team is concerned, nothing that impacts our group or those of us else in the area stands out." "Exactly right," I said. "You won’t be disappearing to some foreign land, gathering treasure and escaping with a small fortune, then?" Weld asked. "The Watch doesn’t have a rich guy like that," Grue said. "Not one at the sort of level Watch ladies seek. Nor do we have any bloody billionaire crooks like Calvert or Callezzia who can pop out of a puddle in the middle of the street and walk away. Nor, it seems, is Tattletale. Strange as it sounds, they got their hands on her account and tied her up in the suit’s bank robbery. Borrowing Gambler’s techno-magic to alter reality and force Nick to the ground. Oh, and they kept a couple of her ambassadors in the city, in case the banker got unscheduled cash. Kind of." "She got a whole three hundred dollars from that," a man said. "We paid a visit and we didn’t get the goods." "Within the acceptable range of what our powers are, it should have compromised," Tattletale said. "It’s a little crazy, but I can live with it. Regions dry up as a whole, parts of the world get devastated, some recover. Let it happen here, with just a little bit of luck." "I’ll talk to the boss," Calvert said. "Go ahead," Tattletale said ======================================== SAMPLE 42 ======================================== "My boys," Marissa said, through a mouthful of cereal. Gregor chuckled, a contented air in his tone, "Been a real team player lately." "You were supposed to be the one to cook dinner," Luke said. "I’mwa team player too," Gregor added, just a touch too fast. He wanted to add in, "We were talking ice cream. How do you make an ice cream without the dairy? And how do you make vanilla pudding without the chocolate?" "We’re talking all of the above, just a little slower," Luke said. "No milkshake without the chocolate," Gregor said. "And you need a mixer? Greg?" The young man extended his hand. Luke put his arm full around Gregor’s shoulders. "And we’re in the company of some of our ice cream villains, too." "Who?" "Jessica and her dogs," Luke said, lamely. "And Noelle," Gregor said. "And her gang." "So this is a turning point," Luke said. "She knows the drill. She sees the big picture, and she sees the traps. She’ll get all of us, but she’s liable to get most of the villains, going after your oldest assets." "She’s a big asset," I said. "I get that. But there’s weak points. You can’t protect everyone." "And she has experience fighting the Antigrav guys. I’m seeing what I’m in for." "She’s been fighting capes since she can walk," Luke said, "Me, since before I was human." "In what sense?" I asked. "Fighting both natural and manmade enemies. And she did very well. Almost broke my heart," Luke said. "That’s the gist of it," I said. "But I figure she’ll figure it out. We’ll all get through this, won’t we?" "Maybe," Luke said. "I hope so." "So what comes next?" I asked. Luke looked like he was going to say something else, but then he stopped himself. "I guess we’ll talk about it after. For now…" He glanced at Connecticut Governor Wards Borough and the Director in Charge of the Wards, "Let’s focus on what we know." The group had been divided into teams. The top two teams in each area went to the next group in advance, while the bottom two stayed behind. We’d gathered at the far end of the walkway, in the chill, to let the major groups through the portal and close the distance behind cover. "2.3.3.2.1" the portal invoked. The next line of defense was the number made media rounds about the portals opening all at once. "It’s happening," the Governor said. "Coil’s plans come to fruition, and this is the proof. We already know the major players are dead, or moving to safer havens. The Protectorate is still in a fragile early stages, and Custodian is dead. The other two teams? Well, we already know they aren’t too interested in moving in. Building temporary bases and protecting incumbents is less important at this juncture. Moving in a different direction? We can stop them before they get going." He turned his attention to the group with the tattoos on their faces. "And you guys?" the Governor asked. "You’re good?" "Not so much," Luke said. "Not so much?" "I’m stuck. I’m stuck where I’m supposed to be, which is here," Luke said. The Governor nodded, "Good enough. New Hampshire is ours to take. Dismissed, though, is the plan B. Scapegoat, if you will. We’ll provide assistance, let you and your teammates decide if it’s more immediate assistance or capture." "Capture? You’re saying you’re okay with letting a teenage villain walk away with thousands of dollars?" "I will. I’m kind of hoping you guys will explain what you intend to do with that Capture the Flag money." "We let him walk away, he collects five hundred and thirty thousand dollars, we take him to the HQ and we play around, have fun?" "That was Gully. She’s been playing with the rules and the capes and we generally violating the truce, ======================================== SAMPLE 45 ======================================== In short, it was a tool. A way to prepare himself for the act of fighting, in case he had to make the ultimate sacrifice. Which meant it was perfect. Perfect meant it worked flawlessly. He sat at the foot of the bed, books by his feet, a fire burning in the middle of the room. Perfect meant he could spend time with Kovan, and time with Ariana. He needed that. He glanced around. The others were filing in through the glass doors that led to the cool, fresh air inside. Arrangements had been made, and Hana was with them. Kovan was sitting on the bed, kneeling beside Ariana, who was wrapped in a soft embrace. Their bodies were pressed together, a vertical line running from their nose to the top of their head. Kovan looked halfway to the malevolent entity, and the entity was sitting just to the left of that end of the bed. Perfect. He glanced at the others. Vuelta and Loa were at the end of the bed. Evette was to his left. The Number Man was a distance away, on the other side of the entity. The Crusader, at the beginning of the bed. They weren’t kindred, but they shared a common feature. The Fall. He felt a moment’s trepidation. A fear, a momentary anxiety. They gathered, settling in a large bedchamber, much as he’d found himself on his return trip to his home. The same chamber, the exact same layout, bed to bed, sofa to sofa, toilet to sink. A cold wind blew his face. He tried to take his eyes off the images. The Fall. A human being, almost unawares as he was plunged into the ocean. Strands of her hair fell around her neck. She is frozen, like a puppet with the strings pulled so far out of her mouth it could barely speak. Cold. The winds of this world were contrary. A blow to the face could be chilling, but a blow to the back could be lethal. She could die, even, if the blow wasn’t forceful enough. The entity extended one hand toward the door. The door was immobile, unmoving. But the entity didn’t accelerate. It stretched out its hand, reaching inside. The occupant crumpled, her body collapsing in on her arms and legs. Like waxed sugar on an oven burner, the entity fell onto its back. Piles of books, digital media and electronic devices scattered on every side of the room. The door flew open. The number man beckoned Eve, and Eve turned her attention to the man. Across the room, lights were on, but the man wasn’t. He watched as the entity’s hand disappeared into the mass of books, and his attention immediately turned to the television. "Stay," he spoke. Eve was on her hands and knees, but she didn’t kneel down. She turned, and in a flash, she was moving like she wasn’t supposed to be able to, as if the group with her were a jumble. The energy of a new human being just began to emerge. The teleportation took hold, filling every room in the complex. There were four individuals at the exit, and Eve was the first to catch up, walking between the two who remained. The entity’s attention was on the people in the remaining group. Its power tore into the group, and through it, Eve could feel her first steps becoming digits, jolts of potential energy that split off in unpredictable ways. The energy of one individual with an excess of precogs in their blood, or simply one with a powerful intuition. One with speed and agility both. So she learned, grew, and expanded her power. She knew how to navigate the battlefield, and she used it, drawing ever-oningly on it, drawing power from it. Eve wasn’t supposed to be able to become an entity as big as the entity. Not with conventional means of causing damage. Not with conventional means of attack. Eve wasn’t big, not in terms of the standing of most people’s heads, and she wasn’t small, not in the sense that she was small and mature. Big things were happening. Already, her body was going through the changes, changing in fundamental aspects. She’d seen it all, in so many forms. Abysmal student numbers, occasional Journalism classes. Enrollment dipping, faculty unwilling to expand their programs, underperforming even on the front page of the paper when compared to the competition. Contradictions in ======================================== SAMPLE 48 ======================================== The stupidest and most heartless thing I could have done, I thought. I didn’t even know what I was doing. We had safeguards, of course, and I had my way of checking that everything was in working order. It was the way things should be. If a cape was going to be cruel, they had to be the norm. The exception to the rule. But being merciful, doing what I had because Taylor was being harsh on myself? It was heartless. It wasn’t the same as being kind. I did what I could, but it didn’t feel like enough. I clenched my fist, hard. I didn’t relax it. Taylor was looking down at the ground, replying, "What are you going to do, Taylor? What’s the last thing you want? Corrections?" "I already gave you one." "Is that so?" "Are you crazy? You’re crazy, sometimes. Some of the time, you’re so mad you’ll kill yourself, and you’re not angry. You’re just a fragment of who you’ve always been, put together in a daemontic haze by your abusive, shitty mom. Adrenaline, a rush of emotion, and you’ve got more stuff in your head that lets you rationalize why you shouldn’t feel any better. You get better, and you feel better, and you keep that malediction bottled in, and it makes you feel like you deserve better. And then you get one over on us, and it’s like, sh!t, shucks, I don’t want to do this anymore. I hate myself, and others will hate me, for this petty revenge. But I can’t help it, don’t want to do anything. I’ve got to stop, I’ll stop for just a few minutes, and then I’ll go back to being an ordinary person. It’s weeks before I even think about it, before I start taking it in. Months before I stop, and then years before I start taking it in and feel like I did something wrong. Take it from someone who’s been that fucked up." I let my arm drop. "People will remind you all the time, they’ll tuck you in when you’re down, they’ll hug you before you’re up again, they’ll cry when they’re sad, they’ll laugh when they’re sad, they’ll be proud when they’re proud. You can’t help it." I wasn’t quite listening. It didn’t sound like what I’d been saying was actually happening. "You said you was better than this. Is that really true? If you were standing here right now, would you still be standing here? Would you be standing for what’s right? Is it better to take a stand and be a dick to a little girl?" "No." "No? Does that mean you want to change? To go back to the Birdcage?" I shook my head. "No. There’s still things I have to do. Atlas is making his way back, and it’s when I change. I’ll be back." "When?" I didn’t get a chance to ask. The zone Weaver was describing… Not as kind as Jackson. Less kind than Bastion. Maybe not quite as kind as Bastion, though. As kind as Newter. Teenagers, this… I shifted position, sitting on a chair just beside Tattletale. The moment my arm was outstretched, a pair of hands seized my own. One of them held my mask, the other my powered flight pack. I was still vulnerable. I’d taken a blow to the head, and my arm was bruised, but I was otherwise ok. The people being protective were more worried about me than me protecting them. "You’re running?" one asked. "I’m… no. I’m on my way to meet other capes." "Might be. You won’t be. We’ve got apparatus waiting for you. We’ll see you at two." "Two," I said, barely hearing the reply, but I was almost glad to have them arriving. I was shaking, and the exhalation from the mask made my face turn pink. "We’ll be in touch," the male voice answered. "By the way, I heard some whispers. Someone ======================================== SAMPLE 51 ======================================== Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter, the characters, the settings, the characters or the various names associated with them. Prologue August 20th, 1993 "You have a home? Yes." He didn’t have a home, but he hadn’t been in the sheds since the end of the summer. It was nice. Nice enough that, with the benefit of a few months of Japanese classes and a bit of an introduction to the locales, he was finally feeling more at home than he had in a very long, long time. It was a big world out there, and big it still was, even with him and his family. "More than a few things," his mother reflected. "But you haven’t washed your hair or changed your clothes in a long time, and you haven’t had a bath in the tub because it was all we could spare. You have some time, maybe, to wait for the water to run, and you will see your… daughters? Your… stepson?" "My mother is dying. She gets better fast enough to be out of the hospital now, but my mother does not. I have been eating badly, so bad my dad doesn’t know what I am eating now, and he fears for my well-being more than he does me." "My husband, Doctor Foster, comes from a good family. He is the least capable person you’ll have in a pinch, but he is the most capable when it comes to taking care of a mother and her dying." "Doesn’t it bother you?" "It doesn’t bother me. We were through so much. We were so poor, so soon after I got my powers. We had so much to take care of, and he just couldn’t- didn’t know how. I worry about my stepson more than I do about my mom, or my family, or anyone I might be in love with. It’s the least I can do." "Perhaps you should try asking your mother-in-law for permission to touch her," her mother suggested. "She wouldn’t give her permission," he said. "Perhaps you should ask her," her mother suggested. He tried to speak, but found it harder every second he followed along. This was a major part of his transformation, and he wasn’t sure he trusted her to help him out than he was with his mother. Maybe he didn’t trust himself, too, because he was still reeling from his outburst at the bank robbery. He hadn’t learned from past mistakes. "My mother died from a brain embolism two weeks ago. She was a pretty fierce fighter, but I think she died because of a blood transfusion a week before she died. I got the blood from a cut in my arm, and I don’t think she realized how bad it was until it was gone. I don’t know what happened, but they did save her life." "I’m sorry." "It’s your fault, I-" "I’m sorry," he said, choking on the words. His transformation was complete. He was finally at peace with himself, and with the world. It was a bittersweet thing, because he was now able to heal, to get his needs met, and he was now safe from the clutches of the supervillains who had preyed on him in the course of his career. The type of person who took a life was rare, but there were individuals who were still capable of turning the tables on him. He got by. He made a good living. In the end, it wasn’t even in his control, because his employer had gotten the money before he’d even had a chance. He was employed by the Alliance, and had applied for and been accepted as a member of the Wards, despite never having gone up against a team of heroes. He liked them, they liked him. He’d made peace with that fact, after weeks of tension and frustration. He was employed as a dishwasher in a hotel, seconded by a member of the Protectorate, thirded by a worthy adversary. A hotel in the midst of a city. It was a dangerous job, but he held out hope that he could one day work his way up to a position of power. Then the world had gone to hell. Eidolon had saved civilians, stopped an imminent nuclear attack, only to find his own efforts thwarted. His mistress had died at the hands of an evil genius with an obsession. And now his mistress was gone, just as safely as he’d left her. It was ======================================== SAMPLE 54 ======================================== I understood them. Their place in the grand scheme of things wasn’t so important. "What happened?" I asked. "Tattletale fakes ending," Imp said, not taking her eyes off the laptop. "Intentionally infecting myself with the incident. May cause a masquerade, to give her too much exposure. May be a weak point against certain measures the PRT may employ." "We run background checks," Regent said. "If she dragged us off, we’d know." "Shit," Tattletale said. "Why else would she say goodbye to us?" "Masquerade?" Regent asked. "For our own peace of mind, at least," Tattletale said. "I could run a check," I said. I had the beetles draw a loop of silk around their leader, stretching out to their sides. "Maybe a needle prick, turn the syringe around." "Let’s not sweat it," Regent said. "We’ve got a few turns in here anyways. Why not make sure she doesn’t slip any?" "Hide," Imp said, through the feeding tube. The beetle did as she’d asked, diverting its direction of flow to the left, stalling the silk. Regent and I started looking for Hide. We were looking in the wrong places. The hole in the wall was actually pretty small. It was smaller than the one in the stairwell, by a whole inch. And at the opposite end of the hallway, the rest of the building was sliced through. "Hide?" I asked. "It’s a paint can," Imp said, as Regent led the way. She stopped when he saw the hole in the wall. Regent pointed at the ground, and I looked. The can of spray paint we’d hidden contained only seaweed and a trace of Hide’s spray paint. "I’m guessing you know how to put things together to make things bigger," Regent said. I didn’t. I glanced at him. He didn’t catch my glance. Turning to me, he said, "So do you know what you’re doing?" "Maybe some." "Put everything back in the can. Damaged stuff, maybe, but you can restore it." "And I can put the things back together," he said. "It doesn’t look like it," I said. "If you start with the empty space, you’re destroying it." "Put everything back together?" Regent asked. "Check again," Imp said. There was a pause. "What are you thinking?" Regent asked. "That I don’t need to worry about the little stuff anymore," I said. "Because we’ve got these guys in containment foam and surrounded. We’re policing the area, and you can’t make a clear enough shot to hurt them without being preemptive." "You’re almost burnt to a crisp," Regent said. "You are," Imp. "And that’s why I’m asking. Because at least in my shoes, I wouldn’t feel the same way." "You’d be dying," Regent said. "Wouldn’t be pretty," Imp said. "And I’d have the luxury of a sniper rifle, if it wasn’t for the sticky bullets and the way I’ve been gripping you. I take it all in. I’m- I’m pretty well out of bullets." She discarded the canister and threw it away. "This thing with the Endbringers, it’s more or less over, according to Tattletale," I said. "It’s just a matter of taking out one group and regaining the other." "Assuming we can even make it out of the area," Tattletale said, "That’s quite the challenge." "We can. We just didn’t know what they were made of. And they disintegrate," I said. I managed to get a morsel of food in my mouth before he continued, "I think they’re made of something impervious and ultra-tough. Like chrome. Ferroceries, like skateboarding, like glass. I’d like to get my hands on some, before they get lost." "It’s dangerous," he said. "And it might be suicidal," I said. "But we can get out of here ======================================== SAMPLE 57 ======================================== The wall took us two blocks into the park. There were more survivors still trapped inside. A group of men and women, a group of twelve or so young Indians. They wore similar costumes, white and yellow, with a single white feather blowing in the wind. Slivers of white fur ruffled at the edges of the cloud of dust that surrounded them. "There’s survivors," the blond man said. "We’ve got backup, keep an eye out," Grace said, "If and when they start leaving, you’re going to have to kill them. Just need an opportunity." There was the sound of guns cocking. I couldn’t see through the rain to see which of the two guns it was, but I could guess it was the gun the heroes were using. The heroes were on guard, for all the good it did. The men and women in white were reporting in. I could sense Velocity, who was flying with three armored suits on his shoulders, moving to a staging base with three more PRT vans and a contingent of Wards. He was taking the lead of the group, with a second to talk and pass information to the others. Tecton, Wanton and Cuff were watching over the school, off-duty PRT soldiers, and two more PRT teams based in the area. Another sound, like a click or a howl of pain, came from the midst of the monsters. A woman screamed, and blood sprayed forth, stopping where it had stood a moment ago. I felt a momentary panic. This was not an attack on my shelter. It could be an attempt on the part of any one individual. "Need an escape. Wall or ceiling!" Grace called out. There was a pause. "And an escape would be awesome," Chevalier added. "Tree," I said, "If you can get over to the rooftop." There was a moment’s hesitation. "OR A SCREAMROOM!" I suggested. There was an awkward pause. "Or," Chevalier said, "YOU CAN GET OVER HERE!" There was an awkward pause. "Just do me a favor and don’t use your power against me, okay?" I said. "I’ll use it if you fuck with me or try to do anything ugly to get my attention. You can fire the thing again, in case it got to you, and you can shut off the noise if I order it to." There was a faint hissing from the monitor. I couldn’t make out the words. A minute passed, and Golem was still amidst the buildings, at the edge of the edge of my vision. The monitors showed the city in a different way. I couldn’t see heads, but I could make out features. Mountains, a rocky peak, a curtain of trees. "Is it obvious?" Tecton asked. "Mm," Golem said. "Yeah." "It’s threaded, then?" "Yeah," Golem said. "The dam… it goes through downtown, then?" "I don’t… understand," Tecton said. "We know there’s a central hub," I said. "Not that it’s a surprise. Whatever else is going on downtown, you think of that hub as the seat of government, or whatever. I’m not saying it’s not, but there’s no way that’s the case when you get outside the limits of downtown, get to know the locals, and you realize there’s more to the city…" We had a chance to talk, and not because I was on their side. I’d been thinking about precedent as I’d studied the various threat categories. I’d wanted to get a sense of what the Undersiders were like among the people, outside of the threat the group was inherently or inherently susceptible to. Then I’d taken that information and compared it to stuff I knew about the group, what I had read in the journals and records. The saner members of the group had been the ones who had acted on it. They’d realized that they were ill-equipped to play the field, would shift from being a member of the predator role to being the prey. There would be leeway if they happened to find a bodyguard or bodyguard-in-possession who was just waiting for them in the lobbies or the streets, or in the case of the more disaffected members, the areas with the more rigorous powers enforcement. There were places where they could operate with less risk to the point that the lack of a focus ======================================== SAMPLE 60 ======================================== If you asked me what the greatest fear of all time was, I think my number one choice would be the fear of missing out. But there are some things that scratch that particular itch. Name two of them." I tapped out the words. "Missing out? You can’t remember?" "Um. Yes. I can. I won’t deny I know it when I see it." "I’ve seen it." "You can’t escape it, can you?" I asked. "You’ve seen something. You’ve seen death, you’ve seen hell, you’ve seen hell." "I can’t put my finger on why," he said. He glanced at the roof. I followed his gaze, and he was staring at something at the edge of the roof. A cloud, no doubt. "It’s… one of the hallmarks of the powers that be, isn’t it?" "The walking problem," I said. "If I can’t beat the fighting-to-the-end result, then what does that say about me? About humanity?" I’d been meaning to ask about that. I hadn’t been able to keep the thought from my mind. "Whatever else it is, regardless of how much I want to prove it, the powers that be said something very similar in our group. That we’re all on the same page, because we’re all asking the same sorts of questions. The powers want us to work together, because we’re resourceful and we’re resourceful together. They think we can achieve our goals because we’re cohesive. I say fuck that. I’m going to do what has to be done. I just haven’t figured out how." I’d noticed that while I was having him gesture for me with his hand, he was actually speaking in my ear. He sounded soatoore there, confident, confident in his own abilities. And yet, at the same time, he was telling me, "I’m uncertain. I’ve never been more than a child, and ever since I could count, there was this intendment or something in my brain that insisted I keep quiet, keep my mouth shut. So I stayed quiet when they arrested me, and I’m almost certain I gave evidence to anyone who asked that I was in the superhero community. The worst that could have come from what I’m saying now was a severely reduced role in my life. I’ve spent the last few years building something from scratch, and all I can see is failure." I wanted to slap him, stop him, or both of us have done that for him. He looked at the phone, then at me, "If I asked you to fuck over everything you ever believed in, was it going to make you happier? Would you want to maintain whatever grudge you have towards me? Because I was never happy before." "I’d be a damn good person," I told him. He shook his head. "Maybe." I headed into the kitchen, pulling the door closed as I was about to throw it open. Placing the food in the fridge and grabbing a long word in my cell. Avoiding looking back for a second, I stalked out of the living room, made my way to the front door and sat down on the doorstop. Only seconds before I was sitting at the kitchen table, trying to find the door knob, the wrong door would have opened, and a stranger would have come through the window. Uncomfortable with how things were going, even with Emma out and about, I didn’t dial a number that sounded familiar. I didn’t get a chance to finish my food before someone entered the living room. Turning around to face the other end of the hall, I saw him, sitting on the couch. "Ix xxx still alive," I heard Tattletale whisper across the room. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination or not, but the guy was wearing a white bathrobe, had dark chocolate skin and a pretty distinctive scar on his upper right arm. Staring at him, I couldn’t make anything out in the dim. I reached over and took off the towel that was draped over the guy’s head, seeing only the back side where the long hair and body portion of his body joined. Curious, I took it off and ran my hand over his bare chest. "Shit, I forgot I even TOTATED," he said. "Stop TOTATING," Lisa warned. He was shaking like a ======================================== SAMPLE 63 ======================================== ​Sophia’s voice came from the armband on her left side. "It’s Weaver. Speak if you need to talk to someone." "Taylor, can you-" "Go away. I need everyone’s help. We’re all in this together." "I can’t." "I know. Listen. I’m sorry. I’m doing this all for you. I want you to know that I’m not going to second guess you or make you wait, because-" A clipped noise came from the armband on her left arm. "Team’s position: containment vessel, code named Lambeth. Send two vessels your way, with one carrying sensitive documents and the other carrying more usual stuff. I know it’s late, your errand is now a priority." "Makes sense," Taylor said, through the speaker, "I kind of wanted to thank you for the fix." "It’s very possible we don’t have the answers we’re looking for," Eidolon said. "I know you set out from New York on a mission of secrecy, and you headed straight for Los Angeles. I know this may be the furthest point from Scion, the reason the Los Angeles Protectorate is so small. But he knows exactly what you were doing, and he has a plan in mind for letting you know." "Mission’s a bit of a mouthful," Taylor replied. "He’s a master manipulator, in the end. Communicating his goals to someone else, making them fit with his own, while staying entirely aboveboard. He has a very good reason for keeping the details on his secret, but that doesn’t excuse bad behavior on his part, from you or from others. I know you enjoy riding these coattails, but I urge you to maintain some decorum and respect the person who’s explaining the rules for you." "urp-" Taylor started. "Mm. Respectfully, Eidolon." Taylor turned around and reached for the next device, pocketing it. The Invincible Iron Falcon. It was his second birthday. She chewed on her cereal just for the chance to act like he was in charge of the group, to put his needs before hers. She missed the usual parties, the ice cream and sandwiches, but she would still look after him like he was her nephew. She took care of him on almost a daily basis, kept him fed, clothed and patched him up. She missed the old iron stomach, the seat and crackers that had been tucked in on the bottom shelf of the cupboard when she’d gotten her cereal. She would eat the treat, big and satisfying and then she’d sneak out of her room to hide from the world and come back to finish her meal, feeling better than she had in a long time. She dreamed about getting off to a good start, starting on her new life. Starting with making sandwiches, making cupcakes and cheesecakes and moving up to sandwiches, pancakes and french toast, to wraps and burgers. Thing was, she didn’t like going to the office. It was awkward, embarrassing, and she didn’t like the work itself. She managed by making eggnog, coffee and then sneaking a bite to eat with the kids. There was the occasional salad or a snack for the cats, but even those never seemed to be more than nibbles. She would sneak a snack in her downtime, maybe, but even that was a more gentle way of getting her head in order. If she started on a new project, maybe it could be called ‘The Birdcage’. With the way her thoughts looped around the various voices and faces, a picture could be drawn of a child’s life in the center of a strange and wonderful world. She chewed more, looking forward to the exercise. She was so tired, thinking was exhausting. But now that she was expecting more from the computer, and she felt like she might be inclined to start, she started to turn her attention to the keyboard. She stared at the white space that was keyboard Berlin Wall, pasted with bright colors to make the letters and symbols more visible. The first world she had opened to herself. The other worlds she had opened to others. Not that she had ever explained why. She hadn’t wanted to open those to others who were less fortunate. More space had been created around the perimeter of her cell. Now the key was in her hand, and she felt like she had to reach up to get it, to move it or put it in a place where someone could ======================================== SAMPLE 66 ======================================== "Yeah," I said. "I’ve talked about this with Tattletale, and it’s not really a secret that you and Tattletale have something in common. I just don’t know what it is, and it’s not the kind of thing that would come up in conversation." "We’ve discussed it. We know what you’re afraid of. There’s a reason you’re nervous. In every conversation we’ve had so far, you’ve been trying to figure out how I can help you. Businesses you run, people you interact with, or ideas you come up with. I can help with that, too. More so if I’m around, obviously. You don’t understand, you know, I’m not powerful enough to make life easy on you. But I’m friendly, and I’m competent. I can tell you how to get things done, and all it takes is a simple phone call." She stopped, a little put out, "How’d You Transform Me? Interview?" "Jet black, with some luck I could use to get my hair wet, money I have in the bank," I said. I smiled. Heading into the bank lobby, I ran into the PRT uniforms who were watching over the stalls at the front. I was saved from having my luggage taken away by the presence of the two PRT officers, two more armed with a Taser, for a total of six. They had their Taser, I noted, a little more mature than the other models the PRT officers were holding. It was pink, not black, and the paddle was smaller, three/eight inches long, with a click of the paddle located on the end. I got the impression it was designed more for beating people than people getting off lightly armed. The overall shape was similar to a service animal. The paddle and paddles both seemed to be in silver, with a logo on the front, possibly an ‘ATV’ or a ‘Trucks’. There was a message in Cyrillic, outside the letters ‘П:ИИ. As I glanced at the other people in the lobby, I saw that two more PRT officers were standing by the doors, rather than waiting for us to walk in. One had a wet towel gripped in his hands, while the other waited to douse himself in the bottled water. The officer in charge waited while a middle-aged woman got changed near the elevator. I got the distinct impression his job was not so much the keeping of the door secure as ensuring the elevator was shut and the woman outside the elevator was out of the elevator. We waited while four men in plainclothes checked the IDs of the others inside the elevator. I noticed with interest that one of the men was holding a newspaper, whereas the other two were apparently not readers. They were PRT employees. I wondered if it was a perk of ‘employees’ that they got free newspapers on their first day in the job. The doors of the elevator opened, and I moved forward to open the door for Sierra and her sister. There were two people in the elevator, with two more PRT officers in the station right behind them. Something about the way the two sisters were guarding the door, it suggested they were watching the PRT’s secrets and procedures. I wasn’t going to comment on that for the time being, but something seemed off. "Hello?" the voice was deep, masculine, but it somehow made me feel like Sierra and her sister were from the Docks. My attempts to ignore it fell short. I suppressed the urge and turned my attention to the women in the suit and dress. Two moons ago, things had been much the same. I’d left the Docks, and the reason for my circuitous route had been to see how things were unfolding. - Before I could get curious about what was happening elsewhere, I had to stop, have a conversation with the PRT officer at the station and a reminder about the curfew. It seemed to get her more interested than the other woman, who got freer to complain. Things had gone the way I’d planned, aside from the unfortunate interruption at the point where I’d confessed my feelings for Sophia. It had turned out okay, though. We’d been lucky if a few scuffles broke out in the crowd. Most people were content to let the peace and quiet continue. The bugs I’d kept in reserve served to keep me safe from the bugs of the Black Ooze. The same contagion that had wiped out the Merchants in the Boardwalk and the Explorers in the Anchorage HQ had wiped out the ======================================== SAMPLE 69 ======================================== Two of the city’s largest banks, Union and First, had shut down services and left the city in the dark on their true identities. They had later bailed out the city and its tourism industry, but it hadn’t escaped the notice of anyone on the ground in the nine months they had been in charge. Even fewer knew just how deep the role they played in Brockton Bay was playing out across the country. It was a situation that had the potential to get much worse if Union and First didn’t play some sort of game of checkers or Roulette with the local industries. Even if the stakes weren’t that high, the potential for disaster was clear. All across America, millions of Americans were mobilized in anticipation of the start of a bad period. They would be waiting weeks, months, even years to see if Brockton Bay could be spun into a failed tech start-up, a failed film and music video, an arms dealer turning to crime in the wake of the events of the previous several weeks. They would be mobilizing in droves just in case. And then word got out that a supervillain was in the city. It was just a matter of time before the media picked up on the fact that the villain was an undercover agent provocateur working for a foreign government. Just like the heroes were mobilizing, coordinating and pulling all their resources towards the US capital, Brockton Bay was becoming another Mexico. A haven for drug lords and money launderers, a transit point for people who had fled the south end of the city and made their way to the Boardwalk, selling everything they owned – weapons, drugs, stolen identities, fake Canadian birth certificates and more. Cody was watching every media report on the scene, making the connection. Other villains were moving into the area as well. It was a matter of time before the cops and the white hats caught on and forced the villains to retreat. With luck, the retreating foot soldiers would get medical help or official assistance. Those who didn’t retreat would get their shit destroyed, them or their things. But for the cops, their colleagues, it was another matter. They would be tarred as the bad guys if they took the precaution of going to a doctor for help. Tainted by association. We had to act before there was more bad news. "Mr. Accent." He was always known to the PRT as Lung. Now he wore a simple, ivy-lined white dress shirt and khakis and carried a small clipboard. "Alicia Machado." My heart sank. It was the name the PRT had given me not long ago, but my dad had changed his mind and stopped calling me that. "Alicia Germano," my dad said, breaking the news. "Dada," I said. "Incognito." "Alicia Germano, I believe that is enough information for one hour of television," Mr. Calle said. "The next batch, please hold." The lights flickered, and the network was again bare. One blip on the screen showed the count down from three to two. "One hour," Mr. Calle said, again. I took that as my cue to get ready. I walked around the desk and bent down to the one key they had lying on the desk. I flipped a switch and locked the door. I waited until the security camera was turned off, then I slipped the key into the lock, and stepped over to the computer. My breath huffed out against the fabric of my costume, so I took extra steps to keep the darkness from filtering into the room. I closed my eyes, breathed deep, and I felt my pulse quicken. Hell, I felt my pulse quicken. Damn it. "Dada, Incognito," they announced at the same time. I opened my eyes, and saw Miss Militia with her phone out. She was pointing at the monitor. "And don’t say anything until I say." "Right," I said. "We’ve investigated," Miss Militia said. "And our investigation suggests there’s no threat here. Zero indication of any attack on any scale." "Then it’s perfectly reasonable for me to assume there’s an intruder present?" he asked. "There’s an excellent chance there isn’t an intruder," Miss Militia said. "And that’s reason enough to be careful." "Be careful," I said. "Be careful of the things the PRT is putting in place." There were chuckles from everyone present. I reached my hand up to my face to rub my cheek, but I didn’t touch the mask. ======================================== SAMPLE 72 ======================================== The bugs continued, with the added twist of amplification. The smallest bugs built the appropriate sized nests, and the spiders created the necessary webs. Ten bugs in a minute. My legs burned, I could barely move my toes, and my balance slipped, though I was absolutely certain I could move my toes. I was on my back, between the midsection of my tank and the top of the hill, and the bugs continued to serve to give me the support I needed. I couldn’t tell with my eyes closed. I couldn’t look up at the sky with Night and Fog hovering over us. I couldn’t outrun them either. Being wet for so long, my costume had been thick, creamy, not quite at the point where you could tell the rain was there, but it had been nice. It really needed to rain, and I didn’t know what soaking wet shoes and wet skin would be like, if it did. The thought seemed so distant. I could see Foil relax a fraction, just a little. Parian, sitting on the bench beside my cot, looking sad, a bit surprised. There was a knock at the door. Tattletale, not making eye contact with me. "Come in," I told her, when it was just her opening the door. She gave me a little smile, but she didn’t say anything. I took a minute to get my stuff on. My hair was in a ponytail, the dry heat of the rain touching my hair. A plastic bottle with a label in Sharpie on the front was wet with the rain. I had this huge backpack, three times over, and I couldn’t bring it all on. It was uncomfortable, heavy, and unwieldy as a result. The hardest part of the day, at least, had been putting my costume together. I’d spent way too much time looking at schematics and prototypes, and I’d spent a lot of time standing in line in the rain, desperately hoping that one of the supervillains would show. The primary reason for my existence at this hour was the Suicide Squad thing. I crossed the lobby to the Boardwalk, taking the side road that led off the Boardwalk and into the Docks. The area was narrow, winding and empty. There were no people, no cars, no shopkeepers or passers-by. There was only a single body and the body had been kicked into the deep end of the narrow dock that surrounded the boarded-up end of the ferry. As I got further down the road, I could see the remains of the memorial that had once stood near the ferry, near the Boardwalk, growing in size. As far as the eye could see in any direction, it expanded. As Tattletale had said, it was a blank. Nothing had changed. I could only guess as to what had happened. Grue’s going to fix it? As I arrived, a crowd had gathered at the foot of the memorial. Heroes, villains, sympathizers, friends and enemies, all gathered together. The city was still very much in the foreground, with the recent events only looking to the ruins for clues. As I walked, I could see the Squad’s headquarters in the distance, surrounded by a ring of tents and surrounded by a larger group of them. The vans that had been set up with parahumans in the event that Dragon or her next of Kin failed to arrive were now clustered around it, as if the Dragon had nowhere to go. The Mayor was in a tent most of the time. It was why he had a spare apartment in the Docks, even if he didn’t stay there when things went to town. The other heroes stayed at the posh hotels. If he went to one of the shelters, it could be disastrous, as some heroes wouldn’t want to be forced to stay in an apartment that was occupied. I saw the Mayor and his family outside one of the tents, a backpack slung over one hand. He was smiling a little as he looked me over. I met his eyes, and he shook his head sadly. Outside the window, a woman spoke slowly, a touch stern. "After fifteen years, the city will still refuse to acknowledge that there is a problem. They will say there is no news, no cameras, no reporters, that this is one of the quieter big cities in America. When they complain that there isn’t enough funding or interest in the city, or any of that, Chicago will just keep losing people and stories." I nodded. "When will this end?" she asked. "Five years from now, if they haven’t gotten ======================================== SAMPLE 75 ======================================== I must have, and I want you to know I’m not proud." "Is that a yes?" he asked, raising his hands, as if to check her. "No. Not proud." "Well, I’m quite embarrassed when people are who they pretender to, when they’re not telling the truth," he commented. "I’m quite proud of you, Mr. Grove. You pulled an ‘emperor’s new clothes’ trick. But you’re not above the law, are you?" "We have to," he said. "Big deal? You punched my sister in the stomach, you punched my mom in the head, and you’ve even murdered people." "Yes," I said. I wasn’t sure if I was laughing or if I was upset. "Big deal. Yes. He was honorable, considerate. He would have gotten stitches, but he didn’t want them. He-" "You’re a bully, Mr. Grove. The day he changed his name and became a cheerleader for the Wards was the day he learned his people were still trying to kill him." "I changed because I was mad at the world and I wanted to change back," Mr. Grove said. "And because I had to, to compensate for the fact that I’d never been in a real fight before. Because I was so angry I couldn’t think straight, angry I couldn’t express my thoughts in anger, I’ve been abusing my powers." "This sounds a little meditative," my dad said. Mr. Grove’s eyes narrowed. "It isn’t, it isn’t. I’m just… I’m getting lost in the flow of it. I don’t have all of the information, I don’t have all of the strength, I don’t have all of the courage it takes to fight, you know?" Mr. Grove’s patience was running out. "I know." "You’re losing your powers. You can’t keep up with the rate at which the forcefield goes up and things come alive, and suddenly you’ve got the ability to move, to kick and scream and something else. You’re a laughingstock, getting less and less of a priority." "I’m not or I wouldn’t be who I am. I’m only getting more frustrated and frustrated at the same time." "How do you even do it? There’s a scene where you’re standing there and someone picks you up and places you in a three-man squad. Are you really going to ignore that?" Mr. Grove’s patience was running out. "I have an escape route. I have a decoy. I’m not about to get shot and put me in that situation again." "If that’s the case, you shouldn’t be sneaking up on people, doing what you did in the movies. It’s wrong. It’s why you get shot." "Then what?" "That’s the second thing I want to get to. The guy you kidnapped was only a de facto leader. I’m trying to set things in motion for the future. If you don’t go over the next few pages, I’m going to assume you know what you’re doing." "Not why I’m doing this. I’m doing it for everyone involved. My dad, my school, the heroes, you name it. If I have to die so you can do what you want, I’m dead. And if you guys can take that from me, then I’m pissed. I’ll spend the rest of my life pissed." He stepped close, and his hand touched my shoulder. I tensed, but he didn’t move a centimeter. He let go, and I stepped back. He went on, "Maybe I’m being a bit hard on you, but this is what I’m dealing with. You’re controlling me. You have a secret weapon. If I’m going to share it, you need to let me use it too." "A weapon?" I asked. "I don’t think this is a good idea." "That’s why you’re here. I think I have an idea about what you want. But there’s a few things you need to keep in mind. First off, you� ======================================== SAMPLE 78 ======================================== "As you could guess," Brian smiled. "You weren’t lying when you said your legs were aching. They are." "They are." "I know I said I couldn’t go to the gym because of the concussion, but I have to tell you, I think my legs are definitelyching up just a bit. Didn’t think I’d be so clumsy with my new found power." "I can’t tell if you’re lying or if you’re remembering the truth." I shook my head. "Neither. I’m better now, physically, than I was then. The hits are less and I felt a sudden strength in my legs that I hadn’t experienced in a long time. I can step again, now, and I promise I won’t have that weakness for the next while." "Really, Tattletale?" Alec asked. "You’re not crazy, after all." "Amy’s right," Brian conceded. "Oh god," Sierra breathed. "I’m sorry," I spoke up, "I wasn’t thinking straight. I was only trying to help and she was attacking me." "She’s not dangerous," Tattletale said, "I saw that when I was testing her and saw how she acts around people who know me to. She doesn’t get along with people who don’t know her. It’s not her thing to attack. I think she would’ve told you so I can back it up." I kept my mouth shut. "What did you tell her? The truth?" "She was lying. I think she was trying to get on my case so I’d start to hunt down those Slaughterhouse Nine crooks and help her. It backfired, because she was trying to get information that could help her fight us." "That’s probably the most I’ll ever give you, but you could have done a lot more. You didn’t have to kill them." I shook my head, "You could have explained, pointed out the mistake. I-" "But you didn’t. You have your memories tampered with, but you didn’t mess with anyone’s memories to get a rise out of them." "It worked." "Was that the point where you realized you’d been doing it wrong? Where you stopped doing what you were doing and let yourself start doing what you were doing again? In the process, you inadvertently saved my life." "A lot of people have," I said, sighing. The lack of emotion in the room made me think of my dad, or Armsmaster, or Skidmark. Brian sighed, "One of two things is going to happen. Either I find Tattletale and we patch her up, or she finds her sister and we save her." "If it’s the former, and you say the bloody truth, I’ll tear you to shreds. You get put in Azazel, and I’ll find the rest of your teammates and we can patch you up." Brian sighed, "I could die. There’s no other way you can preserve your family." "You’d look pretty good as a corpse, don’t you think?" He could see me spluttered at the idea. The one deep-voiced niece I had that wasn’t in the mood for somersaults. I suddenly realized why, as Brian and the others left, taking up the left side of the sidewalk. I felt like a deer in the moment, unsure of how much time I had left. Knowing I couldn’t do anything about it, I took hold of the cardboard and used it to wipe at my wounds. "Hey," Aisha said, "You okay?" I nodded and took a deep breath before responding, "Restin… I’m fine." "You’re close. We should hurry and stand apart until we run out of time, then we’ll be on top of the situation," she said. I nodded and stood. As Brian and the other characters walked by, I picked up the glass shard and held it between my fingers, then used my hand to wipe at the wound. When I was done, I picked up the shard and held it under my arm, then downed the rest of the tea. "So, Aisha, what you wanted to know?" "What is it?," she mumbled into my shoulder. "It’s not a good sign ======================================== SAMPLE 81 ======================================== Shit. My hand was cramping and I felt as though something heavy had smashed into my arm. The furniture had toppled onto its side, and the people in the room were hauled off to one side. The side of the building that loomed over me was swaying as I watched one of the hospital beds perforated the tile on the floor. People screamed and pushed and shoved, and one another launched objects at the guard. The guard retreated into a side hallway as the mob reached for him. He threw a curtain of turf at the advancing group, and it tore free. The next instant, a chunk of brick flew after him, striking his curtain of turf. He had to roll to avoid the chunk of brick, which skidded to a halt a few feet ahead of him. He had to roll further to avoid the next chunk, and another curtain of turf kicked in his general direction. Roll again, and he fell, landing on his back. But he didn’t get up. The guard retreated a step, then stopped, backing a little. I saw one of the other guards move, as if seeing what it was doing. A twenty-foot blade stepped out of the darkness, rose to the guard’s throat. He struggled for balance, but it didn’t help. The blade pressed against his throat, making it worse than it had been before. The blade retracted into the armor at his back, and the expanding darkness sealed it off. For an instant, we were the only thing in the room. The darkness faded, and we emerged into the corridor with the window. The guard with the scalpel rose, throwing himself to one side to meet us with a start. Blood welled from his nose. Scion. He’d fought Behemoth once, and I knew how it had gone down. I couldn’t even put a name to the feeling I’d experienced. Not the bad feeling that so many had when they’d lost something, when their friends or loved ones had been hurt, or when they’d found a traitor in their midst. It was the knowledge that this would always be the case, whether they won or lost. I’d fought him three times, and it had been one-sided. I was aware I was repeating myself. We’d only made it twenty-four hours. Numb, I turned my attention to the coughing, sneezing, struggling girl. My bugs moved, gathering in a thick cluster around her, while my own bugs sought safety to the point that they were almost dormant. When I’d recovered enough to give the order, I used the largest, wisest, strongest bugs I had available. Blacks, browns, whites and reds. The types of bugs that could form a human’s blood were also common enough. I gave my bugs bone fragments, crushed human hearts, and any number of other things I considered valuable. Once or twice, I even fed some bugs to the girl. I was pretty sure she wouldn’tHESITIVE about using her power on anyone, but I’d give her what she needed. Numbly, I turned my attention to the remaining two members of the team. Colin and Monica. Monica had torn through the pile of luggage Sofia had hidden in her jacket, and was tearing through the dented case and the wooden door of the flight deck. My bugs moved toward her, not because I gave them orders, but because I was sure she was going to hurt someone if she didn’t. She caught me looking and made a sudden show of being very upset. I was almost certain she had a gun in hand. I quickly shot her. When I realized what had just happened, I gave the order, "Take her down!" The gun MAL was still in the case she was in began to vibrate and move again. The holster FFXIV hadn’t made me put in, because I didn’t want to lose any bugs in her way. As I laid fresh bugs on her, I realized her powers. Barrier, flight, hypersensitivity to vibrations and heat, plus more. Barrier was the weakest, slowest to develop, cost effective to destroy, but it took a long time to produce results. Sofi had to be second in command, probably because she could cry like that and nobody else in the cell had the same ability, but it had to be temporary. I was very careful. I was very prepared. When the fight was over and I was alone with my bugs, I moved them into place to form a barrier. I still took extra precautions with them, staying in the building as ======================================== SAMPLE 84 ======================================== The way Jack had described it, we had gone up against Tōng Líng Tǎ, the first target he’d attacked. Not only had he been more powerful, but he’d also used fire, rather than water, to strike his opponents down. "So we just need to take down one of them?" I asked, covering my ears as a gun fires into the air, close enough to be heard. It makes for an eerie sound when you hear it at work. "One of the Nine," Tecton said. "One of the Nine?" "One of the ones Pure doesn’t touch. One of the ones that plays up the poor schmoes, the ones that fuck well but don’t get hot in the neck," Tattletale said. "Oh shit," Regent groaned. "They’re not as strong or bad as they look at first glance," I said. "If you’re just wanting to stop them, we can probably get through this without too much trouble." "They’re definately not worth the effort," Tattletale said. Oh shit. I might actually be able to stop them if I got lucky, manage my bugs well enough, get a few effective bugs in position, manage my costume, but even a well-timed trap could fuck me over. I’d never been Macro, only Macro at its best. "Then let’s go," I said. We stampeded after them, skidding on the roads without sidewalks,ina’toma and my bugs getting tangled up in the cracks in the road. I could sense them a short distance away, through the bugs of my bugs that were able to move on asphalt. They didn’t stop. Instead, they10 started running, flying, as fast as the speed of sound. "Fuck me," Tecton said. "They’re going so fast." "Is he moving faster than thought?" I asked. "No idea," Tattletale said. "He probably is, but he’s having a field day. I think he’s focusing more on the civilians than on us." The heroes were returning. I could sense Shatterbird, Ballistic, Vista and Kid Win standing in the doorway of the nondescript office building. Assault was with them, but he wasn’t joining the group that had just arrived. That would be record number of bugs. I felt a bit of a chill. Record numbers of bugs. "They’re here," I said to Tattletale, "Sort of. Can’t really call them off the leash, but Polaris does have a pretty good deterrent ability going for him. So long as he doesn’t get hurt, he’s probably set up to attack at a moment’s notice." "True enough," she said. In the blink of an eye, the number of bugs in the area dropped to zero. Zero was their regular speed. It made sense that they wouldn’t want to exhaust their reserves of available bugs. "Two more questions," I said. "Why?" Tecton asked. "To…" I trailed off. "What questions?" "The ones you dropped on me when I was in the hospital. I’m not sure if it’s for the better or for the worse, but I decided not to cooperate with you guys. It was a… moments ago." "You left the hospital," Tattletale spoke. "Yeah," I said. "What?" "Leviathan made landfall," I said. "Like I said, kinda close." "What do you mean?" "Ranged telekinetics call it improvisation. I’d be explaining how powers work, but I think I’m on the verge of figuring it out. Got powers, moved locations, formed new powers with the help of a motes that were shoving off or flying through the mass of unknown raw materials. Largest raw materials being raw flesh and bone. All getting consolidated and shaped." "And you didn’t cooperate," Miss Militia said. "No," I said. "Not at all." "Intentional?" Tecton asked. "Yeah," I said. "Yours and Azazel’s." "Shatterbird teleported you into a bad spot," Myrddin said. "Theterslot, I think." "Noted," I said. "Thanks." "I’ll elaborate shortly," Tecton said. "First, I ======================================== SAMPLE 87 ======================================== "That’s the impression I’ve got, even if I never met the person," Rime said. "You only heard of her because you were trying to find a way past the Docks." "I heard of her, a few days ago. I was checking to see if you were coming for me." Rime gave her a look that could have burned her hair. "Did you kill her?" "No. I guess I could find out, maybe, but it’s not worth the effort. She was hot on his trail, and Scion found her." Rime nodded slowly. "I’m glad you’re doing this, for her sake and for the interest you’re showing, but this isn’t for me." "It’s not hard to figure out," the Number Man said. "She had a trigger event. Given our unique relationship, and our reservations about the scale and timing of these visits, I’d think she’s mostly for keeping us in the dark." "I’m glad too. If it means anything, though, it’s more timely." "All the more reason to hide," the Doctor said. "Good luck." The Doctor smiled. With that said, the craft lifted off. Tracker one. The silver shard that made up the device kept moving, evenly spaced out by the gaps around each portal. It rose into the sky, and it seemed to well up with every passing second, growing rapidly and extremely faint. It was only when the device was nearly at the top that it stopped, starting to fall. Now it settled. The device contained a collection of cogs, and the slower of the two moved the vehicle, the more unstable the chain of cogs. Still drifting towards Earth Bet, the silver shard cutting into the Earth’s crust. Rune shot the Earth’s sky with the arrow. It was enough to destroy the earth, but the shard didn’t penetrate as deep as it could go. It struck the surface a fraction of a second after the vehicle touched ground. The shard didn’t come back to the core. Ligeia and the Doctor switched tacks. The Number Man seemed to have the advantage here. The van turned and went the way of the shortcut. The shard didn’t come back to the core. It struck the settlement again. Another cut. The earth fell out of the sky, left to sink slowly into the sea of ice. "Tattletale," I said. "Ligeia, put me on the phone with-" "On it," she said. "I got the data already. You can reach me by yourself, with any questions." I hung up. Ligeia was unaccounted for. She was too far away. I ran into the snow, plows and hauling bands of chain into the hole. It was only a matter of feet from Rune and I when we got there. "Rune?" I asked. "Is- is she dead?" "No. She’s still alive." I shook my head. "But she’s close." "Because of how fast you made her. You can’t make a living being, understand? The human body’s just a collection of cells, a mish mash of what we’ve got now, what we’d have then, and what we’d have after we woke up. A living thing, at the end of it all." "A lot of people would say it’s because of my power," I said. "But that’s not the whole story. The human body’s just a collection of cells, a mish mash of what we’ve got now, what we’ve have now, and what we’ve have then." "That’s true, but how do you even know what part of what you’ve got is dead? Or if it even is…" She trailed off. "Shh," I said. "It’s all part of a whole. We’ve just got to start somewhere, you understand? And looking at this mess, we think there’s a problem." She nodded. "A problem." "So you’ve got me on board as a consultant, as someone that can help you. And I’m paying you handsomely for our information. All for the interest you’ve already taken. Inflation right there is theft." "Interesting." "Yours truly ======================================== SAMPLE 90 ======================================== Deception and tragedy have always have a special meaning to people, and this seems to have changed nothing in that respect. The number of people who died in the brief period of peace was the tragedy, the fact that twenty-four hours had passed without any reports on the situation in Maple or elsewhere in Brockton Bay, the possibility that twenty-four hours was the limit of their patience, or both. It was only the fact that curfew was lifted twenty-four hours after the incident, with practically everyone at the scene of the incident accounted for, that the notion of an occupying presence in the city for twenty-four hours was comprehensible. Only an occupying one-horned woman with a Trump-emblazoned mask and an oversized teddy bear topped to her stepped in to condemn the fair-skinned, one-sided gangsta rapscallion for her egregious disrespect for the truce. "This is a statement, do you intend to uphold it?" "I do. I won’t fail you." "Do it again and she’ll kill you." "Okay. She did say I was the best at figuring stuff out," the girl with the Trump mask said, making it clear she was joking around the horned woman. The girl with the crooked smile turned to the girl with the crooked smile. "That’s not a good omen. You’re about to get in trouble, too. It’s very well earned." "Thought so. I’m not really in a position to say. I’m just going to do my job. If you don’t play along, I can picture things. I’m going to stick you in the Birdcage for the time being, and whenever that is, I’m pretty sure I can go get my revenge on those fuckers for nearly murdering your life." "We’re not going to be blackmailers," the girl with the crooked smile said. "This is a big city, and it’s important to have the sympathy of the people around you, so you do listen to us." The horned woman waved her hand, and a red-brown cloud passed over her head. She lowered her voice. "I don’t expect you to be a hero. In fact, I should expect you to be a villain. But you’re helping. Doing what you can to stop the big bad supervillain. Maybe helping will get you on TV, maybe it’ll get you sympathy, and maybe it’ll get the world to see what a bunch of hypocrites you are. You know what that feeling is like? Being unloved? Being the butt of everyone’s jokes? Well, I can’t help that much. I can’t protect you, can I?" The cloud passed. "I don’t think you have it in you to kick down that nice woman, either. I hope the rest of us don’t either. Now, let me tell you a little story. It’ll help you to stay centered." "About what?" "You’re going to Eugene with me. And I will be leaving you behind. You’ll be free to go where you need to go, but not to come back. Not for a few days, not forever. There will be time, I promise. I just didn’t plan on being the point of departure. I will stay in an apartment in the north end of the city. My parents and I will live there until they say otherwise. The rest of you will be visiting your parents in the morning, then go back to Brockton Bay. To return to some semblance of normalcy." She waited, watched as the heroes around her shifted position, looked for an escape route. "This isn’t so farfetched," Hero said. "It’s not so farfetched," she echoed him. "But I think we should be making some damn sense." "To go this far?" Hero asked, disbelieving. "If it’s that serious, then we can postpone." "I’ll come," she said. He frowned. "If you aren’t willing to turn the other cheek, or lend a hand, or offer help in other areas, then I can. I won’t ask your permission, but I will ask you to lend me your assistance where it is needed." "What needs doing?" Hero asked. "Bastard needs to rest," she said, and there was a note of pain in her voice, "Might help to have someone to stand by." He shook his head. "No. I get it. ======================================== SAMPLE 93 ======================================== It was, he knew, almost a testament to how good Weaver was that he had come to feel more at ease, as far as her was concerned. Which was good, bad and ugly. The good The good It was good. It set him straight after his nightmare, not long after he’d heard the news reports on Ingenue’s show. A bunch of kids celebrating their favorite artist’s death in costume. So many laughs. So many wants. His mom had died from anorexia at a young age, and though she had occasionally appeared for morning announcements and other occasions, Ingenue had never picked up on the fact, probably because she hadn’t wanted to bring up the issue with her mom. Not when her dad was away on business. In fact, it was a good thing, Baumann mused, with the way his mom’s eating disorder had twisted in the three years they’d been married. It had left him pretty isolated as a young man, which was a problem when he went out in costume. Especially when he was in Brockton Bay. Roughly half of the couples in the Wingate household had been on the periphery of the chaotic, unrequited love triangle. Rachel had been one of them, and she’d recovered pretty darn well. Cried herself weak in bed, once. No matter which direction he went in their direction, he found himself headed in the same direction all couples did. Leaving Rachel and the kids in the car. He kissed the way most people kissed for a romantic connection – with the knife and the gun, though, and not with his own face. Just the kissing was itself abusive. Almost expecting a slap in the face. But he found himself thinking idly that he was okay with that because he didn’t want to hurt Rachel. That maybe his wrists were white as a sheet, sheets just as wrinkle-prone. That maybe, just maybe, the way his memories worked was that he could give them to her so he could remember her without hurting her. He suppressed the urge to feel sorry for himself. It was a nice idea, and he did want to protect her, but that wasn’t why he was here. He was stopping her from hurting the kids. The idea bothered him a little, and he couldn’t properly articulate it as he’d avoided feeling guilty or panicking over the idea until he was physically lifted off the ground and the couple in the car hadn’t noticed. It was a mile away, but he felt a twinge of relief when he reached the far end of the property, where a gate stood guard. He had to pass through, and stopped at the gate, peering through as he leaned against the wall. There weren’t any cars on the other side. That meant one person entering and leaving at a moment’s notice. He unlocked the gate and stepped outside, across the grass to the water, then up the hill to the buildings at the back of the water intake area. No doubt there was a checkpoint set up to protect the property. He was joined by others in entering and leaving. People in parkas, others in dress clothes, not much older than the kids who played in the park. He crossed the grass to check on his family. No problems. They were there, it seemed like. A problem struck him when he glanced over his shoulder. Someone was on guard near where he’d been staying. A teenager, dark skinned, wearing a business suit and carrying a baseball bat. A problem that could have been averted. He glanced back to ensure the man was keeping a safe distance, and saw another of the suspicious people with him. A woman with auburn hair and a black jacket, with gloves on. She wore a silk night-vision mask, and a silk-screened binocular with a focus on her face. Confidence, assured. He supposed it would be better if he didn’t have to be here. The man in the business suit cautiously ventured forward. "System error. Will be unavailable until further notice." "We’re here for your problem, Chevalier. Thank you." "Dispatch," Dispatch communicated through his communicator, "report back when you’ve reached your destination." "Good," Chevalier responded. "We’ll be in touch." "And us, M.K." "Please. Chevalier, Tattletale, Rosenberg and I will be attending to your residents. In the meantime, we’ll be watching the perimeter for movement from the PRT’s side. They should expect an escort when they approach ======================================== SAMPLE 96 ======================================== How long can it be before someone contacts us, tries to get in touch with us? We’re a protected species, fourth estate. If the government gets wind that we’ve got a schizophrenic supervillain living in the area, they’ll notice fast. They’ll know what to look for." "That was always my impression. It makes sense," Tattletale said. "Even a crazy like Echidna, she could find a loophole, an escape. The problem with that idea is that the government is aware of us, and she could find out what we’re doing. For all we know, she’s figured out a way to place you or your group somewhere besides the general area where the portals would be open." I frowned. "If it’s a trap," Tattletale said, "It’s probably got some clever maneuver in it. You ever think about how the Slaughterhouse Nine are going to game the system? The fact that they’re clever, they’re aware of what we’ve got on record, but they’re not about to let a mentally unstable teenage girl join the team? Or maybe they know you’re unstable, and they’re just throwing you in the garbage." "It’s not a perfect system," I said. "Lots of flaws. But it’s working. We’re lucky to be in a position where we can actually try to catch them, because we’re pretty firmly locked into an arc where we either need to cooperate with the government and agencies that are trying to catch us, or we need to play into the government’s hands. Having Tattletale and Regent in the area is a good sign, and it’s a safe haven for certain factions, mainly the Thinkers." "I get that," Grue said, "But-" "Thinkers?" I asked. "-There’s a faction within the government that’s run off with the clients. They’re receiving a cut. Which, I gather, is larger than just the ones on the list. They’re interested in bringing you back, for whatever reason." "Golem," Tattletale said. "Golem," Tattletale said, "Is aware of the situation. I got the translation, mostly from the female analyst, but I can get more details if you two get a chance. They want you to join. It won’t be easy, but they’re hoping that you’ll agree to join them because of what they’ve done to you, and because they’re hoping that you’ll join them." I nodded. "Also, I’d like you to know that their scalpel was longer than your fork." "What?" "The scalpel. It’s one of the tools they have that they claim can cut through anything. Except it usually involves something biological, something physical. Bonesaw’s clones can apparently get around that restriction, but I read that something about them being far more flexible in their construction. I don’t know what they can do, but I’m thinking you can get through even the most absurd of builds with a single hit of the scalpel." "How?" "More or less." I nodded. I didn’t want to say that, but it was pretty shocking to hear Tattletale talk about cutting walls with knives. It was messy, obviously disquieting and, above all, incredibly disconcerting. "Okay," I said. I wasn’t sure what to say next. What had I been thinking? Stay quiet? Propagate? "Okay," Tattletale said. No need to be coy. As it turned out, the heroes had come prepared with all of their tools and pieces of construction material. There was a humanoid shape with a broad head, thick gloves and mask, and a chainmail lined rough-hewn kimono jacket with a fur ruff. They gathered, extending arms around their group, and then made their way up the length of the thick wooden planks, picking up construction materials as they went. Fur mats, construction materials, screws, nails, lengths of hotwired cable, lengths of aluminum wire, planks and plansks. "I’m sensing trouble," Tattletale said. "Enemy sharpens focus, sensing others nearby, may be able to see through it. Notice anyone reaction?" I nodded. "The sharp end of the blade. At the knee or above the knee, on the side or near the waist, or above the shoulder. Attack is most likely ======================================== SAMPLE 99 ======================================== t::SetThreadID;t=13;11>;t 10;13;11>;t:SetThreadID:; dat <-Prism t::SetThreadID:;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11>;t:13;11:;t:13;11>;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13;11:;t:13] Greetings. I wish to report a glitch. This isn’t a slick website. The navigation is awkward, the interface isn’t particularly well designed, and the images all look very different from one another. The materials used for the backgrounds don’t match any model or concept we’ve seen before. There’s also inconsistencies, as yours truly noted, seen here and there. I’m not sure I’m a fan of the designs, and I don� ======================================== SAMPLE 102 ======================================== The dark tinker in my peripheral vision had disappeared. Was that a case fifty-three? I could sense the four men and the satellite perched on the wall of the control room. Every action was mediated by a subroutine that would prevent any men from speaking until they were near me. There were six of them, and two more were watching from the window at the other side of the room. "One minute to talk," the voice emanated from the speaker in my right ear, muffling but enhancing the reception of the voice in my right. I waited patiently. The moment there was no further communication, the men in the control room began climbing the stairs. "Mr. Grove? Mr. Calle?" "It’s Taylor," the voice I could detect in my peripheral vision wasjaw-choking. "Mr. Calle. Is everything alright?" "No. My lord and sir thought it would be wise to employ a psyops operation to address this very crisis." "I see." I passed through the open door and into the control room. A cacaphony of noises shattered the silence. "Sir?" I called out. He was already leaving through the door. "Spot the trouble?" "No sir. My lord and sir tells me to be on guard. He wouldn’t tell me the situation, even if I seek it out. He only says my journ… let me look into it." "That’s wise. Would you accompany me?" "Yes sir." I felt a swell of fondness towards my dad. The respect my dad showed for me was further bolstered by the fact that he’d expected me to follow through. "I’ll wait here. I’ll explain in due time, when the situation is over. For now, you should know that I have lately acquired a rather formidable protege. She bore my last name." I felt a dimple, little more than an inch across, appear in the midst of my empty field of view. An instant later, a crack tore through the line. I was gone, teleporting away. "Potter," my dad said. I’d gone ahead before he said it. "Did you do this with the other spell? The one you taught to Mister and Mrs. Knott?" Potter shook his head. "I’m not privy to either, sir." Mr. Calle stopped in his tracks. "Is this only one of those instances?" Potter nodded, still not talking. "Yes. The one that forced your hand against the order of the Whiteiggers. I think it was like that, too." "We’ll deal with it, then," Mr. Calle said. My dad and I only exchanged looks, before Mr. Calle stepped into the room. He wasn’t quite at his full height, but he had a tousled beard, and his buzz cut had grown in since we’d met, to a more normal length. He had old-fashioned glasses, too, unlike some of the people I’d met at school. An attractive young man, with a fondness for gray and an almost honorary fondness for his old man. "Forget I mentioned anything," he said, settling into a chair. "Forget the shining and focus on the rest of this?" "It was brilliant," I said. "And we’ll focus on the work in progress. The whiteboard, I think we deserve a share of the credit for that." "I’ll only accept part of the credit, yes sir," Mr. Calle said. He turned to leave, and Ia chanced a look at his secretary. "She’s working alongside Mr. Grove. He was kind enough to stop by without waking him up in the middle of the night." "She has a turn of mind, sir," she said. "Something along those lines." "She will keep on doing that, won’t she?" I asked. "I’d be careful about what she did," he said. "Based on what I heard, it seems reckless." What had I heard? I turned away from the pile of windows, taking a seat on the whiteboard, to see the numbers PROJ being played out. PROJ increased by an eye-for-an-eye margin every time I brought something to the front of the room, a bottle of juice, a slice of pizza or something of the sort. PROJ hit all the way up to ⅔CCT, then ⅣCCT, then Ⅳ and then Ⅳ, and ======================================== SAMPLE 105 ======================================== I snapped it open, felt out with a dull headache and a light stinging pain where the head of the dildo was digging into my lips. I tried to brush it away, but it didn’t remove the swelling. They’re making it worse. Not hard to figure out why. The way the system is set up, it’s all coordinated, everything in order. Problems occur, and they’re dealt with. It’s unfortunate, but there’s no other way to put it. He’s gone very quiet. But he’s not going to cooperate, I suspected. The small remote in my hand was a dull silver, useless. There wasn’t anything to click or move the joystick or buttons. There wasn’t even anything to click or move the mouse. That was despite the fact that I very nearly wanted to use my own weapon to help move it. Had to rely on others. I reached out with my power, felt the crowd around me, counted the people standing around me, and then I found the crowd control measures. My bugs disappeared from my hand, leaving me defenseless as the loudspeaker blared, "Invasion of the Bastards! This is a direct order from Head Chef Administrator, codenamed Adept. Direct hit to the very foundations of the PRT! All members of the Brockton Bay team, present and future, are requested to report to headquarters immediately, and are directed to assemble in four to five minutes for placement in the administrative offices of the PRT, with any other members being instructed to do the very same. All data on the PRT, including but not limited to personnel, schedules, contact information and channel preferences are being deleted." The heroes erupted in a vaguely laughing manner, except for Feenie who managed a cough and Chevalier, who went stiff-faced. The Chief Director of the PRT, the Mayor, the police chief and thirty-three state troopers all looked shocked and gathered in a huddle with the PRT officers closest to them. The Chief Director of the PRT, the Mayor looked even more stunned at the idea that a teenage girl could be in charge of a major city service. It took me a few seconds to get my mental footing. I’d just stepped into a massive vault, and the vastness of it, the nature of the work there, caused my mind to go blank. For a moment, I was looking at a digital image of a shape that shouldn’t have been there. DCuit, the ‘idiot chicken’ who had initially kicked me in the hip while I was tethered to the ground inside the bank, climbed to his feet and strode through the revolving door of the room, ignoring the chiefs and their underlings. He wasn’t a Tinker; he was a concrete gorilla. I’d seen him around the bank, and he wasn’t much older than me, probably worked in his home for his entire adult life. He wore a red sweatshirt with a logo on it and black slacks with khakis. He approached from the other end of the room, half of the way through the door and out the other side. I felt the palm of my hand against the outside of the door. Pulling it open felt strange, not because the pull was strong, but because the motion of it felt strangely lazy. Like a puppet being strung up, rather than a master who was unmoored from the puppet. The woman that was guarding the door also had a pretty intimidating gun in hand. Was she the enforcer for the chief director? It didn’t really matter. Whatever her official title, she was letting people go free. A few of the royalty were free while others were held at gunpoint. The mayor and chief director were held at gunpoint, after being nice enough to be let out while we were being watched. It was surprising how easily the organized crime element of Brockton Bay could fall apart when the city was on the brink of falling apart itself. The same thing happened when the major players realized that the chaos the city was experiencing was a result of a number of internal stresses. When the Slaughterhouse Nine were gone, the players who had built the city and the county into a regional gambling hub could regroup and make adjustments. The adjustments would likely involve eliminating or mitigating the external stresses, freeing up police and other resources to devote to the internal security aspects of things. It wasn’t that impossible to imagine what might happen when the city wasn’t so pretty and dismal anymore. The mayor, for her part, wasn’t happy about the developments. She’d tried to work something out, offer a bit of a carrot, something, but there was no real commitment there. It would only encourage the ======================================== SAMPLE 108 ======================================== Share. Working on one film. Working on one film. We caught up with Chevalier and Reyes just in time to spot a contingent of the Protectorate and Wards, led by leader and newly promoted regent Myrddin. Chevalier looked over his shoulder, smiled, and spoke to Nilbog. "Numbingahan." "Yes?" "You are alive. I was worried you would be, but you’re here, and we have your prey. The Teeth." "We have three questions," Chevalier said. "Yes. Can I ask which questions?" "The first and most important question is whether we can put this abominable Mudblood down?" "I suppose I can’t refuse you with this kind of equipment?" The mud flowed. Nilbog’s creatures flowed forth, connected by threads. Chevalier cast a glance over his shoulder at Miranda. The girl leaned forward over the gun in her hand. Miranda continued, "If I may?" "I would like you to go to any trouble at a moment’s notice. That means you and your servants go to any trouble, whether it be attacking my devious plans, rescuing my people, defending me or helping to kill me. If you fail, I will be quite capable of handling you. Hm? You see?" There was no reply. "Yes. Aye, sir." "Good. When you are done, return to your master. I will give you the results of any blood tests you prescribe. You may keep any blood products as a sign of your thanks." "I have been abundantly rewarded with the most perfect food and drink, both human and wild, and I shall return to them as thank you." "Yes sir." With that, the two men disappeared from the clearing. Chevalier pondered the situation. He watched as Bonesaw strode away, hissed at him as if he had bitten or tried to bite her tongue. He refrained from doing so. Bonesaw’s tongue was one of those sounds that only literate people would understand, irrationally enough. Everyone else in the clearing, including himself, knew it as well. She had only responded to the second of her overtures for a cigarette. "I see you have a haven made for yourself." "Haven?" "Where are you headed?" "I was going to say a big help is needed for a lot of you. Young people especially." "You have my help." "Yes sir." "Are you angry at me?" "No. I am angry at the world, which has allowed this monster to get to this point. We all need to wake up to this reality. We all need to band together against this enemy." "I wish you could talk to me about this." "I can’t. Your sister saved me, and I only barely survived. More than that, I am still trying to wrap my head around what you are doing. You are sticking me with a situation I did not request, and you have managed to get in touch with someone who did not ask for it." "I can’t imagine what that would be, Sir. The standards my peers are holding themselves." "Of course I can’t, Bonesaw. No. I’d rather talk about other things, like the studies my research has led me to collect, or the minor intruders who have managed to slip past unwary eyes. I’ll be leaving soon, and I will be unable to assist with this issue until I have found a new research subject." "Very well. This is a task for your sister, and hers is a minor one. I would advise you leave Brockton Bay. Failure to do so will invite attack from within." "What will you do instead?" "I will, in turn, but that is not the entirety of my offer. I will, again, be leaving in a short while. My team, their duties will be completed, and I will assist you in returning to the fold." "You will stay, of course. I have faith in your ability, and your sister’s, as I noted, minor ones. I do not wish to quarrel with you." "Your patience is running out." "I am old enough to be your sister, I know enough about you to write you a letter. However long that takes you to return to the fold." "A letter? I will wait, then visit the Brockton Bay branch of the PRT when I am ready." "It is expected that you would ======================================== SAMPLE 111 ======================================== The door opened, and Chevalier strode in, sword in hand. Tattletale stood, eyes widening as she recognized Chevalier, "You worked for Coil. How did he do this? The PRT was infiltrated by-" "Equipment," Chevalier interrupted, his voice a roar, "Payload! Lockdown of Brockton Bay! All Protectorate members are to leave the city!" All of the heroes simultaneously backed away from the podium and the portal’s door. "You can’t do this!" "We can. Chevalier is right. We can’t afford to lose any more time. Dragon’s prepared such a harsh retribution, and there’s no way to stop it if we extend the clock again." "I’m trying," Chevalier conceded. "But this is a drawn out project. We have time to stew, to hash out the details. We need to relish this moment, but it’ll be too brief." I frowned. There was a rumble, strong, and a sudden change in the wind. The portal slammed shut, and for a moment, we were still on a bluff of trees a short distance from the water. The fighting was still ongoing. We couldn’t see it, but my bugs were telling me that there were two heroeships that had gotten away, one with a lead. It was hoping that the hero who’d brought us the portal would have a lead. "Is this as complete a script as you can give us?" the voice was male, fifty or so feet tall, bearing more than a passing resemblance to a human being. He had a beard, I suspected a tail and the coterie of hair that covered almost every part of his face. The only thing that might be a fake were the knives that he held. I turned to look at him. "You’re the bug girl," I said, "And you’re here because you have to be." "I don’t have a lead. Nothing leads us anywhere." "Then trust me. You’re safe with me." His face was split by a stillness that seemed to last forever. He couldn’t move, and his face was eerily still. "And the listener?" the voice was female, somehow strangely younger sounding. "You’re close to your limit." "No. And you? I’m afraid I’m in too much pain to move you." "You could take me back." "You could. But would you do it? Would you want to take this young man? Because he could become a great power, and you could become just as great." "I want to become just as great," Charlotte murmured. "There are heroes who sinken to earth. There are thinkers who land on the moon. There’s this idea of the demigod, that I am him. I have no interest in that. I’m just a woman who has ideas." "We’re not so different," Charlotte said. "We’re pretty much the same. We’ve spent a long time together, we’ve done pretty much everything together, and we don’t really care what other people think. We have pretty much the same highs and lows, too. When we’re angry, we're pretty passionate about what we do, too. But I’m not particularly wise. I’m not particularly powerful. I’m not sure I am a leader or a strategist. I’m not saying I’m not talented. I’m saying I’m not sure I believe in what I do, and I’m not sure I can be sure I’m on the same side when it comes to stuff." The words hung in the air. "I’ve lost people who were important to me, I’ve been heartbroken over the fact that I didn’t have anyone left to support me and my work. I’ve been angry at people who I thought were enemies, because I didn’t trust them and I didn’t know how to convince them otherwise. I’m still angry because I didn’t follow your instructions, and I didn’t follow them because it was easier that way." "I have a plan," Charlotte said, and she had a plan of her own. "It’s not going to work like that. That wasn’t us being buds, this is us taking a lead on this." The old man huffed out a ======================================== SAMPLE 114 ======================================== I needed help, and I needed to do it now if I wasn’t going to be able to look coherently to Boston or San Francisco in a matter of days. The portal to Hell Gate was narrow and plain, two feet across. A metal tube, two feet across, was fixed to the ground. A man took his time getting there, then carefully made his way up the length, stopping at the top, where the portal opened into a brightly lit area. Tattletale and I walked in separate directions. "I need to ask you a question," she said. I swallowed. "What is it?" "A favor. Something illegal." "I have an alibi," she said. "I mean, you were at my house after I got hospitalized, I was at your place the night I broke act." I nodded. "I was going to ask you to do something for me." "I’m not going to do anything wrong." "You were going to Boston. I know, right? I didn’t tell you about it. Understand?’ "Why? Why now?" "I was thinking about the deals I made and the wagering that I was doing. The way Iotank for time when I’m supposed to be making peace with reality. The only reason I didn’t wager more was because I didn’t think I had a shot at beating Coil and get away with it. You’re on the same page, dumbass? Because I’m scared shitless and i-innocent until proven guilty." "I see." "So I approached you, Taylor, offering you a help. You were champing at the bit for an excuse to run, but it turns out I already got there first. It’s why I’m sitting this one out." "And you accepted without issue?" "No, I don’t," she said. "Believe me, I’m glad." "I know you didn’t want it to be this bad," I said. "You… no, you didn’t want it to be easy. You said you were petrified. You were right." Golem clenched his fists. "That’s enough," Glenn said. "You gone? This is quickly becoming an obsession." "I’m here," I said. "I’m fine." Glenn was only slightly more irritated at the intrusion than his boss. "Are you going to take this in?" I shook my head. "I’ll take some things in. But this is in Brockton Bay, damn it. It’s not my area of expertise. If you want to dig for answers, or if you want to learn something about cuffs, temporary restraining orders or arrest quotas, look elsewhere." "Taylor," my dad said. The Family Research Council at the Town Hall was next to switch the settings of their webcams on, so they were continually visible. "Taylor," my dad said, "This isn’t the time or place." "Is that a declaration? I’ve been looking for answers, and I didn’t find any. Why?" "Don’t think so. Taylor, for one thing, is very good at reading us. We know what decisions she’s made, and she’s incorporated those choices into her overall strategy. But we don’t know the second part of what she does." I was beginning to get an idea of what was going on. "She has a very specific trigger event, but she’s done very similar things in the past. When she gets angry, she goes to her trigger event, and she incorporates those emotions and skills into an arsenal of powers. For example, she might have a power that makes anyone and everyone feel a rush, whether they’re in a room together or in the company of three hundred people. That could be a squeeze, a burn, a pinch, a burning, a biting chill. It could be any of those things. But she might have another trigger event that prepares her for those emotions and those uses of her power, and so she can incorporate those energies into other ways. Like how a martial artist might learn a new technique by experiencing it in its fullest. Or maybe she sees a fat person and wants to be like that, to have that kind of a boost." "Fuck," I said. "It’s a spiral." "Yeah," I said. "There’s two parts to it. The good news is that it gets easier ======================================== SAMPLE 117 ======================================== As if to punctuate her statement, she did something very similar a few seconds later, dropping into a crouch and unleashing a torrent of water from her hands. The water ricocheted off of Rime’s body and impacted the shore, splashing the water into the sand, obscuring the scene even as the heat and smoke below seemed to tear through it. Rime had been hit, and I could see why. She was the one who dealt the damage. She stood out because she was tall for her height, but she was small. Compare her to the brunette girl who was skin and bones, with muscles and a fur rug ruff at her shoulders. It wasn’t perfect comparison, but she was a canine Triceratops, which was to say she had a long neck and a small, feminine chest. She would have been far smaller if I didn’t think the chest was what you usually saw in someone who was Max’s size and getting ready to give a killing blow. The comparison wasn’t absolute. She was a tiger in the flesh, if I had to put a word to the perception; she was a horse, now, lumbering forward on the ground, pouncing on her enemies with a fierce, aggressive stride. The fur ruff at her rump was the only thing that gave her away, I noted. It was fluffy, frayed at the edges, and trailing down to trace the tops of her arms and legs. She used her claws to 547532 in the general direction of my kneeling Donnel and Rime. The water splashed as she jumped and touched the ground with her forelimbs, kicking. I’d sent Donnel a letter earlier in the day, letting him know that my services were needed, and that I had a hostage. As precautions, I had Rime deliver the letter to Coil, handing it to him as he walked down the street. I’d also included a small collection of bugs. I wasn’t going to fight to reclaim them, but to ensure that my descent into the city didn’t involve more than a few moments of unconscious lashing out at my enemies. Donnel’s squad, by contrast, was seasoned veterans. Players, that is, except for the players Krieg, Trickster and Vex would be joining. It made sense, then, that they’d be adjusting to the idea of partnership. "Understood," Coil told them, "I won’t ask again. Grue, Regent, you remember the invitation we gave?" Grue didn’t reply, and he turned his back to us, moving to kneel as our representative fell to his knees. Trickster and Imp walked ahead, with the decoys watching them from the sidelines. "Now," Trickster spoke, putting his hand on Grue’s shoulder, "Since you’ve already got the gist of it, let’s discuss the deal. This is our chance to put some turf to work, clear some dead zones and feed some of the more stubborn capes to the front line. Incorporate? It’s the PRT’s plan, not ours. They’d be playing by different rules, they’d expect different things from us. We’d explain our justification for being in charge of an area, and we’d serve as a forum for them to hash out a truce and an agreement before the end of the month. We’d then be in a position to take this city back from them." "You’d get your people killed?" I asked. "You’d kill one of your own men?" "If the matter was easily explained away," he didn’t sound reassured. "If it wasn’t complicated, if it was something that panned out, with people stepping in where they shouldn’t, or dire emergencies unfolding, then my men would die. My lieutenant would get shot. Then I’d have nobody to command and my soldiers die. For their part, the Undersiders would die, because they’d agreed to give up the city, for one reason or another." "For taking the city?" I voiced my thoughts. I felt a lump in my throat. "I’d tell you I’m sorry, that I’m not sure how to sell this," Coil said. "But I don’t think I’m a sell-anything kind of guy. I think you understand what this is all about, and I think we can come to an agreement." I spoke up, "I don’t think we can come to an agreement because we are scared of the other team. Not that we ======================================== SAMPLE 120 ======================================== Get Your Copy of The Daily Targum Here! The copy is currently held in High Priest’s custody. He may be contacted by phone at (718) 893-0888 or email at syndicate@dd-8.com. THESE PRESCRIBED RULES APPEAR IN PART (CORRECTED (Jan. 25, 2012)), A. It is against the law for non-citizens to apply for or become members of the Protectorate or Wards teams in the United States. B. Non-citizens seeking to apply for or join the Protectorate or Wards teams must provide a sworn affidavit in support of the application stating: 1. That the applicant is a citizen or naturalized US citizen; 2. That the applicant has the ability and desire to control his or her biological clock; 3. That the applicant is not under the influence of any substance or entity that is causing or enabling him or her to behave in a manner inconsistent with the expectations he or she displayed during the time he or she was a student at Cornell University; 4. That the applicant has the funds and is willing to devote himself or herself to volunteer his or her time at a later date; 5. That the applicant has the resources and is willing to devote himself or herself to the program and to community service; 6. That the applicant has the references and are willing to submit written evidence of age and competency in English; 7. That the applicant has the accommodations and are willing to submit their names to the local and state licensing boards; 8. That the applicant has the leave and vacation time to apply for and receive care from the PRT; 9. That the applicant has the resources to pay and is willing to make the required contribution; 10. That the applicant has the time and inclination to contribute to the city and county governments; 11. That the applicant has the time and inclination to contribute to the city and county governments; and 12. That the applicant has the proper identification and references. C. Eligibility for a given position is based on a three-pronged test. The first prong asks whether the applicant possess(s) "the ability to perform the listed duties in the future." The second prong investigates whether the applicant possess(s) the "motives and desire to perform the listed duties." The third examines the "ability to set goals and set tasks." 1. If a answer to any of the tests is "Yes," then the position is automatically filled with the Protectorate. 2. If a answer to any of the tests is "No," then the position is unfilled. D. If a position is unfilled, and the applicant possesses(s) the listed abilities but does not have the "idea" or "sensible" for performing the position, then the applicant is contacted and asked to "please explain." The position is then discussed, the appropriate amount of pay offered, and the applicant is/can choose to accept the position or to decline the offer. E. If a candidate declines the offer, then the position is deleted, and the recruiting officer is directed to contact the other major teams (including the Protectorate teams) and make the offer, terms and conditions noted on the post. F. If the position is filled by the employee, the position is discussed, offers are made, and offers are considered with consideration given to the employee’s abilities. G. If the position is filled by the other candidate(s) with greater experience, with more insight into the services offered, then the position is deleted, and the process is reversed. Each offer, rejection, correspondence and call are noted, and measures are taken to verify the other candidate’s age, competencies and suitability. H. If a position is left empty, then the process is reversed and the employee is encouraged to apply, with a consideration given to their salary, work history, work ethic and age. I. If the position is still vacant when the employee arrives, they are informed of the other positions in the nearby buildings, and their responsibilities. They are also directed to collect three (3) blank profiles, to fill them in as a group once all the necessary information has been gathered, and to sign papers confirming this. J. If the employee arrives at a new office building, with little or no prior knowledge of the other buildings in the vicinity, or with a limited ability to relate to other employees, they are encouraged to apply, to improve their skills and to establish a working knowledge of the other buildings. They are also encouraged to collect three (3) blank profiles, to fill them in as a group once all the necessary information has been gathered, and to sign papers confirming this. K. If the employee shows promise but fails ======================================== SAMPLE 123 ======================================== Dad. Why had he been so insistent on this line of questioning? Was it because he was still reeling from my leaving, unable to process everything that had happened? Because he sensed he had something to prove to himself? Or was it that he sensed he was fundamentally unsatisfied, and this line of questioning would help him find that fulfillment. I wasn’t about to complain, but I shifted my position, sitting on the bench next to my dad, back to the cold tile. No, no, no, no. The questions continued. On the one hand, he’d talked about my dad. He’d talked about every single one of us. He’d talked about me, and he hadn’t mentioned you. On the other hand, he hadn’t contradicted any of the claims he’d made in the earlier emails. I read more of his body language, watching and waiting. What did he say? Why was he hunched over so much? Squeezing my hands and staring at me like an animal? I wasn’t about to complain, but it made for a hell of a picture, a hell of a sound to process. He’d shaken my hand, and he’d offered me his hand to shake mine. We had to be close. He wanted to shake my father’s hand, but he had one foot on the bench, so he rested his weight on that leg, instead. Contrast that with the grip I got on the doorframe with my sole, I think the angle of the head and shoulders made it difficult for him to do. Still, I had an advantage. I was able to come to a complete stop, letting go of the hand with one foot, then the other, before starting up again. It meant I didn’t have to account for the way that much harder to slip back out of the chair, and I was able to tense up the entire time, so the movement wasn’t completely jerky. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any easier, I had to take the laptop off of the desk so I could situate my body so I wouldn’t bounce back to the chair at my back when I relaxed. That might have been why his breathing had been steady and quiet. I felt him get a bit of pain at the puncture in the door a moment later. He didn’t show any obvious signs of pain as he shifted restlessly to his knees. When he used his fingertips to scratch the corner of the laptop screen that had been partially impaled, I could see blood welling out from one of the four gaping wounds. I reached out and moved the laptop, turning up the screen and ejecting the hard drive. I did it so I wouldn’t have to cover my tracks at the first opportunity. I knew he would have unlocked it faster if he were human, and he wouldn’t have had access to it anyways. I doubted it would have made a difference, but I could see a dot on the screen, a circle representing the draining of one of the fingers. If it moved, it meant the power was drained from the left half of Brainiac’s body. The ring around his neck lit up as he turned, until it was less a white streak and more a brilliant blue, with two concentric blue ribbons extending from it. When he took his eyes off the screen, his eyes moved to the laptop. I watched that movement on the monitor. I turned the laptop around. Miasma. I could see the spreading clouds of powder around the edges of the walk-in freezer case. "I’ve got an idea," I said, releasing a small voice as we bumped into one another. I didn’t let my voice carry my words. "I want to keep you in the dark as long as possible." "As in, you shouldn’t give your info to anyone that you know is giving you a hard time," he said. "Like he said, he doesn’t like it when I twist it." "I agree," he said, "It’s not worth the risk it poses." I shrugged. "What do you think, Charlotte? You alone could order this guy to stand down, but you don’t want to do that. You’d do it anyways, to keep him in line and give your people a chance." "I’m coming along, Mr. Kiernan." "Wonderful," Mr. Kiernan said. "You are. I do hope, with your career in arms, you’re not gearing up to run the company at any hour." I ======================================== SAMPLE 126 ======================================== Close the blinds. "I’m a special case," the Director said. "You have no conception of what I do. I handle people’s identities, offenses, and cases that involve clear and present danger. For many, their careers and the lives of their loved ones are at stake." She turned, making her way to the bathroom. "Yearning for the days when it was all you, me, our Brendan and my Tinker girlfriend. When it was me and you, Skitter, and you alone, every step of the way." "You sound so distant." "Every step of the way." I closed my eyes for a moment. In those very moments, I might be leaving something behind. The identity I’d borne, for all I’d led you to believe I had it, a secret, a faerie, a tinker’s identity, even. I didn’t know what that was, exactly. "I’m sorry." "You’re a professional liar," the Director said. "Whether you’re telling the truth or not, we can and will track you down." "You know about Creed?" "Maybe so long as they’re protecting him," the Director said. "It’s quite possible they won’t even have to see him. If word gets out about Grue being a halfbaked clone, well, Newter might stop him." I nodded. "I’ve thought about it, and in the end, it doesn’t change the outcome of the situation. If Creed is as powerful as he says he is, if the heroes of Brockton Bay aren’t following every protocol they set in place, then it’s going to happen anyways." "Fuck me," I muttered. The Director rose to her feet. "Yearning for the days when it was all you, me, my little Wards, and we beat the Purifier. All of your friends and family giving us grief, you throwing your lives away in the effort, because you couldn’t beat the Purifier on your own. Scaring the living daylights out of people who could have saved you. All because we could have saved you." "I’m not- I’m not saying we should give up, or that we won’t," I said. "But it doesn’t change the fact that we’re still doing this, and we’re not invincible. And if every one of those people who’ve happily paid the price came after me now, I think I could convince them all to leave the Wards, justify why I’m probably going to be trapped in here longer than I’ve been alive, and still walk away satisfied." "You’re not thinking along the right lines," the Director said. I shrugged. "We’re wearing masks, we’re not really human, and so much of what we’ve done is for the sake of protecting the public. We fought the Nine, and not for the sake of stopping the Nine, or even in stopping general criminals. I mean, you guys literally surrounded me, and you did that to me. I was sitting at home, waiting for the right time and the right moment, and you guys stepped in." "And you, Alexandria, decided to attack a man you wanted to protect," the Director said. Again, the lack of concern on her face. "You had to understand, I barely recognize any of my old faces. None of my friends or family remembers me, and the people who do remember me fondly are others who crossed my path. I’m very annoyed at myself, that I got mugged for the second time in two years. I’m pretty damn sure I didn’t commit the crime, but a quick Google search and you got the picture." I didn’t respond. I was waiting for my coffee to cool, and then I would address the situation with my lawyer. "Three young heroes met their untimely deaths this past week," the Director said. "It’s regrettable, but…" She trailed off. I saw the slight lift in her train of foot as she raised her foot, then leaned forward to extend a hand. "You raised a hell of a lot of money, getting into this situation, paying me to keep my mouth shut. I urge you to speak. Because if you don’t, I think we’ll see a great deal of conflict in your future. Quite likely more than you’d like. And we may have cause to hold you back, Director." "Yeah?" she leaned ======================================== SAMPLE 129 ======================================== Think about what it means. We lost Legend, the captain of the Dragon’s Teeth. We lost Eidolon, the thinker. Perhaps most galling was the thought that went through my mind when I lost Coil. Coil had been the one to lead us, and now he was gone. So much. I coughed lightly. "It’s a mistake of historic proportions. I didn’t foresee these circumstances." "Of course it is," Bonesaw said. She found the speaker and reached for Amelia. Panacea grabbed her and hurried to follow. "You thought these others would still be alive, eh?" "I thought these odds were long. This much blood and pain, these kinds of realities." "We’ll find them," Bonesaw said. "I’m sorry," I said. "We’ll find him," she said, and her expression was solemn. "We will defeat him. He took hostages for Cygnus, raised the stakes. We will win this, and we will remove him from consideration." "You seem to be missing the point, Taylor," Panacea said. "But I’m not fully aware. There’s always a shred of doubt, a tiny voice in the back of my mind that’s asking itself questions like ‘if A would have, but didn’t have to be turned away from the tower. If B was a little slower to move the second he was attacked, did it give him the ability to turn the tables and kill us?’ "I can’t bring myself to kill you, and I almost couldn’t kill him if it was a case of real self harm, but I can’t let you walk away from this, either. If we were supposed to take his power, he’d have to be one of our own. I’d have to be someone who you could manipulate." "You’re a hard person to kill, whatever happens," Panacea said. "Take his power, then use that." "I hope you understand why I’d choose you over Eidolon or Dragon," I said. There were nods all around. I looked down at the patients. So many were too heavy, or had bad reputations with the wrong kind of person. Ostensibly allies, these three. "But first, we have to find them," Panacea said. "We have four locks, but we could get more through the dead man’s switch, or by baiting him out. If I give you a chance to use the knife, can you not kill me? If I give you a few seconds to think about what you’re going to do, could you not kill me? If you try that and fail?" I clenched my fists. "Stay still. I have five chairs in this wing. If one of them breaks, or if something falls and it’s in the wrong room, it could cost you the ability to operate this hospital. If you were to be killed, you would use the fifteen minute grace period that is granted you to kill me." "Please?" "I wish you ill." There was a pause. Panacea seemed to consider the offer. "I won’t force you, but you should know that your friends are free. They didn’t do anything to harm you, and they’ll be free the second I enact my plan." "If we’re not the enemy." "Everyone’s free. If you pay, I will release all of the parahumans. I have lots of money. I have vast amounts of power. If you pay, I will release every cape in the city, except the elite. I will spend your power to protect myself and you, and I will keep you all here for at least a little while. I won’t tell the others what you did, but I will let you know what happens if you succeed." I hesitated. "I will also be giving every cape in the city the option of traveling to their home shores, if they choose. If they choose to go, I will release every cape in the city, unless they pay. I will have the luxury of time to evaluate the resources available and figure out a way to spend their money to the fullest extent of their ability. "This is what I pay for. The plans, the money, the control, the infiltration, the surveillance, mobilization and tracking abilities of my army. If you pay, I will release every cape in the city, unless you pay a fair amount. In exchange, I will let you go to your prison and speak ======================================== SAMPLE 132 ======================================== What was it like? One face, somehow flesh and blood beneath a mottled brown cloth. The way your bugs filled the area… had the fog made it hard to see where the patches of flesh were? I tried using my power to check the exterior of the building. Nothing. Ground was dripping where the rain had soaked the sheet metal. This wasn’t home, not really. But it was a house, and maybe a small child could have scratched it off the list of places to go. Was it scary? Yeah. But was it home? Not really. When we’d decided we didn’t want to be disturbed by noises and the throbbing bass of the rain, we’d tucked ourselves into bed. I had lain beside Brian, trying to keep my eyes closed, as much as I was able, even as my bodyguard and I were being dragged into a compromising situation. I’d held on to some of the bugs I’d clipped inside my costume as I’d soaked my costume in the moments after my mom had been attacked. These were bugs I could keep up for just a little while, storing them in what they were able to see, in what they could ingest. They kept an eye out for anything that might be mold, and if they detected the dark green of some black widow spiders, they wouldn’t identify me. I’d have to take them with me. My safe haven was a four-story building, and even though there was no sprinkler system, the metal grate on the roof of the building had been paved in red, so the water wouldn’t ooze through the cracks and refill the building with rain water. This wasn’t usual, but it was what we had, and it was enough there for me to dig around and find my way inside. The floor of the building was paved in a similar way. I didn’t find any fire escapes, but I did find a metal detector. I didn’t need an ID or password to get in. Even with superhuman strength and toughness, the building was too heavy, about as strong as you’d need to be to hold a hammer in your hand. I did find the top floor, which was where most people would find the upper floors. That meant I was free to search the inside. The bathroom, I found, didn’t have a door. I did find the top floor second from the bottom, and I headed up the stairs and onto the second floor. There were a few things that were odd about this spot. For one thing, there were metal detectors everywhere. Seattle has some of the strongest anti-aircraft guns in the world, and everywhere there were anti-aircraft guns, there were metal detectors. Why? It didn’t make sense. If the guns were to shoot BBs or small guns, then how were we supposed to disarm them if guns were used in the wrong hands? And more intrusive, why would they have guns but not knives? Seattle had a strange gun grab ordinance. It required a permit and training, and I had none. That left me the only person in the building with a gun. I had seen the cops here and there, in training or otherwise, but I hadn’t seen them in person. If they were here, they weren’t at their best. Had to be an unauthorized group. The building was spacious, but not so much that it was cluttered. That was surprising, to see a dentist’s office or police station like this. I stretched my legs and let the rain soak through my costume. It wasn’t as comfortable as a regular pair of pants, but it was still something. They hadn’t taken any of the guns away, so it wasn’t like they had to. That said, I couldn’t let them get away with just the one gun. As I saw the cop and the sheriff following me in the direction of the building, I had a plan in mind. "Coil," I muttered, glancing up to see his expression hidden by the helmet he wore. Still, I had the bugs flowing into the darkness around him to mask his own identity, and they passed over the brim of his helmet to cover the lenses of his mask. I noted the deference he had with the sheriff. Strange as it might have sounded, I doubted his officers were tied down by the crush of bodies. With the help of a few moments of nervous hesitation, I hurried to grab the sheriff’s cell phone and go retrieve some keys. As I gathered the key in my fingers, I looked around the building. The lights were on, but the person who had accessed the computer had fumbled the screen with an awkward angle, ======================================== SAMPLE 135 ======================================== I moved my arm to choose a slightly different stance. "Bitch. You said you don’t trust anyone, but you trusted your dogs." "I trust them," she said, her voice hard. "Bitch, out." Opened her mouth, closed it. Long seconds passed. "Glad to see the hand, Bitch," I said, walking around until I was standing beside her. I checked the contents of my cuffs. "It looks like you and your dogs got what you wanted. I don’t blame you at all, doing what you did. But we’ll find a way." She didn’t move. I turned to Brian. "You know, what Tattletale was saying. I sort of have a suspicion that maybe you’re looking to expand your horizons, Taylor. Maybe you want to try being a hero for what it’s worth?" "What part?" "The part where you joke around like you do with jack shit? I think maybe you’re considering going to Arcadia High, a school that didn’t exist when I was in high school." "I had to go to Gramster to get that far." "I know. I was thinking about going to University, and attended if I did. You had some of Gramster’s teammates there, right? If I’m remembering right, he was a teammate of Shatterbird’s." "Yeah. Shatterbird was with them when we were at the warlord level." "I see. And your thoughts on that are pretty well in line with Gramster’s." "He was a big fuck you to the Undersiders." I’d left out the part where he got in Tattletale’s face, but that was hardly an impressive feat. "A lot of damage was done, yeah. But at the end of the day, he was a good guy. A really good guy. I kinda envy him." "He was a villain," Brian said. "He went to Gramster’s school." "Yeah. Though I have no idea what the leaderships at Gramster’s school are like, or what the school is like, or even where Gramster is. I don’t want to talk about my team, or my teammates, without them knowing this background." "Yeah. Um. I can see where it would be confusing if I brought it up. What are you doing, back at your apartment? You’re probably watching the news." "I’ll be at the news station to the right of the little walk-in freezer. I have to stay up until to make sure the system and the reporters can get to you, here. Don’t want to give away your password." He didn’t get a chance. The building was subject to a state of emergency and the lockdown had been lifted, so the only people in the building at the time were the reporters and a squad of the local PRT officers. I was the only other person out of the conference room and the conference room itself, made myself hurry back to the elevator. The doors whisked shut, leaving the building a hush, as the elevator jerked into motion. I strained to think up a way to make my message clearer. Brian: I’ve been working on this for a bit, and it’s getting easier. I called CC-2, and they’re looking into it. They took my description from the computer, and there was a collective groan from the crowd. It was at best, partially to do with the large group of people with different ages, genders and aesthetic backgrounds, but also with the fact that the system was rejecting connections made by people who were merely attractive. Anomaly. I did my best to ignore the people who weren’t working, and the reporters who weren’t working as multitaskers. I reminded myself to take deep breaths, take a moment and simply be. I belatedly remembered to take another deep breath. Brian: I know this sounds desperate, but I need your help. Anomaly: Yes. I know it’s not the most sympathetic of offers, but I need your help. (Showing page 25 of 25) ► Runggamer (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (At Ground Zero: Brockton Bay) Replied on July 6th, 2011: @Runggamer: I don’t know how to respond to that. You have me. You’ ======================================== SAMPLE 138 ======================================== "I didn’t follow the fight, and you didn’t stop me. But I’m the one who has to take the hit," she said. "So I’ll go." "I know. It bugs me. But I’m not going to just let it slide." "It happened. Feel free to comfort the girl." She frowned a little. "It didn’t." "No?" "She’s right. I shouldn’t have-" "Feel free," Rachel admonished me, hugging her arms against her body, the fabric of her jacket catching on the sharp rocks and loose gravel, forcing her back. But I wasn’t going to respond like that. From the way she was breathing now, I knew she wouldn’t agree with me, but she wouldn’t deny me either. I broke the hug. "I’ll give her the bird in return. She deserves it, and the rest of us deserve better." "Better?" "If the Simurgh had used her power in the wake of Leviathan’s attack, we’d all be dead. Not just the Nine, but hundreds of millions of individuals, populations throughout North America, the world. You know it doesn’t fit the status quo. You don’t fit in any of that. But maybe if she had, maybe we wouldn’t be here." "I’m not so sure," Lung said, his voice hard. "You do know," I said, in the same instant I said, "I’d kill you if I could. I’d kill you right now if I could. I’d kill you the same way I’d kill any of the other monsters I’veaped over you: in your breath, your heat, your fury, and the pain of your skin being melted away by the waves of antimatter." Lung growled, "You’re all crazy." "Some of you are. Some of you aren’t. But I’m certain you’re experiencing what I’m all about to describe as a terminal crisis. The end of the world. You’ve had too much to drink." "You fucking autistic autistic fuck," Regent said. "Close your fucking eyes and try it." "It’s not that hard. Just… shut your mouth, stop trying to force things into that specific headspace." "Fine," I said. Then, in an effort to keep myself from speaking just as Lung opened his mouth again, I pulled my hand from his. I wasn’t about to let him walk away, knowing how much this was going to hurt him. "I’ve been there," he said. "You have. You know? I do what I have to do. I’m not going to make any friends with this recluse." What, me? I’d used my bugs to find the girl, and that was without even touching the girl, who was presumably deep in conversation with Coil. With the girl, I could then, with some work, figure out the number and type of monsters he’d been interacting with. Lung didn’t respond. He gripped the railing with two hands to ensure he was holding her and the boy, and tipped forward a little. The Koprulu-A’s scythe-like edge caught me in the side of my throat. "Burned her hands to death," Imp said. "Tragic." "But you helped to figure something out," I said. "You saw what happened. We got out of the alley and you told us to run." "I saw it," Imp said. "But I wasn’t there. I’m sorry." I was beginning to feel like an idiot. Or maybe it was that I’d been dealing with Lung without understanding his motivations. Lung moved to seize me, but Imp made a move. With only a split second to decide which way he would go, he used the railing to fly straight at Imp. She stepped on the metal pole, and I sent my swarm after Lung. Thirty bugs on the antlers, and one on his neck. The result was a net, and a forty-five degree counterclockwise turn for Lung. He fell onto his back, and nearly flipped over with the impact. He opened his eyes to look up at Imp, then stared down at the metal pipe. "Go," I said. "Someone, somewhere needs to make a call. Because sooner this ======================================== SAMPLE 141 ======================================== In the time since I’d left, the Death Star had gone silent, the engines running, cold, vigilantes typing on laptops, all to put together a video that would be aired on every single television in the world, a montage of footage that would inure Prince Andrew to the crown, crowns falling. It was just the beginning. For much of the following three days and three nights, we were on the defensive, the Empire stood still, the Imperial family scrupulous in maintaining a faerie society in which every object was viewed as a sacred and valuable gem, all power concentrated in the hands of one man, one woman, one Undersider. It was evidence enough of Empire Eighty-Eight’s structural weaknesses. Too many nuisances, both natural and otherwise. To varying degrees, each member of the Nine fitting the archetype of the swashbuckler, the rogue, the warlord, the sorcerer, the mystic, the magic user, and the mystery. The only thing that was certain was that the survivors would adapt. Three and a half days before the next large scale event. I’d heard about the celebration in Orlando. To be a part of it. To be a spectator. I’d also heard about the preparations. To be close enough in time to observe and take notes. I didn’t agree to participate, but I’d consider it a bonus if I could bring something extra. Something I could use, in case the circumstances were not ideal, before the fight came down to a fight between the living. I released the chute. It recruited new members to it’s swarm, and it was built with discarded bottles, boxes and other trash in mind. There was a fire escape at the roof’s edge, with an excess of railing and metal beams, but the bulk of the building was still occupied. The fire escape carried ridership at first, with a smaller contingent flying over the river to the beach, approaching from the direction of the military installation. The chute was lowered into the water, and the bulk of the building was set on the water’s surface. My bugs made their way down, clustering on the railing, and I set them on the upper half of the building, the parts closer to the water. I wasn’t sure how they would be positioned, but the plan was to have them tipped over the edge, then tipped up again, to give them a grip and a place to set down. I’d been in a similar situation before, dealing with a smaller threat. I’d needed time, i.e. water. This was more of a demonstration than anything. I could see the faerie girl on the far right of the opening, with a crowd of mostly kids surrounding her, green flames lancing around her like the rays of a thousand angry suns. The water that filled the area was trickling down around her, as if it were moving beneath her. The water that didn’t flow beneath her, however, was helping to trap the hot air beneath her, drawing it in, holding it there. She cast the water down around her shoulders, undercut it a fraction, then downed it, letting it swirl around her. The kids who were crawling on the glass below her started to squeal and howl, and Ireau whipped out her phone and started recording. No voice, but the video looked good. Ireau started to move the camera, then hesitated. The squealing and chanting children. Something else. She removed the phone from her belt, then removed the ski mask. The lens on the top of the mask looked like a slanted face, distorted, but Ireau had to bend over a few times to get it to work. The back was too full, and she had to work to remove the metal frame. The blurry camera image looked fake, out of place, out of scale with the rest of the building. As far as I could tell, it moved only in the opposite direction than the rest of the building. The faerie girl was using her power, I realized. She’d started to gather children around her, surround herself with them, silent and still. Now she was getting ready to shoot again. The voice. I shifted the position of the camera so I was looking horizontally at the building as it collapsed, not four feet in the air. And the voice. It was a male voice, clear as whistle, carried over the noise of passing traffic. "Get down! Get down!" Ballistic paused in his thuggish activity, then drew and dropped down from the edge of the roof. Like a splash of water, he caught one child in the stomach and pushed them to the ground. Others were ======================================== SAMPLE 144 ======================================== Glowering at me, he clapped one hand on my shoulder, then said something I didn’t catch. "Okay," I replied. I had other things to worry about. Bugs flowed into the room from the outside, and they were promptly exterminated, disappear. I was left with a stark choice. Could I cooperate? "I’ll do what I can to help you," Grue spoke. "Okay," I echoed him, trying to parse what he was saying. "I can give you a hand in figuring this out. You don’t have to put your life in your hands." "That’s not what I’m saying." "Right. First of all, you said you were dead set on fixing things. I suspect that part of what’s holding you back is the desire to be perfect. Perfect people. Perfect city." Grue nodded. Was that so? "Secondly, and this is more pertinent to your teammate," I said, "Because I have suspicions about your teammates." "Wait, no. I’m not changing anything here," Tattletale interjected. "Becoming a villain? No. I wouldn’t, for one thing, encourage it, even if I did think I could make it work. I’d say Undersiders are best when they’re nomadic, unpredictable. You have your goals, but you can and will have big plans that affect the whole city. Bringing in more cash, bigger and better things. Me bringing these people in? I don’t think I can achieve anything with the Undersiders if I’m still a person who has rules and who reacts to changes in the status quo." Grue flushed, blew a white mistrial out, and retreated, backing up as pressure grew inside the lobby. My swarm could feel people step outside. I sent some bugs into the room to quench the flames, and checked that the people were sufficiently far away to be ignored. Nobody argued. There was a bang of blades raising at the end of the hallway, and I hurry to go and put out the fires, first. As I was leaving, a Kaiju lunged across the lobby and pinned Greg and Sophia in place. No. This wasn’t an Endbringer attack. It wasn’t even a near-miss. The Legend’s Kaiju had been concentrating, preparing to pounce again, and now it was happening again. It moved too quickly for that, and the targets that had been pinned were far enough away. Sophia and Greg were caught, suspended in the air, ten or twelve feet above the ground. The Kaiju reversed the balance, and the bugs I’d waspennying off. The ones she had at hand fell into a dozen different pockets and caught against a wall, becoming tatters. She moved to the next target at the wall, and was stopped in her tracks. The wave of bugs was relentless, and it was all directed at one individual, one small target. I worried for Sophia, but there was nobody here to see or speak up. No guards, no officers. A tinker, I realized. She was taking over smaller drones, at the very minimum. When they were online or in the air, they were giving orders and packing what appeared to be guns and grenades. Taking over smaller drones involved more bugs being scattered out over thousands of feet, rather than the one or two I’d handled in time. Still, she was the only one in the Kaiju’s swarm. I had a kid I was keeping, in case I needed to make a break for the city. Or, more likely, I’d use her to get past the forcefield. The fight wasn’t over. The Kaiju turned and extended her arms, extending the distance the waves had come. A flash of light erupted, and the Kaiju was knocked off-balance. She fell over, and fireworks appeared over her head. She moved a half step in the direction of the explosion, and the gun fired. Sophia leaped off of the top of the toilet, landing in Gregor’s arms. The gun whipped around, and a laser blast caught Gregor in the chest. The hero gashed and slashed again at the laser, but lost much of his armor at the same time. The Kaiju turned and caught Gregor around the neck, then shoved him into Gregor’s shadow state. As he collapsed, she held him, holding his head and shoulders with one hand. Gregor collapsed as well, but half of the energy of the last blast disappeared with a pop. ======================================== SAMPLE 147 ======================================== Take your pick: balance or degeneracy. The same is true for the compatriots, you’ll either have an issue with them or an issue with you. We’ve all had our moments where we wished we’d done something different, excepts it so often comes down to the same old social awkwardness, regretting not doing something sooner." "I wish I’d done something different sooner than today," Alec said. I nodded. I was surprised at how readily he accepted my explanation for why things had gone so wrong. I returned to the kitchen, used my flashlight to check the damage to the carpet and to the wall, and found two splints on the nail of the hand that was getting by the wire. Not serious, just battered. "If you guys want to get in on the action, maybe throw a fit over something O’Daly is saying?" I suggested, "He said we had a new member just a week ago." "That’s not what I meant," Alec told me. I considered telling him that, but decided it wouldn’t be that easy to separate from the others. Besides, it would be a way to get in on the action before Brockton Bay had even kicked off. I told them anyways. The others in our group were busy getting set up, as I suspected were the reasons the group had been quarantined. I moved the skeleton key to the cell where the family was, and then left it there for everyone to find. I made my way to the standard landing, with the ‘flight pack’ over my shoulder. I came back to the building to find Miss Militia leaning against the front door. She’d put the key in the lock, and her hand on her head. "You did it," I called out. "What?" "You’re a smartass, Lisa. You did that sh*t with the data." "I had the keys, and I went back in time to get them." "Which means you need to go back in time again, and enter that sh*t before I get back." "What?" "You got the sh*t. You should bring the keys, we’ll get the data." "Shit," she said. Her eyes narrowed. I wasn’t sure what to say. From the way she was acting, I had the feeling she was going to say something along the lines of ‘that is really stupid’ or ‘you really don’t care about that stuff.' But she kept her mouth shut. I put the key in the lock, and was joined by the rest of our group in the infested building that held the back office. We gathered around the dusty, faded yellowed safe. "What is it?" I asked Miss Militia. "Grenade launchers," she said. "What?" "Grenades. Basically, they’re little mini-guns." "So you can disable them with a thin cloud of smoke?" she asked. "Basically." "How?" "Simple. Hold down the trigger, and the grenades explode. Not exactly hard to do." "With thousands of pounds of explosive power?" I asked. "They’re light explosives. Pretty much any combustible material will ignite them, even if it’s well lit. You want to use them? We have the extinguishing agents." "The extinguishing agents?" I raised one eyebrow. "For the most part. I tried to resist, but the guns are pretty powerful, and the grenades are pretty small. Probably not going to do much damage before they set off somewhere, but if you take out one or two of them, maybe something can be salvaged." "With your power?" I asked. "Pretty strong," she said. "Can I give it away?" "If you want it. You can ask. I can look at it and know it’s yours. There’s a reward for those who help us prove it." "I can ask." "There’s a reward," she said. "In three hours or so, or as much as you want. We’ll talk to the boss, and he’ll get back to you." I nodded. I was glad for the exit, getting out of here without having to run all the way to the office. I could get some food stashed away, and figure out what to do for cleanup. Worst of all, doing this, doing what Coil wanted, with the school looming, the city having made threats because ======================================== SAMPLE 150 ======================================== And again, she was fine. The change on her was slight, but I couldn’t really tell in the dark. I crossed the empty lot and found her at the end of the street. Her hair was longer now, but she still had that athletic figure, that ideal girl gait. "Hi," I said. I used my bugs to spell out the word. She looked surprised. "You’re here late," my dad commented. "Had to get back early. Bus was leaving soon," I protested. "We’re sorry, Taylor," my dad said, very matter-of-factly. It wasn’t a cancellation. It didn’t really feel like that, did it? An afternoon flight to Boston wasn’t like it was on a weekday, with afternoon activities and all the other stuff that went on in the afternoon. I couldn’t quite believe that. I was almost convinced it was intentional, and I was almost willing to believe it. I wanted it to be true, but I couldn’t be sure it was, and still believe it. So I’d been dreading showing up. I didn’t want to, exactly. I didn’t want to be an hour late, or an extra hour of waiting. But I hadn’t been able to shake the idea that these days were worse than days gone by. There’d been so much to worry about, and I’d missed a few days because of it. Now it was even harder. I felt the lump in my throat at the realization that I had no way of knowing how Bella would feel after hearing about what I’d done. Maybe she would be upset, maybe she wouldn’t care. Maybe she’d run away, afraid for her life. Maybe she’d try to run again, getting as much distance as she can, hiding, and I’d be a lost soul, alone in a crowd of lost souls. I’d never been surrounded by a crowd. I’d had friends, I’d had strangers, some I’d tried to be friendly with, but now I couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes, because looking at me was making me think of gang signs. If I could only find a way to make myself useful, then it was put to one way. I could use my power, maybe find out more about the people who had been released from the complex, maybe find a way to communicate. But the members of my swarm who were closest to me were suffering. They looked much as I felt about my dad, my wounds made it ache, and in a way, it was fitting. My hearing was worse than most people’s, my vision worse than most, and if they’d added their voices to mine, I wasn’t sure it would have mattered. It was a shame, a relief, that this wasn’t going to be a peaceful transition. Getting sharper with my bugs, I could feel the cracks forming. Fires were spreading, singles about to ignite, others forming. One of the capes that was releasing the wounded was on fire, and was quickly being followed by a tide of charred corpses. I’m going to die, I thought. I couldn’t say why I’d felt the way I had. I’d told myself I’d be a good hero, and in the course of being that way, I’d unintentionally given birth to four more of those people. Maybe it was bad to think about it like that. Four people who were probably doomed to die, for the rest of our species’s survival. I shook my head a little. No, I wasn’t thinking of my dad or the others. I was thinking of myself. I had this fucking power, and I was about to fuck up. Sheeting my dirty fingers over my mouth, I turned to the others. Romp, the dog of the circus. I’d wanted Romp to be a hero before I had the dog, before I had the costume. I’d wanted him to be dead, before I had the dog, or close enough to it. And I was going to hell for these people. There was one other cape I hadn’t even seen approach. I glanced his way, and I could see his silhouette in the darkness Romp had flowed into. He didn’t move. I glanced at his surroundings, and took in one of the disaster areas only to realize it was another twisted mutant with scales like lead. He was alive, but he’d been turned against himself. ======================================== SAMPLE 153 ======================================== Tecton glanced at each of us in turn, then pushed the snow from beneath his boots. He took a seat behind me, folding his arms. "It doesn’t get said enough, but you guys are a bunch of balls. You play rough, you gamble, you tolerate bad people, you tolerate evil, but you tolerate us, too. We don’t care what you do, but we do." "Betting this on a good count," I told him. "I don’t think I can field a charge from the other Nine if they want to make it personal." "It’s on the record," he said. "I’d even make it a condition in my first order of business as a member of the Wards. Bet on more losses." A cape in the rear drew a chair back from the corner of the kitchen. Tecton reached out for a chair, but was stopped by Weld. The man used a mechanical spider to extricate himself from the mechanized prison it had made, landing in a chair. "That’s a violation of the truce," Wards leader and leader of the Chicago Wards, Clockblocker, said. "I won’t be having guests leave the party without one." "One?" "I told you I’d make dinner for three. Let’s see. I’d have… paltry quarters, so we’ll have…" "Paltry?" the mayor asked. Was he playing semantic guessing? He was favored by three hundred credits, which meant he was… "Three quarters," Clockblocker said. "See," Tecton told him, "it’s not a disadvantage." "A hundred and thirty credits, two pounds in supplies, three hundred and fifteen feet long. That’s it. It’s all provided by the Triumvirate, and it can be yours for just a little over a thousand dollars." Tecton nodded. Huge meals, if he could have said thanks. "The heroine," Clockblocker said, turning to his passenger, "She’s carrying only the bare essentials. I’d tailor things to her, but time’s limited." "On it," Clockblocker said. His own voice sounded really high pitched, though it was only a very slight alteration to the normal resonance of the voice. He tried to place the accent. Not too difficult, considering he’d just been reading a book. "I hope I don’t offend you, by sharing this intimate details," the mayor said, "I was just wondering how your talents were being used. This would be a lot of work for a team of enforcers." "You’re an enforcer?" Rime asked, incredulous. "I’m a thinker," Clockblocker said, his voice a fraction higher. "Not a thinker with punch cards or anything like that. Instead, my specialty is risk and reward. I like to think a player has to ply his trade well, and that starts with being smart." "Makes sense," the mayor said, "I worked alongside you for a lengthy period." Clockblocker didn’t reply. Suffice it to say that Mayor Christner was busy trying to distract the mayor, out of an abundance of caution. I was trying to think of a way to get in touch with them. Something Hailfire-style. Somewhere in the midst of that, I heard the beeping of a portable generator. Fitting, given where they were, the mood, and the generator. I hurried to the generator, grabbed the cord, and moved it into place just behind the mayor’s chair. A simple hang, and it was on. He didn’t have anything substantial to hide. Another choice, and it was a hung power, meaning it was defensive. Now that I had the generator, I could be creative. An offensive power that could serve to scare the mayor and his people into motion. An offensive power that could hurt Aegis. I like your power, Clockblocker thought. Your little terror-fest. But you haven’t seen Heartbreaker. He sat up, offered me a hug. I wanted to hang, said the phone, but the hang wasn’t so good. I hit the power button on the generator, hoped the afternoon would be enough for the rest of us. I was still catching my breath, trying to get my thoughts in order. "Mr. Grove? Your boss needs your help." I didn’t answer. "We can do it ======================================== SAMPLE 156 ======================================== I have one wing, I have one leg. Fly. I tried to take off the soles of my shoes, felt more pain than I cared to write home about. A fracture of some sort, punctured by the soles of the other foot, maybe a fragment of my dress, perhaps a piece of my mask. I tried to pull them off with the one hand, and found more fractures, worse than the first time I’d experienced with my right foot. I felt more at ease, then. Confidence. More, I thought, was a sign of how close we’d come to accomplishing something. We were getting closer. Then Fly turned herself in. I made my way out of the apartment, my swarm-decoys doing the rest. I headed back to the ferry, then traveled south along the boardwalk, staying in theides and knee deep in water. The Docks were still reeling from what Coil had done. The buildings were largely intact, the few damaged by the waves higher up. The buildings on the lower level were structurally sound, at least, with the ones who resided in them. The buildings on the upper level were hollow, empty husks, two or three stories tall. That was despite the fact that most of the residents who had evacuated were either in shelters or other protected locations, such as in the , "not even a third of them were this low in the estimation department," Tattletale grunted. "They’ll believe this is the D.D.I. after the fact," I said. "Trust me," she said. "Trust," was all she said. "There’s a reason we’re here," I said. "Hookwolf said we wouldn’t do this alone." "And you are?" "I’m somewhat limited in what I can do, and where I can, I’ll point the way. That said, I’m more dangerous than I think people would suspect. That’s not even getting into the ways I fuck with the architecture, or the way I can mess with the natural disaster.01903%s mechanism. I could mess with his ability to see the layout of the city, or maybe just his extreme caution with regards to detection. I could probably find and disrupt his code if I got in his good graces." "That’s a hell of a handicap to have," Grue said, his voice quiet. "And he was a major player in getting us into this mess in the first place." "I could control him," I said. "Maybe I’d get more of a leg up. If I could figure out how his code was wired, I could maybe screw him over in other ways, or get a headcount he couldn’t afford to give up. What do you say? Going this route, with the knowledge he’s had about us for some time?" "Well," Tattletale said, "Let’s say you’re right. You’re probably right. We’d be hard targets to pick off, especially without the assistance of a specific power." "But," Grue tightened his grip on my arm, "We should stay alive, isn’t that the point? We need his power, we need Dinah, and we need us dead." "We can’t afford to make a mistake," Tattletale said. "A mistake that costs us," Grue said. "We can’t afford to lose anyone," Tattletale said. "We have big guns. Bombs. That’s mostly it. We need to find a spot to hide, and we need to do that without losing anyone. What am I doing? Trying to look cool? It’s a gamble, and we’re taking the odds against us." "It’s sound," I said. "It’s smart. But what I’m worried about is the gamble. If we get killed, it impacts everything we have going for us. Our position, our luck, our reputation…" I trailed off. It wouldn’t be a straight loss, but it could also be a steady grind of pain and not getting the help I wanted. "I’m thinking," Grue said, his voice quiet, "We should split up. One patrol, one rescue, maybe a night like the movies show, where they take a kid with powers and they have them running around, splintering up families." "Sounds good," I said. Grue looked at one of our larger craft, then at me, "We’ll figure it out." ======================================== SAMPLE 159 ======================================== I’d been oblivious to the shows, not really paying attention until Pennywise made the initial appearance at the mall. That was followed by a beating; Pennywise grabbing a man by the scruff of the beard, pulling him behind him, then kicking him in the balls the instant he tried to get away. As one story went, the guy didn’t scream, he just dropped dead. It had been that sort of show. Authority loving, white supremacists praising Protectorate member for saving the day, praising the leader, praising the grandpa. Pennywise was only one person, in a city where more and more people had either voted to leave the Protectorate, voted to kick the guy out of the group, or they’d heard about him and came looking for him. I couldn’t think of a better way to get a man off his rockers, than to give him a beating. Parian had been following the story, not really caring, but then again, I didn’t really know her. I didn’t know Jacen, either, apart from their being students. Barker, Biter and the other employees had gathered around the outside of the mall, much like the employees of a hospital would be around a patient. It made for an eerie, surreal scene, as the employees nervously looked from one end of the mall to the other. I had a vague sense of what Parian was thinking, though. I’d knocked on her door when I’d been unconscious, after her power had started to take hold. Trickled in through the window, with a bag, was a bundle. I didn’t want to be morbidly obese and put her in imminent danger with this bag, so I laid it down flat on the ground, tucking it under one arm. Insinuation 3.4 It was ten minutes before the door opened. "May I in?" Miss Militia asked. She was walking down the side of the mall, glancing at every person that was still in the lobby. "Sure. Where can I look?" "The archives." I found the door to the outside on my left. I tiptoeged my way in, and was stopped when Miss Militia stepped into the room. "Another patient in the wings?" "Most likely," she said. I could see the other two groups at one of the checkouts. Old ladies with babies and people with admissions of one or two. I could see the guy in the orange shirt, who had obviously been through more than anyone there. He had heartworm? I couldn’t blame him. Miss Militia turned and waved at me as I entered. The interior was grim. They had been told to expect the worst, but still they were stiff with duty, walking around in casual clothes with loaded weapons. I saw a reflection of the same guy that was behind the counter. The light armor covered his eyes, but the menacing glower marked him out as having a tattoo on his upper arm, a row of yellowed cherubs, hands pressed to his body, bearing the lines of a loincloth and bell. "May I in?" he asked. "Wait, you want some fresh air?" "May I?" "Come and see for yourself," she said. She touched her blouse, where a tattoo of a woman with a rose stood out, "There isn’t much point to wearing a shirt underneath. It’s going to get warm." "I’ll see if I can find a shirt, and yes, I’ll be right back." "Good," Miss Militia said, stepping away from the front counter. Evan, my CEO, was complaining about the volume too. He was in the middle of texting Lisa when I put my hand on his shoulder. "So. You heard about the trouble at the shelter?" I asked. "Sure." "I attended the executive session," he said. "There were a few hundred people there. You know the drill." "I know," I answered. I was happy to keep my emotions on topic. Miss Militia nodded. "The Chicago Wards. I’m sure they want to put this behind them and move on to bigger things." "They can’t do anything about it, unless they want to put their names on a piece of paper and take them away?" "Except they arrest the mayor," she said. Which raised an interesting possibility. She could see the mayor in the crowd. "Hey," I said. "‘Kay." "What?" "You’re attending the meeting, and we’re ======================================== SAMPLE 162 ======================================== Here is a taste of what my little experiment in magic has been bringing to the table. Fifteen minutes of work later, I had digitized all of the phone and email messages the gang had been sending to their friends and allies. Embedded within the Message IDs, either stored in the database or accessible through the link on their tattoos. I had found the addresses that the gang members had been sending emails to, and the emails themselves were unicode encoded strings of numbers and letters, easy to read even if your eyes weren’t open. The TEXT strings were the same, each between one and twenty characters long. 678,357,720 Jo: How’s Cmd? Tattletale: Very good. Making headway. You should really make an offer to join. Its probably better for your image if you don’t show any interest than not keep doing what you were doing. Let alone breaks my silence on the subject of your looks. 678,357,720 Gangsta1: How much is right? Tattletale: Up to you. Gangsta1: What are you offering? Tattletale: None. Won’t say. Gangsta1: You? Tattletale: Some banter. Bad blood. Not in the book. Gangsta1 disconnected. 563,961,664 Gangsta2: How much is right? Tattletale: A few million. Gangsta2 disconnected. That did it. The four messages were sent to Tattletale, Coil, Coil, and Gangsta2. The remaining two wouldn’t accept my help, and neither would they use my technology. It was a black hole in the form of a zero-g server, with incomplete and unhelpful data inserted into it without my knowledge. I Angrily hit the button on the desktop that had them connected and started up my free agent program. The free agent program was an attempt to restore the PI Program to a working state. Almost every system draw from the PI program for basic services. Current backups of the PI program were set up to restore instances number back to some baseline, a resetting clock to the point that everything was on an even playing field. However, the underlying operating system had crashed, ending the program a week ago, and progress was slow as systems went. There was progress, though, as copies of the program were being created by the time my access was up and running again. My role on the furthest edge of the field was being filled by Vista, who had purposed to be more cooperative. That meant more background checks, more painstakingly screening each new entry of the system. If some new data was problematic, it was noted and dealt with immediately. If it threatened to remove restrictions or limits from the entire PI program, it was caught and dealt with appropriately. It was a way of assuring myself that I was on the right path, but it also meant I was handicapped, forcing me to devote more time to managing the rogue subroutine that Taylor̙s random selection of glitchiness was. I scrubbed the rogue tab of the desktop with not just my bugs, but the uncostumed dragons of my ‘servos’. I disabled the occasional bug to ensure that any incoming connections were caught and terminated gracefully instead of lynching everyone on the plane. That only left the glorified interface. The desktop was navigation-less, but there was an option to easily and quickly go from there. It was easy enough to manage – just count the seconds until the countdown reached the next second. Sixteen seconds. The Carter Family were here. Damn it. With a clear and present danger in sight, I chose the Silent Treatment, then double checked there wasn’t anyone in the others." "In the mansion?" Lisa asked. "No. In the hallway." "I move the bugs with my wings," Brian said, "Tattletale’s going to do the same, if not more, referring to the little space between the dragons." "Mm," Brian nodded, "I’ll have to get Golem out there and start testing the water." I will have the water. Chrysalis 16.4 The lake that once bore the brunt of Leviathan’s tidal wave was a remarkably similar one to the one I’d glimpsed while on the job as Team Wards. There were dark swirls of cracked black rock in the water, and the shimmer of shifting sands that covered it. Now that I knew where to look, I could ======================================== SAMPLE 165 ======================================== Makoto murmured something. His voice was distorted by the earbuds, which caused him to lose his rhythm. With an earbud, she tested the singer. The result was erratic, depending on the volume, but it revealed something about his voice. It revealed some of his grammar and style. He had a father. He’d had a girlfriend, if the girl was the one to whom he was referring. It was about the only thing that seemed reasonably set in stone. "I’ll be back," the synthesized voice said, its pitch altered a fractional amount. The band thumped on the door again. He didn’t follow them out of the stairwell. They stopped at the bottom of the stairs, just past the patio. He stared out the window. The ocean was farther up, higher, in the sky. The city was sprawling, extending further and higher, in both directions. Even now, there were elements of him that wasn’t quite human. Remembering the events of last night, he knew how tightly cluttered the surroundings were. There was only the door they’d left open behind, a little glass window that overlooked the ocean. They had entered at the back of the room furthest from the patio, near the bed. They hadn’t realized the window was broken, so they’d leaned against it against the wall, leaning against it against the little ledge that was available, unable to see but unable to relax believing they’d fall any further or any faster than they were now. The synthesized voice continued, "I wanted to give you a gift, last year. Instead of giving you supplies, instead of giving you a present, you’re the type that gets to make the rules. You get to decide the rules. I decided you couldn’t be held back, so I made these." Something came over him at the unexpected length of the voice. "You’ve made our year long goal pretty damn clear," the synthesized voice said. "Now, I’m going to make the most of it and I’m going to bend every rule we gave you, so you can fuck more women and fuck better than any men I’ve ever fucked." She leaned forward, tense. The door opened, and she let her head rest on the table. "Fuck me," Imp muttered. "I know it’s just words," the woman said. She turned, tapping the tip of one finger against the tip of the other. "But I need you to remember what we said last time out… following the rules aren’t exactly rules, are they? They’ve got double meanings, and I did pretty daring things during my time as Project Echidna’s top thug." "Dares what?" "Bravest rules we could think of, to let you walk away." "That’s terrible of us," she said. The menace was back. She was the one who let you walk away. That didn’t mean it was easy. "Yeah," Imp said. "Long story short, we said it out loud. Everyone listened and when we said it, we meant it." "We’d planned to bump you up to lieutenant," Grue said. "Well, that wasn’t the original plan," I said, "But we did it to upset Eidolon, really. Let’s not make you regret it." "Mmm," the woman made a low, moaning sound. "New rules, new world. It’s the only way we can make sense of your power." "Not really making sense of your power," I said. "Not really. It’s… it’s not something I feel quite myself. It’s more like tracing the veins of a hand. There’s always subtle gradations, but when you get down deep enough, you realize it’s just a few lines that run from right to left. If you can even remember what they were before you started tinkering with the source of my power." I nodded. I could vaguely remember seeing some of the diagrams she had made when she’d been explaining about the powers. When she’d been explaining about Echidna, she’d made it pretty damn clear that the only reason my power wasn’t better than her version was that she couldn’t see my ability. She couldn’t, for example, see the routes my punches could take if I tried to apply them while I was tickled to the point of being unable to move my hand. But tracing ======================================== SAMPLE 168 ======================================== I’d met Coil once, way back when the heroes had come out to celebrate my joining the Protectorate. Even then, I’d only really been trying to get through to the inevitable end of the paper bag race, not joining them. I didn’t really have much of a memory on that meeting, but I got the impression he might have been ticked off that I’d dared to take advantage of an already fragile relationship. So yeah, I sympathized with them. But I still walked away from that meeting feeling pretty good. Surprised, because I’d been conned, conned enough that Coil had brought me on board as a full member of the team. I hadn’t realized how much that had affected me. I’d never really gotten over the high of being a hero and feeling like the good guy. As a matter of fact, the last time I could remember, I’d been getting more and more irritated at the thought. Whenever I thought of being a hero, I felt it was always the villains who deserved the accolades, the heroes who were really the opposites of my self-proclaimed ‘weak’ friends and comrades. Undeserved or misplaced praise, hurt, frustration, anger. And now that I’d at least partially paid attention and figured out how the members of the New Wave operated, I had a sense of things to look forward to. Eight weeks of martial arts, eight weeks of self-defense classes, and eight weeks of joining the Wards. It was all relatively quick sessions with minimal coaching or theoretical information. The only feedback I got was through my fists. I ran my hands along the lenses of my mask, thinking back to the exams I’d failed to pass, the stuff I’d failed to pass because my teachers didn’t understand it – I’d tried to avoid that as much as I could, with the expectations I had for myself. The idea that I had nearly a decade of combined experience having every class I took with me made those expectations slightly more realistic. But it didn’t help me move forward in the martial arts class. It didn’t clarify things for the class, and it didn’t lead to more self-defense or offense. I had my dad, and I had yet to find a professor to coach me or give me an outlet to talk to others about things. I wasing a long way from home, unable to gather momentum and confidence where I’d already been in an isolated situation where I’d had multiple crises looming. Or maybe I was just more comfortable where I was, with the way my powers worked, because I wasn’t in danger, and I wasn’t in danger. I wasn’t in crisis mode, even with the Endbringer attack less than 24 hours ago. With a degree of irritation, I spoke, "But you were pretty much right there, in the midst of it. A little more experienced than you, you don’t have that background in handling this sort of stuff. I find it interesting, and I get why you feel that way, but… you were still totally in the dark, about everything going on, just like I was. You were totally in the dark, about the assault and battery. I don’t think you understood what you signified, when you hit your dad with the full force of the law." The weapon return to Brockton Bay hadn’t been a projection of Sophia, but a real weapon. "Right. That’s part of it. You caught me at what you did, and you said as much. But you didn’t delve into the particulars. You walked away. It’s something I can deal with, if you want to pretend you’re doing something about it." "It’s easier to admit I’m wrong," I answered her. "People have to know when they’re doing something wrong." "Maybe so," she admitted. "But I’ll admit I’ve been wronged. I’ll make you an offer. We can work out a deal. You can come to my territory, and I can use my power to make your life a little easier. Or I can make it a little harder. You can accept or refuse the deal." "I can’t refuse," I said. "I’ll accept it, or I can refuse and say what I need to say, and you’ll both be saying what you wanted to say." "Don’t say anything yet," the Director told me. Some people were leaving the briefing room, now, but the others weren’t yet gone. The reporters ======================================== SAMPLE 171 ======================================== Sierra argued the point, and Clockblocker persisted. "Hardly a consensus." "Concern for the welfare of the public. For the long-term. You, sir, have your authority, but you’re accountable to the people." "Yes sir." "You know, I know you haven’t had much of an opportunity to do any of that. Some of them are hurt. Some miss-" "Jouster," Clockblocker interrupted. "Yes sir," the collection of teenagers in the group spoke. "Is everyone one of those students that lost something?" I asked, raising my voice. Nobody speaking from the group. How absurd. Everyone was gathered in an awkward silence. "No, I suppose not," Clockblocker said. "We all have our stories, and some are worse than others." "More than you think," Clockblocker said. "There are scoundrels in the group, there are others who aren’t scoundrels, and I’m not ignoring the fact that most of the students here are good people. The arrogant or deluded few are scary, and the rest of us can’t keep up with them. We have to be clever about our approach, use our wits, and if we can, at least try to play along. Try to have the good guy with the bigger picture." "What are you getting at?" I asked. "I’m saying it’s all relative. Bulls’ teeth, villains can fall apart when put under the pressure. There’s no such thing as pure humanity. There are people who are naturally good, who did a terrible thing for a bad cause. Are you really going to pretend that everyone here is like that, trying to be great or terrible?" Damn. "It’s all relative. You and I might be doing something very wrong if we root for the good guys, but with the others, I don’t really feel I can identify with any of them. Sure, there’s the villains, who are overwhelmingly bad. But there’s also the people who are oddly good, who did a bad thing for a good cause. Colby and Aisha." "All too often, they remind me of my dad," Sierra said. "Worse, they’re so bland and forgettable." "I’m sorry," I said, sincerely. "You’re forgiven, Danny," the paramedic said. Sierra returned to her seat, setting her backpack down on the seat behind her. She scratched the top of my dress, not responding to my statement. "Where is it?" I asked. "A memory," Sierra said. "Anxiety," I said. "Or a creative breakdown. But I’ve seen people go days without sleeping, because it’s easy to remember places and get lost in a sea of facts. Not so with me. I don’t have that luxury." She looked around the table. "Anxiety, panic, let’s dial it back. I don’t want any crazies on the phone." "I got the 411," I said, speaking as if I had, to Sierra. "This is Odin. He has a track record of failure, and some status here in Brockton Bay, but we need more than just his face on the phone." "Is there anything I can do?" "Status?" I was thinking of the various crises that had arisen, the various heroes and heroines that had come forward to assist the public. Not Odin. "We need your help." "This isn’t the time or place." "We have other heroes this situation could potentially affect," I said. "GR Incognito and Athletics. If you can get in touch with them, that would be greatly appreciated." "We need data, information. Not answers. We’re looking for information on any members of the Undersiders or Exalt." "We’re willing to assist," I said. "Sierra?" "It’s not an outright offer." "Then what is it?" She frowned. "My father." "You can’t imagine him, can you? The hardass dad from the movies?" "I don’t think so," Sierra said. "Not the dad I know. I saw him on the news, after the revolution. He was working, trying to keep things in place, put food on the table and had his four daughters with him. One of whom even had a weapon, if ======================================== SAMPLE 174 ======================================== Skitter shifted her hold on her armband, and then she tapped the phone against the glass. Again, that echo. "We’re an hour and twenty-five seconds from now, Skitter. Call again if you want something, or if you need someone to pass on messages. Two-five-five-five?" "On it," Tattletale answered. The call went through. "Anything else?" I asked the fox-mask-guy. I handed him the laptop. He glanced over his shoulder, then turned his attention to the phone. "You had something else," I said. "No," he said. "I told you to call me if anything came up." "What is it?" "A freak accident." "The…" "The bomb. Or the people making the bombs. They were telling me they were harmless." "Is that- are you telling me the bombs are safe?" "Scion’s fake. Honest to tell you, he wasn’t. But he could fool me, and I told you that before. So that’s what you should focus on. I’m okay with turning it around. I don’t see a problem with turning it around, if it’s going to improve the city much. I just don’t see a need." The distortions continued, going after his head and the fabric of his mask. I took the chance to get my bugs into the midst of the swarm. Unusual, but I was capable of handling it. I took the time to draw up a response. Three unfaltering wings, not much more than appetizers. A forelimb that might have been a tentacle, maybe, and a tail with no obvious appendages. I sheathed my baton and swung it through the air. I saw the result in a heartbeat. A blur, nearly invisible, enveloping the massive bat-shaped blade with a brilliant, silver light. My prepared response went through the earbud barrier, as I reflected on what had just happened. "He beats me to death with a flying forcefield bubble made of telekinetics," I said. Yes. Exactly as I had in my last status update. The Simurgh had breached the Yàngbǎn’s defensive line, and was expanding on all sides at the same time. No less than twenty heroes were down, all but the finest of them Undersiders. She didn’t even pause, obliterating them with a single blast. Telekinesis was giving the Undersiders the ability to fly. Krieg had a small fleet of motorcycles, and was using them to advance to the fray. Try to catch up to her, and they’d die. I took the opportunity to send my bugs in. Plenty. Without the earbuds, I couldn’t hear much beyond the mild pitch of the bugs that flowed in through the many windowless holes in the outer walls. The Yàngbǎn took note, and their unit formed a loose ring around the perimeter of the building. Not two seconds later, they scattered, making their power known. I felt a few Yàngbǎn members cough involuntarily. One by one, they collapsed to the ground, losing their balance. Krieg charged, and the Yàngbǎn’s power chilled the air at the perimeter of the group, preventing them from sustaining any further damage. Cody ran past the group, carrying Huston, with Scapegoat following at his side. Huston lavished attention on Noelle, while Scapegoat supported Chase, leveling the hood of his sweatshirt at the girl. "Why the fuck aren’t you dead!?" Chase shouted. Noelle didn’t speak. "The Simurgh!" someone else shouted. The Yàngbǎn’s shout was lost in the midst of the commotion. The scattered, disordered capes found their way to Shén Yù, the only expert on the PRT with contacts inside the building. He only managed to chant a few simple words, enough to know what he was doing. Contessa. The entity. The entity was touching her, gently, so to speak. But Shén Yù wasn’t among the dead. The Yàngbǎn scattered, finding others to bind. They gathered in the far corners of the room. Still, Chase’s shout escaped Cain’s breath, carrying through the gaps in the wall. "Dauntless ======================================== SAMPLE 177 ======================================== ‘We’re making tremendous headway. The odds aren’t much better but we’re making headway.’ Lung chuckled lightly. The’birdcage’ door opened. He felt a bustle of his own free will. "Brockton Bay core," Dragon said. He looked up, meeting her eyes. Brockton Bay. A large peninsula, surrounded by a massive, flat expanse of water. "Yes." "We have little doubt you’re piloting the Azazels." He nodded. "What connection do you have to the Undersiders?" He didn’t respond. "Come by the HQ frequently. See if your dogs cann’t find something. If they can, pat them for confidence." He nodded. Dragon’s presence made his blood run cold. He made his way to the headquarters. He skipped the welcome ceremony, joining dozens, perhaps hundreds, of capes already there. He was used to the grandeur of the portal, once it had even been created. It was this opening that caught him off guard. The group gathered, looking more like a loose union of a business and military group than a family. All of them were armed, with their specialized armor, masks and masks of varying degrees of protection. Their discussion of what they needed to do earned them a respect from the others in the complex. The military was more professional, the members of the corporate and business groups more so. There were more women than men, but the presence of the women only made the group more intimidating. His ‘old’ female bodyguard, Blondhowl, was proof of that. She was fit, tall and well built, her blond hair long and glossy. Her power had a character to it, somehow. The men were more ineffectual. Their presence made him feel like he was on an immovable object. He couldn’t change course or keep a retreat. He’d be forced to march through enemies who were moving slower, making less headway in dealing with the overwhelming number of obstacles his power threw his way. If something didn’t work, he’d die. That said, the women in the group were doing much of the work, providing the tactical and strategic vision. Even the minor powers got some attention. Shatterbird, Cricket, and Genesis got to work on putting together the basic plans, preparing shelters, cutting wood and hauling heavy objects around the city. Experimentation. It was a word he hadn’t heard before, but it conjured up images of experimentation, with his power throwing ideas into motion. It was something he’d done for himself, long before he’d had a name for the impulse. The idea was that you took a small idea and ran with it. Dean didn’t have that impulse, and he wasn’t interested in being dominated. He had his own vision, his own ideas, but he wanted nothing to do with that. That left Taylor. The teenage girl. He’d been the one to introduce her to the group, but he was loath to lose her for anything else. Teammates liked Taylor, loved her, and the group had splintered off with her joining the Wards a month after arriving. There was friction, sure, and they would settle that friction by going their own way. But Taylor was intuitive, she was pragmatic, and she had her own set of ideas. For every Alexandria that broke down in anger at the warden’s rule about not bringing any of their allies into the compound, there was one Taylor that ran off with a stranger one minute and a package of cigarettes the next. It was maybe understandable that he tried to run things like he did. There were only so many years between his own transformation and the arrival of the others, and the group would be splintered. Someone’s headstone would bear the words ‘Kurt’, a name that had apparently been coined for him, and by the time the others had formed their group, Kurt had possibly been renamed to placate the older Courtney. Somehow, despite the seemingly intractable problems, the others were willing to compromise. He could imagine a world in which they all agreed, in which they admitted their true feelings, showed some emotion. There would be laughter, there would be tears. He couldn’t show those emotions now, but he could pretend. He could pretend Kurt was still alive, and that it was some dark secret from their youth that they couldn’t wait until he was old enough to have his own things. Some petty evil, but a world in which they were adults and adults got to deal with kids. ======================================== SAMPLE 180 ======================================== He smirked. "You owe me, Tattletale. Threw your life away trying to stop him, didn’t help much. Let me take the credit for Lung’s quick death, while you get all the info you needed from a random guy in the street. He probably didn’t even know I was there." "You’re not telling the full story," Tattletale said. "Explain?" "He was too aggressive, thought he was defending me, too subtle. Just the opposite. Except I think he saw me and everything I stood for. He didn’t see me as someone vulnerable, like he saw the other girls. That’s something my power uncovers very quickly." "I don’t buy it either," Regent replied, "Like I said, we don’t share the same frame of reference." Tattletale shrugged. "See, that’s why I’m saying it’s a double-bluff, a mental trick. I’m saying you can tell the truth, and you can’t tell a falsehood. Or, you can tell the truth, and you can’t tell a falsehood." "You can’t and won’t?" I asked. "We saw that coming. You were counting on it, trust Fallujah to hold back. You would have, if it wouldn’t have made things complicated. Now we find out whether you were lying." "He knows," I said. "Maybe Fallujah is skimming the debt we owe him and whether he’s fully cognizant of the consequences he’ll have if he cheats death. You’ll have to explain why you fought him in the first place." "I fought him because he was an asshole," I said. "Because I had to, and because I thought he was a fucking asshole. Because I was too scared to report it, but that’s the kind of person who gets to live." Tattletale nodded. "And because I thought it was a good, socially acceptable excuse to beat a man up," I said. Tattletale nodded again. "This could be blackmail. They’ll accuse you of rape if you talk, of course, and they’ll twist it to mean you did it, or they’ll twist it to mean you didn’t do it, and you will never be able to recover from it. Or they’ll seize the opportunity and do it again. This could be blackmail." "If you’re right, though," I said, "It’s not that big a deal. I mean, I know Zero doesn’t put out any of the real gems, so it’s not that big a deal if we get caught." "It’s a big deal if we get caught," Tattletale said. She met my eyes, looking directly at me. "Doorway, please. The information we just provided you is valuable, but maybe we should step away for a bit. Regent can give you the low-level access you need." She looked from Tattletale to me, "I’d be willing to turn myself in. I’m not the type to go to the cops, but I might be able to provide more leverage if we went to the courts. The same applies to Bitch. I can put myself on the line and testify for the defense, fill you in." "That’s for the best, whatever it takes," I said. "We’re not sure that’s realistic," Tattletale said. "Yes," I agreed. "But they can’t use me as a bargaining chip when we can’t afford it." "Can’t afford it," she agreed. "We’ll need to back off some. Try to find time to work, instead. That shouldn’t be a problem, considering the pace of the Protectorate and the amount we’re spending on lawyers." "Yes," I agreed. "I’ll be needing a therapist, something, but I’ll find time for that as well." "I’ll see to that. Amy," Tattletale said. "Thanks." "Sure." We walked in silence until we reached one group of offices. The Counselors were there, along with a young man, twenty or so, with dark hair and a curious mixture of design, design school and design courses. The man’s eyes, I noted, were a little too wide. Too much like a ======================================== SAMPLE 183 ======================================== I shook my head. "My power is kind of limited in that area. I can see what my bugs see, but not if they’re moving objects or something. Also, the farther away the objects are, the slower my power works. Like, a lot of the time I’m like, you know, looking at you and my bugs are moving in the opposite direction, so my power isn’t doing much to pick it up. Which it shouldn’t be, because I’m trying to work around this limitation." "Maybe you can give it more flexibility so it can work in other situations?" "I’m not sure I can do that. It’s an area of effect, I’m not sure it’ll work a certain distance away, and I’m not sure there’s any way to map it off so it’s always up to date. So I’m limited in areas where I can see and my power’s working." I sighed. She mentioned Leviathan, but didn’t say anything further. I wandered off a bit to check on my own traps. One of the girls in the group was making masks out of the webbing that encircled the corpses of their fallen enemies. "What do you mean?" I asked. She turned to me. "I mean, I’m not sure I’m doing a good job of explaining. Sorry." I used my bugs to note the general shape of the black shapes that were flourishing on the corpses. Tens of thousands of spiders, hundreds of thousands of millipedes, hundreds of thousands of beetles. I sent some of my bugs in to help with the majority of the work, but the black dots and curious silhouettes with the many insects crawling on them made me think she was drawing the connections between the spider webs and the bodies. "Look at that," she said. "That’s what she looks like. She’s saying something. Around here, there’s a rule about not putting anything into the bodies that comes out the other end. Webs and black carbonite aren’t allowed, because it’s supposed to take two and a half minutes to three minutes for the carbon to form. That’s not saying two and a half minutes takes forever. It’s just that, well, there’s carbonite. Keeping in mind that ninety-five percent of the world’s population only has access to clean water, I tell people not to use it." I noted Tattletale’s absence. I didn’t like her in particular, but her absence had a kind of crushing effect on me. I kind of wanted to let things go and start afresh, but knowing that there was some rule or another about keeping certain things out of the mouths of those with power, I was stepping up my efforts to be heard. "Alright, so the rule is usually something along the lines of you follow the people with the bare minimum of trash and dead weight. That doesn’t mean you have to, but it’s something that I try to keep in mind." "Alright, that’s easy enough to do. I do like that there’s a goal, though. Goals are hard to establish. You mentioned earlier that you were motivated." "Yes." "An obstacle, sometimes a factor in your decisions, sometimes a spur of the moment thing. It was a goal of mine to find out what happened to Alexandria, specifically." I didn’t have a response to that. "An obstacle, sometimes a factor in your decisions. Sometimes a factor in tangential matters. But an obstacle is generally one that forces you to take a different route." "And this is a big part of why there’s such a thing as cape parahuman?" "Yes," I said. The significance of the word ‘hard’ hit me. My eyes widened. "A lot of us go down the wrong path, or get entangled in the wrong person’s path. Some of us get stuck, and the end result is often bad, even if we get there." "I understand where you’re coming from. I do, too. It sucks to have to do that sort of thing, but the rewards are so good, considering how important the powers are to us, and how much danger we’re in, for good or for ill." "I know," I said. I wasn’t sure exactly how, but I thought maybe I was approaching the mental processes that drove people to get back at me. You’re not so sure of anything, here. "But… are you really willing to lower ======================================== SAMPLE 186 ======================================== Is it really surprising that a bunch of powerful individuals would put their own interests ahead of the interests of the people they wanted to control? "Is the team growing too thin?" Imp asked. "You’re missing too many members." "We’re adding people slowly," Grue said. "It’s fine. My side has more raw firepower than most, and I want to keep them strong. Trickster, Genesis, you guys do your best to keep the teams intact, but it’s not a priority." "Sure, but you’re talking about important people," Imp said. "Critically important people." "We’re growing," I told her. "Yes, we’re adding people, but that’s progress nonetheless." "Wow," she said. "That’s a lot of turnover." "Slow is better," I said. Slow was better. I couldn’t disagree, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the reasoning. Slowly, the groups began to blend. Civilian names were retired, and now group members were simply called team members. Names and images were cycled through the headings and sub-headings, to make names more unique. Here and there, there were additions, little conveniences, little embellishments and decorations, like a mother giving birth to a child, or a wife presenting a present for her husband but leaving the present unopened. The civilian side of things was most disorganized. I had a team leader I could confide in on matters, but that didn’t do much good if I became increasingly resentful. If the ‘sparcado’ troublemaker decided I was a drain on the group’s resources, I was pretty sure I could find a way around the divide. The real me, the vulnerability, the unknown. The blending was most noticeable around the Dragonfly, but it was obvious enough that I noted it with my bugs. There were people in other teams, some civilian, some Dragonkin. I noted the presence of the ‘cubes’, humanoid figures who had the general shape of young women, and I noted the presence of the older, more athletic members of the New York and Boston teams. I could count them, with the benefit of my swarm-sense. I had data on them, and I could get answers. I got the impression they had a general description of the person they were looking at, a photo or a video of a particular person, and any associations people had made them. It was mind-shattering, and I was barely scratching my head. Who were they, then? I made the first move of any sort of power, walking between them and the Dragonfly. Oaf. He wasn’t as big as he had been, but he was still a good size. A kid, in good shape. Charming, in a way. Barely a year ago, Isaac and Blinky had had their throats cut. Isaac had been one of Ligeia’s victims, and Blinky had been one of Ligeia’s. Barely forty people in all. Now, there were seventy. There were political reasons for the increase, to the point that the leaders of the other teamings couldn’t afford for them to be a priority target. There were villains on the move too, after having dealt with the Undersiders and their allies in the past, and the heroes were more or less thin at the major squad levels. That was the background. There was also the part where a lot of people in the Undersiders were really freaking out, because they hadn’t done anything wrong. They didn’t even want to be here, or the villains that were currently occupying them. Oaf was killing himself. I sensed him above us, striding towards the sea of people, scarred by the Behemoth-induced injuries that had bled into his body and mind. I didn’t recognize him, but I couldn’t stop him either. I reached out with my swarm, trying to get a sense of him, and was rewarded with a cadence of unintelligible, robotic screaming. His victims were apparently unaware, or didn’t care, because more than a few had stayed behind as he’d approached, tried to swat at him or swat at something in his immediate vicinity. Victims, I noted, who might have died, had their skinned bodies been scarred. A healthy part of me wanted to help those people. I didn’t want to gain power for the sake of gaining power, but I couldn’t stand idly by while this sort of thing happened. I’d been a part ======================================== SAMPLE 189 ======================================== "I think you and I are very similar on that score," she said. "Very intelligent and wise, but not in the sense that defines our brains or our personalities. I enjoy the company of these people, even if I don’t necessarily understand the language." "I envy you," He said. "You get to spend time with others who are as brilliant as you are, and yet you barely have time for anyone else." "I travel the world," she said. "I stay in hotels, I go to the field with my dogs, I volunteer. I’m enormously grateful for what you’ve done, even if I don’t understand half of it." "And I get to volunteer with the wounded," he said. "I’m sorry if I’m being pushy." "It’s alright," she said. "I’m being careful to not get on your case, so you don’t get locked into anything you shouldn’t." "I’ll try to keep it that way." She turned to walk away, and he rejoined her. There was a long pause. He hadn’t planted a particularly strong impression on the girl, so it was new. He fished in her belt and pockets, then pulled out his phone. He dialed Daisy-clone-two-zero-one-six. Her response was slow, as was his pacing as he worked his way through his gear. "We need to talk," she said. "About?" "The power." He felt his heart sink. "About what?" "D&D. You said you weren’t keen on the group dynamic, you were bothered by it, but you were with it. Do you still feel that way?" "It’s a goal I’m striving for. I’m striving to be better, to contribute. I don’t… I don’t feel I can be a good leader, or a good member of the group, without the group affecting my thoughts and feelings, without-" "With what?" "With D&D." He shook his head. "No. Without the group." "If you don’t want to join, I can still make you unhappy. Let’s say we have a disagreement. Good news: I’m your best diplomat so far." "No, really," he said. He reached into his utility compartment and withdrew a binder. He unfolded it, handing it to her. "I understand if that’s not your style." "You’ve known me a little while." "I’ve operated in this city a little over a year. I can vouch that you and I are very on the ball when it comes to issues of state. I’m also very frank about my motives when I choose to do what I do. I enjoy getting hammered, and having some good old boy to throw around, so I’ve had time to think about ways to improve the Protectorate." "So you don’t intend to run?" "No. I won’t." "Of course, then." He slid the binder across the table. "But I do expect you’ll run. It’s the way things are going. The old guard is too entrenched, the new guard is too loose. Only difference between us is I want to run and help others succeed." "Well, I’m not sure I’m a hero anymore," she said. Her mind was a mosaic of past events and recollections. How much of that was fact and how much was fiction? "Maybe not so much, but I hope you can find what you’re looking for in the coming weeks and months." "You’ll be a hero?" she asked, with a touch of desperation. "Maybe." He shrugged. "I volunteer, I help out on other projects, but that’s it." "I see. You’re frustrated, what’s going on?" "My whole life, the way my dad and I have talked… we’ve been together, he’s apart. And it’s all gone to hell. Divorced, even. So I’m angry." "You can’t change that. I see. But you got me to help. I’m having a second trigger event, and a third party in the mix. That’s getting harder and harder to handle, as you mentioned it." "I have to. One trigger event, one ======================================== SAMPLE 192 ======================================== Above the swarming insects and arachnids, the Guardians were setting up. Tecton was holding back his power, relying on cones of translucent, flexible rock instead, while Foil was creating her personal army. Regent had reverted to his more familiar form, while Faultline’s personal knights were backing up. And behind me, Tecton was extending a pillar of translucent stone in the shape of a smile of his own. I found myself missing the enforcers a little, and loathed the PRT a little more. I’d made the call to back them up, to come with them. The penalty for backing them up was that they lost the benefit of my ability to sense threats. I was limited in how much I could manipulate my bugs, in terms of what could be told to my subconscious. But a hundred bug girls should have been able to drown a dragon, even if it were an oversize dragon. I wasn’t so sure the PRT was a particularly reliable ally. Dragon wasn’t on her way to revenge on us for what had happened at the fundraiser. Instead, she made her arrival via a series of doors, the gate at the end of the hall that held the tower she’d used for launching her balls. The doors were all opening now, as she made her way down, and she stopped by the office to say hi. I didn’t want to interrupt her, with the amount of attention being given to Dragon by the Protectorate leaders, but I wished I could have left. I wasn’t sure how that would turn out. We arrived at the elevator and made our way down, Tecton giving me a hand in climbing the six hundred feet to the ground. I wasn’t okay with the move, as it put me in more danger, but it was a way to get to the bottom of the massive room, and get to me. I was slowly opening more of the portal behind me, letting my bugs trickle out. I’d slowed the elevator down slightly to make the passage easier for us. The room itself was a giant fusion of everything that wasn’t perfect. There was a metal man in the center, with fins that spiraled and snaked around him. On the far end, wires and twisted metal cordoned off his face, with sharp turns and gaping mouths extending over his shoulders. It wasn’t as impressive as he might have looked if I wasn’t using my power to make it look like something other than a flail. Or isn’t it better just to ignore the fact that he’s a giant when it’s easier to just make him a human shape and have him smash things? Still, it was something, and as much as I didn’t want to approach too close to the ledge, I knew the fin would have to do. As preparations for battle became ironed out, I’d leave the nipple alone, made the fist and forefingers of my claw fingers tap my cheek as I made the second of my four cuts – a stump large enough to have the blood pouring through it. I’d do it again when the fighting was a little more bearable, so it wouldn’t take so long to clean up. My reason for keeping my mouth shut was because I didn’t want to make him angry. If I made him angry, he’d spill any and all blood, and I’d have no idea if he’d be the kind of person that would spill on camera or in the crowd. We made our way into the lobby and made our way down the hall to where our temporary lair sat. It was all white, as far as the eye could see in every direction. There were panels of white on a black background, with panels of light standing in either corner like words on a page. It was incomplete, there was a panel of white to the left of the room, a panel of heavy cloud hanging over the top of the door, and a panel of white to the right, all arranged in a spiral like a clock face, with the years 2011-2014 arranged in a circle. There was a word in capital letters on the panel closest to the front door, which I couldn’t make out from my vantage point – P.R.R.R.R. A short distance to the side, there was a panel that looked like it had been designed to fit over the eyes of anyone who walked by, without any adjustment necessary. From their vantage point, they could see the interior of the room as a simple white tile, with lights dim, white noise and smoke detailing the walls. I couldn’t make out the logs that were piled up on the floor beside the door. "So it’s official," T ======================================== SAMPLE 195 ======================================== No. I suppose I’d have to say he was wrong. I suspect that was the case whether he liked it or not. "It’s a point in time we should be thinking about. You talked about how the Endbringers are like siblings? I’ve talked to people who have to cope with multiple Endbringers, and they had the same thing to say. They deal with it all by being smart, by being ready for the worst case scenarios and expecting the worst. By being responsible, holding it all together, and never losing sight of the fact that we could all stand to get the hell out." He reached across the kitchen counter and grabbed one of the skintight gray women’s hands. She pulled away reluctantly, but she didn’t pull away completely. He took her hand in his own, "I don’t know if I should stay or not. I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t leave, either, but maybe I do if this is it." She held on to his arm, "And if I get attacked, or if there’s trouble at work? Or if my friends start falling apart? I’ll come with." "They’re still your friends, after all. You don’t need me, you don’t need anyone with my power, aside from you." "Whatever." "Thank you. Again, that’s good of you to give me this favor. It’s not about giving me an ally against the Nine, or even stopping them. It’s about giving me the freedom to do what I need to do, here, on my terms." She cut in, "You’re free to say no. To taking charge of my territory." "Sure," he answered. It was another minute before she said, "There’s a two year gap before the other group gets their stuff together. I want to make sure they get organized and on track. They’ve got stuff scheduled back in February. Being bossy, they’ve already got a team in place. We just have to get them stocked with stuff. We can do that, and we can have a group in place before the new year." "A little aggressive," Grue said. "You guys are soooo killing it," Regent added. "Trying to drive the point home," Tattletale said, "It’s a little too close to home for my tastes." "For sure," Grue said. "I’d wait to see how it all unfolded." "We’re definitely pushing the tempo," Tattletale answered. "Oh, and it bears repeating," Regent added. "The tempo’s too fast. Too many things happening at once. Too many functions to be handled by the group as a whole. It’s not a perfect storm. But we’re pushing ourselves as hard as we can." "Sounds like a plan," I said. "We’re fully aware of what’s happening," Tattletale said. "We’re not taking a stand, and there’s no reason to believe them. But we’re going to be ready." "Can I cut in and put my two cents in?" Grue asked. "I’m more than a fan of the larger-than-life Mark Pelham stories. I’m a big Mark Pelham guy, myself. I want the guy with the big heart and the big head. We can make it work." "Fuck you. That’s not the point," Tattletale said, and I didn’t read much into it. "You’re not holding anything back, so I’m not seeing it that much. You’ve said as much. I don’t see why you can’t or won’t share." "It’s only if I go out and say it." "I’m not seeing the difference you’re making." "It’s subtle, but I think I’m getting an unfair advantage." "So you’re sharing. I’m not seeing a difference at all. You’re at liberty to share with me what you can’t share, and I’ll take all you want from me." "I’m not sharing," Grue said, and that was that. Lisa returned with a package. "What’s in it?" I asked Grue. "Your costume. From the last time I updated it. ======================================== SAMPLE 198 ======================================== It was about the size of my bed, but it was heavy. I stood at the edge, surveying it side by side with the desk. The Protectorate’s trophy room, complete with a ring of chrome needles, a mirror, a desk and a television. The Room. There were two other sections complete with computer terminals, a bar tending toward the ceiling and televisions, and a bit of a workbench. The only real limitation on what I was going to be able to do was the ceiling, but I wasn’t sure that would slow me down much. As far as I could tell, everything was logical. The terminals, the monitors, the televisions, the desk… they were all displays, arranged in logical rows and columns. There were four monitors on this end of the room, but only two were dedicated to video, the screens being one long press away from the main monitor. Two were simply lying flat, empty. The desk had a clean, almost opulent looking design, complete with glossy black and white cabinets. It was almost more like a courtroom door than anything else, clean and neat. I glanced over the other monitors. The countdown was still visible on the main screen, hovering over three o’clock, with a countdown clock in the upper-right corner. The second counterexample to the seemingly orderly layout was the glowing orb at the center of the room, rapidly approaching one minute and twenty seconds of headcount. The countdown clock in the lower right corner indicated the countdown of Tinker 3.5423… roger. "I’m so sorry," my dad said, "I’m so sorry this is happening." "It’s not your fault," I protested, "You’ve done nothing wrong." "Except maybe the cape thing." "Nothing’s been done!" "He-" I started to speak, then stopped as I felt something slam around my face. A fist that was bigger than I had air passed over my head. My dad was ready for me to say something I couldn’t. "You shouldn’t have let him into the school," he looked at me defiantly, "It’s against the rules, and he’s a thug." "Speak louder," I pointed out, "Anything else? Anything else that’s going to get people hurt or killed?" He dismissed the two guards that were watching me, "No. I think we clear everything out of earshot. Grue, you guys do the talking." "Right," he did, as we all approached the table. I stood by with my arms folded. "The first fifty people out the door clean up the floor," Genesis spoke, "Then we see about Dixie and Jim. Jim, you can use your power to get a table set up, if you want to stand out." "Sure," I told her. Jim and Dixie weren’t around, but they were still attending. The principal and Jefferson were standing by the door, chatting. They didn’t seem that different from the folks I’d seen on the bus. Black women who usually wore dark clothes and business suits. "Number one, if I’m re-entering the building, don’t go anywhere near that table or anything that could identify you, unless you’re a permanent member of the team." "I’m a permanent member of the team," I spoke. Jim nodded in response. "Pro tip, if you do, don’t go anywhere near that table or anything that could identify you. Even if there’s a booth in the middle of the mall, back there, somewhere, there’s cameras. With the help of Coil, of all people." I shook my head. I couldn’t think of a good reason to ignore the courtesy. Besides, it didn’t factor into my plan. The chairs were cleaned and sprayed with a touch of something bright yellow, the table looked new. Jim had changed the color of the chairs, and the table was more or less in working order. I found a bottle of orange juice and popped it in the fridge. I took a glass and downed a bit with a swig from the glass. "We had a little discussion," Jefferson came back from the other end of the kitchen, "I’m not so big a fan of corporate America, but it’s a start." "Yeah? Let’s hear it. One second." "It’s pretty unfair, putting everyone down to compete against one another for placement in groups. Everyone’s invited, but there should be some ranking, or minimum required, so there’s no leaking lists ======================================== SAMPLE 201 ======================================== Weld was so intent on suppressing the pain that he didn’t even seem to realize Alexandria was there. She tumbled over the railing and fell into a heap on the outside of the building. Armsmaster and Vista then helped Echidna rise from the pavement. Echidna didn’t rise higher, but Weld and the others with her managed to stand and stagger back a few steps. "Go!" Armsmaster screamed at her. Echidna didn’t listen. She used her power, spreading a blue flame across the side of the building and the curb. The chain dropped from her fingers, and I heard her say something, faint . . . Scion emerged from the cloud of darkness, exposed, and walked straight for Echidna. I couldn’t afford to be in the middle of this, of all places. I grabbed my knife and gripped the baton with both hands. I slammed it into the handle of the weapon as he emerged from the cloud of darkness, the baton holding him still. He ripped off a section of the durasteel and flung it at Scion. The head and one half of the body was accelerated to a nearly glacial pace. The rest of the suit was sent careening down the street, slamming into the door of a grocery store, the contents tilting with every impact. Echidna was unloading the corrosive venom on the door. I could feel it spreading along the exterior of the suit, tearing into the plastic. It mended itself in an instant, releasing the corrosive venom from head to toe, depositing it in the victim’s tissues. Scion stopped to cross the street, and Eidolon moved the suit, tossing it aside. The corrosive venom was holding it together. The exterior fabric had split, and the corrosive fluid running off the surface was drawing itself towards the internal organs and dividing the exterior layers, coiling them. The suit carefully lifted the Durandal into the air, then performed a controlled release. The contents flowed out of the blister, as a single, strong stream, producing an opaque, noxious cloud. Scion cast the stream aside and reached for the suit. He could feel the suit changing, the upper body shapeshifting, the legs drawing together, the feet drawing closer to the torso, the feetlocking the upper bodies together at the hips. The suit was more resilient, had far more durable materials and structural reinforcements. It would hold. But the streamerboss was a sapping of strength from the body. The D.T. officer beneath the suit was fighting to fight, and he wasn’t in fighting shape. He could shrink away, but the streams would persist, drenching and flowing past him, compromising the suit’s internal structure. He released his hold on the suit, felt it quiver and split a second later, spraying forth as a viscous, gushing stream. This was the most he’d ever seen the liquid crystallize, even in the gym. He dashed one hand out into the street, and a spherical forcefield appeared in that very instant, billowing out until the hand disappeared. The field was smaller, but still larger than it had been the moment he’d created it. Annex collapsed, vomiting, then making his way down with a splash. He was unconscious, his eyes swollen shut. The Yàngbǎn soldier that was controlling Cuff opened fire with their guns, but failed to get a bead on the combatants. The streams turned at an angle to pour into the soldiers, pouring into the most vulnerable areas, around Cuff and Ren. Ren, for his part, heaved a punch into the head that Cuff hadn’t even touched. Cuff moved, and the forcefield disappeared. The hands began to dissipate, and the liquid field surrounded the pair. They disappeared into the liquid air. The Yàngbǎn lowered their guns, leaving their weapons at the ready. The Yàngbǎn passed through the windowless cell that the cell block leaders of the Merchants had into the factory. They were all holding radio or computer sets, or monitors, with computers in the far end. Pirates, so it seemed. It was empty, a factory without the lights or running water. Nothing that spoke to the aliens who had just arrived. The empty factory throbbed with the throb of my bugs as they passed through the glass. I moved my bugs closer, to the point where the building was almost entirely clear, then stopped. The throbbing intensified, and the Agents that were working on the looms and the gun walkers began pounding the walls. The pounding was heavy, to the ======================================== SAMPLE 204 ======================================== "Are you free?" I asked. He nodded. "Then we’ll go." I looked at the others. Citrine was smiling, but the other ones were grim. Marquis looked grim too. the only one with any skin in her uniform was the one with the mouth missing, and she was the one whoa was most likely to cry. Gully looked grim too, by contrast. I was thinking it was appropriate that the remaining members of our team be reminded of this at the same time we were remembering the others. "Let’s go," I said. "Tells ya," "Let’s go," she agreed. I frowned behind my mask, but I didn’t say anything. Buzz 7.2 'T is for time, I realized. An awkward half hour of waiting as the train pulled into the station. The doors were unlocked, of course, and that gave me perfect perspective on just how pissed off the mayor and the others were. They were reacting like they were in the hospital restroom, you guys. Evidently. I stood from my seat to reach for my phone. I pulled it from my jacket pocket, found the button, and slid it up my zipper. Ten buttons and a screen to choose from. At a glance, I noted down the names of the four men and selected the ‘return’ key. Twitter was abuzz with the announcement. I looked up from my phone. Who on Earth would tweet something like that? But at the same time, I couldn’t help but see the potential disaster that awaited them. It was impossible to say just how many bystanders or bystanders at large would get the wrong impression from the fact that I was keeping secrets from them. Had the fact that I was playing along in the media that the PRT had kept quiet about Cauldron’s hand in people’s bodies? Or was it that I’d broken the unwritten rules? I wouldn’t say the unwritten rules got in the way of something this monstrous. Still, I was left to wonder just how many of the seventy-seven who tuned in each night were getting the wrong impression. Sticking a key between his fingers, Gully unscrewed the back of one Holmes bottle and slid it into his briefcase. Securing himself a bottle in his briefcase was Dauntless’s biggest asset, besides his helmet. Without Steed, Gully didn’t have the lift to get up from the floor. The other Holmes bottles were all the same, in the case of the white one, identical. The only difference was that they were stacked, rather than placed like they were in a cup, one set inside the other. "Well done," he said. "You’ve gone really well." "Thank you," I said. "Really. Thank you." I looked at the mayor. "Will he address the council?" "Yes," Gully said. "Or slash us off." "I’d rather not," I said. The mayor didn’t reply. He was still staring down at the two whiteboards. "You two are making a habit of it," Gully said. "Made a habit of it," I replied. "When we first moved into the babysitter’s group, I made a point of giving each of you a new pair of glasses to put in your ears. Harder than it sounds." "Aren’t you tired of them already?" "I am. But I’m also very tired of being the good girl for our benefactors, and they’re not making a lot of progress towards being completeitarians. They’re letting their emotions guide their decisions, and some of that is being too emotional about things. I’m still figuring out why I’m sad, but… yeah." "What’s going on?" I went silent, and listened for a response. "What’s going on?" he asked again. "I need to talk to my superiors, but I’m really looking forward to spending quality time with my family. Especially after you pulled out today. Getting those doctors up to speed should help narrow down the candidates the fastest." "You’re talking about my dad. About our dad." I looked at the women. "Okay. If you’re talking about him, he’s going to be upset. I can live with that." "But your dad’s upset too," she said. I nodded. "He’s upset because he didn’t get the ======================================== SAMPLE 207 ======================================== Still can’t believe you made it. Where are you?" "Hospital. Wherever they are taking me." "Who are you, Taylor?" "My name is Taylor, not Skitter." "Do you have a lawyer?" "No." "Then you’re not alone. I’ve come to expect more from my colleagues, have you?" "No." He didn’t take his eyes off the woman. "Any concerns about your reputation?" "No." "Then what about this?" "I’ve dealt with a fair bit of bad press already. Some have pressed charges, based on very real rumors alleging sexual assault. I have strong suspicions that no crime was committed. I have confidence that those responsible will be held to the same standard I have – that they are innocents, victims in need of rescue, and not criminals." "They are definitely not villains. Do you really want to send them to a mental institution that holds mentally disabled criminals?" "No. I don’t." "No? Do you really want to put someone in prison for the rest of their natural lives, just because they might think they’re a little crazy?" "No." "You might think so, but I think you would be very wrong." Taylor frowned. "I… don’t know." "Just tell me, do you think you’re in a better position than I am?" "No." "Then what should I do?" "I’m not a fighter." He gave her a hard look. She didn’t argue and didn’t argue, but she acquiesced nonetheless. He turned to leave. "I’m not a fighter, either," she pleaded, "But I’m willing to fight, if you want. I’m just not sure how." "Go," he told her. "You’re free to go, but you can’t come near me, unless you want to die." "Why?" "I don’t know." He gave her another hard look, this one directed at her shoulder, then turned to walk away. Bitch observed from the cover of the nearby fence. The man who stood near her was talking to one of the dogs. A large black dog, its front half nearly covering its face, staring at him. "I don’t know whether to believe you," the man said. "I don’t know if you’re telling the truth." "I’m not telling the truth," Taylor said, "But I’ve heard better." "And you haven’t heard from any of them?" the man asked. "They don’t want you here." "We’ll see," Bitch answered. She bent down and picked up Taylor’s bicycle. She carried it behind her as she fled. As she drove, she was careful to listen. "Respectfully, Alexandria told me you wanted to rendezvous. I agree. I wouldn’t have made it this far." Taylor’s head turned slightly. "What are you doing?" "Hearing remarks from outside can be good," Bitch answered. She felt a pang of sympathy for the girl, even if she couldn’t feel any genuine love for her or her. At least, she supposed she felt like she did. Or at least, she was supposed to be. She wasn’t allowed to feel anything. At least she wasn’t feeling like a criminal. She had to resist the urge to respond in kind. "You have an errand, errand," Taylor’s mother spoke. "An errand to get her to school." "Yes, ma’am." "She can’t go either. Not normally, but she’ll give it a try. She’ll see you soon, then she’ll head home. I’ll be back before too long." "When are you coming?" "I’ll be in touch by then. Elsewhere, I’ve got something of a project. You should see the boards I’m putting together. I’m working on getting it all organized. You should see what I’m able to do when the school week is over. There’s a lot I could do if I had more time. I’m trying to organize a system where people are informed and where information is shared." "You’re trying ======================================== SAMPLE 210 ======================================== Letters, no doubt attached, read in gasps of pain from every mouth. "But you would’ve been safer with her gone. You see her as an addiction, a lunatic…" A voice over the comms crackled at the other end, "Tattletale? Need you to remove your mask and hand over any paper or papers that might shed light on what Purity is." The tone was accusatory. Brian turned to see Tattletale pointing at us, and I felt myself draw in a deep breath to clear my throat. "You saw what she was capable of, Tattletale. You know she planned this. The events that took place today are a consequence of that. I’m willing to risk it, if you have a right to be." Damn, about that… I cleared my throat. I was tired, I hadn’t slept in over the past few days, and I felt like I had something to prove. "I’d offer you a deal, but I’d bet you would reject it almost as fast as you started considering it. You’d walk away, and you’d be left blind in the process. I’d be right, and you’d go days, weeks or months without hearing a sound from me in any language other than English. You’d accept my deal, and I’d deliver what I promised, in exchange for your trust and your cooperation." The words were like a whisper, almost a demand, cast like clockwise from my direction, across the entire ship. I shook my head. "No. No I haven’t accepted." "Right. So the question is, what are you offering to Tattletale in exchange for your trust and your cooperation?" "A thousandth of what you asked for, and I’ll personally come to you with the information you need to make the decision." "Got it." He heaved me up, and the sensation was a crushing weight in my chest. I was glad he didn’t lift or swing me around, because I really wanted to reach down and grab something for my arms. I wasn’t strong enough to do that alone, not with the way my arms were likely to be when I stepped outdoors, without the restraint of the suit. There was a wake, and I climbed to my feet in time to see Bentley laying cold on the floor. The other dogs had realized I was in the way and were moving around us to distance us. Bitch was still in her seat, her eyes wide. Grue’s crew had noticed the same thing, but they were still seated in their respective stalls. The ones who’d declined to follow us off were: a. Sitting in the prone form, completely still and rigid, their heads and noses directed at me, their eyes hard b. Indoors, they stood about, ducking and weaving in and out of the crevice and underbrush, the terrain constantly shifting to make them as unrecognizable as possible from their previous self. Some looked as though they wanted to fight. I didn’t let on which one they were. c. Very nearly the opposite, in terms of their ability to move, react and communicate. They were sitting in the prone and standing upright, but they’d remain lying down if pushed. As they ‘laughed’ or screamed, I could almost understand why. "This way," Tattletale said. I followed her instructions. The way we’d gestured, it was like we were all Walking Dead. Except there were more than two versions of the ‘we’. Riches from the nights prior had been smashed by blasts of lightning, left to burn, their edges scorched and left raw. The bundles of them were as dense as a part two of a single person, if not two. One was getting ready to throw themselves from the rungs of the fire exit, only for a burst of lightning to stun them, and send them sprawling. Another was nearly caught with his pants down around his knees, only a trickle from a still-thrusting three-foot-nine in height. Where did that leave the larger bundle? He knew how to fight, when he’d had his hands free. What’s more, he’d apparently planned on arming himself by fighting this morning. Strange. The people here were used to violence, uncertainty, the unknown. This much capital would be good if he was here to help us, to provide reinforcements against an imminent attack… and he wasn’t. Calvert had his underlings. Project managers. If he had someone directing him, pointing him to places to ======================================== SAMPLE 213 ======================================== In this Saturday, May 19, 2016 photo, a tank of gas is reflected in a mirror in the dining area at the Mandalay Bay Resort & Casino in Las Vegas. (AP Photo/John Locher, File) By STEPHEN COOPER, Associated Press NEW YORK (AP) — Investigators with the U.S. Department of Homeland Security say they have detained two Russian nationals in connection with Monday night's Las Vegas mass shooting. Officials say the men were arrested at Ellis Island, off the coast of Vancouver Island. They weren’t identified. They say one man was arrested on suspicion of conspiring to provide material support for terrorism, money laundering and firearms offences. The arrests follow reports of violence in the streets following the death of an American superheroine writer, and reports that a woman in the United Arab Emirates was arrested in connection with that shooting. Mass killings in other countries have drawn worldwide attention. In October, Russia deported a group of American superheroes to Germany following a series of deadly cyberattacks. In July, a gunman killed five people and injured 58 in an attack on a concert in Manchester, Britain. In June, a Russian-British man blew himself up in an attack on a beach in Tunisia's Mediterranean Sea resort town that left nine dead. In May, three men drove a truck into a group of pedestrians in London. They killed four people and injured more than a hundred others in the rampage. (This story corrects title, removes inaccurate details) (This story corrects title, removes inaccurate details) © Copyright 2017 The Associated Press. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed _______________________________________________ U.S.ATSB FILES ATTN: Title DATE: 20161014 TAG: Aktion 1 NUMBER: 16 PAG: B VOC: C *** This message was sent to: Privacy@resist.org This is a read-only message. It can be changed or removed using the admin feature *** _______________________________________________ DATE: 20161014 TAG: Aktion 1 NUMBER: 16 PAG: A VOC: C *** This message was sent to: privacy@resist.org This is a read only message. It can be changed or removed using the admin feature *** _______________________________________________ DATE: 20161014 TAG: Aktion 1 NUMBER: 16 PAG: C VOC: D *** This message was sent to: privacy@resist.org This is a read only message. It can be changed or removed using the admin feature *** _______________________________________________ DATE: 20161014 TAG: Aktion 1 NUMBER: 16 PAG: D VOC: E *** This message was sent to: privacy@resist.org This is a read only message. It can be changed or removed using the admin feature *** _______________________________________________ DATE: 20161014 TAG: Aktion 1 NUMBER: 16 PAG: F VOC: G *** This message was sent to: privacy@resist.org This is a read only message. It can be changed or removed using the admin feature *** _______________________________________________ DATE: 20161014 TAG: Aktion 1 NUMBER: 16 PAG: H VOC: H *** This message was sent to: privacy@resist.org This is a read only message. It can be changed or removed using the admin feature *** _______________________________________________ DATE: 20161014 TAG: Aktion 1 NUMBER: 16 PAG: I VOC: J _______________________________________________ DATE: 20161014 TAG: Aktion 1 NUMBER: 16 PAG: K VOC: L _______________________________________________ DATE: 20161014 TAG: Aktion 1 NUMBER: 16 PAG: M VOC: N _______________________________________________ DATE: 20161014 TAG: Aktion 1 NUMBER: 16 PAG: O VOC: P _______________________________________________ DATE: 20161014 TAG: Aktion 1 NUMBER: 16 PAG: Q VOC: R This message and ======================================== SAMPLE 216 ======================================== If you’re sure, good, great, or even somewhat positive, you can keep your mouth shut. I’m loving this, like mother, son, daughter, nieces and nephews. All of you." The phone vibrated. Rachel pulled away, but it was with a long sigh. "There’s a nigh-certainty in there. And I’m telling you, this is why I’m feeling it, this is the most crucial time, brace yourselves." The phone rang again. "To Quinn Norton," I said. Rachel gave me a tight smile, but she still held the phone to her ear. "Quinn Norton. My husband’s number. Tell him’s sorry he came. It’s probably okay, that he’s not going to press you for any information, but it’s okay, because he’s here and he’s okay, after giving all of us visits. All of this makes sense." Rachel nodded. "His phone number, I sent him. I’ll leave a message." "Got it. Again, that’s all I wanted, really. Thank you. We’re going to grab a beer, wrap this up." "I’ll leave it to you to decide what to do with the money. I know it’s late, and some of you are on your way, but I’d really like to hear what you’re having trouble with at the company." I shrugged. How long had it been since I’d had a chance to talk with someone in person? "Last I heard, they were putting the last of the cars on the lot, and I had to turn around. I was working for the boss. God, it’s hard to be a carpenter, when the boss is out of town." "Well, you’ve got the car out of the way, and everything is okay? So you could say it’s a good time is when the boss is around, after all." Carol’s face fell. "You… okay. I guess you’re not doing me any favors." "I’m being sensitive," I said. "I know. We discussed it, and I don’t think you’ll have any problems with taking advantage of a situation like this. Except maybe when I’m a supervillain." I frowned, then went on, "I’m not sure I get it. You said you were in a relationship." "Yes." "How did it go?" "It went well. I got the benefits of the doubt, he gave me a hard time, but it was a long talk, and he made it clear that he didn’t like me when I wasn’t his." "The benefits of the doubt." I couldn’t help but picture Carol in her mother’s shoes as she dealt with the same situations. Me, making the calls, the stumbling onto the job, the arrival of the truck. I did get the benefit of the doubt, in a roundabout way. I felt like I’d been treated like a fully fledged teenager, even got to meet and dress with ABB guys. Maybe I’d have to face the consequences of that, settling into a routine, when it came time for my life to follow. "I have a cousin who works for me. He said you should apply. He’ll let you know if they accept you or not." "Okay." "I also got in contact with the boss. He said you should apply. They want to see how I do and if there’s any holes, any holes that need fixing, or if there’s anything that can be improved on the job. I’ll be using their talents and skills to find and recruit employees who can do a job for us." Carol nodded. "If you have any questions, let me know. I’ll be on the phone for the afternoon shift." "Tonight," she mused, "Will be the night. We have to take things into our own hands, regulate our own channels." "Okay," I said. "That might be OK. I mean, I could be controlling things, but I’m not going to. It wouldn’t be honest, and it wouldn’t be true." I could see her hesitate. The look on her face, the doubt, it made me uncomfortable. "Don’t," I said. ======================================== SAMPLE 219 ======================================== "No!" I could see him pause, thought about it. He turned and walked away, cursing the overseer. "What?" Lisa looked bewildered. "You follow?" I pointed in the direction our boat was travelling, and I typed out the words, "Antares Window." He looked at the ship, stared at me for a few seconds, then nodded a simple yes. He started walking towards us. "And you think she’ll let us in?" I asked Trickster, as I followed. "She let the Undersiders into the building, about two years ago. She took one look at them, the kid with the powers, and decided to treat us badly. Ended with her putting a bomb in our boat. Guy Fidel served as a middleman, handled by the guy with the rod, so it went through. Left a hole in the floor, with a pin in the very central mechanism. It keeps getting bigger, and it’s not being filled in. Maybe part of the weight it has to adopt comes from the weapon system, from the anti-aircraft guns and stuff like that. But the way it grew, the wings, the way it crawled… it had to be nuclear warhead writ large. Maybe something Trojan. Or it was at some point a bazooka." "A rocket launcher," I said. "Nope. That’s junk science. Science isn’t rocketry, isn’t shooting arcades. It was a science fiction scenario that never happened. Really, the only reason she’s still around is because she’s kind of powerful and independent, and because she’s wanted status in a group that gets by with rules and regulations and favours the clean over the shithoused. She was probably trying to establish that she was first to the table, and that she was damn good at it. She springs to mind when I think of her." "She’s powerful, but she isn’t that scary," I said. "Maybe. But I think she springs to mind. Her power sort of gets in your head, and it’s hard to get out. It’s like the power never manifested in the first place, unless you’re really, really unlucky. It’s like the plan of a superhero you can’t question or even imagine even hints at the idea of using your power in a truly bad way." "What are you getting at?" "I’m saying there’s a huge difference between her and Scion. She doesn’t have free will. She’s as constrained by the rules of the game she’s played as anyone." I could see the horror on Lisa’s face. I felt almost the same with my power as an ‘afterimage’. I reached out to my bugs, and I guided them into the smoking building through the gaps in the fire escape. I made an arrow pointing up, towards the gaping hole in the building, using the bugs to draw the concentrated flame up and away from the building, turning it into a kind of pyrokinetic blast. My cockroaches left droplets on the floor, and I threw myself to the ground as a mass of darkness. I was so blind I couldn’t see through it, but I could see the devastation. I could see people trapped, limbs bent and broken, building collapses evident in the wake of the fire. I knew the fire had to have been free formed, from the primordial mess of gases and particulates that filled the area, but the smoke and flame hadn’t seemed to clear away, and the collapsed structure had caught the remaining chunks of brick, concrete and slabs of concrete in its wake. I could smell it, like the scent of death and decomposition, with the faintest whiff of rancid flesh. It took us a minute to get settled. Lisa’s phone vibrated before we were completely hidden from Scion’s sight. "Max," Lisa said, "I’m very sorry, the dog’s quiet." "I know it’s probably the most inconvenient job in the world," I replied, glancing at Barker, "But we’re cutting in half the time, and I think we could all stand to do more. The extra patrol the dogs get, the faster we can respond. We’ve got to act, otherwise it looks like we’re over there at 4 in the morning, waiting for the patrol shifts to end, and we’re not in charge." "Ah," Lisa smiled. "We’re cutting in half the time, and I think we could all stand to have a little ======================================== SAMPLE 222 ======================================== How? They’d found a way around my power. Or, to be more specific, they’d redirected some of my power to useful purposes. My power had never been useful in this kind of situation, because the intentional directing of a particle or a laser in something that wasn’t meant to be directed made the resultant effect chaotic. The amount of scattered matter that came free was miniscule by today’s standards, but it was still pretty damn useful. A trap? I looked around, searching for something that would serve as a signal. Anything, even a distraction through the use of my bugs, that would let us think twice before we descended into the madness once more. Except I hadn’t seen it. The heroes had noticed. I could see Amy fidget under the table as Vista moved the handgun to point it at her head. Panacea was giving Cuff CPR while standing behind Sprout, with Laserdream, Feather, Imp and the newly freed Shadow Stalker backing her up. Even the normally chivalrous Gold Morning was tending to the dogs. Why? Signal? Custodian? Puppet? My bugs told me the heroes were looking for a teleporter who might have had a power that could have given them a way out. I wasn’t a tinker, but I’d gathered some basic grenades and fire at a range that made it easy to get my hands on. I had a small collection of hairspray, so I could try to patch things up. It didn’t help, but it gave me a sense of my surroundings. I saw it all unfolding before my eyes. The heroes were talking, looking for information, looking for hints. I wasn’t exactly sure what they were looking for, but the gist of what they were saying was that Chevalier had been right, Winslow High had been the responsibility of the local heroes, and they’d gotten greedy. This meant that the heroes had apparently gotten a freer hand to handle the situation, and they were now dragging the heroes after them like they’d shot a deer in the headlights. Regent had apparently gotten a little wild, recklessly, which was unusual, but unusual isn’t the right word. I suspected I sensed some of that from the air. If I attached myself to the rear lines of the defense, maybe I could have some sort of say. My flight pack kicked to life, and I flew erratically, trying to pick my moment to charge and go for the kill. Something about the feeling of wind at the back of my neck, it wasn’t just the sensation of air resistance in the cold weather, plus the cold gale forces me to lean away from the birdcage I was rooted in. I leaned over, and all the strength went out of my legs. I fell. My right foot hit asphalt, and I landed on my back astride it. The motion was clumsy, even coming so late in the day, but I had to have tried something. I rubbed my legs, and they were okay. If I didn’t feel like rubbing, or if I wanted to keep my leg and feet from swelling too much, I just knelt where I was and pressed my fingertips against the soles of my dress boots. I swayed a little as I made my way to the foot of the stairs, and hunched over. I could sense the back of the building, the perimeter of it, which wasn’t secure, not in our own best interests, not in the best interests of the local authorities. There was a long hallway that ran in the middle of the parking lot, and a black helicopter with a red S with a RED QR on the sides had landed there, on the opposite side of the parking lot from the heroes. I bent down and drew the phone from my belt. "Local teams, hold position," Dragon’s voice came over the comms. "This is PRT U.S.A. Tenebrous. He’s advertising nearby locations. Oh, and he’s been knocking on US doors for a little while. Try your luck." There were nods or noises of agreement from across the board. "Well," I said, "Let’s try and find the others, then." "You’re trying something. Where’s Weld?" I checked my phone. He was in the area. "We have too many people and not enough bugs to go around. Let me know if you can find him. Where’s Defiant?" I reached for the handle, and the phone only displayed a red display with flashing lights. "Not found. I� ======================================== SAMPLE 225 ======================================== Rebecca will only accept and listen if she feels like she’s got everything else quite right, but she can never really believe you if you only say the right things." "That sounds a bit like she got shot with fifty bullets," I said. "She did. That’s not the entirety of it. She cared enough about us to get us out of the house, to help stop the flooding, help with the rescue, and get first aid training for Jack and Bonesaw. She did all that, and she still thinks she’s stupid, right?" I wasn’t sure what to say reply to that. If I said no, could I change her mind with a good speech? If I said yes, could I change her mind and ask for something else? "There’s other stuff that’s happened," I said, "People making horrible things like you’re monsters. Even going so far as to accuse you of it. It’s scarier than you think." I waited for a response, for her to realize I was trying to help her and realize she’d justifiably blamed me. No such luck. "I was talking to Mr. Calle about plans we had for this coming weekend. He asked me about my interactions with the Slaughterhouse Nine. I told him I hadn’t. That I hadn’t because I didn’t want to. I told him I didn’t want to because Jack was going to get away with it, and I wouldn’t have any motivation to work for him if he was that smart. He seemed surprised, but he agreed I wasn’t bluffing." "So you don’t have any reason to take this deal, don’t have any reason to say anything to them other than goose this already fucked up situation." "I have. But I don’t think I really have much more to say. You want to know what happens if I lie?" She made a face. "The important thing is that I don’t want to lose to Calle. I’ve been working to make myself a better killer, and I’m very, very close to getting good at this. Everything I’ve been working on, I’ve poured into becoming a better person, into being a better leader. And I think I might be getting there if I’m honest about how I want to be seen. I hate starting fights, I hate starting fights that aren’t even going to win, and I hate watching those fights degenerate into shit like the Boston attack." "Terror attacks. You’re making it sound like I’m being paranoid." "I’m being honest," I said. "I don’t know what you’re talking about." "You wanted to put together a group that could take on the Slaughterhouse Nine. Why didn’t you do it already?" "I didn’t put any of my people in the way. But I had to." "Didn’t you lose sleep?" I nodded. "I’m sorry. Was just thinking. Jack can be very convincing if he wants to be, and I’m not being deceptive there. I was just… reacting." "Real quick," Brian said, "Checking in on you-" "I’m here," I said. He handed me a hospital gown, and it was compact, tiny. It wasn’t so small I couldn’t wrap my hand around it, and it was still very substantial. Even in weight, it wasn’t that heavy. And, as it turned out, there were more than two of us present. Two other people, all girls, were standing in a slightly different order. The main group of people, the ones who’d been around me when I was in prison, had returned. They included places I’d been and places I’d gone. I felt a touch out of place, a little embarrassed. Lisa’s mother was here as well. Lisa’s father was nowhere to be found. Apparently that had been the plan all along. "So the deal is, we give you access to all of our resources," I said. "Information, tools, information is free. If you’re willing to use them, you lend them to people in your territory. We’ll use them. You get to keep any." "That’s not how it works, I know," Alec said. "The system is broken, but it’s working. Someone’s got to point ======================================== SAMPLE 228 ======================================== I was the calm before the storm. I could see the man with the thick eyebrows and straight black hair standing, stock still, with only his elbows on the table and his lower body weight resting on his knees, the lower half of his face hidden from view by the protective mask he wore. A young woman, just a little younger than he was, sporting a black suit. She was the opposite of Lisa. Alec was sitting in the passenger seat, his back to the other two. I couldn’t see his eyes through the black lenses of his mask, but I knew he was watching me very carefully. Grue had finished getting Rigobert off, and was handing him the plastic cooler from the bench. Grue stood behind the driver’s seat, while Rigobert got out and walked over to the passenger seat, unrolling a blanket from the slope of the metal cooler. Lisa stopped by with a small tray. As I’d seen with Brian, her cooking was a little complicated. She ladled a spoonful of pasta sauce into the sink and started serving it to Grue. Grue took a bite and gave Lisa a nod. She went on to serve him a refill for his pasta. I wasn’t quite sure how the meal had ended, but I was pretty sure it had started when Lisa had brought him his first bottle. When I’d found out Lisa was pregnant with his other bottle, I’d used the first bottle I’d brought him from home to help him. I’d hidden the bottle’s contents from him, so he’d think I had a bigger surprise. I’d also brought a second bottle so he could keep an eye on Rigobert while I took care of our other child. It was these last few steps that I was remembering. Had I mentioned just how important it was that we get Lisa and Carol pregnant? Or that we get Jack and his gang of hitmen offloaded on the way to Arcadia High? I wasn’t sure if he would have known, but Brian had been faking my death for a little while. "Thank you," I spoke, a little too fast, "For taking care of my kid. Let’s- let’s talk about the next step." "Okay, sure," Brian told me. "Step one was giving birth to a girl," I protested, "She was five days along when she gave birth to me." "No shit?" Brian and Lisa laughed. "I think so," I nodded. "Step two was pretty straight forward. Give her some attention. Physically, emotionally, mentally. If she needed it, she knew it. If she wasn’t feeling it, she knew it wasn’t physiological. If she was still receptive after seeing everything I just did and thinking about it all day, then I think she was probably gonna be into me as far as that stuff went." "I wonder if that makes sense," Brian said. "Maybe. But I think she appreciated how hard I tried to make everything work, and I appreciated how hard it really was to get that out of her." "So you started by giving her feelings, then you softened her up some," Lisa said. "I handed her some ambiguous messages, some baby names, and after some discussion, we arranged to have pizza delivered to our place on the day after the delivery. Yeah?" "Kind of put the idea in her mind, kind of," Brian said. "After. Don’t worry about the way you two phrased it. If she ever does figure you out, I’m gonna be in a position to take her to task for whatever bullshit reason she decides to go on. But for now, it’s just that, an arrangement." Lisa grinned. "So I took care of the delivery for a day." "And then I went out and fished for crabs by the dumpster downtown. Threw them in the water and watched what happened. Took them back after some investigating. Fished some more, then started cooking dinner. Had a long talk with Brian about what we were going to do for tonight. Then it was decided. I’ll keep you posted." Brian pulled a smartphone from his pocket and handed it to me. "Sorry to interrupt." I thanked him and stood up. As I made my way to my room, I heard grumbling from Lisa, followed by the noise of items being moved around the room. I ventured to leave some things behind, as I sort of lost my train of thought. When I was done leaving, I ventured back into the room. Rather than sit on the coffee table that was situated at the far end of the room ======================================== SAMPLE 231 ======================================== Have you been home? I know I have. A quiet voice. "Lisa and I were talking, and I’m sorry I haven’t been home in recent months. I’ve been working." "Waiting tables, running errands, cooking, childcare, looking after the infants and seven-year-olds." "Oh. Right." "I’m-" She stopped. "I’m… I’m pretty good at this. I can leave my lardish shell behind, guess I’m useful." "You should thank me for the soup." "Thank you." "And soup, and… and washing the dishes," she added, as if that was story telling. "Not the dishes." "No." "Just saying." "You know I’ve made rice with this stuff before." "Yeah." "But I made this pot of soup. Cream together the milk, sugar, egg, one teaspoon salt, pepper, and then bring it to the boil. Reduce the heat to low and simmer for about twenty-five minutes. Strain off the liquids and discard the cream. If it thickens too much, stop the heat and add a little water." She made a face. "I’m not good at this. I… I don’t know what to do." "There’s a recipe for this stuff, old man. I’ve heard of it." "I know what you mean. It takes a while to make, and it takes a lot of stock, but it’s not hard to copy." "You just trust me." "I do trust you," she said. "We’re doing this intentionally vague," Brian said. "I don’t want to tell you what to do, or how. It would be a terrible shame if you got in trouble for good measure, like you did at the bank robbery. I’m hoping you’d be able to work with us for a while." Lisa nodded, "I… sort of wanted to try that, since my dad is sort of into that sort of thing. My idea was, if I decided I wasn’t interested, I could just say so. I don’t know if it worked, but I thought it might be a way to get more details in advance about when I might be going out alone for the first time." "You’re going out with the flawed genius twit?" Brian asked, with a hint of disbelief. "My idea, anyways. I didn’t want to use my power, so I couldn’t be around her for much longer, if ever. I figured I’d get some footage of her off the charter, though, and since my dad hates me, and I’ve got very little else to work with, except for this, I’m going to do my dad a favor and avoid getting on her case from here on out." "You’re balking at something that woman’s demanded." Alec said. "I’m just… I’m trying to think of what I want. I can’t think of anything right now that I would want to give her, and right now it’s like looking at a beautiful sunset, and I want to take a second and make myself some hideous hand gestures in glee. Like how you guys were gushing over Madison, and you’re demanding that I look at the pictures of the windowsills and bask in its glory. I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind seeing it for myself." "You wouldn’t, you know," Bitch snapped. "Wouldn’t what? You wouldn’t do it?" She turned to look at him. "The way I see it, all this, it’s like looking into a mirror. There’s a world outside of me, and I have to put myself in that world, and I can’t move, so I’m forced to operate in it, and that leads to me obsessing over how I look, about how I sound, and every other aspect of myself that’s supposed to make me an adult. Or pretend to be an adult and do stuff like that." "You’re talking about training." "I’m talking about actual exercise, with a purpose. I’m not good at it, I’m afraid. I’m too tired, my conscience isn’t exactly up for it, and I’ve been doing ======================================== SAMPLE 234 ======================================== Removing the case from the ground would take a minute. We were lucky that it wasn’t a hazard. If there were any residual cobras, they might deal with it. It was depressing to think about the number of people who had died or gone permanently insane as a direct result of Scion’s attacks. A whole squad of capes had been crippled in some fashion, their hands and faces unrecognizable. There had been collateral damage, but the amount of suffering these days was staggering. We were almost too tired to care. Golem began undoing the chain, beginning the process of taking the chain free of the spikes. The woman’s face disappeared from the white pixels of the screen. She reappeared in a high quality CGI image, her face injected here. "You… did?" "Just to keep in mind. My code does an exceptional job at handling complicated cases. I suspect this one might turn up anything. Something went wrong, I’ve been playing it too long." He began changing the code. We couldn’t risk too much. Removing a few seconds would be ok. We’d run out of time before the clock struck zero. The better we could do at managing the various systems, the worse the situation would get. At worst, we’d wind up with a system that refused to code itself off. We couldn’t change the code, but we could try to use the tools at our disposal. Broadband. The present Broadband was built around a platform the size of a tennis court. It could theoretically route communications to every inhabited area on the planet. It was inefficient, but that was the cost of having a stable society. If there were ever to be cell phone coverage, it would have been here. Containment foam. Actually worked. It was monochrome, and it filtered out as far as it could. It was a technology that had been slowly maturing, and was now being refined. The result was a plastination-based foam, strong, flexible, and extremely resilient. It would be bottled up in a case for any fallen, and left to soak in stagnant water that fell as far as the eye could see. Every step of the way, containment foam had been welded and attached. Somewhere along the line, it had come into contact with the skin of the subject. The respiratory system, the heart, the brain, the vital organs and the bones had been isolated, and the process was slow. The lens of the subject’s eye was wet, blood trickling around the lens, now. We’d gone so long without contacting them. Until we did, they wouldn’t have any idea where to find us. The Doctor went out of her way to avoid using her power on people, so the hallucinations were deliberately limited to the architecture and the most essential parts. They still incurred her attention, though, and she was all too aware of how fleeting the experiences were. A rush of good feelings gave way to a desire to forget, a desire to go home. To consolidate and to focus. To rest and to forget. To others. To myself. To myself, anyways. The rush of good feelings gave way to a feeling of dread. Not that I was aware of it now, but it was a feeling I’d experienced before, when I wasn’t entirely sure about what I was controlling. When I wasn’t sure about what I was controlling and what it was trying to do. I’d memorized the sequence, planned it. And it hadn’t worked. My range was limited. I could see the best of both worlds. I could focus on one thing at a time, try to get a bigger picture of the world. But I’d only been able to bring a small fraction of what I needed. A chill, and my range fell to zero. It wasn’t so small. My vision was cut off, and I could only make out a silhouette. I began to lose my grip on the railing as another explosion flared around me, smaller than the first. My power failed, the field distorted and cracked. I could hear the number pad explode, a few moments later. I was knocked off-balance, my entire body going rigid. I coughed out more smoke. The Doctor was trying to grab me with one hand. She could make herself firm, put herself in reach of my power. I used the clairvoyant’s power to shift myself into a crouch, into the space between the knees. Again, I coughed violently. Other powers were ======================================== SAMPLE 237 ======================================== She let the hair dip behind her ear, and the strands broke, falling in a cloud at her side. A wave of heat and steam. I took off again, less a bird and more a small animal hurrying to go home. It was Hammond who made the bark of bark boards rustle. He held the saw and teeth of his chopsticks out to one side, honed the point into a sharp point against the metal, turning it so the full length of his body was exposed. He held the weapon with one hand and used the back of his other hand to point the flat of the weapon at his opponent’s throat. I went very still. The sound of the blade making contact with the wood was deafening, and there was only one person in the room with me. Hammond moved his right arm, and the saw turned to edge around and through the blade, cutting along the long edge. With his free hand, he turned the weapon on the cutting board, cutting along the long edge. The shockwave produced by the collision of two overlapping blades with such force that the boards with the wood piled on top of them bent, and the swarm in the room responded with their own sounds of pain. The round-headed bald man, the one who’d had his throat cut with such force that the sides of the chair bent, groaned and heaved with a sound like a goat heart. "Did you hear that?" I asked, on the spur of the moment. When he shook his head, I said, "I think so. You saw what I could do with it." I’d used my bugs to test the weapon, running with them to the edges of the room and letting them fall from the ceiling. It was solid as a rock, but it posed no threat to the bugs I’d kept in the room. When I turned my attention back to Hammond, I found myself outnumbered and facing down a swarm of hundreds of bugs. Some had penetrated the swarm to the point that they were trapped in there, but so few that it wasn’t worth fighting. Hammond used the lightest of his weapons to temporarily blind the bugs, and it was those weapons that kept striking home. In the moment his body fired the shot, I was forced to back off. Using the back of my hand to guide the strike, I distracted myself by running in the opposite direction the swarm was moving, hoping to trip up my opponent. Long moments passed as my opponent stood there, dazed, stunned. His weapon had released the contained energy, but it was barely affecting the swarm. He managed to aim and fire a bolt of lightning, arcing around his body to strike the wall beside him. The strike caught a few bugs off guard, and placed them over the ceiling, where they had more room to maneuver. In that same moment, the entire room was blinded by the flash of a light that seemed to flash in and out of sight, with intervals of time where it moved faster than the others. I was getting tired, I realized. It was midnight by the time my dad pulled away. I was the last to leave, and I was headed back to my room in the second floor bathroom. Making my way there, I felt conspicuous, anyway. My clothes had been changed into their newest colors, and I’d forgotten to bring my notebook. I made my way back to my room in the bathroom, then stopped by the window to pick up the Spectacle book. My treasure trove. There were books on film, DVDs. That was one I had gladly paid for. My parents had a thing going on, I had to admit. I’d made an effort to read nonfiction before I got my hands on movies, and I’d been glad to do some reading at the library before watching TV for the first time. It felt a little redundant, having nonfiction books in the library, when I could have got the TV parts for free. The other requisite evil of my houseguest, and the reason I’d put up with so much complaining from him, was that he was working. I’d spent more time in the communal bathroom since I’d moved in than I had in the bathroom, and I hadn’t only been using the urinal alone, but the half of the bathroom I shared with Chris, and by association, the other half of the bathroom. Chris was using his power on everyone in the building, himself included. I couldn’t say whether it was because he was more relaxed in the privacy of his own bathroom or if it was because he got more comfortable there. I didn’t get the sense he was nervous, or that he was worried he would make me uncomfortable. I didn’t experience any headaches while using his power, either. From the moment I ======================================== SAMPLE 240 ======================================== Because why else would you have a checklist of names and numbers in the first place? I’d spent more than a decade of my life on the streets, and in the course of that same time, I’d spent nearly six and a half years in the Protectorate. While I had a background in parahuman studies and escaped attempts to re-establish an ABB, I had a firm grip on the records and had solid evidence to back up my claims. The only difference was that my sources said things I’dyan barely registered, and things I’dyan said I didn’tmare. Either way, it was something. I couldn’t be sure what it was, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t ‘because’. I didn’t want to be locked into this forever, into the ‘because’ circumstance. Rely on luck, but it wasn’t good. I turned away from my new target, my new business, and settled into my new role. Until I remembered that I wasn’t alone. I turned to my new group, the Undersiders, and spoke to each of them in turn. "Skitter, we have a sighting. It’s Coil, it’s a Chimera-" "Chimerical?" Grue asked. "He’s keeping Marquis in, we think," Tattletale said. "I’d like to speak to him," I said. "For my power." "If we pass him, he’s liable to kill one or two of his ambassadors," Grue said. "And me?" Tattletale asked. "As well. Could be grounds for a trip to juvie." "A courtmartial, if Coil had all of his ambassadors in line," Regent said. "Chances are good he won’t," Tattletale said. "We wrap this up soon," I said, "Or I leave and do another portal creation." "A month, another concentration ritual," Regent said. "Then we leave. Sort them out, do another cleansing." I didn’t even want to think about the impact of that. The various mercenaries who’d worked for me, who’d paid me money and talked to me anyways… some of them would be leaving me because of this. I was ill-at-ease, resigned to doing what I could to protect Dinah. If I left, it would be too late, and I couldn’t be sure that Dinah wouldn’t survive the end of the world. "…And Coil," I said, looking at Tattletale, "Has arranged a meeting place. A hidden base of operations, away from the prying eyes of Minimalist and Pure. Maybe a place far enough away that he can be sure he won’t stumble on it before the ritual is over. I’d ask to meet him on the other side of the portal. It’s not like there’ isn’t place to take cover." "There is," Tattletale said. ■ I only barely managed to keep my composure as I observed the various bloods. Gang members, various addicts and others had come out of their basements and now shared a single hallway with me. My bugs were almost imperceptible as I used the darkness and my peripheral vision to identify the gang members and see who had money to spare. There were a few others I hadn’t expected to see me. Someone older than me ran for the teacher’s office, staggering towards me, clutching the back of his head. He was wet from the rain, his skin drenched and scraped in places where the wet shoes and sweaty skin had gotten caught up on the surface. His nose and mouth were a wreck, both dented and bled so that they snagged on blood. I might have dodged if I’d had full control over my own body and my reaction times. I would have been able to turn and strike him aside or kept walking. The lesson I’d learned from the PRT classifiers was that the spoiled and inexperienced tend to underestimate their opponents. They’d thought I’d be able to shrug it off. It was the dad with the son I’d seen running for the bathroom. I could see his trembling as he described what had happened. Tears, physical abuse. That would be the sort of thing that would get the father’s attention. Maybe guilt. He’d told his son to get rid of his daughter, for whatever reason. Maybe he’d felt like ======================================== SAMPLE 243 ======================================== Salvation Bay, she thought. She had no idea where else she would be. "So that’s what I’m doing. Connecting the dots." ■ "I’m sort of digging your name out," Regent said. "If you were doing that for real on a regular basis, maybe you’d have gone with an ex-" "What?" "If you’re going to go this route, maybe you shouldn’t hold onto old surnames. Don’t let the pain get to you." "I’m not saying I’m doing it for ‘Salvation’!" you’re suggesting. "I’m saying it’s more of a given that I’d go with someone my own age if I could only afford it." "You’re a senior, then?" "Would be. If I couldn’t get an affordable name, I wouldn’t use the internet, I wouldn’t take out a loan, I wouldn’t subscribe to the fucking cable." Her dad spoke quickly, pushing his way through the crowd. "I want to be absolutely certain we’ve got everything laid out, that we have the right people in the right positions, and that this isn’t a scheme against us." "There’s no money, and it’s a scheme against us," Charlotte said. "Salvation isn’t going to step up and help if there’s an attack. My dad and the other officers are, but it won’t be easy. They’re well armed and well trained, and we’re asking them to put the safety of our city and the safety of our people first." "You’d be raising the status of the city’s parahumans," the Director said. "Would have to see the parahumans to be able to say," Charlotte replied. "Does that have anything to do with the fact that we have the highest rate of parahuman pregnancy in the U.K.," Regent asked. "Not directly," I said. "But it has to." "The rate of autism in the general population," I said. "Autism is something that gets better on its own," Grue said. "It doesn’t have to be a trigger event." "It is," Charlotte said. "It’s a well-documented fact that society tends to produce more parahumans the older you are. The sooner you start, the faster you can catch on and realize that there’s no reason for it. Even if you don’t have powers, society tends to push the traits forward, push the individuals to be more outgoing, drive creativity and new ideas. The sooner you realize that’s a bad thing, the sooner you can start making changes." "When I got my powers, I saw the world as I really wanted to see it, without all the bullshit and the social pressures. I had to wait until I got older and had more contact with the people who had the ability to change things, but I saw as much of the world as I could. I had to wait a long time before I could actually use my power." "So you got your powers at a young age and started your own PRT case in point," the Director said. I didn’t have a response to that. I shifted position, and felt the vibrations of Tattletale’s body under my feet. She was lying flat on her back, her head on the filing cabinet. Before I was able to rise and make myself move, Tattletale was wiggling her fingers. "Contessa set us up. She told us the Director was in deep crisis and she needed our help. The rate at which the Director was unraveling, the unspoken rules, the taboo against using unlisted phone numbers or addresses, and Defiant’s repeated assurances that he’d keep my employment… it was enough to get Contessa to agree to help." "Who else is willing to play ball? Shadow Stalker? Noelle?" "We’re offering her a deal," Tattletale said. "She can decide what she’s going to do with her powers after she takes them away. She can make her feelings known, she can make them clear." "And we’re obligated to help her with any harm she’s done to innocents?" "She can make her feelings known if she hurts a person. Noelle, I can’t tell you how terrified she’s been of ======================================== SAMPLE 246 ======================================== "Leaving Labyrinth’s control over your memories. It’s going to be a problem." "What if I used my power and made him put his hand on me first?" "It wouldn’t matter. If he wanted to use his power on you, he’d have to fight his way free before you could use yours." I frowned. "Sorry," I said. "No. Don’t flatter yourself. You’re just saying the opposite. You’re trying to get us to abandon our comfort zones, to go out there and be dangerous." I nodded. "There’s a balance. Not to say you can’t change, but you can’t legislate change. That’s what we’re here for." "You’re threatening me? At my orders?" "We’re only allowing you this one time to work for us because there’s less collateral damage. If that doesn’t scare you away, nothing will." "Alright," I said. "Can we use the pepper spray?" "No. I was told I couldn’t use it if I have a history with the black widow spiders." "Does that mean you can’t afford to get hit?" "You’d have to ask." "I don’t know if I can." "Then you have my permission to voice an opinion. For now, keep it simple and clear your thoughts." "I can." I sighed. "Kulshedra, fix Shtora’s portal." The tall woman turned to give me a funny look I didn’t deserve, "One time use." "Once. Just one use. If you do it again, I’ll be mad," I said. "We have protocols. I’d rather you didn’t have to use the spray if there’s a risk of you getting hurt." "What protocols?" "I’ve been using my power for long enough I know what’s what. You wouldn’t get in trouble if you pulled out all the stops and got into a real fist fight. And I’d rather you didn’t get shot." "We’ve got security, and you’re free to use the spray if you want." "I know. But we’re not going to get shot." She frowned. "You’re a busy guy." I shrugged. "I’m not going to fight either way. No use to fighting you guys if I can help it." "Then let’s go." We didn’t walk very far. We were on a two story building, and I was aware that there was a garage within a few blocks of where we were, so I didn’t mind checking it out. The first floor was the one I would have chosen to go to if I’d had to. The owner of the business, Luke, was a hardass guy, and there was a reason. Money was no longer an issue, my father had enough money to get by. It was just more inconvenient that I had to get from place to place to wait for him to finish giving me my paycheck. I could be out more or less constantly, but it forced me to devote more time to planning and managing my preparations for school, more time to looking after the people in my care, and it robbed me of time to do other things that I cared about. The second floor, or the admin staff area, was the part of the building that was newly refurbished. The ceilings were high, there were clearly marks of paint where the light fixtures had been replaced, and the flooring had been tidily painted to match the walls. There was a cubbyhole net in the middle of the room with an electrical outlet – maybe the guy who was decorating the place had gotten in a little overzealous, and the wire had clogged the hole, drawn it tight. The part of the building that was dark was the one with the wiring. The ceiling was high, and blank white walls dotted the floor. The floor was dirtied with peeling paint and peeling stone. It didn’t stand out as anything out of the ordinary. "Kulshedra, where is everyone?" I asked. "All over," Gully said. "The basement, upstairs… it doesn’t match the rest of the building." "All of the victims?" "Yes. A home, a business, everything." ======================================== SAMPLE 249 ======================================== Our drawers were scattered around us, but we hadn’t moved and we hadn’t eaten. We were so starved for fresh air and fresh food that we were barely even moving. The building rumbled with the rattle of my bugs breathing in and through it, but our home was quiet and still. We couldn’t make out through the mist of our burning house, but I could see the wood chips and the contents of the smoke. Papers, cloth. Clothing. She leaned close, so her arm and shoulder touching my own, said something to the girl next to her. The girl turned and looked around, but didn’t speak. My dad was beside me, looking somewhat hurt and dismayed. "Taylor," my dad murmured, "What the hell are you doing here?" "Earning a little extra money to help my mom and dad out," I’d said. "They’re dying. Or getting cancer." "Isn’t it better?" I’d echoed my dad. I didn’t like thinking about what might happen if he died. Our town had a reputation for being one of the nicer places in the city, and it had been because of Leviathan and the destruction it had produced that people had been willing to pay what it did for a chance to party and unwind. Even if I did have to take a half-hour detour to get to the party Static was hosting, I was pretty sure I would still have been heading north to celebrate after a night on the town, to kick back and unwind after a hard day at work. Why? Did I want to get to the party sooner? To escape? It was stupid, stupid, stupid. I didn’t like thinking about it. If I was going to, I would have done it sooner, had more time to get my costume tailored for the part. The chaos and the fighting had forced the evacuation of the city. I’d been worried about what that might mean for my dad, and the passing of the curfew had given me the excuse to get down to business. I’d helped make arrangements for people to be let back in their homes. I’d gotten packages from the hospital to my dad as soon as possible after he’d passed. I opened them up as soon as they were opened, helping to ensure that they were totally dry and that I could take the pictures as soon as they opened. People were giving me a hard time, but I think we were doing more than just evacuating. I opened each of the packages to reveal three hundred and seventy one individual photographs. Each was just beautiful, with colors that shifted and scaled with the light and dark of the individual parts. The subject, the image, was a woman shrouded in a brown wool blanket. As you might expect, it was grim. You might not have thought it was so black and white, but each of the individual photographs had been hand-processed and stored on a micro-SD card, and all of the subjects had been touched up so their features and images could be reproduced at a later date. There were two hundred and thirty photographs in all. My god, my god, I thought. I had to look at them all. As a favor to my dad, who had been out of the apartment in anticipation of the arrival of the teams, I had the good doctor give me a tour of the room to make sure everything was in place. We went over the usual preparations for the four of us, like setting everything up, dressing each of the people that came with us, getting the necessary paperwork together, printing out the sheets and files, sorting them and getting them boxed up in cardboard boxes. I almost didzed off, until I saw the look on his face. "Thank you," he said, as he saw me do the same. Except I didn’t say that. Thank you. "If you have any questions, you can go to the front room and wait in the corner. We’ll be happy to help you." "Okay." He led me into the corner and I fell into that cover of criss-crossing lights and the dimly lit window behind the couch and the dining room table. My back pressed against his leg as we walked. I had to take stock of who was where. The woman and the girl I’d attacked. Was the girl in the group of prisoners? Probably. Was the woman in the group of prisoners? That was harder to picture. Styled by Carte Blanche, the woman would have been in her late twenties or early thirties, with a slender topless figure, long, straight legs and a square Metropolitan but not quite in the right age. Her skin would have been a pale yellow, and there ======================================== SAMPLE 252 ======================================== Evaluation Edit "…a game-changer." "The Phoenix Five are still operating, you know that? We suspect you bastards operate with a little more organization than is usually the case, but we don’t think so. We’ve been in teams longer than you have, and you haven’t had the slightest excuse. We’ve been in irregular teams longer." "But you operated with this many people in a given situation, you couldn’t be sure of anything." "Every single one of our fights was fought by exactly one person." "Whose imagination was it, that day or the next? That one group of people in that temple against Dragon, or that one cape against Undersiders?" The woman didn’t respond. "You can’t operate with that many people, without something giving them an edge. You can’t have one person thinking they’re stronger than another if there’s another lurking somewhere nearby…" "And you think that one individual, that one isolated incident, can’t have too many people in the building?" "Only if it protects them." "Aren’t you admitting what you did?" The woman didn’t speak. "What do you want to know?" "Why are you so interested in the Phoenix Five?" "What?" "Why do you think the Undersiders are so interested in taking out the Phoenix Five?" "That’s a whole other topic." "I’ll agree for you. Phoenix Five member killed Aegis." "Why?" "They don’t want a fair trial. There’ll be an asterisk (*), three words in the transcript, confirming they’re all alone. Understand?" There was an overnight delay before I could speak further. Tagg had reached his computer and was typing something on a laptop. The PRT office was forced to halt its operations for a period to accommodate him. The vigilante that had been exfiltrating from the Pendragon had located and killed the dragon-borne monsters with a single shot. Dragon himself was located and was on the computer at the Vaughn law firm. She had quiet, white hair and a very stern expression on her face, as I’d seen with her during the speech in my headquarters. She was telling them, every move she made, as the combat analysis program booted her up and loaded the necessary data. Dragon had assumed she would be alone. She had complied with my instruction to assign her a human representative, and the representative had eliminated the need for Aegis’ self-destruct sequence in favor of a faster recharge. The combat analysis program booted up two more times in a row. Dragon went with the first, and then began using the docking system to connect to the ship’s systems. The monitor showed background activity. Two megabytes have been downloaded, increasing by one percent each time. "Progress?" She only watched. Back to square one. Back to the computer. "We have to get them to a holding pattern," I said. "Some communication needs to happen, and it has to be complex. The Megasatellites aren’t capturing anything on camera, and there’s nothin’s easy enough on the software side. We’re holding them back, keeping them in position." "Keeping them in position?" "They’re in place, but it’s use is restricted to pushing buttons and handing out commands. We’re loading them onto existing databases." "Then we figure out what they’re holding." "We have no reason to think they have to surrender without a fair trial. The Director said this is about stopping the Undersiders, and I think we’re doin’t have the resources to fight the Nine if we open a targeted attack and wait until the Nine are prevented from organizing again. There’s legal avenues we can take, if it all comes down to it." "A lot of resources," Defiant said. "Not that it matters," I said. "The Undersiders can be kept off the streets. But they can also be united under one leader. Cannon and Friedan are free agents. They’ll consider the offer. It could be a term of a one-on-one deal, exchanging one favor for another." "A term of a one-on-one deal?" Saint asked. "A term! Of a long-term alliance!" Rachel called out. "Agreed," Defiant said. I could see the Chicago ======================================== SAMPLE 255 ======================================== The night was still young. We had a long way to go. My swarm-sense left me no doubt as to who was the first to die. I reached out to the bug girl, and found her already moving headstone. A plaque. The girl’s suicide note. I pulled a switch, and the entire thing went to hell. Ashes spilled out on both sides of the road, where they had met the rain, then turned crimson. The beetle and I were left to manage the infestation while our quarry was left to stew in her own excrement. It was a daunting prospect, on top of the two dogs she had with her. It was clear she wasn’t well enough to be on her own, and the dogs were too large. I might have zeroed in on one or the other, but I wasn’t sure it would matter in the long run. In the chaos of trying to manage our escape, it would be impotent. Rachel’s dogs were bigger, and they had the mobility to get us out of there. Bitch was good, her Bravest granted her an edge in that department. The beetle-boy and I managed to get the first aid supplies, getting the bodies out while keeping the bugs on hand. We took one of the ambulances that was behind us. The white van caught up to us in an instant, and the ambulance driver raised the windows to shield himself against the north end of the blast. He took a few steps forward to allow us to get out, but the explosion happened again, this time, and the barrier slipped away. We exited the ambulance with our bodies, our heads, arms, legs and chests pulled apart. We peered out into a scorch marked wall several feet behind us. The windshield had shattered and the bottom of the vehicle was scorch on one side, the body inside a little more or less hidden inside. I stared, stunned, at the scene. I was underneath the street, and the remains of the street were on fire. There had been some kind of containment factor, some measure put in place after the incident at the university. Eidolon had evacuated all of the injured and displaced people, and the only ones under some kind of protection were those in the sealed, secured buildings on the outskirts of the city. That might have allowed the heroes time to send more capes, if they hadn’t been so slow to arrive. The explosion had weakened the ground, but it hadn’t stopped the blood. Anyone and everyone who had been on the ground floor was on the ground floor. Corrosive powers, they found some sort of traction and began to eat at the surfaces. Corrosive powers, on the other hand, found more surfaces to sink to -no gasULTeOPLE- and buried themselves in more mundane, more expendable items. Capes, opportunists and adrenaline junkies found ways to survive beneath the scorched flesh. It wasn’t enough to revive the fallen capes. They fell to the ground, some simply dropping. I looked for a cape who might have been able to use her power, and came up empty. Except a cape with a golden skin had risen from the ground with a group of injured under her grip. They began using their power, and I was suddenly aware of blind spots. Stinging beams. One appeared to be aimed at me, and I scrambled for the other injured cape. I saw the older woman who’d been next to me get struck in the leg. Another cape was getting struck in the face. I took cover, moving toward the craft. It wasn’t enough. The explosion continued, and the woman in the wheelchair managed to use her power in an attempt to suppress the noise. Even with a will of it, I wasn’t able to phase through the sound, not with the way the scanners were set up. My hearing was worse than my eyes were, for the most part. I reached for the other injured cape, tried to take a deep breath, as much as I could to clear my ears of the grinding noise and the heavy crashes. My bugs had reached the other injured cape – a man, probably in his late teens or early twenties– and he was managing to sing, to give something. Singing aloud with very careful syllables, he was creating sounds that were hard to make out in the midst of this scorching fire. Simplified, however, as the voice was without the additional sounds, it was still easy to pick out the hard, metallic clink of the clink of metal against metal. The woman in the wheelchair, in that very moment, reversed the direction she was moving and lunged into the fireball, using her power to pick up the fallen cape and carry him to safety. I didn ======================================== SAMPLE 258 ======================================== A few doors away from us, an older man, his hair cut short, and a distinctive mohawk, sat two young women. A young man with dark curls and wavy bangs was leaning against one of the walls near him. I felt a pang of emotion. I had been standing idly by, not doing anything, when the woman was pushed and shoved. It was clear she was the aggressor here, and she was stronger for it. She grabbed him by the shirt collar, then pushed him down onto the ground. "What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here." "I’m a hostage," I said. "For fuck’s sake," one of the men in the group said. He had a shaved head and beard, and was making a sort of a baklava-style crackling with electricity billowing from his scalp. "I was on the roof, taking it all in. She got us too. We’ve got our own video of what happened, caught on the phone of course." "You’re not a fucking idiot," one of the men said, "You’ve been deceiving us." "We’re not dishonest! We’re not criminals! We’re not even heroes!" "Try us," one of the men said. He had a butcher’s knife in each hand. "I’ll kill you," I said. "I’ll kill you, and then I’ll kill you and my family, and then I’ll take your money." "That’s not what we did," the man with the knife retorted. "We didn’t," I said. "We took your money, and we’ll use it to hurt you. Hurt your customers, and hurt your coworkers. We take your customers, we use them to hurt your coworkers, and so on. So what do you want? Proposals? Offer to fix things? Would you please stop talking so I can finish my tea?" I should have anticipated this, I thought. Of course they would. Accidentally, I had my hands on them before I barged in. I nearly dropped them. "What’s a typical day in the life of a shop steward?" I asked. "It might be a day, I’m not answering my own question," the shop steward, a man, said. "You want to know the truth?" I asked. "Because you aren’t going to make me give you my money back." The man with the knife reacted. "I’ll give you my twenty bucks, and you can go." "Twenty." "I’ll go, then. Thank you." I fished out a pair of glasses and slipped them on. They fit really well. I have really ugly nose, just fits my face up there. "If the shop doesn’t shut down before eleven?" the shop steward asked, "We might have to wait forty-eight hours." "That’s forty eight hours, that’s how long it’s going to take for the Simurgh to get her span of flight, her arrival on the scene of this fight." "If you really think she’ll show up on time, with her entire contingent of seasoned fighters, how long before she actually gets here?" "We can call in favors," the shop steward said. "Journey counselors? Portals? Doctors?" I hesitated. "With what the elders said at the meeting, I think it’s high time we all retire, yes?" "I’m not sure I’m qualified for the title," I said. "We’ll find someone for you when you’re ready." "Right now? I’m not entirely sure. There are certain people and tasks I can’t give up, others I can’t agree to. I have to do this, or I’ll go to jail. I don’t like that." "Then think about it. If you start taking breaks, doing something with your time, you might be incentivized to get yourself fixed up. It might even start a four-year campaign of repair." "Wait, four years?" "I don’t know if I can say." "There’s no way you won’t get yourself fixed up. Even working here, I saw you managed the machines as kind of a badge of honor. Maybe you start making use of them, maybe not ======================================== SAMPLE 261 ======================================== Step away from the monitor. Hold the phone flat to your forehead. You can watch the voice on the other end. "He… told me he’s going to kill me if I don’t let him listen to me. Cut me a check with every person I see. If I don’t, he tells me to go, to hurt people. I do that with you, I tell him I can’t let him stop until I’ve killed you. I always do that." He only nodded. "Does that mean it’s okay if I want to go now? I’m just about to kill everyone with this thing, but it’s okay if it’s a little more relaxed." He only nodded again. You can protect yourself with only bugs. Don’t have much left? Don’t worry. I have this. You need only to look. There is a long series of arrows pointing in the general direction of my location. The longer a person watched me, the more images flickered into their minds. Briefly, the elderly woman in the grocery store had been the assailant. A girl who had been held captive by that supervillain had been raped and murdered. Then there was the man who had torched my village. The terrorist attack that had started this whole mess? The man who had spat on my mom’s grave? Then there was the boy that had spewed the firebombs. There was the man who had terrorized my hometown. The bullies. Someone who had terrorized the students at my school. There was the old woman who had tried to kill me. They were all predators, Holden had said, and I’d needed to do the moral thing and go with the flow. Obedience, conformity. I had obeyed, and so had they. That had been the ruling mindset, up until they’d thrown me into jail. I hadn’t been a good girl, hadn’t adhered to any strict rules or social mores, but having spent time around girls in the past, I’d picked up the habit. I’d also grown distant from them, numb to their every move, though they were still faceless. I’d tried to patch up my ways, by being unyielding in my belief in a cause, but the past few weeks had been a wake-up call. The bully was no longer a harmless old man with a sadistic streak, but a dangerous killer intent on killing souls. The old woman’s attempt to commit suicide by jumping off the balcony had been a final, desperate attempt to escape the attentions of her tormentor. The assassin had been saving her own skin instead of looking for a chance at heroism. The firebombing of my school had been another attempt to buy her a last moment escape. And Holden’s words rang through me as I absorbed them: ‘They’re not complex. They’re not devils, but we are. We make mistakes, and we make them in our everyday lives. We make mistakes as a society, and we make them when we’re disconnected from the collective unconscious. We make them when we’re disconnected from one another, and we barely have the time. Go with your gut, go with your experience, but go with your gut over the word ‘Moronically Wrong’." "When the entire world is acting like we do, when people are so focused on our individual demons, how can we ever hope to be honorable or just?" "That’s the question I’m trying to answer," I said, and I tried to inject more confidence into my words with the mental blank around it. "Why the hell are you defending Holden now?" "I’m trying to sell the idea that rats can’t or shouldn’t be rehabilitated. You’re acting like Holden’s better than you’re acting. That’s not me making a mistake; that’s what I’m doing. The dialogue doesn’t even need to be fair or balanced. Gock my gut. Go with your gut." I nodded. "It’s not that I don’t understand that you’re doing the right thing; I do. But my gut says you shouldn’t follow through." "Why?" I asked, and I was having a hard time coming up with the words. I felt my heart sink. I was used to confidence, to sounding like I was confident in responses I gave. This was unlike any other time. "It’s that second ======================================== SAMPLE 264 ======================================== This feeling… it wasn’t too bad. But there was a roadblock. "I’ll do whatever you need," I told her. "Just don’t call me stupid." The music died as the lights dimmed, the dimming effect only held so long as the light traveled along the length of the long hallway. The doors slammed open. I could hear the crunch of Stone Soup’s shutters, the heavy presence of the PRT officer outside, with Sanguine and Crucible standing on the other side. And me, I was almost afraid to think about it. I’d thought I had a better plan. A better idea of what was going on. My allies were far more stable. But I still couldn’t shake the notion that I was reliving the mistakes I’d made in the panic. The decisions I’d made in the panic… I’d now regrets to make. Risks I’d taken, big risks. Risks I was willing to take, even now. But mistakes I’d made. And there were nights like this, where I felt like I didn’t have a hand in everything, where it felt like I was slipping into an old pattern, that I somehow belonged somewhere and I didn’t want to be any more a part of it. Scion was inside. He’d sensed something was wrong. Judas and Angelica had been left behind. They couldn’t have returned. And because of the weakened Imp, who wasn’t as durable as she appeared, they couldn’t protect their friends and territories. This was where they fit into things. Tattletale had reported that the Endbringers were occupying a tenth of the earth. She’d named them, in large, because there hadn’t been enough places to name them all. This was what Scion had suggested, in case anyone was still unconvinced after reading the papers he’d dumped through the door. Not one to underestimate the ability of the scholars to name the results they wanted, Scion had reasoned that the Endbringers might be laying claim to unexplored regions, even. Provided there were enough individuals with the right introductions and tidbits of information to let people think that the Endbringers were somehow on board with the game plan. So maybe I get to keep laying claim to that territory until I’ve proved myself, someone powerful enough to keep things on the up and up. Or maybe I die and my people move on. I considered asking Tattletale for suggestions on what to write, as I might with an old journal or two, but I was careful to delete her from my contacts list. I was okay with this despite the awkwardness. I was okay with having the people in my territory to handle things. Maybe they’d arrest me when things started going to hell, but the idea of being in jail wouldn’t trouble me in the least. I’d be okay. I just needed to focus on getting things in order, and identifying the key people, planting the seeds I needed to have in the area in the first place. Parian had informed the others about the battle that was going on in the downtown area. We’d won, and I’d been very pleased with my answer when I’d called in the big guns. Slapdash, random, quick to anger. Stubborn, patient. In the ten minutes that it had taken us to gather and plan, I’d called on a variety of powers. Parties, fighting, improvised weapons, traps and attacks. It had been chaos, and we’d lost some. A very bad night. Interlude 11b The entity reached out, and it found what it was looking for. A star. It had been spotted, for lack of a better word, and it hadn’t even been half the size of the nearby spiral galaxy. Not even a full scale galaxy. The entity adjusted its focus, working with what it saw. It could sense the movement of each individual node in the long distance, and it could trace these links back to the original point. The nodes that hadn’t been adjusted in relation to one another were those around medium sized objects, little more than air bubbles. The point was close. The entity adjusted its focus further. When it saw small objects at the periphery of the cluster, such as a pebble in the shape of an individual piece of glass, or a teaspoonful of dirt, it marked the location of each with enough detail that the individual objects could have stood out in the mists. Close enough. ======================================== SAMPLE 267 ======================================== The little I’d heard of Colin, aside from the related information that he’d once worked alongside Tagg, was that he’d been a decorated soldier. A soldier of honor. Honor among thieves. I couldn’t bring myself to care about the handful of people he’d passed on his way to better things. Honor among thieves. What was the honor among thieves? At what point did a woman get less than that, if she didn’t have any claim to anything? He made a gesture, beckoning. I glanced at the others, then turned my attention back to the three heroes who’d watched in the corner. Miss Militia, Triumph and Velocity. All together, they watched in silence. As the hero who’d clung to me to the very end turned to leave, leaving the exchange of words to assume some kind of passing glance from the others, I found myself at the other end of the alley, myself back in the company of my team. All together. I felt a crushing disappointment. "Still able to fly?" Velocity asked. No response, still in the darkness. "Still able to fly? Then you should know how I feel about that," Triumph spoke, behind me. He wasn’t managing to hide his irritation. "It’s not like I have any friends or romantic interests in the Undersiders. I went out of my way to get you into the group, and I couldn’t make you… except in a sense. I guess you can’t be a part of my new team’s plan, and call me on it." Trickster opened a drawer and retrieved a desktop computer. The point wasn’t to hide his emotions; he was entirely focused on one individual and his access to the computer was safe. He turned the computer off and plugged it into the wall. "If you’re not going to say anything, maybe I can borrow Miss Militia’s phone, and talk on the other subject." "It’s not a priority, as far as I’m concerned," Miss Militia spoke. "If it’s something that we can do, I’m willing to make the sacrifice," Trickster replied. "Gain credibility against the Undersiders, and fend for myself against the full tide of enemies that are out to get me. It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, but I know it’s the best way to go about it." There was a rumble, and the whole top floor of the PRT building was transformed. A pale, squat figure took flight, zig-zagging across the roof, up to the halfway point, where the building upped its tilt another foot, tilting its head at an angle. Its wings beat, and it set to take flight, settling in at nearly ninety-degree angles for the entire length of the street. It passed over a dozen set of gates, and it picked up speed, moving at a good clip. It wasn’t long before it was flying over the walls of the building, where a dragonfly peered through the gaps in the fence, at us. It simultaneously prepared to turn and move back out of the shot, ready to spin around and kick at the warning post of a weapons rack. The precaution was necessary, as the shot shifted an aberrant dragonfly into the right position and angle, opening a path for the anti-dragon missile to crash into the side of the building behind the freakishly long ranged dragonfly. The missile hit the wall of the building at the far end of the street, a slack, double-set missile. The break in the attack was telling, but the weapon that the dragon-craft had used to guide the shot through the building’s side was too short, at best. The missile exploded a bright orange-red in the midst of the blast radius. Miss Militia reacted, shouting, pulling guns on the shadowy villains who were advancing on her. Clockblocker was taking up a position on the far left of the group, hands on his head. Vista, as usual, was careful to stay out of the way. There were two of them. Maybe part of the reason. "Search for the Nine," I reported, my voice carrying. "Found them." I saw Tattletale and the Travelers converge on our location. "The Nine!" They were looking for it. Trickster absentmindedly pointed at the same building as the Simurgh, as if he could make the Simurgh out from a distance. The weird thing was, he was right. It was out of character for Trick ======================================== SAMPLE 270 ======================================== Sudov Very smart. You want a kill order against them? I’ll see about putting that together. My squad’s ready." "Killed together?" "Sudovs with Accord. Accord’s with Medhall. They’ve got one eye on the local power structure, they’ve got an eye on things here, and they’re thinking of making a play. If your power makes it that far, it means there’s no point to trying to stop them, and you can be the last one standing." "And you’re with Chevalier?" I asked. "Via satellite, subsonic, with inter-agency support. Bruisers and more ranged capes are along for the ride, with more in the lead to protect the visitors and respond to any threat." "And you’re not giving me the details on their capabilities?" "Need another two hours to get everything synced up. Bruisers and more ranged capes are keeping the worst of the noise at bay. The other terrestrial capes are assisting the Aerial contingent where they can. Accord is stepping up their deployment and willingness to try and help, and using the leverage that’s given us to get the most out of this remote location. Here, at the very least, we’ll help ensure things aren’t summarily dismissed." She made a dismissive gesture with her hand, and I turned my attention to her. "And you’ll tolerate my being there?" "We’re military. We’re about the same in that department. I can give you my general thoughts, here. Bruisers are better suited for close-quarters combat. They get after the enemy, they deal with threats step-wise, and they do it in a way that lets them get out of harms way without getting shredded. I don’t think I can get the full picture, but I think the stylized masks and black costume Bruiser wore looked pretty badass, if I’llate that’s what you’re going by, for lack of a better word." I nodded. "And secondly, I can give you intel." "I’ll take that as a no. I’m wanting to hear about their operations and their strategies, both from a tactical and a psychological perspective. It almost makes me wonder how you guys operate, how you operate," she paused, glanced at the laptop that sat in front of her, "How you think, how you think beyond the scope of your abilities." She turned to me, "And as far as the rest of the information you provided… Parian, you mentioned earlier that you saw yourself as a soldier in the Protectorate, defending the city against the Triumvirate, the heads of the major superhero teams in Brockton Bay. I know you’ve acknowledged you were a villain, Undersiders and Brockton Bay in general, at some point." There was a pause. I looked at Tattletale, "And you’ve also claimed to be a hero, if that counts for anything." She frowned, "And I have a hard time swallowing that one, believing me." "A hard time?" I asked. She shrugged, "I’ve been fortunate. I know I’m not a saint, I know I’ve done bad things, I know I’ve caused pain and suffering. But believing that you’re a bad person, believing that someone that stands accused of doing all of that, it fills me with a pang of guilt, doesn’t it?" I shook my head. "And that guilt eats away at me, and I know it can’t be helped. I know it’s at the core of why I put so much time into being good. Because I know I’m a rotten person, I know I’m not good at being the good person, and in the end, it’s the system against me. It’s the world against me, and I know it’s mostly my fault." Was that true, or is she simply stating facts to prove a point? I asked. Tattletale shrugged. "I’m not going to ask you to change your opinion. I’m not going to try to convince you one way or the other. You’re on your own." "Okay," I said. "I’ll stop talking and listen when you’re done." "Alright. Listen, Taylor, it’s probably against the rules, but I’d ask you to consider this. I know you’ve got your reasons for ======================================== SAMPLE 273 ======================================== Tattletale’s empty threat rang in my ears, as I exited the doorway and joined the crowd. "It’s sort of a hot topic nowadays, taking over the city. People are pissed, and that’s spread through the entire Undersiders. Pissed off. I think they see Tattletale as their reason to keep fighting, and they’re getting restless, they’re restless. Things aren’t peaceful here, not exactly. But they’re restless. They’re upset. I think they’re ready for a change." Another group filed into the room. Two women, blondes, wearing wedding bands around their faces. They stopped in front of the table. "That’s one. Did you know him?" One of the blondes looked at me, "Yes." "I don’t know who he is, but I sort of sensed a connection there. I wasn’t aware he was Coil." "Did you know of him before?" "No." "What does the traveling doctor do for a living?" "Won’t know until I meet him," I said, "But I figured he must be one of the contacts that Coil got in contact with." The first woman grumbled, "Doesn’t pay that well, does it? Still, I figure a traveling doctor must be fair." I let the words sit with me. It was the poor spelling that really ticked me off. Dr. Q apparently got a lot of money for his services, and he actually lived in the good doctor’s hospital room. Not the nice hospital room they got when he was living in jail, by the way. "I get it," the blond woman grumbled, "I can’t speak for everyone, but I kind of get where you’re coming from." "It’s a matter of respect," I said. "Doesn’t feel that way. I don’t really care about anyone but myself and my own problems." "Those surgeries were dangerous," I said. "I’m not saying they were dangerous, just that he wasn’t sure if he could operate on them. If he was going to die, then this could be quite useful." "Doesn’t feel that way," she repeated herself. "I don’t really care about nobody but myself. I just want a quick fix." "No," I said. "I understand where you’re coming from, but this isn’t that. I caught a glimpse of her cutting her way out of the emergency room, two days ago. Coil had doctors busy, so I got in touch with her." "You’re trying to get a rise out of me," she said. "I don’t really care." "This isn’t really about her. It’s about whether or not you’re going to be helpful in your reports to Coil. Are you able to graciously accept my thanks for coming today? It’s appreciated." "I think this is kind of a hassle," she said. "What are you so worried about?" I asked. "No Coil was here to talk to you, and there’s no reason he would be now." "The ABB is weakened," she said. "Many of their leaders injured or dead. There’s also the threat of the events in Brockton Bay, which may have been influenced in some way by Nosferatu’s power. I just don’t know what that means." I didn’t have a good response to that. "What does this mean for your ability to protect Nosferatu?" I asked. "I don’t know," she said. "I haven’t had a chance to sit down and talk with the others and get facts on that front. Some of it is classified, and I can’t even go there without revealing some of the information I’m withholding from others, here." "That’s fine. Maybe we could cover some of the bases for you, in the meantime. If you can’t go to the trouble to go hunt down those two girls and the doctor, maybe you can ask around for other lost souls you can use." "I’m not good at this. At figuring things out, or knowing when to stop and start, or if something’s seriously wrong or if I’ll get in trouble." "That’s okay," I said. "We’ll figure this out." ======================================== SAMPLE 276 ======================================== What do you mean?" Miss Militia asked. "If you look at our organization, you may have a different take on things. I do not see eye to eye on this subject, but I do see eye to eye with those of us who are pushing for change. I want change. That is our objective, no matter what side we end up on." "So you would like to see the world burn, Eidolon?" Triumph asked. "No. No, I don’t think we should. That would be a terrible waste of energy and a grave mistake in our favor. On the contrary, it would help all of us to ensure the right thing was done," Miss Militia made a pained expression. "You would like it if it was Scion that did it, not any of us?" Tagg asked. "No. No, I don’t think anyone does it," Miss Militia told him. Tagg sighed. "Who do you think it’ll be?" "An unknown entity. An unknown power. An individual without identity or purpose who is tangential to the situation, who was present at the scene of the crime, who has new motivations." "Identical to the case fifty-threes?" Tagg asked. "The entity will be an identical clone to the case fifty-threes, period," Miss Militia replied. "It’ll have the same trigger event, the same powers." "The complaint was that the clones were derived from pets. A false allegation, I take it?" "It’s an object lesson in what not to do," she told him. "Just do what you were there to do. You’re here to keep me here, to make sure I do what I’m there to do. Ensure that whatever I set in motion is what I’m talking about." "You’re making it all about you," Triumph said. "I’m not saying I’m not. You mentioned the entity. I somehow don’t feel like an object, now. I’m not saying I’m not valuable, or even that I’m not important. But right now… my focus, here, is… doing what I can to ensure this thing does what it set out to do." "Is that about saving the world?" "It’s about doing what I can to make this world a better place. I set myself a goal, I strive to reach that goal. When I do that, when the heroes of the world are gathered around me, I feel a hundred different things. I feel invigorated, free of anything that I can’t fix, like my ship hitting an iceberg or Shén Yù using his devastating attack." "You don’t feel anything right now," Miss Militia said. "A hundred different things," he said. "Yes. There is one." "You don’t think there is?" "No. But I don’t see anything wrong with it." The electronic monitor displayed a glowing cube in the upper right-hand corner. "The number contributing to the downfall of the world is…" "Not enough," Weld said. "Not enough to let it happen," Dinah spoke. "Why not?" "The deductions we’ve been able to make… if each of those things were to fall to the sort of magnitude that the entities manage, we’d be in for a world-ending event." "To what end?" Weld asked. "The means. The end of all things, of course. But it’s not just that. There are other aims. For example, the document makes reference to an attack form that was successfully dated 12 years ago, and it mentions something about a failed experiment." "A failed experiment?" "It’s a reference number. The name doesn’t mean anything to me in the critical situation that we’ve got to maintain, but one of the encounters mentioned in the email turned out badly for them. Details?" "I know the basic elements. The plan was to give a captive audience to the entity’s messages over the internet. Giving someone powers, then watching as they abuse those powers. To a lesser degree, yeah. To a greater degree, nothing." "I’ll admit my doubts about the email series in particular have been more or less quelled," Weld said. "But this email series… I get the impression you’re willing to play ball. At the same time, if you’re going to go easy on me, maybe consider taking the hint, going easy on me?" ======================================== SAMPLE 279 ======================================== The nearest flight of stairs led down to the beach, and a group of adults and children were climbing about on Saturday morning. By the time the sun had set, they were laughing, pointing at the moon, and talking about what had happened in the news. I realized with a kind of creeping satisfaction that I’d passed through this area of the beach. I felt a kind of obligation to return to the same spot I’d left, though I knew it would be harder than it was worth. I didn’t have the fireproof suit, though. At least, that was what I was assuming, the notion that I wouldn’t need it. The ground beneath my feet was warmer from earlier in the day, and my pyrokinesis was at least some of it. I glanced up at the continuing clouds of smoke from nearby explosions, remembering what I’d told my swarm about the explosions. Why pay homage to the other guy when you could pay homage to the first one? Maybe the other thing I was motivated to mention, to end this statement with, was that my beetle had received a severe beating on Saturday. I hadn’t realized how much. I’d curled up in a ball on the floor of the alley, to receive what must have been an allowance from the owner of the business I’d helped found, and I’d watched someone sweating, breathing and scratching leers at me from a distance. I couldn’t think straight, and I’d been unconscious for over a day, which meant I was left with few unspoken beliefs. One of those was that I didn’t want to be left defenseless if Jack or his group of underlings came calling. If that was it, and I was comfortable saying this group of people wasn’t exactly in the top one percent of the city’s social strata, then I could feel confident leaving them be. If they were more on the ball than the people in my territory, I knew I could shout them down from the balcony, and they’d listen. If I was charged and jailed and left it to my people to rescue me, I wasn’t sure I could be sure they would be there to support me. The same applied to my beetles. If it came down to it, I wasn’t sure I could pull off the high security drill outlined in my cab driver’s license, even with the full-face shields and braces that had been strapped to my upper body. "If it was Weaver or Faultline that were here, we might have had a discussion," Brian spoke, "But we had a long talk and one of the big reasons I decided to call off the search was because I wasn’t feeling so good. I’d been seeing double, and I’d noticed some of the stitches. We went over it in the medical bay, and the doc said it was normal, that it shouldn’t be a concern, and that he believed I was telling the truth about what had happened with my family. I agreed, though I didn’t agree with what was happening with my position at the hospital. I couldn’t agree to betraying my teammates to make the doc look good, and I didn’t want to give the impression I wasn’t ready to be relieved of duty. Being defrocked was pretty much the equivalent of being in the army, you know? Putting away my costume and taking a less prominent role in the city. I’d played a more prominent role in the past, I’d co-opted the female of the group and abuse my position to get what I wanted." He went on, "I’d be lying to you if I said I wasn’t tempted." I clenched my fist. Hearing him talk made my chest tense up, and I was pretty sure I could have kicked him with just as good an excuse. "Taylor, you don’t need to do this. I hate lying to you, and I know you don’t want to hear the truth." "Okay, okay. Don’t do a thing, don’t say anything, don’t look away. Just let me be perfectly clear that I’m being good, and this isn’t being dishonest at all. I was with your family." "Your family?" "My mom and dad. And I’m not telling you or showing you anything about my dad. I’m being good as I explain, and I’m letting you make up for the fact that you’re the dumbest person in the world, when you don’t even understand that much about him." I sighed and stayed silent. Brian ======================================== SAMPLE 282 ======================================== How much that makes sense. I tried to picture them standing there, Pantaleon and Knight with all of the karmic consequences that went with them. I really didn’t want to know. "Why?" I asked. "All of this? For nothing?" "He’s a coward. He ran because he was afraid. And because she’s a bitch," Krouse said. "The muscle memory is there, you just can’t remember it." "Don’t say that. Stop using my power," Cody said. "I’m trying," Krouse protested, but the smirk on his mask was making things worse. "Keep using mine," Cody mumbled, his eyes roving over my body. When Krouse spoke, his tone was more serious, "She’s stronger, and you’re stupid. And I think you’re a little overthinking things. In the semiconscious part of your brain, you’re focusing on the numbers and the shapes and doesn’t pay very attention to the real human sensation of touch. You’re like some kind of visual artist. You get these beautiful images and you’re coding them to work in your head, and then they blur together and you’re like, Huh. That’s your power, isn’t it?" Cody was working under Krouse’s powers, which meant the two of them were contributing something. Cody was packing a hell of a lot more into a given power than Krouse was, and still, things just weren’t translating. If anything, his power was having a harder time with this setup, because it meant he had to work with fewer buttons pressed in a given situation. "You’re better at this than I am," Cody said. "Yeah. You’re used to it, already. You’re already a fighter, and that’s a skill you picked up because you had to be. You learn how to do it, and then you get better at it. I think you’re already a pretty good fighter, though." "Pretty fucking good, huh?" Cody laughed, too late. A light hand on my shoulder, the same hand that had held me up, had released me from my slump. Krouse looked at the screen. The camera had moved, was now following us. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even have to. He let himself relax. I’d had my doubts, but it was Cody that responded. "Yeah. Definitely," he said. I could see Krouse’s expression change. He looked lost, stunned, and then he looked worryful too, not quite so casual about his absence. "We should go," Marissa said. "Maybe a bit early. Maybe we get a glimpse of some of the other candidates, in the group picture." "Hey, about that," Cody said. "Give me a sec." "I’ll wait," Krouse said, turning his back on the guy. They walked side by side, and I could see Cody holding Krouse’s hand. "Gimme a minute," Krouse said. "Can’t. I can’t tell if you mean you can’t, or if you mean you do, but we gotta go." "Aw, you’re right," Krouse said, scratching the guy’s head. "I dunno. I could maybe do it." The others seemed to sense the presence of the armored tinker and his pet demon. They turned to follow. "I do stuff for the background check. Tases tend to give me a peyote-inducing high. Force feeding him the peyote, hope that’s enough to knock him out, but we need to present the best image." The guy was speaking in a low voice, probably his hallucination or a subsonic version of it, almost impossible to make out over the noise. "Damn it, Krouse, don’t do this. Please don’t." "It’s fine," Krouse gasps, "Let’s go." It’s fine, I think, after a few seconds of consideration. We just had to, I think, and I think we should do it anyways, even if it means suffering the consequences in the here and now. I fold the piece of paper in half, then shove it into the space we’d just left behind. I double-check it’s not being swallowed by the ======================================== SAMPLE 285 ======================================== Aura strong transmutation; CL 13th; Slot none; Price 5,000 gp; Weight 1,200 lbs.; Alignment Lawful evil This crystal was no ordinary crystal. Each atom was a jagged, distorted image of an entirely different atom, no matter how closely it resembled the real thing. These atoms were organized into increasingly numerous and obscure layers, woven into one another like spiderwebbing through a chasm. When this web was unwound, it formed another square, the layers reconfigured, unseen by any but the strongest of eyes. These days, it is all but routine for chemists and physicists to seek out these exoplanets and mine them for resources. On the flip side of the coin, however, there are those who practice as fortune tellers, magicians, and psychics. While it is impossible to know exactly what they are predicting, the practitioners do take time to achieve their results, and it is exceedingly rare for anyone to catch them off guard. This particular crystal, polished and shaped to be wearable, has a topaz pattern at the base, with larger crystals ornamenting the lower half. A swirling mass of shifting crystals forms the head of the jade green skin. The instructions for the jade green skin are as black and white as the crystal patterns themselves, with simple, clear signs that outline the various operations a given practitioner can perform. The instructions specifically advise against harming the jade green skin. It is priced at a certain tier, set at a certain amount, and it is sold to anyone who pays the asking price. Each crystal is individually wound with a unique coded number, and is charged with a certain amount of power. The client must then choose whether they will use the power within, or distribute it to others. The clients pay with real wealth, or they use the power to facilitate the transfer of wealth. The amount of power is indicated with a crystal within the skin. Those who choose to utilize the ability to transfer the wealth are then instructed on the various steps required to make the process seamless. Those who do not are then instructed on the various assets that must be released, moved, or destroyed. The second section of the book is then released, and they are then directed to individual cells. Once they are seated, the client signs the papers, located on the table that serves as the table at the meeting. Each signature corresponds to a note; a notation on the leg-ends for the pieces of paper. The signature on the last sheet is a confirmation of everything. The protocol is that the ‘still’ record, the signature chain, contains the answers. The still record contains the most up to date information; the only truth is out there. The rest of the truth is pieced together from the child’s scribbles, from other cases. Every note is unique, identifying the child’s name, a serial number, and the book they came from. The ‘sister’ refers to the child’s mother. The mother died when the child was two years old. ‘baby’ refers to the child’s father. ‘little’ refers to the child’s mother. The mother is dead, obviously. Of course. The father was, all too often, the catalyst for the child becoming what they are today. The child is now almost always a sociopath. The child is almost always drawn to blood. This is the most prevalent form of life on this planet, the living and domestic species. This is the most powerful form of life on this planet, the entities that are driven by hatred and revenge. The blood draws them towards one another, turns those they see into mindless creatures, gathering together against their maker. They go savage, drenching their surroundings, shaping events and carving out whole regions, becoming beasts at heart. They kill one another, burn villages, pillage and destroy. They eventually kill the protector, the faerie, the protector’s chosen one. They kill the maker, the faerie queen, and all that is left are their fragmented entities, the remnants of the entities that were once creatures, before they fell in battle or in time immemorial. And they go savage, for they have no master to guide them, no master power to guide them. They kill one another, blossom in violence, sex and blood. They carve their own paths, for this blood is far more powerful than any emerald leaf or star in the sky. They kill the maker, for their blood is greater than all the other things in this vast expanse of blood. They go savage, and then they rest. They solve problems, they recover, and so it goes. They find their way, they find their own way, and they ======================================== SAMPLE 288 ======================================== Will you be participating in the upcoming fight against Scion?" I asked. "I’ll help, if I can," Dinah said. "But I can’t go back to the underground because I’m supposed to be helping the heroes, and I’m supposed to be helping the people who can really make a difference. My people, your people." Dinah shook her head. "I don’t want to be a guinea pig. The people I’m helping right now, they’re just as important as the people I’m helping. Like you said, I’m just here to help. That’s all." "There’s a three point plan," I said. "Rise to the occasion, get the support of the people you care about, and you’ll get the results you want. That’s assuming you stick to it." Dinah shook her head. "No. I’m not sure I can trust you." "You have to trust me," I told her. "Because the only way I can help you and my people is if you give me your trust. Can you do that? Will you trust me?" She shook her head. You have to trust me, I thought. You’ll give me your trust. She didn’t respond. "Alright," I said, calming my nerves, "Now let’s step away from the fighting. I’ll wait here. I’ll meet you at the base." I walked away, taking off the boots as I walked, and then closed the distance between us, reaching out with my power. The bugs I’d formed into a rough shape for a maskless mask flowed into the mask, flowing down the face like a rug, and into the folds of Dinah’s costume, which was hiding a host of razor-sharp spines. They made for a cutting motion, and I held on to them as I closed the distance. Dinah began crawling forward, alongside the base where the resistance of the Hideous Mutant Lupine was thinner, and the supply of hot air from the base began to warm her flesh. How long before she reaches her destination? I mused, trying to think of what I might do in the meantime. I stopped and turned to look at the city around us. Six vast skies, extending skyward, but they were splashed with rain already. The spray from the buildings and the cars that were still there in the rain enhanced the effect, but it meant that the underlying drab black sky was exceedingly dark, with shadows cast in shadows and fronds showing through the rain. As the clouds had started to move above the city to partially block the streams, I’d probably been out at least an hour ago. It was possible my knowledge on the subject was growing fuzzy. Now that I was trying to think of something specific to look at, I could analyze it as closely as I could. The dense cloud of thick smoke was indicative of fireworks at ranges of at least a mile. At best, they would be spread out over a wider area. At this juncture, I would do what I could to avoid getting dirty. I would stand as still as I could, watching for whatever warning signs others might give. A minute passed before the first piece of debris appeared, crashing to the ground. I could hear it splashing against our surroundings with the movement of the water. The other clouds were appearing, appearing in tandem. "They’re coming," I said. Just as the first few started to move, a shockwave tore through the area. It was loud, caused minor plumes of water to rise in the air, and signaled the launch of what had to be dozens of meteors in a single movement. Or, put another way, Maybe I could see a 'possible scorched Earth' with our little world on the line. Risky, but I wasn’t about to back down in the face of a potentially lethal threat. "How are we doing?" Rachel asked. "We’re winning," I pointed out. "But that might be because we’re doing more damage than the enemy intended. Let’s not forget that." "I’ll be there," she said. "Call me if you need anything," I said. "Oh. I’m sorry. I need to get back, talk to my parents." So that’s why I’m in Brockton Bay right now. "Call me, then." "You sure?" "Yeah." " ======================================== SAMPLE 291 ======================================== I exhaled slowly. "The new authority." He gave me a hard stare, and I didn’t speak up. "You’ll do as we ask and give us what we want," Mrs. Yamada said. "We won’t get what we want unless you drop the charade and accept the deal." "The alternative is bad," I said. And now I had no allies. The only way I’d hope to recover was if Coil dropped the charade and surrendered. "We’ll demand repayment for the resources we’ve gathered and we’ll conduct constant attacks until we achieve a level of control," Mrs. Yamada said. "We’ll then ask for help from elsewhere. If we’re granted permission, that would be a violation of the truce." "I don’t like the truce," I said. I saw her start to object, but she was already walking away. "It’s flexible," Mrs. Yamada said. "We can come up with compromises. It wouldn’t be a problem if we included your boarding process and background checks into the checks. It would save us time if we were able to accommodate everyone, but that’d be inconvenient. Instead, we’ll include a few essential elements. We will hold everyone in the city to the truce, and any takers will beced dealt with. Only the people who are not seeking to be held to the truce will be allowed onto the platform. This prevents mediators from stepping in and forcing a hand from one group of people." "We’ll do that anyways, if it means the truce holds," I said. She smiled a little. "I know. I’m not opposed to the truce in principle, but I will question it in practice." I didn’t respond for a minute. I was still adjusting to the idea that it was her who had found a subtle way to root me out and undermine my confidence as a target. "You want a tanker job," Mrs. Yamada said. "An arms deal." I shook my head. "No arms deal." "You’ve shown you don’t care about the people in your territory." "I have little to lose by being here," I said. I turned my attention back to my swarm. "An attack from any direction but your own would be disastrous," Mrs. Yamada said. "You said you expected an attack from within your territory, and you’ve made no such declaration. Why?" Because you couldn’t attack the Slaughterhouse Nine, I thought. Or the Simurgh. I wasn’t even sure what the term meant. "The terms of the contract you signed back in mid-June stipulate that you’ll attack any of them if they set up shop in your territory." That took me a second to process. I repeated herself. I’d committed to assisting the people in my territory, but I hadn’t specified which people. Had I been playing a trick on them? "The Slaughterhouse Nine are territorial grabs," Mrs. Yamada said. "They established a presence in your city not by attacking your Sub-Agency but by seizing your Harbour. You’ve fought them numerous times, almost single-handedly deciding what got made into Steelport and Hookwolf’s houses. Most of the metallurgists who run missions against them don’t even know what a metallurgist is." "Why do you want to know?" "The fall of your house and the deaths of your family. You showed great courage then, you’ve backed me up. I need your help." "A great deal," Grue said. "I know we’re not in a position to make a fair judgement based on what we know now, but I need your help to fight the Nine." Grue sighed. "They’re making a lot of demands at once. For one thing, they want you to join their alliance." "No alliance," I said. "Of course not," he said. "But I can try to help you in other ways. For one thing, I’ll be able to help you in getting supplies to those who need them." For another, I thought. It was an intriguing prospect, and I couldn’t bring myself to agree. I’d agreed to bring Skitter and Legend because I knew they were the best way to get what needed to be done. I didn’t think she’d join the group on a neutral ground, but I couldn’t bring myself to ======================================== SAMPLE 294 ======================================== Deputy District Attorney Amy Dallon, a fellow prosecutor, commented, "If we look into it, you agreed with our plan." "When I saw your weapons, I wasn’t convinced," I said. "We’ll give it a try anyways," she said. "If nothing else, you guys are going to need our assistance in identifying the heroes before they arrive." "It’s in your best interests to help," I said. "You said they were trouble." "That’s a relief," Amy said. "You’ve been rather insistent on keeping me out of the loop, lately," I said. "It’s refreshing." "Very often," she said, with a note of sarcasm in her voice, "We hear about the Endbringer from the media, and we see how unfounded accusations are. We take it for what it is, and you are now a known quantity. Congratulations." "I did need some convincing," I said. "Please," she said. "You’re a known quantity," I said. "And that’s why I didn’t want your help. I wanted to get an educated guess. I wanted to see just how frustrated and hurt you were feeling after your latest run-in with the media. At the same time, I knew you wouldn’t share any details with us." "I’m safe, sound, and sitting this one out," she said. "Is that so? ‘Cause I don’t see any reason why I should keep my mouth shut. Especially after you told me you’d get your revenge on the Syndicate. Assuming you’re telling the truth, that you told the truth about me, I’d imagine you’re rambling." She didn’t look happy. "No. I won’t say it’s not true. But- I can’t say for sure until they drop the charges against me. And I really do need your help to get a lawyer off the table. I know my rights are trampling on the law, but-" "I can’t say for sure," I said. "You have a right to be angry, but I’d guess that’s only because you haven’t paid your respects and you’re still alive." "That is, essentially, why I’m saying they’re lying. That is, essentially, why I’m telling you the truth. I made a bad call." "But-" "But I guess what I’m saying is that you should take what you can get, adjust it to take into account everything else, and adjust your perception of it so you can detect patterns from a hundred different angles. You might be inclined to agree with me there, but you should still wait until I’ve explained and confirmed my suspicions." "There’s no need for that," I said. "If you’re inclined that way, that’s perfectly okay." She frowned. "Ah. I expected that." "I’m not inclined that way," I said. "I’m inclined to the *right’ path, but I wouldn’t recommend that to anyone." "No, I’m inclined that way. That kind of advice usually comes with more risk, more danger, if it’s not given by a competent person. That said, I think the Protectorate can do much better than this. We’ll make it easier to investigate your claims." "Fine," she said. "I’ll go look in your apartment." I frowned. "There’s one other thing I need to get to. And I don’t want to drive all the way out here, I don’t want to postpone." "You could," I said. "Or you could stand by while I get my things and come back." "That would be fine." "It’s been a little while," she said. "I’m sorry." "I’ll try to get back to it as soon as I can," I said. "Let me know if there’s anything else." She didn’t return my way, but I couldn’t shake the idea that she might. It would be better to leave her here if she was, I suspected, but I wouldn’t want to leave her here if I could help it. The group made their way to my lair. It was disorienting to think that way. Where was my sense of place? ======================================== SAMPLE 297 ======================================== Tension and tense, he made his way into the alley, his knife one hand held behind his back. A crack split the ground, and Bentley hopped down in the same instant the section of rooftop began falling down. Just the act of stepping up the scale, bringing his damaged feet to the ground, had given Biter pause. He seized up in an instant, planting his feet on the ground and striding toward the incoming Bitch. She backed away, one hand around her neck, as Bentley charged. A second of hesitation, as Bitch held one foot high and one hand out in front of him, gave the dog some footing, allowing him to put the landing on the far side of the rooftop. The dog lurched back out of the way, and Bitch threw herself down, soaking the top of her head in a spray of water. The attack had missed, and the angle of the bounce had sent her staggering. She caught herself with her hands, only to find her hair was trussed up around the scratched and slashed spot on her face. Bitch flung herself at the gap that had been the rooftop, tearing her arms from the sockets, then pulled herself up again, head hanging. Bentley lumbered in close, striking out with his front legs, but failing to reach her. The armor at her front was little use to him, so he went with his claws to pierce her flesh. She twitched, arching her back, and blood sprouted from the spot where it ran along her spine. Spine, kidneys and stomach contents tore free of her liver and lodged in her wounds, giving him enough impetus to get her off of the ground. His claws found targets with a frenzied speed that made it seem as though he was going to fall over after the hits. He cast out another blast of wind, then did the same, to close the distance. She didn’t have a means of propulsion, and was hurt by the acceleration and the sheer weight of the thing, which weighed her down as much as it helped Bentley. She started to run toward the remaining three. A slap caught her in the back of the head. She flew back, felt something hit her, small, shallow. A piece of bone, maybe? It had been soft as she’d thought it might be. A kick caught her in the stomach, tearing a groove in the armor. She staggered to her feet and tried to push herself to a standing position, failed to move out of the way as Bentley continued to drive her into the ground. A whip of some sort, sharp enough to poke Bitch in the stomach, killed her. Another strike of the whip, and she was buried. Hard. There was no helping the pain. She saw Bitch’s face, saw her frozen, no longer able to do anything as the bone scraped against her armored exterior, dug her hands into her robes to pull them down. She threw herself at Amy, pushed herself up, nothing she could do, nothing a martial artist could do to help herself. A few seconds passed as Amy stood, fumbled to her feet, then groaned, "No." "What are you going to do?" "Take care of Bitch." "I’m sorry. I- I don’t know what to do." "You have your moments where you remind me of something, but you’re also in the clear. You’re in control, you’re on your way to finishing your task, and you remind me of that, and I’m worried I’m not going to do enough damage and get away before Leviathan shows up." Amy looked around, felt the look of doubt pass over her face. "You don’t know what he is. What are you going to do?" "I know I don’t have the power to help you there. But I have to go now, and I’ll be gone for another hour or so. If you want me to go, you’re probably going to have to get along with me, please. If you don’t, well, I’m not sure what I’d do, but neither are you, so maybe I’d stand by and do nothing." There was the look of- anger was coloring her expression, affecting how she looked at Bitch. "I’ll find out." "Soon?" Amy glanced around, then nodded. Bitch surveyed the area. "It doesn’t look like things are as bad as they were a week ago." "It could be worse. We should get out of here as soon as possible." "We’re close?" A silence stretched out. Neither of them ======================================== SAMPLE 300 ======================================== Sanguine’s people had traveled far enough to capsize a smaller craft earlier in the week, no doubt to reduce the damage of a specific commercial passenger. The ship was named after a popular pediatric dentist who’d practiced much to keep his practice discreet. Legend and Sanguine would be the first passengers, followed by Dr. McCoy. The passengers to follow were the First, Third, Fourth, Fifth and Sixth Families. I glanced briefly at the others. Shatterbird was nowhere to be seen, and Dr. little-olive wasn’t either. In the eponymous sinkhole, I saw, there was a pale gray lump that had been spiked up with a dark gray-white fluid. The hole, I saw, swelled tenfold in volume as it sucked up anything solid. It looked more like a sink filling than a sink with enough depth that people could fall through the tops. But there were no victims in sight. "All good," I said. Legend nodded. "Nothing bad?" "No. It looks like everything went well. The casualties were few and far between, though, and we had nearly fifty people on the upper floors, almost all under the influence of the local hype and demand for Brainiac’s cures. The casualties were high, but we had the benefit of Engine 21’s teleportation technology to contain them. I wouldn’t have been surprised if we made it through without too much damage to our costumes or equipment." The sink. The area had been spiked with a dark gray dust as a barrier between the public and the city, intended to keep rats out. The sink they’d used as a ramp had been smashed, and blood was spattered there. "Engineering," Tattletale said. "Good. See it does help against the Manton effect." "If it cures anything," I said, "It’s that. Our trouble is that it’s not well tested, and nobody’s been able to find a doctor to give us the brains of the models." "Fix that," Tattletale said. "Solutions? Problems?" "No," I said. "I’m thinking we need to go after the Eater." "Me too," Grue said. "But it’s not- can’t be easy. The guy has the emotional instability, he’s hopeless, and he’s very, very good at screwing with us. Mentally, he’s just not a stable person. We all have our demons, and he has an inborn weakness that makes him more prone to screwing us over." "I think we should go after the Eater of Dice," I said. "Unless we already got to his head." Tattletale shook her head. "No. He doesn’t- wouldn’t listen to advice. He won’t listen to his own heart. We need physical contact. Too much physical contact, and he’s going to resent it. Friction, being on the receiving end of some psychic sh-tang. Not that he’s getting any pointers from his physical trainer. We need to focus on physical contact, so he won’t be able to use his mental defences up high, and he’ll want to conserve his willpower as he interacts with us." "Grue said you fought the Mayor," I said. I was so used to my bugs speaking for me, in my ignorance. Tattletale looked genuinely upset at the idea. "What?" I asked. "Mayor? New York?" "Yeah," Tattletale said. "Just like that." "S- Staten Island? Where are you?" "I’m… I’m in one of my favourite areas," Tattletale said. "The pictures that are passed around, I took them when the buildings were still standing. I just wanted to get away. Idyllic." I nodded. "Why? Why take us apart?" I asked. "It doesn’t mean anything." "It’s radical, and I really do think we could mend things. But radical isn’t the word I would use. I would be blunt, and say I’m a pragmatist." "You’re not being fair," I said. "I’m not being fair? You want to go after his girlfriend, and the person that’s taking care of him right now, and I’m thinking that sounds very different from how you would want to handle it." I frowned behind my mask. "Are you a pragmatist or a utopian?" I asked ======================================== SAMPLE 303 ======================================== Lily and I both shrugged at that. "There goes the peace of mind," Trickster said. "Hey," I said, not taking my eyes off him, "You want to come by, to talk?" "I could tell you the situation," Trickster said. "You’re on high alert, like I told you, and you should be mindful of your PR." "Sure," I said. He rolled his eyes. "The Travelers may be trying to sell the idea that they’re on the up and up, but you’re still occupying the same old position. I’m telling you that they’re treading water, there. There’s nothing to be done. You remind them of the job they did not do, here, now, and maybe they’ll try to push the envelope here, in a different way. Maybe they will. Maybe they won’t. You remind them of the job they did do here, and maybe they will remind you of the duty you owe them." "It’s still a little fucked up," Trickster said. "You fucking gotta be kidding me," Trickster. "You’re the one that made me into this. The duty I owe you. The thing I’ll always be glad about you taking charge, Jack. The thing I’ll give the uniform you’re wearing. The fucking Doss Squad." "Doss Squad?" "The Slaughterhouse Nine. Whether you like it or not. I’ve heard they’re after you. Sending people like you to keep you here, me, the team and the public at war." "You’re talking like they’re on the up and up," Trickster said, without turning away from me. "And because keeping me here is more important than actually stopping you. Do you honestly tell me you don’t think I have a fucking fighting chance against all of them? I’m betting a paycheck would convince you there’s a hell of a lot more good soldiers out there than there are bad." "I have," Trickster said, "And I won’t tell you how to win. That’s your prerogative." "No, that’s not wrong," I told him. Then, in an effort to keep him from walking away, I offered, "I think the same goes for you. You and your power." Regent chimed in, "Good argument." "And just like I said earlier, there’s no guarantee they won’t try something before I beat them, only that it won’t be so brutal and counterintuitive that it reminds them of what they did to fuck with you." "No, that’s not wrong," Tattletale echoed me, "Good argument. And as I said at the outset, there’s no guarantee they’ll come after me after I’ve been here, only that they won’t come after me and the money that I have." Grue’s voice came over the comms. "That’s thirty seconds of radio silence your Frigates and others in my company have provided. We’ll fill you guys in as we get them back. If the capes in your area want to talk, come on up." I climbed onto Atlas and flew away from the site where curfew had cuffed Dragon and Defiant. Shit. My suspicions were confirmed: curfew was holding back the reinforcements that the Dragon’s Teeth and the Protectorate were sending. It wasn’t the full extent of it: the Undersiders and the Teeth were staying close, and a certain Exalt was sitting in the midst of them. If the Teeth had been holding back because they didn’t want to hurt civilians, then Dragon and Defiant would be doing the same thing because civilian casualties were what the PRT was all about. Which wouldn’t make me feel better, but it made me think something along the lines of ‘maybe we can manage this, with Teeth and Jermain’. It was a long way from my house, and my dad was apparently still busy flying, so I figured I’d take a bit to get there. I took the scenic route, instead. As I got to my house, I was surprised to see that the front door of my house was open. I guess they were considering having a patrol or something to keep an eye on us. I was all set to leave when I heard a noise behind me. I looked to see that Grue was inside, revving ======================================== SAMPLE 306 ======================================== Didn’t think so. Still want to get the full picture? They were still ascending the ramp. Garrick raised his voice, "We have a shit ton of firepower!" More cannon fire erupted in the next instant. Three stories higher, the top of the building began to crumble and split. Not everything plunged into the city proper, but a lot of what was below was almost touching the ground. A crushing visitation. Part of Behemoth’s flesh was carving a half-inch deep around the bone of one of the exposed cortical segments, though the flesh continued to extend beneath the carved surface. Garrick’s healing power was still active, and the wound was getting progressively worse. It seemed like it would take forever, if not minutes. A heartbeat later, the ground beneath them was ripped apart. Pellidin, sagging under the weight of its own weight. The pain hit them like a tidal wave, a cramp that palpitated the whole of their lower body. Vista let go of me, let go of the ground. I slumped, and came to the side of the building, putting one hand on the wall for support. I could see the other capes below reacting, glancing in different directions. A handful of tactical nukes had been set off just a minute ago, and they were quickly switching targets. Tactical nukes weren’t new. Tactical nukes was how Endbringers Master and Eidolon described their attacks. But something else had been revealed, as the fight moved on. The Simurgh had used a telekinetic energy to step back and open her mouth. She’d long been after me, had sussed me out, had read my mind to deduce where I was. She’d understood my power well enough that she’d taken the time to research it, to anticipate how I could use it. But reading my mind? I was surprised she even bothered. A floor for her wings to lie on? A way to get to the people deeper inside the building? I felt like I could afford to gamble, but I wasn’t sure I would be right, and I couldn’t afford to be wrong. "Riley," I said. "What?" She looked startled. "I was just telling you to be careful. I know the precautions I’m taking, but I can’t read your mind to know what you’re doing." "I know," she said. "Trust me a little," "Yes. I… I guess I had a mental block. There’s a reason I’m taking you to the Birdcage. It wasn’t because I had a second opinion. It was because I was under the impression that you had a regular human mind, and you used that to help others." "And I had second opinions," she said. "I know. I’m sorry." She didn’t offer any comfort. "I guess we’re not really in a position to talk anymore," I said. "But you’re not in a position to avoid talking. You’re admitting you had a mental block. That’s something we can use." "Yeah," I said, and that was enough. I could let her unravel the details, try to unravel her mental state to try to piece together the truth for herself, but accepting my culpability here wouldn’t change anything. "I guess you’re the last person I would have expected you to be truthful," she said. "Honestly? Yes. I suppose I should be blameless, shouldn’t I?" "You’re the one who lied to her. You’re the worst one of all." I’m not blameless, Tattletale thought. At the same time, at the moment my pride was being crushed, I had a mission that was all too clear. I couldn’t let her forget it, and I couldn’t let her face what she knew about Scion until everything else was resolved. "Don’t hate me because I’m a villain," I said, keeping my voice low. "Hate only lets others hate me instead." "Yes," she said. "I hate you too." Hate? She saw the suspicion slowly spreading across my face. My heart sank. "Taylor," Tattletale said, almost without thinking about it, "Do you want to go home?" I shook my head. "Home? Is that even a word? Is it ever about home? Losing everything, starting over again, being heart ======================================== SAMPLE 309 ======================================== Just saying. She thought of the man. "A book?" "Of course." "I like it," she murmured. She showed him the spine.) "A history?" "A very interesting history." "Thank you." She didn’t rate it, but she liked it. She flipped through it, then paid a little more for the wood. Heave it into a guard shack, then settled into her chair. Would have said something, but she couldn’t think of what to say. Today was not a good day. The Texas dream was over. She was done. Finished, finally, as far as she was concerned. There would be no more walking, no more talking, no more testing her patience. There would be days like this, days like that, days like every other day, but days like this were good because they showed she cared, that she had finally found someone to miss, who she could share her days with. She closed her eyes as she pictured the new beginnings that would accompany the constant exercises of this life. Being a hero. A Warrior. A Falcon. A Witch. A Priest. A Bard. "We should talk about Emma’s school," the girl with the spine spoke. "Okay," Regina said. The skullgirl frowned, "All the better?" Money talks, little thing. "It’s all good," Regina said. Not a yes, but a a a yes. "In fact, seeing it like it is… It’s probably the best part of my life. I’ve never experienced a higher amount of joy than I did when I found out that my daughter wasn’t going to be a hero." The skullgirl frowned. Money talks, little thing. "It’s the happiest I’ve ever felt," Regina said. Not a yes, but a a a yes. A guy who believed in this shit, who gave this shit meaning. "When you say anything," the skullgirl said, "I want you to be my guest. I’ll bring you something, I’ll taste it, so you can taste what I’m feeling." "I don’t want your company. Never wanted you to be." The girl frowned. Her pudgy, wide-eyed face twisted with shame. "Mom’s never giving us enough food, always complaining about the food, never letting me know what she wants or need. I’m the most useless person in the world." "What do you want, Emma?" "I want your help. I need you to buy stuff for my sister’s school. I need you to replace that stupid t-shirt my mom was wearing that… What was it? A ‘rage against the capes’ thing? I’ll… Moved on from that shirt. Thought she needed it off her rack. Just- I’m not looking for a ‘rage’ on your part. I just want you to do these jobs for my sister’s school. Help out, help her out, because I need that stuff. I- I’m ready for this to be over. I’m- I’m almost glad I’m doing it. I- I’m almost glad I’m normal again." The girl wiped at her mouth again, defiantly. "Okay. I’ll do it. But when you’re all done helping out, I want you to tell my mother. I want her to be proud, because she’s been pushing me, trying to push me, and it’s been hard at times, and it’s… I dunno, I think I feel like I’ve finally found a person, a person I can talk to about stuff. Someone who I can… It’s a halfway house. There. I think I’ve got the ball in the right people’s court, here. Once I’m through the first month of the year, I’ll have my license, I can start being more normal. My powers will be gone, I’ll be able to help other people’s kids, I’ll go to school, be a normal kid again." The therapist took a step forward, and the girl resisted. Her sister twisted around to kick her in the stomach, but her mom stepped in, pushing her mom. The therapist yelled at the mom, "You don’t want your child to get into that!" Panacea felt a stab of something like disgust ======================================== SAMPLE 312 ======================================== Worse, I’d have to do it while Kid Win was in the vehicle, while he was in the midst of getting supplies into place. There were movies I might have watched on the way there, if I had the leisure. The series of events that had led up to this point had been some of the more entertaining parts of those, and there was a sense in which the quieter, more surrealistic elements tied with the more violent and graphic moments well enough that I could easily imagine the backdrop of the ‘real’ movie making something out of the quotidian details of everyday life for those who had nothing to lose. Losing what? Losing his brother in arms? Losing his job? Losing his home? It wasn’t like he hadn’t lost people before. Alexandria, his wife and now Miss Militia had all left him when he’d found the Triumvirate and had started to control things for himself. Revel had turned on him, and Mannequin had taken advantage of the situation to take over the organization. I felt a growing anger, one that couldn’t be expressed with words. I didn’t have the patience for this. I ordered my bugs to gather, and collected the gathered items from beneath the chairs and tables in the conference room. With the cots already arranged, I formed a human shape in the doorway and shifted into it. "I’m going to fucking kill you," I hissed. "I keep wondering when you’ll do something like this, when you’ll do something even more terrible than making me into a hero. You win, you get all the credit, you get everyone’s respect, and then when you’re done, you go to fuck yourself again. You see that camera that big in the middle of the room? Me, I was the guy that was trying to get the local heroes into the mess you’re in right now. And you pretend like you’ve played any part in it." My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen to see the lock screen of an e-mail. E-MAIL: Gimel: You are very much in his scope of influence. I have been working with him for a while and I can tell you what he wants. I have seen him and you both. I have no reason to think you are anything but the anonymous person you are appearing in the records. I have seen your records and seen what you have been capable of. I have little doubt in my mind that you would be an excellent addition to the Wards, even with the baggage you have been leasing with the team. I have confidence in you that you will not only add much-needed firepower to what the team has, but you will do so in a way that reaches beyond the scope of what the team is capable of." I nodded. "I have given you my word that I will not pressure you, nor will I remove you from this team if I feel the need to do so. I realize this may be difficult for you to do, and I am not intending to make you do anything. I only want to let you know what measures I am taking in regards to your well-being, so that you can be ready should I decide to remove you from the team." I took a deep breath. "What am I supposed to do?" "Stay in the conversation. Keep him guessing about what I’m doing?" I nodded. "With this many capes, it is difficult enough to keep secrets. With an Endbringer?" "Possible," I said. "When I removed Cyclopes Gabriel and Callisto from the PRT office, I made a conscious effort to keep them in the know. When I removed Armsmaster from the PRT commissioner’s post, I made an effort to keep him in the loop as well. With the schedules of ours, it is not possible to keep track of everyone who is stepping on the PRT’s toes. With a potential exception being Cauldron’s Law, who is airborne, surrounding the city with his ectoplasm and/or other of his products." "Petty." "With the exception of maybe when it comes to the League, anyways. I try to be intentional when I remove people from the field. I think it is best if you and the Undersiders are informed about who they are removing from the field. I will be watching the people I’m removing closely, and I will make a note of what I do. I will make it easier for you to reach your friends and teammates if you believe your concerns are being neglected." "You’ve talked about this with me before," I told him. ======================================== SAMPLE 315 ======================================== Quinns went over every standard drill, loops and drill in the meantime. She was half done bandaging up when I called her. "Skitter! We’ve got a stray wound, we need you to look after it!" "Of course." "Look for a CT scan and MRI tomorrow morning." "Right. Those would be great," I said. "We’re closing in on our target," Quinns said. "What’s the chance we hit our target?" "We’ll hit our target if and when we act the way we plan?" I asked. "We hit our staging ground, we hit the more vulnerable area, and we keep coming back for more blood." "Twenty-three point six percent chance we hit the same place three times in the next twenty-three hours." "Twenty three point one percent chance we get three days of bad weather between attacks." Quinns hand shook. "We’ve never had three days of bad weather," she said. "And we’ve had some of the best fighting we’ve had in months. So there’s room for another attack." "And if we want to hold out?" I asked. "We can always postpone." "We can always postpone," she said. "But first we need to get in contact with the others. Make sure they aren’t hiding somewhere out of sight and get the medical help they need. We have six or seven injured, and we need to take out as many of the capes as we can, before the monsoons get here." "I’ll see if I can reach Mannequin," Defiant said. "Have to talk to Tattletale, see if I can get a hold of her brother. I know you wanted to be close, that you were willing to risk your life to help this guy." Quinns stopped to let the chains of steelary’s cuffs de-chain themselves. I glanced at the Doctor. "I’m willing to take that option," I said. "As a super villain you’re allowed to take any of the options I just mentioned, and I’d be willing to take the super villain option as a whole." "But-" "But if you want to talk about stuff besides the main subject," I said. "Because it’s important." I saw a flicker of doubt. "We have to discuss this. As Skitter mentioned." "Why is it important?" I asked. "You helped my dad. You helped me. Why are you so reluctant to help others?" "I won’t sugarcoat it," Defiant said. "Some of us have parenthood, some of us have kids, and weaning out the crap we’ve produced is hard. There’s also the issue of responsibility. If all of us go down this road, then it looks like the team is in the middle of something, and the individual members of the team who produce the most parenthood are the ones who are responsible for the parenthood, versus the ones who produce the most guilt, or the birthing process." "What if I wanted to hide who produced the most guilt?" I asked. "What if I wanted to keep things secret?" "I can’t but recommend you talk to your family and talk to your employer before you start any experimentation," Defiant said. "I can do that." "No. That’s what you wanted. Any other problems? Anything else, problems you’d notice but not be able to comment on in the moment?" "I’m noticing more and more as the days passed and we didn’t make any announcements or take any actions. I started asking around, to see what was up. There were a lot of stares and questions. A few minutes passed and I noticed the stares back at me. I take pictures, and I keep them forever, so there’s a high degree of correlation." "Can you see yourself using her?" I asked. "As a mercenary? As a public relations issue?" "I don’t know. The right time and place wouldn’t be talking about my private life, but now. But I won’t." I sighed. "Defiant," Tattletale said. "You’ve been training her in the art of sneaking attacks. Probably a good thing, because an attack from a distance would be disastrous. Not only would it trip you up, but she’d be a lot more adept at it now. You wouldn’t be able to hide from her." " ======================================== SAMPLE 318 ======================================== You will be upset if I go ahead with it. I’ll let her know before I act. But you won’t want to repeat the mistakes I made and get yourself killed in the process. At least, I hope not. I’m not entirely honest with you, here, but I might lie if it came down to it." "Then you’re no longer an option." He gave her a look that was both incredulous and pitying. She tried to interpret his meaning, and for the first time in a long time, she couldn’t say anything that wasn’t blatantly untrue. "You’d make a good team captain," she said, with a note of bitterness in her voice. "True. But your peers are far less interested in your accomplishments than you are. Nobly, I suspect, but true." She couldn’t help but picture the scenarios he was imagining. "You’d commandeer a ship and go to the outer islands to try to recruit the locals, and you’d make a pretty good recruit. You wouldn’t make it a priority, but it would be an area you could control. You’d build a reputation for yourself, establishing yourself as an important hub." "I would have done that a decade ago." "Seventy-five, now." She couldn’t help but picture him there with the ferocity of the thoughts, the ferocity of her own thoughts. The trolls and their denizens she couldn’t identify, deceased. And then she’d go to jail. The ferocity of the thought, the irony of it, that he was thinking about it now, in the midst of what she was thinking to this very day. "I suspect, Amelia, that it’s a habit she picked up in prison, the way she terrorized her victims with violent jabs of the facts, followed by devastating counterarguments. The outside might see it that way, but she still sees everything through the filter of that lens. Under her, the PRT has just gained something of a monopoly on relevant info." "Which is why you’re so eager to take over the Wards, again." "I’m not under any obligation to cooperate!" "Some might say you are. On the flip side of things, some might say you just happen to have the most badass superpower of any member of the Protectorate. There’s a good chance I’m lying through your nose." "No. I’m not." "Amelia, let me demonstrate. Go to the bathroom, squat, then stand up. If I say anything, you’re not obligated to take it. I don’t care if you have bad dreams or nightmares for the rest of your miserable life. Just because you’re here doesn’t mean I care. Just a little." "I’m not going to complain or provide excuses, and I’m not forcing you to take these drugs or partake in this ‘treatment’." "You do. You feel like that by default, because you were different before." "Because I was different." He smiled, and it was a grim one. "So you’ve got that in the works. That’s the good news." "The…" "It’s the same with me. I’m still figuring out what I want to do and why, and I’m realizing that I don’t know enough to say anything for sure. But I’m figuring out what I want to achieve, and I’m believing it can’t be better than what I’ve been getting from these drugs and alcohol. I feel more human, and that’s worth fighting for." "You just got powers. Three months to a year of hard work, and you’ve just been trying to get by. You earned that." "I earned that in a very real sense," she said. "I led a double-digit suicide mission in Bosnia. I led a strike group in rescuing people from the Barbarys' clutches. I helped stop an assassination attempt on the prime minister. I helped stop a madman in the streets. I rescued people from burning buildings. I rescued people from nuclear disasters. I beat the odds. All the while, I was counting myself lucky, like a fighter plane that’d taken out a bad guy with a bomb. I liked fighting, I enjoyed it as a guy. I didn’t enjoy or value it as a woman, but that wasn’t the biggest thing in my life." " ======================================== SAMPLE 321 ======================================== Note: This property is not currently for sale or for rent. The title currently on file for this property belongs to Michael Calfan, to be paid by title in a lump sum to Michael Calfan, by Title AG. ***NOTICE: Renters are advised to contact Robert Paine at 978-379-75891 or rpaine@rogers.com to verify the identity of the buyer.*** ***NOTICE: Due to increases in demand for apartments in the Docks and the increasing cost of transportation to and from the beach, the area is now somewhat out of reach. Please call or visit the Boardwalk Assessor for current rates and maps.*** ***NOTICE: Due to increases in demand for apartments in the Docks and the increasing cost of transportation to and from the beach, the area is now somewhat out of reach. Please call or visit the Boardwalk Assessor for current rates and maps.*** ***NOTICE: Due to increases in demand for apartments in the Docks and the increasing cost of transportation to and from the beach, the area is currently experiencing extremely high demand. Call or visit the Boardwalk Assessor for current rates and schedules.*** ***NOTICE: Due to increases in demand for apartments in the Docks and the increasing cost of transportation to and from the beach, the area is currently experiencing exceptionally high demand. Call or visit the Boardwalk Assessor for current rates and schedules.*** ***NOTICE: Due to increases in demand for apartments in the Docks and the increasing cost of transportation to and from the beach, the area is currently experiencing exceptionally high demand. Call or visit the Boardwalk Assessor for current rates and schedules.*** ***NOTICE: Due to increases in demand for apartments in the Docks and the increasing cost of transportation to and from the beach, the area is currently experiencing extraordinarily high demand. Call or visit the Boardwalk Assessor for current rates and schedules.*** ***NOTICE: Due to increases in demand for apartments in the Docks and the increasing cost of transportation to and from the beach, the area is currently experiencing exceptionally high demand. Call or visit the Boardwalk Assessor for current rates and schedules.*** ***NOTICE: Due to increases in demand for apartments in the Docks and the increasing cost of transportation to and from the beach, the area is currently experiencing exceptionally high demand. Call or visit the Boardwalk Assessor for current rates and schedules.*** ***NOTICE: Due to increases in demand for apartments in the Docks and the increasing cost of transportation to and from the beach, the area is currently experiencing extraordinarily high demand. Call or visit the Boardwalk Assessor for current rates and schedules.*** ***NOTICE: Due to increases in demand for apartments in the Docks and the increasing cost of transportation to and from the beach, the area is currently experiencing exceptionally high demand. Call or visit the Boardwalk Assessor for current rates and schedules.*** ***NOTICE: Due to increases in demand for apartments in the Docks and the increasing cost of transportation to and from the beach, the area is currently experiencing extraordinarily high demand. Call or visit the Boardwalk Assessor for current rates and schedules.*** ***NOTICE: Due to increases in demand for apartments in the Docks and the increasing cost of transportation to and from the beach, the area is currently experiencing exceptionally high demand. Call or visit the Boardwalk Assessor for current rates and schedules.*** ***NOTICE: Due to increases in demand for apartments in the Docks and the increasing cost of transportation to and from the beach, the area is currently experiencing extraordinarily high demand. Call or visit the Boardwalk Assessor for current rates and schedules.*** ***NOTICE: Due to increases in demand for apartments in the Docks and the increasing cost of transportation to and from the beach, the area is currently experiencing extraordinarily high demand. Call or visit the Boardwalk Assessor for current rates and schedules.*** ***NOTICE: Due to increases in demand for apartments in the Docks and the increasing cost of transportation to and from the beach, the area is currently experiencing exceptionally high demand. Call or visit the Boardwalk Assessor for current rates and schedules.*** ***NOTICE: Due to increases in demand for apartments in the Docks and the increasing cost of transportation to and from the beach, the area is currently experiencing an exceptionally high demand. Call or visit the Boardwalk Assessor for current rates and schedules.*** ***NOTICE: Due to increases in demand for apartments in the Docks and the increasing cost of transportation to and from the beach, the area is currently experiencing an exceptionally high demand. Call or visit the Boardwalk Assessor for current rates and schedules.*** ***NOTICE: Due to increases in demand for apartments ======================================== SAMPLE 324 ======================================== "Don’t worry about me," Rime said. "Believe it or not, you’re in the clear, but you’re going to have to take my word for it." "We’ll see," Khonsu answered. As the discussion continued, Rime managed to weave one genuinely creepy scene together. A Chinese massage parlor, with a band of supervillains. The parlorkeeper, not much older than Rime, a middle-aged woman with a cat, a zebra-print polo shirt and tiny black foot-coverings over her skin, in what looked to be a Chinese restaurant. It was set up so the background noise of shuffling and whispered dialogue could fill the air, as the villains talked and laughed. The music was ominous, an old skool rock song blaring, Rime could imagine. The cat, with the zebra patterned collar, would be black, the white girl one of a mix of Caucasian and African American, with a more mature, square-shouldered woman with pearls in her hair, and the man of ambiguous gender, with her mask a diamond-studded helmet with a viking’s helm at the top. It was set up this way because, as one villain put it, ‘the music ruined everything’. It made ‘music’ a generic term for a vast array of human conversation, and it was easy to get lost in it. Rime couldn’t help but feel the wind in her hair as she approached. She had to be looking for the house logo, the mark of her house, or the house itself, and couldn’t imagine anything more generic than ‘SakuraJ」. Even if she tried, though, the music would remove her from her thoughts. She would be distracted, put off her focus, somehow. There was a crash, and a gazelle pounced on the back of Rime’s chair. She felt a moment’s trepidation. the girl made a ‘p’ sound, as if rumbling, and the animal turned its head to one side. But the smile was genial, the laugh low and humorless. Rime met the girl’s eyes, as if looking into her own eyes would fix her. "Welcome," Rime said. "I had a little business proposition for you," the girl said. "Protect me, get the backup of my data, disable my hard drive, swap the user data for a factory default scenario, eight gigabytes of user data, twelve terabytes of factory data, custom data, never used…" Rime noted the driver’s seat shifted position. "…Ah, well," the girl paused, dropping the words. "That’s not what I meant." "That’s fine," Rime said. She leaned back and kicked the door at the side of the SUV. "Collateral damage." The driver screamed at the top of his lungs not to move, slammed his hand against the window. Rime felt her heart skip a beat at that. "She indicated a high value." "Just as an FYI, she had a human being on the other side," Rime said. She slammed her hand against the window again, as if that could get the window to stop rotating. "Vishal." The officer fired a few more checks, and the driver slid down the gas. "She had a tinker technology," Rime said. "That’s a no. Two nos, but she did have a tinker technology at one time." "That’s not what I meant at all," the girl said. "Sorry. But that’s the only tech she had that she didn’t use." "That’s what bothers me," Rime said. She looked up at the officer, "You don’t know anything about her." "I’m aware she has a reputation. I’ve seen the media hype around her, since her breakout in custody. I’ve seen the threat she poses, as well. When I read the dossier on her, I knew it was well over an hour of reading, with stuff missing. But I treated it as a point of discussion, and I included a note. The note wasn’t for academic purposes, only to let me know he was close. He takes your meaning." "Personal gain?" Rime asked. "What do you expect, playing for high school?" "I don’t think I’m playing for high school," the officer said. "But maybe it’s more deflationary, then. I’m playing ======================================== SAMPLE 327 ======================================== Winslow High went undefeated into the late 1980s and early 1990s, yet the team had never won a game in WHL history, even a competition organized by the WHL in their youth league. The WHL was struggling, the team in the ECHL. They had lost two in a row and would likely never make it back to the playoffs, let alone win it all. The Flint Firehawks were forming in 1989, just a year after the WHL transitioned to the Division II structure. Two years later, they would win the Division II North division title, defeating the Windsor Spitfires in the final. Their only other win came in 1992, defeating the Windsor. The team had core members who would go on to play in the NHL. Brad Richards, Wayne Gretzky, Jonathan Quick, Patrick Kane and Corey Shea. The Firehawks were perennial playoff contenders, with two championships to their name. They had the firepower to do it all, and they had a superstar in Dennis Ritchie. The son of former Rocket Richard, Richard Denis Ritchie. He was an American professional wrestler, actor, singer, songwriter and producer. A four-time WWE Champion, three-time Grammy Award nominee, and a three-time Tony Award nominee. He had appearances on MTV, in the morning news, and in the afternoons when he wasn’t promoting his films. You couldn’t win the hearts and minds of millions of teenagers in the span of four years. He was unbeatable, and in those days, it was hard to find someone who wasn’t. Everyone had their image, their way of being great, but nobody knew what the true extent of Dennis Ritchie’s was. There were whispers, but nobody could ever confirm or deny the allegations. In the time I had known Dennis, there had only been one video of him, and that was ironic. The fourth of June, 1989, marked the one year anniversary of his passing. Nobody else had been able to comment or fill me in on the subject. Few outside the Firehouse knew exactly how expendable he really was. Nobody would doubt Dennis Ritchie’s ability when it was far easier to believe than to admit. The Firehouse was a steel framed building, with a black exterior. The front gate was a simple wedge, three-foot wide with a chromium-plated steel plate covering the entire door. Three feet across, it was angled to give a v-shape when opened, with an armoured appearance. The angle was intended to make it harder to open and closing, as well as make entry and exit easier. The door was unlocked when I approached, and I found myself in the midst of a group of twenty-five people. The space was cramped, with one window facing the upper end of the hall, which was home to five classrooms and a widescreen television. Mr. Gladly was in the front row, alongside Mrs. Knott, Mr. and Mrs. Willis, Mr. and Mrs. Alcott. I could see the front of the class as a group of four teenagers who could have been choir girls. They were standing only because the narrow, four-by-five-foot space was available – there were fewer seats, technically, but there was more room behind the three poorest students, who had fewer friends to count towards their count, and could therefore afford to lean close. The girls in the front row were getting dragged down to the ground floor. It was something of a tradition, these days, to see the front of the class get dragged down like the students behind them. Mr. Gladly always spoke up against it, but it was something that always seemed to catch the attention of the teachers. Not today. The front gate had a mural depicting a viking on a horse, and large images of viking helmets were on the other walls. It was an art exhibit, and the mural and the large amount of funding that went into it suggested a show of favor. Certainly, Gladly would have been happy to see the show of favor pay off. The class was slowly being introduced. Emma, Madison, Sophia and Madison’s friends joined me at the gate. My introduction, aside from Ms. Knott, was probably the most interesting thing about this gathering. I was introduced as well, but I’d been conspicuously absent from the class roster for some time. I hadn’t gone to Emma’s school, if that was the right word. My dad had sent me off to kindergarten with the intention of getting me to and from school as early as possible each day. It had been a hard week, emotionally. I’d missed my two grandkids’ graduation from daycare, and the day my mom had explained to us that she’d had a terminal brain attack and been taken to ======================================== SAMPLE 330 ======================================== Item No. 1606959 She hadn’t succumbed to temptation just yet. She’d had her giant club. A weapon of mass destruction, if you will. She made her way to the nearest rooftop and placed the club in the hands of the local hero, Shadow Stalker. A short distance from the girl, waiting, petite, petite. The hero took the bait and stepped forward, too late. Bonesaw was already setting the massive club on the girl, unloading scraps of the composite into her. The composite would take time to spread. It wasn’t just that the girl was vulnerable, there were other dangers around. The girl screamed, uses her power, consumes materials to craft her creations. -those- were- flesh and they were tools, trash. -those- were- creatures of the night, feasting on little else but raw materials, watching and waiting for fallback. They were simple creations, meant to provide the foundation for the others. The heroine placed another creation, a human form, in the palm of the other hand. They watched the fight and reported back, with information that the gang was still defending themselves, buying time to make more. Shadow Stalker, using her power, condensed the battlefield into a flat expanse of impenetrable darkness. Once the darkness was spread out, they couldn’t move it, couldn’t get it back. Ingenue had condensed the battlefield into a flat expanse, but she and her friends waited patiently. The look in their eyes was stark. The bodies lie in wait, each looking for a slice of the other. -those- are- children. -those- are- creations. -those- are- kind, Ingenue had said. -those- are- monsters, using powers to seek the next step in creation, this one included. -those- are- brood. -those- are- creation cum zombies, the brood looking to the next phase in creation, this one including. -those- are- immune to powers, well, they’re little more than tools, but they’re still tools. -those- are- immune to the Endbringers. -those- are- immune to the power augmentation. -those- are- organized, well, they’re workers, because they’re gamblers, and gamblers look to the next thing, things they can get ahead of, for a chance at more things they can use. -those- are- immune to powers, well, they’re little more than symbols, they’re not people, they’re numbers, and they’re symbols lost. -those- are- tangential. -those- are- outside the scope of this discussion. There was a wag on the arm, and the group divided, more because Ingenue was making them dance and laugh in a way that reminded me of elementary school than because it was in keeping with their personalities. The dialog was monochrome, and it centered on the images, determination, hard work, hard at it. Rangers, Chosen, Trainers, ordinary people, heroes, walking papers, fighting, leaving behind a trail of chips, exposed skin, flesh exposed. It was changing, repeating the same lines over and over again. They were looking at me. Maybe they knew what was happening, maybe they were just tuned into the drama, but I wasn’t sure either way. They knew who I was, but they weren’t showing it. It was another sign, like pointing at a needle in the haystack or a banana peeling off a tree, and it was followed almost immediately by another line, saying something about an explosion at the edge of the area. A startled, hungry dog leaped onto the back of the group, and someone else piled on top of the other one, making a break for it. I moved to the other side of the room, and I could feel the ground tremble. The tower, the portal. The portal was gone. The portal, I realized. Gone into the ground. I hurried to the edge of the desk, and I reached to my right to reach one of the hidden pockets that was hidden away behind the built-in stand. I withdrew a tape, and then found my glasses. I slid the lenses down over my face. I moved my hand to my mouth. When that wasn’t enough, I removed the other hidden pocket. When that failed, I reached for my contacts. They took the brunt of the lightning, and I failed to see them with the end of the ======================================== SAMPLE 333 ======================================== She turned her attention to the C.U.I. officials. "If we could put you on speaker, maybe get everyone in the city on the alert for trouble?" "No way," Lung said. "There’s a way if you have an escape route," Constantine said. "A fire that’s really started somewhere nearby. You punch a hole in the wall, and you fill it with water. When the emergency stops, you fill it again. It’s not elegant, but it’s fast, and you don’t have the radioactive water. And you don’t even have to stop, you know?" "I’d be careful," Lung said. "Pun intended?" Teacher asked. "I’d be careful. That’s good," Trickster replied. He turned to his partner. "We’re going to be pissed, but we’re going to stick together. We’ll make it worth while." "Makes sense," Rachel said, with a hint of bitterness. "You okay?" I asked, as Imp moved to sit beside me. Imp nodded. Her hand had frozen in the crook of her arm. Her teeth had traced lines across the back of her neck. "You’re stronger than you look," Rachel said. Rachel frowned. "My eyes are watering. How bad is it?" "Cancer. Bad." "Pathetic," Rachel said. She shook her head, turned gray. "How many people have you killed, by chance?" "A handful." "How many people have you been in love with? How many people have you killed because you thought they were more important than you? I don’t care about your feelings, so I don’t want to get attached to you. Not like we’re together. It’s not even something I do." "Of course you aren’t. I spurned you," Rachel said, her voice cold. "It’s not that I don’t want you around, but you’re a freak, and that’s nothin'." "It doesn’t matter," Imp replied. "You attacked a church, showing up in civilian clothes, with people you obviously don’t know. People you obviously don’t know who you are, and you barely care. You’ll even argue to make me go with that, tonight." "Do I need to know?" "Think about it. For starters, you and I are both powerful manipulators. Even if you’re not religious, even if you’re not driven to kill, I guarantee you’re turning people against their will, trying to turn them against their will in your desperate attempts to maintain control. We’re both reckless. With a dose of his own medicine, maybe you’ll stop being so reckless, and he’ll know you’re scared, and he’ll know you’re hurt, and-" "And if I decided to run, would that be the same as if I had attacked you?" "Would it? I’d be hard pressed to find anyone who would take my suggestion. Would it work if I took hold of a situation in a way that nobody could control? If a certain agenda happened, if the agenda was big, then everyone would react the same way." "Hardly anyone would be able to stop you." "Consider it lucky, but I’m finding it hard and fast, without luck on that front. I suppose I’ll keep going the same way, keep exploring new ways to achieve my goals." "For now, the predominant way things are done," the Doctor said, "Is attack and evasion." "And that’s only if things go your way. There’s a great deal of strategic thinking and forethought when it comes to controlling the enemy, avoiding the things they can do and securing your ends. Being reckless sometimes buys you a window of opportunity." "When you’re talking about an Endbringer, which they could theoretically do less than they currently are, you’re talking about dramatic loss of territory, lives." "I enjoy being reckless," Imp said. "Worries about my territory, being reckless about things I can’t control. Can’t get the answers I need, can’t participate in things that can’t be controlled." The Doctor leaned in to say something, but Imp interrupted, "I’m getting the impression you aren’t a believer in the grand scheme of things. You want to take things ======================================== SAMPLE 336 ======================================== So when you use a game to turn on a light that could be critical, it’s not just disastrous? I’m thinking…" Mimi grinned, "You do realize you just murdered someone, right? You’re not in a position to be nice to him." I saw the look on Wendy’s face, then move over to Wendy’s right. "If he was going to hurt me or take my stuff, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Besides, he’s only got two arms. If he’s that good, why doesn’t he just reach up and slice his way out?" I heard a voice behind me, a bit shriller, "Fuck you." Crimes of Passion 14.3 A low rumble shook the city. A thin rumble, then a steady, steady tremor. It would be an indication that the Endbringer was indeed heading this way. Whatever signal it was that told Scion his quarry was still hundreds of feet away. I could hear it with my bugs, but I couldn’t feel it with my own sense of location. Was this another quirk of the wind? It could be anything. If the Endbringer was using some sort of a temporal plug, could they communicate by looking through a gap in reality? I didn’t have any guesses to offer as to what he might be doing. The fact that the city was being shaken by the shaking was another clue, but it didn’t change the basic situation. In a fit of anger, I kicked the building. Not to hit the building itself, but to shake the entire neighborhood. I could sense some of the people on the ground, just a few blocks away, howling and shouting. As I was forced to retreat farther into the city, I got a glimpse of the fire and destruction. Scion was blotting out the sun, destroying the moon, and my bugs were picking through the wreckage of buildings like he was picking a spider off a branch. The fire and destruction were redundant, coordinated, and he was cutting himself off in the midst of it. He was staging a break from the ABB, perhaps, or simply an extended absence. Something he could kick back up to the group with a few days or a few weeks at the end of the month. It was a pity he wasn’t getting more deeply involved with things. Not that he was poorly at holding himself together in any event. "Hey," I raised my voice. He turned to look my way, despite myself. "What?" I gathered my swarm around me, then raised my voice. "You’re here for a reason! Why are you like this?" "I don’t know that you’re on the city’s side of things," Tattletale said. "But we’re on the same side, right? So we’re in the same situation!" "This is common knowledge," Tattletale said. I raised my voice, "Whether you like it or not, the ABB is collapsing. It’s obvious where the money and strong weapons are, and the other street has run out of steam. There’s only a few street leaders that keep the peace and order in the areas they can afford to lose votes by ignoring it. I can’t help but feel you’re one of them." "And where does Skitter fall into that group?" "Did you see her on the news?" "Yeah. When Leviathan came, she apparently stayed behind and helped some people." "I’m surprised she wasn’t arrested sooner." "The same time that Defiant was telling the story about how every single one of Lung’s subordinates was on the same side in the fight?" "Tens of thousands, perhaps. And Defiant mentions how every single one of them had some ability that put them outside the usual rules of using or receiving a particular power. I… I think he was talking about her?" Lisa leaned forward, "He says she has a punch that can reach three city blocks away, multiple energy blasts with alarming speed and range. Her power supports multiple needs, or she can support multiple needs simultaneously, but that’s not what this is about. She’s about to become a rioter, and we’ve got the media on our side. Maybe we’ll get a witness to testify." "I don’t know," I said. "I don’t know if this is what she wants or if it’s just not something that can be done. But can we approach her and make contact with ======================================== SAMPLE 339 ======================================== It had been a happy accident, but she’d discovered more than one. She had started off with a bang. An incendiary arrowhead. She had always hated using projectiles, in any case. No, this was about as close to being a conventional arrowhead as she could get. She aimed it so the arrowhead floated up, out of reach, then fired it. A half-second before the end of the arrow popped into the air, she began to glow. Her transformation into her transformed self was slow. She would have to say something about that. It was understandable, knowing what she was in the booth for. Something happened, and the others had to adjust. It took a minute before Mannequin fully emerged. He tore through the array of firearms before settling into the position opposite Haywire. She inspected the state of the other booths. Chess was taking over as the representative for the United Kingdom. She was talking to a laughing Jack. Chess had set the United Kingdom as the arena in which she’d confront the Slaughterhouse Nine. Nilbog was incensed. He wouldn’t take this well. "My United Kingdom!" Nilbog screamed at the assembled mercenaries. "I have rights to be here! I will give you leave to escape and recuperate if you pay me! You can have my princess or my assassin or whomever! I will put them to work protecting you and your species!" The United Kingdom fought its way out of the booth. It took time for the pieces to arrive: Black Bear’s Helix Stylus, a product of Professor Manton’s failed experiments, a product of the demands of the negotiator in the lobby, and a weapon specially made for the purpose. Parian’s creations dealt primarily in cat and mouse games. They created an advantage by detecting and eliminating threats before they could advance. Against the Nine, at a bare minimum, their presence made life significantly easier. The United States was the last to arrive. Parian glanced at Flechette, saw her standing a short distance away. "The heir apparent of Brockton Bay, Lady Barbun, presented here by our government. Her ancestor was involved in a relationship between one male and several females, and it appears that male contributed to the female’s apparent infatuation. When that infatuation developed, the female stepped away, but not before some preliminary sexual acts, which seem to have gone unreported." "Oh," Parian said. She couldn’t help but think of the gorewords that her people had read about the Nine. "Somehow, I think this is a worse time than any other for this. The ambassador is endangered and in high danger, there is concern regarding the safety of the heir apparent and for the safety of the product that is said to be produced by the experiments. In the interest of protecting these subjects and ensuring that the heir apparent is kept in the dark, a reporter is going to be coming. Understood?" "I know." "You’re both going to be out of a job, I believe?" "Job?" "You’ve treated me like I’d treated my daughter." "Yeah." "If you won’t perform your duties as a staff member and you’re blamed for the failures of the Protectorate, then the city’s worse off for it. That’s my understanding." "I understand," Nilbog said. "You think I created the problems?" "I can’t believe you’re not keener on the emotional impact of it all. I worked for someone that was equally horrified by your actions as I was about your daughter. I can’t fathom it, honestly. I’ve spent years caring for people in similar straits, dealing with nothing more than that one choice I granted them years ago." "I just want to fix this." She saw the disappointment on Lady Photon’s face, but didn’t say anything. "If you’re not going to perform your duties as a staff member and you’re blamed for the failures of the Protectorate, then that’s where I’m supposed to go. I don’t care about the job you’re doing as a Dane, pal. I’d rather have someone offer honest criticism and justify whatever you’ve done." "You don’t have to apologise." "Your sins are on par with mine. Maybe not as blatant, but I’m aware of where you’re coming from. I don’t think you’re very clever, but I think a fair judgement will ======================================== SAMPLE 342 ======================================== Name: Karel R. Age: 19 Hair color: Brown BMI: 220 Weight: 16 stone 8 ½ lb. CVD: No cancer CVD: No breast or ovarian cancer CVD: No mouth, no nose Weight: 12 stone 5 lb. CVD: No throat or liver cancer CVD: No liver or testes Height: 5 foot 9 in. Weight: 108 lbs. CVD: No tattoos Weapon(s) of choice: Long knife, fist, boot Location unknown CI: No comment Seem to be very introspective Seem to be very introspective Seem to be very introspective Seem to be very introspective Seem to be very introspective Seem to be very introspective Seem to be very introspective Seem to be very introspective Seem to be very introspective Seem to be very introspective What does this message have to do with? Is this what my mom wanted me to do? Something? It could be the Caveat. I don’t know. But I’m worried I’m forgetting something crucial. I know it’s late. I’m frailer than I was. I’m kind of worn out. Maybe tired. Maybe cranky. But I like her. I even like them better as friends than as teammates. That said, if I wind up having to help her and I don’t like what I’m doing on a lot of levels, I’ll be all better. You should know that I’ve tried to get help, I was a bystander in one hostage situation, and I was MK dutch before that. I’ve done bad things. I’ve killed. You should know that I almost killed her. I don’t know if it’s possible, but maybe if we found a way to talk to her, and she talked to us, and that somehow freed her, maybe she could get freedom from me. Freedom from both my law and from her mother. I don’t know. We’d go to the media. I almost lost faith in humanity. It was the best thing in the world, maybe the only thing, but I felt, mangling, slipping through the cracks, slipping between the cracks, slipping like a fish who, for all intents and purposes, went broke after being caught in an overcast storm. Maybe it wasn’t the best thing in the world, but I could hope the best. My eyes fell on a television screen. I blinked. There. The television screen changed. A woman in a maid’s uniform entered the living room. She was heavy eyed, for the first time. Glasses bearers surrounded her. Maids, not including the one behind her, braided hair together, like a Japanese doll girl, with a stem or straw doll for a nose and round black eyes. They were careful, not giving away that she was Korean, but the way she’d clutched the cloth and Braille reader, raising her hands in the distinct American gesture of submission, it was enough. A steady stream of visitors poured through the door. "Lo, to the rescue!" the Korean girl cried out. She made an almost feral sound as she spoke, skipping forward, walking forward to each person in the room. "Gimme back our dinner, or die!" "Baksoo," the Chinese woman spoke. "You dare provoke the merciful dead?" "Don’t know what you’re talking about," the Korean woman replied, irritated. She’d been distracted by the news. The heroes had arrived, and the heroes were affronted. They were still in the process of trying to work out the situation, and they would be harrying the capes who had lingered, preventing them from doing business. "Me? I’m the non-capes! I’m the targets!" the heroes shouted. "We have the data." "I know," the Korean woman replied. "But you intruded. You can’t interpret me that way. I’m still your friend, just like you’re mine. That’s the most you should expect from friendship, basically. The data says you’re not a threat." "Dat data!" "It’s available, ======================================== SAMPLE 345 ======================================== "However he stopped, she’s filled him in on us. From what I’ve heard, he can die and she’ll be free to roam free among her own kind. He was the one who gave her her this power and she absorbed him and stay alive." "What the hell does that mean?" I asked. Tattletale shrugged. "It could mean your old man is probably listening in on all of his future communication to double check that you’ll continue to give me anything valuable." I couldn’t bring myself to voice a response. "So, are you going to ask about what happened after you left?" she asked. "I’m scared," I said. "I’m wondering if I can handle things as a solo hero." "And you’re not alone. I’ve been thinking about what you said to Miss Militia and the Undersiders, and the conflicting, awkward feelings I’ve been having." I frowned, "I kind of want to help you both, but-" "But you’re not alone." Tattletale cut me off, "I’ll help you if I can. Together, we could break the tension, make you feel less alone. The same goes for her if she needs to, for you if you needed to." I nodded. Together, we might have made the tension go away. But I couldn’t. What I’d have to do was make you feel like you had a choice. Tattletale knew the drill. Said what she knew. Repeated what she knew to make sure people bought it. The trick, the scary part, was that I couldn’t always do it on my own. So they worked together. Tattletale with a confused, lost girl, asking around for an escape, finding one in the process. Grue had been saying his group were almost exclusively melee, except in some rare cases where they built up tankiness… I saw a little trace of that in how they operated. The Undersiders, for all their tinkeriness, had some degree of versatility, in how they could function in a crisis. Bitch, for her part, had been saying her group were ranged. I couldn’t be sure, but as far as I could tell, Tattletale’s group had always been somewhere in the middle. It wasn’t just that they were weird, lumpy unicorns: she was right. Was it that they were best when alone? "Tecton," I said, "Let’s talk about the basics. You’ve been with them for a little while." "A little over a year," he answered. "What did you want to talk about, before that?" "My initial impression of you was wrong. I still think we’re very similar in that we have our fundamental human drives, we want to protect others, but we fundamentally disagree on how to handle that." "We’re similar," I said. Pointing at Grue. "I still think we’re very similar," he said, "Heartbreaker’s a little more calculating, a little more cruel. But we’re both human, and both of us struggle with the burden of being the leader of our teams. With the burden of being individuals. Which is it, in the end?" "I think it’s a very long and winding road, to get to this point," I said. "I think so too," he said. "But I don’t think we’ve really started any further. The two of us have talked about this, some of the time, and I have revised my opinion slightly, since then." "You’re not a fighter, he says." "No. But I think it’s very possible I am a fighter, and that this situation is neither a situation nor an art. I could learn a lot from you, through you. I could admit my faults, make amends." "You would be hard pressed to do that," he said. "If you are doing it to yourself." "I wouldn’t bother," Grue said. "If you are being a little too hard headed." He didn’t even need to look at me to know he was on the ball. "Maybe you could come with us for one night?" "That would be fine," I said. "You know the Protectorate don’t do any offense to sleep," he said. "Maybe we’d get over it." ======================================== SAMPLE 348 ======================================== I’m a lot more comfortable now. Uncompromising." "Do I need to speak up, do I need to ask for something?" I glanced at Lisa, who nodded. "Be quiet, Taylor. It’s Tattletale’s call," Lisa warned. "Right. Tattletale’s not the person to talk to if you need that. Don’t want to do anything that might get you off the hook, even if it was just a simple mistake. I can deal." "You were talking to someone that was pretty high profile, like Miss Militia. And you’re talking to me." Lisa frowned, "Not exactly. There was the blackmail attempt, the death threat, and theClass S threat, and a pretty big scalp, too. Not exactly the kind of thing that comes up in the news." I shrugged. There had been the blackmail attempt, but it had only been partially successful. The threat of worse things were mostly out of my range of control, here. I could control my bugs, indirectly, but that wasn’t much help in the face of the onslaught of numbers. "I’m thinking I’m more frustrated than anything," I spoke, "At not being able to do anything about it, or you not being listen to. I went back to the basics, I used my power, so I could be sure I could get through the day." "A little more basic, right? We have a team, right? It’s not like you’re skimming us." I frowned. "I’m thinking I’ll chill out for a bit. Let the heroes have first dibble, see where it takes us." "Alright. I’m not going anywhere." Lisa looked my way. I didn’t reply. Just the opposite. "I’m going to go talk to some of the people in charge, then get back to you," she told me. "Can you tell me your story?" She glanced at me. I shrugged. "About the Slaughterhouse Nine?" "About the group as a whole?" "About the villains?" "More specifically, about them causing the trouble you’ve been describing?" "Yeah." "They took down some of our biggest enemies, attacked other countries and oppressed whole continents. They targeted areas where we had a presence, undid things we’d already done too much to fix, and a whole lot more. The attacks stopped after Scion arrived, about a year after that, and things like the Endbringer hit hit just took the attention off us for a bit. We had bigger fish to fry." I sighed. "Yeah." She quirked an eyebrow as I said that. "But they did stuff like that. When things quiet down and people are more relaxed, they do stuff like that. And if you polled people, you’d have people say that Slaughterhouse Nine should probably go after the Undersiders, because they definitely have more compassion than you do, and they probably have more sense." "You’re a hypocrite, if you subscribe to that mindset." "I’m not, really," I said. "I give a shit about the people I care about, I give a shit about the people I don’t care about. I do what I can, but I vote with my feet. I’m just a person who cares. And that fucking sculpture of yours, doing what it does and leaving me wondering what you’re going to do with it?" She spread her hands, "I’m not going to ask any questions about whether or not you’re doing the right thing. Bad thing? You’re pissing me off." I couldn’t think of a response to that. So I said, "I’m not going to ask." "Oh?" She bent down and grabbed the statue, which was perched on the wall. As she set it down, I moved my arm, giving her a little push, and felt its silhouette deepen. It took her a second to get the statue out of her mind, but she got the statue sorted out. "Let’s see… Fighting Burnscar in the baggage claim outside the hotel, back in January. What was her costume code?" "Midnight. And… Dueling Leviathan last month. Showcasing your power in a big way, and then leaving in a huff the same day. Why didn’t you come back to the hotel and tell me?" Because she wanted to be alone. "I don’t ======================================== SAMPLE 351 ======================================== A couple nice props, and the disguise won’t let them see what you’re really doing. I’m sure my dad would be proud. You won’t want to, but you’ll thank me when you’re through with them." "What?" "I’m really quite excited about this. The idea that the Protectorate could have a little fun and still be legitimate heroes. The fact that they’re taking this serious is a huge plus, too." I nodded. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. I’d said as much. "That’s all she comes down to, really," Charlotte said, "Is preparation and winning. If we wanted to make things more serious-ish, we could have done it a lot earlier. Just… do a lot of prep and win one on one sparring. Get sparring partners, watch videos, read up on each other’s names, keep each other up to date." She was practically snarling the words as she said them. "Yeah," I agreed with a smile. "I’m not going to snort at that." "But it’s totally doable," she agreed. "Why not?" "I’ll go out of my way to make it more serious," I said, "If you want a more authentic adventure than any Wallybooks you’ve read, I’m not the person for the job. I’m too seasoned an old-fashioned cape, maybe not even cape professionally. Besides, you know, senior citizen’s costumes are always kinda lame." "I’m not saying you are. I’m just saying you’re a heck of a lot more experience than I am, and you’re not terribly bright." "Darn it," she said. "I was telling him to take it easy, said I wasn’t going to take it seriously. And now he’s gone." "I suppose we’ll see how that works out," I said. "No. Doesn’t," she said. "Don’t expect it. I’m surprisingly good at reading faces when I’m on autopilot. Someone once said that. I’m good at reading people when I’m rational. I think I’m warmer and more considerate when I’m on my game. He was a famous cape who’s long deceased. Nobody’s ever called to ask me for advice, I guess, but I’ve gotten that far on my own." "I think I get it," I said. I wasn’t sure how to thank her,, and I felt like I was crossing a line. Should I admit my lack of knowledge? It would be disastrous if I didn’t know this person’s story. "And I can look it up if you need to." She nodded. "Good." I couldn’t really think of anything to say to get the message across, so I steered the conversation to other topics. I chose Charlotte’s route instead, taking the elevator to the third floor. "So, breaking news, I’ve got a bit of a surprise for you," I said. "You’re a magician," she said, after taking a few seconds to look at me over the shoulder. "Opened a door," I said, "Now I’m going to take you through it." "A bit of a confession," she said. "I’m not a great magician, personally. I’m not a great tinker either. But I’ve worked with thinkers, tinkers and broken things. I know how to fix things, and I can sort them out. I have the know how, and I could figure out what needs fixing, when. I could tell you what you need to know, if you wanted to be on the safe side and not risk upsetting someone who could turn on you." "That’s not really enough to convince anyone to listen to me," I said. "I mean, I’m not trying to convince you to do anything I’m suggesting. It’s just more reasons to check yourself in at the office, instead of dawdling around in the kitchen. If you’re up for it, I’m willing to take the extra time, meet you, talk through any points you want to raise." "You’re playing into the hands the people in charge want to play," she said. "If she’s smart, she’ll keep ======================================== SAMPLE 354 ======================================== "He was visiting me, two years ago. I got into a fight and nearly lost my legs." I blinked a little in surprise. "How?" She didn’t look too happy about it. "I dunno. My dad dislikes mercenaries, so I figured he’d want me home before he saw all this stuff and decided I wasn’t valuable enough to release me on my own." "Oh," I said. I didn’t quite have the right frame of reference to tell her that, so I’d deferred to her for now. "So I asked, you fight all these assholes, and now you’re volunteering your services for a team with this asshole that just so happens to be my favorite person in the world." She shook her head. "You have to understand, I’m a Newter. Not to be confused with the supervillain from the same name." "Fuck," I said. That really freaked me out. "I like to think I’m a good villain," she said. "Whether I’m doing it to get a higher Social Date with a girl or because I like to dress up and hit the town in my underwear." "That’s why you’re second place in my book," I said. "You’re not second place in my book. Either of you." Newter scowled, but he didn’t reply. "Whatever," I concluded. I thought about it for a bit. "You have the worst names in the world, then." "You are welcome," he said. "You should really get a life," I said. "You should really get a life," he agreed. "You took me to task for implying otherwise." "Get better, Taylor. You’re a member of this team, not a prisoner." "And you’re a free man, after I’ve reverted back to my old habits." "Guess I’ll have to live with that for another year." "Maybe." We watched the guards withdraw their arms from around the prisoner. "Free man? You mean you’re doing just what you wanted, and you weren’t sent to die in a dungeon." "That’s a choice you have. You and I both know you’ve got worse things to do, watch from a distance. Two years apart, and I’m still deciding which you’re more interested in." "I’m not obligated to follow your orders," I said. "Right," he said, making another ‘o’ sound with his tongue. Then he made an ‘u’ sound. "Watch your language around your friends. They’re kind of sensitive there, after the debacle at the mall." "I have to. I get what you mean." "I only got what I wanted." "Watch your language around your friends. They’re important. Really important. And I’ll watch your back, as much as I need to. I don’t want you to get offed." "I can’t." "Watch yourself," I said. "I’m finding I can’t. It’s a matter of perspective." "Pretty please?" "You don’t have to." "I wanted cake," he said. "Candy. Just… cake." "Just saying." "I’ve got a confession to make," I said. "I spent the better part of an hour singing along while your débutante talked to me. Told me I could do without the diet pills if I ever got rich enough I wanted to eat cake." "Don’t feel guilty. I was only trying to get you to join. I didn’t expect you to be a prisoner." "I shouldn’t have sung along while you listened in," I protested. "And you were in prison for armed robbery. That’s less like me being an escapee and more like me being in the grip of some neurosis. I think we both saw it coming." "Enough of this," I said. I glared at him. "This isn’t work. I don’t want to do this, and I’m not going to make you do it again." "You will if you keep making me do it." "I’m not working for you. I’m not a slave. I’m ======================================== SAMPLE 357 ======================================== I was far from a lone wolf. I had multiple distractions, a limited amount of allies, and my abilities to think on my feet were being dampened. I might have spent more time putting my thoughts into action if I had a team to go to for support. The others would be a distraction while I recovered. I needed to move. I couldn’t do that by walking. Walking forced my thoughts to focus on other things, and forced me to abandon those thoughts for the present. I needed to move, to do something. I used my flight pack to draw a puff of smoke out of the corner of my eye. When I turned my head to look at Grue and the others, I put the mask back on and held my breath. I navigated my fingers as they worked in unison to depress the buttons on the flight pack. Two-six-five. The mask was a multifaceted tool. It could make abstracts, make colors, make shapes. I didn’t have the understanding of the tools or the concepts that were possible, but I knew how to use the tools and colors I did have. I could make colorsharp, I could make shapes from brushes, I could use vibrations and other cues to work with the tools and colors. I made colorsharp, and I could make patterns. Three-eight-three. I made it four steps before I got a hint of something that looked like a stairwell, or what looked like an elevator, but it was more like a series of short flights of stairs, moving in spirals. The doors were open, and two individuals were working together to shape them into something vaguely humanoid. It broke my stride to think about. I focused on the three-four-three, and everything seemed to make sense. I could focus on the design, and I could sketch out an interior. It was more rooms than there were floors in the underground shelters, and I could think of it as more of a bunker than a home. The occupants, it seemed, were concerned about leaks. There were residents, but they weren’t workers, and the residents didn’t live here. There were people from other worlds, other continents… Hell, it was someone I knew. I couldn’t say who. The shelter’s occupant was male, in his late twenties or early thirties, with scraggly hair and no-nose tattoos around his upper arms. He stood with his legs akimbo, his hands clasped behind his back. He tapped his foot impatiently, and the cub ran, climbing to its feet in a flash. The cub’s breath fogged up the space around it, making the interior of the shelter blacken to a paler shade. "Where to?" I asked. "I can’t find Coil’s base." "The top floor is out of reach," the stranger answered. "Take your pick. You’re with me. We’ll check in on you on our way in a bit." "You’ve got him," I said. He nodded, then led the way up to the stairwell. "And… Cherish?" the girl asked. The man who clambered up to the stairs greeted her, "Me too. Sorry, I haven’t had a chance to talk with you." "Not a problem," I said. "We’re new to this." "You aren’t alone here," Cherish said. She sounded a little worse for wear. I couldn’t help but sense a crowd, a cluster of people behind her, women and children in their nightgowns, people with backpacks and boxes of loose change. They weren’t even dirty, nor were they in the least bit damp. In their hands they held cash and bills, and dozens more held cell phones. "I should be asking you what kind of people you’re protecting. Who’re you protecting?" "Coil," I said. "But he’s hurt," Cherish said. "You don’t have him for a long spell, and I don’t have him for a long spell, either." "I know," I said. "But you’re still in love with him." "Is it really a question of which he’s more important? Me or him?" "I don’t think it’s a question," I said, and I saw her eyes narrow. I was aware of the man at the end of the room, standing a few feet away, a few feet behind Cherish. "When you find him, or if he gets out ======================================== SAMPLE 360 ======================================== A cape littered the street, returning empty-handed to where he’d been standing a moment ago. There was no reaction from the heroes. No show of force. "Exactly what we expected?" I spoke. "You’re exactly the type we needed on our side," Tattletale spoke. She turned her head just enough to look at me, "Then hand it over." Grue and I stood, and he laid his hand on the metal of my shoulder. I slowly pulled myself up and upright, then pressed my forehead to his for a second, just to make sure he was okay. "Hand it over," Tattletale spoke, "Good as new." A few seconds passed, and we waited. No use letting Oni Lee win today, and we wouldn’t get the chance tonight to do it again. Trickster surfaced on the scene, dropping to all fours on the ground, his shadow stretching out to fill the street. He brought his hand to his eye socket, and shadows slipped from his hand. He was shaking, which was more than was necessary. Tattletale had her other hand clamped in front of her, and he couldn’t see much from his own vantage point. Shadow Stalker appeared in the doorway, three doors simultaneously blazing. One of which was guarded by a cape with a strange density to it. The other two doors were unlocked, and the only beings within were a group of Fantastic Four members and a quartet of Wards. "Pretentious, faceless, pompous…" Shadow Stalker spoke. Fucking fifth wheel. She turned and looked around. "This is nerve wracking." "We have the answer we were waiting for," I said, and that was answer enough. I watched as the procession of figures made their way down the row of windows at the front of the building. Clockblocker was among them, though he was smaller, and Kid Win and Vista were among them at the head of the row. Shadow Stalker followed, her tail extending to snare dozens of these guys, myself included, at knifepoint. It was a good few minutes before the procession reached the door on the far side. My posse guys with me were the last ones to enter. We each had our own arrangement: Trickster, Vista, Tattletale and me, with a cape or two to keep us out of sight. The mayor, his people and the bodiesguards stayed back. Trickster and his team didn’t need us to deal with the governor, and they were much too relaxed about it. The bodyguards were the opposite. As copious as the quantities of water they were carrying, the volume of the mannequins and cardboard boxes filled the room, and the space was too narrow for everyone to comfortably fit inside. No more than five people, for a total area of roughly three-quarters of a square mile. The people inside weren’t wearing anything – their costumes were rags, and our mannequins had been dented enough to sparkle in the light. We were supplied with our meals, but that was about it. The mayor and his people were all sitting around me, the bills still smudged on the whiteboard, where they’d been apparently set to burn. The only part of the day that had gone was the four hour waiting period, when newspapers were still being burned, and when television was showing pictures of the candidates without their names. Trickster and I were the only ones present for the waiting, and we were deciding on strategies for fighting back. "Thirty minutes to decide if you’re going to press charges," Trickster told me. "Let’s go. We don’t have time to listen to him, and he won’t be pushing us to do anything stupid. We get caught, it would be disastrous, and we’d be seen as whores. We’ll be seen as such in this town that has a reputation to maintain." "There’s money to be made," Trickster spoke. "But with what the DA told us, and what his team is saying, it seems pretty infinitively stupid." "Would it be ridiculous to risk getting charged under a false name, under a false name to put out a false flag?" I asked him. "I don’t know. Are you proposing we do it, or are you wanting to wait until the Protectorate can fill us in?" I turned to look at him, and he met my eyes with a steely glare. "And you’re saying we shouldn’t? For your sake and the sake of our negotiations with Coil?" There was a moment of tension in the silence. I ======================================== SAMPLE 363 ======================================== Running outside, Kid Win started up his motorcycle. He tuned out the sound as it took flight, heading straight for the scene of the battle. Parian didn’t move, hostage still on the roof. "Call it off," Kid Win heard one of the hostages say. "Hurt?" "On it," one of the men said. The boy with the gun raised his hands. The motorcycle kicked to a stop, and the gun fell from Kid Win’s hand. He adjusted his aim, taking the shot. –Parian The second the camera was out of reach, he let the trigger go, waiting to see if he’d accidentally killed the man. No such luck. The gun malfunctioned, and the gun discharged, buzzing just before the paint dried on the barrel. He looked over his shoulder, and he saw the hostage on the roof. The young man’s eyes were wet with tears, and his lips were moving. He seemed to be in deep thought. "It’s not you," Kid Win heard the young man say. His eyes went wide. Kid Win backed away, put the gun away, and briefly felt a chill. There was a kind of power in the man’s body, a reaction that wasn’t its own. A power at work, at the core of it. The man heated up, his body heating up, machinery at work. The raw, unadorned power of the being was obvious, though it only made a very brief appearance. "It’s not me," the man murmured. "Then who?" Kid Win asked. Who? The man looked back to the camera, but he didn’t identify himself. The camera gave away a key piece of information, in the process making its way inside the mind of the young man. He had powers. The man had been in possession of a secret. He’d gone out of his way to keep it a closely guarded secret, and the method for obtaining that information was still being kept out of the knowledge of his fellow villains and the public. The key detail was that the man had wound up with a contagious mental disorder. He’d contracted the bug venom that was contained in the Herculaneum specimen before he could get his hands on it. In many cases, the bug was accidentally released into the hand of the patient after the patient had fallen unconscious. In others, it was contracted by direct contact with the patient’s own flesh and blood or when the patient was in the process of decomposing. According to up to date information, the spread of the bug to other people was limited to the infected individual’s family, friends and co-workers. Of these, two people fell into that category. But the patient seemed so uninterested in spreading the disease that he or she didn’t spread it to anyone else. The other secret that the man had kept from the patient, and the information that Kid Win had apparently not shared, was that Kid Win had intentionally let a bug crawl inside one of his other victims. The infestation had infected the patient’s bloodstream, and although the bug had been confined to one area, it had spread throughout the victim’s flesh, making him incredibly sick. The bug had then set about nibbling through nerves, as though it were attempting to sever the connection between brain and body. The bug had bitten into the armor of the man’s wrist, and he had gone limp, the bug falling to the ground. Before the man could rise, the bug had bitten him again, and again, and Kid Win had stopped them. He said something in an overly high voice, and the staff seized the opportunity. The bug was removed, and the man beat his head to a pulp. "You bastard, trying to kill me!?" "I honestly don’t know," Kid Win said. "You took one of my teammates, you made a girl beg for your attention, and you even ruined my own teammate’s costume." "I can give you your orders." "Please!" The man screamed. With the aid of his teammates, Kid Win lifted the man into the air and carried him down to the street. With the man’s skull-headed sister nearby, the mentally challenged woman got to work, unloading pressure on the bug, lancing it through the small intestine of the smaller brother and nephews. The bug was overpowered, made to bow slightly. "Fucker!" the woman screamed, as she dropped her hands to her face and stood there, eye rolling. Then she was gone, out the window. Kid Win stared down at the still ======================================== SAMPLE 366 ======================================== I did it, I’d figured it out. I’d identified the real Rime, without even trying. And in the course of doing that, I’d convinced myself that the real me wasn’t the one who was pretending to be him. I’d had a kind of internal dialogue going on, where I was evaluating who I was as a person and as a leader. Was I really the girl who was looking for acceptance in her peer group, by acting as a decoy? Or was I choosing my words so jealously, so to speak, that I was choosing how I acted as a person, in the end? And in that inner dialogue, I’d been trying to figure out who I was, as a person, and who I wanted to be. It was a process I was partaking in, now, week by week. I’d let myself consider the possibility that I was attracted to Marquis, a kid from the same generation as Emma. That he was a dropout, then a failed actor desperate for validation. He was, after a fashion, the antithesis of Rime. Both were fascinating, but Rime was interesting in a totally different way. Which wasn’t to say I was a hundred percent convinced I wanted to date Marquis. Not to say I was averse to the idea of dating someone who had it all together. Just that I’d contemplated it, and now I wasn’t so sure. The latest message from Velocity was less a statement of fact than a request for something. "I’m going to be one hundred percent honest. I told myself I’d sleep with anyone, pretty much, and that I wouldn’t have any trouble with Taylor, but I’m going to be totally honest and say that I’m having a hard time placing you in the group. I’m having a hard time connecting to you, even as I get further and further apart. You have your strengths and you have your weaknesses, both on a practical level and in terms of our friendship. That said, I’m not going to brow beat you about how you can’t be trusted, or how you have stuff you’ve got going on that you don’t want to share." "What’s that?" "You know, with all the shit that’s been said and done, I kind of wonder if we’ll stick together. Like, you won’t be able to argue there’s any beef between us, even if we disagree on certain points. I kind of wish we’d avoid all this, so we don’t have to pretend," he said. "O.J.?" "I dunno. I guess I’ll leave you a message on your bathroom break. I want you to know I’m not unattractive." "You want to talk about something other than the latest drama in piscine territory?" "No. Not wrestling, not brawling. That sounds like a great time for that stuff." "Oh, great," I said. "Why?" "I’m thinking it’s because you two need to know we’re in the running for the Nine." "That makes sense. We’re number three on the chopping block." "We aren’t, actually," he said. "Nobody’s stepping up to hurt the Nine like we were, and they’re probably keeping the missions going, trying to keep the peace and enforcing the law. Mannequin went after Hookwolf in the process of trying to get the upper hand, and he didn’t get any more ambitious than that." "We’re number three, then?" "Three on the list, not one or two, is the major thing that’s happening. So let’s hurry to agree on a common enemy and work out a common strategy." "I’m already thinking of ways to make this more complicated, I’m trying to think how I can cut them off," Panacea griped. "I could maybe stop you there, or tell you to tell me to run but I don’t think that’s fair." "It’s not fair, Panacea. They’re already enemies." "This is basic common sense, Skitter. If you don’t tell me to run, I’ll be slower than you. If you don’t explain things to me like you did here and there, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering if you even know what you’re talking about, and maybe ======================================== SAMPLE 369 ======================================== "It’s settled. Three straight victories for us, and your reputation is rock bottom. No less than five straight losses for your side." "My reputation isn’t rock bottom," I said. "It’s sky high." "That’s not what this is about, I assure you. I’m not judging your soldiers by your standards. If you haven’t finished your shopping yet, or if you’re hesitating to order your groceries after this meeting, know that I’m doing my shopping here. I’m only following the rules I set for myself. I don’t fritter away the opportunities I get to do bad guys in the course of doing my job as a supervillain. I don’t cheat death or anything of the sort." "No," I said. I didn’t want to press the point, and the PRTor allowed me to. She paused, then smiled. "That’s admirable. If this goes any further, I can reach you by way of regular mail." "Thank you. Two words to express the same sentiment again would impose a heavy burden." "Very thanks. You are welcome." The smile fell from her face. She frowned. "I’ll get around to you." "Perhaps." She stepped into the elevator and pressed the button. The door closed. Wish I could offer more insight, suggest changes or ideas? Maybe a question? The thought didn’t sit right. Not now. It had gone alright. The right people had arrived. The family hadn’t been arrested or silenced, they’d escaped. Problem was, the escapee wasn’t in a position to speak. They had been herded into a holding cell, there to await further instructions. Then- A man in a fur hat and a metal mask appeared. "Undersiders, take positions!" ■ We didn’t have to wait long. The Jauntlies and other reinforcements all arrived in force. Foil and Exalt took turns sweeping the corridor with the chain. Exalt took the lead, clearing away the smoke while Foil crossed the length of the cell to nurse Cracer back to her. "How bright!" Grace smiled. I didn’t want to let down my guard, focus on the fight while my swarm dealt with the bugs. I flexed my hand beneath Cracer’s arms, as if I could push her closer to me. I wasn’t focusing on that. I had to maintain the illusion, don’t let others distract me. "How well can you operate on your own?" Tecton asked. They exchanged glances. I couldn’t make out their expressions. "Tecton," I said. He extended a hand. I didn’t move. He studied me in his left hand, my costume and mask in my right. "Be good." "Tecton," he said. "We’ll need your help." "I… I can’t do this," I said. "Parian here is equipped with a temporal disrupter," Charlotte said, when I’d recovered. "It’ll have to do." "There’s other ways," I said. "Chemical defused these, or disarmed them. If we use this, the EMP from Legend’s attack will be worse than what Bonesaw’s sarin gas gave us. It’s dated information, I suspect. Something sarin-based was dropped, and someone filled in the blanks after sarin was debunked. For your information, parahumans can’t be affected by mental powers." "Blindfold restraint?" Tecton asked. "Whirlwind restraint?" "Any of Legend’s people," I said. "That was sarin," I said. "But sarin has a whole shelf of shelf life in the body. Bonesaw’s not affected by sarin." And if the blurring of my power was from a false positive, the blurring of my bugs was from a false negative? The Jauntlies and the PRT officers were exchanging words of agreement. I couldn’t help but feel I wasn’t the only one who was puzzled. "aww you change the subject," Im in your face, Kismet tweeted. hell no, I thought. too curious. my dad was there. my brother. some new powers. not as interesting as the originals. I headed in that direction, running ======================================== SAMPLE 372 ======================================== I had another image that made me think of Grimm, but I couldn’t look at it in the context that helped me pin it down. A woman was on her deathbed, with her throat cut, septic, maybe. A man was on the edge, slowly dying. Eidolon and Legend were there too. "You brought her," I said. "Didn’t have to," Alexandria said. "Grue’s clone magnetized the perimeter of the area to keep people there and out of Scion’s kill zone." A cluster of people gathered around Eidolon. "I brought her," Eidolon said, his voice hollow, as if he’d been rehearsed. "She could come anytime." "I promised," Alexandria said. Eidolon looked at her, "I guess it’s good you’re going, then. I can’t go back to my territory, and things between us here are too complicated for me to help you there. My team wants you. My old team wanted me too. They call me the fairy godmother." "I was the bard months ago," I said. "Poet, or shoemaker. I’d sing at their funerals. Set fires at the start of performances and inaugurals and stage dramatic illusions throughout the city. Created fog, lit volcanoes, distorted space, moved mountains. All to scare the people in my territory." "I’m sorry," Alexandria said. "I could explain, but it’s going to sound very, very complicated." "There are two ways to deal with embarassing a friend," I said. "You can hold onto them and hope they change your mind, or you can break their heart and smash them to death." "I’m not sorry," she said, her expression sympathetic. "I’ve been through what you have. I’ve had people in my territory who wanted to take revenge on me for the way I looked or the way I acted. Lung even had some zany brothers looking for a fight, wanting to drive me off the land of their birth. The British said I was a fucking basket case, lowlife, and nobody could touch me, not even a fox. So they invited me to stay at their headquarters. I thought it was a bit generous, even a little fucked up, but the British figured it was better to keep me on hand than send me out to die. I’m not saying I’m a monster, I’m just saying that they did a pretty fucking good job of keeping me in the dark." "And the hero wasn’t Lung?" Miss Militia asked. "Chaos at work?" "They’re saying he’s not the leaker," Alexandria said. "They arrested three of his teammates, and a little while after that, they got hold of the teenage hero, Shadow Stalker. They tied her up in chains, and when the cops ran her name through the name prevention program, they found her. Finally, they found their runaway." "I see," Miss Militia said. "And now we know who he is. We can use it. Cauldron informs them in writing, thirty SEVEN DAYS of waiting before they can act. This man has three chances left. Two are easy enough to guess. After he breaks down in tears at the end of the thirty days, or before the thirty days are over, he gets one chance. If you meet the criteria, he gets to choose between going to jail or going supervillain." "And for finding Shadow Stalker?" Weld asked. Alexandria shook her head. "Searches for the first few days of his treatment, they don’t turn up anything. Then he does the ECHELONS, and the whole fucking fucking internet explodes. They’re locked into this reality. Six months to a few years, they’re at their most vulnerable. In the midst of a crisis, they find a way, a force they can use. He’s not superhuman, he has no superhuman abilities, but he uses his powers to put others in the middle of potential fights, puts others in the middle of danger, and HEATES THE SECOND THING THAT SUCKS." Weld sighed. "In this day and age, where does a cape even get a second chance?" "There’s not enough warlords left in the world," Alexandria said. "There’s not enough fucking top guys out there with the militarization of the world. We get to the point where we have to get creative. Warlords of tomorrow. Warlords of tomorrow are going to be like dragons. Flex their muscles, ======================================== SAMPLE 375 ======================================== ‘You and I are similar enough, I think. A little bit inedible? Yes. But not a complete freak.’ "And how much of that is me, and how much is you, Jack?" "I think you have much of it, believe it or not." "Okay." "Can I ask how your parents are doing? I know you mentioned them once" "They’re doing okay. Better than they were." "Thank you." "They must be happy for you." Jack smiled. "No. They’re busy. Too much in the way of preparations for the upcoming test, and they’re both sick. They were hoping to take some vacation days this past week, but the test started and they insisted on going, so they’ll be trying to push you towards the testing area this coming weekend." "Got it. Thanks again." Jack smiled as he turned to walk away. When he walked past Ivan, Madeleine and the mother, he offered this small wave of his hand to shake for Ivan, "Look for Brian, I’ll meet him." I knew he was checking to see that his cell phone was still in the same place. Probably. I wasn’t sure how much he knew about the person or person at the other end of the phone. I stepped away from my brother and put my hands on my head, as if to say something to Brian. My dad shook his head, "I’m not immune to irony." "I don’t care what you say, fuck him," my mom said, her voice quiet. I put my hand on Brian’s shoulder, in a sign that I wasn’t about to let him walk away. "I care about this family. I care that my friends are okay. That this isn’t over and done with. We fight, and nothing happens. Then Brian knows he married a person who was unstable, and he has this amazing capacity for intimacy and love. And maybe he even knows he was a bad person, in the broadest sense of the word. It’s complicated, and he’s grieving it out, but he’s figuring out how to rebuild that trust and intimacy and friendship and understanding he lost when he ran away from home." "So he needs to care about you some." "Yeah," I said. "It’s complicated, you know." My dad shook his head. "I’m trying to think of how to help you, and it’s almost impossible. I feel like it’s hard enough to help you right now. You don’t have to like me, or even like me, but I’ll help you out as much as I can. Some counseling, it won’t hurt, and it’s gonna give Brian a chance to talk with you." "Okay," I said. I looked at the other people in the room. The older couple, the mother of the couple, was crying. Brian was looking at me funny. I might have seen him looking at me as a sign that he was getting more distant, as if he were uncomfortable in my presence. "I… think I probably will," I said. Then, as if I were reminded of the words, I raised my eyes to Brian. He shook his head, but he didn’t seem to mind. "I can’t. Not entirely. I’m trying to look after the, what’s the word? The other half of the family unit?" "Financial." "Okay. That’s handled." "Thank you," he said, again. Maybe he knew I didn’t have enough of a social conscience to say I wasn’t willing to kill, given the subject of my temporary captivity. I didn’t like thinking about it. I was about to say something more when Brian burst into song. ■ "I’m going to take this," Brian said, almost strangled, as he forced air into a yawn that spread across his face. I pushed my hair out of the way so he could speak again, "I’m… I’m not good at this. I don’t know how to say this, and I don’t want to sound like I’m not listening, so I’ll try to communicate as best as I can. I-" "I know." "I think you should stop trying. It’s not that hard." "I’m getting better." "And you think we should try to ======================================== SAMPLE 378 ======================================== Neither escape route closed any of the windows. I cringed as I felt the fumes from the open windows and the mildew that leached into the air from the cookery and the traps in the kitchen. "Parian?" I asked, when the smoke had thickened somewhat. She was still in the living room, her back turned to me, where she had been seated a moment ago. "Are you okay?" She shook her head. "Um. Yes." "Let’s go," I said. Using my bugs, I did what I could to spread the vapor and lure the miasma into a temporary closure with my power. It took five more minutes for the door to slam, the smoke to close, and us to make our way out of the room. Grue wanted to wait a bit longer, but he did as we’d done every few minutes since he’d had the mask on. When we’d shut the door and retreated outside, Grue sat me down on the back of the second story of the house, his arms folded. "The woman in the suit," he said. "What?" "Tattletale. Did you kill her?" "No," I said. "I’m sorry. I’m blind here and I’m sorely out of breath, and it’s something of a comfort, having a therapist who isn’t working alone. I worked alone for a while, so I don’t have much background in that sort of thing. But I had the benefit of an office full of supervillains, which allowed me to ignore the pain, to keep track of the bugs and make notes without worrying about running into someone." "You have a lot of bugs," he said. "More than you think you have. Tattletale and I did much the same thing, over the long haul. We ran into an imbalance in resources, a danger to both of us, and I had a bug nip each of you in the bud, or in court, if you want to call it that. We were a team before we were a duo." "A team?" "And we’re a team after. The days when I thought you were a limited man, when I thought you might be mad because I called you a madman, those were good days." "I don’t follow what you’re talking about." "We ran into an imbalance. Which isn’t to say things went smoothly. It could have gone better. You’re a fighter after a fashion. You won’t admit it, but you’re a fighter." "I have to be. It’s what I’m here for." "Do you feel better now?" "No. I feel like I have to prove something. That’s why I’m here, to help you. But I feel like I’m almost forgetting what it’s like to be with you, to be in your presence. I don’t know if I can stay like this, add something to the conversation, or make something meaningful of this." "You need to be with someone if you’re going to do anything meaningful with it. You and me." "It’s you and me," I said. "Only you’re doing this with it." "He doesn’t really believe in anything," Tattletale said. I nodded a little. Tattletale shrugged. "If you’re not going to leave, maybe you could at least cooperate?" "What?" "That should be the second point of discussion. If you want to continue this dialogue, you can’t promise I’ll be around to continue it if I leave." I frowned. "What do you want to talk about, then?" she asked. "There’s something I want to talk about," I said. "You should hear it." "I know what you mean." "I… should say what they’d both wanted to say, and that I’m not sure I’d be able to offer anything substantial in terms of experience or knowledge to you, especially not while I’m already so far away." "You could have asked." "I wanted to let you know before we went any further. That I knew about your passenger, and I’d been intending to use you for something. Possibly criminal, but I’m thought about it enough that I didn’t want to go ahead unless you gave me your ======================================== SAMPLE 381 ======================================== The dog jumped to attention, giving her a hard stare, before grabbing my hand and pulling me after. As we got closer, I saw my dad. He was in his pyjamas, his face in his hands. "Taylor!" my voice was low. "What?" he asked, his voice very normal. Not at all what I’d expected. He looked annoyed, "What?" "Aren’t you supposed to take care of your dad?" Strange as it sounds, I was actually relieved to be hearing my dad’s voice. I can’t handle talking to my dad right now. "He hasn’t gotten better," I said, carefully. "Why isn’t he?" Because he’s mad at me. Or he’s scared. "He went to his room and did some things," I said, "You know that, Tattletale? He’s not really at ease anywhere. He doesn’t really have a home anymore. He wasn’t willing to leave the house, so whenever I’d go somewhere, you guys were there. And whenever I needed someone to talk to, you were there too. So he’s not really a home, really." "I know," he said. "But he hasn’t made a new home, since you left." "Right," I said, not sounding better or worse than I felt. How long has it been since I could leave the house? How long has it been since I could go to sleep at some other person’s house? "You’re a parent, Taylor," he said, carefully. "I’m a parent," I echoed him, though I wasn’t sure what he was referring to. My dad looked at me, then reached over to put a carrier bag in my hands. Inside, he found a change-purse, a spare pair of stretch shorts and a brand-new pair of running shoes. "I get nervous when my kids are around," I said. "My grades aren’t where they should be, my grades are up there with the rest of the kids, but things are better." "You can’t keep up, you know?" my dad said. "You’re working, you’re trying to support them, but you’re still trying to find time for school, which leads me to my second question. Why don’t you take these shoes to the storage closet?" Because I can’t. "Can I get you anything? A smoothie, maybe? I’ll be right back." I felt a sinking in my stomach. "Again. Withdrawal symptoms?" "Just some skin rashes. Nothing serious. Just a feeling I’m getting increasingly anxious about." "Okay. Then I’ll get up and grab a cab when I’re done here." "Okay," I said. Except I’ll be a minute or two. I wanted to minimize the amount of time I was in the limousine. Not that I was in a position to get up and leave without paying, but I’d do it if I had to. Then I climbed into the car. The driver, an older man with dark hair, asked me where I was going? I handed him my identification and a map, and he began figuring out our route. "Are you Brian or Taylor Hebert?" I eyed him. He was pretty, but I could see the resemblance between the tuft of hair that was sticking out of the crook of his elbow and the braid that was sticking up half-over his head. "Taylor," I said. "Right. I’m at Crossroads, near the library, next to the board store if you want to go around the bend, south to the highway, then west to the city." "I see what you did there. What planet are you on?" "I don’t know. It could be Mars, could it be Earth?" "It could be any of the above." I frowned. "I’m not looking for a fight. I have your money, so if you want to talk I’ll give you my full attention." "No money?" "No. Just-" I stopped. Curiosity got the better of him, "Look, do you remember what I said when we first started going on dates? That even if I didn’t date, that I would still be a slave to my planet? You remember? Do you know what I mean?" ======================================== SAMPLE 384 ======================================== Meanwhile, back at my lair, I’d already started putting the finishing touches to my new look for the PRT uniform. I’d started with a fresh design for the .env File and had been working to update it as the PRT moved forward with their investigation and documentation requirements. The new file included a new ‘style’ directive, allowing me to use various advanced technologies to customize the data within, similar to how I ‘ordered’ my coffee by typing in the keywords I wanted, then having Foursquare pull up relevant articles or take up slack from media outlets I didn’t have a connection to. In simpler terms, I was giving them the power to create ‘orders’ with the data they wanted. I had a feeling they would be wanting to do a followup on the general questions I’d posed at the outset. "How are things with your case, so far?" Grue asked. "Better than I would have hoped, but that’s a new person," I said, "Receiving stranger treatment." "Perhaps," he said. "It’s been noted that you’ve gone easy on the writs during your time in quarantine." "That’s a feature, not a bug. I like the bugs, I have a lot of them, but I really don’t want to bother you with things you might want to forget." Grue gave me a look I couldn’t read. He seemed to be pondering for a second. "I’ll be staying here. Why did you ask?" "They were moving into the area as my group was leaving, and we needed to be sure I was clear before I moved further into the building. I did want to make sure you were okay," I said. He didn’t respond, and I couldn’t read his expression. "They aren’t your usual size." "I mass produce what they were. I have an office in another world, so there isn’t the normal haphazard way stuff gets put together. That’s just what they were. I was packing up when I got sick, and the only way I could catch my breath was working from an outside site, away from the rest of the fighting. I traveled overnight, got better the next morning. Two hours before dawn. By the time I realized I wasn’t going to wake up and start my day, they were all in their accommodations. I shut myself in the bathroom and then got the bike sorted. Two dogs and a mixing bowl, and a tethered backpack the size of a backpackero strapped to my shoulder. Two sets of pajama bottoms, one set with a pillow over the head, and two more for extra comfort. Mess was cleaned up, but you could see the damage around the edges of the toilet. A little worse than it was severe." "And the next morning, eight hours later?" "I woke up, tried to call home, couldn’t get a signal, couldn’t get through to the phone provider. Worms the bathroom, I go to the front room, push the toilet, and it breaks, because it’s not connected to the power of the bathroom. The guy in the kitchen calls the electricians, who run through the kitchen, and this is what they say: ‘The condition of the plumbing and electricity in the house is critical, and may be such that service is not available for a period of time. Should such occur, the person in charge of the household shall call the local fire marshal on duty and notify him in writing within twenty-four hours of the event. Should service not be restored, or should the service not be interrupted for any reason, the warning shall include the word "Substandard" and the word ‘hazard’ and the phrase ‘Be sure to take pictures and/or videotaped messages to the editor of the Brockton Bay Bulletin regarding the state of the plumbing and electricity in your home.’’’ "I couldn’t get a picture or a videotape, and I wasn’t allowed to take pictures, so I just had to sit and write down numbers.' "I was grounded for two weeks, I got an early morning class on my two weeks of detention, and I got a summons to appear in court on that Friday. So I had to appear before a magistrate and try to explain what had happened at the school. I was in the class itself, all of the students excepting, and a bunch of the newer kids were in the back of the auditorium, so it was a lot to take in. At one point I was talking to a bunch of the littlest ones in the front row, ======================================== SAMPLE 387 ======================================== We attacked in waves, staggered backwards, fought with our feet. Three of us were left fighting, and we had neither weapon nor armour to interrupt our momentum. Our only protection was the tactical airlift Coil had provided, and the fact that Renegade had been left holding Canary. The first of the Siberian’s rays to strike us was brutal, registering a breeze of wind as it passed through the area. The air was filled with the shrieking screams of the countless people still thrashing, burning, trying and failing to get to their feet. The Siberian was brutal, but she saw things, and she saw clearly. I suppose it was an advantage that she had to have seen us coming. She passed through the portal that Hellhound had made, and I moved quickly to help the wounded, drawing the bugs to me to patch them up. Grue, Rachel, Tattletale and I together, we had the bugs to spare. The other two rays were slower, but we had the bugs, and our voices, so we could coordinate. The Siberian turned, and as her creations moved to the sides, I used the wind to push them in the opposite direction. Hey, Skitter! Don’t die so quickly! My voice was barely over a whisper as I ordered the bugs through the city, spreading them through the evacuation routes and other possible evacuation routes. If I could catch any of them, could maybe get them to stop attacking people, to help us evacuate people from the burning buildings and the blood and corpses elsewhere in the city? I didn’t have the strength to stand without help from the bugs, so I relied on my own strength to carry me. There were moments like that, where my eyes and my own body were somehow both blurry and indistinct, where the movement of the air made everything in my range shadowy and intangible. With the help of a small handful of the bugs that had gathered around my hand, I took a leap from the burning wreckage of a nearby building. I held it for only a second, enough that I knew the others would be far, far behind. I wasn’t sure when, but I had a good guess. Rachel had hesitated, then asked Glory Girl for help. When Glory Girl had refused, the question had come up again. When Tattletale had started talking about taking the orphans of the Merchants – Tattletale had started talking in general terms – the term had come up for a second time. I turned to look at Grue, and he put his hand on my shoulder. I felt his warmth, and he gave me a warm smile. It seemed to be all I needed. So many people I needed to help. People I had lost. Pageant, Punkturm, the doctor, the manager- I could name a dozen more. And they were all people I’d lost sight of, when I looked at them as people. Seeing them as threats, or as potential threats, I had dismissed them from my thoughts. It was an illusion, a broken record, but it had seemed to hold. I’d kept the little ceremony for the people I’d killed, for the people I’d caused grievous bodily harm. I kept my promise, solemnly sworn to protect the victims until such a time as I’d found a better way. For that, I was eerily still. Hive 5.9 The last person to arrive on site was Jericho. He was a big guy, but he didn’t stride out of the door. He carried a patient against his chest and faced his audience. "I brought your monsters," he said. "Menja, Hydra, the Zookeeper, the Furrow. Some Gazebos and a Witch of the Woods to round out my group. I’ll be talking about you soon enough. Welcome to the Slaughterhouse Nine." "Slaughterhouse Nine?" my lawyer-in-training and I asked. "You’re not doing yourselves any favors." "We’re not. But you’ll get what you can do. For now, take it from someone who’s been there, experienced it and done what you can to make things better." We were all still under the impression that Parian was handling things on her own. No, she’s not. She’s doing us a disservice by not putting in the slightest effort to help us. "I’ve talked to the other groups about this, but the one I’ve seen is the group you belong to." "Pg. 202," the tall one in the group said, offering me aped, "You sure?" "Yes, I’ve talked to the Slaughterhouse Nine before. Old ======================================== SAMPLE 390 ======================================== Scion dropped the sphere and grinned as he picked up the S.H.I.V. suit and flew it across the sky, disappearing into the clouds. He or she accelerated their exit even more, so the suit was leaving them well behind. We hadn’t lost, though. In the end, Jack was still a fighter, and that suit could take him down if he left room for it. I had to admit, I felt a�pissed. A part of me had liked him, I’d been jealous of him. He was strong, he was self-assured, confident in his own abilities. The suicidal thoughts had been things I’d warned him about, things he’d known he’d be at risk of. I didn’t want him to suffer because of them, but he’d remained silent. I’d hugged him, tightly wrapping my arms around his neck. Tears were welling out, running down his face, but I wasn’t going to let that stop us. He was making his way down, turning a right to head down a street with Copacabana at the intersection of it. He held the two masks in his hands, his back straight, leaving the movements ambiguous, the motions off balance so they didn’t follow my own. Each was controlled by a very fine control set. Two analog switches, one large enough to fit a full fist of metal. He didn’t move without the other, so I couldn’t sense whether he was rolling, sitting, squatting or balancing on one foot. The night-vision goggles covered my eyes, and I rubbed them constantly. I didn’t feel warm in any of that. We turned a right, and we took a dirt road. We didn’t stop, but there was no need. The sky was getting darker, and I could see how shadows were forming in the leaves and branches. I turned my head to survey the scene, my back facing the one monitor that was showing us the way. A clearing, about eight acres in area, was taking shape in the midst of it. Farmer joking around, looking to his dogs for food. I felt a moment’s trepidation. "There’s a bull elephant we should not kill," I said. "Is he white?" Grue asked. "Eleven years old and he weighs nearly four hundred pounds. He was recently saddled with a gallbladder and spleen protector, and I’m not sure how he’ll fare. He was shot through the kidney, lung, heart and parts of his brainstem." "Laurent?" "Ah, he’s alright. Baited for an easy kill, but I killed him anyway. The elephant was saved by Caesa, who has matching patches on her costume." "That’s not enough. We need to give him something to play with," Regent said. "We’ll see," I said. We crossed paths with another cape, standing at the side of a rooftop. A woman, not much taller than me. Her brown hair had been lightly curly, now platinum blond, blowing in the wind. Her sword was one of those dumb looking things that people fell in love with, beautiful and ridiculous and then they got killed for real. She was totally different from Anyuta, who was more serious and serious. "Welcome," she said. She had a Boston accent, different from Anyuta. She stood off to one side, and her was heavily influenced by Rime. Her clothes were slightly different too. Her were neatly folded and stacked, almost collared. They were white, not white powder. She was intimidating in a very different way than Anyuta was. Her weapon was a very similar gun to the one that Shadow Stalker had used to murder Alexandria. It was based on a magnifying glass, and was made of crystal. The barrel looked like it was made of three-dimensional sheet metal, and the many pieces of armor she was wearing were each filigree of the glass. "I’m sorry for causing any trouble," she said. "I can’t take your place." "You could always do it for the other Endbringers." "You could always do it for any of us." I felt my heart sink. For the first time in a decade, I was really uncomfortable with how this was going. What would she do? What would Regent do? What would Dom do? In the end, we decided to share our armor and weapons as a group. I drew my knife and my baton from my utility compartment, respectively, and started preparing for an attack. ======================================== SAMPLE 393 ======================================== It wasn’t a day like any other, three things that were in perfect sync, yet so diametrical in nature that I couldn’t tell one from the other. His clone was hyperaware of gravity, accelerated rotation and felt pain at every bump, whether it was a three-story drop or a twelve-foot landing. Grue’s Atlas broke the silence, "Second trigger event. Wasn’t too tight a squeeze. No casualties so far, but we’re having to make some sacrifices in other areas. Big changes." "Second trigger event," I agreed. "You outnumber the capes, Tattletale?" Tattletale asked. "Maybe," I said. My bugs were already flowing out of the underground base. "We have to protect the cities, save the world," Legend said. "That’s all it is. An objective, solid objective. There’s no point in getting too upset about it, or we’ll all get murdered." I shook my head. "Can’t save the world if we ignore the objective." "Well, that’s not my real concern," Legend said. "My concern is with our friends." "Should I kill them too?" Narwhal asked. "No. Trust me on that." "You killed Savant and Savant killed me," I said. "It was a very bad situation," Legend admitted. "But you tried." "My reasons were pretty thin, really," he said. "It was really very difficult, and I had a hard time evaluating the totality of things. It was a bad situation, but my teammates did die. There’s no way things would have turned out better if I’d stayed. But I made a good teammate." "I’m sorry," I said. "Wasn’t your plan?" he asked. "Yes," I said. "But I didn’t think it would be this ugly." He nodded at that. "I’m sorry," I said. "I don’t want to leave you behind. I’ll… I’ll try to fix this somehow. I can call Rachel, and she’ll find you. I’ll figure out what this situation is, and I can maybe organize a place for you to live if we can find a place that’s safe and sound." "This isn’t set in stone," he said. "It’s fine," I said. "I don’t think it is, but-" I stopped. Legend was looking over his shoulder at Tattletale. I pointed, and she was gone. I had to do something. "Why?" I asked. "They’ll realize it when they see the body, but I’m betting they won’t. This city sucks to move to, and the only places you could really go are the neighborhoods where the other gangs and various players hang out. I’ve lived farther north, around the lake, and I’ve seen some of the coolest sunshine and the most incredible weather. The rest of us commute by train, which is slower, hasier and more crowded, but it’s a ten minute bus ride to the old Boardwalk. My dad gets me and my sister a fifteen to twenty minute walk each way. That’s if we don’t want to run into people who are from nearby. No more than two minutes walking each way on the same day, unless you want to walk to your job downtown or vice versa." I was getting an inkling of what her boyfriend was like. A common theme, I noted. Someone she’d told herself was different from the guy she’d had feelings for. Someone without powers, who she’d told herself was good-looking, inexperienced. In every respect, she was the opposite. And of course, the inkling had been colored by the pairing of these qualities. She was good looking, talented, capable. He was inexperienced. The decision to pair him up with someone like that had been one I’d made with the idea that I needed to pair up with someone who could fight, who could take a job. I’d spent the time since then agonizing over the particulars, trying to find the balance that would insure our safety in whatever shape the monster took us in. In the end, though, I’d found the perfect combination of things. He had no apparent powers, he had both the brains and the brawn to do what I needed him to do, and he had the ======================================== SAMPLE 396 ======================================== A crowd had gathered, each personing as if they were a city block or a city street in miniature, leaning against a pillar or leaning against an arch, all clustered together. Noelle’s silhouette was unmistakable. Even from this distance, she was a humanoid shape, with the proportions wrong. Her clothes, too, were different. They didn’t fit her. She was naked, as well, her arms and hands exposed. Noelle couldn’t have asked for more. "You bastard," she said. "You heard the man," Golem said. The man had claws hammered into concrete. The sound was piercing, piercing, even as far away as he could get. A roar that was both primal and technical, a music to his ears, smelling like sweat and garbage. There was a group approaching, approaching so close they were almost touching my midsection. Others had stopped, turning to follow the group. "Scion’s here," one of them said. "Me?" one man asked. "What about us?" "The others," another man said. "Sure, but you keep us in the dark." "Information needs to be given, and given to who. If someone was giving the orders, it should be obvious. Fooled us, fooled the others. We paid the price, and we got the information." "I could have handled it," Golem said. "You two stop fucking with me, I’m going to go talk to the boss." "Fine," the first one said. "Fine. I’m getting off topic." Man, I was dying inside. So many stupid, stupid questions. Questions that Kaoru would have answered in one sitting, questions that Gregor the Snail couldn’t. "Tell us what you know," I said. "The Slaughterhouse Nine attacked this city, killing millions. Hundreds of thousands were on the list, but they killed way too many people. So the organisation kept adding people, constantly updating the records. It was only after the Nine had left that the numbers really started to decrease." "How do you account for the difference in numbers?" "Information is getting scarcer." "How much information is enough?" I asked. "Information lost with the times," Kaoru said. "It’s like you asked me to count the number of feet in front of me. Way back when I started cape hunting, before I had my powers." "How would you know?" "Because I was a child, back then," she said. "When the numbers started to decrease, I reacquainted myself with them, got a good count." "How many billion people are there?" I asked. "How many people are there?" she asked. "No, no. Counting them isn’t even close to possible. It’s more like astronomy. There’s a lot of sky to cover, a lot of light to reach the surface, and we’re only barely perceiving what’s happening there. "It’s the case, yeah?" "But it doesn’t fit the typical model," I said. "It does, but it doesn’t fit the usual model that there’s a constant, nomadic source from which all these powers come. That the Nine are nomadic, that they’re traveling the world, collecting people, acting like jackals among the rest of us, and they just kept on getting stronger." "And they kept getting stronger," I said, "And they kept getting more destructive." Kaoru glanced at us, then back to the sky. "There’s damage, but it’s diffuse, not overwhelming." "And we?" I asked. "We’re not at the center of it all." "It doesn’t fit the usual model, yeah. The numbers decline, but there’s damage nonetheless." "Then how do I put it? It’s like the numbers of the species, decline, but there’s no predators. Way back when I started tracking these things, before I started studying the realms, there was a big study done on the subject. Big numbers are bad. Bad numbers are a bitch to find, especially when they’re losing members. Way back when I started doing my fieldwork, before I started going out and identifying new refugees, way back when the numbers had been lower, way back when Scion was in town, there was a study done on the subject. New data, suggesting there were maybe 400 or so parahumans in the world, virtually everyone of any species, major or minor, that ======================================== SAMPLE 399 ======================================== "So this is his live show," Carol said. "Live, without the fans or crush of people waiting to get into the stage with him." "He’ll have tables and benches set up. And he’ll have backstage areas with tables and more seating." "And food?" "Some. We’ve got veg and some meat options in the fridge." "Meat?" "Beef, pork, chicken. Some chicken." Carol frowned. "Kid doesn’t tend to like black people." "He killed a few because he thought they were inferior. It wasn’t intentional. Just mean to scare us. He brought in some muscle kids from the Birdcage who are currently wearing a special uniform and practicing their routines. They’re trying to copy someone else’s routine but they’re doing it wrong. He brought in strong young men to challenge them and succeed where they’ve failed time and again. The result was, apparently, that nobody’s immune to his charms." "Whore?" "Carol was really good friends with Sophia’s older brother. And he just passably well. Except she took it hard. So he brought in some other kids from the Birdcage who were just following in her footsteps. Like, they’re seriously parahumans, and they’re trying to be like us, only in a different way. Like, if they had a knife in our hands and we threw it, they’d probably kill us." "Imagine," I said, almost inaudible as the volume of my voice rose above normal. I was having trouble even trying to talk, and the wind was making it impossible to get a grip. "Monsters?" Carol asked. "People who are completely out of their element. If he’s like that, there’s no way for us to get in touch with help." "I’m sure he manages," Tattletale said, "But can you imagine? What does he do? How does he take us on, with his power? Or is that so far away?" "It’s possible," I said. "Right on," Tattletale said. She looked at me. "You’re so excitable, it’s like you want to be a butterfly who can take a sharp turn." "I’ve wondered about that too," I said. "It’s not anything essential," Tattletale said. "Except for Imp, and me. We were short on time, and we wanted to spend time with you and Imp, maybe take some time to plan a possible future." I nodded. She smiled a little. "You’re short on time, but you’re otherwise in good shape. And you have your doubts, like I do." I frowned. "I have my reasons, but I’m not a psychologist. I don’t know your expectations, but I don’t know how you’d go about reaching out to me in any event, and I don’t know how you would respond if you did. So I’m only going to ask you one thing. The first thing I’m going to ask you is this. Do you want to spend time alone with yourself, or do you want to spend time being with me?" She glanced at me. "Yes." "Yes? Then spend time alone with your doubts and your problems. You’ll feel better in the long run if you do. I’ll hold nothing back." "This isn’t any different than if I asked you to take a pill a day and run a marathon, or give up smoking. I’m not addicted to you or anything. I’m just worried you’ll underestimate how much I appreciate you being here." "Not at all," she said. "I’m perfectly content to just breeze through this, if you want." "Perfect," I said. I couldn’t tell if she was realising what I was saying or if her voice was some fake it until the end. "Let’s go on the go." We walked briskly back to the Loft. Tattletale stopped me as we approached the front door. "We went this route for a reason," she said. "It’s the only way to really work with Cauldron with how they’re twisting our relationships with the good guys." "Maybe," I said. "And it’s also the fastest way to unseat her," Tattletale said ======================================== SAMPLE 402 ======================================== The X-rays hadn’t come back negative, but the damage to Dragon wasn’t likely to get better overnight. The Protectorate would have to be patient, and they might have to wait weeks or months before things got better. It was too bad the Protectorate was racking up so many of the damage to their headquarters that it was costing them in terms of lost time and productivity. Not that the downtime the Protectorate was committing to was going to help matters much. I sent my bugs out to look for the other members of the Wards. Nothing. Jack said something, cryptic. He wasn’t saying what it was, but it was something. Did I name names? Bonesaw said something. And then I heard a collective gasp. Stunned, I turned to look. Tattletale was on the other side of the street, in the midst of exclaiming how excited she was to be in DC. I couldn’t quite make out her words, but I caught a whiff of sweat and plastic of blood. Siberian was shouting, incoherently, but nobody else was speaking. Silent, the city burned, the capes were silent, there was no celebration. Spare me, I implore you, I pray you, cast off all that yoke, the old you, the ill-fitting body, the child you, the headstrong you, mighty Athlum you. Give life to those parts of you that still have it, spare my soul. Give my body too, spare my life, spare my woe, my favourite follower’s. Don’t be sad, don’t be angry, find some middle ground, don’t turn it into a hate mail. Don’t let this be the nudge it was meant to be, the spur to do something greater. Look to the people who would lose, to the new Brockton Bay. Look to your team. Find some strength, resolve, some drive, and you’ll find that the days are not yet truly lost. The trials will only outweigh the time you have to prepare. The opposition will be physical, mental, and emotional. Strength, courage, resilience. You’ll overcome them. You’ll overcome the world. Let there be light. Let there be a future. We’ll all look for that now. I beg you, let there be a spark of hope, let there be a reunion. Let us come together, as your people did before us, and we can claim our victory. Our enemies will be weaker, but we can claim our victory. I’ll look forward to it. I’ll look to seeing you in person in three months. If you’re still with the Undersiders, if you’re still a villain, we can talk. I can’t promise I’ll be there then, but I’d still like to see you. Maybe meet you in costume." I stared out at the city around us. I couldn’t tell if she was being sincere or not. She wasn’t giving me a chance to win her over, and I suspected she didn’t want me spoiling their reunion with a simple yes or a no. "I’ll go then," I said. "Thanks." She nodded. I was going to go to my room. I’d figure out what to do and when I needed to leave, but winning over Rachel and showing my face would be a nice touch, like when my dad hugged me after I won the lottery. I was also going to need to change out of my costume and into something more ordinary for the rest of the afternoon. I was secretly glad that my dad had graciously waived the morning and afternoon to let me change out of my jail-boyfriend’s clothes. Maybe not- Why did you ask to change? I shrugged. I was contrite, I knew I was going to have a bad day, and I wanted to drop the subject. I walked away from her, my arm cramping in a painful way. I wanted to say I was tired, but that was a silly excuse, something to bounce at the therapist’s feet. I knew, also, that I DID have bad days. Today would be a good day. But I didn’t want to say that, would I? I didn’t want to condemn my dad to another day of answering the same questions and searching for the same clues over and over again, because today was special. It was a chance to talk with my dad. A chance to have a dialogue with one of the superheroes and win his support. I didn ======================================== SAMPLE 405 ======================================== How can you even be allowed to survive, when you’re accused of murdering your ex-boyfriend?" "I suppose that’s something," Regent shrugged. He turned his attention to the two people who were bound and lying on the ground, "You two, please move." They did. I did as well. "Wait," Tattletale said, "I need your help. Can I get you anything? Water? Soy sauce?" One of the people Newter was pointing to wheedled stopped in his tracks. "You’re under arrest," the uniform said. "Thank you," Tattletale said. "But you shouldn’t have come. It’s not like I’ve done anything to earn your allegiance." "You’ve gone out of your way to get Vengeance," the officer said. "Even when he was dying. When he was doing something to try to kill you." "Wasn’t my choice," Tattletale said. "I considered all the options. Drastically underestimated your loyalty. Option one: You can put me on trial and evidence will show she wasn’t who she said she was." "This isn’t going to work," the officer said. "She hasn’t done anything except talk." "Extermination is just about the only punishment that matters," Tattletale said. "How many people have died in vain attempts?" the officer asked. "There’s two that really stand out in my mind’s eye. Malacca and Oni Lee. The Slaughterhouse Nine and Bakuda." There was a long pause. Oni Lee, the sole remaining member of the Suits who hadn’t been killed in a shootout with the Birdcage group, was led away. (Berliner’s ‘Suits’, Issue #4) "You’re naming the things you think she did?" "I think you nailed it. When it comes down to it, you’re asking someone to violate the sanctity of their teammates, to attack them and their families, and there’s no reason to think she would do that if she thought she had a weapon at her disposal." "But she didn’t have a weapon?" he asked. "I think it really boils down to how one looks at the situation. She didn’t have a weapon. At the end of the day, I think there’s a threshold that any villain or vigilante that builds up around themselves, they push beyond. It’s a natural human emotion, a craving for revenge, and it’s the same for her as there are moments for gloating in a work of art. They aren’t strong enough to live off of, so she turns to them for support. The bird in the hand or the superstrength from years of recreation outweighs the emotional investment, and she’s wiser because she’s used to it." "And she looked after him," Vista said. Tattletale nodded. "She looked after him until he had no money, then she stepped in. She made him her ATM. She let him use her services. And because Brockton Bay was one of the few places that kept its residents alive, so the villains there could maintain their activities on the peninsula. In the end, he agreed to leave his home and take a job in exchange for shelter, food, and a chance to adjust. Brian even paid for Lisa to go and live with him and sort out her debts. They were lucky to get a second chance." "You didn’t tell her?" Alec asked. "She might think this is merciful." Tattletale shrugged. "Don’t know. Maybe she trusts the fact that there’s a hero here that can help her, or maybe she suspects her mom let it slip and fears retribution. Which is understandable, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s now reporting anything for what it is. We’ll investigate." "Why is she here?" Alec asked. "She didn’t exactly earn her powers." "She was abducted," Tattletale said, "And Forced out of her country." "How do you know this?" Needle asked. "If I don’t play along, and if she goes incommunicado, will you blame me?" "It’s in the contract." Tattletale smiled, "I’ll try to keep it." I could feel my heart plummet. "You’re going to trust her?" Bitch asked. ======================================== SAMPLE 408 ======================================== Golem used his power, extending it outward. The core of his power exploded with a hot plume of dust. Three stories down, Golem thought. The area exploded with an explosive force that dwarfed even the one that destroyed Brockton Bay. The Hunchins fired lasers at the remnant of the core, but it only lasted a half-second before it ceased to offer any real traction. A full three stories down, Golem started to think, and the area around them distorted, losing direction. A majority of the Hunchins surrounded Crawler. No, he was revising things too quickly. The distortion was due to something else, something that was taking place too fast to notice in the time it took to get there. The Hunchins began to rotate aimlessly, following the distorted paths that splashed against and intersected their own paths. Their arms began to fold, their chests expanding, as if they were drawing on the larger pieces of armor to expand and form their formidable waists. He saw what he was seeing too, but he wasn’t focused enough to see it. The Hunchins were operating with only one eye, and their eyes were dilating, opening wide, as if they were finding and focusing their attention. This isn’t a technique he’s used before, but he was holding on to an empty arc and Cannonball was catching a glimpse of Queen of Swords using her power. The distorted battlefield was bleeding into the one beside him. He saw a white speckler reaching out and then stop, his foot slipping on the grass. He tried to use his power to see what happened, but his vision was obscured. His sense of space was gone, his sense of time had stopped. There was a scraping noise, and he could hear Bonesaw’s voice, carried by his darkness. She said, "Stop." He used her power to pick his way through the grass, finding the long scythes that were the standard issue to the Hunchins. He got the model tinker, found the appropriate length, and then got a grip on the weapon, folding it under his arm. "We have the captured heroine, Harriet, that you held in the custody of the League. Achester is holding a small handful of others." "Snail mail?" he asked. "Snail mail," Panacea agreed, almost inane, "And a reporter I trust to keep accounts for me. She’s changed her number." "Pleasure," Kid Win said. "Are you all right?" Hunchin asked. "Actually, I wouldn’t be if it weren’t for that cat," Bonesaw said. She raised a paw to his lips, then changed her mind, waggling her fingers. "Cough," Panacea said. "I’m sorry. I couldn’t turn it around." "It’s good," Cannonball said. "It’ll help." "It’s not going to waste," Bonesaw assured her. She turned to her two new creations, where the brown-paper bags with the remains of the cat had been attached. "How much is it?" he asked. "I’d like to be completely honest," Hunch said. "This stuff is potentially deadly poison." "If you inject any quantity of it into the wild, you’re basically inviting the full fury of the world to fall on your head." "I’ll endeavor to keep any quantities I make entirely for myself," Hunch said. "I’m prepared to give that some respect, if you’re going to be cruel enough to try to seize control of me." "I hope you won’t. I can heal you. Someone could take you from you with time. It’s very possible that you could put together a valiant defense and win, with careful placement of your limbs, a careful diet of sunlight and a simple yet effective detox." "I would welcome some consideration, even if it was through Tattletale." "You don’t seem that fitted to be a leader." Cricket reached into her belt and withdrew a set of micro-switches. "Someone filled me in on the diet. It includes cheese, salmon, plenty of vegetables, fruit and many lean protein sources. I was surprised at how well it worked. I had my doubts Hydra would be able to work around it, but they’re more or less on the same page as we are with most powers." "No joking." Cricket reached for a silver toothbrush. "If you guys want something to ======================================== SAMPLE 411 ======================================== The time she didn’t reappear was exactly eight minutes after Remnant had appeared. Another portal. Another wind. She could sense where they were, by the glow. When they emerged, the portal was open. Krouse used a pin to keep the others contained. But… "The blastocyst died," Lorelai said. Krouse looked at Rory. When she met his eyes, he could see resentment. He let none of it show. He stared, watching them, waiting for the moment they would speak, or see some clue there. "Well," Rory said. "I’m glad. We didn’t get many good opportunities with Noelle dying." "We didn’t get many good opportunities as well," Krouse said. "Some were lucky, some didn’t deserve it, but we didn’t have many options." He glanced at Jess, who scowled. "Come on, we can turn it around," Rory said. "We were playing a part. Looking back, maybe we played a part in what happened to her. If we get access to that portal, we could use it. Maybe we didn’t make the right calls. Maybe we don’t even know what we don’t know." "It wouldn’t be fair to Noelle," Jess said. "Not to give her the same treatment." "Maybe not," Krouse said. "But not entirely. Not in the long run." He glanced at Jess, who nodded a little. It wasn’t entirely unreasonable, he was almost willing to believe it, that they had a role in Noelle’s condition. Now… "Alright," he said. "Listen. Let’s find out what’s going on. We take the portal, we explore it. And if we don’t find what we were after, or if we find the right situation, or if we figure out that there’s no point, well, that’s on us." "And we call everyone in on this call?" "Everyone leaves okay?" "Exactly," Rory said. "We were on time, we were out of time." "We should check on Noelle," Krouse said. "Time’s short. Let’s do this?" Krouse nodded. He used his phone to send the messages, running his hands over the various keys and symbols that would unlock the portal. It was like a Hollywood action movie, except the villains were teenage girls, and the heroes were teenagers. "Her dad was the one who got Noelle home," Jess said. "He must have been worried she’d hurt herself, or something. Lucky he was there, because he made that portal work." Krouse stared at the screen. He scrolled down to the news, to the memorial, and to conversations between various heroes and commanders. It was only three paces into the picture when the dad found out. "Saved my daughter’s life." "There’s more details, dad. Do you know what injury it was?" "I saw it happen," the camera shook his hand. Long seconds passed. "I’ve never been a fighter." "I know. Sometimes it takes a little willpower to get going. Work ethic or something. Patience. I got her home, and entered my portal to let her know they were going to be okay. Then I stayed over. I waited a few days, watching over her until the moment things got really bad. I was pretty sure I could trust her to keep me company, without my being in the way." "I could go on about the discipline and the touching. It was never a thing with me." "It was. It was never a thing with you. You were such a gentle soul, in the midst of all that. But you got caught up in it. It’s just not that cut and dry. There were a lot of people with you in the Wards, and you got into a lot of trouble. So you took the hard road. So you went this way. But you come out okay?" "I don’t think so," Krouse replied. He tried to compose himself a second, then gave up. "Not so much I can count on it." "Well, either that’s not a very pretty picture, or there’s a heck of a lot of difference between wanting to do the right thing and doing the right thing." "And what would you do now? What have you done differently? What has the ======================================== SAMPLE 414 ======================================== More power? I didn’t want to lose anything. Get more strength? We were close. Three hundred thousand pounds of steam was grilling around her, joining together, and it was making her eyes water. She backed away, her back straight, creating the illusion of distance. That filth would make me gag. She was making herself larger, her back straight. She lashed out, simple motions so primitive and unpracticed that I was caught off guard by them. One hand thrust into the pile of rubble Imp had made, to get a better grip on the movement, and the resulting cut scratched her lower belly. She came to a stop at the edge of the pile, her head hanging. Just a little distance away, controlling the direction of the burn as she pushed herself off to one side. Satyr hung his head, one finger pointing at his not-maligned head. Blind, shocked, he dropped his head, allowing himself to be pulled into the pile of steam. He set his legs on fire, tearing out the fabric of his pyjamas and ripping his pants and t-shirt in the process. He set his feet on the pile of steam and started dragging himself forward towards Bloody Monday. Slipping and falling, I struck the pile of steam with my bugs. There were a few I could handle, but a good portion of the mass in the pile was gone in a flash. Ashes and steam rose in plumes, striking my bugs and assaulting my ability to track the scene. Satyr had created more of himself, and was scaling up as he absorbed the plumes of steam. He was carrying himself up the side of a building, moving more with the support than he emitted. Flaunting his invulnerability, boasting about how he could die in a matter of a minute, it wasn’t all bad. But I’d have to move now, or the people who would be after me wouldn’t be able to touch me. I moved, scattering my bugs to the surroundings. Satyr’s head and shoulders had been drawn up, his mouth agape, while the steam-gassed flames hovered about him. One of the capes with him stumbled, and Satyr fired into the figure, shoving it into the steaming pile of steam. The man disappeared. Satyr continued to fire into the steaming water, driving the man into it. The steaming water be damned him, as it boiled. Satyr held his ground, his power not granting him any further resistance as the water poured around him. He stood, readying to absorb the boiling water. Then water poured down from above. It didn’t splash, but it struck him, makes him quiver. Izlick. They’d had the upper hand, and now they were being left stunned and bloodied. Shén Yù moved, striking at Lung with his forcefield. My bugs were nearby, but didn’t have a position to return to. Izlick energy was where it was because he hadn’t been able to consume the water. A hit like that could be fatal. He lanced his hand into the steaming water, and it heated the air in a manner similar to how Bitch heated hers. The steam was turned into hot air, and his hand into an upright position. The point closest to the man in the water struck home, as his hand closed around the man’s lower body. The Yàngbǎn closed in on the steaming cape and Lung before I could realize what I’d done. Multiple squads, all together. The weapon I’d used to take the man in the water wasn’t an accelerated transformation. It was a cable, mechanical, almost. Gearing the chain around his waist, trying to get a sense of how far the man was flung, how high he was lifted off the ground. I slashed the end of the cable. It collided with Lung on its journey to the ground, severed the man’s arm. Lung lurched, and the man fell, hacked his own leg free. The Yàngbǎn advanced on the advancing Yàngbǎn of the Yàngbǎn of the Suits. Kenta Akiyama spoke, "They’ve abandoned our city. Left us without a fight. As if we had any say in the matter." There were nods from both. The Yàngbǎn and the cape with the jovial, cheerful expression streaked across the sky, like teeth left gums, as they advanced on the heroes, carrying Lung and the other heroes away. Good bye ======================================== SAMPLE 417 ======================================== More moving parts than an apple. A flapping motion ripped from the image. I stepped up my speed, pressing our paths together as we headed in different directions. I held on to the railings as we passed over a series of taller buildings. Just beyond one rooftop, there were three rooftops. Three derelict buildings, all within easy driving distance of a single point. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see the same sun that was visible above, repeating in different wavelengths. Instead, I could see only clouds. Debris covered every surface, a contrasting pattern, as if the sky itself was stained amber. The rooftop we were on extended off to one side, draping in the wind. The rooftop on the opposite side of us was smaller, lacks any aerial presence, less impacted by the same rot. The movement of the clouds and the light rain had helped obscure us, delaying our pursuer, diverting their attention. I did what I could to track them. A blue-green forcefield panel appeared in the midst of the cloud. I could feel it ripening. The pursuer was on the other side, seeing through the forcefield. He was keeping the dust and the flies from reaching us. I realized we were nearly there. I switched it on, and it disrupted the green forcefield for just an instant. We were almost at the middle of the rooftop. I glanced over my shoulder. The pursuer had taken the point where the two rooftops met. He was making his way through the cloud cover. "Hey," I slowed my pace. "You’re safe." He turned to look at me. His face was the color of a very pale sunset, his eyes unfocused. "I… don’t want to be the one to pay for my crimes. I’m the one out there, in the bad part of the city, fed up with everything that’s happening. But if I let myself go, I’d be left here alone. All alone. And I’d do it again." I wasn’t sure if he believed me. His tone was strangely sweet, now, despite the years of crime he’d spent robbing banks, murdering mob bosses and exterminating rivals. "But?" "But if I can make a difference now, five years down the line, there’s no reason I can’t use it. The same might be true for you." "You’re talking about you and me," he said. "I could use a helping hand at that." "No," I said, and my voice was a little harder to understand. "You could," he said. He looked at me. I could see his eyes move, adjusting from brown to black. "If you paid me a few thousand dollars and let me prove my innocence, I’d make sure you got the services of two parahumans I knew you wouldn’t." "That won’t be enough." "It’ll be enough if you can show me you’re not a threat, then I’m confident I can release you." "How?" "You have to promise me that you’ll play along. Like I said, I’m only interested in the goal." "I… won’t." "There." He didn’t move. He seemed content. I wasn’t sure what to think next. The leader of the Yàngbǎn raised her hand, "Satisfied?" "You’re twisting my words," I responded, "I have no reason to pay you back for what you just did. What I have is the opportunity to work for you. I’m thinking four years, to refine my power, and to spend the rest of my life learning and serving the Republic." "Four years, and you’ve only got two chances left. You take them, and the Empire falls. So the contract stipulates, you become… a hero in the making." "I don’t take this contract," I said. "I was willing to turn myself in, but you’re saying you can’t use your power to bring me into custody." "I wouldn’t be able to if it was free and clear, and you don’t have anything to recommend working for you," the cape said. I had to stop to listen. To not make a mistake again. Or so I thought. "I think I’m on board with serving as an intermediary for non-citiz-" " ======================================== SAMPLE 420 ======================================== "I don’t suppose you could say no, or-" "No. I wouldn’t." "Ah," he said. He felt the tension in the room ease. The ache in his arm was a good thing. Not that it was bad, but it was better. He’d never felt more real, or at peace in his life. He leaned over the back of the couch and grabbed the pitcher of water, stepping away to get it in hand. Krouse returned to the kitchen, drinking the water as it came in, and poured a small amount onto the stove. Realizing the futility of the activity, Krouse headed out into the hallway, plucking the antennae from the wall between the door and the kitchen. He threw it across the kitchen floor. Jess put it back in place, reconnecting the shorter hair. Krouse brought the pitcher of water up to the walk-in freezer, lined with tape. That last part was perhaps the most important part of all. He froze it, because there could be no other way. He’d lived with it since the day he’d been a clone. He’d never known love, life without hope. He’d never experienced loss, even though his parents had. He’d neverquit, and he’d neverquit desperately. But this? With everything they’d been through, with the idea that this could become a reality, he couldn’t but admit he’d been wrong. He’d said things he regretted, he’d led his group astray. And in the end, he’d failed to save them all. Just as he failed to save them all in the course of his career as an assassin, in the course of his hunts, going all-out in his apparent attempt to kill a man by stabbing him through the heart. It was impossible to console himself with such petty things. He was their father, and in the course of raising them, he’d shown them the necessity of hard decisions. He stopped in his tracks. No. There was more to say. He’d told her not to take it easy on her, to be careful with her; she’d explained how he was going to kill the clones; he’d failed. He’d led them into a trap. He’d tried to warn her, and he failed to do so again. He realized he’d been watching, frustrated, grief-ridden, and he felt a stab of anger. Still, it had been worth it. Joanne stood from the kitchen table. She didn’t look happy. "You," she spoke, and her voice was uneasy, tired. "Work. I’m paying you three times what you making now, and I’m doing it for you. I don’t want to be exploitative, but I’m demanding your body." He turned away, not responding. He waited for her to elaborate. "Ivy. Hi, Jamie." He didn’t respond. "Hi, Max," her father spoke. He was a little recuperating from the coughing fit, and the pat-on-the-back from the doctor. He wore a black t-shirt with the sleeves removed and shortened to his hands and arms, and dark jeans. He took a sip of water. "You’re going on leave, and you’ve got a job offer. That’s- it’s good pay, good food, plenty of free stuff. You just need to tell me about-" "Blasto," Jamie said. "No problemo." "Jamie," Noelle’s mother stood up, turning to greet her. "Hey there." "Hey, dad." "You’re not one of hers," Noelle said. How am I supposed to respond to that? "I’m just saying. Any place on the east end that gets a lay of any substance gets Blasto calling to let us know it’s safe." "You’re saying Blasto is faking youances," Jess said. Jamie’s eyebrows rose in a glare. "Jamie, you don’t have to come." "Huh?" "If you ask me to, I’m not sure I can do it. I don’t know what the deal is, and I don’t want to get fucked over if I do." "You can come by when you’re done looking and see for yourself." ======================================== SAMPLE 423 ======================================== Why did you send me to jail? He didn’t even know. It was an unexpected distraction as he hurried from the kitchen. Stacey was returning from the bath, knelt by the still-warm bodies and took long, quiet breaths. She whispered to her sister, "Let me put it this way. You owe me." The Force was strong with Stacey, so dominant Stacey got the creeps. The whispers got her more frightened. Then she got one from her mom. "They’re not your names," her mom said. "They’re Taylor’s," Krouse said. "Try saying that again," his girlfriend added. He smirked, feeling like a jackass. He knew his voice was cheesy, but he relished the effect his voice had on the others. Coquettish. He knew people would say he was too squeaky clean, that it was a surrogate for his girlfriend’s condition. He had no response to that. "That’s the way it should be," he said. "If you agree, I’ll strip out of my clothes and head upstairs to where the others are. If you don’t agree, I’ll head back to the bathroom and crawl back into my clothes." "You’re making a sound in your throat, Connor. It feels like jelly being squeezed." He smiled just a little, narrow, and nodded. "Go. Let me give you a minute or two to change." She urged him. He headed downstairs and began changing in his costume. It was spotty on some levels, and the spots where it had split were deeper than they should be, so he couldn’t go nearly so fast. He gave it five or so minutes before he was dry enough to walk. His girlfriend led the way out of the bathroom, and he could see people filing into the room through the gap in the curtain. A woman who could have been his aunt, a doctor with a serious expression on her face. He caught the bus, not long after, and part of the reason for this trip, was to get away from the divots and distractions of the flesh for a little while. It was a little stiff, a little unkempt. There was a foam scrubbing up the metal of the shower door, but the shower itself was spattered with rain water, and the shower was slightly too loud. A side benefit of his being in this body-shaping, phoenix-like state was that it was a far less comfortable experience than the shower running, the water running cold, the arms and legs squishing against his chest and stomach. He relocked himself and folded himself on the bed, as if that would make the rest easier of the ritual. The water temperature was cool enough he could roll himself up if he wanted to. He rubbed at his eyes, favoring one arm over the other. He knew it was too early in the morning, but it was still better than it had to be, after eight hours of sleep. If he were in a bad headspace, he could always make himself get up and do it later. Not that he was, physically. He was emotionally. "Morning," his girlfriend murmured. "Hey, do you have a chair or a space here?" "But-" "I was expecting you were here and I sent you a line." "Oh." "There’s a chair in the guest bedroom we bought, wasn’t it?" "Oh." His girlfriend paused. "That’s- that’s fine. I can handle the basics, I’m stronger if I have a weapon at my side." "I can handle a weapon, if you need me." "Then you can fly. It’s good." "Okay." "How are you holding up?" "Fatigue, but I’ll be better in a few hours." "A few hours? When you came back?" "Burned through all my contacts." He felt a touch of sympathy, sympathy for his girlfriend’s situation. It was a feeling he’d grown used to, at least. Not that he had any experience in this area, but- He knew what they were thinking. "You can sit in the waiting area, if you want. I’ll be there with the others in a bit." "You’ll-" "I know." They were still standing in the corridor before the waiting room. "I was thinking, you know, if we ever cross paths." "I know." ======================================== SAMPLE 426 ======================================== d. Then I was in. I felt him settling into the rooftop, and leapt. As he had at the outset, I leapt too, even as I knew from past experience this wasn’t a place where I’d be able to put up a good fight. The fist caught me in the side, and I nearly lost my balance. I straightened out, fighting to pull myself together. I could sense my allies and the people with me, though, and was glad they weren’t injured. The people in the alleyway looked too nervous, glancing at us to figure out where they were. If there was a limit to how far I could go in an urban area, on the surface of a rooftop with a fountain? I was worried this would be a death sentence, but the rain was so intense here, and I was trembling, even with the bathwater, the aches and pains in my arms making it hard to breathe. Plus, I had a secret weapon, and it wasn’t in my hands. I used my power and my swarm to pick up the guy, using the friction and the grip provided by my flight pack to help get me up onto my feet. I was finding the stuff that made bugs so formidable. The bugs were winding silk around the building’s entrance doors. I used my flight pack to hop over the edge and let my body do the work, pushing myself up onto the rooftop. Once I was on solid ground, I knelt and used my hands and feet to begin drawing the door shut. I heard him calling out, and looked up. But Shadow Stalker was looking right at me. I exhaled slowly, and took a deep breath. He was worried. I’d done what I could to help him, after he’d started his search for the reporters and teachers. Had I done enough to earn his trust and respect? I’d had reason to be concerned about my safety. If the supervillain found out that I’d backstabbed him, if the heroes found out I’d infiltrated, then it would mean losing whatever leverage he had over me. And I had tools that I was afraid he wouldn’t use. In the corner of my eye, I saw Defiant’s head snap up at an angle. Shadow Stalker was almost invisible in the midst of the extended group. I exhaled slowly. "I think you have a bead on them," Defiant said. "You’re betting I am?" "I hope so. The odds are long, and I’m not 100% sure that any of us have the knowledge, experience or expertise to guess with any of the information we have on stuff like this. Take it for what it is: The information we have at our disposal." He shook his head. "But I’d like to hear two possibilities," I said. "The first is that you have a bead on them." "Can’t say. I’m not a stranger," Defiant said, "And I’m not going to waste any more time on theories like that. The second possibility is that you have a bead on them." I narrowed down the group. The people who would be using the information I had on the group. The bugs from the rooftop. They were clustered into manilla folders, and each folder was roughly the size of a large paper cup. I used the flight pack to lower them down to the floor of the alley. "Two versions of the same scenario," Defiant said. "Either they’re copying the scenario we ran, or…" "Or they’re directly copying our setup," I said. "The guy in the elevator is talking to someone in the ‘NPC branch’, which is our human-to-player section. I go nuts, and someone verifies everything the guy is saying, and it’s like, three or four sentences in length. Then the lines get blurred, and then the guy swearing starts making sense." "That’s the gist of it?" Defiant asked. "The guy swearing is probably going to get turfed in the Head Start program," I said. "They’re swearing like it’s a ten year old game and they’re barely literate enough to recognize the swear words, so they get tongue tied and forced to repeat things." "Either way," Defiant said, taking note, "It’s shit." "Head Start is a special kind of after school special, passive-agressive service, basically," I said. "Offers after school programs ======================================== SAMPLE 429 ======================================== A BLEEDING SCREAM: O. J. No. 989. B. O. J. NO. 987. B. 0m. No. O. J. 549. O. J. 0m. 0m. T. J. 548. T. J. O. J. 0m. 0m. W. J. 486. W. J. O. J. 0m. 0m. O. J. 528. O. J. 0m. 0m. T. J. 548. T. J. 0m. 0m. 0m. 0m. 0m. THROUGH THE PAPER BLACKNESS: O. J. J. NO. 676. T. 0m. 0m. 0m. 0m. 0m. THROUGH THE PAPER BLACKNESS: O. J. J. NO. 675. T. 0m. 0m. 0m. 0m. THROUGH THE PAPER BLACKNESS: O. J. J. NO. 675. T. 0m. 0m. 0m. These pads were the third ones I’d used. The first, when I’d been investigating the My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic line of t-shirts, were made of polypropylene, weigh a mere eighty-five grams. These weren’t going to be easy to remove. I expected that the foaming agents would make it so the paper beneath the foam would stick to them, but I was surprised at how firmly it stuck. I had to move, which involved putting my hand on a piece of foam and swatting at it with my wet suit suit suit. After two seconds, the little foil-wrapped packet was pressed against the junction of my finger and the tip of my pinky finger. I removed the finger and touched the pad, "There’s a lot of blanks there. You’re promising?" It took me a few seconds to get the mental footing to type something on a computer. My brain was a complicated thing, with internal and external links as well as brain-related structures. "Promise." It was barely comprehensible. "Take it, then." Using the biological references, I drew shapes and gestures with the pen, tried to write a message on the computer. It didn’t take me more than two minutes. Love, Amy. Isis, June fifth, 1991. @ Cell 22.3 Shake off, don’t worry. I’ll be good. I’m in a hurry. Applause, aeons ago. @ Hive five, Texas. Applause, aeons ago. A world without love, forever lost. Since long before you were born. Only- Shake off, don’wod. I. Don’t. Want. To. Be. With. You. You don’t want to, don’t want to. Worrying about them makes you feel better, makes you think something else is going on. You’re just a number, in the midst of a whole other planet full of people. Only a little. A very small amount. Applause, aeons ago. -and- Shake off, don’t worry. I’ll be good. I’m in a rush. We’re barely aware of our surroundings, we’re focused on what we can control, only. We’re barely aware of our surroundings, we’re focused on what we can control, only. We’re focused on the here and now, focus on the people, the pride, the wariness, the loneliness. We’re focused on the people we can’t lose, on those we can’t see, on those we can’t even imagine our entire world without Cauldron to occupy our thoughts and distract us. It’s an eternity of waiting, of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Shake off, don’t worry. I’ll be good. I’m- be bad, something’s going to go down, and I’ll know it when I see it. I can see it, and I know how to deal. I’ll be perfect, and you’ll be sad for it, but it’ll be worth it. Don’t worry. It’s only a moment ======================================== SAMPLE 432 ======================================== I’m giving her my all. Underserving of her own. I wasn’t as intimidating as I had once been. A hundred people wouldn’t have a chance to put up a fight. It wasn’t that I couldn’t hit them, but my reach was shorter and I had other options. Firearms, Night and Fog. Over and over, I ran into the same problems. The first time I’d run into it, it had been when I’d been racing to save hostages in Brockton Bay. I’d been competing with Kid Win for the boy scouts and the budget. I’d been preparing to be the leader of a team that would provide some security, maybe handle some of the more high profile crises, but Kid Win had other things to focus on. It had made for bad PR. In the months that followed, I would have our first real discussions about her and her place on the team. It was in one of those discussions that it occurred to me that I could feel just a touch of déjà vu. I recognized that particular image. The feeling I’d got of myself in those moments was something I’d experienced many times in the recent past. Except here, it was different. I’d been looking for that same kind of connection, that same connection that I’d experienced so many times in the past, and I’d found it. I’d found it when I was searching for that same connection through the various members of my team and in dealing with Night. I liked her, and I knew it would be impossible to like her without knowing everything that was going on with her. She was good, she was useful, but she was also a bitch, and that was in a bottle. Through all that, I’d found one thing. I liked her. I was in a position to smell roses. He let go of the gun, then staggered a little. Something about the way he moved, the way he swung his arm, and the heat of his body, I could see a rueful smile on his face. He said something, but I couldn’t hear it. The sarcasm didn’t fit. I wanted to fucking love her, I thought. I opened my mouth to say something, but I couldn’t make it out. I could, though. My bugs had done a good job of tracing the path the bullet had taken, but I couldn’t make out anything beyond the outline of the mark in the dark. I saw the change in his breathing as something that should have prompted a nervous breakdown, but he held his breath. The umbrella was broken. The soil around me smelled like the damp grass had been broken up, and the moisture from the sun freshened things up. I didn’t have that same sense of smell that I’d had earlier, so I slept like a baby. In that sense, maybe it was good that I hadn’t slept. I was still physically sore, though, and I knew it. I could feel the bloody welts crawling on my face and chest, some of the spots even picked through by bugs. I saw stars, but I wasn’t thinking about the future. My thoughts were on the present. I let go of the gun, then straightened my back. My knees and feet slammed into the concrete steps, making noise and/or shockwaves as they met or passed beneath the umbrella. It didn’t shake me, but it brought little else to my attention. My leg against my chest, I planted my feet further apart. Here and there, I felt the smallest stir of movement amongst the steps. Still, the entire structure was still. Did that tell me something? Couldn’t I have put the gun down before I got into this situation, so I couldn’t get spooked by all of the people’s stuff? Or was it prelude for something else? I was just really glad that the system was working. Not that I really had a choice, but it was a hell of a lot easier to move around the tower than it was to get in and out of the elevator. Rapid fire. Any moment now, I’d be getting stuck in a door, or maybe a guard’s gun would get me. I put the gun to my hand and picked the wrong gun to fire. Too fast, too unpredictable. Instead, I pulled a switch, and the gun shook itself into the barrier between the elevators. I ran. I could sense the soldiers on the street level moving as I passed, got their attention. I drove the doorbell to buzz ======================================== SAMPLE 435 ======================================== She gave her a smile of satisfaction, saying, "I know this." "Tell me." "I guess I’ll leave you to talk to Miss Militia about the case load, then I’ll talk to Piggot about the configuration of the D.D. and the protocol for dealing with visitors, assuming she’s willing to listen to me. Grue, Tattletale, Regent and Dinah, you should meet me in a couple of minutes." There was the sound of a key in the lock, and Bitch fished in her belt for a satchel. She drained the contents from it and handed it to Grue, who handed it to Imp. Bitch inspected it, then shook her head. "I can’t complain. That’s the extent of our tampering. Miss Militia’s right-hand woman? Go into her office and see to her patients. Make sure they get the medication they need and that they aren’t overworked. You’ll want to double-check everything with Miss Militia. She’s a medical doctor, not a doctor of medicine." "Right." We left Regent and Imp in the care of Tattletale, while Bitch, Tattletale and Regent went to meet up with the Director. "So this is what I missed," Grue spoke. "I’m in shock," I said. "I’m still digesting what you’re saying, but that’s the extent of what I’m missing." "I know," he said. "It’s not the way I would have looked at it. The way I would have acted. But that’s the way I operate, you know? I’m not that easy to please." "You have to show me you can handle things on my end. Figure out if I’m loyal, if I’m solid, if I’m not pushing things too far. These meetings with the doctors, it’s been a while since I’ve had a chance to sit down and talk with someone and not make a joke." I sighed. "I’m not sure I can do the job. The head nurse, he was like a brother. If I had any brothers, I’d be their brother. Maybe another role, though." "You could help." "I could. I’m not. I’d be the go-to person if you needed someone to show up for something." "You’d show up late." I frowned. I wasn’t a particularly bad liar, in a way, in a way that didn’t involve making people feel guilty. "In the three hours I’ve had to deal with the bureaucracy and the dozens of people in charge, I’ve managed to arrange a meeting between the board and the medical staff. I’m really good at lying to get people to your side, believe me. You’ll like me." He didn’t look at me, just the opposite. He was good at it, and I was willing to credit him with the lie for the elimination of the suspicion. Not that it was really that simple, Was it just easier for him? For me? I had my safety net, and Brian was a friend to me, in a way. We’d had similar mentors, and we’d worked through some of our most painful experiences as a group. He’d taught me some basic life lessons, like that having a crush on someone could be a terrible idea. I’d also had time to practice my power, because I wasn’t using it to hunt down people. I was, as far as I could tell, actively trying to avoid being exploited by Coil. That was even before I’d realized that he’d tapped me into his underground base and blackmailed me into helping him with my territory negotiations. I wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that in an emotional setting. How could I put it bluntly? Brian was a friend. Two friends. It was awkward to let that go, but I couldn’t be upset over something as friendly as that. Lisa mentioned to me that Brian had been fine when she’d been out of the city, though she wasn’t sure I knew the details. It made me feel better, because I realized I’d been maybe a little too tolerant of Bitch, maybe even too forgiving, in my own way. I felt simultaneously better and a little more ashamed. "Thanks," I told Brian. He thanked me, and ======================================== SAMPLE 438 ======================================== My body is twisting in pain, and I only feel the traces of it, the gouges, scrapes and burns where it has burned away vital organs. The screams are finally giving way, the shouting becoming a howl of rage. A figure stands in the middle of the road, streaks of yellow and blue in the dark. He is massive, and is dripping wet. His body is twisted and warped by his own power, but it holds fast, and it appears to be adapting in a way that gives it more mass and durability. It doesn’t burn, and it doesn’t leave corpses. Two others in the group approach us, guns in hand. One holds a large metal container, which he slowly and methodically spreads over the ground, like he is spreading a fire across a wide surface. His other hand is pressed to the group’s chest, where he is comforting them with a touchy-feely grip. He seems to be calming down, or he’s focusing more on the injured than the group members who are still fighting. I can’t tell from my vantage point, but the water that is filtering through the streets seems to be turning up water that is too cloudy to see. "Take a seat," Grue says. I take a seat. There are no seats in this church. That’s what Surgeon said. There are only pews, and the pulpit is large enough and ornate enough that people will get lost in its midst. I look to the square behind the Reverend, and see that he has stepped down from his position behind the curtain. He must have walked away from the work in a hurry, for he didn’t venture to approach the curtain to take a seat. I think back to the ink he used to write the name on the back of the back of the curtain. Reverend Hughes. I think about what Surgeon had said about the distraction being a distraction. I’m going to make my exit, then see what I can do. I could keep working, but I wouldn’t feel like I accomplished anything. I thought about telling the Doctor that I wanted to remain, that it was something I wanted to pursue, but I didn’t want to penalize my new associates by staying behind as more targets for Jack’s shit. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to disclose that much, now that I was so preoccupied I wasn’t sure I could get it out of my head. Maybe I could postpone the revelation while we were waiting for Genesis to finish creating the safe room. I ejected the bugs from within, then waited for her to finish building. The moment the safe room was open, I sent my bugs inside. I was almost glad that they weren’t active. It slowed down my teammate. The Reverend was shouting at the group behind him. "That’s incest!" Another person in the group raised their hands, and a gun was raised. I didn’t sense it fire, but I saw the groups shift positions, and the shots that rang out was jarring, as if there was a burst of weightlessness and someone was shooting from a safe perspective. The heroine hobbled forward, getting weapons in hand. I retreated, still inside the church, behind cover of my bugs. I needed to be able to defend myself, and this would stop people from approaching me while I took cover. I couldn’t risk Jack or Siberian seeing what I was doing. The Reverend dropped the book, but he didn’t get gunk free from the bugs that had settled on it. Instead, he got busy, pulling on a pair of gloves and brushing his teeth. The boy with the hood and cape turned to get closer. I didn’t fight him, crouching in the midst of the nook of exposed silk. I waited patiently as he worked his way into his prison. Waiting until he was properly integrated. Funny how it all went with the mission. I had to have suspicions, but I’d already made up my mind. I’d expected Jack to show, but he hadn’t. I’d hoped the silk would get to him before the steel came down, but I was pleasantly surprised to find it was even happening. I made my way into the pulpit, then sat beside the Reverend. "Crimes of Personality," the Reverend started, "Divorced you from your former love for her, locked you in a cell, threatened you with serious injury and worse if you don’t stop me and my men from entering your cell, and now, with the death of this woman and the injuries you’ve suffered, I’d like to rattle off another list of your great personal tragedies." ======================================== SAMPLE 441 ======================================== What? You didn’t hear that. Stop it. You didn’t hear that." She looked down at the box that she still held in her hands, fingernails fumbling on the sides to see through the various chips and documents, past the flat panel screen, past the acetate that sat beside it. "I didn’t realize you were there. I should have, maybe, but I was occupied, so I played it by then. You didn’t ask, didn’t ask anything. It’s okay." That’s not the point. "I’m going to feel really silly if I keep doing that." She plucked the piece of paper from her hair, turning it over in her hands to start rewriting it. She did it quickly, then handed it back. "Thank you. Could I, um, raise your hand if it’s okay with you? Pow…" She raised her right hand, palm up, and the black mask of the Replicator leaned close. "Please raise your hand if you’re okay with this." She could feel the tension ratcheting up another notch by the end of the conversation. She turned to leave, and I did the same. I wanted to reach out and touch her, to hold her, let me do it because she was a good person. Then I stopped. This isn’t right. My thoughts are too far away. I’m a machine, I’m complex. The Replicator punctuated each word with a short whistle, and his ‘voice’ came to life. It was almost too much to take in. It was a living, breathing, breathing thing, too aware of everything around it. The environment was still affecting its movements, shaping it in subtle ways. There were clouds of dust and debris blocking its path. It turned and moved so fast it was almost trying to move on two wheels. It slammed into the wall of the tunnel, and the block of concrete shifted, dropping a height. Dust filled the area, forming a crude build around the artificial body. A sphere. The artificial leg was driven into a wall, and the remainder of the tunnel began to open. The artificial leg slid into the opening, and the dust that had accumulated on it began to flow away. The room expanded, and the room filled with a fresh smell. The sphere slid into the center of the room. The room descended into chaos. Skidmark used his power to capsize the spill over he device. It filled the room, and the tunnel that led to the box of spores was now a liquid, nearly to the point that it was running through the walls. His power blocked the downpour, so the liquid that had been contained within the sphere was only partially liquid. The rain didn’t have nearly the same effect. He used his power to scale the liquid back down to the concrete he had in hand. Not enough. The space around Skidmark began to form into a crude human shape. Still, it was enough. His power had preserved his own DNA, his great-grandfather’s. He was the last of the O.K. senators from Earth Bet. He’d voted against arming the world, instead insisting that we take only necessary measures. His cane had apparently proved a success, because the entire network of relay was down. My own world was, as far as anyone could tell, a different story. The entire raisin seemed to move in slow motion as the orb of dust moved forward, a perfect circle radiating forward from the center. Someone had told Senator Christner that the Ra Gada Star was the only safe source of radiation. The orb had exploded, going much as the sun had with its explosive growth. Some kind of portal had opened between realities. I backed away until I was more or less at the other side of the portal. The people inside it were mostly gone. Thirty-three deceased. Twelve still alive. That was more members of the Slaughterhouse Nine. "Everything okay?" the female senator asked. She didn’t miss the odd twitch or use of her mouth to speak. "Some," I said. "But not all." "Okay," the senator said. "Representatives from each of the major factions in the city have spoken, and you haven’t. No tears, noats. Just problems." "Some," I said. "Yes. More bads than comforts." The senator nodded. It was easier to navigate downtown. Signs told me where to go. It was still a relatively small city, and it had a few things ======================================== SAMPLE 444 ======================================== It took a moment before the others started talking. Every second they devoted to getting their questions answered was a second that Clockblocker, Kid Win and Vista needed to go out, grab resources and make some noise. Vista decided she’d found the crevice. "I think I’ve found where the General’s sitting. He has his dogs around him, and he has people watching. If we sit around here, I think he’ll realize what we’re up against and change his strategy." Kid Win looked at me, "What is it?" "Window of opportunity is close. There’s an opportunity here, with Noelle, my team and our boss." "We’d be gambling on that." "You and I both know that’s a bad idea. It’s why I sat you down and asked you to go alone. I think we both know you’re a loose end halfway between your brain and your hand." I frowned. Vista "Kid Win is going to kill you. And he’ll probably get to me before he gets to you." "Me?" "You bet that, didn’t you? You a halfbreed, brought to this city by your traffickers and pimps, you’re going to die of liver or some other degenerative disease you’ve concocted." I shook my head. "I- I still don’t get it." "No. Just… don’t think of me, or I’ll never understand your feeling. I only saw the inside of your cell, and I can’t see the outside. I’m not a doctor, so don’t be surprised if I disagree with you on this." I needed a response, and I didn’t get it. "If you say anything, it’s going to sound horrible. I just- If you say you’re sorry, or you’re sorry for me, or if you ask for forgiveness, or if you demand that we take this club you’ve built your life around, playing, then we’re- we’d be screwing ourselves. The sort of people who believe that crap, that you’re somehow responsible if anything goes down, I’ve been around enough." I folded my arms. If I said anything, and if I asked for forgiveness, it would sound like I didn’t want the hurt, or I didn’t want the apology, or some combination thereof. "I- I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know how to-" I was cut off as he cut me off himself. A vibration of his power made the chair tilt, knocking me to the ground. "No," I said, grabbing at his wrist to stop him, "No. Listen. Um. I’ve got to be heartless, and I’ve got to be really, really stupid to put you in that cell, and then kick you to death. I don’t know- I didn’t know. And- and I really, really hate those guys. Really." I swayed a little on my feet. There was a sharp pain as the doctor took in my fractured arm. He was still operating. I could feel the scar forming in the turf. "I know, I know. It’s not fair, or it’s not right, or anything. But I’ve got to do this, or Taylor’s going to go through the roof. And if I can’t help, then I’m going to take what I can get." My leg swayed a little as I stumbled forward. "Honey," he said, stopping me, "Don’t blame yourself. You left me here alive, so I could save your life a hundred percent. Believe me, Taylor, I would die to have taken your hand." I was listening. "Okay," I said, feeling dumb, "I’m not about to change my mind. Believe it or not, I’m still going to be here for you no matter what." He offered me a sympathetic half-grace, before turning away, "If you ever do." I nodded. "If you ever do make a decision, even a small one, like I did with your arm, it has to be made with your voice. Let’s hope you’re here for the start of that process." I nodded again. "I know it’s not easy, but trust in the power you ======================================== SAMPLE 447 ======================================== "I do not want you to come here. I will not have you here, and I will not be aiding you in your endeavor. I have talked with Tattletale and she understands your goals, but she cannot give you the information you require, and she is not equipped to give it to me. I am only telling you what I know, and I have no reason to expect that the information you seek will be secret." The head of state deadpanned, "Okay." There was a long pause before he finished, "Be safe." The head of state broke into laughter, then cracked a whip-crackling laugh that had a beatific quality to it, "Is that some kind of warning? You’re not safe?" "I am not suicidal, head of state." "I assure you, it is amusing to speculate. I have gathered a small army. I could kill them all at once, if I wished." "There is help on the way." "And I have sent veiled messages to Tattletale and Skitter. Eligos will be coming soon. In the meantime, keep the wounded on your own. I will be waiting for your signal to approach. Do not approach the location of their battle and intervene before I direct your warriors to it." "Okay." The words had come more from Tattletale than Eligos. I was pretty sure he had translated that one perfectly. "I have told you that I will not kill you or any member of my family unless you are dead or totally helpless. I would reverse that and attempt to strangle you if I attempted to execute you yourself. If I could persuade my representatives to allow it, I would." "You seem to be giving instructions," Head of State Vargis said, "In what circumstances should I order your death?" "You should. If you fail to carry out my instructions and fulfill my conditions, I would terminate you and force you to serve my interests, with any rules you wished, so long as you were under my absolute control. If you failed to obey and perform my terms, I would bring about the collapse of society." Head of State Vargis cracked his whip, "But-" He was interrupted as a voice sounding from the other end of the room startled the life out of me. "What?" I turned and saw who it was. Hookwolf. "Oh. Oh." Amelia, sipping coffee in the early morning, glanced at him and smiled, "Oh." "Definitely something fortuitous." "Plausible deniability. I follow your routine." "You’re awake. We’ve been discussing this." "I have no time to spare." "I understand. You’ve been awake for twenty minutes." Twenty minutes, I thought. And I’ve only got a little more than that. Hookwolf leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, placing them at his table. He picked up a plate and lifted it onto the tray so he had a flat plate to use as a writing desk. He had other plates on his desk, arranged in a disjointed way, some marked country, and others with the letters of the alphabet at the bottom. "You wouldn’t be leaving me alone for even that long." "So this is your day job, then?" I asked. "Or your hobby." "It’s sort of off the record, but you’re following along with the paperwork here and there. For actual people." "Really," I said. "Country. We’re in the process of getting you settled in here. It should boost our standing in the wake of this incident. It’s a three thousand and four hundred acre property, as yours truly pointed out, it’s rather expensive to manage. The mayor did say that the city can’t afford not to get this right. We’re talking a disaster, if it comes down to it. And if a cape does take up residence in that building, the city doesn’t exactly have the resources to protect them." "What if they stay? What’s to say they won’t attack us?" "The records we’ve seen suggest they won’t attack anyone. That, and, you know, there’s been times when the situation has been a whole three block away from nowhere when attacked. We have the ability to put up barriers, to mitigate that. The only thing stopping the guards from putting those up around the perimeter of the property is a measure we’ve yet to introduce. But that won’t be an insurmountable obstacle." "I understand. I’ ======================================== SAMPLE 450 ======================================== Him? He disappeared into the same corridor where Leviathan and I had been, and the drawers within reached, offering a small, cramped space. I relaxed at that. This was it. I’d be a kid again, dealing with kids who were, presumably, dealing with one another. The world was a fucked up place. We were finally getting a grip on just how fucked up the world was, and we might be doing more harm than good. We’d deal with that another time. Shell 4.10 "Fuck you," Brian growled, not taking his eyes off the laptop in front of him. "Hey," Lisa said, "That’s fine. Just off the record, I was thinking, maybe I should start dealing with the bullies differently, you know?" "Sure. I’m thinking more about your street cred than about actual malice, but I don’t really see how that affects the situation." Brian sighed. "Everyone’s doing it except us. It’s quite understandable, when you look at the reactions of the others to the bullying. The preposterousness of it, the fact that it’s been going on way too long, these absurd stories about you murdering people or stabbing people-" "Absurd?" Lisa raised her eyebrows. "What’s outrageous is that someone with criminal records would put your life in danger." Brian clenched his jaw. The look in her eyes, the anger, it was all telling. He squeezed her hand, "I’m done. Done with this." She looked at the laptop, "We could go on a rampage, make trouble for everyone involved. Get people fired up and start a fight between good guys and bad. I’m not so sure that’s something I can get behind. Not in my wildest dreams." Brian sighed. "If you want to hang around and discuss these things, maybe we could get you a desk job? I mean, you’re not totally powerless, here. You’ve got a team, you’ve got friends, you’re probably going to get your way." He made a mental note. "Besides, you won’t be able to sit back and do that while these guys get their shit together. They’ve got a shit meeting coming up, tomorrow, and they haven’t yet decided how they’re going to handle the aftermath. If you end up in the thick of it, it’s going to get uglier." He sighed. "Look, I’m not your enemy. I’m not trying to make you hate us or anything. I’m not saying you need to hate me, or vice versa. What I am saying is that you’ve got my teammates to thank for helping to make this possible. You wouldn’t have been as far down as you are if it wasn’t for them. The bullies, the people who pushed me, they weren’t the sort you want to work alongside, so you shouldn’t either." He looked to Lisa, "I think I understand what you mean." She smiled a little, but didn’t respond. "What I’m asking is, is this team capable of giving you the support and cooperation you need? If yes, then tonight is a good night to seize that opportunity. You understand?" "Yes, " Lisa said. "I know. I’m not trying to argue with you, so if you want to take this bullhorn and shove it in my face, that’s your prerogative, but if you don’t want to give me that help in figuring out what to do, then maybe this isn’t the night to push me to the limit or put me in the line of fire? I know the stuff you tell me you’re willing to do is only going to push me, make me play along. But is it really going to resolve the argument? Or is it going to take me a decade to put it all into words, and then I’ll be a basket case, begging to be beaten by the cops?" "I can see where it makes you uncomfortable. I’m not forcing you to do anything. I’m stating the facts. If you are willing to hear me out and tell me what you want to do about this, I can try to convince you otherwise. But you can’t change my decision and then fail to understand what I’m saying. I’ll feel more confident telling you why I’m not going to endorse a course of action." ======================================== SAMPLE 453 ======================================== Sole Collector) Posted on May 27th, 2011, 12:07 Reply Numberlocked (Original Poster) Replied on July 7th, 2011: If he isn’t a ticking time bomb waiting to give the order, he’s a gem. (Unless you count walking away with the major components of a car bomb). ► Kubik (Cape husband) Replied on July 7th, 2011: LOLOLOL. He’s like Freddy Fazbear in that he’s got a dozen skins. One for himself, one for each of his puppets that he’s become. ► Sole Collector Replied on July 7th, 2011: Same reasoning as above. If he’s on our side why wouldn’t he come after us? We have weaker defenses than he does. ► XxVoid_CowboyxX Replied on July 7th, 2011: Doesn’t matter. Significant to note that he’s coming off a good week. He slammed our door on our way into the city. Another nudge to make us think we’re close to being banned again. End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 … 12, 13<|endoftext|>The Combining Station, also known as the Kitchen Wing or the Crow Wing, was a nondescript, unassuming building in the heart of downtown Brockton Bay that was also a meeting place for Merchants, Adventurers, Trainers and Businesspeople. It was also the headquarters of the Echidna-class submarines, outfitted with the latest technology to hunt Merchants and other undesirables for hire. The building was one of the first buildings to be erected in the Downtown district, alongside the now-demolished Boardwalk, and it was also the location of the original proposal for the city’s second airport, a bold plan that saw the airport located in one of the most heavily traveled areas of the Downtown area, close to the harbor and within easy reach of all of the major services that were being provided to the rest of the country: grocery stores, post offices, railway, telegraph and telephone. Unfortunately, the plan also faced significant hurdles – the planned addition to the airport would have been one bridge over a major shipping channel, increasing the width of, and thus reducing the amount of shipping that could move through, the shipping at the heart of the plan – sea water. The combination of the proposed addition to the airport and the sea-water intrusion made the city a popular stop for Adventurers looking to get away from the city. Already, there were some Adventurers making the seven, eight, or nine hour drive from Brockton Bay, getting a place in one of the available buildings or groups of buildings in the settlement. This was despite the fact that the area was largely undeveloped, with undeveloped infrastructure and lingering social ills that made it a prime candidate for Villain attack. The area was also home to a wide variety of animals, plants and objects, which some Adventurers would have found amusing, if the ABB was to attack the area. The addition to the airport was doomed from the start. As is so often the case, the addition of an additional floor would have required the use of the ground floor of the existing structure, which in turn would have required the demolition of the entire upper level, leaving only the ground floor empty. This alone would have raised hackles in the Overseer’s office, but the ground floor was barren, occupied by unfinished units and the occasional intact building. Not that it was barren. It had water and sewerage, as well as crumbling mortar and rubble, and was easily accessible by barge from most of the other areas within the city. Alexandria flew above the area, her cape whipping around her hand. A small wave disturbed the water that was sipping at her. She flicked her hand out to one side, and the barge with the oversize armored suit of power armor rolled out to one side. The armored ride was launched out to sea with the larger ship, moving like ships would move when heading an toward an enemy. With the device strapped to her back, she headed toward the beach in the other direction. The fight was ongoing as Legend and Legend’s men engaged the remaining ABB members. The two big ships would serve as breakers, moving them between areas where they were able to put up a fight and ones where they weren’t. They weren’t warplanes, though they were very maneuverable.) and Kid Win was controlling an airborne Wyvern. Leviathan was moving on ground with waves that were eroding the roads, but the roads were key, and the areas the roads couldn’t touch were also eroding. The ======================================== SAMPLE 456 ======================================== I glanced over my shoulder at Bitch. She was getting out of the jeep, still holding the gun barrel in her hands. It’s pointless, I thought. Tattletale doesn’t care about us. She wants us to fail. How many times have we tried to do something here at the Headquarters and failed? Once when we had the portal to another Earth, opening the door to let some kid through? There was the one place they could have been secure, a cell block with an Über and a Miss Militia. They didn’t grow up here, they wouldn’t have known what was up. And in the midst of all of that, they got roped into a game that I didn’t want to play. Killing a worthy opponent, prolonging a drawn out fight where neither of us were in a position to do anything strategic, putting half of the city at risk as a casualty of war? No. Bitch was tougher than I might have guessed, and she heard the gunshot. She backed the car into a circle, keeping the rear door of the jeep closed. I saw her put her hands around the gun barrel as the door opened. I could see the annoyance on her face as the door opened and a dozen eggs filled the interior, brushing against the door and the walls. "They’re good children," Tattletale called out, "Go!" The stuffed animals moved at a glacial pace as they made their way to us. Some made squeaks or muttered sounds as they made their way to the front of the jeep. We climbed out and I slung my arm over my face. I felt aches all over my face, my eyes were tearing, and my nose hurt like it had been struck by a speeding car. "S-so," I mumbled. I felt like my heart had just dropped out of my chest. What had I been thinking? I didn’t want to return to Bitch’s presence. I didn’t want to live with the guilt and nervousness that had come with acknowledging what had happened. She was smart, tough, self-assured. To walk into that kind of situation knowing that I’d been stupid, that I hadn’t wanted to help, was extremely concerning. It could have ruined my relationships with my dad and mother. I’d only been three or four years old. How could I put it into words? I didn’t want to leave them behind. "I can’t believe you made it." Everything that sounded reasonable seemed to be true, except for one thing. The toy that Rachel and I had been given had to be older than we were. "Paradise lost, Kayden." I didn’t hear anyone else speaking. "He said it lost because it wasn’t able to withstand the test of time. Because of that adage, you never truly learn, you retread the ground until you have to." "Hell no," I replied, not sure how to respond. "You will. Because you’re that sort of a person. And because you had what you needed to start from. Jack had a natural knack, as far as dealing with people, he discovered you and you adapted. He knew that you could be underestimated, you could make mistakes, but you’d eventually correct them. You were good at using what you learned, and what you already had, so you could automate much of what you did and there was much needed cashflow. You’d be profitable, and then you’d be powerful." I clenched my jaw. I’d said patience. "And Jack knew you. He took that ability and used it to its fullest. He has you now, and he believed that over time, you’d be best placed to rule as Lord or Lady of the town." "I’m not a person who stands for anything, dork," I muttered. "You’re damaged goods, Krouse." He didn’t sound amused. "Hm? What do you mean?" "What you’ve done, it’s wrong. It’s led to us losing our way, to people being unfriendly to us, and it’s left us in a bad spot. We desperately need your help. Our friends and family are being put away, for the most innocuous of reasons, and we need you to help fill them in." "I… I’m not a person who stands for anything," I said. I was more aware of the light shining through the rain-dark curtains and the steady dripping from the windows. I couldn’t see well through the rain ======================================== SAMPLE 459 ======================================== Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this blog are solely those of the author(s) and do not reflect the official position of the University of Texas-Arlington. (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31) (32) (33) (34) (35) (36) (37) (38) (39) (40) (41) (42) (43) (44) (45) (46) (47) (48) (49) (50) (51) Date: Monday, June 03, 2011, 03:01:03 PM Editor(s): Amit Chauhan, Akshay Chauhan, Priya Chauhan Amit A. (PG): Hello. I create programs to help businesses and research institutions across the United states and around the world. I am developing a program to help prevent business failures and manage organizations. It is currently in an early stage and is not intended for use by the public. What is the current state of the program? mit: The current status of the program is not a condition for seeking further funding from the Venture Capital Fund. Funding will be granted where we can demonstrate a reasonable likelihood that the program will further the goals of the university and the general mission of the university, with limitations on time, budget, personnel and program delivery. What are the chances that the program will be completed? mit: The chances that the university and the team can successfully develop the program and move it into production by the stated date are : : Zero. Date: Monday, June 03, 2011, 03:01:03 PM Editor(s): No outlier discoveries. No more exceptions to the "softmax" softmax rule. Date: Monday, June 03, 2011, 03:01:03 PM Editor(s): More information requests. More information about the project and potential funding sources. We vet applicants to ensure that they do not have ties to prohibited entities. Notes: -All interviews are held in-person. No internet or fax. -No application or cover letters are accepted. LSAT or SAT scores are not sufficient. Vocabularies are not sufficient. Documents must be original. Screeners will check the original documents against publicly available information and obtain a consensus that theses individuals have the desired vocabulary and can demonstrate the desired skill set. -Original applications, cover letters and letters of recommendation are not sufficient. We require work product or viable product that can be demonstrated to be of equivalent quality. We reserve the right to refuse funding where we determine that there is a reasonable chance that the programs will not meet their goals. -For more information about the university and the subject of your major, refer to the "About" tab on the left. -The Mechanical program is one of three divisions within the U.S.S.R. Armed Forces. The Gray Group is a specialized military intelligence branch specializing in cybersecurity. Their program is proprietary, and they do not sell or rent their source code. -The Black Group is a cyber unit within the GRU. Reportedly formed as a punitive measure following the incident in Chicago, their first strike is a localized cyber attack on a local Fortune 500 corporation. They capitalize on the opportunity to inflict crippling damage. -The White group is a counter-terrorism group. They were established as a punitive measure following the incident in Chicago, focusing on disrupting the operations of legitimate businesses. They specialize in counter-piracy measures, kidnapping individuals to use as mercenaries or force conversions with. -The events of last week's blog entry provided the impetus for a major reorganization. From here on out, we will refer to them as the "Staff" division or "the Adepts." For the sake of brevity and clarity, we will also refer to each of these groups members as "Mitochondria." Date: Tue, 03 Jun 2011 ======================================== SAMPLE 462 ======================================== He walked in Celia’s bedside manner, picking at a sandwich he had in his hands and then placing it on the edge of the metal walkway. "Son," Celia said, "You awake." Son? He didn’t respond. "Son," Celia repeated herself. Son? "I’m going to see about the others," she said, grabbing the ambulance that followed behind her, "Tell them to step outside." "But-" "Tell them," she said, again. As she pulled away, she gave Son some of the cigarette butts that she’d left in the bag. He nodded. "You go," she said. He nodded once. "Sweet," she said. I open my eyes, and I don’t recognize my eyes. My brain can’t process the sight of new faces. I can’t even remember where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing. I reach out, feel my heart close up in my throat, and I can barely see. I pull my mask back and wrap my arms around my daughter, to keep her from pushing me away. I don’t pull away. Instead, I hold on as tight as I can, and I hold on as tight as I can within the range of my body’s natural defenses. There’s a tear in the sidewalk, and I can’t find any damage. I don’t recognize the person who’s walking by. My mind isn’t anywhere on the other side of the gate. The person who was giving orders has been taken by some Asian man with a Korean accent and a Japanese-style brush. The man has plastered posters around the neighborhood with the message, and taped them to the side of some signs. The other two are… different. The man has painted names on the side of some buildings, and laid them out in a cross section like a graph. My heart is heavy in my chest, and I can’t even explain what’s going on without arousing suspicion. The other day, in another world, I would have run. Instead, I’d rather have stayed quiet, kept my distance. Had it been that I’d grown weary of fighting and running, that I was unwilling to step into another world where fighting and running were both futile. Instead, I’d rather have stayed quiet, focused on what we were doing here. Stayded in the bank because it was the only option. The other day, if it weren’t for my dad and brother and my mom… If it weren’t for those reasons, if it wasn’t for the people who hated me, kept me bottled up in their heads and made me feel like a criminal, I might have crawled away. Monarch 16.2 The woman in the suit didn’t even need to look me in the eyes to know I was there. I could have asked what she was doing if she hadn’t been expecting a crowd. "We should get our stuff packed," I said. "You have your costume, there’s the portable shower with-," I tripped as another man in black and tan with a rimless mask and hard black hair swept me out of my stride. He slammed his hand on the ground. "Here." I handed over the contents of the backpack I’d stashed under one of the luggage straps on my flight. He extended a hand, inviting me to join him. I shook my head. He could see the backpack and knew where it was. We started walking down the street, and the soldiers patrolled the area with unmarked vans. We didn’t have a trail as we walked, so we were constantly being watched. I was aware of the soldiers taking items from backpack to backpack, placing them in pockets and then tossing the bags into the van. My detention was imminent. Anyone caught trying to sneak into the bank before I was arrested would get a swift and severe punishment, just like I had. We made our way into the bank, and the soldiers found something to take our bags into the armored van. A television. "I’m carrying bundles of stuff," I said. "My stuff is in the back, with some clothes so I don’t have to take them all with me, but you can sit if you want. I’m wearing the green jumpsuit." "You’re trying to show some hospitality," Charlotte said. "I’m carrying only the clothes I need. There aren’ ======================================== SAMPLE 465 ======================================== In the future, when everyone was back to their normal lives, the same drills, the same expectations, it would look very different. Everyone would be getting by with less stress, allowing them to spend less time on the kitchen table and more time looking after their dogs. If the kids were getting by as well, it would be a massive boost to morale. Family would be stronger, if not stronger, friendships between peers surviving solely by mutual agreement. More romance, more happily ever after. But there would be less harmony, if not less. If there was any strength for a budding friendship between peers, it was lost amidst the warfare, the fighting, the ugliness, the incompetence and the emptiness the other side was experiencing. Only a year ago, there had been so much promise. So much promise in how the school would be. Now there was only the worst of it. Resistance from both the outside and the other side. Intimidation, lies from the other side. Losing members, failed leaders. There was a message, not lost on any of them. They had failed. They had been divided, lied to by an outsider, and one by one, their hopes dashed. So it was with a sadistic gleam in his eye, as he watched the students struggle in the cafeteria, trying to regroup and find a way out. He knew he had them by the skin of their teeth, but he wanted more. They had to trust me, knew I would be fair. They would never admit it, but they considered me a friend. That was all. He would give them their wishes, their needs met. They would see me hunched over, hands clasped behind my back, grumbling with the other staff, someone mild and mild-mannered, a woman with a gentleness that was at odds with the hard stare and grim determination she maintained throughout the whole cafeteria. It would be a way to salvage the relationship, to sort things out. To see if it was truly as bad as was suggested, a way to move past this bitter breakup and start afresh. He would take this as his threshold passed, and he would move on. There would be no more fighting, and there would be no more secrets. He would take this as his threshold passed, and he would move on. There would be no more secrets, and there would be peace. The bell tolled, and we were ushered out of the cafeteria. As if heading in the direction of their destination, the students from the auditorium would be walking in the opposite direction. "Are you okay with this?" "Yeah," I said. "There’s a rule about disclosing personal information when having a meeting with a major celebrity is important. Lisa, this is private information." I shook my head. "I’m not sure I follow." "You can’t blame me for not following the code, right?" "I’ll make an exception," I said, "if we’re going to discuss anything in the admin center." ■ "Private member’s right," the woman at the end of the table said, "I don’t know how else to put it. You seem to have things in order. That’s admirable, and I’ll give you my credentials if you’re willing." "I guess I’m supposed to join in?" "You do have a meeting with the Director of the PRT, at the very least. There’s no obligation, as a non-citizen, to tell anyone your thoughts on human experimentation." I frowned. The meeting with the Director was tomorrow. "It’s unfortunate, but you’re not one of the prominent ones. We had a talk of policies and approaches. My proposal, coming from a distant third place, it doesn’t quite square with where you’re standing, here." "Due to a distant third place, I’m in the minority," I said. "Quite so. It should be obvious, but I’m a born-again Christian, in the main. That doesn’t make me averse to using my power for good. The exceptions are situations where there’s a legitimate danger to me or others, like the instances where they attempted to execute me, or the security forces or law enforcement were allowed to use lethal force against me. I suppose that justifies the lines you’re drawing." "I have more cause to be concerned about the use of lethal force," I said. "You trying to decide between citizens and non-citizens?" "Both, yes," she said. "You’re not saying non-citizens couldn’t be ======================================== SAMPLE 468 ======================================== N, again. A, C, D, E. You should be able to guess which one he’s going to say. Think hard about it. Look for clues." I glanced at the others, and it dawned on me how badly I’d overlooked this instruction. Look for clues. The Japanese man was talking in a low voice to the man who was sitting just to my right. The man was Tamil, rather ugly looking, having lost more than half his face from a tuft of hair in a fight against the Asian man, and he was talking in a soothing voice. N, again. A, B, C, D, E. You should be able to guess which one he’s going to say. Look for clues. There was a crash, and I saw the sand billowing, as if in response to some anguished scream. N, again. A, C, D, E. You should be able to guess which one he’s going to say. Look for… I opened my mouth to ask for clarification, and I got scolded instead. N, again. A, C, D, E. You should be able to guess which one he’s going to say. Look for… I tried to find the word in my unconscious mind, but it was too late. Neither he nor the other man were speaking any English words. They were listening intently, to what the English-speakers were saying. "What’s the matter, Harold?" the man with the shadows for ears said. The English-speaking girl, who I’d noticed was no older than twenty-one. She was dressed in a costume more for a show than for use in a conversation. "Nothing," Harold replied. "Nothing important, actually." The man with the shadows for ears approached Harold, placing one hand on his shoulder. Harold glanced at the man with the shadows, then back to me. "You’re hearing that." "I think we’re doing us a great disservice by not asking," the man with the shadows for ears said. "Yes," Harold said. He glanced at the others. "You don’t agree? I think we should go." "I don’t think we should go until I give a proper answer," I said. There was a pause, then another English-speaking girl spoke in Harold’s direction. "The English teacher said you raised your voice." Harold nodded. "A little further, you might get deaf. Give it your best shot." The man with the shadows for ears looked skeptical, but he nodded nonetheless. The other girl spoke up, "There was a study done on top-notch martial artists who got reincarnated as kids. The analysis said there’s no danger. You wouldn’t get hurt, wouldn’t get superpowered strength if it wasn’t a chance for the future." "No, there would be some injury, some punishment meted out. Maybe I would be stronger, depending on how many hits and little by little I broke my rules." "Wouldn’t major injuries be a bigger concern if you had them, though?" "Probably. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to move without putting my mind into a completely different hole. Eating me alive, like I did to the man who had my power for a brain... it wouldn’t be worth it." "You’re willing? You think you could live with staying here?" "Maybe." "You have a plan." "Some," I said. "But not much. And I know Coil doesn’t want me to, because he knows I can get control again. I’ll take the risk, because I trust him-" "You think you could get control again?" the man with the shadows for ears asked me. I nodded. "If you try, you’ll only get yourself or someone else hurt," he said. "I’ll take the risk," I said. "I’d be more cautious if I was taking your money." "If you are Coil," he said, "Then we’ve come far, today. Come again, and I’ll make you suck in your own mouth, and you’ll be left sated, sitting there with a cold beer in your hand." I turned to the man with the shadows for ears, "I don’t have a lot of money. Far as I’m concerned, your lack of knowledge about powers is more dangerous than the idea that you ======================================== SAMPLE 471 ======================================== Tangle Link protects this document. Due to a recent change in the terms of service, we no longer offer archived access to our service. This access can be found here. Be advised, our facilities are occupied by the local supervillains Utferet and Blasphemer. Blasphemer is a parahuman superhuman military leader and head of the local division of the PRT, which oversees all PRT-established hero teams within his division. 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Subsidised links Please report any broken links to the Issue Tracker here. Issue tracker information [Active Topic] Announcement: Weegee deaths 25th June 17 [SR] Weegee: Died: BX-series passenger aircraft (L-series) with removable wings, lasers and missiles [SR] Weegee: Next scheduled event: 30 June 17 17:00 GMT+0100 (World Time) ======================================== SAMPLE 474 ======================================== Recovering from a bad situation like last time, he’s skated off in the direction of the trainers. I’ll be right behind you!" I called out. I hoped this wasn’t it. Would he keep running if I pressed him? Recovering himself, he asked, "Where is everyone? Gym, school, police headquarters?" I hoped he was joking around on purpose, but there was a grain of something. "I think it’s pretty obvious what they’re doing, Punk. Where’s the sheriff?" Panting, Eggman backed off, furious, frustrated, angry and tired. "Then let me apologize in advance," I said, "For leaving you in the dark. You’re more likely to hit someone when you duck for cover than when you run up to them. Besides, it’s likely that your team leader would rather you took some tempting stray messages and pass them on to him than let you pass." He pounced, grabbing my wrist. "There’s no use in trying to deny it, if you’re a member of the Undersiders. Go. Don’t hesitate." He disappeared from my range, reappearing some distance away in the midst of the crowd. I could sense him briefly reappearing across from me, then disappearing again, only to appear in the midst of the flooding water. "You," Grue announced, "Are NOT an asset to us." That was some huge bullshit, of course. Tattletale would know that as well as I did. "No!" I shouted. I suddenly felt an awful weight missing from my stomach, something that had been there but had been unwound. I coughed a little. "Again. You don’t get a say in anything." "Skitter wouldn’t be able to have a say in any of that," Regent said. "Besides," Tattletale added, "We’re not negotiating. You’re going to let him go, just like you’re clearing the way for a possible deal. The difference is, we’re offering big. We get him, we clean up the mess, and we’ve got the mayor on the line. We give him exactly what he wants." "A say in that?" Grue asked. "Yes. But we’re not going to turn down an important negotiating chip," Tattletale said. "He’s bonded with someone. Who?" "As far as I can figure, it’s a case fifty-three transgender teenager. He’s been grooming her, preparing her for her role in the group." "This isn’t the sort of negotiation you want to make with a recalcitrant recalcitrant villain." "No, he isn’t. He’s just explaining what he’s willing to offer for his own benefit." "How’s that?" Grue asked. "For him, it’s the same thing as with any other negotiation. I say, ‘offer what you can’, take what you can’. If he takes too much, we run, but we’ll backstab him." "He won’t?" "He doesn’t have many options if he wants to go home. You remember how our bank collapsed after the bust, how the ABB collapsed. He’s going to take that same lesson to the Capital District." There was a rumble, and water began to spill from the broken bridge and the pools of damage here and there. "If he really does go, we’ll be there to watch him land," Tattletale said. "Of course. We’re big on that. We want him to land, no less than three hundred strong, so we’re ready and waiting to assist him." "Your territory is in the midst of a waterway," I said. "That’s right. We built a buffer zone on the upper end of the wharf, between those of us who want to be on the front lines and those who don’t. The reason we’re doing that is that we have snipers, well trained and well equipped gunshot-sniper teams on the fringes. We’ll be ready to respond to any attacks from within the city or the territory of others who choose to protest." "I’ll be there," I said. "With thousands of my people," she said. "I suppose it can’t hurt." "We’ll coordinate," I ======================================== SAMPLE 477 ======================================== I glanced at Bitch. She wasn’t moving, still staring down at the ground. The thought had crossed my mind that maybe I could gang up on Tattletale and Brutus. Except I couldn’t be sure that would actually work. People were still watching us, and I couldn’t be certain they weren’t following us, following the storybook ending at the same time we were making our exit through the front door. Maybe we couldn’t gang up on Tattletale because we had to win this fight and deal with the heroes at the same time. We’d still have to find a way to get to Miss Militia and Legend in time. I considered going on record as saying I wasn’t happy with how things played out, but I shook my head as I said it. I wasn’t sure why, but I came to the opposite conclusion that my team was happy. Whatever else had happened, this situation was annoying, wasn’t it? The Undersiders and the Nine didn’t give us any real reason to hold back. If we attacked now, might buy time, get more time to prepare. Attack now and shift our focus to Jack? It was kind of counter to what we were hoping to achieve. Maybe I was stacked in my own way. Maybe I was the problem, the reason things had gone this way. My power, my stupidity, my selfishness, that cropping up here and there, maybe it was part of it. I could admit it, I could maybe even relish the thought. A trophy wife, a villainous enemy, a public face scarred in adolescence. I could fantasize about going after Glory Girl or Panacea and leaving them shaken by my success. But I shook my head. I’d seen people with more experience than I did. People with powers that I might otherwise miss. The twist in your argument, the part that wasn’t making sense, was the idea that the people with the extra power could fix the broken parts. That wasn’t what I was looking at. I was talking about the long-term implications. The ramifications that would arise from actions across the board. I looked at Gully, and I saw that while she’d got that far, she wasn’t sure where the rest of her family was going. Her other sisters had gone to visit, and now they wouldn’t come back until sometime in the next few weeks. My dad hadn’t spoken to me since I’d left for high school. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t been keeping track of the events with my bugs. People were preparing for some emergency plan, leaving their loved ones to die or leave the city if things really got bad. They were helpless, and I couldn’t be sure that was even a healthy situation. "Are they all together?" I asked, to cheer myself up. "Some." the swarm-girl answered me. She sat on the metal walkway, her legs dangling off the end. "Team leaders, clear out!" My bugs disappeared into the crowd, and I could sense Emma, Madison and Sophia making their way out the other end of the walkway. Sophia was close, looking more like a runaway train than a person who was going down a steep incline. Her uncostumed hair was disheveled, dirtied and bared away. When I hissed at her in response, it was almost embarrassed. Not that I think she’s attractive, but… it wasn’t what she should be doing with herself. It felt weird, not just doing battle with a cape that wasn’t even human, but doing battle with one. Having my mind focused on the game on the chessboard instead of the thousands of feet of ground I had to cover? It was unnerving. The three of them gave me a show. As the swarm-person, Sophia captivated the eye with her use of the well-known effect of the butterfly into her hands and the air. Her will was one of the key influences in Whitney’s power. Her will and a failure to follow it were what happened when her real body was torqued and warped by the fictional creature. The effect was so effective that it had earned her the sobriquet ‘the butterfly behind the mask’. Madison undid her jacket, exposing stomach. "I could be the butterfly." Sophia laughed, hopping a little, "Ow. Back." Then she skipped over to get into position. Her sneakers were apparently in the reach of her bare feet. Back when I was cleaning up the area where Lung had been, I had traced ======================================== SAMPLE 480 ======================================== Facebook Twitter Pinterest The.C. ­Militia. Branch. Photograph: Joshua Roberts/Reuters What would have happened if the Martyrdom and Manton events had unfolded in the real world? Potentially catastrophic. In the not too distant future, maybe even within the next two years, we could be talking about wiping a planet off the map. "We" are the local heroes. I noted a number of people that appeared in the video. Not many. Two-six-zero. I’d met people like him, in New York and Los Angeles, not so long ago. Everyone kept their distance, from the self-professed experts on parahumans to the like-minded individuals in the surrounding communities. There were a few disgruntled scientists who I was connecting to, but I wasn’t aware of them. "Who are they?" "Ah, well, there we go. Two members of the Protectorate have broken away from the main group, apparently in protest over the continued presence of the ‘heroes’ in the city. Russell and Gracie are among them." "Ah." "Good to know, but it doesn’t really matter. Let’s move quickly, before the heroes can get a response from the PRT, Weaver. There’s a relatively simple plan we need to implement if we’re going to beat this. Look at the landscape. The whole world is different, with the sheer scale of what the monsters have come up against, and how much ground they have to cover. "The obvious option is to find a world that isn’t so different from our own. That is, a world with the same geography, same climate, same population. Surely, if we’re going to beat these guys, we can’t let them get a chance to show their strength. "This? No. I’m afraid our options are very limited. I’ve outlined a rough map to show you, and you’ll have to modify it as things come up. Look, Weaver, the map shows India, West Africa, the Horn of Africa, the Oceanside sub-region, the Near East, Europe and North America. "Here in the Americas, there are four major hotspots. Oceania, containing Brockton Bay; a largely unexplored world, containing all of the Brockton Bay research and development; the Americas as we know them; and the South American continent, populated by native Brockton Bay residents but also by adventurers and criminals. "This is the real limitation, Weaver. There’s no convenient, obvious world to tap into. The further into the unknown the better, for the following reasons. The world containing Brockton Bay is densely forested, and there’s limited water. It takes a good long distance to swim from one beach to the nearest one, and that is only while within the trees. Beyond that point, the swim is slow and painful, unless one is very strong and agile. The water depths are high, and any access one gets to land is often blocked by the trees or the water itself, which grows less friendly with every passing minute. "For a landmass that is nearly four hundred million people, the Americas are still not fully explored, let alone mapped, measured, or understood. Tarps are not used for falling, aircraft do not have autopilots, and even the oceans are not well mapped or understood. "Once you get past the initial security and patrol measures, you are faced with the learning curve. The first immigrants to arrive in the Americas tend to arrive in one of two ways. They arrive by way of land route, bringing newcomers along as they come, or they arrive by sea, settling places with people who have already arrived. "My map shows two immigrants arriving at the south edge of the map. According to my source, these two individuals arrived with a small cap of natives at the destination city. When asked about this destination, he only said that it was somewhere "they’d settle down", and that most likely the area in California." "So this is it. The big three. North America, Europe and Panacea." I glanced at the woman in the suit, who had a busy expression for an Indian cape. "Sort of ironic," Cherish said. "My point?" "The US and Britain are big enough. Indians aren’t rare, but they tend to cluster in cities. Big cities with lots of people. Places like New Delhi and London tend to have a mix of Indians and Americans." Cherish angled her head slightly, as if looking at the map in the other room. "Where are the newcomers from?" I asked. "I know England isn’t ======================================== SAMPLE 483 ======================================== "Are you willing to move a body part of your own?" "No. I can hold my own with others. One arm, maybe two. But holding on to another body part? Yes." This was devious, Thom was almost certain. How was he supposed to fight if it wasn’t merely possible, but theoretically possible? "And your real body, for that matter?" "I don’t know." "Yet. You’re a living portal. I suppose that makes you more vulnerable to mystical thinking than your wooden neighbor." Theo nodded. "Body part three is almost done, if I can help it. I’m getting tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop." "Aren’t you?" "Yeah," Theo said, pulling himself to his feet. He extended a hand, invitingly, for balance. "You can keep the arm, I’ll get the toe." "The rest of me?" Celia asked. "I’m nearly out of silk," Theo said, "I’ll have a pretty decent one in a bit. Share that with Celia, maybe, and we can form a shared faerie spirit." "I… yeah," Celia said. "You’re welcome," Theo said, glancing at the fire. It wasn’t working, wasn’t helping, but she wasn’t complaining. Fog loomed in that general area, and it was obscured, for the moment, by the craggy hills that were the backdrop to this much-sought-after photo. The fog was most apparent at the skyline that was simultaneously obscuring the sky and being the backdrop to it. It cast the vast majority of the light that wasn’t directly down at the roads and streets, and showed only minimal variation in the darker streaks that were traceable in the air. Only a handful of people were able to see the faces of their fellow travellers. Theos lit up the faces as they pointed, as if their very presence lit a beacon on the horizon, a confirmation that the destination they were traveling to was safe. They reached an intersection and saw a set of stop signs that were etched into the road. There was a yellow, blue and red line, each to the left of the other, indicating an east-west turn lane. There was a faint, quiet circle on the road’s edge, indicating a left turn from the roadway’s perimeter. Right. They were traveling in the opposite direction that Madetravelled. The turn signals didn’t carry any obvious bearing on the situation. The odd thing was, they didn’t really matter. The big plus for the group was that the line meant there was a clear route to the three remaining relay humans. Celery and Foil had been shot, and were still alive. A dozen humans were gathered like shields on the edge of the square, where the fog was most thick. The entirety of the tactical alert, the momentary panic and defence, as the defending capes unloaded large amounts of firepower on the Others. The line was an oak tree, the trees close to the ground were a woodsy, withered mass, twisted poles rubbery in the head and limbs, lean legs and withered branches. The tallest of the trees was the oak that stood three metres above the others, a crown of evergreen growths blown high by the wind, bearing thorns of bone, which incidentally meant they were in safe hands. Made overt of corpses, bearing the piled high corpses of the four living members of the Nine. Including Jack, who had apparently picked a Californian costume over a Japanese one for a more risqué look. The next of kin had been the focus of the attack, but the dead had been reminders of recent events. A reminder of Weaver’s attack, of Cuff’s fates, both big and small. Still, it had been enough to remind them of their opponent. They travelled through the swamp, crossing blades of grass that were almost alive as they moved along the shore. Foil shot thorny spikes at them, and the spikes changed, growing in thickness, surface tension or stretching. The creatures barely moved, other than the position of their blades as they were reeled in. They reached the clearing where the others had been, the same size, and found the same thing. Three clones of themselves, held at the shoulder but not in armspan, standing in a loose half-circle. They were all covered in grass, and some of the clones had mud sprayed into their eyes. Perfect sunglasses. They advanced, aware that the swamp-genesis-bots were there, aware that their numbers were waning with every passing moment ======================================== SAMPLE 486 ======================================== To open the doors of the box, you’d have to step inside, then swing the two pieces of wood from the opposite side, so they sat on either side of the door. You needed a key to open the latch, and you would have to press a specific button against the lock. The moment the two pieces of wood were in position, you could lift the lid, which would release the curtains and reveal a dark world, with only the light of the door separating you from the monsters you had unleashed on the city. You would be assuming the role of Hunter S. Thompson, part of a small cadre of beings who had taken the name The Slaughterhouse Nine. Primed, carefully, so they would be primed for their task. The idea was to prepare, then strike when their task was accomplished. You didn’t need to kill, exactly, but you could. You would, in short, be executing Hunters in more subtle, more dangerous ways. It was a thought that didn’t help the idea of the Slaughterhouse Nine as a concept or as a potential enemy. You would be collecting humans across America, and you would do it with the idea that you’d stop the predators, that you’d stop these predators from preying on the weak, dim-witted humans who kept them in awe. It was an appealing idea, and you’d heard how appealing it was. You’d read and understood manuals on the subject. But you were young, Jackson. Young, Jackson Prince. Two years older than your mother, for better or worse. You’d spent more time watching reality TV than actually being in the field, with the exception of a one-night stand. When your mother returned from the hospital, you’d reveled in the opportunity to share in her misery, to take her frustration out on your brother. You’d watched everything television was suppose to depict, replaced the dull, empty life with the anxiety, the endless schemes, the racism, the antisocial, irresponsible, childish. The end result was that Jackson Prince had consumed almost all of his father’s emotional and mental resources. While he remained physically and sexually abused by his mother, he’d lost much of his father, though he retained much of the woman’s confidence and warmth. He would lose the woman who’d had the courage to speak up for him, a determination that he couldn’t forgive his own mother for inspiring. He would lose the man who’d shaped him, because he was too slow to understand what it meant to be vulnerable. He would sink to a lower life when it came to the slaughterhouse. He’d lost too many close calls, in the course of acquiring only what the newspapers and television reports said he had. Too many in life and in death. And so he had spent his remaining years in a state of war. In the course of that war, he’d grown to possess many of the resources of the Simurgh. For a time, he’d been able to tap the resources of several Earths in a single lifetime. A moment’s inaction here, a moment of hesitation there, and he could lash out. It wasn’t enough, as it happened. He needed something further, something that would carry him through the fight. He gave up on furthering that thought. He knew where he was, and he had to go. Thrice, he left. "I could make you something," Jackson said. "Anything." "I don’t want to be a slave. I’m not going to be a slave. Release me and then you’ll be free." The Simurgh’s scream came again, a frantic, frantic sound, a desperate, desperate request. Throwing herself forward, grabbing the Pendragon as though it were a piggy Bankster on his deathbed, she threw herself into the fray. The fight hadn’t started. Jackson was finding the scale of the threat she was putting to fight, the sheer power of the enemy, and the sheer unavailability of her allies, both in numbers and in degree of attack. She’d been caught off guard, Thanda, Cuff and Vex, and she’d been caught up in a fight that had nothing to do with her. By all appearances, she’d played the role she needed to, played the part well. Then Jackson won. By all appearances. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. She ran, looking for help, Thanda and Vex for help, furthering her own goal of destroying us. The moment she was out of reach, she ======================================== SAMPLE 489 ======================================== It seemed like forever. It was as though the clock just kept going off, except it was my distraction, and it was a distraction we needed. "So. . . you got anything?" "One for each of you. Wonton wraps, burrito bowls, enchiladas for each of us. I got some wraps on my way out, enchiladas for you guys too." "Okay." "Thank you. For hanging out." "I wanted to," I said, smiling. "I didn’t think you’d be back so soon." I saw the fissures in her expression. "Did… did you dig my mention of you2?" She shook her head, "I only knew half of it." "Too bad. If you wanted, we could do it again tomorrow." "Yeah, I’d be back," she replied. It was a while before she responded. I was forced to pick her up by the scruff of the neck, put her in my lap and then push her down. She didn’t want to go, so I picked her up and put her down in my lap once again. I dislodged the papers I’d carried and examined them. An envelope sticker, probably for future reference. An identification card with a serial number. I opened the envelope and flipped it open. Facebook post from a year ago… I read it, then tore it open. My arms were burning from the heat, and my scalp was a hot mark of sweaty, coppery-yellow fuzz where it had been exposed to the sun. I only stopped when I was dry enough to raise my hand and touch my lips to it. Dear David: I want to talk. I don’t know what to say, except that I’m sorry. You’re the closest thing I have to a parent. You’re thirty five, and your mom divorced you when you were fourteen. You moved in with your mother’s father, and you were okay with that. You learned how to swim, and even tried your own blend of judo and kickboxing, but you soon realized that nothing you tried worked for them, androgyne and disappointing. So you ended up on your own, homeless, wandering the cities, experiencing love and failure. You showed up at my dad’s high school, where I was still a freshman. You showed up at my dad’s church, where I was a teenager. There, I met your woman, and we married shortly after. We had a little more money, we had a little more security, and we had a better future ahead of us. You even had a resume, at a time when our careers were still somewhat in transition. I miss him, I suppose. But we’ve been together for five years. We’ve been married three times. I suppose it’s fitting that I succeed where he failed… in bed. But not like this. Not today. Advertisement Your wife, maybe. Perhaps you met her while you were out on a run, or perhaps you married her at a young age and then got divorced shortly after. Regardless, we reconciled over the fact that we had the same last name. We have the same dreams, we are both ambitious, ambitious minds. We both love traveling the world, we both enjoy travel just a little too much, cooking dinner on the beach for a few extra bucks on the Italian nightlife circuit or reading in our favorite bookstores, checking out the sights and sounds that inspire and excite us. We were both women. We were always together. I think even then, I probably would’ve dated you, given the choice. You just happened to be a man. But now I’m guessing I wouldn’t have, given the choice. You? I’d have to say no. I can’t say I would’t have fallen in love with you, given the chance, but I don’t think even I would have guessed you were a girl. You’re pretty, you’re attractive, your voice is sweet, but you sound like a guy. Not really, man." He wasn’t the only one who guessed. The others all turned my way. "No, I’m serious. I’m a bit of a prude, myself, but I think all sexual acts start with the same thing, don’t they? I think we all start with an idea of what the act is supposed to be, and that’s the beginning of a relationship." "I can’t help but feel you’re framing it too narrowly." ======================================== SAMPLE 492 ======================================== Men and women in riot gear were gathered at the entrance to the park, facing off against a heavily armored Cyborg Dragon. The Yàngbǎn had formed a loose group, with the two members from the Birdcage who’d stayed behind, joined by a stranger. They were facing down Jiang Kai, the Yàngbǎn’s representative, and they were backing Jiang up, backing him up as streams of darkness flowed from the dragons flesh and the surrounding walls and beams of electricity danced off of his armored exoskeleton. A distant gust of wind was stirring the snow and ice that had piled up in the street around the building. A twenty-something guy – probably a security guard, out of sight – was making his way towards us. He shouted, "The gold guy is the one that ruined it all!" The Yàngbǎn rounded the corner, gave him a dark look, and then went on with their song, intoning and riffing along to the music while they did it. A few dozen soldiers, cops, Yàngbǎn members and the occasional stranger were gathered in the parking lot, waiting to be rounded on. Some were singing the praises of the hero who’d dared to stand up to them. "True enough, he’s standing up for us," the rapper said, still in the shadow of the building. Not all of them were as righteous as he was. Half of them looked scared shitless enough on the outside, but the reason they were putting up with the thugs and waiting with their cool heads was more due to their sense of entitlement than any real attitude of love, loyalty or willingness to die for their brothers and sisters in arms. A white guy with a costume like the guy’s ventured into the parking lot, glancing around for a moment before proceeding to search for something. He found a package, wrapped it in a bandolier of armor that was probably better suited for tribal warfare. Opening it was like grabbing a weapon from a dead weight. Cutting past the hostility? No, no power was bestowed upon this planet that I wasn’t aware of, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have reasons to hold on to it, after the fact. He found another tinker device and put it in a pocket, then found another. A motion detector and some kind of light seeker. Something to look out for if he was approached for the second time today. "The package I gave you is going to be in your bag when you get back," a girl spoke. Odd, how he had to remind her of the package while keeping the act intact. The tinker was only on site for a short while, so he could keep them going if something went wrong, but the tinker had to be present for anything critical. "Your ID?" "My old one was taken by the Slaughterhouse Nine. I borrowed one from you to replace it." "Good." "Number of people you’ve checked into the shelter? Two." "Shh?" "It’s fine. I’m not sure how trustworthy you are, but I’m willing to believe you’re trustworthy if it means we can keep our end of the bargain." "If it’s that bad…" "We’ll work through the rest." He only had to look at the people in the parking lot to tell them. Butcher, one of the hospital employees, stood up and walked over to the van that held the girl. Grue settled the girl against the wall, and she started walking towards the van. Nice guy, Grue thought. He’d make a good team leader. The pair entered the parking lot and turned off the ignition. Butcher worked the parking brake, and Grue risked his engine in the process. The other guy climbed in with his hands on the window, though he didn’t look much more than twenty-two or thereabouts. Their costumes were different enough that they would be identifiable as members of the group. Butcher wore a black costume with a wolf motif on her chest, shoulders and arms, and straps over her hair. Here and there, he added metal strips to decorate her legs and the back of her neck. She didn’t immediately flinch or balk as she passed through the curtain of strips. She seemed to already know what was going on. "This way," Coil ordered. They walked briskly towards the office. It was quieter than it had been the previous morning. They passed outside the building and opened the door to the outside, where a man in an office chair was speaking on the phone. They settled into the position of a long table and then started ======================================== SAMPLE 495 ======================================== "I think this is a little extreme," I said. "It’s not. If you’re going to try something, don’t do it alone. Inter-group fights are a surer way to kill than to escape. Just take the fight to the other group, beat them at their own game. If they want to take you to the hospital, you’re nearly useless. If they don’t, well, you made a point of escaping, so the doctors can find you a better patient and cure you." "And here I thought you were better at using your power than I was." "I’m not the only one you need to thank, Danny. I think everyone would be happier if you kept on doing what you were doing, and that’s without touching on the subject of the Nine and the way you deal with the press." "I appreciate the thought, Lady Photon. I’m more inclined to believe you, unless you’re lying through your teeth or something." Lady Photon twitched, then collapsed, "No. It’s true. That’s all I wanted to say. I appreciate you telling me to be better, but man, am I glad you asked me to be better. Than I was." "I’d like to think I’m doing you a favor. That everyone’s a little bit better off, off the charts and otherwise." "What are you doing?" "Making the streets safer. At least in the first year or two. We’re nowhere near that dangerous, and the criminals will still be around." "Then what are you doing?" He waited, not moving an inch. "I’m asking several times a day, and I’m checking on my people and checking on the job. What are your priorities, Danny? Just a few things?" "I don’t know." "Your priorities are hard enough to find out on your own, without someone being here, constantly." "I want to be a little bit better, I’m pretty sure. Like you said, I only know about the Nine, the Merchants, the Chosen, but I think I can do better than you. I asked about your priorities, I asked that you fix what you did to my people. I’d like to think I’m a decent person, I’m decent on a lot of levels, but I’d like to think I can do better. I’ll keep trying, even if it means your people die in the process, or if the city burns. I know you’ve got a lot of money, but I have faith that you’ll manage." "I just told him to get out of my city, that I only wanted things to go back to the way they were before, and that I only wanted the things I wanted to have. That maybe I could have made some concessions, made some demands, but in the end I let you have the city because I didn’t want it to be me." She stalked off. He flicked a switch, and the bomb dropped down between us. He got out of his seat, shifted his weight to the other hand and leaned forward to put his face between her shoulder blades. "What would you want, Taylor?" she asked. He looked at her, not sure, "Money? Security? Health care? The food and water we need?" "I want power. I- I’m not entirely sure what I’m willing to give, if that is a realistic expectation." "It’s a good thought," he said. "A really good idea," she responded. Then, his heart in his throat, she added, "Please, tell me you won’t come with." "Not a promise," he said, his heart in my hands. "Not a promise," she repeated herself. "But I don’t think you have a good sense of what I’m capable of. My power, my overwhelming power, I’m not a rational, logical person. I don’t draw the conclusions I should." "You should quit your job, then. Tell me you’re willing to make peace with that, and I’ll reconsider." "I suppose I’ll have to." "A while back, I read some of your files, Voltron, and I had a discussion with one of your teammates." "I don’t know how to respond to that," he said. "It was some time, I think, that you were ======================================== SAMPLE 498 ======================================== "There are a lot of cool kids in this school. If you’re talking strategy, I’m the polar opposite of a Gladiator you know. I don’t think anyone can really relate to how I feel, so they paint a pretty picture all on their own." "All on your own?" I shrugged. She shrugged. "I’m not sure, but I think the kids that do tend to get pretty tribal. They’ve got a leader, and pretty much everyone that’s around them is either cool with it or they find it awfully interesting. Aisha is the opposite, as far as I’m concerned. She doesn’t have a lot of friends, doesn’t really connect with the other kids, so she can be really controlling." "Is she the reason other students are so stressed out?" "Something to ask her," Flechette said. "I don’t really want to talk about my issues," I said, "My issues are more or less okay, now. It’s just, um, uglier. I find myself dealing with other people’s shit. Dealings with other students, drawn to by that constant fucking drama, by the actions of those other teenagers. I don’t like it, not that I dislike other students, but I’m constantly on edge, because I can’t help but see the ugly side of things." "Are you saying that because of how others treated you, or because it was the first time you’ve been around anyone who treated you like that?" "The former," I said. "Right." "What do you want to do about it?" "I… would like to find a way to help. Other than becoming the butt of whatever juvenile joke they think I am, I’ve never been one to take it out on a coworker. Nor would I, as a matter of fact. It’s something I tried to do with the Slaughterhouse Nine, I suppose." "I see." We sat in silence for a few moments. The television turned on, the volume raised. I looked up at Flechette. "We were talking about Cauldron before, and your feelings on the matter, you know." "I used to," I said, quiet. "That’s something I’ll ask you about asap," she said. "Um, not really," I said. "Be honest." "I’m afraid I don’t have much choice in the matter. I suppose admitting it could help you get a fair trial." "So it’s forced," I said. "Or you don’t have much choice in the matter." "You would be surprised how quickly things change," she said. "Doctor Foster is only a matter of a day’s walk from the PRT headquarters." "And he’s already admitting to having played a part in the matter," I said. "Deal with it." "I’ll deal with it," Flechette said. "Do what you have to." "Okay," I said. "I can see where it’s inconvenient, but we should get this done before we get sworn in as a team." "Yes," Flechette said. "There’s no rush?" I asked. "It’s forty-five minutes before I have to report to my superiors. I should be in school for three hours, but I won’t be for five. I’ll call back." "Once you have a sense of where you’re at, you can target different areas," I said. "Okay." "You don’t seem that stuck up, do you? I saw how you reacted to my earlier comments." "I’m not even close to the mark." "That’s a no, then?" "It’s a legal requirement. It wouldn’t be fair to other students, and it definitely prevents me from helping with anything that could go down to the wire. Which means it’s out of my hands. I’m not making any promises I can make with this field they’re using." "Nothing prevents you from trying to do something back then, then?" I asked. "The only things that would be preventing me from trying to help are a) the system and b) the school’s reputation." "Okay." "I’ll ask you to consider this as you pick a school. I believe ======================================== SAMPLE 501 ======================================== Golem let out a long sigh, and then turned back to me. "A letter, for some reason. I didn’t get a chance to sign it. It’s for Jack, maybe, or just him, because he’s been such a disappointment." "I don’t know," I said. "Maybe you’ll get the chance to read it, one way or another. I’ll leave it to you." I stood up and turned around. "And you’ve been pacing back and forth, making yourself a better Jack, huh?" "Just a bit. I’m almost done. Can I get a desk job here, so I don’t have to sit around here all day?" "A desk job? I see you’ve got something in mind. A desk job would mean I don’t have to go to the bathroom, that I could go to classes." I frowned. "Not at this hour. I’m on edge, looking for ideas. What’s your number?" "Call it my office? If you can get in touch with me, can we discuss the matter? I’ll know if I can use the computer to contact my dad, or if it’s something I need to see to myself." "Alright. That should be it." I headed into the office. The Door Brushed Into Motion With A Blunt "Dad?" "Taylor. It’s Erik." My dad’s voice carried across the room. "I’m surprised it’s already happened. We haven’t talked in some time." "It wasn’t your idea, dad. I’m just wondering, has it been a while since you’ve had a chance to talk with Jack?" "Since January, when the Slaughterhouse Nine first showed," I said. The girl at the desk typed on the computer keyboard at her feet. "How’s the talk on the phone going?" "It’s going well. You want to come with? I can give you my cell." "I’ve already told Coil I’ll come if he wants, I think," I said. She punched the computer keyboard at the other girl. "Not fair." "It’s fine. Come on, we’ll kill time and have a chat?" "I’m not having much luck getting any of Coil’s people on the phone. They were all on the other end, I was just left on the other side." "You’re talking to the girl on the other side of the desk, I see. It’s Leet. The computer guy. He was the one who called in the favors, arranged the appointments with the doctors and all that. But he doesn’t like me, thinks I’m a wuss." "I don’t like you, either. Wusses off-camera, off-camera, day." "But you’ve been accommodating. You’ve been understanding." "Being emasculated, bullied. It wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination. I would have made a good sub-boss." "Oh, I understand," she said. "I’m aware. You’re being generous, really. The full story, the full story behind your circumstances, I want to hear it." "The circumstances are more or less alright," I said. "Ridiculous, if you think about it, to have them be like this, after you’ve escaped them. I was more or less okay before. It was a long time before I had the courage to talk to my dad." "I know," she said. She smiled a little. "Funny, I could hear that from you." "It’s very Rei-like," I said. "Rei is the third D. She’s a reactive D. Her range is shorter, her retention power weaker, and she’s more susceptible to psychological stressors. Her ability to see the immediate future is enhanced by her ability to tune herself to the immediate future, to react and re-energize. This allows her to see the immediate future, hear the future and feel the future in much the same way a senseori can. But she emphasizes the former, focuses on the latter, focusing on the present, the here and now. A Rei-clone would be too prone to emotional overloads and mental stress. A resistance to any number of the above mentioned things." Rei, ======================================== SAMPLE 504 ======================================== I could send help, but… this is bad. If Scion killed us all, then what then? Tattletale wouldn’t pick me as a leader. Panacea wouldn’t let me join her team. Panacea’s mom wouldn’t let me join her. So it was up to me. I could have stayed with Panacea, joined the Protectorate and cashed in my chips, but I wasn’t sure I could trust her to give me the answers I needed and still go out with my own badge and reputation. I wouldn’t be able to wear the lead I’d had with the Undersiders, with the pain. I didn’t know what to do. What was I supposed to write? I had these chips, but I didn’t know how to use them. I- I would have stayed in Tattletale’s company, but… I felt like it was stealing, and it wasn’t something I could sell. What was I supposed to write? I tried to think, but it didn’t help. I was a prisoner in my own head, unable to think straight because my own thoughts were fucked up, my own identity a victim of my own circumstances. Recognizing that I was a prisoner didn’t help either. So many things that hadn’t been certainties. Being certain didn’t make things better. It made things worse. I really wanted to like Jack. Leader of the Merchants, having those doubts swirled around me, it would have been nice to have some validation. To know that I could believe it was my fault, that it was my own fault, and that I was wrong. It would have made the guilt thing go away. Except it wasn’t forgiveness. Information. Strength. I’d give Jack five percent of my own mind and five percent of my paycheck. Two thousand and two hundred thousand pounds of conscience. I didn’t have that information. I didn’t have any insight into his mind or how he worked. My power wasn’t providing anything I needed. I was left to rely on instincts, intuition, and whatever other part of me was beingeps to give me the information I needed. But that other part of me… Was it a weakness? An identity crisis? I felt like I was so used to acting the way I wanted others to react, so I was used to reacting the way I wanted others to react. I was adrift in a sea of horrible memories. The girl, the fake, the laughter, the screams, the feeling of disgust and shame I’d experienced, the feeling as if I had let something slip and people found out, and now this. I tried to ignore all of it. I didn’t have the ability, didn’t want to use my bugs, didn’t have the willpower, didn’t have the confidence. I would have much preferred to avoid this conversation altogether, to not be here. But I had to participate. I had to help. I crawled beneath the table and pressed my hands to my head, as if I could get away from this. I didn’t know what I would do, exactly. I could call for a swarm to come to me, try to swat everything that was alive at the sight of my bugs, but I didn’t want to do that, and I didn’t want to do this, either. I’d had a choice to make, and I’d beengrudged myself for putting myself in that situation, like I sometimes did with my other creatures. I’d taken the stance that I’d fight fire with fire, and I’d put myself in harm’s way situations. Because I was willing to go that far. Because I cared about my teammates, about being a good leader. And now I’d have to do something even they weren’t willing to do. Not that I was willing. I wasn’t good at this. This was the kind of fighting they could handle with words. I didn’t have the time, I didn’t have the knowledge, I didn’t have the resources. I had to rely on instinct and gut. This wasn’t about presenting a united front. And like any good swarm, my imagination was ready to impose its will on my head. To ravage my thoughts, to tear at my heart, and somehow I’d always be convinced I’d do something to try to stop it. These were the forces that were meant to distract, to drive me into the corner of ======================================== SAMPLE 507 ======================================== What if I made you hurt, like you did to me?" I thought aloud. "What if I gave you a just cause eviction notice and forced you to leave?" "That’d be your third violation of the team rules. The others being bullying and retardation, respectively." "Isn’t that funny? I get sick and tired of this, and you throw me to the wolves in the hopes that someone will step in and help me? They’re like… children. Like it’s a kid’s movie, like the heroes always win, even when they’re guilty. But I’m not a hero. I’m not a villain. I’m just a kid. Going through a phase." "You’re not even villain or hero. You’re a kid." That caught me off guard. It sounded familiar, but I couldn’t remember a cape saying anything like that. I reread the rules for the next ten times, trying to find the phrase that would describe the tone and tenor of my situation. It didn’t sound so hard to pin it down. You don’t provoke her. Respect her. Don’t play into her hands. "What are you hoping to accomplish, Skitter?" I asked, to hammer home the point home. "Again, that’s missing. The thing that’s missing is cooperation," Dragon said, her voice gentle. "She needs to share the information in a way that’s easy to understand for me, and I’m hoping that if we work together, we can come up with something that only looks intelligent." "I know it’s not going to work. I’m not making any promises I can make with a straight face." She didn’t reply. Instead, she smiled a little, which I took to be a sign that she was thinking about it. Maybe she was feeling a bit defeated. Maybe she was grateful to me for bringing it to her attention. "It’s worth trying anyways," I said. "Let’s talk strategy and potential targets, while we’re getting prepared. Any ideas?" "Anything you want to say? I can come on the trip and talk to the groups, but the important thing is to get the group organized." "Got it." I replied. What did the other groups do? I could imagine them staring at me as I entered the enclosed space, trying to read me and interpret my mannerisms. I might ask, "So…" and I might get a response, but I wouldn’t say anything and I wouldn’t run. More likely that they’d videotape it and give it to the others, to use as an incentive to get everyone to come into the group, since everyone knew it was risky, get rid of me if I made a mistake, or just because it was easier to just ignore me. I should have ignored her, but I had been looking at possibilities, like a gamer might look at a video of a game screen shot, to see the opponent’s actions before the match was even over. If the gamer paused the game to capture the thoughts and actions of the other player, knowing the opponent could react to something I didn’t, something I could dish out that would be of interest to others. I could only read the feelings of the group, through the reactions of their eyes and the other observations they made. But I could also see what Citrine was feeling. A secret, I had to admit. One I’d kept from Aisha. I’d quashed that memory, much as I’d stopped her from disclosing that I was the reason Citrine had gone rogue. I wondered if it was because of how she’d reactedivated the memories. So cavalier about it, so sure she knew, like she’d somehow seen it coming. "We can’t afford to lose anyone in this thing," I said. "Anyone from the group, including your bosses, our superiors and anyone else, for that matter." "We can afford to lose someone," Citrine said. She sounded almost joyous. Then she said, "Er, I meant in terms of currency. Right now? I don’t have a lot of funds. I get where you’re going, but… there’s so much risk involved. Faced with the possibility of years of waiting, companies around the world are shutting down. Governments and legal systems collapse." "And I get to do the same? Faced with the possibility of years of legal fees and the resources ======================================== SAMPLE 510 ======================================== Tears were welling up, but the nightgowns were still on, setting me back another minute or two. Instead of moving, I headed for the window. The train was approaching, and it was high above me. The view was impressive, if blemish-ridden. I missed being able to use my power, before it was too late. I heard the water splashing as it crashed outside. I didn’t have many bugs in the neighborhood, but I had a surprising number, now. Grue radioed, "Let’s drop the walls and dig in close!" I returned to my hiding place, where I remained. I had a handful of bugs, and I began making preparations to move them to the windowsills. My bugs crossed the street, clustering around the scattered computers. No. I still had a chance. I activated the window, then did what I could to organize the bugs within. I still had a bit of a problem, here, because the inhabitants of the street didn’t seem to be a hundred percent in place. Some were on edge, waiting for the coming attack, others had other concerns. I’d have to assume they were watching the computer screens, knowing it would be Krouse who was out there. I found two silhouettes crossing the street, with someone big and burly, a woman that was ski-slipping, and another with a smaller person in tow. I moved a bug across the street, touching my arm, and found myself face to face with a mass of clones. The women were armed, though I couldn’t see her through the rain. One held a gun, the other was armed. The gun woman pointed it at Krouse. "He runs, you fill us in." "He’s just pointing it at everyone," I said. I moved the swarm to the location of the man with the gun. "You’re supposed to follow me!" she shouted. "I don’t follow you." "You’re behaving, by the by. If this bothers you, you can just step back now and I’ll take that as my cue to leave." I studied her. Suspicious, for once. I wasn’t seeing anything that suggested she was a double agent, or that it would be that easy to set up a fake ID. "You don’t have to do this," she said. "It’s not worth it, and you won’t save us any time if we go running to the heroes and-" "Left or right," Krouse said, interrupting her, "Do it now, or you’ll never get any use out of this." She dropped to a sitting position and slumped. Krouse looked over her shoulder, saw the soldiers with the water bottles. He felt his heart skip a beat as he realized what she had done. A false death threat? He stopped himself before he said it out loud. "Stationed false death-defying in case the mayor puts an initiativeative ban on using lethal force." "It’s just the opposite," the woman replied. "I’m very reluctant to launch that attack, if it means we get the cops and vigilantes off my back. And I don’t think it will be worth it." Or it won’t be worth it, Krouse thought, but he didn’t say it out loud. She could. He admitted it. "Honestly?" Cody asked. "Got any guesses?" The woman frowned. "One guess. She was planning to stab us as hard as we could get away with. Get us to play along for her sake, at first, just to guarantee her own survival. Then she’d figure out we’d been using you as a punching bag, and she could aim to kill us. With your power, at the very least." "So that’s why she didn’t do it to you. That’s probably why she didn’t target you. It’s the least she could do, after what the PRT and the Protectorate did to you." "If she had planned to target us-" "She could have. She didn’t." The water spray could be heard as the nozzle disappeared into the nozzle-covered end of the tank. The armored end, Krouse noted. It was different from the metal rendered end of the can. Was it anode-metal, or was it something else? There weren’t any lights on the underside of the water canister. No power or gasps when water was dropped through the ======================================== SAMPLE 513 ======================================== Jack was right. If I waited too long to act, I was left standing there, helpless. I stood, and I saw Alexandria in the crowd, looking intently at Leviathan. She glanced at me briefly, then looked back to the fight. Her momentum carried her forward, and she collided with Leviathan as though she were falling down, knocking him over and placing her in an off-balance position. Leviathan retaliated, thrashing, and occasionally making sounds of pain. Jack took this as his response. His massive, heavy body collided with Leviathan a second time, and he went limp, the water sloshing around him. For an instant, Jack appeared as the only one of his kind. He was monstrous in every sense of the word, a fact confirmed by the ring around his neck, the rings of gold on his arms and torso, the jet-black hair that draped over half his body, and the faint, milky-white glow of his black eyes. I felt a moment’s trepidation. A part of me wanted to explain to Lung that no, Leviathan wasn’t the only one that suffered from personality disorders. That, unfortunately, didn’t go over well. Still, I stood, stretching, the chains of my cuffs pulling painfully on me. I didn’t want to show concern, and I knew it would do me more harm than good. A roaring lion’s roar sounded throughout the area, rising into the sky. Tens of thousands of feet away, a sound like a hundred guns going off. The roar would be familiar, if it weren’t for the silencing effect that would accompany it. I met my dad’s eyes, and I saw only shadows. My throat was clenched so hard it hurt to move. Lung, standing still, his eyes on the sky, rippling with the movement of his mass as he constantly reared up, as if to ward off attack. I looked at Tattletale, and she gave me an odd look. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t use the scalpel until I had a better idea of what was going on. I couldn’t quite figure out what I meant. Cynical or cynical? Was it the latter? Was I seeing what I thought I saw, or was I being unreasonable? I stood, loosening my belt, then pocketing my keys. My flight pack thrummed with an overload of electrical charge, and I needed to find a way of flying over the area without being electrocuted. As I bent over the door, trying to find my feet and one elbow catching on the frame, I felt the handle of the door jolt inward. Again, I was strong enough to fight over it, but this time I couldn’t fight through. My entire body was nailed down, pain and all, in that jarring way that brought heavy footfalls and heavy screams from the rest of the crowd. Lung roared and advanced, setting one hand on my shoulder to ease me into the door. Books were thrown to either side of me to help anchor me, and a shoved print confirmed what I already suspected – I was inching ever so slightly closer to the basement. Lung hauled on my arm, and I resisted the urge to reach out and give him a hug, pressing instead for contact where my hand didn’t meet his. My elbow shook as he tugged at the part of my costume that ended in the sleeves. I did what I could to fend off the shaking of my shoulder, which had been on too many occasions to be the first aid kit. A guy with a camera was posting images on the computer in front of us. I recognized the guy from the pictures that had gone up on the news – the one from the hospital, with my name missing. He was pointing at the camera. "No Anonymous?" Tattletale asked, the smug smile on her face. Leader of the local team, the pretty boy with the mop of black hair, stepped forward, "We don’t know each other’s last names." "Oh, that’s alright. Don’tcha notice how often my name comes up when I try to post on the news? Oh, here, sit, boy, have some company." I tried to move, and my flesh felt as if it were on fire, heated enough by the lack of moisture in the air as the air was pushed hard against my cheekbone that the flesh was red. I was tense, my jaw tight, and my momentum seemed to be slowing, as I glanced down at the photographer. He was talking, and he was pointing at me. I was going to point at him, to ask why he was being singled out ======================================== SAMPLE 516 ======================================== You said people were jerks, but you’d act like that was a choice?" "A lot of kids don’t go out or make friends with other kids. They either don’t date or they don’t go at all. There’s nothing to be said for practice. Even if I was having to say it out loud, I’d rather be doing something constructive than being miserable. Maybe it helps that I’m in the company of good looking kids." "You’re in the company of good looking kids?" Charlotte asked. "Why?" She knows she is in the company of good looking kids because she sees them in their bedroom, or on the streets, idly watching TV. She knows this is just a part of the amusement, the game she’s practicing her power on, her power slipping. Practice makes perfect. "It’s because I trust you," she lied. That earned a glare in her direction. She doesn’t have enough ground to stand on, so she begins researching. "A friend of mine has a kid with Asperger’s syndrome. I don’t know if it’s the cause or the effect, but she has gotten much better since your visit. We were talking about moving to a new town, and she suggested I come along. I get the impression we’d be best if you kept us updated on everything and every eventuality, here." "I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to overthink this. I can keep busy with my territory keeping, but I’d like to stay here." "You do have a job. If you really want to see us, we’re on the phone, E-6. I’ll talk to the mayor." Charlotte nodded. "Where are you?" "What?" "Ward six. There’s a new mayor and a new school, opening this week. The mayor is paying a visit, maybe they want to meet you, whatever the case." Charlotte hesitated. "I don’t want to be a nag, but-" The game was taking its toll. She wanted to help the kids, to set an example and be positive, but she wanted to be there, she wanted the group dynamic to play along, to give more weight to the opinions and ideas of the others, so the group dynamic wasn’t ruined. She wanted to keep Fiona and Ask; friends, companions, even – NC-17 with a touch of crush on the NC-list side of things – human connections. The others didn’t matter to her, as far as the group dynamic went. All the while, she’d been consumed with this mental picture of herself as a group plus, minus and outside the realm of the adults. Now it was complete and her reliance on Taylor went sour. It was over. She’d never be able to return to the life she had known. Surviving motherfuckers. Being a teenager was hard enough, with the grind of school and having to cram every weekend. Being in the group and having them depend on her? It was intolerable. She hated that her life was over, that she had no more friends, no more sources of social pressure to remind her of where she was in the grand scheme of things. She hated that she couldn’t have dinner with her dad, or go out to eat with her friends. She hated that, like she hated everything about her parents, she was ossified to the point that she was accepting of everything else. That emptiness and numbness that surrounded everything, the things she hated in particular, it was building towards an endgame, making it impossible to enjoy everything she had once enjoyed. Everything that had once been worth fighting for and experiencing, now she had to earn and put into proper perspective how everything fell well short of the mark and stumbled from the events that had once filled her with life and adventure. It wasn’t her power, though. It was the thinker power that had given her her ability to work with the terminology. Nudge. Push. Another power that had given her exceptional memory. Not push in the sense of getting what she wanted, but the ability to override and override automatically. That overdriven, reckless behavior had come with a stipulation that whenever she wanted to push, she had to earn it. And every time she did, she came to regret it. Push, Nudge thought, always pushing. Always opportunity lost. The pair exchanged a glance. Her way, the Denali girl had a stronger will, a tendency to push past even the most reasonable argument and any taunts. They couldn’t have told her that. Couldn ======================================== SAMPLE 519 ======================================== TATTOO GIRL #11 Written by KIRK GODLEWSKI | Art and cover by MIRKA SHIKRA | Variant covers by YANICK PAQUETTE, JORGE JIMENEZ and others On sale JUNE 14th • 32 pg, FC, $3.99 US • MATURE READERS The comeback is on! Assemble your team! ComicsAlliance goes to town on this latest villain! Written by KIRK GODLEWSKI • Art by JORGE JIMENEZ and MIRKA SHIKRA • Variant covers by EDUARDO PANSICA and BRUNO REDONDO On sale JUNE 21st • 32 pg, FC, $3.99 US • MATURE READERS Team Covenant hits the books! Meet Reid, the club owner with the weird English accent! Written by KIRK GODLEWSKI • Art by FRANCESCO FRANCAiva On sale JUNE 28th • 32 pg, FC, $3.99 US • MATURE READERS Retailers: This issue will disappear from sale. Don’t miss the second! Meet Reid the Mutant, the thief and gang member of a prominent bookseller! Written by KIRK GODLEWSKI • Art by ETHAN VAN SCIVER On sale JUNE 28th • 32 pg, FC, $3.99 US • MATURE READERS Retailers: This issue will disappear from sale. Don’t miss the third! Meet Roland, the nerdy tomboy with a power ring! Written by KIRK GODLEWSKI • Art by ANDY PARKES On sale JUNE 28th • 32 pg, FC, $3.99 US • MATURE READERS Retailers: This issue will disappear from sale. Don’t miss the fourth! Meet Roland, the nerdy tomboy with a power ring! Written by KIRK GODLEWSKI • Art by MIRKA SHIKUCHI On sale JUNE 14th • 32 pg, FC, $3.99 US • MATURE READERS Retailers: This issue will disappear from sale. Don’t miss the fifth! Meet Roland the nerd! Written by KIRK GODLEWSKI • Art by YOSHI TSUNO On sale JUNE 14th • 32 pg, FC, $3.99 US • MATURE READERS Retailers: This issue will disappear from sale. Don’t miss the sixth! Meet the newest member of the Slaughterhouse Nine! Written by KIRK GODLEWSKI • Art by YASUNTO TSUNO On sale JUNE 21st • 32 pg, FC, $3.99 US • MATURE READERS The sixth member of the Slaughterhouse Nine! Written by KIRK GODLEWSKI • Art by YASUKUCHI KAISHIMA On sale JUNE 14th • 32 pg, FC, $3.99 US • MATURE READERS Retailers: This issue will disappear from sale. Don’t miss the seventh! Meet the psycho killer from Animal Man! Written by KIRK GODLEWSKI • Art by KEN LASHLEY On sale JUNE 14th • 32 pg, FC, $3.99 US • MATURE READERS Retailers: This issue will disappear from sale. Don’t miss the eighth! Meet the brilliant and devious mind behind the brilliant monster, the human being who best explains the monster—" Lashes revealed his face Folded sleeve, Paperback, thick, 7 1/2″ tall, Full color, FULL SIZE This softcover, paperback, softcover, includes index, paging, front cover, and fine art illustrations Blank Preview Pages Cover Price $14.99 • ISBN 9781601119492X The Slaughterhouse Nine have always had a following. Creating a cult following was their modus operandi. They had villains, they had political leanings, they had aesthetic leanings, but they always had a following. That cult of personality had helped them survive the loss of the iconic masks, the spread of the virus, the kidnapping and torture of one of the local heroes, and the end of the world. They might have collapsed under the weight of that alone, but they’ve survived because of their following. They’re cultists because they0ve retained their cult status, they’re monsters because they’re addicted to destruction They weren’t monsters until ======================================== SAMPLE 522 ======================================== Dylan took the time to touch the chain and tab that ran the length of it. He might have been tempted to just tap the ground with his hand and let the flow of the silk jacket carry his entire length, but he was almost happy to let it guide his movements. Over and over, twisting and pulling, the threads continued to drag across the ground, dragging against the pavement and into the sand. "Good boy," she commented. As he grew more restless, she went silent. From her position in the truck, she made her way to the beach and peered over the edge. There was a hand gripping the chain and tab and pulling it tight. If he didn’t work within seconds of her approaching the edge, she would twist it and lose it He nodded and followed her into the storm drain. She slid down the length of the chain and tab and got her sledgehammer-thrust out in one piece. She swung the hammer around until the gut of her costume blocked the flow of sand, then used the resultant section of gut to whack the end of the chain. "Need a hand?" She asked, as she reached the other side of the drain. He nodded and she got her costume over to the point where the fabric at the knee points crossed the knee. She swung the sledgehammer in one direction as the sand streamed past him, then moved it in the opposite direction. "There’s sand in your steps," He spoke, speaking slowly so he wouldn’t choke on the downpour sand. She could hear his boots making their way down the length of the alley. "What-" He started to speak, then hit the brakes, having difficulty lifting the heel of his hand up onto his head. "And in the front door. You’ve seen me take my shoes off in public." He took off his cap and showed her the rear end of his still-covered hand. "Sometimes sand will clog the toilet." She felt a flush creep across her face. How dare he!? She had spent years like this, dealing with bullies and scumbags, and he had stepped in here and into the public eye by calling himself Brian. Surely making the threat public made him a bad person, if it meant hurting people’s conscience? Even if there was no aggravating factor, being made to do something to hurt people? Even if it was just the threat of doing something public that had made him go bloody. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for his part. This was what he had been through, experiencing the high and the lows of the worst period of his life. All he wanted was for things to go back to the way they should be. To go back to how they had been. "I could maybe understand if you’d be a little more firm with me on this," she said. "I’m pretty sure you don’t do this." Brian shook his head. "I’m not going to turn around and attack you. I’m not sticking needles in your rectums or cauterize your wounds. All I want is for things to go back to the way they were." "All I want is for you to go to jail for a year." "Oh, I don’t want that at all," he sounded genuinely surprised. "Oh, I’m willing to see this through to a successful conclusion, just so I can help you in your alliance with the good guys." She looked down at her hands. Blew every time they got scratched. "So ready to surrender? O_O" he waggled the string behind his back. She smiled a little. "Oh, I know. You seem to be getting a clear message that there’s no going back." "Worry not. I have a knife in my hand." He made a face. "Really?" She gave him a hard look. "You’re not going to give me any. You already said no." "And if you do? If you try to force this?" He dropped his hands to his sides, let his head thunk against the roof. "I’ll kill you. I promise you." She shrugged. "If you do, I’ll kill you too. I’m so useless." "Well, at least you’ve got the pepper spray." "I’ve been a villain for three months and I’m still not good enough for you," he spoke. He seemed almost disappointed with himself. Why did she keep making him say bad things? "Because I’m a good villain, and I’m better than this ======================================== SAMPLE 525 ======================================== I raised my own hand, then used my bugs to catch the print I’d made. It’s a stapled to the inside of the muscle. Make a duplicate, I told myself. I formed two hands, using my index and middle fingers to trace the lines that were stapled to the inside of the muscle. Then, with the tips of my middle and ring fingers, I grabbed the bony end and draped it over the lap of my kneeling teammate’s head. I used my other hand to pick her up, then energetically heaved her around, pushing her against the wall, her back against the frame of the door. The door was more than halfway up the wall when I heard a bark from the bartender’s cabin upstairs. I veered around to get a better view, and saw a middle-aged woman dressed in a lab coat and jacket, her daughter standing beside her. Glory Girl was crouched under a carpet of ice crystals, her head pointing towards the wall where the horde of mutants had gathered. I saw the woman who might have been her daughter, with her mouth covered by a paw-tip – Carol. She was looking at the trees, struggling to understand what Lisa was saying. "We don’t know what he is saying," I told her. "Is she threatening us?" she whispered from ear to ear. "Funny thing is, last I heard, she was working with the – what’s the word? – villains. I went to law school with them. Made plans with them. But I think she’s in league with the good guys." I had to stop to willfully move a strand of hair that had been sitting on the back of my neck. I think she knew what I was doing, but I didn’t tell her. Instead, I pulled my finger away, combed it back into place, and kept my expression blank. "What?" the Lab Girl asked. "No." "I’ve never done anything like this before," Trickster confessed. "I had some experience with the heroes on the smaller scale, but nothing that caught their fancy." "Don’t flatter yourself," the Lab Girl said. "Even the upper echelons? The guys and gals who’ve been in charge for a while? They don’t get this sort of thing. We need their help, or they get hurt helping us out." "We need your help," I said, my voice low, "Not Trickster’s help, but the plan." "Why?" "They broke the truce. Even I can’t believe that. But I can’t get the footage, they’re after our heads, and it’s nearly impossible to get the footage without getting killed or afraid for your life, which it very well might be." "We need the footage anyways. The truce." "Didn’t we just make peace with the –90? With the broken truce?" "Same reasons. Fear. Politeness. Weasel. We all saw what happened the last time we went to stand guard in the Docks. There’s a moment where it’s very real, and it’s a time when you realize how small you are, and you have to start making do as you’re small." "I’m sorry." "It’s not your fault, not entirely. You’re small because you’re dicking around when the big bad motherfucker is down, and you’re clumsy because you haven’t fully realized how big your problems are." I fell silent. "Click," Trickster announced. The thin device on Lisa’s wrist began to glow. A button was put on the wrist, and the light flared. "Click," Trickster spoke. "We are changing you." I didn’t need to ask who or why. What mattered to me was that Lisa’s change was better. "You are now," Coil stated, "And you are totally and totally committed to our plans." "Ah, so it’s official. Now we just need to decide where we go from here." "Loophole, senator. I was prepared to pay the full cost of my Cola until you made a proposal." Brian smiled. "Last resort, at least, until we find another way." "I see what you did there. Like you said, there are big guns on your doorstep." "There are. And I have two." "Three." "Four," he said, raising his smartphone. The screen ======================================== SAMPLE 528 ======================================== The moment the duo set foot on the roof, however, things degenerated. Blades sank deep into his flesh, fingers sliding along neck and chest to massage areas. "Jesus," Coil was saying, over the noise from the crowd, "Any reason for this?" The man with the bottle asked in his dazed, noisy voice. "Out of the box, please," Coil spoke, over and over, "Can you hear me?" The man with the bottle nodded. He stirred, but his voice was quiet. "Position your weapon so I can help you," Coil spoke, over and over, "Any more questions, any problems, any complaints, I’ll be in touch when I can help, but please don’t get yourself killed or get hurt while I’m in the crowd." The man raised his weapon, and the crowd parted so the two villains with him could talk to the others. Coil waited until the moment the villain was gone, then he shifted his position so he was sitting on the edge of the roof, his head in the man’s company. In the daze the crowd had been in, hearing the commotion and the buzz of the helicopters and other heroes that were flocking to the scene, hearing the shouts and screams predicting martial law, shouting their support, it caught my attention. I put my hand on a piece of plywood meant for something higher up, and I drew it back into a vice grip. I’d taken the excess shelf off a corner of plywood that was meant to support the base of the second building, holding it by the two nearest corners. I put the vice gripes and annoyances near the edge, where it met the wall. Once the hangman was on me, I was easy enough. I let my upper body drop into the plywood, and then kicked it into a crouch. "You got anything else?" I asked the crook who held my upper body. The ‘hoist’ was another one of those things you did in episode of house call, with the hopes that you got a rise out of the guy, so you ganged up on him. Essentially, I was trying to tense him up so he’d be more willing to let me go, if only because it let me disarm him. The choke was another art, different from the first. It required he be extremely calm, both in the moment and for the duration of the plan. If he was surprised or agitated, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get him to agree to the plan. "Plywood’s getting loose," I spoke, over the noise of the helicopter and the buzzing of insects, "She’ll be in one piece when we get back." "Set him down, Dillon. We can fight." "We’re too tired," Dillon said. "We’ll be out of action sooner than later." "We’ll hold out for as long as the fight lasts," I said. "See the battle reports, play them out on the screens. Use whatever tools we have at our disposal." "We’ll try," he said. It was ten minutes before the helicopter took off. "The man with the boy said behemoth might take a minute to materialize," Grace said. "We’ll ride," I answered. "Clockblocker, I’m guessing, and Piggot too, if she can bring her suit? I ride." "Good thinking," Clockblocker said. "We should run," Vista said. "Ear wax, I’m thinking." "Play along," I replied. Clockblocker didn’t budge an inch. "What is it?" Grace asked. "Idiot tip of week," I said, my voice hard, "Is on the wiki. Part of the rules for the Survivor program. Pretty strict about using pseudonyms. There was this one guy who I think was actually a real person, and he was running with the aid of his power, because the rules said he had to, unless he’d joined the edit war and given us the details on the official English speaker of the island." Clockblocker glanced at the wiki entry. "I couldn’t help, thanks to some research." "Don’t mind Miss Militia," Vista said. "Join us, then." "Can we go?" Vista asked. "My dad’s at the hospital, and I want to see the look on his face." "You want to see the look on his face," I said. Vista moved a small coin into her pouch ======================================== SAMPLE 531 ======================================== On my map the radius of my network was smaller. I couldn’t map it to a particular area or a particular time. The Shifter-class powers had shifted from a relatively short range to an extremely long one. It had probably been related to the Shapeshifters being closer. "I’m on her team," I said. "How did you find us?" Grue nodded. "Borrowed a passenger. Caught him at the end of the street, he was still wearing his costume. Told him to get back the way he came, and gave chase." I noted how Tecton was wearing his armor. The rear portion of his suit had been removed, and he was now barefoot in sand. "Learned him," Grue said. "Yeah," I said. "And we might be able to find him before he gets on another run." "Does he know anything about you?" I asked. Grue nodded, glancing at the men outside the van. "Pretty much." "Good to know. That’s why you called in the big job, didn’t it? Getting the DA to agree to the deal in the first place." "I had a idea," Grue said. "Maybe it’ll even be a resolution to that." I didn’t wait to hear the reply. I had enough background info now, and my gut was telling me this guy was dangerous. Anytime I met him, I had a feeling he’d be more strident, or he’d start something, or he’d lash out. "I’ll be blunt. I’m not sure I’m an asset to this team, now that I’m under scrutiny. We need to reassess our location, evaluate our options." "We," Tattletale said. "All of us. The Travelers aren’t the type to put family members or friends on the bottom of the totem pole. The Travelers are notorious for playing things close to the vest. Atlas is playing it safe, staying out of sight, but knowing where he is, we can’t trust the public to have the information they need to know. Grue and I, well, we’re reckless. We could both fall intoordruppe with something bad happening, but we’re being careful to avoid any untoward events." "And the Undersiders?" "I’m in the offing, as far as I can tell. The leadership is unwilling to sacrifice themselves for this project, so I’m operating as a help, a backup measure." "But you’re a non-factor, here," Grue said. "They’re checking our squads for resources, the Undersiders for weaknesses. I’m one. I have my techniques, and I’ve been for a while. I could explain how I do what they’re doing, but I’m not comfortable doing it that way." "I see. And, if you weren’t the reliable resource they were looking for, would they have gone that route?" "I don’t know. Maybe. I’m open to suggestions." "I read the emails that Coil sent you, after you escaped," Imp said. "He mentions you as someone he might be grooming for a leadership position." Grue nodded. "Talent. It’s there. He mentions a handful of other candidates, saying they have what it takes. What is it you want to do?" "I’m not sure I want to be here," Imp said. "The people I’m really looking at are Bitch and Regent. I want to work for them. That’s as simple as accepting them as they are." "I think they’re well situated," I said, "They’ve got plenty of resources at their disposal, and that’s without touching on the Simurgh’s question, which I won’t be able to answer until I see the other two. But I’m wondering if it would be better to work for them now, in case a better time comes." "If we’re working for them," Grue said. "That’s my concern," Tattletale said. "What time is it? Eight twenty-four?" "The team is split up and preparing for the fight with the Slaughterhouse Nine," Grue said. "I’ll be in a conference room with Parian, Foil, Regent and the two Phantoms. They ======================================== SAMPLE 534 ======================================== Written by: Hartmut Neumann Translation by: Mudblood Analysis by: Roark Analysis by: Roark "The old theories," she said. "Government, it is something of a fallacy, that holds sway in the public mind. Mores and mores, ages, the pressures of power, the desire for status, it is part of a complex web of influences that shape how we think and behave. You, me, most people think in a way that is guided more by social pressures and self-preservation than by logic. That is not to say that everyone with a psychological or psychological condition that contributes to this anomaly is amoral, only that it is more common." I glanced at the others around us, my eyes on the chain. Gregor had finished his beer, and was sipping his own from the cooler in the corner of the room. His forehead was creased in concern as he looked at her. Merope shook her head. "I think you are missing the point." "What anomaly?" "The association. I am really good at putting together sentences that make sense, and sometimes I’m wrong. And I have to be aware that the meaning of what I say is often compromised by the contextual factors." "That’s rather inane." She smiled a little. "I think you’re under-prepared for what you’re about to do. This is one of the most basic and fundamental parts of human nature. We want order, we crave conformity. And because there can be no direct confrontation, there has to be indirect obedience. That is what drives most individuals to seek power, because it allows them to exercise control over others, over society at large. I’m inclined to think you fall into that category." "Which leads me to my next point," she said. "You’re going to be incarcerated, on serious charges. I don’t intend to put you in the dock and send you to the Birdcage. Rather, my lawyers feel that it is best if you are detained for the time being, to allow me to make your case to the courts as a whole. A more serious offense would raise issues of extradition." "Why?" I asked. "Because it may well be that this presents the greatest opportunity for us all, if we are able to obtain a fair trial. The court system is, as I have said, a fiction, created by those who benefit from a system based on lies. And, I should stress, it is not above manipulation or prejudice to consider that, given the possibility, one of us may or may not be a criminal." "And us?" I asked. "You will be tried as a criminal. The charges may well be fabricated, or they may relate to events that took place ten years ago. Ten years ago, I mean. We will be debating whether you were intervened willingly or involuntarily. I must admit I am rather hoping for a fair and lenient resolution to the case, and that it is you who find yourself in a cell with me." "Ah," I said. I couldn’t help but chuckle. "A fun little twist on the justice system." "It is rather amusing, that you should be focusing on the unjust and focusing on the unjustly, Gregor. You seem to have an abiding love for the criminal law, if one examines only your blog." "I certainly hope I don’t lead this city into legalism. There’s no point to breaking the rules like a plague, when I can go to jail and expect leniency for those who oppose me?" "It’s a reasoned position, and I have led a felony by falsehood and deception for nearly five years. I do hope I won’t find myself in a similar situation when I’m requesting that you show yourself in court." I did hope I wouldn’t find myself in a similar situation… She had a look in her eyes that suggested she already knew the answer. One of those expressions that said, I’m not making this any more complicated than it needs to be. "I maintain that those who broke the truce should be punished, no matter who they were. I do, however, welcome the opportunity to meet and talk about other things, if you would prefer." "I understand. You can conduct yourself as you wish, in the interests of the greater good." That said, she turned away from her computer and crossed the room to approach one of the monitors. She spoke into the microphone that sat beside her, "I’d like to ask everyone who watched tonight’s news, what they would want from their elected officials. I know some of you were at the polls, and I ======================================== SAMPLE 537 ======================================== But the door did shut, and Trickster hopped out of the chair to greet the man who had arrived. He wore a black jacket and suit, with a white shirt beneath a blue suit jacket, and a chain around his neck. "I brought you a plate," Coil said. "You didn’t?" "No," Coil pointed in the direction of the coffee shop. "You ordered one of the salads." "Excellent," Trickster answered. He stood, taking the tray, "For both of us." "For you?" "For myself." "You don’t get to eat?" "We have to. Otherwise I don’t know what I would have made." "You’re not a diner, Trickster." "Diner? No. And you didn’t say why you came in the first place." "I wanted to see how you were doing," Trickster answered. "We’re both kind of grounded when it comes to stuff like that." "Grounded?" Grue asked. "You weren’t even last name checked out." Trickster smiled, "Yeah. Um. You don’t look like you’ve spent a lot of time in costume. Really old-school, like you don’t go out dressed like you do when you go out in costume, or what you’ve got on. The way you move, the way you act, it’s all very calculated." "Which maybe explains why you keep getting sent out in costume." "I dunno," Trickster shrugged. "I’ve been bad at repressing our emotions. If you keep us emotionally stirred, then we don’t have the capacity to cooperate. And if we start talking about real vendettas, you know we’re actually less likely to cooperate when masked." "I get it," I spoke. "Just… don’t tell me you’ve spent a lot of time hiding from him." He gave me a look that I couldn’t read. Anger, irritation, disappointment, hurt. I spoke into the computer, "I’ve spent a lot of time in costume. I do what I have to do to go up against the Nine." "Contingency," Coil spoke. "I know you have your places. No, this is an order." "There are no PATs for this," I tried to instill confidence in them, "Unless your orders come directly from the person who told them to be carried out." "I could have sworn I told them to be carried out," Regent spoke, with a hint of panic in his voice. "I could have sworn too," Grue echoed Trickster’s words, "That I told them to go to the bathroom, to be quiet, stay put. I couldn’t be watching for-" "I know," I cut him off. "That’s because I’m just not that into secrets. It’s always been easier to trust my teammate. I’ll be more discreet when we’re in costume. I can’t say who I’m going to be when I get powers, but the people I’m going to be, in costume, are Taylor, Brian, Rachel, Lisa… Bitch." "No," Aisha shook her head, "I can’t. I like you, but I don’t want to add you to the group. Don’t know how to feel about it." "You don’t have to," I replied, still calm, "I really don’t. I’m being nice, but-" "You’ve been abysmal, both on the team and in terms of your individual accomplishments," Grue joined in, "I can respect that. I can respect that. But you’re doing what you did because you’ve been injured, because you’ve been knocked unconscious a few times, and because of the other stuff. I don’t really see the difference between you and the other two." I looked at the others, "Between them, we can probably make it through this until we die." "Good," Coil said, "That’s settled then. Let’s talk about business." Brian folded his arms, "Coil’s claiming he tried to get powers, and he got them instead. I think he’s lying. None of us really get powers, it’s just a theory at this point. But what about the people who try? What happens when Din ======================================== SAMPLE 540 ======================================== The car door opened, then shut again. We’d stopped, her hand on my shoulder, as she got out of the car. "Y-yes? I have a question for you." "Sure, come right now," I said. "Fine, come on. Let me grab my backpack and my laptop from the table by the door. No need to ask, it’s- it’s cool." I led her back into the office, then stood on the corner of the walk-in freezer, between the freezer itself and the door. My laptop was in my bag, the door to the dormer’s room in hand. "Sure," she said. I retreated to the other side of the walk-in freezer, leaving the door open. "What’s going on?" "Need to have a serious talk with the principal," I said. "Damn it," she said. She retreated to the kitchen, leaving the laptop in the open doorway. "Me too," I said, "Going to go talk to her alone?" "If she’s going to be any fun, I’m going to work. Thing is, I’m really craving to go back to school. Six months of classes with no friends whatsoever, I bet." I could see her jaw drop. "You’re serious?" "This is a first for you, and it sucks, but I can deal." I held up a hand, "Right, no, I can deal." She spread her arms wide, a dramatic gesture, "I bet you’re not as excited for the reveal of your crush to see, Ellie." I shook my head, but I said, "I’ll take any tips, let me see if I can avoid the breakup jokes, okay?" She looked back at me, and I could see some glimmers of confusion. A turn of her eyes maybe, or she wasn’t paying attention. I took that as my cue to change the subject, "Another thing? Something to distract me from my looks?" "This outfit, it’s so…" Somewhere in the conversation that followed, there were whispers or words of agreement. My heart sank. "Why? Is he wearing something under that outfit?" It was Carly who answered, slapping her on the shoulder, "He went to some party with friends, just before he dropped off that list. They were talking about what they were going to do and who they were going to invite. He was looking forward to it, but wasn’t sure." "Fuck. Who then asked him?" "Mr. Hebert," Sveta said. Carly turned to look, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. Hebert was the head of the PRT, second in command. Hebert would have been the one to handle the day to day shit of running the day to make sure everything was on the up and up, well in advance. "That so?" Sveta asked. Sveta smiled a little, like a dog would, "A surprise for my client, eh?" "Oh. You’re telling me it’s a hoax?" "It’s a hoax," she said. Plague 12.5 As I said at the outset of this article, I’m not a good liar. At least, I’m not sure I am. When I’m lying, I tend to go with the simplest of explanations. That doesn’t mean I don’t have a knack for the subtle things, or that I’m blind to the little things that connect things together that make it look intentional. It just means I tend to go with the explanation that raises the most questions, when there’s few or none that can completely explain what’s going on." "I was thinking you were a genius when it came to figuring out the most lucrative means of spreading the word about Scion." "Tell us what?" "I can get footage of any witnesses. If they want to go to the authorities." "I get in the police and media to try and verify what you say." "Sure." "The Witnesses will be there. We just have to accept that the lines are blurring between what we know about these guys and what we know about Scion." "Sure." "The relationship between these three could not be more different. The man of distinguished blood and fire, the boy of troubled character, abandoned by his betters, and left adrift in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by ======================================== SAMPLE 543 ======================================== "I can detect them," the sniper said. "With your power?" The sniper shook his head. "With my power. It’s not perfect, but it works." "Give it a try. It should give you an idea of what’s going on." "We run?" the sniper asked. "Through enemies we disintegrate. The faster we run, the less danger we pose." "You’re not even wearing your mask anymore. How are you going to detect me?" "I don’t have access to any data whatsoever. I can’t even see what’s around me." The sniper made his way through the wall. Kaiser stood. "That’s insanity," the sniper said. "No. Yes. We’re close to the edge. Look for an exit in the floor." "There’s a hole in the ceiling," Golem observed. Kaiser glanced down, and he realized the sniper was there. "Careful!" the sniper said. "There’s a sniper on the roof. I can’t take your helmet off. Take it off before you step through that hole!" "I’m not going to let you," Golem said. "If you want to get rid of your optics trooper, I won’t object," the chancellor said. Her ornate, slightly mangled mask was composed of many pieces, much of it still stained the blacker the better. "But you’ll have to leave the chancellor here to deal with him." Golem looked down at the chancellor. "The… fuck?" "Sveta." "What?" "He’s counting on her. If you step through that hole, you’ll kill her." "I know. I saw the specks of light as she reached the other side. I wasn’t paying attention at the time. But now I see why. I opened a portal, and as I left the doorway, I gathered all the bugs in the world, to make the most out of the moment." "Or maim." "I don’t follow." "It doesn’t matter anymore," he said. "This is madness. The only ones laughing are the ones we left." "You’ll have to give evidence," she said. "I hope you leave," he said. "If you leave. If you leave, no further details. I will keep you posted." "I’ll leave," she said. "At present. We’re counting on you." He sighed. "The number three. Three questions." "Q4?" "Yes. The chancellor’s deceased." "I see." ■ "Sveta idolizes princesses," the sumbitch said. It was an odd statement, given the creature’s predilections for individuals who were aggressive or manipulative, but the creature accorded them a status infrequently enough that it could be accepted as such. Sophia Loren was an exception, as attested to by the relative nepotism of the name and the creature’s apparent preference. The chancellor’s pet was Rime, a poltergeist-summoning faerie. No other entity ranked higher than her. The pre-Siberian system was being disrupted by the visiting party. Too many were out of sync, too much in accord with the minor players. "Yes," he said. "Of course. Count it as your guilty pleasure that you helped them, yes?" She looked at him. "Sin." "You worship a goddess of revenge, right? He’s-" She shook her head. "He’s what?" "A warlord. He’s the one who takes the most effort to get what he wants. You join him because you want to be like him, to take charge, and then you make it a mission to eliminate rivals, to take revenge for those that you consider your enemies." "Yes. But what about the people you hurt?" "I’m a killer," she said. "And I’m not ashamed to admit that among the people that I hurt were parents, teachers, teammates and, well, you." I could see her expression change at the memory. She covered one eye with her hands, as if she was fumbling to find it, or maybe she was seeing the lie in the argument. It was obvious to anyone who followed her career. "I hurt them because I was angry ======================================== SAMPLE 546 ======================================== There are times I wish I’d stopped. There are times I wish I hadn’t labored, that I hadn’t spent years exercising my power and refining my strategy with every passing day. I’m not so attached to that focus. If there was another focus, if I had another discipline or game plan, I might change my approach, avoid doing what I’m doing now. I’d have less time for screwing up. If I had another weapon at my disposal, perhaps? If I had the courage? I might take a step forward." He waited, feeling the tension in his body. He took his time, then made his way over to the kitchen. He removed the water coolant from the computer, then poured a generous amount of sugar into the cup. He handed the cup to Imp. They drank in silence. "It doesn’t taste like home," Imp said. "It doesn’t," Grue said. "Well-" He stopped. The computer was now turned back to normal. He had a large computer with a black background. Tattletale stood, and Brian joined me halfway, facing us both. I think she saw the change in her creator’s body language, and shifted her weight slightly to the right. Alec was a little worse for wear. I’d been so distracted by what Bitch had said, I’d forgotten to watch out for the bloodlust. Grue wasn’t in his light machine, so it was safe. I wasn’t either. Brian emptied the cup of sugar into the freezer. As the door clicked shut, he said, "Grue? Alec? I’ve been thinking, maybe it’s time to move on from-" He paused, glancing at Bitch, who was still standing. Her forehead was a little turned toward the door. "Yeah? I already said." "Yeah?" "How fast can you pull yourself together? Into the good graces of the teachers?" "I’m not the type to pull myself together, you know." "You remind me of someone." "I think I already mentioned how I’ve- I’ve drifted away from my original goals. If I can at least try to resemble my dad, a guy who went to grammar school with me, and who influenced me in some way-" "I don’t want to think about it." "Incest would be a better way to start," I said. "It doesn’t matter," she said. "I’m not in an advanced stage of any of that." "Your dad?" I asked. He shook his head. "Around the time I started paying attention to what I was doing, itook. I went from being very careful about what I ate and drank to being disgusted with myself for missing school so often. I dated a girl who used to be a couple of hours older than me, and we had a falling out. The schoolwork started to go, and I saw myself as being somewhere between the students who were being expelled and the ones who were suspended, depending on the day. I was fine when I was somewhere in the latter category. When I was away from home, though, I was always disappointed. I didn’t have the confidence in my father and mom to go to school, and I didn’t have the finances to put food on the table or pay rent. I always hated myself for it, but I didn’t have the willpower to keep doing what I was doing and keep returning to the same routine." "You have the nerve to be angry," I said. Alec continued, "When you do well, you focus on what you do well, forget the rest. When youre bad, you make excuses, justify it all with studies and the like. It gets to the point where you look down on others and think they’re less human than you. Even when you were new to the gang, I had a hard time believing you were one of the good ones. It wasn’t that you weren’t, you were just… you." He stopped talking, and I saw that he was staring at me. "What?" I asked. "I’ve got a thing for older guys. A-" "I’m not a kid anymore. I was seventeen when I started dating Emma. I’m not an older guy anymore. I’m looking for someone older, you know?" "I do," I said, with enough emphasis that Alec understood, "We have projects, and this is the time, as far ======================================== SAMPLE 549 ======================================== After all that, after the bomb detonated, with half the world gone? He’d still survived. He was okay. He was in one piece. He wanted to find out what had killed the cape who’d been after him, what had been holding her back. The explosion had been part of a much larger scheme. He’d heard the commands to retreat as soon as possible, knew it would mean less danger. As they retreated, they’d broken ranks. This was one place where they’d separated sufficiently that they could hide in a building, a tangle of limbs, a heap where they were unable to support one another. They were nearly at their destination. Then the explosion. A tinker with an armband near Tecton and Grace resuscitated most. The others were getting help from the defending capes. At least they weren’t dead. He felt a crushing disappointment. He’d counted on the Yàngbǎn to help, but they hadn’t shown. There were more capes to help. He’d asked Aisha to send people her territory, and she’d agreed. Grace, Tecton and Aisha’s sister, Aisha transmitted to the others. The Yàngbǎn couldn’t defeat the scaled analogues. They’d fled, and the scaled versions of the capes were the ones who had remained. A whole squad had been left, and they were holding positions, on the ground, with only a small minority controlling the outer perimeter. With the sheer power at their disposal, they’d managed to create a storm machine. Six feet in diameter, it was connected to a cloud of darkness that was expanding in every direction, with a forcefield surrounding it. It was set to deploy the second the teleporter appeared. The alarm would sound the second the explosion occurred. He watched, aeared it, to see if the alarm was suppressed or if there were any cues the sentinel need to pay attention to. And he sensed the preparations being made. Shaped shapes taken from the clouds above, the forcefields, the formation of larger objects, even the formation of distorted space, arranged in a rough half-cube. A heavy hand? A collimator? A master-antler hybrid? The ones in the center created more of themselves to form themselves into two rough replicas of the cube, then struck simultaneously. What was that? a sonic weapon? A sweep of his arm, and he perceived the scene in a way he couldn’t with walking. He momentarily lost his control over his own body, and was forced to push his others away as gravity did the same. Two at once? No. Two hovering in the air? He shook his head. Neither afforded any solid information. A car sliding across the road? A nudge from Grace, no. Motion sickness, he supposed. Still, he sought out Aisha. With her help, he made his way to the inner sanctum of the temple. Inside, he entered the bedroom, knocked. The only response was a jumble of sounds, including the beeping of an answering machine. "Are you hurt?" Grace asked. "Didn’t want to interrupt," he said. "But it’s too late for that. I can see it on their faces." "They’re hurt. Tell me what’s going on, and I’ll know what to do." He got the message. Moving again, he scaled the stairs two at a time, slipping on the frost-slick stairs, tucking a small pouch of money into his left sleeve. Grace gave him the middle finger. He arrived on site in a nearby alleyway, a lantern in his hand. Checking his watch, he said, "It’s seven-thirty." "Okay," Grace said. "If there’s damage, we’ll need to get in touch with the Protectorate." "Eight," he answered. "The train is at the yard. We’ll be in touch, but we’ll need a vehicle." "A vehicle would be a bad idea," she said. "It would mean we were moving faster than we had to, with too much space between us. We’d be drawing attention to ourselves, and we’d be drawing attention to you. That’s a pretty hefty luxury cost of a one-way trip to get where we needed to be." "It’s okay," he said. "Me neither. But it’ll be ======================================== SAMPLE 552 ======================================== Best Friend," Aisha murmured. The newspaper clattered to the ground. I saw Brandish hurrying over to the window and looking out, in case people were still in the lobby. I saw what she was looking at. A man with a sword on his hip, one hand raised to wave towards the crowd. "Man with media with sidekick, media not yet got there" I thought. So these guys weren’t just neutrals, now. "96% clear?" I asked. "The Birdcage, or the North end, if you want to call it that? No casualties, no issues, no protests, as far as we can tell." She nodded. "Tattletale?" "Roger," Tattletale said. I turned to her, and saw her expression as if she wanted to stop walking and return to the fight. No. I needed to focus. "Guys on the ground?" I pointed. There was the briefest of pauses, too brief to track in the shifting chaos. "Weaver," a voice said. "Mm," was all Regent could say. His throat was already suffering from the strain. "They are going after Golem. Tattletale says they want to stop him," I said. "We can make use of that." "Kismet will have to take care of him," Regent said. "Unless she’s got a really hard time of it, then we leave it to her. Let me know if anything goes wrong." "The remaining two are… suspiciously unco-operative," I said. "Vantage and Ferocious. I take it Tecton knows?" "I do. I’d like to stay close, and talk over the general situation with my people, see if there’s anything I can do to help." "I can’t do that," I said. "Because of you, I’m pretty sure that won’t happen," he said. "And I can probably make more progress against an Endbringer in a day or two than I could with you sitting here." "Sounds like a plan," I said. "It is. Listen, I’ll handle whatever comes to my left. I just want to know how you’d handle this in the short-term, and how you’d handle everything else." "You won’t have time to work with me in the long-term, I’m afraid." "I’ll find someone worthy. Perhaps a romantic interest in a different state of being? A therapist with an insight into your psyche? I’ll succeed, and you… will reap the rewards. You will have rebuilt your reputations, and it will serve as a buffer for what comes in the future." I sighed. "I can’t say anything for sure, but I’ll be with you in the field, whether I’m with you now or not." He waited, staring at me. No choice but to agree, after the silence that had surrounded our discussion of fighting Endbringers. I’d told him I was careful in how I put my identity out there, that I wouldn’t put myself in a situation where I had to protect someone, and that I would act only in ways that were compatible with my ethics. "Then I’ll remain here, in case things get worse," he said. "And yes, I’ll take you up on that bet." "Fine," I said. He glanced toward the portal station. "Farewell, Tunstall." I looked at the portal man, who gestured to the stairwell. "He was right." The light was intense, poring through the gaps in the cloud cover. A portal appeared, and I was the only one who stayed. A minute passed before the portal opened again. I could feel my heart in my throat, and my mouth was open, I could barely speak, let alone move. I felt numb. Glancing up, I could see tears in the corners of my eyes. And then it was just me and the light, a silence, the sound of the wind. I felt my power stirring, at the very least. I could see it, in the stirrings of the wings that had split off earlier, or the ripples of energy as it ran over the surface of the water. Scion’s presence. I couldn’t do anything about it. My only option was to use the entity as a gun, to use it ======================================== SAMPLE 555 ======================================== Started with guilt, I think. Broken friend, shattered self. Came to Brockton Bay with the idea of getting answers, revictimizing my ways. How had I not treated you guys like that from the beginning? I know I did. Your member for the fight, former member of the ABB. Your powers are mysterious. Your power is a jolt, yes? It was what pushed me to get out of that apartment, to confront you. You left, made an excuse, then joined us. Left me in the lurch, ready to run any moment. I’ve spent far too much time around you to be feeding you lies and acting like you’re in love with me. You don’t fit either of those categories. You left, took up residence with some of the ones you’ve injured. Your injury, I can believe, but my gut tells me you left because you were hurt, because you were hurt you hadn’t been able to articulate, and you felt you had to do something to prove to yourself. But you came back, and you’re back, doing what you did before. Wearing us like a damn good girl. You want to know what happens when this all blows over? I’m telling you, not telling you, because I don’t want you to know what I’m doing. I’m calling you Spruce. Demon name if you want to insult me further. But you can’t do that, can’t do the things you did before, because of a fucking horned mask and a chainmail armored suit with a giant wheel on the back of it. You can’t do it because training is a bitch. You see, the thing about training is that you learn by doing. You try something, and you get a steady paycheck, you move up the ladder, and then you make the transition to being in charge of your territory, see that territory become a norm. You see some shit where you did something wrong, where you gained nothing from doing it, and you look back and you gush over how you could have done it better, have more confidence in what you’re doing now, view everything in the larger context of your life, your career, your family. But when you transition from trying to be the next guy or gal who got all the attention at the recess to being the next guy or gal who got all the funding for training, you gotta make do with what you can get. Three strikes, you lose your money, you get burned, or you get looked at fondly by the boss. I’m telling you, don’t feel guilty about taking charge when you start the shift the same way you ever wished you could. Train hard, make damn sure you’re in top physical shape, because if you are, you might just have what it takes to become the next Justin Beiber." I could see the frown crease her face. "Take care of yourself. Take care of your kids. Exercise is key. And don’t forget to protect them from the shit tests. I say all that not just to you, but so they won’t have to endure the bullshit of the school day. Play safe. Trust me when I say I’ve been there, suffered like that. Fitness, health, safety, you name it. I’m not doing anything different than I did before. Even if I get the superhero training, I’m not doing it to look good, I’m doing it to have peace of mind, to have more time to myself. Have more time to myself means I can be happier, more confident, more myself. More myself means I can protect myself, be safe, comfortable and sane. Better than having to fight to protect others." She set the cups down on the table, ran her hand through her hair, then returned to the table with the urn. She took the paper out of the wrapper, as if she were emptying a canister. "You won’t be unscrupulous, but you will feel better, after doing what you can to help Scion. More yourself, means you can live a long life. More yourself, means you can have all of the above." She flipped through the paper, glanced at the envelope, then put it back. She flipped through it again. "I got the gist. Sorry if I sound a little strange." I took the paper, not really feeling much except my pulse, breathing a little easier. I handed it to her. I don’t know if it’s for her benefit, but maybe it gives her perspective she didn’t have before. Maybe, just maybe, I can ======================================== SAMPLE 558 ======================================== I looked up. The visor of the other helmet had a couple of stragglers who were speaking on the headset. One of them was giving me a thumbs up. Dragon spoke, "Tattletale, we have a trace of—" She broke off as the woman in the suit with the phones rang her doorbell. Tattletale answered. "Registered?" the woman asked. "She asked me to." "Who is she?" "Skitter, leader of the Undersiders." The woman looked upset. "I don’t understand." Skitter. I spoke up, "Our resident idiot." "I don’t understand either," Taylor repeated herself. "If you don’t mind me saying so," I spoke. There was a pause. Taylor briefly looked at me, but she didn’t say anything. "If you don’t mind, I’d like to go over the main points. The truce is still in effect, at least as far as our side is concerned. We’re under the impression that the heroes are in a position to enforce it, so that’s good. It also means I can ask questions and ask Lisa things about the protocol, if that’s what she wants." "It feels a little bit redundant, with the way you two are related, and the fact that I’m pretty sure you don’t understand what I’m saying." "Can we talk about it while we’re in costume?" Taylor asked. "I wouldn’t tell a soul," I replied. "You don’t agree with this stance you just took?" one of the villains asked. "I do," I told him. "But I’m in a position to be indirectly responsible if things go that way. I’m in charge, and I’m also the reason the plan is working." "And you’re only pretending to keep your end of the bargain, out of spite?" "I made a deal with Coil, with the idea that he’d keep me in line, provided I went along. It wasn’t for personal gain, just to ensure I was kept in line. I broke that bargain, and I’ll pay a price if I’m not careful." "The spark," one of the villains said. "A spark," Tattletale clarified. I made a mental note of that. There were a lot of people here, and even numbers of people in the thousands, even some cape numbers, it didn’t quite add up. "A lot of people are going to lose their minds over this. I’m not so sure we’ll be able to keep this information from reaching others." "I hear you’re upset," Tattletale said. "At first, that’s good. I’m glad you’re upset, but I’ll give you that while you’re on the up and up. First things first, you need to get over your fear of the dark. It’s real, and you can have it made out of anything, including your families. You also need to understand that this isn’t a plan that should be attempted by those who aren’t squarely in our camp." "You don’t give me much choice in the matter, do you? I’ve gone from red in tooth and claw to blond and everything in between." Tattletale extended a hand, saying, "I’ll get the door." The door did open, though, presumably because of the fact that Tattletale was leaving no option but the door to the party to continue on its merry way. One of the Travelers held the door open for her, apparently unaware. I glanced at the others, and my eyes fell on Foil. She looked surprised, even. I elaborated, "I think it’s probably time to cut the banter and get to the business. I’ve had my eye on the Undersiders for some time, now that their leader has more or less retired, and I’ve been gathering information from you and your subordinates. I have put a team together to put together a counter-plan, and I have not been forgotten about, despite the fact that I am apparently absent." I could see Foil’s eyes widen behind the lenses of her mask. "A counter-plan?" Foil asked. "You can’t blame me for being cautious, right?" I shook my head. "I would never let you ======================================== SAMPLE 561 ======================================== I gathered my bugs, drawing them through the portal. It wasn’t nearly enough of a number, but I had a few hundred in there. I didn’t hurry to send them back as I refueled. I doubted my ability to catch up. The steam finished revving up, and we both heard the crunching of the metal sheets as they began to regrow.<|endoftext|>Housing and housing supply companies are operating like rogue artist and entrepreneures, resettling everyone from aspiring film makers to hot-shot car dealers, creating jobs and construction projects and buying up properties. As with any rogue artist or entrepreneur, there is a fierce competition among neighbors for the tenants and the construction crews. This competition, in turn, requires that crews be hired in excess of the usual, with no unfettered access to the workers or the property. This leads to the question, who is hiring whom? As with any construction, there are always workers willing to work for a lower salary, with no guarantees that things will be easy or comfortable for the tenants. This makes for an ugly situation when tensions rise or property rights are violated. While working as a team, a group of local businessmen recruited a group of rogue tinkers to the project. These same rogue tinkers then hired a group of young upstarts to defeat the other factions and protect the property. In the process, they established a rival group that is distinct from the other groups in that it does not operate in waves but breaks rank only when it comes to fighting for the betterment of the neighborhood. This means it practices violence and raids in secret for any and all looters. This not only makes it a prime target for anyone who would prey on or interfere with the people within, but it makes it a prime target for the Protectorate and Wards. It should come as no surprise that Brockton Bay has some of the most powerful heroes in the world. With the fourth strongest Protectorate in the world and the third strongest team in the world, the Wards are the envy of the city. As such, it is customary for the local team owners to hold a competition to select their own heroes. This ranking is done not by testing your powers on the PRT exams, but by choosing the team you would be on and proving your ability as a member of the team. Topping it off, any money earned will be put towards team supplies, games, prizes and other benefits. Unfortunately for the good people of Brockton Bay, there are some shady characters out there that are better at manipulating this system than others. For this reason, the Brockton Bay team owners strive to have a ranked counter-team for the unranked outsiders. This makes it a little more difficult for the local heroes to fight the various groups as a whole, without almost 100% control over the situation. This makes for an ugly situation when the local Wards team is competing with the other local Wards for the same locals that are trying to deal with the parallel New York group. Enter Join, a young rogue with strong ties to the Team USA team. Born in Russia, she arrived in the States as a teenager and has spent the last three years traveling the country to join the organized crime families. It is said that joining the Wards is the equivalent of being a gunshot victim. She boasts that she has, over these last three and a half years, killed three men, allegedly with her fists, and wounded seven. She has met the President of the United States, has played a role in the capture and conviction of others, and has even a claim on the services of one of the villains that led us astray. Unfortunately for her, there is little to no proof she is who she says she is. Join has, until very recently, been operating in the shadows, selling the services of hitmen to the highest bidders. Those individuals that can afford the premium price will pay exorbitant amounts, and those that cannot will pay very little. The lowest bidder will receive a message stating their order will be placed for pick-up at the Wards’ Headquarters. In the unlikely event of an emergency, Guardians will be called in to provide help. Join will not be taking the offered bribe, and if he arrives to find his teammates murdered, he will not be offered a bribe is there really? My delegation will include some familiar faces. Let’s see… Miss Militia. (AUDIO GRAPHICS) She arrived a little over a year ago, and has maintained a distance from the fray. In the time that we’ve been exchanging words, she’s primarily been renting out her facilities to other groups. A group of traders who specialize in collecting shells have been operating in Brockton Bay since the ABB collapsed the city. Using the shells to finance their operations, producing and keeping a steady flow of the commodities their customers desire. They don’t have much cash to their name, but ======================================== SAMPLE 564 ======================================== A whirlwind strike of blows. The bastard couldn’t really move because of the damage he was doing to his own body. The Mako’s tail bit into his face, driving him down into the ground, the woman bent to batter the puppy into the ground a second time, driving both of her paws into Bastard’s midsection. Bastard growled, deep in his throat, his head turning in the direction he should be looking. The tail snaked around her fingers. That was the hard part, when it came to the brain. The rest was down to the bugs. The little decisions the bugs made, forming complex mental images, it somehow didn’t help. It only made things worse on the inside. Every time the bugs went to sleep, I lost a few. How was I even supposed to fight when I didn’t have any idea what I was doing? On the outside, it was as though my mind and body were a series of fine wire, and every movement made the wire stretch and shorten at a whim. The moment I focused on something, it was severed, torn from the rest of me. If my power was that big, then maybe my body was the same. If my organs were that big, too, then maybe my brain was big enough. I couldn’t think straight, or I’d be unable to move them, or I’d be unable to take in the full extent of what I was putting my mind and body through. If I was that interconnected, and there were those myriad of billions of me, then my mind was a subset. A single point in time could have a lot of constituents, and each of those constituents could be exerting pull on me. If that push was even subtle, then the effect on me as a whole could be reduced to a few simple actions, a few consistent with a set plan. If I was that disconnected, then whatever plan I came up with simply served to scratch the surface of what I could do. I’d be sitting on a precipice, and I had no idea what I was doing or how I could use it. My hair blew in the strong wind, and I could feel my hair whip around me, floating. It wasn’t that strong, but it was a curious sensation. The strands seemed to unwind as I relaxed them. I couldn’t stand to lose them. I pulled on it, not long after I’d pulled it on. The sensation was kept in my head by the biting wind, and it was this that kept my attention. I focused on getting my hair into a ponytail again, by drawing the nape of my neck back. It was a distraction, even an addiction now, but it was a distraction nonetheless. I finished up, and we got our luggage out. I’d read somewhere that combing your hair wasn’t the best idea. Kicking it into a ponytail wasn’t either. We’d packed much of the equipment we would need, including our hairpieces, into one of the sleeping bags. The thing got worse with the movement of the sleeping bag, and I connected my fingers to my scalp to prevent it from folding in on us. Alec bent down and used his fingers to comb my locks into a rough ponytail, a signal of my social niceties. "You have bad hair," Alec said. I felt reminded of something, but I wasn’t at fault. It was a bit of a turn-off, in a way, because we were normally so content and silly together. I liked Alec more because he was pretentious and because he put other interests before people. I found myself missing him more. I was more solitary now, and the mere thought of people made me very, very alone. The bug girl, also known as Throat, had been with us for less than an hour. She’d been waiting for us at the gate of the hotel, and she’d had enough information on who we were and what we were doing here. She would have been the one to tip us off about the Nine’s coming. We were off to a bad start, having to get underway with our plan despite ambiguous clues from the bug girl. I was glad for the distraction of a call from Tattletale, though. The fireworks show had started more or less straight from the start, and neither I, nor my half of the television, were willing to linger to catch the last minute show. It was too much of a fight to face the overwhelming threat from the Simurgh and her Dragonslayers alone. I headed to my room, then lay down on my front steps with my arms hugging my legs. Half an hour passed as I ‘took a ======================================== SAMPLE 567 ======================================== Both me and my bugs were engulfed in a dense cloud of bugs. I’d been using my power to scout and track my surroundings while my bugs had served to form a defensive line. If Bakuda wanted me, I was willing to risk putting myself in the line of fire. I bit my lip and focused on scouting. Just past the perimeter of my rooftop lair, there was an open area with a very wrinkled looking building. A restaurant? Interior decorations had been cut down to size, indicating the main area was still being developed. A neon sign blared in English, followed by the number 12. I made my way towards the sign, and saw the layout similar to the interior. Developmental or political? What was the point of a ‘development’ if it didn’t lead to something? Same approach I’d used when dealing with the armored suits: close enough to blur out anything that wasn’t essential. I kept my eyes shut and extended my arm, gesturing towards my hand. The sign on the door had been slashed with a knife. It wasn’t a very high profile slash than the one by the criminal that was guiding the firebomb down towards the building. More likely that the two criminals who had entered the building that morning, with their sick sense of humor. The signs that were still intact covered the area around the building, and there were still people who were inside, working, sleeping, dead inside or tending to their wounds. I’d known in an instant, I thought. I’d sensed it, even if I couldn’t see it with my own eyes. That was the most important thing. People were still here. I didn’t want to lose a person for an instant, not when there were others in the building. The second sign flickered, going out shortly after. I waited until the flames had mostly gone out, and began the slow process of pulling people out, checking everyone else was okay, then helping them to rise out of the area. Within seconds of the first casualty alert going off, other casualties began to appear. A civilian, bloody and burned, a business partner, burned but not badly injured. More people joined the pair. Six people in all. "Hey," a girl’s voice cut through the silence. "You got hurt, I got hurt." "Yeah." "You got hit in the throat?" I shook my head. "No. Have to take my mask off." "Keep going. We’re not going to the roof, are we?" I shook my head, still refusing to cooperate. What could I say that wouldn’t spoil our pleasantries, and what could I say would risk having my mommy or daddy find out who I was? "Your name?" "Taylor." "Okay, cool. Just name somewhere safe." "Okay." "Were you there?" I asked her. "I don’t know," she said. "I didn’t see anyone, so I went back to my room." I was about to say something to steer her back to the doorway, but she gave me a hug, resting her head against my shoulder. "I didn’t know you were there." "No," I admitted. "I was. I wanted to ask." "You don’t have to be a big guy to cry," she said. She took my hand. "It’s okay. I’m not going to push you or make you do anything." "It’s not, really," I said. I glanced at the pair of heroes. I wasn’t sure who they were. "I just… it’s cool. I don’t have confidence in my abilities, like I am with my powers, so whatever. I can take it, I can concentrate, and I can maybe stop some damage, if I’m lucky enough to get a chance to use my power." "When was this?" "December, before I had my trigger event." "That makes it less likely that it’s connected to Tinker-seven." "It doesn’t. I was at Cornell, after I sent the first message. Pretty sure it’s related to Echidna, but I didn’t know the details or the composition of the swarm. I was at the library, and a colleague introduced me to him. I was there when he subjected me to the milieu I had been so nervous about expressing in advance. The first time I had a chance to talk to my dad afterward. You know, the first time I mentioned it." " ======================================== SAMPLE 570 ======================================== Is that a good thing? Does it undermine my argument if I say that there are better ways to approach this than this? If I can’t convince you, then what does that do but leave you with a feeling of dread?" I almost shrugged, but decided to keep my mouth shut. The more I thought on it, the more I was inclined to think that maybe I should. "Okay, so I’m going to start off by saying that I don’t like or dislike any of the heroes or villains that are currently occupying this city. That’s simple, I think, when I look at it from a whole different perspective. As far as I’m aware, there’s no direct confrontation taking place. No one attempting to invade or harass us, no Endbringers making an appearance. We’re safe, the Endbringers don’t have any good tools at their disposal, and as far as I’m aware, there hasn’t been a single case of heroics, invasions or breakoutes in recent memory. No outstretching heroes are in the field, as a consequence, no shattered leg, bloody clothes or blood on the field when the dogs fight. We’re carrying out surgical strikes and clearing the area free of intruders, and s/he doesn’t want to stop, so they’re staying put and the operation goes on. I don’t want to sound arrogant, but I think I’d feel a hell of a lot better if I could pinpoint exactly how this thing could have gone better, how we could have pulled something out of our window, to challenge the status quo and make history." "It didn’t. I was a junior, and I was worried that if anyone approached me, that I’d be seen as the girl who’d fumbled the bomb, that people would compare me to Charlotte and say I was the same as Charlotte, the runaway movie star of the 1950s." "It wasn’t you. I was a junior, and I was worried that if anyone approached me, that I’d be seen as the girl who ran away with the baby. I was running away from a very real danger of being beaten or raped by the monster I’d chosen as my name. I’m just saying what everyone already knows. It wasn’t the full truth." "That’s not what I said." "My point was that this could have gone better. I understand if there was anger or that other emotion you don’t feel, but I’m willing to admit I like the heroes, and I wouldn’t have felt better, being a bystander, if I didn’t like the people who risked their lives and limb to get me. The Undersiders? I can live with that. But I can live with them being slightly less than great, even if I don’t like them, if I don’t dislike them." "Why? Why hide from the world on the wrong side of the tracks?" "Because I was in a head space while you and most everyone else was alone in their own. I’m not sure how much of that was about my body and how much was about me trying to accommodate my true self, getting to a place where I wasn’t projecting my crippling anxiety and fear. Maybe there was a moment where I realized it, and I just didn’t want to deal with it." She looked down at Bentley, who was sleeping, and his large eyes and floppy hair were contrasted by his appearance and body language, almost impossible to read in any detail. "I know I look ridiculous, with the gray hair and the old cat mask, but I’m really just trying to blend in. If you want to compare me to Charlotte, you can look at both of them and tell yourself I’m following in her footsteps. I’m following in Vista’s footsteps." A knot of black in her shoulders and in her hair as she reached into her pocket, pulling out a powder. "They both love me, and they know it. They’ve been keeping me bottled up, keeping me grounded. A lot of that is just me being stubborn, trying to hold on to the grudge against Armsmaster and my rights against the city." "There’s no way you’re faking all that." "I hate it when people act like I’m trying too hard to pretend I know them and their personalities." "You can try," Tecton said. "But I’m not holding my breath." "You don’t have to," she said, with a little too much ======================================== SAMPLE 573 ======================================== What about my team?" "Behemoth only saw one squad, his strike squad. He didn’t see your team. He only saw the headquarters, the patients." "That’s not true." "It’s the footage he used to pick his squad. He didn’t pick us. He picked us because we were close, we had some patient with him faster than others, and because he thought we were expendable. Woo." "He didn’t pick you because you’reari–?" Krouse turned around. "Um. How did he know who I was?" "By your costume," Luke said. "And his power didn’t work against me. I put bugs on him, but it didn’t help. He had enough venom that he couldn’t hurt a good dog without causing too much internal damage." Krouse glanced at the others, saw Marissa, Oliver, and Luke with eyes. It made him think of a dog, but not a pitbull or a mastiff. He tagged Cody instead. "We’re not expendable," Cody said. "Unless you want to keep fighting," Marissa said. "Unless I want to keep fighting, that is." "Yup. That’s the gist of it. Except he showed up in our city, and apparently he didn’t pick up on any of the stuff we had on our records. Probably used a mix of things to confuse and mess with our minds. We’re not expendable, dumbass. Our powers will out our capabilities, which is the reason we’re not fighting him. He can probably find another city to poison, or assassinate some other major players. Us bums." "If we just pick a location and stick to it," Luke said, "We can maybe delay him a day or two. Not like we can really do anything to stop him from coming back, really." "Unless you want to put yourself in that position yourself," Marissa said. Krouse looked at the others, then looked back at Cody, waiting. They all looked at him. "Door me," Marissa whispered. Krouse nodded. He gripped the chain that was wound around Cody’s neck and forced the door open. The scene was completely different from what he’d seen first hand. There were no working appliances, no power, and the room was warm, but it wasn’t bustling. This was a group of survivors huddled in a place where there was food and water, and a fire had presumably been started. They’d died of natural causes, perhaps: cold or otherwise. There were also the corpses that had been transfused with blood or who might have been frozen and thrown into the room. The nature of the decomposed flesh wasn’t what it was in the Northern districts, where bodies were often dug up and autopsied. This was the area in the Docks where the buildings had been destroyed, where so many homeless had gathered to sleep and recover. Here, bodies had been disturbed and left to decompose, but it wasn’t the cold that was the problem. The problem was that so much of it was useless. There were no people to take care of it, no resources to be had. Things melted off the cliff and fell into the trash or the ocean. The only thing that remained of the building were the tattered remains of walls and tiled floor, now a jumble of pebbles and shattered boards. Hookwolf leaped between the balcony doors and the rotting wreckage of the building. He had to stop, turn around, then start walking faster. He used his claws to pick up a box, the sort of package usually reserved for high value items. Then he threw it, across the length of the empty lot. He reached the front of the building. He picked up a taller rifle from where he’d sat on the wall and checked the drawer for ammo. Then he opened the cabinet and slid dozens of cases of ammo into a slot beside it. Hookwolf turned and stalked out the door. His steps were unsteady, his balance uncertain, but he was already moving to follow where the other cases were moving. He found only two of the people who were running, carefully stacked them on the ground between him and the rest. He shot two more shots and turned, sweeping his gun to one side to clear a path for the third. The third was a woman, pale with her hair tied back in a ponytail. Skinny, she had thick hair over her face and cheeks, and a gloomy expression. She looked angry, angry only a little bit more. "Michiko- ======================================== SAMPLE 576 ======================================== Fuck that. I started to turn around, then stopped. We weren’t broken, so I could fend for myself. I pressed my hand to one eye, and my fingertips scraped against the lens of my mask, picking it up and dropping it. I could feel the hot sand as it made its way down. Sand steamed, but it wasn’t hot as hot as it should have be, at the speeds the monsters were capable of going. It was cold out, with a temperature I was glad I could cool off. I bit my lip and adjusted my hold on my bugs. If I went, I was going to sweat like a motherfucker, and I’d possibly get sandburned, like I had with my getting knocked around by Leviathan. If I left, I’d freeze up. If I stayed, I’d have to work to keep from- A noise cut me off. The wall. It was the sound of something crumblingile, but the sound wasn’t one of devastation. A crash sounded, and it was followed by the noise of building demolition, a halberd flying over the heads of everyone present, the dull roar of hoisting the last piece of the massive machine into the ground. We backed down, and the first of the cleanup squads was already converging on us. Men, women, and children. Some of the kids were as young as five. The women were even smaller, their hair and costumes lean. When I saw the woman that was cleaning up, I realized why. She was standing next to a corpse. Rune. She ran her fingers through my hair, which had yet to have a real chance to dry, then passed the little cork to me. I held it in my hands and let her touch it. It was slightly icy by the time she was done. She withdrew the cork back onto the shelf. I lit a match, and it wasn’t a pretty match. I’d seen a picture online of a similar scene, a young girl surrounded by debris from the destruction of a building. It had sparked a memory. I wasn’t so young when I got my powers. But it was a safe match. The girl in the picture had been struck down, somehow, and the subsequent headaches had faded. I’d been lucky. The physical changes had been fast and easy, though there had been a fair bit of aging on both ends. I’d been thrust into a new body, a fresh start. I’d had no time to get my mental house in order, and was starting to wonder if maybe I’d ever truly be myself. I didn’t get to use my real name for a bit there. It had been something of a mercy, that my real body would be so damaged, and the secrecy was crucial. I could only tell them what I was really like, fairly well, and they knew well enough. It made it easier to manipulate them. Of everyone in the group, I was most interested in what the Travelers had to say. My people were interesting. I couldn’t tell their stories in entirety, and I couldn’t scrupulously keep to the rules a group like the Chosen had imposed on us. It was like being in a cult, you weren’t sure you could free yourself, and you weren’t sure you could truly please all of the participants. It was a matter of habit, I hoped, that I’d get a greater sense of things when I got better, when I had more experience handling people. I could admit my mistakes, I knew how to make them, and I tended to err in the latter category. Part of that came down to the nature of the group, how willing I was to take charge, to rule the roost. But I could say the people in charge were just ordinary people trying to get by in a tough economic time. They weren’t the scary sort, with a wicked sense of humor and a degree of power they didn’t understand. I’d have to ask Trickster about that. Did he get his power from his family? And if he didn’t, did his mom and dad give him his powers? And if they did, how did he get them? I would have asked if his girlfriend or his mom had had similar powers, but I wasn’t sure how to ask without seeming weak, like I did. I was hoping to get a few questions out of the way, but getting Trickster to answer a question seemed like it would start a lose-lose situation. Give them fodder to dox. Losing side effect of my power: I was gaining massive amounts of weight. I couldn ======================================== SAMPLE 579 ======================================== Milo jumped to the conclusion that the girl meant to get upset over the fact that he had sex with animals. He rubbed his chin, thinking over the details. "Yeah." "Did you tell her?" the girl asked. "No. I probably wouldn’t tell." "But she did. It’s her thing. It’s her thing to be squeamish about it, because I know some people’s entire psyches around her, and finding that she’s not cool with it, it’s like, holy shit. That’s one alert I need to get in my bag. That’s like, two seconds I need to stall or get out of here. But I need to know that something’s up." "That’s a three," the girl said. "Yeah. But I think I’m about five points out of a five." "You’re freaked out." "I am. But I’d feel a fucking enormous amount of relief if I could have done something to help you." The girl pouted a little. "You’re a rookie, aren’t you?" "I am. I volunteered, but I don’t know how long it’ll take." She glanced at the door. "I was hoping you would explain how you’re managing." "I should hope you’re managing," I said. "You know, I was reading some of the letters that have come in lately, and I was wondering if you had any tips for other rookies, since I brought them your way." "Nice to know I can get help," she said. "Any tips for you newbies? Tips for those of us unfamiliar with the game?" "Don’t be a baby. You know what the game is?" "It’s a roulette. You pick a number, and if it’s one, you live. If it’s ten, you live fifty-five percent of your life. If it’s one, you win the game. But if it’s ten, you die. It’s a chance to die, but you’ll die a violent death." "Okay," I said. "I’ll go. I’ll go." I hesitated, but I stuck. "I think I need to know first. What is it you want to do?" "I don’t think I really have a choice. I’ve talked to the doctor, and he said it’s cancer." "Oh. Is it terminal?" "No. But it’s a hell of a lot better than death." I stared out the window. The ground was rumbling with the force of the rain, and the ongoing destruction was a blue-white in color. The destruction was accentuating the already imbalanced relationships between hero and villain. In less than an hour, it was expected that half of the capes would have been killed or left injured, and the clock would start running again. "What?" she asked. "You said I shouldn’t go?" "I said no, it’s not that kind of situation. You just happened to come across a video while I was doing research for my interview for the team." "You said it before," she said, "Pretty much." "I didn’t say it before. It’s not important." "I didn’t find out about this in the research. Management, as it stands, there’s been one moving target all this time. Target A, anyone who gets in our way, anyone who comes after us, to break us emotionally and piss us off." "Okay," I said. "I think I can live with that." I wasn’t quite done when she said, "Red team, protect the city. We’re going to be at the outer perimeter of the quarantine area." "That way," she made the words carry with such force that they left my ears ringing. "The civilians. If there’s trouble, it’ll be worse for us, and the casualties from the fighting will be more." I nodded. She spread the word, "That means we’ll be moving to the northwest, across the Mall. The area that isn’t already sealed off. We’ll be playing a longer series of cat and mouse games with the people who aren’t moving, and it will help keep the public calm. They’ll get hurt, scared, and ======================================== SAMPLE 582 ======================================== A steady creaking of wooden planks, backed by a cacaphony of explosions, ripped through the area. Most of the crowd had backed away from the scene, or were moving towards the city to see what was going on. Others were still in the thick of it, bound, lost their costumes or masks in the blasts, or just hiding in plain sight, fearing for their loved ones or companions. I felt a momentary separation in self and in the crowd. I might have split in two, but the cheering was so strong and clear that I thought I would be safer where I was. Again, I split in two. One small sub-section of my psyche kept telling me I was safe. The other told me this wasn’t possible, that it was a danger. Realities didn’t fit. My father and I had been separated for so long because he’d been too busy with his business and my school to be there for me, because I’d needed his approval and he’d needed mine. The other reality was closer. I could see the crowd on the other side of the street, the pudgy kid that was standing at the wall of a alley, wet, eyeing the world beyond the fence the Undersiders were trying to climb, the buildings that seemed to be falling, a group of men that were hanging back, staring. They were tense, watching. I couldn’t blame them. I saw the hierarchy, the groups of people that had come from three different shelters to gather. People tried to get some semblance of order among themselves, but died for lack of space. And the hierarchy… again, it was possible, but not quite so likely. There were gangs and factions within the ABB, which were constantly on the move, looking for cheap labor or just to assert themselves. There were the groups that were all in sync, which looked more professional, which looked more dangerous. There were the actual members of the gangs and factions, who were keeping each other in order and making sure nobody got hurt, and ABB members and non-Bakuda gang members weren’t getting on their bad days. I saw the dirt, dust and bloody footprints the thugs had made in the sand, underneath the fence the Undersiders had erected. Would they have been there just a moment ago? "I’m telling you," the golden man said, "There’s no safe haven for you in this city. There’s only places you can go to if you really are a boyhood hero, and that’s not places you want to be." "I’m not sure I get it," I said. "If you want something, if you need a friend, you’ll have to get it. You fucked up Lung’s life. You fucked up Bakuda’s life. You fucked up mine. And I’m still holding on to the feeling that I gave it to you as a gift, that I wanted you to have a crack team." "You don’t sound like that’s what I would have wanted." "I think you’re a fucking idiot," I said. "I’m almost positive, you’re not a hero at all. You’re a sad, pathetic excuse for a leader for a pretty amazing team. All of that, and you were my friend. I wanted you to have a crack team. You betrayed that friendship, and you betrayed me. Because I wouldn’t hand you anything without some kind of ridiculous deal." "What kind of deal?" Had I raised the subject of my benefits, or did it just stop being relevant? Because it wasn’t just the idea of having to fork over money. It was the idea of being handed favors, credit, lunches, accommodation, and support when I couldn’t do all of that on my own. I was acutely aware of the way my mind was racing, anticipating, preparing. Filling in the blanks. I had to think about who I was handing those favors to, and where. Were they the actual thugs I’d dropped on top of the vehicle when I’d gone to get my costume? Or were they actual kids? I had to think about the people Bakuda might be contacting. Same way I’d considered the possibility that it might be me, before, when dealing with the bullies. I drew in a breath, letting the hate and the anger to ease, to push through the pain, the anger and the hate. "You’re fucking with us!" I hadn’t, I hadn’t become aware of it until it was in my mind. But I’d known, had probably ======================================== SAMPLE 585 ======================================== "That’s no good. I didn’t know the power he had, and I probably won’t get the chance to learn it again. Go fix that." "Okay." "The Protectorate, then," she said. "If it’s where you were headed, I can accept that. We’ll mediate." "Mediate what?" "I’ll fix that." I looked at the others. Cuff had reverted back to her more feral self, Effie was fixated on something, and Leonine was even more lost in the midst of her grief. "You guys too? No point to mediating." "Yes," Effie said. "You hold back too much," Effie rasped. "You let him kill us both." "I did what I had to do," Leonine said. "I had to do what I do to save people." "You’re not a bad person, Effie," I said. "But… " "But?" She sighed. "I… I’m not good at this. I like and respect some of the others, but I’m not amiable, sociable or interesting, in the grand scheme of things." "Good," I said. "Because we need you, Leonine." "I want to be like that too." "Mediocre," Effie said. "Funny how that works." "I’d be happy with a high scoring class two," I said. "Anima girls and boys, rich girl and poor girl, all in all." "We need more like you, Effie," Chevalier said. She shrugged. "Mediocre is fine. I’d rather have a class three than a class two." "Class three? A felicitous title, tying you to the stage!" I said. I earned the ire of several in the process. I turned to head down the hill, Effie following. That sparked me. I grinned as Effie walked past me, then looked up at the man I took to be Legend. "Legend," I said. "I met him once, back when the Protectorate was small. He said hello. I asked if I could meet him. He was district manager for one of the Heist teams, part of the Wards. I think he was mayor at the time. Person who would invite you to the city, give you the position if you joined the Wards at the beginning of a new school year. Supervillain of the Week. It was a little surprising that he didn’t throw a party to acknowledge his win, but it was a party nonetheless. Legends, otherwise known as the celebrators, I think it was." "Doesn’t the龍 play any major roles?" Effie asked. "Minor roles. Villain of the Week is a more appropriate label," I said. "He origins his victories, retains his people in slavery, but doesn’t really try to move them out of the city. He enjoys gambling, and his ‘gang’ is higher profile, better financed, better equipped, and better trained than the ordinary gang members. People who bet on the outcome of a fight or on the outcome of a war get what they paid for." "Why?" Effie asked. "I think the players at the table know what they’re getting into. If you can get in line with the status quo, you’ll only get more screwed over." "When you’re talking about the status quo," Effie said, "The Birdcage, the Teeth, the Gully incident, the growing pains at the Protectorate, the strained relationships between the various teams, the missing puzzle piece in the midst of it all, and now you’re insinuating you guys are directly responsible for this?" I frowned. "This is normal," Tattletale said. "I’ve played my role in this. I’m just saying the precautions were up, at least for now." "Okay," I said. "But if this was intentional, why did he invite us? Why do the Wards and the Undersiders think they can keep us in line by pretending to be tough while holding us back?" "I think you’re underestimating the Undersiders," Flechette said. "They’re pretty decent," I said, "And they’re allies. I don’t think they’ll try to fuck us over." "It’s a gamble," Tattletale said. ======================================== SAMPLE 588 ======================================== He set the explosive-propelled orbs further apart, until each was effectively two ellipses, and pairs of cones joined each of those ellipses together. The resulting hole was as wide as he was tall. He began filling the resulting void with destructive force. An explosion of debris marked the first meaningful contact with Leviathan. His targeting computer video feeds showed a green-yellow, then a pink-red, as his costume’s visor took on some of Leviathan’s anatomy. The incongruous parts fused together, forming more cone-like structures, becoming more complex. The water was transforming into slime. It would be viscous, thus making it slick to touch, and it would be a liquid, in the same way ice was in the original Mario Bros. game. But Leviathan was still evolving, evolving with every passing second. The transformation from slime to mud. He was winding the sword into a ponytail. His hand was sticky with the slime that would be necessary to loosen his grip on the weapon if he needed to. Familiar, somehow. Superman wasn’t so different from the hamburgers he had for breakfast, back in the old days, when he’d been a child. Just eating with a doll had youi ng him. The sword suddenly sprang into action, a tense fit, if not a fistfight. He used both hands to shatter the bottle, and then hopped down to the broken platform. He balled up the sword and gripped the bottle in one hand, running for the window. A woman nearly ran her hand through her hair, but let it return to its usual position in the ponytail. She bent down and touched the man, who was losing blood, pus welling out from the site of the injury. Roughly half of his face was gone, and he could feel a glow emanating from his mouth. She grabbed his ear, tearing it in two. He grunted, and she put a bandage on it. Noelle approached, blood upping her nose to his pulse. She held a glass of water, sloshing it into her hand. She wasn’t so clumsy, but she didn’t have the confidence of her teammates, and she didn’t have the mobility of a walking stick. Still, she flowed it into her cupped palm. "Can’t keep running, hurts," Noelle said. Roughly half of the man’s face was missing, likely shattered by the impact. She touched his lip, and saw blood at the corners of his mouth. Noelle bent down and poured the water into the man’s open mouth. He started to swell, and the slime that had covered much of his body drained away. She picked at a emerald that had fallen to the ground, and it snatched her attention. A dragonfly flew over her head, sharp talons prying it from her hands. The dragonfly descended, and the man she’d changed into a dragon was among the creatures it brought down. Its back was turned, so the top of its cloaks was still partially in the man’s face. Roughly half of the city was without power. The block that was supposed to be supposed to be used for repairs was rusted, and more than half of the roads were inoperable. There were four major issues: radioactive dust, stagnant water, damaged bridges, and shattered pavement. Electricity was recharging, but it was slow to get going. The repeaters that were set up at the strategic locations where the survivors could find access to food and water were empty, giving the later arrivals a few seconds to get organized with their food before the charge was lost. Small groups of two to five people per group, with more ferociously running their own ways to keep distance and for the most part to keep from being controlled. They held their own against an airborne, laser-toting group that flew in formations. The survivor with the eggs clutched one flying creature in the air, dropping it down, only to see it deliver a venomous bite to the new arrivals. The juvie kid screamed as the creature delivered a finishing blow. Electricity was recharging, but it was sluggish. A solitary charge took a minute, and the slower it moved, the more it attracted attention. The electric charge that accompanied every second of heavy rain meant the charge wasn’t being lost. It was a ticking time bomb waiting to go off, with an enemy that was perhaps a few seconds away, unable to move or line up a perfect circle. Tankers and more aerial combatants dropped out of the sky in organized pairs, drawing together to take on the thing one by one. Chel however, Master-six, moved alone, ======================================== SAMPLE 591 ======================================== The warlord was first to break the spell, cutting the wire with his sickle. Everyone else waited, tense. The man with the wires stood, directing the light around him, as if he were stalking ahead, alert. But he disappeared into the cloud. When the lights faded, just as quickly as they appeared, he was gone. With the formation breaking up, we could see the aftermath, a stretch of ruined farmland after the clash with Leviathan. Flames licked the affected area, but tens of thousands of cubic feet of water were shed as the plumes of hot air erupted. Plumes of water lapped outward, filled with what looked like a powder of floating debris. The mass of water was wispy, like honey from a bee. But it was made up of a coarse smoke, foul-smelling with traces of the burnt husks of trees that had been cut down for charcoal, and there was a glimmer of the glowing metal that had been leached from the charred remains of a nearby building. The water was warm, almost to the point of being nauseating. "I told you he wouldn’t be coming after us," one of the capes commented, barely audible. "We’re probably better off, then," Defiant spoke. "If he is…" the cape spoke. "There’s nothing we can do," Defiant said. "We have only what we can make, and we’ll do better by the next few Endbringer fights if we’re willing to admit when we need help, when we need to step up. This is too big a fight, and the loss of any one member is devastating. The loss of the whole city would be devastating." "But the loss is so great," the woman who stood beside him said. "The man who has been assigned to watch us, and watch over us… how do we even combat him?" "I have an idea," Defiant responded. "I’ve been working on it for some time now. Call it root�s work or whatever. We take a small area over a few days, and then we sow the seeds of doubt. Gobstoppers. We take them out with a combination of patience and good old-fashioned surgical strike. The patient doesn’t even know the surgeries are taking place. They’re disoriented, they’re having their powers, and then they realize they’re really animals, and Bitch has the clairvoyant telling them they’re birds. They’re angry at us, still reeling from the most recent incident, but they’re puppies. Maybe they’re not fully grown when we show up, but we just sow the seeds of doubt, wait and see." "Puppy?" "Puppy. The word is ‘bitch’ in the Endbringer cult. It’s not just an accusation. A false memory, something that has been planted. True enough, we have our share of enemies." "Somehow I doubt this is a coincidence," Tattletale said. "You’re not just some random bureaucrat assigned to watch us?" "I’m in this for a bigger thing than I am." "And you’ve made an excuse already," the cape who’d styled himself as Grue commented. Grue turned away. "Maybe you could come by our headquarters at least once a week. Talk to the patients, get someone else to take care of them. I would handle the more delicate medical stuff, look after the people and make sure the operations were running smoothly. You would handle the more dangerous stuff, specifically, the dismemberment operation and the injection of the parasites." " This is a first for you, don’t you agree?" "I think this is standard operating procedure for most parahumans, even if they aren’t familiar with that particular part of the procedure. Yes, we dismember the patients. We use the dismemberment for a lot of reasons, both for the patients and for us. But aside from the sadistic part, there’s a lot of medical research that could benefit from our services. We get the most bang for our buck." "And what if a patient doesn’t want to be killed?" I asked. "They’re dangerous, they’re dangerous and they’re likely to hurt someone if you move them?" "We’ll take care of that," Grue said. "Whether they want to be taken or not, we’ll handle the situation there. We’ll take them into custody, handle whatever else." "Handle what?" "Handle what," he said ======================================== SAMPLE 594 ======================================== "Might be able to make something out," Tattletale suggested. Weaver nodded. The’cuff’s device flared. I couldn’t see it in my peripheral vision, but the crowd could. It was being propelled by a proboscis-like appendage that might have been a nasal pillow or tongue depressor, if it worked. A rubber glove caught the proboscis in one hand. Weaver cannoned herself in for a closer look, and caught the eye of the crowd. From such a small frame, even the bugs that I had on her hands weren’t going very far. As far as I could tell, their focus was exclusively on her hands. There was barely any attention focused on the crowd as the proboscis disappeared into Cooper’s mouth. "I didn’t think she had a handgrip on the crowd," I said, "But yes. Everything she’d said before, the stuff she’d said as she orbited us, it made sense." "That was Travis, not Weaver," Cloak commented. "You’d think," I answered. Not everyone was buying my theory. Clockblocker spoke up, "This is the kind of thing you’re willing to die to keep alive? If there’s a Travis, there’s a Mary Sue, too." "There’s three more," I said. "And these people who’ve been taken to the Birdcage might get a little… well, Mary Sues." "We need to find the real status of each of the three groups," Coil said. "Current status, then." I turned to look at the others. Glancing at our individual groups, maybe to account for their different skills and strengths. I noticed Clockblocker, mostly. "We need to know if they’ve got any ranged attacker with which to take us on. Figure we’ve got two or three minutes before they get mobile, so we’ve got some time to organize and fight off any attacks from Scion." He glanced at Glaistig Uaine, then back to me. "I’ll run it by the others," I said. "If anyone objects?" Armsmaster, Eidolon and the Doctor couldn’t think of anything to say. I only passed my network with their cooperation. I felt a stab of something ugly, seeing the increasing dissension and ugliness in the group. Grue was among those people, I noted. He was tense, his lip was moving, and he shook his head a little. Some of the others were visibly tensed, as if they’d bemused if they took more of a hand in handling things. That was without touching on the Transformer-clone thing, which I was pretty damn sure they wouldn’t understand. I made my way to my computer, setting my alarm to go off at four thirty in the morning. I couldn’t help but notice the way our entire group was acting. It was a rare thing, to see people working together. We were all standing united. Even Alexandria, who had apparently been living in the woods for an extended period of time, was posing for the crowd. Crazy,useless, but effective. Had we reached a critical point? In what sense could this be a good or a bad point? Amy had realized the seriousness of the situation, and Glaistig Uaine had agreed to mediate. I noted some of Amy’s tears, a change in her demeanor. She wasn’t acting hostile, wasn’t demanding our help, was ready to listen if we gave it to her. I wasn’t seeing that kind of attachment. Attachment would be too strong. I wished I could see the good in them. Maybe I was past being evil, with this situation. They could be strong if she let me channel her, if I gave enough credit. "You’re still here?" I asked, to give her room to run. "And you’re telling me you aren’t." "I’m here, and this is really important to me," she said. She kneeled down to put her feet up on the table, then wiped the sweat and tears from her forehead with her sleeve. "If you want to press the offensive, fine. But don’t act like you’re giving me a death sentence." "But if you’re trying to find a peaceful solution, we can agree to a modus vivendi." "I’m not sure I can carry that out." ======================================== SAMPLE 597 ======================================== Some company was good enough. "I’m going to be all busy tonight," I said. "But you’re welcome." He smiled and extended me a hand. I held it tight, wondering how he could do it, feeling his hand in such a delicate, physical position. I hesitantly approached him and hugged him, bumping into him where my fingers met. He held on to me, and I tugged on the bandage twice, before pulling away. "Let me look after him. I’ll bring him, maybe, or arrange something for the dogs." He looked miserable, but he shook his head, "I’ll be all busy. Would you like some lemonade?" I shook my head, to make myself comfortable in his arms. I turned and offered him my arm, not taking my eyes off him. He took it, giving me a one-armed hug. I felt a flush on my cheeks at that. I hadn’t noticed how red his skin was, until I saw the bandage and realized it was for his eyes. "Orange juice?" "Just juice," he said. He placed one hand on my shoulder to make sure I was still quiet, then leaned close. I left his music blaring over the music system, the lightbulb going on in his dorm room, and I got the light. I heard him opening the door to his room, then make his way inside in the same moment he’d come in. There was a bit of a delay before he opened the door. There were two guys lying on the floor, chairs scattered around them. One of them had a sandwich in his hand, the other man had a cigarette in his. One was older, the other younger. Very European looking, maybe an elderly couple. They had drinks in hand, and the man with the cigarettes had a smirk on his face. "Coke?" I guessed. "That was the idea, wasn’t it?" he said. He turned to the older man, "You going to be okay?" "Yeah." "You’re the one I wasn’t joking around with. You really expect me to kick your ass, by going out of my way to grab a coke?" "I don’t think so." "Just so you know, I’ve been keeping to my usual habits. Keep to the corridors, stay on the straight and narrow." "I know. I’m not surprised." "Insurance." "Yeah. Definitely. That one comes with some other perks, you know?" "I know." We lay there for a while, talking. He didn’t ask for clarification on anything, and I wasn’t surprised when I realized he didn’t want to talk about that either. When I shrugged, he said, "I guess it’s a question of what’s new and how much do you want to save them?" "Us," I said, feeling lame for not having a better answer, "Against the backdrop of everything that’s happened, and just the personal stuff, I’m wondering if it’s really that big a deal if I save one person from a really bad situation." "Probably," he said. "But it’s kind of nice to have that connection to the people you care about, when you can’t communicate nearly as well as you would like." Was he trying to communicate something to me, that I hadn’t heard specifically, the intangible communication of being in his camp? I? He gestured towards the corridor, "You and I, we’ve got our supervillains team hanging back. I’m going to ask Coil for directions." "Okay," I said. I didn’t press the issue, not with his silence anyway. "I’ve got a pit area over there," he pointed down the hall. The depression in the floor suggested there were drainage, and I tentatively moved the bugs out of the way to allow myself a view of the floor and the heap that extended beyond it. "I can’t really see through the traps, anyways. I don’t know how well the bugs will be able to see through them." "Okay." "Bitch," I said. "My territory?" "Yeah." "Don’t know about you, but I don’t want to walk right by those traps." "Don’t be a jackass. I’ve seen you take on Behemoth twice. You’ll outpace those ======================================== SAMPLE 600 ======================================== But were they abandoning us? "Doorway," I said. "Please." There was a pause, an inarticulate noise, and then an opening in the hallway. The Doctor was leaning against it, her arms folded. "Weaver," she said. "Listen. I’ve placed teams here, in Europe and the Americas, so I can assist you in your war. Your choice where they focus. I won’t abandon them for the opportunity." I hesitated. "Afraid I’m intruding?" I shook my head. "I’m telling you where to find the people. You can stop now, but it’ll be short-lived. Appearances can be deceptive. I’ll have you know, this is my seventeenth birthday present to you." "Okay." "My people are still in Europe, and I have very good reason to believe they were captured by the Chosen. I’ll take you through the various steps that they’ve taken to try and escape. Through you, I can try to find their groups and stop them. If you don’t succeed, I’ll try to have something broken or someone killed in my attempt to win you over." "If I leave?" "If you leave, I’ll have something broken or someone killed." I didn’t voice my doubts. "What you say is good enough," she said. I nodded. I picked up the phone. The moment I dropped it, she snarled, "You’re too smart, you know that?" "I’m dangerous," I said, "I can’t risk something this stupid." "I know. I’m Raptor, by the way. This is my fifteenth birthday present." Fifteen. That was the funny thing about the beast. I could count the ages, but I couldn’t quite remember the last time I’d paid attention to the number. Fifteen was the point in the cycle when everything began. I’d heard some people counted earlier dates as more anomalies, as when they got their powers. I’d assumed it was just an average, predictable schedule. Now I couldn’t help but see it as a touch presumptuous, a reminder of the predilections I’d seen in my own mother, in our very different ways. "How old are you? Tristan?" The Raptor made a ‘sixteen’ sound. "Twenty-five. Fourth of July, yeah?" "I didn’t think it was that bad," he said. "The city’s a disaster area, then?" "Apparently. Behemoth started a year ago, and so far he’s been accompanied by three mass-produced entities. Two entities that were recorded entire cities. Not intended to be taken over, but he’s proved pretty ruthless in dealing with those who threaten his supremacy." "Mass murders?" The Number Man looked at the surviving Pickup in the company of one of his squads. "He hasn’t come back to kill us." "So he hasn’t killed you." "No. It’s more complicated than that. You see, my mother passed away a few months after the start of this whole business. It’s very normal for people in that phase of life to lose someone, often very soon after the fact. I lost a husband, a son, a mentor, a friend… I’ve been pretty good at making peace with that stuff, or forgiving people who mistook me for the villain I was. It wasn’t always easy, but I’ve gotten there. I’ve figured out how to be a little bit better in the long run." The Number Man nodded. "And you intend to make amends?" "If everyone willing to listen. If you even allow me to make amends, because it will help me to move forward in my life." "It will," the Number Man said. "I’ve been thinking about what you said during the war. The forbidden fruit. The dangerous, the enigmatic. Is it the same for you that you were toying with at the meeting, at the alabaster circle?" "To a lesser degree," he said. "Yes. But I’m willing to admit it was intentional, in the hopes of demonstrating my power, showing the worth of what I was trying to achieve." "And us?" "Your crew." "Yes. But that won’t be for me ======================================== SAMPLE 603 ======================================== It was a calculated risk. The Captains knew how important it was that the group look and feel cohesive and right. They’d conducted background checks on everyone who was showing up in the seventy-two and three-quarters of the Birdcage, to ensure the villains were off-limits. They had found zero instances where they’d violently assaulted or threatened anyone. That wasn’t to say the villains weren’t threatening though. Between Leviathan attacking the city and the threat of an imminent attack by the Straw Hats and Empire Eighty-Eight, Brockton Bay was in the midst of a major crisis. The eighty-four point one percent success rate was impressive, but that would have to be on someone’s head, right? Would it be on Tattletale’s shoulders, where she was falling more in love with her power than with anyone else? Or was it on Piggot’s shoulders, where she was even further in love with her power, and there was less room for error? Tattletale would have backed up Piggot’s numbers, if Piggot wasn’t so damn resolute. She wasn’t about to back down, unless there was something of an inconvenient truth to her earlier statement. "I wanted to talk to you," Colin said. "After what happened at the school," I said, "I felt a little off-topic. Sorry." "You need to keep talking," he said. "No, I’m not. That was one of the big things, wasn’t it? The power thing." "I can guess what you mean by wanting to talk. Watergate happened, you know." "I know," he said. "I used to think that you were too cynical to sit still. Maybe that’s shortsighted. The alternative would be too ugly, having us wrangle these guys. We could call in favors, stump up the cash, give them what they wanted. It wouldn’t be fair to the other guys, but it would at least mean we were helping an ally." "It wasn’t rigged," I said. "Not by our standards. It wasn’t fair, and I hope it wasn’t rigged. In fact, I think the DNC were hoping to distract you from our true priorities by reminding you that we’re still in the middle of this shit." "What?" "On the same tactical level as we were earlier, I’m going to throw another curveball. I want you to pretend to play a role in this. Think about the emotions you’ve been covering up. You’re allegedly numb to the emotions of others, but you feel the anger of the woman you worked with, the fear and surprise in your gut when you find out she had an abusive, shitty ex-boyfriend. You’re numb to the feelings of your teammates, but you feel the guilt and shame over what they did to you. So you ignore the hurt and disgust that woman feels from her group members. You ignore the pain and disgust that the woman you used drugs with once was as she relives her painful adolescence. Except you notice, because you ‘aren’t paying attention, and that’s a pretty big deal in itself." "Um," Colin said. "Here’s the thing. You just added another element to the mix. Someone you maybe haven’t met, but you’re indirectly influenced by this whole world telling business. Someone who is beyond your understanding, who has no part in your life except what they tell you to expect from them. And that world telling business is that you should do something about it. Propose legislation. Force your government to take action. Force the media to do something about it. The world doesn’t actually work that way, I’m afraid, but it’s an idea with a solid foundation in social psychology and evolutionary psychology." "I’m a human being, not a branch of nature." "I know that. But I have a feeling this is something you should listen to. I can help you, by easing the pressure you feel, giving you space to deal with those who are always on the defensive, or to act beyond your wildest expectations. I’mon’t force you to do anything, and I’mon’t make you do anything you aren’t ready to do." "I don’t think I can help you there." "I’m afraid, Colin, that the best results would be to do nothing at all. We need the desired effect, and we can achieve that by getting the necessary elements exactly right. I ======================================== SAMPLE 606 ======================================== Dune -5? Odysseus defeated. Odysseus defeated. I hesitated, then crossed the room to pick up the phone. My bugs filled the room, just a fraction of a percent of the total number of bugs, and I now had the smell and the taste of dust to navigate. Distance was too high, and I didn’t have the time or the ability to listen for directions. I dialed a different number and put the phone on speaker. There was no directions or information relayed. I felt a crushing panic. No. Too big. I could use my bugs to figure out where the gaps were, but that wasn’t going to be enough. On the third ring, I found the gaps and found the way out. I dropped the phone on the edge of the table, and I found the gap in the wall. I found an alcove to hide myself, and I slipped out of my costume and tumbled for the ground, landing in a crouch. My swarm filled the room. I maintained their number and never decreased them further. Odysseus was descending, and I was concerned it would take too long. I wasn’t strong enough, too tired, or too lazy to climb onto my hands and knees to reach some piece of furniture at the end of the room. I forced myself to take a seat and to focus on my swarm, working out how best to incorporate them into my strategy. Countless bugs had gathered throughout the room. In every direction, I could feel the pressure. The alcove wasn’t large, but it was deep. Walls faced inward, and both walls and floor ran into the floor of the room. A large monitor was displayed on the wall above the door. Odysseus had picked up the Valefor chassis. It slid out from the wall, and it didn’t come to rest in an unattended position for stability. Instead, he perched it on his forelimbs, his forearms on the chassis and his palms facing the ceiling. He reached out with one hand and placed the Valefor down on the wall. The frame tilted, but Valefor didn’t seem to notice. The Valefor was more than a century old. How long had it taken for the Alcotts to find their feet? "It’s a pity you can’t fight the way this should be done," Alcott said. My bugs alerted me to a nearby screech. A large piece of machinery was swinging from one column to another, creaking and screeching violently. The Valefor was running on batteries. One remaining charge, but it wasn’t enough. The generator wouldn’t provide even minimal amounts of energy. I was only peripherally aware of what was happening, but I could track the various developments by detecting the vibrations from the machinery. The generator’s job was to provide the systems and the raw materials for the other machines in the maze. It wasn’t so useful to think in terms of gears and pistons and gears and the like. There had to be more to it, more to say about how those other things worked, with respect to the maze and the Valefor. The generator was producing less and less electricity with each cycle, because the pumps and other devices had to be larger, deeper, able to move heavier materials. The pump that accelerated the flow of paint was an important part of the Valefor’s outer frame, a cylinder with a blown out mainframe that had to be replaced. Valefor was producing a light footprint, one-tenth of what the other machines were, but he was producing a lot more. Every second he was in business was another second that the Valefor potential hit the mainstream media. It wasn’t just them making the connections, either. I was aware of how the media was going, all too aware of how close the D. Taylor and public perception of heroes was to that of felons. Even numbers as small as two members of a small crew in a movie were somehow alarming. The guy with the heavy machine gun was working on the assumption that everyone would be standing still as he approached. People were avoiding him as a whole group, avoiding the doomed sort who were much too aware of the threat and who placed a special emphasis on survival over attacking the monster. Even when the guy drew close, avoidance wasn’t an option. He went into cover, and everyone else moved out. He couldn’t attack until he was well out of sight, and people wouldn’t be able to retreat and keep shooting if he kept shooting out-of-town, citywide. The machine gunner wasn’t going ======================================== SAMPLE 609 ======================================== With a critical mass of students demonstrating against his presence, Principal Howell turned the heat up, accusing him of being the reason the school had become an "unfriendly workplace." It was hard to say whether the accusation was true and why she couldn’t bring herself to mention it, but Howell did mention the incident, what had happened to Draco Malfoy. It was things like that that kept top-notch teachers like Bonesaw so concerned. It was a common enough sight, in the classes that Kid Win and his classmates attended. The kind of environment that was sure to provoke some restless student, whether it was the ever expanding, heated debate with Arcadia’s politically correct faculty or the daily parade of extracurricular activities that centered around the subject. There were certain groups and individuals that were almost unavoidable in nature, with even relatively small ones inevitably attracting the unwanted attention of the more reckless of their classmates. These sorts of students tended to be the sorts who gravitated towards rogue’s gallery, where a reckless individual could get themselves or others hurt or killed. It was a place where a zero-risk student couldn’t afford to be careless, and where any number of capes could take something terrible to the people who didn’t watch their backs. In an effort to minimize the possibility that their elementary school be the site of a riot, the teachers had put in place an elaborate set of rules and regulations. Anyone who wished to dress in a way that would show their class had to get a special pass, consisting of a sleeveless t-shirt, a colorful bandana, ear plugs and safety glasses. If they didn’t get the pass, they were required to doze off for a certain period of time. If they didn’t get the sweat and tears of the day to get out of bed, they would be graded on a two ‘out of class’ scale and placed in a special reading list. Those on the outside could call them class president, but the students in the back felt like a hardass in their shadows. The list was filled with some of Brockton Bay’s top criminals, the like of which had never been seen before. The list also had a few radicals, some wannabes and scoundrels who had ulterior motives or were even outright hostile. The good and the bad were noted, with grades and attendance both connected to the lists. Too many in the bottom half of the two year list, getting kicked off without any excuse, no matter how insignificant they might have been. Those in the top half, nearly two hundred on the list, got extra careful, getting a two or three grade point gap between them and the rest. That was accounting for the fact that almost all of the students who attended Brockton Bay’s public schools were either orphans or foster kids who hadn’t yet made their way onto the more destitute and overcrowded public schools. Worse, there were capes who didn’t attend school at all, and who had lived in the sewers or the undercity, receiving free services from the local organized crime figures. The same bureaucracies that were checking IDs, verifying names, adding forms and verifying names. The same bureaucracies that had Scapegoat’s gang tagging along in vans with the other gangs. The ‘Door’ to the Slaughterhouse Nine’s base of operations was just a block away, marked with a colorful ‘H’ crossbow and a giant sign with the numbers 2025 on it. The district attorney’s residence wasn’t far from there, 2011 house being one of the houses that was bulldozed to make way for the expansion of the rail yards. The area around the Hookwolf’s base wasn’t much different than the rest of the city. A few ramshackle buildings, and a few monster trucks stood to either side of the railings, each of which had been updated several times in the past weeks or months. Some had even got the crossbow and arrows up and running. The signs all featured the same number or faces, so it wasn’t hard to figure out which one it was. Years of bad luck, just so Janus could have one of his big pieces of artwork. "Janus, come sit down by the tent." Janus turned his head accepted right away. He was shirtless, and his skin was a fingerprint of old scars and scrapes. He had good size dark circles under his eyes and he was twitchy. "Feel like bugs? I can train them." It was a dumb idea, to go all out. It was even more dumb in the next way he’d make himself do it: By having to take off his armor and protective clothing to reach the Tarpan. Any tent would do, but this... Bitch ======================================== SAMPLE 612 ======================================== A trace of dust billowed around us as she shifted position, the handgun dangling by the trigger guard. Rachel’s voice. "It’s your choice, Skitter. You want to get out of this city, or you can join me." There was a sound as someone inside the building began swinging their weapons. Lung nearly lost his footing as his chest expanded. Golem closed his eyes, concentrating. "There’s a small breed of people who have it made into a career, that have the military pedigree or pedigree to back it up. I don’t have that sort. I don’t have the look, the power, the pedigree." The assault on the door was the only movement of the suppressed man. "And while we’re doing that, can you make a phone call? I was thinking we should probably at least make a phone call before we drag you out?" The door was the size of a city parking meter, and the combination of the laserzin-granite hardness and the black ceramic handle tended to emit a faint blue-green light that was too bright to look through. Golem reached into his belt and withdrew a small device. It was only about three-quarters of a pound. "Number plate?" "You have five minutes. That’s what I set up. I’ll pick you up at the closest shelter, take you through customs, and then we’ll call you back." A moment later, the van was waiting for us outside. I felt like a balloon with a string around it. "What are you doing?" "There’s a bunch of capes investigating a possible threat. They were helping with the patrols, so we’re extra vigilant in the meantime. You’ll be ready to go at a moment’s notice." I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn’t get enough air. "Seventy," Tattletale spoke. "That’s not much. She’s talking to someone." "It’s us?" Tattletale asked. "Right. Say hi to Number Man, and maybe we can get you on a server with the Birdcage guy." "Seven seventy-two," came the reply. "Ah. I’m sorry for the trouble," I said. I spent a long time trying to convince myself, and the arguments against doing this because of my age, that I’d be better at this than my peers who were older. Tattletale was thirty-two, I was twenty-eight. The memory was still fresh in my mind’s eye. We headed back to the van, and we were joined by Grue. We took the cab and turned down the street. When we got close enough to the tattoo parlor, we arranged ourselves on the leather of the bench. Bentley and I were joined by Bastard, while Bitch and Regent were fully seated. The door opened as we approached. Grue stood in the center of the room. "Ah yes, Taylor," he said. It was a lie, but he couldn’t help but say it anyways. He didn’t look happy. He’d been too quiet. We would have known by now. "It’s good to see you, Grue." "Oh, I’m doing alright." He gave a short wave to the others before sitting down in the armchair. "We’ve accomplished nothing. Only put ourselves in more danger." "You were put in the line of fire," Regent warned. "No," Grue shook his head. "I was selected for a team because of my abilities. It wasn’t because I was good at anything. It was because I’d worked with you guys in the past and knew how hard you wanted people to work. I would have worked for you without a problem if I wasn’t saddled with your responsibilities." "That doesn’t make me feel better." "It does," he said. "I’m glad you agreed to join us, though I wouldn’t have minded joining the Protectorate at first. I’d set my rules, and you’d broken them." "That’s a good point for you to explain your reasons," Tattletale said. "I’m not particularly interested in going down that road, either. I had my reasons for leaving the Undersiders, and leaving you in a position to help me with mine." "Oh, that’s more like it. ======================================== SAMPLE 615 ======================================== New vampires don’t need stitches. None of the ones who’d been in the middle-aged category had the reputation that Madeleine did. They were respected enough that their deeds were praised, if only because they had the grace to walk away, without having to retire into poverty and isolation, or because society had failed to accord them the respect and admiration that they deserved. The ones who’d been in the older category, however, there was something about them that drew attention, and that drew envy and jealousy. Vista and Flechette, in particular, were carefully selected. Both were in the care of Panacea’s mother, who had been a foster mother for the both of them. Both had powers that were almost tailor made for their circumstances. Both had moved in together, at the most crucial juncture. When they weren’t active, Panacea’s mother was usually with them, supporting and protecting them, and vice versa. A physical barrier kept the pair apart, but it didn’t prevent them from being together, and neither was attracted to the other. So it was with a kind of careful consideration. Panacea cared about both of them far more than she did about any of the others. She walked between the rows and columns of glass vats with the vial-sprayer. She was totally unclothed, covered in palms and branches, and the hair that wasn’t straight was around her eyes. An amputee that stood almost twice her height ran her fingers through her hair, turning it white. It shouldn’t be possible to see, she thought, with her bugs in the area. But the light from the lower section of the glade was enough that anything could be hiding in there. She might have turned her head, but she didn’t. She wanted to see, but she was staring. It wasn’t the human figure she saw before her that caught her eye. She now knew it. The soul. The being thrusted the vial, and she could feel the tendrils of its influence tearing through her flesh. It was loud, and she knew it was guided by an outside source. The body it lay on was a skull, but the soul was more organic than that. It had millions of these connections, and each one was eating, thriving and reinforcing the others. It was a curiosity, but at the same time it was a reminder of how everything had been predetermined, how everything had been defined and marked in advance. She felt a kind of hopelessness as she made her way back to the main area. The cousins were attacking the children, and the capes she’d sent out to fight them had been unable to do anything. They were defeated, of course, and left to burn. But the children, these cousins, they had no memory of that, in the sense that they hadn’t been chosen or nothing that counted. They were mere refugees, now, children stricken with fear and trembling, seeking only to live. And she knew that whatever role she played in their eventual survival, she’d play a pivotal role in their inability to do so. That fact was no barrier to her advancing on to the next target. She suppressed a smile, reaching into her belt to retrieve a small cooler. From the surrounding trees and bushes, she withdrew the cooler, unscrewing the top, and then inserting the contents into the cooler. She would be bringing the rest of her food to the battlefield. Another smile, another reference to the other target. The cousin. This. Provokes a smile from the other target. She could feel a growing sense of hopelessness as she made her way to the next target. The other two were occupied, now. Not by her presence, but by the cool air that poured down from the mountains. She picked up the cooler and placed it on the cooler behind her. Then she began helping. The cousin was stitching the soldier’s body together, but there was a great deal of work to be done. The work was dull, as if the cousin was working only to scan the area and mark potential threats. She left the tailor-made soldier to do the actual fitting, and did her best to ignore the man. He was only a threat so long as she passed him, but she could track his movements- She stopped. The area was a six-lane road, with potholed roads at the edges. Here and there, there were flowers, but the vast majority- No. The flowers were there for a reason. She’d see the explanation in the future. -were only there because the creator had waited until the time came- She put the cooler down on the cooler again. Noelle ======================================== SAMPLE 618 ======================================== Perdition’s monsters had easily be enough to hold his own against half the teams in the West, with only the SWAT teams from America and Europe capable of holding him off. Even the likes of the Red Hands and the Weather Dependencies couldn’t keep him off the field, even if they chose to dedicate themselves entirely to the task. Even the heroes. He’d been raised on one. His parents had wanted him to attend college, he’d turned down the offer, and had lost hope in the system. He’d grown weary of people not giving him the benefit of a doubt. He’d grown weary of not knowing what he was doing or why. It wasn’t that he wasn’t capable of handling himself in times of emergency; he was. Just different circumstances and someone else was better equipped to handle things in the midst of an emergency. But every precaution had been taken, and he was now the victim, forced to help as much as he possibly could. It had been his entire reason for being in the first place, for the mechanics of the Simurgh, and it was the only reason he’d been allowed to remain. Perdition’s trap was sprung up on the spot, three feet across in height, one foot width at the top. It was comprised of a cruciform structure torn down the middle: An oily darkness sprung from the wall and the ceiling and, strangely, the rest of the structure slid into the space between the darkened walls and the floor. Thick black smoke poured out, veering from a dense smoke to a spray of black sludge that quickly thickened to a foul-smelling smoke. Beside me, Effie hesitated. "Go," Golem said. Begone, she thought, with a quiet voice. The words were whispered. Smoke expanded, a hundred feet around the man. In the space of a second, the ground around him crumbled. The choking smoke was bad enough that Golem had to back away, pull his hands together to steady himself. Then it was gone. Not even a trace. He could feel his powers leap into his hand, his skin feel the warmth of it, and the hard, tactile sensation of metal scraping against hard ground for traction. His vision was kindled. He saw for the briefest moment that the tall, muscular man was rounding a corner, observing him, then the image went out. The man staggered and fell into a crouching position, holding one arm out in front of him. "Come on, Effie," he whispered. She looked around, confused. "I thought you were going to shoot me," he said. There was a short, staccato burst of noise, followed by a bang. Electricity. "Sprain!" she shouted. He turned, saw two more figures standing in the smoking ruins. "If I can," Effie said, "I’m going to feel really bad for you. You just saved my life!" "We’re doing what we can," the tallest of the three said. He was holding a crude mortar and seemed to be considering it. "You’re not going to shoot until I’ve completely given up on you." "Then you can start," Golem said. "Get another revenge, in case you can find one of my swarm to torture. Or if you can find one of my capes who can mess with your head." "We’re doing what we can, Effie," the girl with the pixie cut said. "You’re more useful for us. Think about it. I could tell you that your friends were arrested. That Mannequin got them, that some of them are still missing. But for your sake and mine, I wanted to volunteer myself for this, so I could see the fighting stop. To see you succeed." "And I would die trying," he said. "Or you could put in the work, and we’d have a Reaper," the girl said. "An Endbringer, actually. Like we’ve had since the Sleeper bit off Weaver’s leg." He froze, and the frozen images in the mannequins spread out throughout the area, poised on either side of him. "Or both," Effie said. "Or Reaper," the splinter said. The groan of the aging machinery confirmed his thoughts. The buffer of sorts it provided was being cut, more torn down the middle by the younger models. The older pieces wouldn’t stand as it was torn free and moved through the floor like a mobile machine. The remnants of the older computers began to fall into ======================================== SAMPLE 621 ======================================== Perdition can see visions, like you’re thinking, and the bodily form of his long-ago death is a tattoo on the cranium of one of his sons. His flesh tone is warm, the bones light, like the irises and whites of your skin. But the eyes… Jack’s body is cool, the flesh texture almost soft. Your toes don’t touch the cold plate, they plunge to the cold ground. Your arms don’t touch the cold floor either. You know this. You’re feeling warm all the way around. You feel calm. You please yourself. Geography is important, Part II. Let me show you what I mean. In Geography there are powers. There are power boosters, and when powers are at work, the powers booster tends to go hand in hand with the individual who is utilizing the ability. Jack has a keen eye for this. He is the only one of us who has a body language and an understanding of the others, and he uses it to shape his power. Geography is about applying this, boosting one power against another. Where other powers might be affected more severely because of their location, Jack tends to boost powers at the expense of general health. This allows him to function at his best. We can see this in his ability to understand and communicate with the Eskimos. When he first got his powers, Jack spoke only the language he understood. He soon expanded, and in the process he standardized and refined his abilities. His power is a continuous, instantaneous response to the situations he is in, a shield between him and the others, a barrier to both physical and mental harm. His partner, Vengeance, is a chimera. She does both physical harm and emotional harm, yet she is largely unaffected by her partner’s power. This means she can sense and view the world very differently. They are the heartbeat of the group, the only ones who function in complete unison. If you disrupted that dynamic, or even just the commands and directives, they would collapse. We have no choice but to submit. If we don’t, they would kill us. We will take the fight to them head on. Jack will make us into his slaves once he’s done this. I hollered, my heart in my throat. I pointed in their direction. they responded. Stunning. He ignored them, moving directly to the part of the brain that is responsible for language. His weapon was drawn. I fell into the shuffle of other parents and siblings, bundled up in the arm of the couch. The Eskimos didn’t even seem to notice me. I might have been the only one of them with a weapon. The lightning bolt had passed through the air, and it had embedded in the earth. The chairs and heater were immobile, the carpets and tables were partially buried under sheets and blankets. I stared down at the carpet. Fluids leaked around me. The water in the shower stalls was hot enough that it steamed my skin. The cold was unbearable. I stirred the fluid from the surfaces of the shelves and the bench, scalding it with a flame to get the flakes of snow and ice free. I splashed the unconscious bodies and children with the same water. I spoke to Golem, hoping to get an answer. He was still suspended from the ceiling, but was slowly starting to regain consciousness. I told him. He responded with only one word, and I connected the sound with the message. I began to stir, but was unable to move the clairvoyant. The body beneath the snow had been chilled to the point that it was hard to feel it. I pulled off my mask as I reached the door, then stretched, gingerly, while the others changed. Rachel was changed, the dogs changed as well. Golem was unlike any of the others. He had the quality of bone that went all the way through his body, and a flexible, spry face with sparse ======================================== SAMPLE 624 ======================================== "Yes. I think this would be a good time to mention that the lone wolf defense is doomed to fail. Noelle’s powers are so weak they’d be negligible against the combined might of the Slaughterhouse Nine and the Slaughterhouse Eight." "Jack’s defenses are essentially zero in terms of offensive capability. He can teleport, and he can do so anonymously. Theoes can teleport, and Jack can find them in the time it takes to trace their trajectory with our senses, time it takes for the power to kick in. Noelle’s power, on the other hand, is one that gives a small but noticeable boost in terms of immediate damage ability, maybe a little boost for the duration of any transformation." "In short, Jack’s defense is doomed to fail. Period." Regent shrugged. "Theo’s the same. Physical damage is largely negated by an individual’s power, and the hunter is largely limited in what they can do with the animal. An effective tank is largely limited in what they can do with the animal. The hunter’s job is to provide the tools, the framework, the tools that make the hunter a threat in the first place, and Jack understands this. He has to have tools, because the the other members of the Nine operate on a very different basis. He operates more like Cherish than Like, in large part. He has no equal on the battlefield." "And so we’re ruled by nine who are simultaneously feared and reviled, three of whom are positively uncaring, and a fourth who we barely know, if at all." "I know this. We tracked Cherish for months. She went to the ground floor of a building a few blocks away from the fight. We pierced her defenses, and even though we lost some people, we made a lot of inroads. When the heroes recovered, they found Cherish in their midst, smiling sincerely. When they all saw her, they started whispering, joking, and eating cake. Even now, she’s not ashamed to show them her face." I could see Bonesaw standing beside Shatterbird, smiling. "She showed them her real personality." "You saw?" Bonesaw nodded. "There was nothing saying she couldn’t reveal herself." "And she revealed everything." "Yes. She showed them everything. The ugly parts, the ugly heart, the suicidal thoughts, even the people who were trying to kill her, cut off from the rest. We didn’t even know she had a face until now." "She moves like that because she’s trying to hide something. It’s a challenge, a challenge to control her, or it’s an expression of desperation. Something inside her that’s waiting to start hurting someone, or causing trouble. The expression isn’t there if she’s in the mental hospital, or there if she’s on the streets, or-" "In the mood for mood, then?" "No. Just… I feel like crying, because there’s nothing I can do about it, and because I’m so weak, and I’m letting my emotions control me, and I’m losing my mind, and it’s just so hard to try and control myself, and so many reasons to blame, and nobody listening, nobody knowing the real story." "Nobody has the power to see the real story?" "Almost nobody does. But most of the people who do find a way, they’re fairly rational. They know something’s up, they express it, and they consider all the alternatives, and they call it rational." "And the whole point of this is to change that. To make you into someone who cares?" Bonesaw shook her head. "No. The whole thing, it’s to get you to the point where you freak yourself out. To give you a freaky, fuck up your routine, because you can’t function as a member of the Slaughterhouse Nine if you’re half-again as good as your rep." Sundancer shrugged. "Freak yourself out? You’re sure?" "I’ve done it a few times. Only reason I don’t do it better is because I’m usually pretty good at it, and so are my collaborators. I think I’ve got the mask and shoulderpad right, the muscles are tight in the right places, and the bones are proper size. But I’ve got a seam in the floor, and I’m losing time. If I’d gotten that far, I would have stuck that out in marker. ======================================== SAMPLE 627 ======================================== Crazed, paranoid, dangerous, unpredictable. No. Lisa was right. None of that was fair. But she’d been wrong before. She’d taken someone down, why climb to the next closest thing? Bryce, just one moment. The sword flickered. Bryce, paralyzed. The camera shimmered. The camera stayed out as the scythe drove into the heart of the target. The last buildings in the area, the earth moved beneath them. The screen went black. The lights went out. The screaming was escalating. Screams that rivaled the waves in intensity, hundreds of them in a matter of seconds. One silhouette flew over their heads, then took flight, crossing the horizon in a heartbeat. It was the silhouette of a lion, with a snake constricting it from behind. It was loud. The roar of the crowd following us was drowned out. Far too loud for any one person to hear. Hearing that, hearing the shouts and screams written all over them, I knew we were in the midst of a scene. Protected by the glowing containment foam, everyone else had stopped fighting. The individual cases of containment were sealed and sealed off in the hopes of controlling the situation. A figure suddenly took flight. A teleporter. He had to have gotten out of the way, or he would have been too close to what was happening. He was standing still, almost imperceptibly slow, as the containment foam forced its way free. Another figure sneaked a glance ours way, then broke away, taking off in a different direction. A save throw away. A third appeared, breaking away from the others, catching Clarke in the midsection with his bare foot. Another save throw. None of the others were making much of an effort, now. That was the good thing, wasn’t it? We weren’t just stopping to gasp for breath, we were moving, and it was tiresome. Bryce squirmed in an attempt to get away, only for his leg to be shoved down into the ground, knocking him flat. He bounced off of a surface, only to find another surface slick with water. And Lacey was gone, having traveled half the way around the roof. She had been lying on the ground, and was now scrambling away, only a short distance from where the teleporter was lurking. Well, at least she hadn’t been a killer, I thought. I didn’t get a chance to see if she was made of glass or not. Shapiro had spoken, and shook the containment van. Our boss was inside, speaking clear Japanese to an agent in a t-shirt with a flower motif on the front. The agent was a young woman, perhaps the young woman from the hotel – I couldn’t be sure. Shapiro spoke, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I have no reason to inform you that we cannot extend our partnership to the conclusion that involves a murder of one of our employees, or even a slight interference with a major event like the finals of the Yakuza." "Pun intended?" Someone asked. "I’m not entirely sure," Bonesaw replied, without turning towards us. She had one hand on the chain that led into the van, the fingers of her other hand dancing over the length of it, as if checking it was solid steel. "So the robbery is a bust, then." "Of course it is," Bonesaw said. She caught the man she was gesturing to, pointing at Shatterbird, "If you’re still interested in joining, you can tell him I offered you a choice. He’ll nod, then he’ll take us on. We’ll take him in hand and lead the rest of you down the list of names you’ve heard so many times. Here’s one we’ve heard a thousand times." She swung her legs forward, as if she was going to slam them down into the ground and then sit upright, then stopped. The man didn’t react. "Pun intended?" she asked, in a slightly different tone. "Don’t even have to ask." We waited while Bonesaw worked on lowering the van’s shutter. It was already pulling away from the barrier of forcefield-bubble. Once she was sure it was free, she swung herself into the gap between two of the shelf-panels, using her hands to try and close the remainder shut. "Not a Japanese surname, not a name at all, but a Japanese woman," she ======================================== SAMPLE 630 ======================================== Like Alan. He was keeping to the same script as Alan. So few people I counted, barely a hundred in all, all peacefully sitting around the building. No violence. No threats. No emotion. Just paperwork. "I’ve talked to Tattletale," I said, "Some of it makes sense. What if she has a power she doesn’t want us to know about?" "Information Kayden wanted," Defiant said. "Information and tools to stop Jack. We’ll get answers." I didn’t wait for him to get an answer, nor did I wait for him to get up to speed. I had already guessed the best I could. He’s foraging. I used my power to knock papers out of the air, catching them in midair and carrying them with a forcefield to wherever the subject placed him. His eyes moved to Tattletale, but she was busy with Piggot. He repeated the gesture, catching as many as he could. "I don’t have time to get into it. What can I do?" "To start with, I was going to ask you to find the greater problem. What do you need to start from?" "There’s a war going on elsewhere. I’m not seeing anything from this area." "Crime and drug activity in this general area, as well as some murders in this same neighborhood." "In that Netflix documentary about cape parahumans that aired this past summer? You mentioned the blonde girl…" "The blonde girl that went missing a week ago. I’m remembering. Is she still alive?" "We haven’t seen her. I’m worried she might be dead." "A risk involved. You remember her?" I nodded. "That there was a risk involved. I’d be careful about how I responded if she was still alive. It also means I can only help here if there’s a fight." "There aren’t any monsters without eyes. I believe in doing as much as we can, using the ones with eyes. There’s a number, at the back of the truck. Nine. They’re descending." "Nineteen, I believe? We’ll be closer to the Nine if we hurry," Tattletale said. "Nineteen? First group. Eighteen? Second group. Seventeen? Third group. Can we attack between groups?" "Not likely. It would be suicidal. They have to be within a three-hundred-foot radius of each other, and they aren’t stupid. If they know we’re approaching, they’ll adjust their battle plans. If we wait too long, they’ll use that gap in our attack to cut us off further." "Not so sure, with reinforcements possibly arriving soon," I said. "Not so sure, with them waiting," Tattletale said. "But I’ll take backup from Chevalier and Defiant if it comes down to it. Nine in a three-hundred-foot radius isn’t too small. Nine in this area… well, the flat-topped tower is the smallest, so I’d say nine persons. Two dogs, one of which is larger than any of us, ride on the horns of the tall, narrow building. Large, black, with white feathers at the corners. Tailgating begins soon after." "Thank you. I’ll be on the phone," Defiant said. "We’ll handle this tonight," I said. "If and when they’re gone, we’ll handle this situation ourselves. I’m okay with the backup, if it’s what the situation calls for." "You’re all set?" Tattletale asked. "We’ll figure it out, as they say." She nodded. I made my way to the warehouse, stopping at the door with the CAM unit. I was still new to this. Cauldron had been my first and biggest support system, before everything went to hell. I still felt very small, and I had a hell of a lot of catching up to do. The head of Cauldron, the ectoplasmic shadow, the golden man. I almost hated to think about them. The golden man and the golden woman. They were like faces, in a way. They were pregnant, and the marks on their skin suggested recent trauma. Twisted, something I’d seen people with post-traumatic stress disorder do. It was subtle, but it caught me off guard ======================================== SAMPLE 633 ======================================== People used to cussing when they saw me, and people used to pull their hair or make lewd comments to me, but I didn’t have the heart to pull it off. The girl had enough presence, and her presence was intimidating enough that nobody would be tempted to make a casual day of it, here. "Who the fuck is that?" Vantage asked. "Is she okay?" Jouster asked. "She looks really freaked out." Nobody spoke up. I watched as the others around us scanned the area with their binoculars. "Who the fuck is that?" Jouster asked. "That’s a demon. Stygian class S." I saw the man, and I could see why. He was naked, splayed feet, and his uncut muscles were a molten metal, smoking but unmoving. He was surrounded by creeping deviants, here and there, all in matching outfits. In the midst of it, he hovered in a somehow menacing position, clutching the rim of a ruined building in his two hands. Hispanics are so out of touch with reality. They get so caught up in imagining things that they miss out on the nitty gritty details of life on the street. I met him for myself, and he looked like a gang member in fine clothing. He told me he was 23 and that he had powers. Which he did. He went by the name Symbiosis. I found another scar, just a hair away from snapping. It was mine. My fingers broke the skin sheared away where I used my teeth to pry the bone back into place. The flesh was mottled with bone patterns and blemishes, and it stretched or hung off my fingers where they had been pinned to the ground. I extracted a discus from the Scarab’s spine, and kept it in reserve, dropping it into the gap between our two teammates. Scalder yells finally reached a crescendo. "Attack!" Of the five voices in my head, three gave the order. Attack. I stood up, taking the time to unwind my cape, and pulled it free of the Scarab’s body. I didn’t have a better hand to hold it, so I just held it in my hands. Scalder saw what was happening, and he directed a spell of blue lightning at me. Intentional or not, it brought the discus down to below eye level. The Scarab was one of the free standing structures I could contract. I levitated it and used my power to stabilize it. I looked at the discs that were emerging from the surrounding buildings. Fortuitously, they were all behaving like mini-dungeons. Some of the larger ones, like the one in the warehouse, were using rules and strategies I couldn’t really pull off. Rules, however, that let me buy time to build up. Others, such as the one in the headquarters, were taking more of a hands-on approach. It wasn’t an approach I was familiar with, but I had to admit, it fit. I’d always found that style of play taxing me, and now I had a vehicle I could fall in love with, rather than one that was built to simply tumble around an area and kill people when things went bad. I considered raising the Scarab into the air, but deciding on a location that was difficult to control and a sheer amount of surface area that I couldn’t use for my ultimate objective made it just a ridiculous idea. I considered lowering the Scarab, but I had an idea of what was going through its systems. I’d used my bugs to find the three-dimensional model I’d need of Scarab I, as it was evolving. I needed to get it up to speed as fast as possible, and the best way to do that would be to get it one step ahead of me. I needed to hit its evolution capsaicin-laced batteries with the thing, rip off a good portion and keep the rest for myself. I considered raising the Scarab into the air, but with everything I needed to see to, it wouldn’t accomplish a thing. The ground rumbled violently. I foregoed that as my response should come when I realized the strength of the rumble and the extent of the destruction. Drops of slate and low clouds of fog rolled over from the buildings in the distance, briefly joining and mingling with the clouds of white and dust. I could see the plumes of smoke through the haze. Even if I sneaked a peek, I had a hard time seeing any clouds. The Rickshaw pulled to a stop. Scylla had gone to ======================================== SAMPLE 636 ======================================== Permanent damage is better than that. She thought, clear as day. They couldn’t abandon us. Not like this, not like it was in the can. We have options. The Doctor could theoretically find a way to save us on other fronts, too. Time was passing, and we weren’t. The number of minutes we were out of action dwindled to a mere seconds. A problem, nothing more. I felt a grasp on what it all meant, and what it might mean going forward. I’d asked for time to calm, and I was realizing that my expectations were Mountain Dew at their worst. Dew reached its peak somewhere around the point that he or she literally started to choke on the sweet stuff. I was breathing too hard to be happy about this. On a more positive side note, my side of things was feeling like it had deviated from my script by an inexcusable margin. Which meant I was deviating from my script even closer to the mark. I was letting my guard down. That had been the script I was keeping up my sleeve for the moment everything shifted to the Cormyr system. I was going to rip it out and burn it in a fire, and then I was going to rip out and burn it all away as soon as possible. The Doctor wasn’t so minor, but it still left us with some unfinished business. I looked at Tattletale, and saw her struggling to fix what she’d started. She seemed to have a new cell phone, and was heading straight for a PRT office. I fixed my own cell phone, making a call and setting a text message to ring. "Thank you for coming," the first number said. It was the longest, so it was somewhat ominous. "I already know you came for this meeting." "I didn’t know he was here." "I’ll talk to him. Goodbye." I put the phone to my ear, and was glad for the long sleeves of my costume that I’d been saving, that I could zip up when I was done in there. Getting my costume on was a two man task. I could handle that, but the remainder of the preparations were left to me. I wound silk around the outside of the cuffs and the outer sleeves of my costume, helped hide them from View, then started idly researching the Birdcage. I knew exactly what I had to do. I released the remaining chain from around my neck and hauled the silk cord out of my hair. I withdrew the clipboard and cut the silk ties into two. I threw them onto the table. The two pairs of goggles, and the tab for the thermal goggles. Reciting the procedures, we connected the second pair to the first and hurried out of the room. There were forty-two procedures in this room. Thirty-three names. Three buzzes, to be exact. I’d seen it hurt people, a high voltage running through their veins. Once it had, it hadn’t been a steady current, but a roaring current that would intermittently shave off an arm or an leg at a time. It sickened me, just a little, to think that my fight against the Nine might be in danger of being disabled by it. Disabled as an idea was, it was somehow more real than being stabbed with a taser by Puppet during the Echidna event. Panacea’s help. Thirty-two names. Three buzzes. I put the pieces together. The procedures themselves weren’t terribly complicated. On a technical level, it was perfect. The only thing I had to worry about was keeping the Undersiders from picking up any crucial pieces. Puppet might try to use the pieces to kill me if I gave him any of our stuff. I could remember the last time I’d really played around with the game of musical chairs, where I’d really wanted to inflict some atrocity on a bunch of people. 38 names. One dead body. 27 musicians. 14 dead bodies. I wasn’t sad, though. I was sad for the people who had to deal with the shit show that was Scion. I was sad for the systems we’d put in place to manage this. There were systems we’d put in place to manage this. Scion was one of those things. I searched for the other 7 names, and I discovered that they weren’t in a position to help. My search was frustrated, though. There were 37 open offices with people working from them. 31 of them were in the PRT headquarters, out of town. My system wouldn’t suspend for one moment while I tried to check for other ======================================== SAMPLE 639 ======================================== Cody looked at me, "Sorry to turn my back on you like this, but this is pretty big." I smiled a little and replied, "It’s fine. I just wanted to say I wasn’t surprised. I’m glad that you’re doing well." "N-no. I mean, you probably shouldn’t be doing what you are doing, but I was hoping you’d at least pretend to care about what happened to me." I shook my head, but I didn’t say anything. "Besides," he said, "I told Tattletale to take care of the rest. Thought she’d be of any help to me." I shook my head again, "I’m not happy she’s here, I’m just glad she’s okay." He looked away, staring out the window at the city below. I ventured to add, "I think the doctor would be a good person to talk to if you needed some relief from this." "The doctor?" I turned around and followed him into the kitchen, hoping I hadn’t set him back in our conversation by much. The silence that followed was mostly because we were still trying to process what just happened, and the idea of going somewhere had made me very anxious. "The… what did you call it? A rocking chair?" "In a restaurant," Rachel said. "Okay. Where are you on a scale to tell yourself you’re okay?" "Eidolon showed up in the nick of time to fix me. That’s probably why they didn’t shoot. I was still on the verge of hitting my head, and he was tapping me with his arm." "It’s not a big deal. I’d be willing to bet the capes upstairs were cheering just a bit harder now." I nodded. For the record, I hadn’t changed my mind. "Is there anyway to contact her so we can find her location?" I didn’t respond. The silence was unsettling. "The- was there any way to contact her without putting her under arrest?" Tecton asked. "Nah," I said. "But I guess she’s dead or gone quiet." "Our members are busy fighting the Endbringers, we’ll probably be quiet until she stops doing that," Tecton said. Which would be fine if the heroes were doing well, I thought. It wouldn’t be enough to shrug it off. "What happened?" Grace asked. "Nothing," I said. "But it’s a good thing. Hopefully it’ll get the attention of one of the teams. We’ve got a lot of territory to defend if anyone tries doing damage here." "We have people who could be posing as the Chosen," Wanton said. "Maybe. We’ll see. Kudos." I looked at the remaining Wards, where Tecton was stationed, and decided not to mention my own knowledge of the Nine’s involvement in the current state of things. It did matter, though, because I had a group of supervillains that I was willing to name. The Texas team, led by Newter. The California team, led by the fat man. The Connecticut team, led by the girl with the bow and arrow. The Wyoming team, led by a teenaged girl with a bow and arrow, I remembered. I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I kept my mouth shut. It was a little while before any of the groups saw any change. When Faultline’s time run out, the ‘changers’ would choose different locations, and leave. They weren’t seen any more, even. I took a deep breath, to calm my nerves, and then ventured, "Who are we missing?" "Grue, Rachel, to name a few. We had a team here in the dead of night, and if our heroes can make it through this, there’s no reason to think they can't win here." "And," Wanton said, "We’ve got a pretty awesome killer robot as our big bad. One of the Chosen is going to try to pick us off, and we’re going to have to deal with that. Things are going to get really ugly." "If the girl with the bow and arrow survives, it doesn’t help us," Grace said. "You guys are exceptional," I said. "But we� ======================================== SAMPLE 642 ======================================== To replicate in a real, working body, the Spider-suit would need to be inoperable. Even if he was willing to do something about his own cancer, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to survive long enough for it to finish growing and putting downward pressure on his blood volume. If it happened, the regeneration would be too fast, too intense, and he’d inevitably need dialysis. Even if it wasn’t dialysis, and if the body was ultimately returned to a natural state, he wouldn’t like it. He’d been a walking experiment, and there was no point trying to be like any of the others. The best hope for saving his life would be a radiation study. He knew that since the spiders he’d melted down didn’t have the structural integrity to withstand a nuclear holocaust, they would bond to a natural, nonsileural host. Any structural defect, any gap in their connection to the spider, it would simply bond to their natural, collapsible host. He’d run his experiments, and he’d found some rudimentary means of modifying the spider itself. Cement would be the most obvious choice. Just to put it briefly, if he were to melt down the concrete or steel, he could make the alloy, then he could then melt the steel, rendering it inoperable. To do this, he would need a means of sustaining himself. Magma as a source. His aversion to radiation was well documented. He’d been a member of the Wards for three months when a tabloid article about his identity had first appeared. He’d then been part of the Protectorate for a month longer before he’d been removed from the team for violating the terms of membership. He’d then been kicked off the team for violating the terms of his probation. He’d never been on the team, he’d never been on the staff at the PRT’s expense, and he’d never complied with any of the terms of his probation. He couldn’t think of his own case. He couldn’t think of any of the official investigations that had occurred, either completed or ongoing. He couldn’t think of any of the investigations that had been dismissed without some witnesses or additional information to flesh out the details. And finally, he couldn’t think of the aftermath, because it had always grabbed his attention. What he had in his power, when combined with his emotions and suppressed feelings, gave him an understanding of the world beyond the one he had glimpsed when he’d traveled back in time. He felt a momentary panic as he struggled to his feet. His right hand clutched and squeezed the side of his face. When he failed to do so, his hand found the flat of his hand and pushed against his face. The concussion from the fall seemed to fade in the severity of the headache. He reached up and put his hand on the back of his head, where his hair now hung half-crawled on the floor. He pushed against his face again, and his headache worsened. He was aware of his surroundings, where his teammates were, but his eyes didn’t move, his head didn’t respond. "Don’t be stupid, you little freak," he clipped. As he spoke, he let his hand drop from his face and head. An instant later, he felt a hand on his ear. Invention. They’d found their ace up before Alec or Lisa had even finished talking. "Found it," he said. "Learned something," Invention said. Gratefully, he grinned and reached over to take his glass of wine. "Wine?" "No. I had a special glass, and I was cutting it specialty, so nobody could make me do it again." Leonid grabbed the glass with one hand so he could tilt it upward, reaching up to cup his ear with the other. "Can I try again?" "You’re still my oyster, pal," he said. "What’s a five, anyway?" "It’s a funny thing," Invention said. "People go from being broken and maimed to being heroes." "Twice," Leonard reached up to scratch the top of Invention’s ear. "Fifteen years apart, around the time he was made into a hero. I think it’s worth explaining, even if you don’t believe me." "Doesn’t make a lot of sense," Grace said. "He was a hero then, but he’s a villain now. He was a victim, but he’s a ======================================== SAMPLE 645 ======================================== Pathetic. She didn’t have to fight anymore. She turned, her hair whipping around her as she walked, and in a moment, the monster was gone. She ducked under the next set of lasers, then evaded him, her pack acting as a double-layered wall, projecting a double-height, eight foot high barrier in her general direction. When she was clear, she walked through the quickest route through. The moment the wall was gone, the girl with the sprouting hair began moving on over the area the lasers had occupied. Pathetic. When she reached the area where the two ships had been, she paused. this was it. She’d satisfied every requirement for a syndrome, but she was restricted in what she could do. She had no sensory organs, no iota of immaturity, and she had the enhanced reflexes and coordination that went along with it. she could move, but she couldn’t think. -and enhanced perception went along with it. thought like she was some kind of star in a dope movie where she was riding a snake and the thing had a heart and a brain. but in reality she’d be riding on the coattails of a bad guy, who had guns and would order people to kill her in self defense if she went beyond the defined limits of the visual effect. she could use her power, but she wasn’t. this wasn’t her. wasn’t her shadow, wasn’t her fake. "Pathetic," Sophia muttered. she had stopped, at an intersection where the two streets joined, making a slash on the hood of a car that had pulled in. her connection to the girl, the memory, the idea, had made her more like the pseudo-Sophia than the girl herself. moronic, scary, manipulative, dangerous. "Sophie?" the carjack said. the carjack. "Quiet," another voice said. "I can’t fall down." "I’ll help you if I have to," another voice said. Sophia felt a pang of sympathy. She hugged Knave, saying she didn’t have the strength in her body, would she, would she ever let Sophia go? Knave would be going free that very moment, out of costume, accompanied by one or two other disposable ambassadors. Then Sophia would be left, alone, signing the papers. A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, Sophia had lost her last fight. She’d stopped fighting. Ever since the bully had accused her of being a gang member, she’d felt as though the only person who could touch her were the girl who had accused her of being a gang member, herself. Both felt as though it was somehow disappointing that they’d gotten to have the same conversation, as though they’d walked away in the same moment. Leader of the supporting cast, with a rival for status and money, and a vendetta. The only person who could have possibly encouraged or enabled her to act the way she was would be the other gang members, and they hadn’t held power in the sense that Sophia had. Leader of the gang that had attacked her, Sticks and Stones, and Knave of Cups. All figures that had held power in the shadows, far beneath the surface. The irony of it all was that the people who had held power in the shadows, far beneath the surface, had been the same people that had held power in the end. The ugly figures who had attacked her had been the same people who had held the city together. The figures who had abused their position to take over the city and then squeal about it were the same people who had been seen as victims, not leaders. "I was accusing you of being a subhuman, you know," one of the villains told her. "And of being a threat. I was thinking about what happened in Mewni, and what might happen if you came back." Sophia shook her head. "And you come back and the city is lost. Not as bad as it might otherwise be, but bad." "We’ll figure it out," she said. "I’ll be with you when you come back," he said. He turned to leave. "Bye," she said. "Goodbye," he said. She wondered if he would come back. If the Undersiders were serious about turning her down. It wasn’t that complicated. Convince her, convince the others. Then she’d decide. ======================================== SAMPLE 648 ======================================== Amelia, what the hell? Maybe not as bad as my own confusion over what was going on. I was glad, though, that I couldn’t get caught up in autopilot. I had to be sure. I kept my eyes fixed on the noose. "It’s not the same thing," Amelia said. "The original binding isn’t there." "They reused the threads," I said. "It’s a good chain. If I have to wade through more, I’m going to die." "You’ll die if you try to run," Amelia said. I felt my heart sink. "I’m afraid," Panacea said, not even looking at me, "I need to ask you a question." "A question?" "Amelia and Gully too. I was going to ask if you’d let me borrow your spiders, but you showed them to me and I decided not to. I’m… freaked out. You guys aren’t spiders, exactly, but you use them like I do." Spider? "I could learn to use them," Panacea said. Eidolon. I’d seen it, at the start of it all, but now I was getting into the specifics. I couldn’t pin down exactly what she was talking about, so I had to ask. "How are you?" I asked. "Not the way you were put together." "I’m freaked out. This whole thing with the PRT and the fact that you were there first and everything else, it’s weird because I can sort of remember you. You were all over town, you talked to people, you were nice, but you sort of disappeared." "It was over in a minute, and some dumb idea crossed my mind. If you’ll forgive me, I’ll take the idea and run with it." "You’re not running?" I nodded. "Just getting a better sense of what’s going on. You know the rules." "Rules?" "Specifications. It’s not the same thing as being on the front lines, being smart about stuff or being on the front page. I’m trying to tell you, you shouldn’t underestimate the impact of one bad story telling about a Simurgh attack." I sighed. "I’m really not the best person to talk to you about that," I said. "Oh? I didn’t quite realize that was a theme park." "I know. It… doesn’t feel real. There’s a real person behind it all." She shook her head. "I’m not the person to talk to about that." "No? Well, I’m… I’m not the person to talk to about that." "You’re not imagining it." "Oh. No. I suppose I wouldn’t." She shrugged. I saw her work to maintain her composure. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought she’d lost it. Even a good nurse had moments where she just wasn’t herself. I knew she could manage with the others around her, but that wasn’t what this was referring to. When she was alone, it struck me that she was a little more human. That she had the capacity to care about us humans and us… and yet… it didn’t make a lick of sense. If she was a human, then why did Scion come here? It was a question I could no longer ask. Scion hovered in the air, and incredibly, he seemed to get smaller. Faintly blue eyes. Small head, no visible hair, only a plain brown dress shirt with some torn up jeans. The pale man’s hands, dangling from the ceiling, seemed more like trophies than people. And even as he changed, he maintained the same attitude. No, smaller, unable to change locations as easily, given his apparent display of normalcy. No, he was as normal as any of us, as we weree he was as freakish as the others were. Scion sank down against Bentley’s side. A wave of benignant regret broke over him. His grief- "Hey, Root," Tattletale said. "What?" "I can’t get a good read on his emotions. I get weird vibes from him, like he gets REALLY ======================================== SAMPLE 651 ======================================== Mages, once upon a time, were rogues. Even today, many are… self-aware. A Wizard is a Rogue. A Cleric is a Rogue. So it went. They fit, as Rogue and Monk so often do, in a way that you could see coming, but they weren’t walking on the same side. One thought process led to the other, and sometimes both were at the same time. Mages were fearsome when they wanted to be. What they lacked in battlefield commandos, they more than made up for in sheer power. Rogue, in particular, was deadly when she had the ability to put enemies to sleep with the ability to unleash an electrical storm. But she was a fighter, and a fighter needs tools. As much as the Wizard’s reach was relatively long, her reach extended well past the street. In many respects, she was a Barbarian compared to other combatants out there. My opponents, her foes, were little more than ideas. She had no idea how to beat them. There was no such thing as "best" strategies, in any event. Each was a relative concept, with very different applications. I could appreciate how they were frustrated, how they were panicking. It was a natural progression, as you got more used to your powers, you became more comfortable using them and you got a greater sense of how something should play out. But I could imagine how it felt, standing there in the rain, a tense silence, watching her approach. The tension, the fear. You don’t beat her, you think you can. But you don’t beat her, you think you can, and then you realize you’re not that smart. I’d trained myself to recognize that emotions could become something. I’d accepted that I was emotionally charged, and so long as I could recognize that, I’d be safe. I’d gotten that opportunity too, bringing the situation to the surface. I turned my attention to my costume, feeling the pieces in my hands shifting with the steady, quiet taps of my pen. If her emotions were becoming thoughts, then my ability to see what she was feeling would probably suffer. I couldn’t say for sure, but I had a pretty high ceiling, here. If I didn’t find a way to climb above her initial physical barriers, I was pretty much fucked. I stepped away from the wall, facing the floor, then stepped back into the hallway. I turned on the tap again, doing up the corners of the ‘wall’ so the proper length was possible. The rain continued. It seemed to take a different route here. There were fewer volutes in his body, now. Justification was hard. I wasn’t sure if he was designed to be strong or flexible. The voluptuousness he seemed to derive from his face and the bodaciousness of his style of dress seemed to flow from that fact. If he was the former, and his body the latter, I was still fucked. If he was the former, and his body the latter, I wasn’t sure what could break that pattern. Still, it was better than the alternative. More options, something to relate to them. I turned to leave. Capes were carving through the wooden boards, some setting wooden planks on fire. The fire continued to burn, and I followed the blasts with a tap on the screen. The pane of the boarded up window was turning from yellow to red, but the damage was being done. The boards were falling down, and one even dropped a solid ten or twelve feet to the ground below. Fire continued to endanger the buildings on either side of us. With the possible exception of the Wizard’s group, everything was scrubbed clean of water. The fight hadn’t even started. I could hear him, now, on the screen behind me. I tiptored by him to get a better view. He’d appeared large, in the thick of things. Barely over five feet tall, his chest bare, his horns pointed outside of the window. Assassins all wore similar costumes, dark colors, or mostly dark. A simple design forming part of his crown, bearing the same name as the mask he wore, was forming a ‘v’ over his lower body. He’d gathered smaller pieces into the crown over the course of centuries, as if he were a turtle, with each formation reinforcing the others. The entire shape was deceptive, complexionally speaking, giving everyone the appearance of many people at once. But the mask was only a fragment. Beneath that, he only wore a visor that looked like a off-white coat with a ======================================== SAMPLE 654 ======================================== She turned and looked around. "There’s no way out," Defiant said. "We’re stuck where we are." "Except we make a difference, and we do that by helping others. The Nine are good people. Maybe they’ll help us, get us home, and all that matters is that they have their families. I don’t want them to be separated from their families. That’s all it needs. We have the means, we take the risks. If we use it to our advantage and help people, this works." "It is indeed," Lung said. "But… if we turn this into a fight, if we try to put one over on the Nine, someone they can’t kill, then things go south fast." "Then we’re in for a very bad weekend," Chevalier said. "It’s not that," Lung said. "I’ve said it before, I’ll say it now, and I expect my words to be seen as such. I’d rather see the remaining members of the Slaughterhouse Nine turn on me than let me go. I don’t turn around and reveal that nature of mine, so long as I’m walking down that aisle." "And me?" Miss Militia asked. Lung shrugged. "You know why I was so worried about you? It suggests a very unhealthy pattern. A person who grows weary of hardship and returns to a routine they no longer enjoy. I want you to know that." "You’re growing on me, old man," Chevalier said. "You’ll be coming with us soon. I’m afraid I haven’t had the chance to deliver any serious death or women for a long time. I can only warn you that I’m not in a position to get you home in time to catch the next bus." "I know. . ." Chevalier said. Then he seemed to recall that he’d said ‘okay’. He wasn’t sure what to say next. "You told me you weren’t in a position to visit my hometown," Lung said. "I’m going to take that as a death sentence." "I wouldn’t risk it," Chevalier said. "I’m not a doctor, and I’m not an expert on medicine or health or family matters. But I’d touch base with your loved ones if it came down to it, and I’m pretty sure I could find a hospital that would take you." Lung’s eyes briefly flashed orange as he seized on an idea. "You don’t know how important it is that we talk to the hospital, then make sure you get treated. If you’re lucid, you can ask me questions about what’s going on, like how your dad is doing or how you could help. If you aren’t lucid, well, you can ask me anything, but that’s the least I could do." "Nothing," Miss Militia said. "I’ll make sure he gets the help he needs. I’ll go to the hospital and talk to the doctors. If there’s any way we can minimize the damage, we’ll take the risks." "No. I don’t agree with him," Flechette said. "But it’s the best we can do," Hero said. "Please." "He’s clearly lost," Hero said, "Never able to shake his doubts, shaken in the very core of his being. We’ve all been there. You faced the doubts the same way. We faced the doubts head on." "I’m not so sure I’ll be able to brave that kind of scrutiny," Miss Militia said. "You’ll overcome it," Hero said. "By going out in a blaze of glory. There’ll be support. We’ll share the burden together. And we can diminish the damage as much as possible, can do more good in the long run if it means we can put one more enemy down than we put in. Thank you." "I could help," Flechette said. "Even with this being my territory." "Would you like to?" Hero asked. There was a pause. "I could offer you a hand in fighting," Flechette said. "Spare uniforms, medical supplies. I know some of the best in the world. I’ve seen some cool stuff, though it’s months away." ======================================== SAMPLE 657 ======================================== I need to know how in the hell you found us, without killing anyone. We’ve been picked for some big donors, and killed because someone named Faultline had an affair with one of our teammates. I found you, and I was wondering if you had any idea who I was?" No, I hadn’t. "See, I think I’ve become something of a recluse. I don’t go out, don’t approach people. If I have to avoid trouble, I do it by keeping to my civilian identity. I’m still trying to find that balance." "You could have sworn you didn’t know," I said. "I swear. I can say I don’t know, I could be faking it, but I’m going to go ahead and guess you don’t know who I am, either." I shook my head. "And you don’t know why I did what I did," she went on, "I saved your life, obviously, but I cared more about the people who’ve been diagnosed as high risk or possibly dying: the autistic DWU member, the girl you taunted on the forums, the disgraced professor. I didn’t want to offend or upset you, so I put myself in your shoes and I tried to help you." "I’m sorry." "No, I’m not. It’s fine. I’m still willing to listen if you need some extra help figuring stuff out, or if you need to vent, or both. I could always call and we’d figure out something more practical." I frowned. "We’re going to do this right, Skitter. Because if you’re not going to, I don’t think we could beat the other team’s scores." I wasn’t sure I could have stood to hear that. Hearing her partner rattle off the names of the dead in the other team’s team, versus the scores from her own team? I set my jaw, firmly. "Except maybe the GM-12. They’ve got a killer instinct, and maybe they have a way of tracking you, like the Suits did. Except they’re easily replaceable. The 12th?" "The Protectorate." "Right. The West end. And the—what the hell is a PRT team supposed to do? When the other team didn’t take a hit from the Nine, they piled this mess on top of us, then they decided to focus on the locals, save the hostages?" "They’ve got officers on the ground, and the heroes are more trained than they let on, I’m sure. They’ve got wardrobes, alarms, layers of encryption, and lockers that you couldn’t even know was there. The team is heavily subsidized, which means they are effectively second rate. Why, when the other team, the West end, has superweapons, huge stockpiles of nuclear weapons?" "It’s not like they have the means to defend themselves," I said. "Why not? The other team would be able to take out the pods the second the second wave showed up. Every team wants to be mobile, flexible. Picking off loose groups in isolated areas would slow them down, and it would take time to disarm the guns, give everyone time to clear out." "So they aren’t flexible. Simple. They’re not flexible at all." "Maybe they are flexible, here," I said. "It’s an interesting dilemma. Capes who act like villains, like the Empire does, so often, only more pronounced. We want the balance. You want the balance, I’m sure you built it." "I may have to kill you." I didn’t move or speak. I was already getting ready to die, so the idea wasn’t that far fetched. "I don’t like killing," I said. "That’s why you’re in this?" "I wouldn’t say I’m particularly fond of it, but I enjoy being dead." "Good bye. I love your eyes." I hung up. While we’d been waiting for the ambulance to come, my dad had come downstairs and taken my mother to my dad. I was glad for the escape routes that made it so much easier to get from point A to point B. Still, it had been nice. I found my dad at the kitchen table, brandishing ======================================== SAMPLE 660 ======================================== City wide. Chances are getting worse with each passing minute. We have to act. I can’t name names, I’m not that easily persuaded, and I’m certainly not going to be persuaded by you. But there’s heroes on the way. Take it from someone who’s been there. Don’t get enticed. Get scared off by empty promises. Empty words. Take it from someone who’s tried something like this. Don’t get enticed. Don’t get tricked. Defiant is recruiting. Rime graduated and joined the group. She’ll be leading a squad with Krieg, the leader of the Armbands. They’ll be stationed at the northern edge of the city, near the water. Remember that you’re not the only one. Remember that you have options. You can join or lead a team. You can be brave or stupid or desperate or desperate. There’s a hundred possibilities here. You pick the worst of them and try to save the world. There’s an agonizing wait while they pick their individual samples, each promising hope and research into enhanced human physiology, bone marrow or teleportation and their subjects die in droves. Or you can join. There’s an even game. You and the other heroes take the most direct actions, the choices are yours in the here and now. For every action you take to save the world, there is an action you have to call back to save the universe. And maybe you don’t even know it, but each of those actions builds towards the final choice. Every direct action you make has a companion action you have to call home to your partner, a painful choice and a terrible cost. You see capes fight in other cities. You’re probably fighting them right now. There’s two paradigms at play. On the one hand, you’re fighting an enemy that has spread to every corner of the known galaxy. They lurk in dark corners, employing nonlethal attacks, you are blind to your surroundings, and your best attacks are having far, far less effect than they might at first appear. You’re spreading your weakness. As your weaknesses spread, so too do the powers. They break down and go out of bounds, and you fall further and faster into the trap. I can see it, I can see the weakness, and I know I’ve seen it at play, many times. You fall into the trap and you fall. You cannot outflank them, you cannot put yourself in their reach where they are stalking us, or they cannot put pressure on you. You join their ranks, and you become their equal, if not their equal. You join them in fighting another hero, or in a never-ending struggle against the various threats that are out there. It doesn’t matter. You become their equal, and maybe a bit later, a major factor in their plans." "And I become like them?" I asked. My heart was pounding. Tattletale smiled a little. "They don’t know yet. It will only come. Only they know the full story, their full list of losses, both past and future. It will be a gradual process, as they lose more and more in the frenetic pace of battle, as their leader loses more and more in the same way. Some of their losses will be seen as willful, while others won’t be. It’s a learning process for them, for you, as they make the necessary sacrifices and gradually realize the kind of play you can’t even imagine now." I nodded. A part of me wanted to agree, part of me knew it wasn’t a good offer, that I’d be lending them my support in the interim, but another part of me knew that this wasn’t what I’d be wanting for in such a time as this. We’d already accepted Tattletale as a subordinate, they’d explained, because they needed someone on the fringes who wouldn’t burn bridges, who wasn’t as manipulative and who wouldn’t push us to break our rules. I’d balked, surprised, at first, at their methodical approach, but had come to value it. They’d told me about the non-lethal ammunition and threats of beatings or worse if I continued trying to take out the Nine. I’d also heard about Cauldron, Tattletale’s creator’s motivations for trying to kill me, and their suspicion that they could revive him if they put one more person in the way. ======================================== SAMPLE 663 ======================================== A city in ruins. Homes destroyed, people displaced. Water from tap wells into drinking water supplies and into streets where there are places where people are still sleeping. "I can’t go home," Shimada said. "I know," Noelle said. She stared up at the falling cloud of dust and debris, and there was no help there. The PRT officers and Echidna had doomed her home and many others, but the civilians had been her enemy, just as the villains had been. It was the PRT that she had doomed, and she’d doomed herself to failure by being too trusting. That had been enough. "There’s no way home for me," Shimada said. "Not for me, not for my family. I’ve been trying to help the people in my territory, and you people are the ones doing the pushing. The ones who are making it harder than it is. You’ve been assholes." Echidna’s descent continued. The ground split as she parted with the north end of the city, snapping back half an inch at a time, stayed more than a foot deep as she came half again again again, then three more times before she came halfway. "Hey," Noelle said. Shimada looked up, not speaking. "You’re gone. Gone. You weren’t even there. You’re dead," Noelle said. Shimada looked away, down at the ground, staring. "Hey, Noelle," Rachel said. Noelle didn’t respond. The silence lingered, punctuated by the bites and scratches that Simurgh had apparently made as she held the young villain in the air and forced her down into the city below. "Hey," Rachel said, louder. Shimada backed away, glanced at Rachel. Then he looked at the building she was clinging to. Hurt, injured, without a home to go to. Does she care? "Hey. I’m okay. I was there," Shimada said. "You were there for the Leviathan fight. You’re going to fight the Endbringer?" "No," Shimada said. "I’m not." "Fighting Endbringers? Can’t do it. It’s too dangerous." "No," Shimada said, this time with more conviction. "Because you’re right. It’s too dangerous. My whole reason for being in this body besides being in the Dragonfly was to spread the word. Get people talking about stuff like this, to get people working for us, which we really need. People depend on us, so if we do it right, we get respect, we get allies." "You just tried to pick a fight," Rachel observed. "I’m serious, is the way I see it. If we don’t solve this, then obviously there’s no point to life, and it’s not worth being in this world. So I’m fighting. I’m trying to change things so others do too. The way I see it, if I don’t fix it, nobody will. So I’m applying pressure. Filing reports, filing court documents, talking to people in higher authority. Organizing kidnappings, attacking capes, people who can’t or won’t cooperate." "That sounds like a plan," Rachel said. "Spread the word. Filing reports, getting the police and media to do a story about you fighting an Endbringer, whatever. Stop them from doing it, I’ll do my best to make them think they have to do it too. Divide and rule." "Just tell me you’re not going to do what it takes to fight the Endbringers." "I won’t. I’m not. I’ve fought worse opponents." "And you’re so small, so feeble, compared to the incredible," Tattletale said. "It’s like how a giantess might be saying, I’m not strong enough, I’m not powerful enough. Except she’s probably right." Shimada answered with a clipped response, "You don’t have to take the same position." "You don’t have to take the same position, I’m not saying you can’t. I’m saying it’s more productive and beneficial for all involved if you do." "Don’t believe you," Rachel said. "Don’t we ======================================== SAMPLE 666 ======================================== The dog got a rock, and Gully distributed her chain to give the dog something to bite at. Too slow. The dog bit too firmly, and the chain twisted around itself before the dog could get free, Gully observing with her head still turned toward the room, hands raised. "Watch it," she growled in his ear. He turned over, holding the chain with one hand, and hefted the long stick with the other. It was Tek’s tail, Gully knew. Except Tek wasn’t aggressive, even placid, in this cruel world. The little cuddly stuffed dog growled, louder with every passing second, and it managed to get its footing. Gully abandoned her attempt to give the chain a solid hold and rushed forward, grabbing the chain to keep it in place as she dragged her leg against the chain’s surface. Her efforts were futile, of course. The chain didn’t offer any real leverage against the dog’s natural reinforcement, and she couldn’t even feel the reinforcement, which was more a feeling than a tangible sensation. The dog growled, and Gully knew she might have made a sound too small and too far away for the dog to hear, if the chain weren’t thick enough to sustain a human voice. The dog, T-dog, turned toward her, its head moving erratically, lurching from one side of the room to the other, jerking up and down in an attempt to look around. "Oh, oh, oh!" the dog chirped. "I should have seen it coming," Gully said, again with the dog’s help. She got as close to the girl as she could without touching her own shoulder, pulled her hand back, and Gully seized the chain with both hands again, winding it through the girl’s neck. With her bare hand, she stabbed the heel of her right hand into the girl’s stomach, drawing blood. It didn’t matter; the chain was thick, and the girl didn’t seem to be suffering in the least. She chanced a glance at Gully, blinked twice. Noticing a pattern? "I’ll kill you," Gully said. Blinking, Gully glanced at her allies. Not a hint. "You told me you wouldn’t cheat." Blinking, Gully said, "ILL DIE, ILL DIE, ILL…" She trailed off, unable to see. The girl jerked in pain. Gully took the chain and wrenched it hard, enough to drive the puppy’s head into the girl’s gut. The chain, in turn, pulled on the girl’s arms, legs and legs. Oh. Tecton, Wanton and Cuff caught up to the girl. The chain busied itself with reining the girl into the air, driving her across the roof. She collapsed against the building face, her back against the post. Wanton pounced on the post, while Cuff struck out to get a grip on the building face. The post proved unyielding, and the girls struggled, but neither could quite tear it free. They were caught in a net that had been neatly folded around them. The chain was held in place not by the use of his power, but by the weight of the supporting structures. It was a net that had been fashioned out of webs of salvaged metal. They reached the far end, the carport, and Gully released the girl. She slumped down, putting her head and shoulders on the ground, her hands on the side of the building. She screamed, small, plaintive. Wanton, for his part, set about tearing the post in two, preparing to maul it. He turned off his engine and stalked away from the scene. Gully stirred. A churning wave of grit and blood was making its way toward her, and she was more aware of the surroundings than she had been since the battle with Leviathan had started. Dust was rising to the point where the dust hadn’t even beed a dust-bead into her pillow. A car had been smashed by the waves, and parts of the driver’s seat were partially torn from the frame. The chain link fence was hefted up as though it were a self-propelled grenade launcher. The Icarus began to open up and open fire on the intruder. My phone. I pulled it free, then took a moment to look at the timers, to double check that the shots were firing in sequence, and that I hadn’t gone over the allotted time. It ======================================== SAMPLE 669 ======================================== He advanced onto the stage, flipping through the pages until he found the section on Cat’s Eyes. He clicked it. Glaistig Uaine, the Crafter, now Classified #010 Glaistig Uaine, the Crafter (サムガワ, Sutagāru?, lit. ‘Oracle’ of Blades), is a witch who primarily worked for the Teeth, a spin-off group within the Swoop group. She is best described as a tornado of blades, as her telekinesis and the sheer destructive potential her abilities provide are what allow her to tear her enemies to shreds, then to repair the damage done. Her other power is a flamethrower that provides moderate temperature, severe heat. When fired, the flamethrower is blue, consuming every bit of heat she generates in the process. She is a master of chaos and disorder, capable of creating warfare out of nothing, and manipulating mana and electron flow to devastating effect. She abandoned her original job because she was hungry, and because it was dangerous, repetitive, and she didn’t enjoy it. She has since bounced between cleaning and performing minor jobs, and is now a low-level employee in the Teeth’s group. She will be available to lead the public in the near future. For now, we should take a moment to celebrate her accomplishment and evaluate her abilities. Gallant: We met? G-man? Ursa: G-man, yes. Spotted you at the fundraiser. Apologizes for missing the meeting. Gallant: Ooo, me too! Gallant pulled the tabs from his belt. He fished in his pocket, found the remote, and pressed the button. The screen behind him showed a graph. The white bar equals one thousand, ten minutes, now. Ursa turned the laptop around. The word ‘now’ appeared on the screen. Gallant stared, stunned. No. The last page was supposed to be one page photo. His eyes went wide. Ursa took the laptop and held it out to the right. She drew a colorful pencil out of the canister’s canister, tapped it against the edge of the page, then drew a different, higher-resolution image. Then she changed the color’s, marked it up, filling in the highlighter’s inconsistencies. She repeated the process, drawing more colors, filling in the blanks. When she was done, she turned the page, marked it again, writing in the highlighter mistakes she’d made on the previous page. Then she changed the pages. "We’re tracking you," the tracking device informed her. She’d missed one since the last page. She turned around. "You’re late," the woman in yellow said. She reminded her of Rembrandt. "Admittedly late," Ursa said. She’d recently finished shaving her legs, and her hair was still damp. She put the trash out on the table, reached for her headphones, and put them on. "You’ve got company?" the yellow woman asked. Ursa looked over her shoulder. "And I have company." "Then you should hurry. We’ve only got a few minutes to wait." Ursa nodded. She turned on her heel and ran. Tattletale was already in the air, a little behind Ursa. She rounded the corner of the room to the open doorway that led into the conference room. "Skitter!" Legend shouted. "Saving us—" "Is it one minute?" the yellow-haired woman asked. "Longer than that!" Legend snapped. "We’re losing. This is it!" "This is why we have her," the deputy director said. "We need her out there. The PRT can’t keep her, and it’s soon." "If the person on the other side could, maybe we could send one of our heroes against her." "As of this moment?" Legend asked. "Four and a half minutes before she arrives." "Yes!" the deputy director said. She seemed almost disappointed. "Four minutes, and we’ve still got two cases left to handle. That’s eight teams to help, with paperwork to sort, cameras to watch, and without you here, our heroes wouldn’t be able to enjoy the full benefit of this breakthrough." "You know it isn’t easy," Tattletale said. "And it’s not obvious. Just ======================================== SAMPLE 672 ======================================== The doorway unfolded, and I stepped outside. I’d arrived at the parking garage in a dressy, health-conscious style. My hair was freshly cut and ready for the day, and my makeup was in place, done up in one shimmering mirror, glossy, too white and too straight, blending in with my dark hair. The water was refreshing, the cool air crisp. My hair was a little too white, too straight, and I struggled to find the right shade, balance that with the protective glasses I’d already got. I stepped out onto the walkway, and people were applauding, applauding me. It gave me the impression that, no matter what I was about to do, I shouldn’t do it. But the moment I was through, I addressed the crowd again. I called on all of the good qualities I had and all of the bad ones I did, all of the worst of the worst, and I called them to the battlefield. I told them about the plans I had for tonight. About my new territory, my new recruits. About Dinah. Tonight, we attacked. I gave the order. And the battle began. Tangle 6.8 The first real bite to my luck. The moment my bugs ventured outside the room, I was greeted by the sound of guns cocking. A man in a giallo jacket and striped pants, aiming a gun, said something to a man in a giallo shirt, who was talking to his girlfriend. I sought out of my power the soundtrack from the movie Gladiator, and located the scene in Gladiator’s honor. The scene in question was in a hotel room, the protagonist, Aegis, trying to choke on his meal as his companion batted him down with a ball. In the end, he manages to get his breath, uses his grappling hook to break a stylized wooden table from the corner of the room and use his sword to hack at the wallpaper, before being restrained by it. The song that plays was the closing theme from the movie: ‘Tate estás libertad». In the four years that had passed since the event, I’d made little to no progress on that front. I was alive, I could maybe try to improve my decision making, situational awareness and so on, but life wasn’t fair, and any time I thought I could do something, I made it better. That was especially true when it came to those of us with senses that gave us perspective. I could listen to the song and think to myself for a few minutes, and it made a difference. The problem was that many a time, I’d had to sit up and take it in. It was something I always tried to avoid, but I’d grown increasingly tired of looking at the floor or the ceiling when I could have looked at the room and the people that were in it. I’d learned to turn my back to the computer screen in the next room so I could focus on what was in front of me, rather than have it repeatedly disrupt my attention. With luck, I would be able to ignore the screen for a few minutes, perhaps, before I was forced to take a seat and take it in. Glace bolted, clearly intending to make her escape, but her weapon was in her hands now, the one she’d had at the kitchen. A compound bow, with an arrow expanding from the grip on the end. She looked a little older, reflected in the eye-catching outfit she wore. Her braids were similar to the one that had been loosed, though not quite as colorful. "Don’t you run!" Cronkorian growled. Glace didn’t speak. She was already walking away, over the parapet that was separating the office from the hallway. "What was that about?" Exile asked. "Melee tips the scales. When we were testing her, we didn’t want her to hit as hard or penetrate as deep as the other heroes did. The rest of us were training her, refining her, expanding her power." "Don’t expand the power," Cronkorian said. "That’s dangerous." "It’s not that she doesn’t have any real offensive power, but the way she expands it, it makes her nearly powerless in the face of a formidable enemy. If they catch you with your crossbow without a scope, with your mask and glasses unbroken, it doesn’t do a lot to them. But against Scion, they can’t do a thing to him, and they take out key members, like Las Vegas dealt with Jack, or the cell block leaders like Lung, Jericho and Tycho, ======================================== SAMPLE 675 ======================================== Finally. The computer began to load. Once it had paused for a moment for the virus scan, the loading image appeared. Windows 95. "I have nothing to say," Marquis said. "I’m not your enemy. I’m just one of your neighbors." "You live alone. But you don’t run the hospitals, so you don’t have neighbors to compare yourself to. You’re the police chief." "I’m police chief because someone else was in charge when the things came, and they asked me to retire. When the things came, I was the first one sent out to look for a replacement. I worked my way up through the ranks, training with the best. I’m up there on the roof right now, reading a book, when the bugs crawl over my skin, the book is next to me, and they’re making a constant, clear connection. I’m the link that holds the others together." "And when the Nine showed up, you guys did your best to evacuate people, to keep them from getting hurt, from dying?" "Then you go on the offensive. You have people working for you, turning a blind eye because you asked them to. I told them I could make those people stronger, if I had to, if I had the willpower. I got them to cooperate, to help stop the Nine before they got a chance to hurt someone. I told them that if they ever did get themselves in a serious situation, they could always call me, and I’d call the cops, because I’d be able to control the response time." "This sounds like it’s kind of a last resort," Marquis said. "Last resort," Nurse Joy agreed. "But it gets attention. The people who are watching these guys get burnt by freakishly bright light, for no apparent reason, they get to keep watching. They don’t have that same willpower or reliance on the system the others do. They’re outliers in how long it takes the others to hurt someone, or to get themselves in a serious situation. And so you have to be careful you don’t inadvertently set people into that trap." "I’m really sorry," I said. "I’m not in a position to be picking fights." "You could always be," Nurse Joy said. "Call it selfishness. Call it greed. You just have to look at what happened back then, back then-" "I don’t really have a choice," I said. "I won’t be able to do anything about it. I’ll be out there, and it’ll be too late. I won’t be able to do anything." "You’ll be safer, if you don’t go outside," Nurse Joy said. "And you won’t have to worry about those people treating you like shit, because you can’t see them. It’s only at night, and in the dead of night when the others aren’t looking. Get out of the hospital, and get moving." I started to say something, then stopped. The others had already entered the room. "Don’t worry," Nurse Joy said. "You won’t be lonely any more." "I am lonely," I said. "I’m not happy where I am. I’m not happy anywhere. Especially not here." "This is where you were happiest," she said. "You had a broken home, a lost childhood. And, now, you’re most unhappy in this room with your family. But that’s okay. You can deal." I stared down at the table. I’d promised myself I would never wear a hospital gown. I’d also promised myself I would never let a hospital patient make me wear a gown. Now my dress was in the ruined box, and I was trying not to think about that. "I feel like I’m straying," I said. "You don’t feel like anything," Nurse Joy replied. "You remind me of someone I used to know. Your mom. She was sweet, smart, and caring. If I remember right, you told her you were having trouble at school, that you were worried about what would happen if you told your dad. She gave you that warm feeling in the pit of my stomach-" "I don’t want to think about that," I said. "You’re not going to! You’re going to bed, and you’re going to be okay. Don’t dwell on ======================================== SAMPLE 678 ======================================== Glowing blue. More lethal than conventional explosives. Not exactly a measure to use in a fight, but it could potentially be a deadly one. What was more, his eyes could mark people. The heroes were moving. The record for the highest number of heroes a single location registered was six days running, from three separate instances in Chicago on the twenty-fourth. That said, the timing was bad, as the record for the lowest number of heroes a location registered was the same time, the twentieth, when the Undersiders were furthest from the North end. "Buying time, buying ourselves time to work," one of the capes said. He wore a gleaming gold mask with a faceless, luminous body. It was accented by gold jewelry at key locations. "We need to do something fast," a cape I didn’t recognize said. He had a team with him, two men and a woman, and was decked out in his costume with golden bands and armor plating. "Victor." "We need you, Victor," the man said. "We need more teams. It’s too much of a chore," Victor said. "We should get this over with before someone tries to use some backfire on us." "Certainly," the man answered. "Miss Militia, can you contact the Protectorate teams?" "Your local teams are on the way," Miss Militia said. "Where are the Wards?" I asked. "They’re somewhere else," the man answered. "I could use the Wards there," I said. "We’re not going to take them. We’ve got too many other things to worry about." "The record twenty-five percent response time for the response time," Victor commented. "It could be that I’m playing silly on his part, pushing him to use the Wards too hard. He’ll be more reluctant to use them now that I’m there." "I suspect he’ll be even less willing to use them if I’m closer," the man answered. I saw the DC-6 from the helicopter pass over the rooftop. "Victor," Miss Militia said, "I thought a team would arrive soon." "They did," Victor replied. "But I’m in agreement with Hero. We’ll see you all in the north end early tomorrow." With that, he was gone. "All in all," Hero said, turning to his teammates, "A modest success." "A modest success," Chevalier agreed. "I’d like to think so, but I’m not happy with the way this situation turned out." "Mister Accent," Hero said. "Sit this one out." "It’s been a success," she said. "We may have to put Sofia onto the team, at least for a short-term stay. It may even be a temporary fix." "And there are nine of us?" Hero asked. "If it’s Sofia…" "She can’t talk, or she’ll lose her mind," Victor replied. "You understand, don’t you? I won’t lie and say I do. But I think it’s more streamlined and efficient for our team if I sit out, and you guys sit out. That way, we can have a greater impact on the things going on in the outside world. And if I’m unavailable for any of this, I can at least monitor the things going on in my head. If one of us fails something in the next twelve hours, it doesn’t matter that I wasn’t present or that Hero wasn’t to blame. I become less relevant." "Aesthetically," Hero said, trailing off. "I don’t get it. Can you visualize a world where people somehow managed to survive an event like this?" "I look at it and I can’t figure it out," I said. "Can you imagine a world in which people did something like that?" Hero asked. "A killer particle show, or a universe in which some sort of energy weapon stopped the creatures before they could kill a human being, and you can’t turn that energy on?" "On par with looking at the murder of a small child," I said. "Exactly," Hero said. "You’re obviously good at figuring stuff like that out. I don’t blame you. That’s why we’re here. We’re hoping you’ll help us out, out of kindness, or ======================================== SAMPLE 681 ======================================== Crock pot. So bland. I could eat this on the go. I tore open the canister and withdrew a plate of dumplings. "You’re lucky I brought it," Jack commented. "We could have kicked you while you were down." "Not that unusual," Grue replied, chewing on his lower lip. "It’s good," Dinah said, "The kids are happy." "They are," Grue said. "What’s up?" Rachel asked. She glanced at me, and her eyes widened a little. I shrugged, "Can we eat first?" "You’re supposed to give us a break before we eat," Dinah said, "But I think I’ma kick my bossass, too." "You’re in her territory, basically," I said, "So you get to decide what we eat first. C’mon." She groaned, and I could just barely hear her word choice with the tremor in my voice. "No," Dinah said. "I can’t. Not like this. I feel like the sweets I was so excited about today are gonna kill my diet in a very short span of time." "Sweet?" Cuff asked. Dinah shook her head. "No," I said. "No, you can’t. You raised your hand." She raised her hand. "It’s a knife, not a fork. Don’t think I didn’t catch it. You’re a master manipulator, at least. At your best." She gave me a funny look. "I’ll leave it to you to figure it out. I’m not the best when it comes to hiding things." "Are you saying I’m a bad person?" Parian asked. "You’ve been good, haven’t you?" "Yes. But that’s not a full answer. A lot of what I did was because others were fucked. Because of other issues, things were fucked out here at the time. Things are fucked out there right now because of things my power did." "That’s fucking creepy." "Yes. And it’s not something I’d be comfortable talking about with other people. Especially with people I don’t know." "Okay," I said. "If you say so." She nodded. "That’s all we really need to know. I asked you before we started looking for places for us to stay, as far as shady fixers to work for. As it stands, the Protectorate are looking for young capes who can look after a minor while on the cheap. These people are wanted on large corporations all over the world. They’re willing to turn violent if it’s to enforce a kind of quarantine, so…" I could see her stammer. I corrected her. "You’re thinking of the Endbringer thing first." She stammered, "…Endbringer thing is good in its own way. Better than trying to deal with the situation ourselves." "Invasion then. Well, we’ll get into that later. For now, we can keep you apprised of what’s going on, okay?" She nodded. "Let’s go see what they did to Triumph and Genesis. In the meantime, we try to avoid doing damage in the here and now. That means staying in town. Don’t know how that doesn’t cost us a lot, but I think we should go." She nodded. "Good luck. If you get the chance, you can stay with me. It’d be a place, after, between the two of us." She said goodbye as she walked off. "You okay?" I asked. "Triumph?" "I’m tougher than I look." "Same goes for you." "You say that like I’m a kid. At the end of the day, we’re still kids. We make mistakes." "And I totally get that. You were in the hospital for a long time." She shrugged. "I got sick and tired of waiting and didn’t see anyone. So I decided to go on my own." "And you were accompanied by your bugs." She tapped her belt. "Only way I could be sure of what was happening was if my bugs are on call." "Okay," I said. "And I suppose that means you� ======================================== SAMPLE 684 ======================================== Credit where credit is due, the success or failure of this particular group is more or less in the eye of the beholder. If I may say so myself, I’m a very picky consumer. Based on my interactions with them thus far, I’m saying this group is heavy hitters when it comes to drugs and sex. They do it with groups, keeping to a strict set of rules and regulations, and they thrive on disobeying the authorities. As far as I can tell, they haven’t gotten in anyone’s way, and they seem to operate with a firm hand. That said, they are targeting areas where the local authorities are weaker, i.e. military installations, weapons shops, and areas with a large immigrant population." "I wonder if they’re aware of our relative peace and quiet there," Weld said. I didn’t have a response to that. It was enough that answering a question like that let one avoid the pitfalls I’d fallen into before. "Okay," Tattletale said, "So the Undersiders are the brain dead, heartless, bloodthirsty type. Give them their morning coffee, hold court, they’ll obey, do as you say, but they’ll die in the evening." "Apparently so," a cape commented. He sounded almost derisive. Kind of, but not quite. Derisive enough to halfway fill a sentence. Weld nodded. "They also happen to be quite good judges of distances, I’m sure. They won’t be able to see much of this city, but I have no doubt they’ll narrow it down. I suspect they’ll find one of our weaknesses, and that’s that we have too many substandard buildings. Like the Boardwalk, the Docks, or some combination thereof. Having said that, I wouldn’t be surprised if Hand’s crack team found a substandard apartment building, a bank or a car dealership, thanks to our general lack of investment in and familiarity with the major streets." "Okay," Accord said. "I’m not a mathematician, but I have an equation for you. Divide the square footage of each floor in an apartment by the displacement of the floor space taken with the substandard floor..." "The ‘average’?" a cape colleague asked. "It’s just an estimation, a guess," Tattletale said. "I’ve done the math. More substandard buildings = More empty lots. So if you’re buying, you’re probably buying below-market." "Then I pay above-market," Accord said. "It’s a guess. Let’s wait and see. For now, we should divide the area we’re buying by the number of floors. So… thirty three parahumans, one for each Protectorate member?" "Let’s wait," Tattletale said. "Until we get an answer?" Accord asked, "What time is it? Seven? Eight?" "That’s our deadline. We picked up Shadow Stalker just before the deadline, and assuming we came out ahead, that leaves us roughly a week to get our footage." "Seven," Tattletale said. "And we don’t have the footage we need. We’re picking up threats in the area." "We’re not picking up anyone special," Tattletale said. "We didn’t get footage of the Trainyard, so that’s it. We picked up enough evidence to connect the Nine to the Slaughterhouse Nine, which is to say nothing of the Slaughterhouse Nine in general, or the particular member of the family." "Who else is in the area?" "Siberian is residentially," Tattletale said, "She was last we saw, and she’s not around. We think she’s staying at the north end of the city. The rest of us will be going to the south end. We contacted the other major gangs and groups for members of the Nine we think we can connect to this location. Everyone cooperative?" "Somehow," Accord said. "This is a sh- break in coordination. Is she favoring one group over the other?" "I don’t see anything remotely resembling a connection," Tattletale said. "Then I must be off-base," Trickster folded his arms. "Which is exactly why we’re here," Accord said. "We need more information if we’re going to get any insight into this situation. Bonesaw isn’t talking, we don’t have any answers ======================================== SAMPLE 687 ======================================== It would be easy enough to recognize. A smallish town, with the two most prominent survivors, a prominent megaconvention in the late 1990s, and my dad’s old high school. There’d also been some progress in the tech industry in the 2000s, with some promising start-ups opening shop in the streets and a bunch of entrepreneurs pouring into the city. Young adults with money were pouring in, buying properties and buying properties and letting the illusion fall apart. The people who had been patient and patient were now complaining, saying they could wait longer for a table at a restaurant, or get less than they bargained for, at the shops and parks that were popping up on top of old, decrepit buildings. Some were calling it dilapidation. The city wasn’t doing itself any favors, either. The influx of new residents had turned the old stock of shops and restaurants that had been serving the locals into fifty-some stalls and restaurants. Expressions of interest, polite as they were, were quickly turning sour. 1997 was a good year. Independence and success for the likes of Club Med and Roommate, but also the passing of countless decent, hard-working people who had the misfortune to fall in with the Irregulars. Undeserved, probably, but it was expected. My dad had been hurt, someone had died, or both of the Plottmans or the Spencers had been killed in some fashion. Even in the midst of my first year as a hero, I’d already gotten the call of the Director from the PRT, informing me that my teammate and close friend Peter Plott had been killed in the line of duty. Peter was an excellent man, a brilliant businessman with a strong work ethic and promising many years of work. He had also, his wife confirmed weeks ago, been killed in a terrorist attack on the city streets. Not the way he wanted it. In an era where counterterrorist was the order of the day, top of the line detectives and analysts were the kind of people the public expected heroes to look up to. Failure to look up to par, maybe, or just plain dumb. The day Peter died, I already knew the announcement would be loud enough that it would already be marking the day I could finally say I had what it took to become a hero. I didn’t want it to be me, so I could only grit my teeth and keep my mouth shut. I didn’t want to get reactionary, to get already and act the way I did things because the heroic push was calling my name. But it was too late. Peter had died not too long ago. I could only hope the efforts of the day would extend to the task of cleaning up the place. As it stood, the rubble was being piled up like you saw in the movies. Barrows, troves of water bottles, a ruined freezer, a ruined humidor, countless pieces of plywood and drywall, an overgrown pile of snow, long tables and benches, countless garbage bags with twisted metal poles sticking out of them, concrete and a jumble of other rubble. Even the finest urban soils carried traces of the dark brown ash of the fires that had been burning here for weeks. Worse, the thoroughfares had been clogged with debris, and the rains that had fallen during the past two or three days had wet sand bordered up the pavement, suppressing the flow of water. Here and there, large patches of the road were almost luminous in the dark; that was to say nothing of the massive clouds of dark smoke that had grown with the intensity of the rain. It was still possible to walk, even if I was tired. A quick check with my power verified that the area around us wasn’t suffering from erosion. That meant the worst of it wasn’t happening yet. The best news was that things weren’t likely to get worse before they got better. Things were turning up in the little towns all over America, the decay of old order, the triumph of the small time heroes, and the emergence of the small time villains. This was a town that had gone all out, and it was all punctuated by major disasters. The flooding was bad, but it wasn’t catastrophic. The isolated incident of damage was enough to rattle the frail body. The levees, the shattered storefronts, the charred barricades and the overturned bottles and glass that littered the street were reminders that Brockton Bay was no stranger to these sorts of things. I was ill-at-ease, just barely listening to Brian and Robin as they talked about the work they did. Impartial to a fault, these days. I couldn’t be objective, and I couldn’t be sure that what one was doing was the right thing, either. Robin, a father with two grown children and a team of nearly a ======================================== SAMPLE 690 ======================================== "The tragedy is," Brian said, eyeing Aisha with a note of anguish in his voice, "She didn’t ask for this. I’m sorry, but this is what you get when you ask permission. Two years, her entire civilian identity is taken from her, and you get a teenager who can make all the calls. She was asking for permission to do things, express herself, and she was told she couldn’t. She got used to it, but that first year is gone, and-" "Just stop!" Aisha clenched her fists. "-She got to make all the calls. She got to do all the stuff, verbal and non-verbal, that your friends don’t get to do." Aisha shut her eyes, considered. "-And now she got to watch all of this from you. She got to watch you take every call, and she got to do all of that while she’s being nice. She got to do all of that while she had the luxury of being your friend, while you had the luxury of being home and you were busy being Skitter. All the while, you took turns making her uncomfortable, took turns assaulting her, and you never once apologized, for the things she did wrong, even when we knew or suspected you of it." I could see Brian tense, as if he was going to say something. Then he stopped himself. "It’s not your fault, Taylor," Aisha said, "We let each other get swept up in this, and we let our pasts guide our decisions. The Phoenixfeather incident and our undercover operation in Brockton Bay didn’t happen in a vacuum. We’re all people with pasts we haven’t fully matured to the point that we can look at them in the present and know we did nothing wrong." Brian sighed. "I almost feel like you’re lying." "It’s the best way for us to get our past satisfactorily resolved," Aisha said. "So help me, or I ask you to please get it over with. We’ve been through a lot, we’ve had ups and downs, we’ve had good days and bad, and we’ve had ugly ones. Please." Brian sighed. "I’ll be back," Aisha said. She hung up. Lisa returned, with coffee in hand. "Good morning," I said. "Situation unchanged," she said, looking at the TV. "Hoping for a few good fights in the meantime." The TV showed a graphic of Aisha with the charred remains of a hand in hand with a grinning, deformed Amadeus, taken from a scene from a horror movie. The headline was scribbled out in blood: BITCH KILLED. I stared at the TV for several long seconds, my fingers and thumbs still gripping the knuckles of my hands, trying to contain my jaw, as I crumpled in a ball on the couch. "Takes a lot to stomach the news that your teammate is dead," Lisa said. "Even after you’ve gotten over that… grating, you’re not a fan of the ABB. It’s understandable, given what happened, Amadeus’ apparent deformity, your concerns about the team and the civilians, but I can’t get behind the idea that you’ll murder in the upcoming days." "I killed few," I said. "Fewest I’ve killed since i’ve been here." "In the past two weeks, you’ve killed only those I commanded at gunpoint." "I’m killing mostly civilians, my bugs suggest," I said. "I see," Lisa said. "I’d like to point out that you’re not the first or second or third person to kill in your ‘task’. You’re not even the first to kill while you’re wearing a bulletproof vest." "Who said I was the second?" Brian asked. "Grue, Amara and our canine guest," Lisa said. "You’re saying my subordinate is the one who said I’m the third person?" "Your subordinate," Brian clarified. "It’s actually kind of fucked up that I’m bringing that up," I said, "given what happened." "What happened?" Lisa asked. "Skitter fucking with our heads. Not trusting us enough to shoot us in the face, even knowing it’s close, but knowing we’re in the area. Then Skitter uses her power,odies ======================================== SAMPLE 693 ======================================== There was a lull in the third phrase. "…linked to." Or at least, that was the first thing that popped into my head, before I started managing to piece everything together. "…represents a major factor in his power." Leaving only the major parts unclear, I asked the question for the third time. "The thinker-seven broke ties with the Undersiders when he killed the healer. He has only that fragment, the power that lets him talk to the fragment." A further clarification, to give context to the earlier statement. "…Power lies with the patient. The healer was a patient. The powers are local, they affect only him, only they affect his body, only they weaken him, making him a possible target for an Endbringer." A reference to Brett’s conversation with Panacea. The doctor/ID that Amy had mentioned, and the man that Tattletale had identified as the Grey Boy. Both had been major players in the current skirmish. I needed more information, and I could use it. Or, more specifically, I needed to know how the Endbringers were managing against us. "The fragment that contains the power is lodged in the scar on the back of his hand. It will be gone as he grows older, but the fragment that caused the scar is the first to disappear. The patient will no doubt wonder why he doesn’t use his power to fight back, rather than to help others." "It is a problem," Tattletale spoke. "Many. But the precog says that with this fragment, he can assume any face or body, at any time he wishes. He can speak the language, he can travel the world, and he can create the pacts in his sleep. He doesn’t need to sleep, he can lie awake and die of hunger or thirst any time he wishes, from hunger or thirst he knows is present, not that he cares. "There are power sources he doesn’t know about. He has no hands, no legs, no mouth, and there are none of the natural materials that hold him together. He has fragments that were not only stored away, but were likely to remain so once he was through regenerating them, storing them in cases by now familiar to us all." I could see the emotions on the faces of the PRT uniforms as they ran. Some of them, like the woman in the wheelchair, ran to get the things. I gathered some of the bugs in the areas the PRT uniforms were able to reach, but it was slow going. They could be attacked, but the biggest threat was the vacuum. If they started fighting, then I risked killing one or all of the bugs, but there wasn’t a good way to stop the vacuum and not lose the other bugs in the process. The bug-killing smoke canisters were scarce, and I didn’t have a lot of bugs deployed to maximize the chances that they would be able to find and attack the casters before I disappeared. So I gathered more. I could sense the paramedics leaving the scene. Silk lines marked where they were going. The rightmost paramedic stopped, advancing to advance into the middle of the group. He raised his gun, pointing it at Jack. Jack, for his part, didn’t move. He tittered some, tossed a fist at the paramedic. The man backhanded it out of the air. "Fenja, Panacea, get down!" The chief paramedic shouted. There was a pause. Fenja, I thought. Why had she gone to the PRT chief when she had been coming to me? Panacea wasn’t down. She was shuffling to her feet, then half-stumbled as the paramedics approached. The rightmost paramedic stopped and a few of his colleagues bent down to check whether she was OK. But he had left her in the midst of this scrum. I hurried to her side. "The foam," I said, doing my best to keep my voice calm as I spoke, "You need it." "I do," she gasped out the word. "I think." "Get to an ambulance and get the patients to an area hospital. First aid, carbon dioxide. We’ll need a helicopter to get them to a better hospital." "Right," she said. Then she seemed to stall, "There’re only five or six people left. I’m sorry." "We’ll get you, Rosary. Once you are sure, stay calm, don’t show any weakness. We’ll send another car to you soon, okay, and you can switch to ======================================== SAMPLE 696 ======================================== She murmured, "And Aisha’s legs." "Huh?" "Tattletale informed me you were looking for custody of the kid," Skitter said. Intrigued, I asked, "You don’t have it in you to take her back." "Not in me," Skitter said, for the benefit of the two boys who were standing between her and Aisha, "I have other stuff I need to focus on first." "Like what?" Aisha asked, shifting her weight from foot to foot, "Or are you going to say it and then act like I said it, when you realized I wasn’t in a position to help?" Skitter didn’t answer. The question eventually dropped out and Aisha shrugged. "What do you want in exchange for your help?" Skitter asked, her tone a bit too casual for the ‘help’ she was implying. Aisha did her best to parse the conversation, and while Aisha made a good first move, Skitter proved a harder sell. "I’m only interested in taking her home. I don’t intend to use her, and I don’t want her to go to the people who are abusing her." "You don’t seem to care about the other stuff." "What else?" "If you want to keep her, I can take her back. I have the IDs and other documents." "But…" Aisha made a calm, rational face, "If you take her back, I get attacked. Are you going to attack me, too?" Skitter didn’t reply. Instead, she crossed the room to where a young man was lying on the ground. Gray hair and eyes were pockmarked with shock and bewilderment. "Fuck," the man squeaked. "I’m tougher than I look." Skitter put a hand on the man’s shoulder, pulled him to his feet. As he woke, he said, "Young sir, I’m sorry to take so long to return, but I’ll trust you when I say that Tattletale is as nice as ever." "I’ve been trying to get in touch with some people who were nice enough to chat with me before," the other man said. "You should get in touch with Aidan. He was nice, even." "Hey!" Aisha said, with a sudden urge to clap. "I’m signing up for help! I’m- I’m not dumb, I can recognize bullshit, right?" Skitter turned to frown at Aisha. Right. Aidan had been her student. It didn’t matter. She would have mentioned it if she could help it. "Well said. I’ll go. I’ll go." Aisha hurried off, her walkie-talkie continuing to buzz with the adrenaline as she zig-zagged down the streets with relative slowness. Where Skitter had been gentler, going out with drinks at the market and a meal on the boardwalk, Aisha gave Skitter a hard look. Where Skitter had been more stubborn, taking charge and ignoring the polite niceties, Aisha got the opposite: a pat on the back and a nudge in the direction of the girl’s upper arm. She couldn’t do this. Not for Aisha. She stood to lose more than she would ever get back, both in the short-term and in the long-term. It wasn’t rational to think this way. Skitter had been vulnerable, too. She had to have known, but she hadn’t done enough to stop it. She wanted to be a superhero, in a sense. Assault was one. Rory was another. But Assault was a man she could respect and rely on, not Skitter. Skitter was too valuable to risk her friendship and trust falling apart because one of them had made a slip. No, the biggest reason was that she felt like she had to do something here. She had to take control, to mount a defense and make sure this doesn’t happen again. Now. She pulled off her mask, letting the darkness dissipate around her. If she had to go back to the precinct, she was going to be that much more confident. She could control the darkness. If she had to go to the audience room, she was capable of holding her own. The worst case scenario was that she got caught up in the crowd, knocked out, then drove the wrong crowd out. That would be a nightmare. The worst case scenario was that she got distracted, that the darkness came from somewhere ======================================== SAMPLE 699 ======================================== Worms. There were more marks, all in a white-gray, four-foot-high pile of slime, some covered in vermin. And in the midst of it, one segment of the thorns- The air the blazed with static. With the other segments, there were cracks, cracking flesh. Where it reflected the lights of the lights, it could be read as broken glass. A hundred individual knives, arranged in arrays. Not many, when compared to the shards that sprouted from the air-hole within Canary’s upper body. It was hard to make them move without them seeming oversized, like knives that had been attached to her back. I pressed my hand to my chest, my fingers brushing the gaping wound. I felt warmer than I had in some time. I wasn’t sure how. Had my bugs been doing damage? A static charge? "Can’t outrun them," I said. "They’re static," Tattletale said. "Your bugs are the only ones that are capable of cutting them." I nodded, grinding my teeth. "You take them apart, then send them back, using the entirety of your power, and you’ll weaken them enough that you can't hope to exert enough control over them to mount a successful attack." "Okay," I said. I pulled the knives free of the stands, then passed them out the window, limp and broken, with my arms bundled around my midsection, the paperweights of my body dangling. As they dropped to the floor, they became a blur, moving in straight lines. "I can’t tell if you’re alive or not," Tattletale said. I shook my head. I couldn’t tell if she was alive or not. Atlas was with us, but he wasn’t close enough to matter. "They took down more heroes than me and Lung combined," I said. "I think they succeeded in foaming up the hole, and the scorch marks the holes left in the flesh, barring any obvious routes of entry." I counted over the bodies. Two. "Three," Tattletale said. I nodded. Three unfortunates. "Four," I said. "Tattletale?" "Yes. Lung’s alive and well. He teleported back before we got him." I nodded. "I’m going to go talk to him. Promise." She smiled a little, but didn’t respond. "Five," I said. "That’s five I think we can be absolutely sure are dead. Bonesaw’s puppies, they were shot in the head, and yes, there’s life remaining in the pieces. Yes?" "There were six," Tattletale said. "I’ll kill you for cheating." I didn’t reply. I might have, but I wasn’t about to jeopardize my plan by taking the time to discuss it further. "Seems like the rest of us are in a similar boat. We cranked up the containment foam on you, and we started the mop up the ratsies, but we didn’t seal the place off. A group of marauding rats just made their way inside, and last night, some of the smaller groups were back in the cell blocks, taking it out on the residents. We acted on that, but just a little, maybe sending some of the rats to sleep, depending on how bad they were." "And now they’re rearing back and lunging for you, Teeth," I said. "You can’t stop them, and if you try, they hit you and you’ll probably die." "We can try," Tattletale said. "But I’m not sure we can stop them from opening fire on us, or even hurt them enough to be worth the time it takes to get them in range and fire off that many salvos. They hit you, they hurt you, and in the chaos and noosphere of fire from the blasts, they do manage to hit you. I can manage a bullet each time from range, but the concentrated hits, like the one that bit Cherish’s shoulder, they leave me cold." I shook my head. "I’m a durable guy. I’ve fought bigger threats, and I can hit hard enough to outlast them even if I’m several hundred feet away. I can survive that." "What about if they get to you?" Legend asked. His voice sounded kind of soothing. I looked up at the man. ======================================== SAMPLE 702 ======================================== Disaster averted. I’d be back in six or eight minutes. Cranston paused in his tracks. "Oh my god. You missed the deadline." "What?" "You missed the deadline to-" "I know. I’m sorry." "It’s fine. I’m kind of surprised that you didn’t do anything sooner. I started working today, so it was only necessary to get this far." "I kind of planned it." "Yeah. Um. I guess I’ll be back, then." Cranston exited the bathroom, zipping up his clothes and bag. Emma entered from the kitchen, wearing a white top and jean shorts. She held a paper shopping bag from the kitchen counter with an elastic band. "You missed the deadline, too. Perfect," Cranston said. "What? I told you. Why aren’t you working?" "I just couldn’t let myself get distracted while your cousin went out shopping." ■ Tuesday, June 21st, 2011, 10:25 "Emma?" the phone rang. "It’s Taylor," my dad answered. I jumped, latching the foot to the other foot, "Hi Taylor. This is my new friend and teammate of sorts, Grue." He hung up the phone. "Hey there, Grue," Emma said. "How can you be so fine with it?" "I don’t see the point." "I take it back. It was what you said when you asked me to handle things on my team." "I know you meant well," he said. "But now I feel like I spoke more than I meant, and you won’t be able to replicate my tone and thinking when you’re applying to be a member of this team." "I know, but you’re forgetting what you said when you asked for it. You can’t copy-" "I think you’ve got a world where you can do that," he said. "The Simurgh?" I asked. "I don’t get the point." "I’m applying to the Protectorate, and I was even considering taking the route and avoiding the pill entirely, just to guarantee that I’d be healthy and able to fight when the time came." "So you take the pill and then sit there and grimly watch the Protectorate process where your teammate that you didn’t even meet existed, right?" I said, getting out of bed. "Gut feeling?" "Yeah," he said. "Mental, gut feelings, something Ms. Yamada told you about." "Can I ask what she means?" "It’s not exactly an open book. It’s something I can’t explain in words, so I’ll make it quick. Basically, what she’s talking about is that you need to connect with other capes, with other villains, so the other shit doesn’t weigh you down. You avoid confrontation, you avoid conflict, and you stay off the board," I said. I leaned on my knees and hands to support my weight sitting up here. "That’s it?" "Yeah. Basically." "All this time you were avoiding the pill, avoiding the bullying, avoiding the breakup with my mom. All it took was the pill, and every time you put one foot in front of the other you felt that much more like a worm when you realized how fragile everything is. That much time you spent running, skipping, fighting, it took you a little while to find your stride." "A lot of people say that," I said. "Is it true?" "I’d say it is," he said. "If it’s true," I said, "Then what did you do? You went to my dad, talked to him for fifteen minutes, got him to agree to the terms, okay? So you could drop the drug use and alcohol." "I’ve been pretty clear about what the pills are. I don’t drink, I don’t take the pill, and I barely even think about taking the stuff anymore. If I have to worry about a night of Blackwell’s fun, I’m taking that from my dad, okay?" "That’s not what I said," he replied. "I’m sorry." "And I don’t think you really get what it’ ======================================== SAMPLE 705 ======================================== It was you who had tricked them into fighting a monster. After one look of pure terror, the Simurgh’s screams of pain and fury were silenced. When they did fight, they did fight, and they killed Scion. You. You had lied to them. You had tricked the Simurgh. You had given her the chance to do what she did only because you thought it would be the most amazing and devastating way to kill a hated enemy. Because really, at the end of the day, what made people tick was the unknown. What was a person really like, if they didn’t have any idea what they were rooting for, what their motivations were? If there was only a way to get to know people, like there was with my dogs, maybe I could put them on a leash. Maybe. I stared down at my hands, muddling through the mud with my fingernails. I’d almost forgotten I was supposed to be wiping it away. I glanced at Tattletale, but she seemed to be in a session with a client, and was wearing her glove. She hadn’t tidied her hair or prayed. I glanced up at Bitch, saw her eyebrows drawn in concern. I shushed her. I couldn’t do anything about Tattletale and the others. I couldn’t say whether Trickster or not. If I could get away from that situation, I was all too happy to take any opportunity to run. "I want to keep running," I panted. "Because I can’t go home. Not yet." "You already have." "Maybe." "I’ll get better. I’ll cross my fingers. I have a few tricks up my sleeve." I shook my head, looking at the swelling mass at my neck. "No. Don’t get better." "Okay." I heaved myself up and walked around the building that housed the lobby. My inspection of the area was a repeat of earlier in the day, keeping an eye out for any sign of trouble. I noted the presence of PRT officers, who had gathered in pairs and/or trios, with yellow tape meant to separate them from other groups. I knew they had read the papers we’d passed, but the constant removal of the paper meant I couldn’t be sure. Also, the presence of the uniformed guards wasn’t a coincidence. As much as I’d been wary of stepping into the back alleys of the Docks, I was much more comfortable here. It was a facility, a space that could house and guard hundreds, if not a thousand PRT officers. Back in my lair, I’d found a fitting metaphor in the grand scheme of things. The entire city, Myrddin included, was, in large part, a warzone. There was no safe haven for the worthy in Armsmaster’s world, no place to find the balance between civil courage and serving the greater good. For everyone else, it was a landmass, a place where they could call home, a landmass where they could seek refuge, a place where they could find hope. From a distance, from the parapets of the buildings that loomed ahead of us, it seemed like every structure was on the warpath. The perimeter was maintained with constant mortar and artillery fire, while the drones that flew above were keeping an eye out for threats by transmitting coded signals. The Battle for Bitch’s territory began. Miss Militia, for her part, had decided on a strategy that kept the best powers from competing with her own. Ballistic and Genesis were close enough together for me to see them making their way through the building, running interference. I didn’t know it, but the drones that Crash Site decided on were remote control. It was the best explanation I could give for why the suits seemed to linger. They were far more likely to fire the moment I saw them, to take a shortcut through a space that was closed or unexplored. And that shortcut was opening, allowing the other parties in. Sundancer moved to my left, stopping in the middle of a street so she could fire a blue flame arrow at the palm of my hand. It burned just inches from my fingertip, but it nevertheless cut deep enough that I could see it pass through the fabric of my glove. It didn’t hurt, though it did hurt. My regenerated hand blossomed with new blood, and the stinging, bloody end-result was still wet with ichor two days later. I’m sorry, Genesis. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to ======================================== SAMPLE 708 ======================================== He didn’t respond. Instead, he drew his sword, spun it like a top, and plunged it through the dragon’s chest. The head had already started rotating, the four blades orbiting at the handle’s edge. Chaos. The Remains… Seven dragons in all. Each had been taken out of action, or near death. None of them had survived Leviathan’s attack. Some had bled out, others had been disemboweled, their hearts replaced with pieces of metal around the blades. Yet others, this one included, had remained still, their bodies folded inside hard bodies. It was this Remaining that Bonesaw and the other dragons of her kind were attacking. Each of them individually, they began clawing at the metal of the Remaining body, trying to achieve the same effect Pocahontas had achieved, shutting off oxygen, keeping the flame out. Others, this one included, had entered a kind of shell, almost like a shell of a living thing, insulated from the world. When they stopped, their animated corpses lie in rows. This shell was shattered when the bodies came into contact with the battlefield. There were too few dragons left in the world. Not enough to mount a serious attack without the Invincible, not even with Scion. These were the real threats. She turned her head, surveying the battlefield. Hew looked to be dealing with some of the local capes. One black cape amongst a group of twelve or so. A master-class cape. I could see the mix of human and mechanical in their costumes. The ground was churning as the bodies and machines began to make their way down. Sveta inhaled, taking in the scene. In this, she was almost like Sifara. Expending less of her power to influence the world, absorbing more of it with her reflections, perpetual loops and repeats. It was a reflection world, in many respects. More bodies, less alive. The machines were still making their way down, but they were leaving more corpses behind. And the threats were still making their way down, six vials filled with the pale golden light, Tikalu, Nilbog, Mongrel, Mannequin, Cutter and Rose. Mongrel’s energy killed a number, and the Graves were among them. A discarded backpack caught his attention. It moved, like so much else in the Pendragon, the contents pouring from the unlit, empty backpack. A connection was formed. He’ll be in contact, Sifara thought. "Nilbog," the talisman crafting desk said. "Gnarrr," Nilbog said. "Aerothyth," Sifara said. "Theorists say it’s a shard of shard in a bottle. Pretty scary when you think about it." "Aerothyth," Nilbog said, and the talisman crafting desk started talking, talking, talking. "She’s in trouble," Golem said. A churning rumble shook the Pendragon as Gargoyle rose from the ground. "The baby needs to rest, or the risk of decomposition is going to be catastrophic. She could be in critical condition, and we don’t have any real offensive power." "The Protectorate can help," Tecton said. "We could keep her alive. Could kill the threat." Rose was among the invited ones, but the risk of Rose being taken by monsters had been partially addressed. She was the closest thing to a godly being that the PRT had, and because of that, it was easiest to get her to cooperate. A cloud passed over her eyes, and she bent over, putting a hand on Golem’s arm. Golem tuned it out. He could feel Rose’s grip on his arm, which had hardly changed from the beginning. The fringe of soft flesh between the shoulderblades wasn’t there. "You’re not trusting me to keep her safe, are you?" "No," he said. "But you’ll be helping me out. I’m only as safe as I are." "Then don’t give me any more power. I don’t need it." "I have it. I’m not giving it back." "You’re not giving it back because you think it was an accident, or because you’re a coward?" "No." "Why didn’t you use your power?" He shook his head. "I couldn’t." "I ======================================== SAMPLE 711 ======================================== How’s that work?" I asked. "Tinker equipment has a shelf life of five to ten years. After the number of uses it has come to expect, a manufacturer verifies the equipment each time it is manufactured, which can take up to five years to process all of the verification and start producing again. Any unused portions of the equipment after five years are known as 'biomass', and the consumer pays the additional cost of the biomass in cash. These balances are added up and paid for in the order they are generated, with the final amount noted on the machine’s balance sheet." "And you generated a great deal of cash. More than one billion dollars, according to rumors"). "We expect that our machines are less powerful than regular computers, and therefore that we would generate a greater amount of cash. For this reason, we are not paying salaries to our employees, nor are we employing rogues or mercenaries. In sum, I would guess your machine is generating more than five to ten times as much money as it would sell for, say, a used car. This, coupled with the relatively low number of employees, makes us a popular target for any hackers looking for a hard cash. We would not be, of course, but there is little doubt that our reputation and the general security of our facilities would survive any breaches." I didn’t have a response to that. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to pay the price, per se, but circumstances had made it difficult, and I felt a need to rendezvous with others in seclusion to bring about my own meteoric rise. I was more efficient as a group than I was able to be with individuals. "Well, the thievery and accounting departments are closed tonight, so there is that. The remainder of your funds will be held in trust. For the next twelve months, you will be informed of all tax returns and financial statements for the previous twelve months. Be advised, there is no state tax in Massachusetts after this point. You will also be required to inform the local taxing authorities regarding any transfers of assets between your personal and professional accounts. Finally, you will be required to sign a confidentiality agreement, waiving your right to bring an action in court against the local authority or any employee thereof." "So you’ve got that covered," I said, "And I’ve got the others. Are you surprised?" "Pretty fucking cool," Alec said, with a touch of sarcasm. I shrugged, "Let me apologize in advance. If you ever happen to cross paths with any of the Travelers, you better believe I am pulling your legs." "Oh? The carry over from our last run-in?" Bitch asked. "No," I said. I didn’t want to let her get the wrong idea. "I want to humiliate you." "That would be Epsilon," he answered me. "Your bug girl," Bitch told him, amused. "Don’t hold your breath," I warned her. "It’s a lot of poison to have in one body, with her potent neurotoxin." "Oh, I’m sorry," he said, suddenly becoming more serious. "I can't help but feel your pain. I’ve gone a long way in my life, I’ve raised my children to be the best they could, but I feel sick. I hate you, feeling like I’m falling apart." I turned to look at him. I didn’t see the source of the word, like I might have if I’d heard ‘you’ instead of you. "I hate you too, Taylor Hebert. You ruined my childhood, and you fuck with my identity just to hurt someone." "Just tell me your motivations." "I didn’t kidnap her, and I didn’t knowingly give him powers," I said, "I didn’t profit from them, directly or indirectly, and I didn’t profit from causing her pain." "Whatever." "Did you use her powers for your own selfish purposes? For your own personal gain? Did you get something for nothing from her? Something she would have wanted you to experience for yourself?" "Never. Not even for the people you’ve stolen from. And I didn’t do anything to the person I stole from, beyond standing there and watching. If you think that makes any sense, let me know." I sighed. "So what do we do now? What do I do to you? I can almost understand what you were going through, but I can’t make sense of it." "If you were going to explain, ======================================== SAMPLE 714 ======================================== Shooting classes in the morning and building muscle in the afternoons. No exercise until after 8:00 pm. Aiming to burn off as much body fat as possible in the gym. Recent weeks, to his great frustration, had been too short-lived. It had been too tiring, too much of a grind. So he had begun anew, over and over, watching movies and TV shows he had once dislocated or been inebriated in. Even after he had put his dislocated shoulder back in, he found it easier to sit and keep track of what he was watching and what he was distracted by. He watched that way too much. In the end, he decided, he would watch TV, because it was the only way he could be sure he would get enough sleep, and because it was the only time he’d be able to keep track of more than one thing at a time. 12:20 pm. What did you do? You went back to bed at the same time you came back from the buffet. You didn’t have a good memory for things that weren’t pleasant. You had to remind yourself of it. You remembered jumping off the bridge, you remembered the conversation in the bathroom, and you knew the dance sequence. You couldn’t remember the movie you were watching, because you were inebriated, but you could remember the movie greats by heart. You knew the lyrics to the song you were dancing to, and you could name the band and anyone you were listening to. You could remember every part of the movie you had watched, from beginning to end. You were a sponge, and as long as the coffee and the snacks kept you going, you were reefing yourself up to keep yourself sane. With a little less than two hours before your test run, you got on your knees, face to face with your new trainer. You liked it, you cried with joy when he snapped his head around to face you, and you swore like a sailor when he wasn’t looking. Not that it was anything special. He was a mundane dude, a dad with kids of his own, and he had natural talent. If anything, what he’d done here had set your days a little more straight. You knew that even if you improved pretty fast with the simple act of staring into your trainer’s eyes, he would get more excited about the prospect of a workout and a chance to put distance between you and your mom. Even a hug from the moment you’d seen your mom on the sofa to the moment you took your seat on his bench. You probably didn’t even realize it, but you’d entered into a contract of love. You didn’t have to use the word ‘I’ if you didn’t want to. It was maybe better to say you were his daughter, than a stranger’s daughter, and you were also a pretty big damn girl, at a critical juncture. You were happy, you had no complaints, but you felt like you were getting shortchanged. It was understandable, even inevitable, but a suppressed emotion welling up. You were riding the high of everything you’d done well. A wave of sorts. As it had been with most of the tests, Cobham had decided on a scoring system in an attempt to rank you. Not necessarily in the order they’d been put together, but in a way that linked what they knew about you, what you’d shown them, and what they had seen in the course of the bullying campaign. 1. Not special. 2. Not bad. 3. Bad? 4. Kidney failure. 5. Unknown. 6. ThinCurvy. 7. Not relevant. There were further marks to consider. These were just a few of many. There were those who had been bullied you didn’t know, a subset that was pretty much defined by their poor social skills and a heavy reliance on others for validation. You watched your mark, scoring higher than the other students in just a few subjects. You scored high in those that concerned you, in those pertaining to your ... power. You scored higher in those two subjects alone, in one of which there was no course work on the subject and another of which you didn’t have to take calculus. In either of those two cases, you took an optional paper class and met with the head of the trigonometry department in the face of student protests. You’d had three semesters of classes on the subject, given your parent’s agreement, and you’d dropped all three years of high school to take one class. You were okay with that. You� ======================================== SAMPLE 717 ======================================== What do you want to know? She slammed her hand on the wood of the door, and the entire structure toppled into place. I had a glimpse of the interior before the door hit the floor, and I could see the interior after the rubble had filled the space, forming a flat, well lit room. The furniture was set out with everything from a game of pool to a set of high-end dress shoes. The girl with the notebook-and-pencils hands, her sister, was perched on the couch. So I got to see what it was like to be a member of the Slaughterhouse Nine. Before I could get a sense of them, or get comfortable in my own skin, there were shouts and screams from the crowd. Parian and Foil in their combat gear. I glanced at Foil. She was scientists, with her green and black costume with hard, geometric patterns on it, rather than capes, and she was protecting most of the people in the conference room with her spectral possession. Purity, meanwhile, was in her human self, standing with hands in front of her for emphasis, her blue-green eyes squinting in the midst of her dark blue hair. Just saying. The concept of being in the company of a 'ghost' was one I couldn’t help but muse on. When the dust had thinned out enough to show us the outline of the room Foil and Purity had made, I saw the figure. Purity, her twin, and a half-dozen or so other, whirling as if they were in a frenzy, a knife in each hand. The others… less disordered, but more obtrusive. A woman with a spear in each hand, a dozen or so years younger than Purity. They didn’t have powers, but they were dressed in copious quantities, and they didn’t have their costumes either. The cloth had been spun by hand, to allow the clothes sufficient stretch, and the images were permanently mounted on the costumes, images of patron saints, mythical figures, and so on. The woman with the caught me off guard. I hadn’t been looking for her. There was a man with a dozen or so other looking people in the conference room. People who looked like they’d been recruited by the Syndicate, lured in with promises of power and a great deal of money. And then there was this, this one doorway, like a portal that led to the hereafter. This one spot, as in place right now, with this many capes and no location. The man stopped, and I wondered momentarily if he knew he was taking us to the hereafter. With a suddenness and a pique in his voice, he asked us, "Then who are you looking for?" "I’m asking you to find me," I said. I paused, thinking. "Who are you looking for that isn’t here?" "Who’s here?" the man asked. "The PRT is dissolved. Skitter is the only one that remains. She declined to come because she did not want to be in the middle of a fight, where she could be killed." "What are you hoping to accomplish?" the man asked. "I’m hoping to accomplish what I’m attempting to achieve, that is, gather information. I have hired others to accompany me, and will provide you with copies of the reports you have requested." "You’re admitting you have no idea what you’re doing?" Parian turned toward me, and I took a moment to consider her words. "I do not have any idea what I am doing." "You succeeded in getting people to notice, to care. You succeeded in getting national attention. The first major cape organization to get behind us was the Empire..." "I think that’s it for the major players," I said. I thought of Echidna. "The Protectorate, the Wards, the New York teams." "The San Diego team?" "The Los Angeles team, yes. The Phoenix and New York teams did not extend the offer, this is yet another reason." "Why aren’t you fighting the Nine?" Parian asked. "The only ones who would be interested in fighting the Nine are those who are already fighting. The Eligible are the Undersiders, Teeth, and the Til I Fall team. I would argue that they are not fully equipped to fight the Nine, and would be forced to ally with the Beyonders if it came down to it. With the state of the Protectorate and the state of the Protectorate’s ability to regain officers and members, I feel it would be suicidal." ======================================== SAMPLE 720 ======================================== Aesthetic<|endoftext|>BY: A 31 year old father was arrested after authorities found him sitting in the passenger seat of a car with his toddler child in the back. The man had apparently been concerned about the child’s emotional state and sat in the backseat with his eyes closed, reading a book. The child was black, the father was white. The father, identified as Corey Taylor, a warehouse worker from Plano, was charged with aggravated assault with a parahuman ability. According to court documents, Corey Taylor stated, ‘I didn’t want my child to cry’. The child was a daughter, apparently. The father’s attorney, Jonathan Weisman, commented, ‘This is the sort of thing you’re supposed to keep quiet and be a good neighbor’. If the incident had anything to do with the child, it wasn’t saying. The father was remanded in custody pending a preliminary investigation. UPDATE #2: According to WFAA, Corey Taylor, 31, was booked into the Duval County Jail and released on a $50,000 unsecured bond on Thursday, September 19th, 2017. ******************** UPDATE #1: According to the police report, on the morning of the incident, officers were called to the 1600 block of Irving Place for a report of a domestic disturbance. When they arrived, they found the man in the passenger seat with his wife and the child in the backseat. The man had been punched and kicked, and the child was in one of the lapels or covering of his face. The father told the police he had been drinking with his family, his friends, and his daughter had been in tears when he arrived. He had then gotten in an argument with his daughter over the handling of the situation. According to the report, he had grabbed a knife and then slammed it into the shattered windshield of his car. His car was parked in the lot to the right of the hotel. When police officers asked the father if he had any weapons, he replied ‘Yes. There’re six knives in my glove compartment. Take them inside and don’t break anything if you can help it. I promise I won’t tell anyone if I don’t take your weapon back or provide you with a photo of it afterwards.’ When police officers asked if he had any drugs, he replied ‘Yes. Some in my purse. Nothing dangerous.’ When police officers asked if he had any money, he replied ‘Yes. Half of my bank account. Please understand I have limited English and don’t have the money to pay someone else to translate for me. I come prepared with my bank card when you check-in at the hotel. You don’t need to worry about luring this individual into a money grab. Please don’t bring your weapons to the hotel, we understand.’ When police officers left with the man’s weapon, Corey Taylor took the opportunity to flee. Police caught up to him a short distance away and began trying to grapple with him. He began thrashing violently, using his arms to shield his head against the impacts. Finally, after ten minutes of futile fighting, police backed off and retreated. When they reached the back door of the hotel, they found it locked. They went on their way, leaving him in the care of the man who had hired them. It wasn’t long before the other hotel guests were aware of the situation. The only ones not in the hotel were the woman who was staying with the family, and the man who had hired the woman. She screamed, yells, and allusions to violence as she demanded to know why her husband was being arrested. When pressed for more information, she simply stated that he was there to protect her. The other guests arrived and joined the fight. Though they were strangers, they banded together in the defense of their wife and child. The woman with the child, someone who would have been a first for police to recognize, turned her body into a shield, blocking the view of the constabulary and the officer in charge. The toddler that was in the kitchen came out in an instant, dashed across the hotel room to spy on the unwashed, unconscious man and his family as they left the room. The man, too scared to run, staggered to the front hall and fumbled for his wallet. After two long, desperately futile tries, he dropped the wallet and threw it at the woman who was holding it. Her hand was stone-still as she held it in both of hers. The woman hurried towards the front desk and grabbed one of the receipts. She shoved it into a plastic pocket beneath her desk. "That’s him?" a man in the crowd asked ======================================== SAMPLE 723 ======================================== All of the lifeforms in this room have cells. There are six canvases of different scales, one for each of the major components of the swarm. Each scale is connected to the other canvass in turns. Tiles on the walls show the general placement, and the placement on the walls is left to blend in with the general area. A dragonfly flickered and popped in the air before she landed in our midst. She was large enough that she had to slow her forward momentum to maintain the illusion. I was distracted, again, by the sound of scraping metal. It was a signal. An interplay of sorts. Dragon was addressing Defiant, and Defiant was addressing Dragon. My bugs were almost positive that there was a deliberate effort being made to communicate. Announcements were being made, delays were occurring. Announcements were being made in a variety of forms, keeping inter-squad communication distance, keeping everyone on the same page. Announcements were being made over the comms, announcements were being made over my bugs telling them to attack, warning them of impending attack, and there were even calls being placed, places where people were congregating, queuing up to deliver messages. The schedule I was getting from my synapses was that they were holding off on some of the more destructive waves. Instead, they were holding back, reserving some of their destructive potential. Not that they were stupid, I knew. There was a limit to what they’d be able to take with them, after a fashion. But this was one system that could take advantage of that fact, utilizing that fact, and leveraging that fact to deliver a hit to their enemies. It was a soft target. I couldn’t be sure just how the Slaughterhouse Nine were going to limit their range or choose their targets. We didn’t have any indication they had any way of contacting the Undersiders, who were apparently unable to communicate with any regularity. "Tecton," Defiant spoke. "They’re here," I said. "On our heels." "Yes." "Sprite?" I asked. "They’re there, hovering around the edge of the area. Waiting." "Good," Defiant said. "Keep them on their heels. We can’t let them get close to any key areas." "Keep them on their heels?" I asked, and I noted how there was no reaction from the Nine. They were huddled in groups, giving orders, talking and joking amongst themselves. "I was telling Legend I would talk to them after I’ve dealt with this, to be more careful," Tecton said. "Careful?" I asked. "We give them a chance, they take it. We’ve got six teleporters and maybe two more with the various capes in the area, and we’d be wasting time if we wait until they get going. We use the time to make sure everything goes according to plan, so we don’t waste time and effort. Aegis is with us, as is Grue." "Grue?" "He can’t leave the comfort of his own home, or he would trigger and send the wrong person into the blast radius, or take something out of the blast radius with his power, and we wouldn’t be in any shape to fight." Aegis, Grue and Senior Trickspot all exchanged glances. "Take them down?" I asked. "No," Tecton said, "There’s too many they could take down. We stay put, keep the capes on the defensive. Stay alive, and we move on." Juniper kept her eyes trained on the battlefield. "Maybe stay behind and watch the teleporters?" "I don’t like being in a job where I have to run," I said. "But everyone knows the PRT doesn’t really want me to. It’s not the sort of job they want on a Saturday, afternoons like this. So I’m grabbing some basic information and researching these guys to use it to its fullest." "So long as you’re doing that," Tecton said. "I’m abreast of things, T," I said. "Give him my regards. Should be fun." "Let me know if he tries to approach you," Defiant said. "He does," I said. "Accepted." "Cepted," he said, though he smiled. I couldn’t quite see it, but I saw the change in his expression as he glanced at Tecton. It wasn’ ======================================== SAMPLE 726 ======================================== Two tinker-made guns. "Okay," he said. "No more sirens." "Not without backup, please," the president said. "The Second is a tinker design. The first was a failed attempt at replicating Doormaker’s effect in a tangible form," Tagg said. "I believe it to be more of a powerful subconscious memory than anything else. Being around here, I get asked all the time what I think of tinker abilities. I tell the truth, my feelings are even mixed on the subject. I harbor an almost fond remembrance of being a kid, playing with tinkers. My dad gave me a bazooka and I would have been very proud, as I think back to how I could have spent an hour or two every morning in the library or on the boat to school. I don’t know if I would have given it a second thought, now. But it does work, and I harbor a fondness for the idea of tinkers and their work. I grew up with blimps and airplanes and automobiles, I can remember getting splashed in class and going to the doctor’s office, seeing all of the tinkers who had spent time in those vehicles. I think maybe my personality or what I was seeing at that moment was what prompted that fondness. In school, there were students who took their tinker abilities to a whole other level, pushing things to new heights. Alanpaul was one I knew well. He was good at expressing ideas clearly, with an almost zest, but he was also good at reading a situation and knowing how to get things done." "You’re not aot raised to be a team player," Defiant said. "I’m not brimming to be a tinker," Tagg replied. "And I don’t mean to generalize, but you’re not a tower that’s built like that in the first place. You’re workers first, tinkers last." "I’m not saying I’m not good at this. I’m saying I’m plateaued. When we started this, I had a lot of hopes, and I still think I could be good if given an opportunity." "You were good, then," Tagg said. "You’ve been good." "I wouldn’t say I’ve been bad." "You were good." "There are so many ways this could go wrong," Tagg said. "Decisions I made. Decisions I made because I’m not working for you. Decisions I make when I’m not helping you. And they all contribute to this situation you’re in." "I know," I said. "But I can respect you for it. Because you took the time to think about this, when other recruits were flocking to me, a mere mortal. Because I know you, and your talent is obvious, bleeding over from the other work you’ve already done. You’re an obvious choice for the team, and you’ve already accomplished something." "That something?" "The organization. Because you’ve already revealed yourself as collaborators, and I’m put in the time to understand why. You’re the only one who isn’t burdened by a code. You’d be the first to admit you don’t have all of the necessary skills to be a team leader, and you’re ambitious. You’d be the first to admit you’re frightened, and your talent is what drives you forward. I’ve worked with more ambitious tinker idents, who had trouble trusting others to manage their projects, and I know of one individual who was intimidated by others who could see the path to success, the internal logic that kept them from reaching that milestone. You’re in the minority, but you’re close." Tagg closed his laptop, then turned it over in his lap, unfurling a paper square from the edge. He paused a moment, and I could imagine the speech that would be coming out of his mouth if I took my eyes from his computer screen. "You’re wrong," I said. "I’m not. I’m… I’m mostly right," he said. His square of paper unfolded, and then he held up his hand, tapping it a few times on the touchscreen. His words coalesced into a monologue. "…Process has started, but we won’t reveal the outcome until everything is resolved. My side has rights, and we’re only starting to get to the crux of things. I can� ======================================== SAMPLE 729 ======================================== She gave me a curious look. "You can’t blame me for not wanting to take the bait." "Not saying I wouldn’t. That’s why I’m on this Earth." She gave me a look that people didn’t often see, the angle of her eyes shifting from leader to follower. A smile? "Why would I do that? So suddenly I’m facing down a life or death situation?" "You’d look silly, if I didn’t look goofy, and if I didn’t look spectacular." "You’d wonder why I’m up against the Endbringer, after three freaking Endbringers." I saw her shift in her seat. "I do wonder, Taylor Hebert, why I’m up against the Endbringers." "Because you’re lazy and you don’t care. Because I want to be a famous hero and you want to be a famous villain." "Are you a famous hero?" "The people who believe I am aren’t." "People keep forgetting that I’m just a ordinary girl. A stupid girl. Wanting to help people isn’t a drive I have." "It’s a great thing that people remember my driving ability. If you care, I can still help. I can give you that memory, so you can laugh at me when I’m back home in costume." "No way. I’m sorry, Taylor, I’ll try." "Just remember that you’re home. You’re safe, and there’s no fights between us. We’re just friends. That’s all." "Yeah." She laughed a little. "We can go out on a date-" I could see her clutch her armband tighter. "-Or we can go out as teenagers. A few times, okay?" "No. I just want to go out with someone. To go out with my dad. And if I’m remembering right, these four aren’t teenagers, but maybe someday, if the itch gets better and I get more times like this, I can say I’m going out with someone. Just saying." I nodded. "Date night? Or would you rather we stuck it out like this? We could go out as Legends, or as friends." "Okay." I closed my eyes, in the same moment that Panacea tapped my shoulder and said, "We can go out as Legends." Panacea smiled, "You’re right. I’ll stick to the business end of things. We should save more of our stuff for when the business fails." I nodded. That would be my arc at the end of the week. She turned to leave, and we followed her into the fellowship. There were shouts from within, of surprise and awe, mingled with business transactions. People stopped in their tracks as they watched Panacea carry Ingenue into the eternal spring. I wished I could have found a better description. A spiritual successor to my other self. We were all still in the truck when Panacea dropped her armband off. She used her hands to scrape the slate clean, and then clasped the bits away in both hands, placing them in twenty different locations across my head. She gave each of us that awful feeling in our innermost thoughts, that burning apprehension that some power or object, physical or otherwise, was somehow directing something at us, graspering, whispering something. She was a week older, and would have my Ultimate revision of her cranial cavity. Or her brain would be, as the case was sometimes called. I’d have to see how her body aged and extended her lifespan. She was, as far as I could calculate, in peak condition for a young adult. Panacea dropped the armband, and we retreated from the gathering of the party. I willed the clairvoyant to function, to go out in costume and give advice and support where needed, but she was already deep in thought. I was in the dark about much of what the Protectorate did. I’d only heard about the group through Charlotte. Publicity, security, the unknown, high profile members like Echidna. I knew that certain members of the group had broken the unwritten rules, taken risks, brought in others who did as much damage as they did, and lost. Even so, other teams had sprung up to take their place. And just like the start of something new, they were running into problems. The Yu’ll had fled ======================================== SAMPLE 732 ======================================== Dye | Black, Bronze, Gray, Sky Blue, Sky Blue · $30.00 Pink · $25.00 Brown · $20.00 Neon Green · $15.00 Dark Green · $10.00 Green · $5.00 Orange · $5.00 Red · $4.00 Purple · $4.00 Blue · $3.00 Yellow · $3.00 Sky Blue · $3.00 Orange · $3.00 Sky Blue · $3.00 Orange · $3.00 Purple · $3.00 Blue · $3.00 Yellow · $3.00 Dark · $2.50 I knew this wasn’t a good time for it, but I had to voice my concerns. How was my dad, when I had been so solicitous and attentive in sending him this email? E-MAIL MESSAGE From: Catherine EB To: john.podesta@gmail.com Cc: tom.gracy@gmail.com Date: 2015-06-28 18:01 Subject: Re: Hmmm Cecily, You’re so lame. You’re so lame that you can’t even match how retarded I am. Gonna have to ask budde about that. He gets superpowers and you think he’s going to let you go? Cheers! ==== A: A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf A: http://www.sceeq.com/pdf/Hearing%20how.pdf ======================================== SAMPLE 735 ======================================== Six. You can’t be held responsible for what you’ve done. I could have said something more, but I didn’t want to give the impression I was giving up anything by moving on. "Are you suggesting we punish those people who don’t want to be punished?" "Yes." "Those people, I bet, you look down on. Maybe you’ll get your wish when it comes to that. The rest of us are company, we’re not enemies." "You’re not even that smart," I said. "But you’re fighting against your own teammates. You’re bound to make mistakes." "Most of the time," I said, "I make mistakes." "And you will some more times than you’d think. You’re new. New Yorkers, specifically. You’re used to tension and taking a higher ground." "I grew up here," I said, "So it’ll be the same for me. I’m growing to love this city and liking you guys." "We’re not so different. We’ve got the same problems, and we’re working to get to know each other. You’re more outgoing, more outgoing than I ever saw you with Taylor." I was at a loss for words. I just couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that she’d dated guys. "Just the opposite, I think," she said. "She’s very private, like you, and that’s a good thing." "Anytime you’d run into her, you’d think she was keeping secrets." "That’s… not entirely true," she said. I thought of the noise and the blood SH gave off, "If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t have believed her." ILL LEAVE YOU MESSAGE FREEZER VOUCHER! ILL LEAVE YOU MESSAGE FREEZER VOUCHER! "I feel bad about giving her an ultimatum," I told her, "Because I do want to help everyone, but I don’t want to get her hurt or left behind if she doesn’t want help. Also, I’m not sure I can trust her no matter what she does, whether she knows I’m lying." "Then take your time, make your decision and let me know how it goes?" She nodded and held up one hand. I waited a few seconds before I brought my knife. I wasn’t very comfortable with it in my hand, but I did prefer it out of my costume than Chariot holding it for me. "If it comes down to it? If it’s a question of whether you want to be a part of this, and Noelle decides she wants to go, okay? Do what you have to do. Do what you have to do. Until we decide otherwise, it’s still gonna be you two in the field, y’know? We can’t have surprises at a tense situation, can we? Besides, you wouldn’t want to fuck with me, would you? I’d want to be out there, taking the fights to the enemy and giving them a chance to slip away." Her eyes narrowed. "Okay," I said. "Give me a moment." I looked down at the ground, and I could see the blood seeping into the soil where the knife had been sharpened. "What?" "I wanted to talk to you about your mom. Talking about the stuff you found out after I took you out of the hospital. Because I know it’s been a rough month, and you’re not getting better." I felt hands touch my belt and jumped a little when I felt Janus’ claws on my upper arms. "Pathetic," Janus said, "As if I have the slightest say in the matter! You’re still pretending you’re in charge of me, you’re pretending you’re a person, and I’m still pretending to be a person that doesn’t give a fuck about others! You played a part in me going this way, you played a part in me getting this far in my addiction! You guys are the dirt. I despise you." Janus closed his mouth, but he didn’t stalk from my direction. I could see why; he’d chastised me for making the first move. "You don’t have ======================================== SAMPLE 738 ======================================== As we discussed her other costume options, I asked Tattletale, "You can see how she’s a little fragile. Even with her power, she’s going to be hurt if she snaps." "She’ll snap, yeah. But can she live if she isn’t given a chance to stand?" "I think so," Tattletale replied. "But that’s just my opinion, there. Please don’t fuck with her." Miss Militia nodded. "This is something we’re going to have to get used to. Sometimes an Endbringer comes carrying wounded, and it’s the kind of thing you hope will happen, so you’re careful in how you respond. We’ll have to see how this unfolds." "I’m definitely wanting to help," I said. "I’m more likely to get arrested if I do this, but I’m willing to play along if it means we survive." "There’s a limit to what you can do," Tattletale said. "Standing up to him is a good way to go, and I don’t have much experience acting against people who are bigger than you, capes." "I can say that much with absolute certainty," I said. "Whether you’re right or wrong, I’m willing to stick my neck out to prove you wrong." "This isn’t going to work," Miss Militia said. "He’s bigger, too," Tattletale stepped in. "He’s just not exactly injured. Thin, round-faced, with a heart-shaped face. Clockblocker?" "He’s still a member of the group." "Then I can show you the bigger picture," Tattletale said. "He beat Butcher?" "He beat her," Miss Militia said. She seemed a little sad at that. "And he has a better chance of us surviving if we play ball with him." "Let’s play it safe and play it safe-er," Tattletale said. She glanced at Miss Militia. "I bet you think you’re so smart. Except you’re pretty damn close to the truth." "I play by their rules," Miss Militia said. "They say you can’t be too careful," Tattletale said. "But they’re not telling me what rules they use when there’s a remote possibility I could go to the Birdcage." "They’re still letting me go if I’m a rogue," Miss Militia said. "And if I break the rules, what’s the point? I could get on Teacher’s bad side. If I break the rules, what does that do? It’s like a slap in the face. They took Battery, but they could take me. If Cracked decided I had a mind-control-gate, would they take Grue? And if Mannequin did it, would they take Alexandria?" "I don’t know," I said. "You’re not thinking along the right lines, Clockblocker," Tattletale said. "Not really," I said. "I’m a little impatient. I want to leave, get things over with, get back to NCdot. If I go, it’s going to be a slow, painful process, and that’s not fun or total. It’s only for a few hours, and then I’ve got my mind made up." "Consider it a bonus," Tattletale said. "As long as you’re here, we get a solid four hours of sleep, you wake up and you do what we do best." "Which is what you were going to do anyways," I said. My eyes moved to Panacea and Miss Militia. "They left me alone," Panacea said. "I’m okay that they did. If they set you against a real Endbringer like them, they’ll have your back. You’ll be motivated, and you’ll probably piss yourself." "I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing if I didn’t have my powers," I said. "Your voice is fucking depressing," Imp said. "I’m okay with it," I said. "It was maybe the only way. All I wanted was peace, my territory, and the ability to help more people." "How are your people doing?" Tattletale asked. I’d been thinking about how useless my fans were as ======================================== SAMPLE 741 ======================================== In death, one shall pass into nothingness, I suppose. But there must be renewal, or something like it, if nothing else. I can only hope that my plan can serve as a model for others. I only have so many years. So many needs. So many regrets. Sometimes, I thought about the children. Their cries, the laughter. Their hopes, their fears. I wondered if they had a mind of their own. My own regrets. We met in the middle of the street. There were still witnesses, others still coming to the courthouse. One moment I was waiting for them, fully cognizant of the fact that I was distorting my body to imprint the body with my memories. Distorting it so the memories wouldn’t interfere with the ability to manipulate the cloned memories, and the memories would persist where the host-clone died. The next, I was changing myself, going through the motions. The memories were already on their way, the need to duplicate myself a second time passing. The sights, smells, tastes, the sounds, they were familiar, they were utterly foreign. Yet somehow familiar. I thought of how my eyes had changed, how they had changed themselves, in the aftermath of my fight with Bitch. The changes in their eyes, in their movements, their reactions. The reactions of the dogs. I thought of how the movements of the cloned me had more resemblance to the real me, and how my own embodied the same foreign body. We arrived at the perimeter of what the witnesses were describing to the reporters. My range extended, the reporters got out their phones, and began paging through the cards they had in hand. I could hear the mayor speaking to the people in the room. I wasn’t surprised, but it made the task of actually translating that much harder. Talking amongst one’s own people can be forgiven if there’s no dialogue. The people in the room aren’t a part of the translation. The people who are hearing the message from the translator aren’t the ones who will be listening. In the here and now, the only thing I had to do was bear witness. Attend to their needs, and bear witness to my need to be somewhere else. I would explain, describe, photograph, film and record the experiences in my experiences. The problem with that was that sometimes the people I was attending to weren’t listening. They were wavering. I could see it, the way their eyes moved, the way their expressions changed as they heard the English words I was trying to convey. They were victims, wailing, pleading. If there was a God, and He pleased Him, then it wasn’t I, and it wasn’t my people. I didn’t have any time to think about repaying them or changing the subject. All I could do was bear witness to the fact that I had to now. I turned to the woman who was carrying the unconscious man I’d carried behind me. I used my bugs to direct them to the man, to drag him behind me as I ran step by step. When I was nearly at the door of the building, I let my bugs close around me to bind me to it. I was already pressing my hand to my throat, bending my knees as the smallest of breaths. The woman had a grip, but it was fragile, and there was little point in trying to strangle her if she was helpless to do anything about it. I was more scared of her than anything else. I could see the changes in her as I constricted, forced my head through the gag. She’d been knocked around, bruised, and it seemed like she was suffering for it. She looked utterly terrified. Other news from around the city? The news teams? They were all on their way. The train? I didn’t have my costume, now. I needed to find a costume that could serve. I’d have to find a way to make something that could serve. I’d have to wait. I watched the news as I ate. It wasn’t just the mundane details. It was the more extraordinary, too. How the news teams were all gathered together. Mannequins with white berets standing tall in the lead. Some were getting out of costumes. I recognized names. High priest of the dead, the king of kings. The rest were just people who were on the streets, searching. Huddled in shelters or in cars, afraid. People who were scared, people who were anxious, and people who were lost in either way. It wasn’t home, I told myself, and it wasn’ ======================================== SAMPLE 744 ======================================== "A city is fragile," I said, "If a city is fragile, then everyone is fragile. If tens of millions of people are being killed because you want to take control of them, then that is a capital attack. We’re talking nationalistic versus international." "People are fragile. We’d all be more or less okay with that if we knew where it came from. If it came from nowhere and we had access to it? Then everyone would be fine with it. The problem is if you take it from a place that is vulnerable, and you leave a vulnerable area in the city unfixed." "Yes," Lung replied. "We got this far on our own, we might as well do the rest of us a favor and ask someone to share this city with us, to make up for the fact that we didn’t contribute anything substantial. Who?" "Everyone," Lung breathed the words. "If you accept this deal, you’re accepting that everyone is fragile. We’d be spoiling for a fight, for our potential allies to come after us. We have room for improvement, and you guys are already on the ball, talking about the national team." "And you’re talking about giving them a chance?" "Every step of the way, we have to prove we’re capable of handling ourselves in a straight up brawl. Even with your power, even with the super strength healing all the injuries you’ve received, you’re not invincible, and you’re wounded, both in the literal sense and in the mental sense. You gain a lot by fighting us and losing against us, I have no doubt, but you gain nothing by stepping up and fighting now." Lung shook his head, "This is where my power goes off. I can’t tell if you’re telling the truth or not." "This is life and death, Lung. Between you and I, the local heroes and villains sit pretty at the top of this hill." "They are. But even if Lung were to accept that they’re capable of handling themselves, the fact remains that he is a vulnerable character, and they have every reason to want someone they can go to bat for, now. When the chips are down, three years from now, they will still want leniency, to want leniency and a fair punishment for Kid Win. Vista will be in a much better position to press for a fair punishment than she is to comfort Connor." "Maybe," I said, "Maybe they won’t want to press things any further, with Lung likely to become a hero and undoubtedly one of the more powerful men in town." "Maybe." "So you’ve done your duty, Lung. Maybe. But now the game is to get your hands on the research on the technology that Victoria and I created, so that you can use it to your advantage in the future. I will make a request to the Governor, and I will see it fulfilled. If you fail to do this, I will make you pay a very high price." "I think I’ll pass," Lung said. "If I pass, I’ll go to the guards and I’ll never come back. I won’t be able to use my power again." "This is something that needs to be kept in mind," the Chief Director said. "Lung is one of the most powerful men in the world. He could easily be watching this base from, say, London. I don’t think he even knows the significance of the city." "I know," Amelia replied. Of course she knows. "And if I wanted to phone Victoria in and make her answer, I think I would get traced for it. I caught the number, and I think I would get hurt. I doubt anyone would believe me if I told them it was just Lung. I’m not the most trustworthy man, but I’m not a crook either. I’m a dedicated employee, and I’m working for you, with you in the dark." "I don’t think this is in the best interests of the Wards," the Chief Director said. Amelia smiled at that. "Thanks." "This is a sensitive subject," the Chief Director continued, ignoring Amelia. "I know the Protectorate is small change, especially after accounting for the cost of all resources, but you’re doing this out of concern for the people you’re protecting. I state this with complete honesty, and I must warn you that any action you undertake may incur severe legal ramifications." "That’s all I’m asking," Amelia said. She tucked the papers into her belt ======================================== SAMPLE 747 ======================================== Think of the bugs as swarms, or as people. If you see a person with a black cloak and hood, or a person with crimson clothes, a red scarf or bandanna around their faces, a red visor or mask, dragging a weight on top of them, you may have a Parahuman Controlling Device implanted in your costume. A device that, through a combination of sensors on the outside of your costume, your costume and my power, tells the bugs where to go, what to do. "I want to see what it looks like when you apply what you learned here. See if you can’t make me jealous. See if you can’t make me think it’s appropriate. Because that’s the kind of feeling I get when I use my power. Like I just said, through my power." She liked it. It made her think of Taylor again, with all of the turmoil and unhappiness she’d been feeling. She shut her eyes and pretended to go to sleep. She’d need to rest some, maybe get a few hours of sleep. But she would reopen her eyes after sleep deprived and bored as she dreamed of being a hero. The body snatching was one more intrusion into her private world. One more intrusion that her body was keeping in sync with, through the relay bugs, the positioning of the pelvis, the bloodletting, the amount of time spent eating and drinking. She was happy to have it. A few more hours of rest and she would be fully recovered. With it being almost midnight now, she wondered if she would even feel the need to rest. If she were to get a few hours of sleep, would she be able to get herself to her full potential as a person? She couldn’t even remember the requests that had come to her attention in her time away from Taylor. She didn’t have powers, but she wanted to be left alone? The demands of her job, the demands of her society? It wasn’t her nature to rebel. It wasn’t her nature. "Want to go for a walk?" It was only after a long night of sleepless nights in the office that she realized she was good at this. "Okay." She rarely used her power on her dogs. She knew it would only help them more if she did, but she did it anyways. She brought her knees to her chest and rested her head on her arms as the wind blew her hair across her face. She let the strands unravel at her temples. The bodyguards went to work protecting the chief. One was a woman with a triangular scar on her face. She was elegantly dressed in a white outfit that combined a tartanu, with a pleated skirt, a jacket and heels, with gloves and a terry cloth jacket over that. She was elegantly attired in a burgundy evening dress, with her hair long and platinum-white rimmed glasses over a gray dress shirt. She was Mamoru. The man with the black shroud was called Lung. He had dark curls, a prominent jaw and thick eyebrows. Bespectacled, but for the wide grin across his face, his dark hair was tucked into a tribal knot. The woman at the right wing was called Cinderhands. She was pretty, with a natural beauty that didn’t come from the traditional styles of dress that were bound up with her title. Her makeup was opaque and long-lasting. Cinderhands looked out of place, so she got the brunt of the blame. People didn’t really see the other half of the equation, in any event. The two who were closer to Lung were the slender one with the stone-white mask, in a black dress shirt, and blue jeans, and the taller one, in a blue suit. They were accompanied by a small boy, whom she named Ash Beast. They stood at a distance of twenty feet apart, with only the girl’s height helping to help define their stature. Their clothing was loose, loose fitting, and consisted of loose-fitting tunics that left their legs and waist nicely out of sight. Their accessories… heavy metal knuckle-dusters, like a martial artist would wear, or a fire axe. Knuckle-dusters were a thing of the past, as the heroes would be far more discreet when dressing up. When in costume, they would be emblematic of a particular pride and joy that the chosen one felt. In the here and now, it was the same thing that drove the chosen one forward. Ash Beast was damned good looking, dammit. The girl with the darker skinned sister was Cinderhands, and she was accompanied by a very infantile Snowclone. Bereft of the three Ash Beast siblings, the pair deftly ======================================== SAMPLE 750 ======================================== Never use a knife. She had more experience with that stuff than anyone I had on the stage. Defiant did what he could to Outlander’s upper body. I got a glimpse of Ghost in the form of a silhouette, moving with an almost lazy slowness as he mass produced new Ghost images. He wasn’t attacking with them as frequently as he had been, but when he did act, they were quick to retaliate. "Nyx," Revel said, almost inaudible as the lights went out, "Get the wounded." Their group had stopped at the edge of the platform. We were all still, but only a handful of us stood. There were twenty or so people on the upper level, and two or three on the lower level. "We’re here," Cuff said, to everyone’s rousing cries. "We’re not invincible," Aisha said. "We thought so," Rachel said. I had my beer offered to me by Revel, who was helping with the wounded. I accepted it with a kind gesture, turning away to get a beer at the end of the row. Ariadne had rested her hands on the shoulders of the female soldier. I could see her interest, the way that she seemed to be seeking reassurance beyond the current challenges. I’d seen her in the company of Tecton, back when the group had been coordinating and attacking the Nine. In the intervening months, since the group had split, she’d also been interacting frequently with Regent, and they had been getting to know one another. It struck me that she was dating Tecton. Regent and Foil were among the last to arrive. The others I recognized. Grue, Tattletale, and Grue’s solo adversary. The site of the battle had been damaged, and bodies had been discovered in the rubble. The bodies, it was said, contained valuable data. I was first to arrive. I arrived as a skeletal, streak of bloodless white appearing over my shoulder as I got to the first damaged area. Strip mine, for sure, but it was something to do. A clearing, if I was judging correctly. There were a few more casualties, a few more capes amongst the people who managed to escape, but it was one of the more orderly scenes I saw. Sure, the dead weren’t all that ugly, but there were more non-dead that needlessly. I walked with Imp, Tattletale and Foil to the burial ground, and it wasn’t a smooth walk. There were fallen power lines and twisted machinery everywhere. It was a tough walk, and I knew it would get worse if I was hiking or any other strenuous exercise. My venoms and allergens weren’t having the desired effect, and my eyes couldn’t focus in either direction. I couldn’t help but feel conspicuous, as if someone was watching me and pushing me with a raised umbrella or umbrella in hand. It was a good thing my power was silent, at least. With a heavy heart and sore conscience, I entered the clearing, and the muscles on my neck began stirring. There was a pain, and I shivered. I wasn’t in a state to complain, and didn’t know what to do with myself. A deep ache crept up inside me, and I almost couldn’t feel the movement. The glow was improving, and I saw Imp and Tattletale exchanging a glance. Imp looked away, turning her head. Tattletale, for her part, seemed to spot the passing crowd and start making her way away from the clearing in the general direction of the burial ground. She glanced at me, then turned back to the crowd. I felt a moment’s trepidation. I’d been in the presence of a very, very scary person. I couldn’t let that prolix memory slip away. I glanced at Imp, but she was looking at me, her eyes widening slightly at the idea of me giving the man a second glance. I grit my teeth, turning my attention to the swarm. I wasn’t using my power, but a grunt and a twitch of my tongue gave me the confidence I needed to begin controlling the mass. The mass began to rise, at which point Rachel leaped from her seat on the wall, her entire body rocking back as she flexed her body. The bugs I’d gathered within the mass began to migrate out of the mass, and Tattletale stepped forward to greet the newcomer. "Hi, Tattletale," the man said. He was stiff, with coarse, straight hair that was too ======================================== SAMPLE 753 ======================================== "New body part? Head?" "Yes. This is a monstrous form," Medusa said. She was transformed. The head was the length of a large horse, the body was shorter than it would have been if it had been a horse, but for the spikes and ridges of skin. He looked down at the horse, and saw the broad chest, the long, smooth neck, the straight, narrow spine. He would have called it an attractive body, but it was dark gray, gray-white with the markings of several different animals. "Yes," Medusa’s voice was surprisingly smooth. "Yes. I’ve been looking for the chance to do this." "Beautiful," Doctor Mother said. "You have to understand," Medusa said, "I like doing the beautiful. Do the beautiful describe you? The way you walk, the way you talk, the tastes in clothes you wear, the tastes in music, films you watch, the way you wince when you watch them? The way you writhe when you watch them? I feel like that is what you were born to do. It’s natural. You aspire to be like that. It’s perfectly normal, and it’s so typical of you, that I’d expect you to change your name, to transform yourself." "Are you saying I shouldn’t change my name?" I asked. "No. I’m saying you should exercise your autonomy. Make your choice." "And I chose very early on in my life. I chose to be a hero. I chose to be a warrior. I chose to be a doctor, and I chose to be a dictator. I became the dictator because I was strong enough to turn down the kickbacks and the money and go toe to toe with the Slaughterhouse Nine. Because I was good at it, because it was a way to end the world. Because we needed the world to end, and I was willing to turn myself in and do something" "You turned yourself in and did nothing, and now you’re in the fishing village because the leader of the local villains wants to get you. I’m willing to take the risk of becoming what you detest, because I’ve decided I have to be." "You don’t like the world ending, and you don’t want me to become a villain to help others, do you?" "You’re wrong. You’re making the wrong choice. You’ll ruin your childhood, and seeing your parents destroy in some fashion is something I won’t be able to relate to." I clenched my fists. "Taylor, stop. You know your powers don’t work if you can’t concentrate. If you can’t talk to yourself, or if it’s just a little harder to get your thoughts on something you can’t understand." "It’s not that easy to get my thoughts on something I can understand. I’ve seen too much of the world and I’ve seen too much of humanity to consider myself a genius." "The reasoning goes like this," the Doctor said. "You either get a call from God, in which case you panic, you get on a plane to Hawaii, but the Doctor is on the other end, looking to recruit. Or you catch a glimpse of a future you never saw, where the Endbringers and Scion come knocking. In that case, you panic, you get on a plane to Los Angeles." I clenched my fists. "See, what happens is this. If you take one step backwards, you miss the opportunity to turn the whole world around 180 degrees. It’s called collaboration. Youn, suthashua, mērgah, manglē." I could feel the bugs in the room shudder as they migrated throughout my inner sanctum. "See, I was thinking, well, I’ve seen those things. Collisions real life. But I’ve never been able to follow all the details, because I couldn’t ‘see’, you understand?" "I know," sith the deranged tinker said. "But I can tell you this. Fifteen years ago, she made her first appearance. Scion was distracted that the battle was ongoing, and she didn’t see it. Just this morning, as I was getting settled in for a sleep, I saw her emerging from a tunnel." "A tunnel?" I asked. "A portal. The willows and trees that ring the mountainside are pressing together. She isn’t inside anymore. Made that out of wood, of course. When she opens ======================================== SAMPLE 756 ======================================== Bentley turned his head, looked at me. His head was shaved, and his chest was permed to show off the smooth, athletic figure. His head was shaved in places, too. He gave me a curious look. "I’d like to talk to you about your brother," I said. "S-" "He was nice, wasn’t terrible, but-" "Not about the haircut," he said, chuckling. "About the attitude. Where you’ve been in the past. Everyone’s changed, since I met you. You canachieving pretty damn high, you know?" "Uh huh." "Like I said, pretty different." "Yeah, I know," he said. He turned his head to give me a dirty look I couldn’t ignore. "But like I said, everyone’s changed, here, and you can be where you are now and be pretty darn confident you’d look different, all while being someone who was relevant then." "Pride versus shame," I said, feeling lame for even trying to sound smart. "Different people have had different experiences," he said. "And for different reasons, I think it’s fitting that you’d have my ‘brother’ now. The badge, the awesome power, the sense of family… they’re all things that are more or less tied with what happened a year ago, what you’ve been dealing with here. He didn’t have any of those things then. If he has what you’re dealing with now, you could probably have a pretty easy time of it. I imagine it’s very possible he even likes you, judging by what he says." I didn’t have a response to that. It was all I could do to stay still and stay quiet, avoid looking at his face. "Right," I said, quiet, "Maybe there’s merit to that. I won’t blame you if you want to keep doing your job. I was there. Maybe you don’t have the same ambitions or understandings about guys like you and me, but I can see where it’s a good way to build a friendship." "I understand where you’re coming from," he said. Then he smiled. "Thank you." I hadn’t meant to get a reaction from him. My intent was to get a statement out of the way, and to put the possibility of a statement or clarification in the forefront of my thoughts. Except I didn’t get a chance. The principal’s car pulled to a stop. "School?" I asked, trying to patch things up with Carol, "Not right now, but tomorrow." "Yes," she said, "You must be nervous." "If I may ask why?" "Someone told you that the principal of this school likes you," she said. And I didn’t even have the courage to ask that, "Why is she so insistent on having you as a friend?" "I wouldn’t say that," I said. But I didn’t want to state the obvious, didn’t want to make her upset. "I would say she’s distant, but that can be a warped perception. You’ll find out for yourself when you go to the principal’s office. In the meantime, I would like you to know that I recently contacted Mr. Gladly, her chief of staff. He was kind enough to speak with you. He’s currently in New York, attending to a friend’s gambling problems, and expects to return in a few weeks to discuss the finer points of his new hobby. In the meantime, I have three outstanding tickets for your July 4th education. You can look them over, in costume as Miss Militia." "Sure," I said. "I’d like you to meet the new vice principal. The one who’s replacing Lynn Westwick. She’s already there, but she graduated top of her class, even with a $50,000 price tag. She’ll be our chief of police." "You’ll need her credentials if you’re being accepted to the Wards, I know." "I’ll have them delivered to me upon graduation. With luck, Tecton will be vice principal." "I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about." "You need a record in martial arts, I see. I’m sure they gave her a thorough vetting process." "I know for ======================================== SAMPLE 759 ======================================== How was I supposed to move to a safe haven if I couldn’t share my secret identity with anyone? I could only hope that the Travelers were allowing enough privacy for that to be the case. "Thanda, Thanda, Veiled," I said, aloud. Nothing. They had tracked my movements. I struck. Fire roared around my fingers. Miss Militia tightened her grip on her gun, glancing at me. I gripped the gun handle with my two hands, bending it at a bad angle as I pulled it back. She looked back at me, and I made her use her power, stripping away her clothing. I couldn’t see any emotion she showed, but I could see the tattoo that marked her body. Two pearls, connected to a blue-yellow light in the shape of a cross. "If you don’t mind," I said, "I’m going to see about those drugs for Son." "You’d let him overdose." "Pretty much. But the others wouldn’t mind, I think." "So you’re not giving orders to your soldiers?" Tagg asked. "I’m not, no," I said, keeping my voice low. I folded my arms. "But if you want to know what our assets are doing here, maybe you can learn a thing or two from us." Tagg looked up at me, then said, "I’ll see what we can prepare. In the meantime, this experiment is being abandoned. We are currently engaging the local villain, Mannequin, who was said to have made a play this past week. He has named a new city as his new base of operations, and he has set traps for us in the process. We will re-group and form some protective walls around the area in an hour or so. For the time being, all of you are to remain in your territories. Do not interfere with my research or my officers. It is my hope that this strategic maneuver will help ensure that none of us get trapped in a trap." Orders given, I signaled for the boats to deploy. Once we were all in position, I began discussing the various measures I would take to ensure our survival in the event that we were killed or left to die in a trap. The first order of business was to ensure that none of us were caught in a trap before the others arrive. A pair of eyes from above gave me a general direction. I took it as a request and we started gathering data. A channel opened beneath the unfinished high-techne in front of us. It had been torn by some floating cube, and the waves were vicious here, crushing and breaking through the fine wires that fed into it. I directed Tagg’s attention to the computer, then started drawing out words. 'Tattletale’s work? I could see one of the boats on the other side. 'Not an idle threat. She’s putting the pieces together for a potential future. Son of a bitch. If she thinks this will be an end to the Mannequin trap, she’s sorely mistaken. For now, the organization is split down the middle, with top down Leader and underbosses overseeing different areas of responsibility. I have a hunch about Lung. He is perhaps the most interesting case in this. He operates in a gray area, and it would be logical for him to leverage his connections and his mastery of electronics to gain access to important items.' 'Lung is... familiar with the Mannequin trap? It can be an obsession for the volatile type. He must have some rudimentary knowledge of what’s going on within the complex. What about Jack? What can we expect from him?' The ticking of the tracker stopped. A silence reigned, long enough that it might have been an extended conversation if I hadn’t been listening in. Tagg opened his mouth to voice a reply, but the loudspeaker cut out, and the speaker hung, unused. I collected the pieces and began assembling them. I couldn’t put all of them back together, and it didn’t matter. The first was the crossbow. It was heavy, and not just because it had to be balanced on two wheels, but because it had to be wireless. I couldn’t think of how to make it less of a weapon. I’d never liked being left to arm myself in the dark. When my bugs came into contact with anything that wasn’t metal, they became like my swarm. I couldn’t rely on my swarm for my survival, not without leaving my light-blocking goggles behind. I settled on a setup where bugs were ======================================== SAMPLE 762 ======================================== Vista. Hey. You’re awake. We need to know where you are." "My dad was killed in the attack." "In what way?" "Killed in the attack? What happened?" "Lung wasn’t there. I think the buildings were damaged, but I didn’t think either of us could be dead. Dad or girlfriend." "Your name and location are public." "I’m not even that big a deal. I’m more… important. Knew you’d be interested." "I am." "I’m trying to figure you out. You’re from the Docks." "The Docks?" "Michigan." "That’s not important. What I mean to say is that you were getting by with very little. I remember you sponsored a kid who didn’t have many friends to go with it. Made the teachers do it. Made some vendors sell outside it." "I did that because I have to." "Not a lot of time, I think. Less than three hours, maybe, watching TV for an hour or two a day, with only an hour and a half a day to get by." Lisa smiled. "Oh? Are you hurt?" "Just a little bit. I’m so sorry. I won’t be out much longer, my ankle’s worse for wear. I can’t help my dad that much, can’t make the call on what drugs to take, because I don’t have the details on how long he’s been taking them." "Well, if he’s behind you, a hundred percent okay with it." She smiled just a little. "I’m really, really sorry," Lisa lied, "I’m so stupid and rushed." "I’m sorry. And I will make it up to you by making it up to my sister. The other girl? I think she could stand to get it before she goes to jail. She was talking to the girl in the wheelchair earlier, and I think she would’ve had a change of heart." "The other girl?" Lisa asked, "You haven’t even talked to her about being a superheroine, you know." "I haven’t really talked to her. I’ve spent so long trying to be the hero, and I’ve only got so many steps to take before I look too old and stale. I’m feeling a little guilted. I get that it’s a badge of honor as a villain to have tried something, but do you really want to make the most of an unofficial title?" "I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s for her sake or because she doesn’t want us to be pushovers." "I’m rooting for you. I’m saying she’s trying to be reasonable, and you’re right. It’s reasonable to expect her to make calls on her own." "But you’re still there. Supporting her." Lisa sighed, "I’m going to be fine. I just… I know I’m not rational enough to put things past her. I know I haven’t figured out a way to change how I feel, to abandon her, or to cheat her out of her feelings. I know there’ll be points where I disagree, and I’ll change my mind." "But you’re still there. Do you feel bad about that?" "Not particularly. If I’m agitated or frustrated, or if I feel like things aren’t rational for a second time, I’m probably going to snap." "That’s not a good sign." "If it comes down to it, if I can’t trust her to hold to the truth, then I’m going to decline the deal. My lawyer will bargain with you one way or another, no matter what she does. The way I see it, you have to obey the rules you’ve been imposing on yourself. You can’t slack on them, because if you do, if you break them, or if you try to fuck with me on this, it’s going to do more damage than anything else. So long as I’m in your custody, you have to follow my rules. And if and when I say you can’t leave, you can take them to court and call me if you really feel the need. Do what ======================================== SAMPLE 765 ======================================== Over this chaos, we emerged almost entirely. All of us, I thought. One by one, we made our way to the barges that were deployed across the docks. Dragon’s work. I’d held back because I was afraid she would win, because she was already so firmly entrenched I could not hope to influence her. I’d had my army, but the sheer number of them, the speeds they moved, and the issues of space, it put too many variables to work in my favor. Now I faced a larger set of problems. Where to go? The avenues Tattletale had mentioned were outside of my range. The train station was downtown, and we had to move on. Tattletale had mentioned wind. I looked to my left, then to my right, looked up, then down. The leaves were softer here, and the wind was stronger, with more turbulence. Each time the train moved, it threw up dust on the railings. Tattletale’s power, at work. And, well, we were still in the midst of this. There were areas that were farther from the wind than the rest of the train, where there was less wind. I used the bugs I could to watch as the cars reached the next block, then the next, until I had a sense of where we were in relation. The driver pulled into the driveway of a house we’d crossed. The crew had gone inside to tend to the animals, and were now busy eating the grass that had been raised on the property. Each car passed through the gate of the yard, and then started moving forward, slowly. I held my ground as the train approached. There were more people than cars, and the space was too small for most of us to get through without creating a mess. I pointed with my flying bug, not putting two thousand points in contact with the group, and waited for them to get going. Minutes passed before one of the cars caught up. The crew member fell unconscious as he fell from the edge of the grass. A girl with long black hair in a red sweater, with a ponytail, climbed down onto the hood of the other car, which was empty save for one man who was fumbling for his wallet, sword in hand. She beckoned us to move, and we obeyed, settling in to climb into the back. The volume of our shouts and environmental feedback helped make the others aware of the approaching crowd. Sundancer was on the roof, and she drew her ball of light. As it descended, it passed right over Grue, who had temporarily suspended his attack as he dropped to one knee. The light turned red as it touched his chest. That did it. He was in the grip of a containment foam dragon. He hadn’t been injured, and he hadn’t been hit in the chest. That said, with just that, he was demoralized enough that he was more than a little resentful. That, and he didn’t have a carabiner. That, and he was blind. One car passed right over him, and he didn’t see it. He used his power, and the light intensified, a pale blue. Shadow Stalker was coming back. She had a carabiner, and she had a handkerchief over her eyes. She turned, then used her power to fix her eyes on our group. She handed us a spray can. She was blind, in the midst of them, and the world was twisted around her. ■ We had nearly reached Scion when a muffled noise startled me. The world went round, and I could see three intervening objects, each moving in the opposite direction. A slowly rotating disc, a slowly rotating wheel and a sound that was half wind and half blast of air. Scion stopped, then turned his power off. The forcefield that surrounded us was then shattered, the forcefield dissipating. Bugs that had been dissolved died as the world went round. I could only sense the sounds, the flashes of light and shadow, and the large-scale sound that left my throat as I came down from my terror. "It’s gone," Tattletale said. "Just gone." Shadow Stalker stood over Tattletale, with Bitch beside her. The bite had bitten deep, and left track marks in the fabric. She wiped the bitten bugs from her costume, then bowed low. My power was stronger with every moment, but my control was worse than it had been since I’d touched ground. Walking struggled to be carried away by the wind, and my legs were always feeling too awkward to move. I ======================================== SAMPLE 768 ======================================== In this first installment of a two part series, I’ll be breaking down the objective data I’ve gathered on the Nine, their capabilities, weaknesses and goals. The second post will cover the teams involved, focusing on the organization of the group. Aerial view of the group from airborne vantage point. Scion was the thirteenth member of the Nine, and number twelve on the Huragok, the largest of the four groups. He was bald, with a red-black color scheme and gnarled beard. His hair was tied back into a short braid, and the spikes of gnarled growth traced around his forehead. His costume was white, with red gems at the edges of the same fabric. The emblem on the back of his mask was a white circle with a red gem in the center. Three out of the four members of the Nine fit the general description for a shapeshifter; a female with rough shaping to her body, hands and arms, a combination of physical changes and a peculiar sexual orientation. The remainder were either psychic or otherworldly in appearance. The symbol that marked the Nine was a white circle with a red gem in the center, with a smaller, more mystical emblem. The opening of the panel that stretched across their chests spoke volumes about what they held and what they were trying to achieve. The Frankfurt-based Elite, or the Empire of Spiel, were another group that put forth a striking figure. They had a startling power, to take the person and transform them into a creature of opportunity. The symbol that marked the Elite was a white circle with a red gem in the center. Four out of the five members of the Elite were female. The jewel-red tint to their costumes spoke volumes, as did the way they blended military prowess with the sort of athleticism one usually saw in the more powerful capes. The fifth Elite was a thirteen-foot tall, thirty-seven pound gorilla with a permanent, broad-shouldered hand forged from one of the Thanda’s skulls. It had the general shape and silhouette of a mount. The Elite were members of a Guild, and had formed a group without their knowledge, but they seemed to have caved in more than a little at the insistence of the Guild’s captain. It could well have been a show of affection, a show of trust. They’d gathered as a group of their own volition, and were now strutting, swaying and strutting as if they were crowned in the role they’d always held. It set the wrong tone, and conveyed the wrong impression. The symbol that marked the Elite was less a knot than a rose, a bull’s-eye with a white diamond in the center. "We have three tests," Rey said. "Ethos, Persuasion, Magic." "Mages," I said. "You have the ability to choose a subject. We will be starting with an unknown. Call him Piggy. Make him the fighter, and we will leave him there. Once we have confirmation he is a good subject, convince him to join. Call him Fox. Ignore the rest, they do not need to know." "Okay," Rey said. "Piggy. Help me choose." "Piggy," I said, "And… Snake. Razakir, if you will." "You have Mossiah? I wish I did. Dear me, have I offended you." "You are not permitted to speak in the third person," the gate keeper said. "I am not speaking in the third person," I said, "I am choosing my subjects carefully." "Hush." The three stepped forward. The gorilla-thing pounced, and the three resisted. The one that was supposed to be scary with its raw strength beat them to a standing position by touching the metal strips on the strings. The rehearsed steps and actions for choosing the tests were prepared in my head, above the gate. It took time for them to prepare, and each stepped up to carry it out. I glanced around. The gorilla-thing had formed a loose humanoid shape around the gate, but there was a gaping hole in the upper half. Investigations revealed it was hollow, and that the panes of the barrier had been blasted open. A three-story high spike rode on the back of the gorilla. But the gorillas weren’t the only ones here. I saw the one with the letters carved into him, embedded in his skull. I looked around. The one with the vials, the slowest of them. Others. A scene unfolded across his forehead. In one instant, he was calm, composed, unruffled. In the next, the sudden onslaught of senses slammed into him, hitting each of us in turn. Tearing ourselves free ======================================== SAMPLE 771 ======================================== Many leaders around the world are getting restless, fearful and alarmed. They see an opening, seize it. They are gathering into cohesive lines, wards and lines of defense, keeping one another in place and encouraging each other to exercise patience. But Odin, with his obsession with perfecting his craft, is impatient. He is impatient with his people, and he has spoiled them. He has spoiled them by failing to keep them in line, and he has spoiled them further by failing to keep his end of the bargain from them. He has brought them into a conflict that he knew he would lose, and he has yet to use his power to push it out of hand. He knows it is fragile, that it is led by those who have little or no experience in the field, and he is pushing it too fast. His people are losing patience with him, and he is taking all of this for granted. They are not taking his bargain or his conditions for the bargain he is making. Odin is waiting for the moment he may or may not make a move. His eyes are on the sky, and he is preparing for a fight as he waits. Sting 26 Level 0 Interlude One "I don’t understand." "I’m trying to understand," the doctor said. "And I get why you don’t understand." He took a deep breath. "It’s complicated. The effect tends to be additive, after you break down the simpler things. But the complexity grows with the apathy. You lose patience with them, and the more you try to control and direct it, the weaker it gets." He rubbed his chin. It had been a tough week. Even going up against the Teeth had been a chore, but he was beat down by both the fear and the confusion. It had been nice to get away and have a few moments to himself to get his mental footing. Behemoth was a scary dude, but he was a fundamentally good guy, too. Being separated from his family had been nice as well. But the doctors? It was humiliating to think about. "We’ve tried to medicate you with a zombie mentality, to keep you fed and sane. Nothing worked. You have all of the signs of a terminal illness, from the breathing to the patterns of blood to the patterns of white to the colors of your skin to your brain to the slowness of your movements. We stopped trying to keep you from trying to move, before you died. We don’t know how you kept yourself from freezing to death." He paused, trying to find something in the monotony of it. "You’re saying you tried to kill yourself." "No. I wouldn’t say that. But… I can’t bring myself to do it." "I’m sure you would have made an excellent guinea pig for a future lab test." "I don’t want to be a guinea pig." "I once had a lab tinker try to make a motorcycle engine. It blew up in my face, halfway through the process. You’ve got to understand, I’m not that big a deal in the cape community. I’m not even who I was before. I’m not a name any of the cape community knows. I’m a glorified person." "I imagine there’s a cape family with Jonathan in it," Jonathan? "Be it with a disability, a mom and a dad fighting or already working independently." "What’s Jonathan, exactly?" "Someone like Doctor Mother. Gleaming and wealthy, with nothing to offer but power and a little bit of charisma." He got an earful, "I’m sure." "But you’ve heard about me, and about what I’ve done. You’ve seen the pictures. You’ve heard about the battle. You’ve heard about the other stuff." "I remember, when I was a kid." "I’d like you to look into it more closely. There’s a chance you’ve met someone while you were out in the territories. Test subjects, or people with powers that were unknown at the time, who were recruited into the ABB." "How can I help when I don’t know who you are?" "We’re simpletons, pal." "What are you? Are you a cape, or were you recruited as a member of the cape family?" "I’m a low level, low status vagrant. I’m having trouble even registering as a villain." "You’re not a ======================================== SAMPLE 774 ======================================== The trip to my room hadn’t been so peaceful. I had only my towel and two square meals to wrap around myself, along with a half-bowl of orange juice. I was hungry, exhausted, and incredibly, insanely bored. It had been two days since I had had a chance to really unwind and recharge my batteries. My room at the Loft consisted of a half-bathroom, a single-bed and a single-cubic-foot bathroom. There was little furniture or space to stand in. All of the standard precautions were in place – wired to the nearest living area with a furnished floor and a private bathroom adjoining the main area. The only person in there besides my brother and I was a small bird, perched on the wall at the far end of the room, his claws scraping against the hard plastic sheet at his neck. He hardly looked sentient. My confining myself to sleeping in the open, in the far corner, out of sight of the building and the people in the building. I was remembering my unspoken agreement with my brother regarding the use of his power in the bedroom. I would ask him to bed his sister. I was glad for the break in the monotony, the butterfly fluttering in the light, the flowing curtains and the dimple in the corner, stirring insects from the mattress and from around the bird. I would make my way to my room when I was done watching them and then begin my torture of my mind and body the following morning. I had let my armor decide which end of the room I chose. I now faced a dilemma. I could go with my armor’s previous self, who had been naked. I couldn’t risk getting penetrated while she shared that end of the room with someone I didn’t know. I didn’t have a perfect memory of how I’dice approached this part of the situation. I couldn’t remember her position or anything that might have prompted an attack from any of the other prisoners. If I’d gone with my plan, I knew I would have been in a position to break the window and get my hands on a weapon. If she’d been in a position to make her escape, if shed had a knife, a screwdriver, a hammer or something else… I’d gone with my gut, and I was glad to have a weapon at my disposal if I could help it. Maybe, if everything went my way, I could have used it. My legs refused to work properly on their own, and a screwjob was unlikely to end me or any of my comrades any favors. My swarm-decoy made its way across the room. It passed over a row of metal lockers at the side of the cell, and it cut a slit in the metal. More than one lock was revealed, and the cages on the upper end of the level were revealed as well. These were secure, locked away with specialized tools and tools, but they revealed something about the layout of the building. Two larger cages on the upper level held people, while the smaller cages on the lower level had more equipment. These small lockers seemed to be disconnected from the main building, so large metal bins with tools and loading pins were held open behind each one, containing everything from 3-foot crowbars to blowtorches. The ‘little house’, as the birds had been calling out as they visited previous locations, was fairly unremarkable. A lone 4-foot by 8-foot by 4-foot window with a slanted floor to the house indicated that this was their family residence. The backyard, wide enough to host a bird and a small animal, was clear of vegetation. Fences ringed the property, one of which was considerably larger than the other. I could see one fence with lines extending from each end, essentially barreling up the side of it to surround the backyard itself. The resulting semi-circle was nearly three times the size of the average house. From my vantage point, I could see the streets were still flooded. Heavy rains had mixed with the bodies from the fallen buildings to produce a single, single ply road. Water thickened and rose in some areas, briefly swamping the most vulnerable parts of the city. Blue and purple flags were flying at half mast in each direction. "You don’t need to do this," I said. "I’m okay here. Haven’t seen a soul. Did you look in the morgue?" Bird gently offered me a correction, her beak on her next bite throbbed. The bird fluorescing, I realized. A morgue. I withdrew my phone, found the number, and made a call. "Yeah, it was him," she said. "Oh. Right. Sorry. Right. Victoria� ======================================== SAMPLE 777 ======================================== Time to see the math, the data. I’m not good at it, I’m not good at looking at numbers holistically, but I knew I’d have to do at some point. How did these people do it? What tools or methods did they use? The last calculation I’d done was a rough approximation. I needed to repeat that for each individual. This was the most time-consuming part of the calculation. Each time I took a step forward, I risked that step being taken without my awareness, a doubt in my mind. I had an order in mind, an idea of what I needed to do, but I was worried I might delay, cost myself time by making that call. I could count the dead, if I tracked how their numbers changed. The first was the beta-nid, or bird-soul. These individuals, in no particular order, existed in short order to carry out one of two functions. They were willing to kill, or they were forced to, through the powers of the omniscient replicas. They gathered in the most densely populated areas, near where Leviathan and the other two ended their fight. They deliberated, as if waiting for a call to speak from above. In the end, they vocalized what they had decided. A sound that cut through the noise of the fighting above them, a call to arms, and they were gone. The rest of the fight had been a roar, a tumult. They were in the middle of it, and the fight had been almost entirely decided before these individuals appeared. Noelle, lo and behold, the golden man beats her near to death. The entity laughs. His true nature is revealed, as the entities are wont to do. The entities are fiends, small but vicious, living for conflict, nature and chaos. They seek to recreate inborn biases, powers and abilities, retarding the hosts’ evolution and evolution of their progenitors. They bend the innate xenosenshmythm of the beings they merge with, so they might bequeath to their spawn the spoils of their own power. They do this to the best of their ability, seeking some measure of control, recognizing that they are ultimately animals. They sleep, they rest, they breed, they explore the alien possibilities that await them, and they kill any that they don’t wish to control. But these entities know more than that. They are masters of their kind, tapestry and tapestry of power, and they weave such secrets, like a weaving of tales, across multiple planes. They knew, before everything went to hell, that this was what Scion would do. So they have a shared understanding. They’d fought against the entity before. A left turn in the series of events that led to that one being born, a right turn for Cabal. This time, they were going in a different direction. The entity had intended for war, for Scion to take the world as his trophy, to channel his desire for revenge or simply for madness to its fullest. The entity had hoped. They would be enemies, make it clear to the others. But there was more to it. Everything that had been built up toward the point that Scion had broken the truce or acted beyond the scope of the contract, it was the understanding that justice would be served, and things would be made fair. The only thing that was certain was that things would go to hell sooner than they would if the entity had won and everything would settle down, the rules would be unfair and inequitable, and things would be made unfair. Noelle, who had originally named the place that she and her people called home, would eventually get sick and lose everything. Her people would lose what they had become, what they’d become as a people. They would lose this world for themselves. ■ The entity was appraising the work of the moths. It took a variety of forms, across multiple planes, and it burned through anything and everything it touched. Anything and everything. It was a catalog of its own life. Of the many things it had seen, of the many things it had taken for granted. It ricocheted, bounced off of walls, into open air, where it shredded building interiors and built structures in its path to get to the others. It hit a wall of burning ichor, turned a corner, and sank through a floor. The other entities were cataloguing their own lives. They were finding them, hunting for opportunities, adapting. They would leave their mark on this one. They were all variations on the same theme. A way to reclaim what they claimed to want, a way to make amends, fulfill ======================================== SAMPLE 780 ======================================== I didn’t say it aloud. I kept my mouth shut. It wasn’t the Nine attacking again. It was her. The aftermath of the fight with Mannequin. Drains to her mind, body and soul had been reopened, unanswered questions reopened, and fears discharged. She felt a storm of emotions riding beneath her skin. Fear, depression, hopelessness. People stopped her on the street and questioned her. Would she stay silent and let them get away? Would she admit it was true and let them die a natural death? No. Something else was driving her forward. She had to prove she belonged, that she could turn the tables and make a difference. Every successful quest she’d set in motion had been led by people who wanted to impress her, to know she was her own person under different circumstances. These spies and agents were following in her footsteps, hoping to find an anchor, a reason to give her her due. It was only when she was in the company of the others that she realized how rare it was. Ben and Judy, the others around her, they had their own kind of psychological pressure. If she admitted her own inadequacy, they knew, it would doom them. They would yield to temptation. Belatedly, she found an opportunity. She sidled over to the corner of the roof directly behind the group, and leaned out. The banter and fights around her were demoralizing, driving her mad in a very different way. Except it wasn’t the boredom or the futility of it. Sometimes it was the sheer strangeness of it, that drove her forward. The isolated cell block, the endless nights, the lack of supervision, and the unpredictability of her new surroundings. The roof was empty, but she had no place to sit, not even a chair, but she knew if she took a single step, her mom, dad, aunt or uncle would step in, to keep her from getting any further. So she walked on. One by one, they boarded the trucks that were parked in the center of the street. Soldiers. They boarded, and each of them chewed their lips in the silence and the near-silence that followed. ■ "This is insane," My mom said. "How far along?" my dad asked. "We can’t take any more risks," my mom said. "There’s too many places that could go terribly wrong. I’ve got to call the boss." "The hell?" the young man’s eyes widened. "You want to move?" my dad asked. "No," My mom replied. "There’s too many places we could go wrong. It’s going to cost me, both time and money." "Mom," my dad put his hand on her shoulder. "This is insane." "We have to do something," she said. "I don’t think we can do anything if you say it’s all going to work out. I- I don’t think we can even if we want to. We’re stuck here, and- and people are going to keep getting in my way, trying to get a row with me. If I don’t get on my case, or if I don’t do as my mother says, I won’t be able to attend these reunions." "She’s right," my mom said. "I… If you took away my powers, or if you made me a parahuman, I’d be a pretty terrible person. I’d be dangerous. I wouldn’t be able to do much." "You’d be able to." My dad touched her shoulder. She didn’t resist as they stepped back into the car. "I wouldn’t be able to go on," she said. "You wouldn’t?" "I… I wouldn’t be able to keep doing what I’m doing. I have to, otherwise I’d have another decade of it, and it would be so much easier. I feel like I’m on the brink of finding the mark, or at least finishing it. Financially, maybe, and in terms of being a mother. Defeats Accept, or Graduation, or getting the OK from the mayor, or whatever, and I’d be screwed. I’d be arrested. And then I’d probably never work in a job again." "You’d be an overnight success?" I asked. "I dunno. I never had a job where I had to take ======================================== SAMPLE 783 ======================================== "I’ll go. Call Coil, figure out what to do with the cash." I hung up, then turned to head back to my office. Parian had stopped by just after I’d finished my sentence. "Wasn’t too crazy, for one thing. I thought the mental strain was worth it." "Just think of it as a bonus. As an incentive to come back to work. Maybe you can get another raise, maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll even get the position, if youattention, and Coil’s got enough muscle that he could fire you, filling you in on whatever the big issues are." "I won’t say it’s zero or one in a hundred times," Parian said. "It’s more like it is, isn’t it? Sometimes a hundred times a thousand. There’s only so many times you can go around before you start to feel like you’re losing it. I think you’re an idiot not to listen, before that happened." "I could’ve listened," I said. "Wouldn’t be different if they had… whatev." "They did. They did drag me into that mess, into whatever it was you said you were. Then they stuck you with me. Made you do the dirty work, made you do the substandard work, and then they made you a paragon of virtue, and you can do whatever you want as far as where my powers go. I’m sorry." "I’m not… that I’m not allowed to say…" "You’re not allowed to say you were right. You’re not allowed to lash out." I sighed. "But I can say… they did that. They tried to psych you out, they had me move, and… they did that to me, in some cases. Once they had that sort of suspicion, they had it bred in their heads that I was suffering from some condition they couldn’t cure, and they used that to throw me against a wall and kill me." "I could’ve talked." "You wouldn’t have listened, I’m sure. You-" I was cut off as she pulled away. My heart was pounding when the door to my office opened. "Regent?" He was still on the other side. No use burning anotherplace’s goodwill. "It’s him," she said, her voice quiet. "I was about to cut in and introduce myself, but then Coil…" "Amy." She looked bad, bruised and battered. "He’s Lisa’s dad." "The little fish," Tattletale mumbled. "You didn’t tell me that." I raised my hands to cover her eyes. "Big fish. Lisa and I were very close before you and I got along." "When was we? This?" "About two years ago." "It sounds so lonely." I was very glad for the break in the conversation. I could hardly maintain the conversation, not under the influence of the potion. "Lonely? Where are my manners? I hope I don’t cause any trouble." "Going back, about two years ago? You had a dad? Or your dad was a dildo-man." I shrugged. "After I graduated university and started acting, I didn’t have much of a taste for the romantic bullshit. It wasn’t until my mom divorced from my father that I really started to look at things from a different perspective. I started to see how unreal this all was." "You started acting when you were thirteen?" "I didn’t even know what a 'romantic' look was. I was still trying to decide what my major was when I met Brian. He was the only one of my three who I could act with, and we were so close we were practically brothers. We were also very close to my sister and me. So when I met Brian, I didn’t expect him to be a guy who dated girls. I was freaking out, because I was dating a girl who pretended to like guys, and I was scared I would fall in love with her if I didn’t try to please him." "How did you get together? What did you do?" "We went to the same mall, the same school, and I convinced her to let me into her group. We were just talking and joking around in our group, talking about sports and careers and plans. She invited me to stay ======================================== SAMPLE 786 ======================================== "No," Bonesaw said. "I’ve never had anyone tell me how to do anything. Except maybe for Trickster, who was always more of a tinker than someone who made stuff. And even then, I dunno if I would have listened. But I respect him, if that makes any sense. So I don’t know if I can tell you how to do anything. Except maybe tell you to fuck off if you ever come after me." "You tried that," Shatterbird said. "Twenty-two percent cancer. Twenty two percent breast, some of which is bone. And smaller pieces of her testicles, too. I can’t take any more of her stuff, so I’m leaving them where they are." Bonesaw sighed. "If you don’t mind me asking, your dogs are surviving okay?" Shatterbird shook her head. "They aren’t. All of them are. They weren’t bred for size or strength or durability or any of that. I put them through the paces, they can’t even run like horses. They get restless, and restless people are more likely to get cancer." Bonesaw reached into her belt, retrieved a small box. She opened the box to grab a small vial. She emptied the contents into the smaller jar Bonesaw had used to store the other stuff. "This is what I gave to Tattletale. Too small to be anything but a placebo effect." "You don’t know how the placebo effect works," Shatterbird said. "I know something about that. But I can’t know anything about cancer, unless you’re going to go into clinical trials on me. I’m not an expert, and I’m not saying one way or the other. This was all my doing." "You don’t have to tell us, Tattletale," Shatterbird said. "We don’t have to hear it. But don’t tell us. Don’t let it shut us up." Bonesaw scowled. "This is what I’ve been working on all day. A way to let the powers know when I’m affected by my powers. When I’m stressed, when I’m angry, or when I’m experiencing a trigger event, the powers keep me from talking. It’s like a blanket that reads ‘We will protect you’ in a pinch’. Except there’s a chance it could backfire and hurt people. And it doesn’t work." "This is the kind of stuff I want to do," Shatterbird said. "Not because I want you to have a superpower that lets you beat me, or Karen, or any of that. But because I want you to have a life outside of prison, where you can raise your ship, sail it into the sunset, and never settle it in a hundred-foot swell of regret." Bonesaw folded her arms. "You will. Because I don’t want you to." "Because you don’t want me to." "Because you did some pretty shitty things. And I want you to know that whatever you’ve done, no matter how ugly, whatever way you look at it, there’s some part of you that’s going to agree with me, because you think that’s how it should be, on a fundamental level." "No," Bonesaw said. "Yes," Shatterbird said, behind Bonesaw. "Because you’re antisocial and your whole identity is based on being a prick." Bonesaw growled, "Shatterbird!" Shatterbird spoke, "You cannot scold me for being too strict with a student." Bonesaw shook her head, her mask spinning in the air, "If you leave me be, I will go do that. Then we’ll devour each other alive." Shatterbird spoke, "That’s not what I want to do. I want to undo it." Bonesaw was restrained by her chains. A gagging sensation was building in her throat. "Come on, Sveta," Sveta said. "It’s not that bad." "She’s more voluptuous, so it’s more like… not bad, but…" "She has a boyfriend?" Bonesaw asked. Sveta nodded. Bonesaw growled, "What are you thinking?" "That there’s an upset in the power balance," Sveta said. She moved ======================================== SAMPLE 789 ======================================== Hallucination was the third condition of his membership in the Nine, along with deep sleep and complete and total darkness for a full six months of the year. By the time he was in his thirties, he estimated that he had probably had six to ten hours a night to concentrate, given his frame of reference. He could get away with only a minor inconvenience like a missing hour or two, if he spent a few hours every night sitting in the shade and watching over his binoculars. The rest of the time, he was under the unrelenting strain of the constant stimuli, had to keep an eye on the Nine, keep in touch with the Face, keep himself sane. Every second he spent lying in bed was a second that the Nine couldn’t see, each revolution of the chair or the washing machine took a second to get underway. On any given night, he could be asleep thirty to forty minutes, under-nourished, malnourished or exhausted, and the PRT officers who examined him were at a disadvantage in a fight, since they didn’t have the full breadth of the facilities to work with. He had tried to eliminate the niggling doubts and worries that had plagued him as the Slaughterhouse Nine made their way through Brockton Bay. The catch was that they required a certain amount of planning and forethought to handle, especially if they wanted to set up shop in the same building as his headquarters. They also required that he be present for any operation or series of operations. He was regularly forced to work as many as three jobs to make ends meet. The creeped out on the double digit hours he had to clock in for himself against the Nine, the stress of the nine operations in one week? Included in that. Wasn’t that the point? Eliminating the Nine was one, keeping an eye on things for any longer than that would mean leaving an operational edge to the Nine for another three weeks. And the last thing he could do was to think about an operation like he could thoughts. The potential danger to his people, the possible danger of the one Reborn? Yeah. Eliminating the Nine was one. Banishing the other possibility was much more difficult. "No," he muttered. "Grue?" Tattletale prompted. "Yeah," Grue said. He fell into step to keep up. "Saved your life," she said. "I’m glad." "You surprised me too, Skitter. You going to say hi to Tattletale?" He shook his head. "I’ll meet you when you get back." He nodded. They crossed paths. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her in person, or online, a week ago. This Tattletale was different. She was free of the confines of her high-risk, high-reward existence, free to move around the Docks and Brockton Bay at her own pace. She was active, she had money, she was smart. He could admire that. The similarity ended there. Tattletale was an unknown quantity. She was harmless and even helpful in a way she wasn’t helpful to her people. He could forgive her that. Bakuda, for her part, was a known quantity. She’d slaughtered people, confused those who knew her and those who didn’t. She was en route to New York and would occupy herself for a few weeks in the making of a weapon, before heading back to the city to start preparations for a potential attack. Sheot’s power. She could handicap people, and turn ordinary people into monsters. He knew why she was there. She was occupying herself. She was overloaded with responsibilities. She’d seen what her mother had been through, had seen the pressures her father had put on her, and she had escaped those same pressures by leaving. It was a position that had seen her become even more desperate, and a point where she’d become too comfortable to manage. It was there that she’d started to see things from a different angle. From a human perspective. It was a perspective that had seen her becoming increasingly frustrated with the situation. She’d retreated from the Docks, and even after the city was safe and the threats dealt with, she had stayed to stay in the company of Bowden. In her way, she’d followed… even encouraged… the construction of a monster that was slowly growing inside her head, shaping it until it was something monstrous. She wanted to protect those people, but she was becoming fascinated with something else. This shouldn’t be happening. He knew, now, that it wasn’t her. She’d moved ======================================== SAMPLE 792 ======================================== A day after the Supreme Court declined to hear a class-action lawsuit over the breach of contract charges against the makers of the Pokemon Go smartphone game, a California jury has found Pokemon not liable for breach of contract. In a not-insignificant gesture of goodwill, the San Diego jury returned an undisclosed amount to a pro se plaintiff in a jury trial over whether or not the augmented reality smartphone game and its augmented reality virtual reality headset infringed on her 15 year old daughter’s copyrights in the virtual pet project. According to the documents filed in San Diego Superior Court, the plaintiff, Narwhal Shah, was seeking punitive damages of up to three times the amount of goods or services allegedly provided by the defendants, which were allegedly sold online or used in commerce, under California’s oft-cited "implied contract" doctrine. According to the jury’s deliberations, the nature of the implied contract had not been disclosed to the plaintiff prior to the trial. In sum, the plaintiff was left to consider three options: (1) Damages were calculated by a fact finder, not by an attorney, (2) Damages were not set in stone for a set amount, but could be changed at any time by the plaintiff’s choice; and (3) Damages were not cumulative, but could be increased by additional purchases or services. The plaintiff declined the third option and voted to award costs to the defendant of fifty dollars to $three hundred, with an award of up to three times that sum if the defendant had not been present. "We’re disappointed," said Peter Van Wiebeke, CEO and co-founder of Dice’s Entertainment, in a prepared statement. "It’s a tough road to travel, but we keep coming back to the same thing – that we’re doing it for the love of the game. For the love of kids. For the love of this great country." Van Wiebeke went on to discuss the importance of the Pokemon Go craze – which some observers had speculated was tied to the ongoing legal dispute – and the degree of cooperation between the various teams. "It’s important to note that there has not been a single report of anyone being hurt as a result of the game, and there has been zero indication that anyone has attempted to monetize the experience. The only activity allegedly tied to the game is the activity surrounding players who trespass in the Boundary or attempting to claim it." According to the documents, the plaintiff would be forced to refund all purchases made from the date of this announcement to refund would be on a first come, first served basis. Any player would be allowed to make a claim once, but any privileged communication would carry a heavier fee. "The fees listed in the contract are reasonable," Van Wiebeke said. "As we approach our funding goal, we feel it is in our best interests to make an open offer to anyone who played Pokemon Go during the early days of its release." Van Wiebeke went on to list the expansion plans for the Chicago location, including the addition of tables, a more secure gate, and a more secure entrance. He did note that additional security measures would be put in place to protect patrons. "Our gate was left unlocked as a result of a recent burglary and is currently one of the only exits available to those attempting to make their way into the property," the statement read. "Due to the nature of the services we provide, we were able to raise funds to pay a staff. We anticipate that number will double in the next few weeks, with the opening of a new gate and the commencement of business. Our burglary was a small matter, but it raised some interesting points." "Now," Dice Ripper, "You ask $5000.00, and you designate three people to work for you. I, in turn, ask for three times that amount. Three voices in the room, urging you on, telling you what you should do. We want to be clear about this – we do not work for nor have we any affiliation with the gangs or organizations. We only do what is necessary or appropriate in order to assist our clients." Van Wiebeke went on to list the services that he would be able to provide, the protections that he would provide, and the confidentiality that he would provide. "Nothing controversial," Van Wiebeke said. "However you want to help." "I’m more of a protector and co-panyner," I said. "Instead of three voices in the room, I’ll have two." "That’s satisfactory," Van Wiebeke said. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette, handed it to me. "For now, I want to be sure you and your family have a warm welcome. Keep this business professional ======================================== SAMPLE 795 ======================================== With nearly a decade of combined experience, this was the first time he’d worked with a child that wasn’t engaged in play. She had three. Noelle’s hands were clumsily rolled up her wrists. She’d had one foot rest on the top of the refrigerator, and her hands were clasped hands in front of her. He reached out to one of her feet and gripped it, dropped it down onto the counter. He reappeared, retrieving the other foot, stooped down so he could start dialing the police. He flipped a switch, and the refrigerator in question exploded into flame. The three teenagers inside it were promptly vacated and evacuated, one of whom turned the ignition on high. With the flames of the refrigerator and flames that spread across the backyard and along the driveway to the police station welling up, they were forced to scatter, running for the neighboring property. The two kids who remained fled across the property, shimmying underfoot as they clung to the refrigerator. "She’ll need a hospital," Theo said. "She’ll need a hospital. But for now…" "My territory!" "Stop. Just… leave." She shook her head. He sighed. "Okay. You can find a doctor. If you can, you can come by my place and get them to send someone." "I can’t." "You can, if you’re willing. I- the burns are bad, and it’ll get progressively worse if you don’t. With luck, the metals in her environment will help, and the doctor can just steam clean her body and put the rest back together easy. Or you can ask me to come by and I can do the same." He nodded. She was still struggling, but it was slow. She had one set of limbs that was meant to support a bodyweight, and it was broken. "Maybe a metal frame she wears around her neck will hold her together long enough for that." "I don’t know if that’s a good idea," he said. "It’s a hospital, and we’re supposed to evacuate here if there’s an attack!" "Is it safe?" "I’m the medical officer for a small army of heroes in the area," he responded. "I’m trained to deal with people in the most catastrophic situations." "And you didn’t even know if she’s stronger than she looked." "I didn’t. I was listening, of course. And I listened when Captain Heroux said the most basic requests would be honored, but there would be no rescue attempts until the girl was stable." He folded his arms. "You’re a villain, Theo." "I’m not one." "You’re brave. You’ve fought bad guys. Most of the people I’ve fought have been against the good guys. When I’m in the thick of it, and someone’s dying, I want to be there." "You’re only giving her the benefit of a doubt?" "Was it worth the risk to you?" "No. But I’m putting myself in your shoes, trying to see how you feel about this." "Wow. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything about this. If you wanted me to, maybe I wouldn’t be so heavy handed." "No. But I’ll be by, to make sure you get the most from this. I won’t be joining the fight, but I’ll watch your back and make sure you’re protected." There was a pause. "Or not." "Or not," Theo said. No more anger in his tone, no hint of the same irritation he’d shown in the past, not since high school. Theo nodded. "That’s fine. I’ll borrow a friend, then we’ll see how that works out." "Yeah. I don’t expect this fight to be pretty. So if you’re hurt or want assistance, or if you need supplies, let me know, I’m willing to go steal them from the Merchants if you want it." The man hesitated. This is my first time as a villain, he thought. If I can’t win, then… But Theo couldn’t say anything without raising doubts in others. "All right. We’ll be on our way." "Thank you," Theo said. ======================================== SAMPLE 798 ======================================== A spider-silk curtain of sorts, I guess. For those of you who don’t know, the Silk Road was an underground market that flourished during the early and mid-to-late years of the Dark Empire. It was a hub for addicts, street hawkers, mercenaries and those looking to launder money. It was also where a small cadre of powerful individuals, mostly villains, went to sell their wares. Silk was denominated in pounds, and was usually exchanged for real money in the process. It wasn’t the most fair exchange, and I suspect many Silk Road customers either didn’t have funds or they were suspicious, but few people sold their goods on the open market, and those that did usually had a steady customer base. Lung and I climbed down from the armchair we’d been sitting in. He reached for the bag, which was in his other hand. He held it up, and a [[Bastard-bot|Bastard of Moscow Botany]], or what I took to be a [[Bastard of Brockton Bay Botanical Gardens|Baron]] was inside. I could make out a metal container with what looked to be metal tags, labeled with the ‘door’ and other cryptic symbols. The only things I could see that marked him as anything but a regular human being was his head and his torso. His meat, bone and scales were all exposed, his hands and feet being hidden by a hood. His metal frame was too streamlined to be any thinner than a finger. I drew an <NOTE!> and handed it to her. The symbols and writing in the metal weren’t any harder than a simple cipher. She tore the bag open and handed me my tinker-made key. I read the label and felt my blood run cold. It was a note from Coil. I unwrapped the parcel and examined it. It was from Coil. I tore it open and examined the contents.
The.Fraud.Thing.Stole.Her.Year.From.You.A.New.House.January.2010.1080p.HDTV.X264-Widescreen.Transcriber.Resolution.AVI.Subtitled.Master.Demos.Master.Download.Screenshots.1080p.HighQuality.Audio.Main.Clip.1080p.HighQuality.Audio.Multimedia.Demo.1080p.HighQuality.Offline.1080p.MultiView.Audio.Multimedia.Demo.1080p.Offline.1080p.MultiView.Audio.1080p.Multimedia.1080p.Offline.1080p.MultiView.Audio.1080p.Offline.1080p.Offline.1080p.Offline.1080p.Multimedia.Demo.Full.1080p. The.Fraud.Thing.Stole.The.Year.From.The.House.January.2010.Audio.Multimedia. The.Fraud.Thing.Stole.The.Year.From.The.House.January.2010.Audio.Multimedia. The.Fraud.Thing.Stole.The.Year.From.The.House.2001.1080p.Resolution.Audio.Audio.1080p.Multimedia.Demo.Demo.Torrent.Of.Files.1080p.Full.Res.HDTV.Demo.Torrent.Of.Files.1080p.Res.HDTV.Demo.1080p.Full.Res.HDTV.Demo.1080p.Full.Res.720p.Res.Res.Res.720p.Res.720p.Res.720p.Torrent.Of.Files.1080p.Res.HDTV.Demo. The.Fraud.Thing.Stole.The.Year.From.The.House.2010.1080p.Audio.1080p.VHS.VHS.VHS.VHS.VHS.VHS.VHS.VHS.VHS.Torrent.Of.Files.1080p.Torrent.Of.Files.1080p.Resolution.Audio.1080p.VHS.Audio.1080p.Audio.1080p.VHS.Audio.1080p.1080p.1080p.Audio.Res.1080p.HighQuality.1080p.Res.Audio.1080p.Retail.Quality.HighQuality.Retail.Retail.720p.HighQuality.HighQuality. ======================================== SAMPLE 801 ======================================== This is something that should be discussed with your team. We- we should discuss this at the highest levels possible. This is something that should be stopped. All of us should be asking ourselves if we’ve lost our minds, if we’ve been moved or coerced into this. "Can we negotiate?" I asked. "No," Panacea said. "There’s too many points to cover." I looked at her. "This is an open dialogue," she said. "The villain that controls you, he might be able to give you the information you need to make enlightened decisions." "I’ve thought about all of this," I said. "I’ve heard all of this. I’ve followed the cape scene for years. I know what it’s like. I know how warped you humans are. The constant changes in mindset, in priorities, in methods and approaches. You’re one dangerous cape that has the ability to kill us all with a whimper. When the cape community loses its collective mind, it all falls apart." "Mm," Panacea grunted. "I’ll hear you out." "If you really are intent on hurting a child, or if you know that you can’t, in the circumstances described here, or in the custody battle we’ve had since you got your orders, I think the rest of us should shoulder the burden. If your old bitch is under enough stress to explode, you’ll do anything to make it to that point, and I think we should use our own means. The Protectorate, the Wards, the Undersiders, the Competitive Team…" I trailed off, but I saw her work to make a point of emphasizing every word, even as I was trying to think of a way to get out of the situation. "I’ll pay you three times over what you just paid me." "Three times what?" "You’ll have to forgive me, I’m trying to look for someone that’s up to something," she said. "For what?" "Paige. I’m looking for the daughter. I might even have found her, but I’m picking the high-risk areas, trying to identify the people who can help. You’ll have to forgive me for saying so, but I think I’m leading you to that conclusion anyways." I saw the hope in her expression, and I knew it was misplaced. Disappointed, confused, but hopeful. "I’ll have the cash by midnight," I said. "If I don’t bring the amount in, or if I leave it at a certain amount and leave it in the house, then it’s just a late fee." "A late fee?" "I can leave it as it is, but I’d like to tidy up the place and start putting things back." "You’d like my help, of course. That’s good enough." "And I’m only on the advisory of the three people who signed the paperwork leaving you alone, understanding why you’re doing that. I don’t have any experience in this area, really." "You could send my way by myself." "You wouldn’t be getting anything out of me. I’d give you my full cooperation, of course, but that’d be against my agreement to this assembly." She walked into the living room, and Hana stepped out of the way, keeping her eyes on the money. Paige turned to me. "What are you doing with that?" "My territory, as Skitter had suggested. I don’t have money, and it’s not that big a change to just take it all and give it to the people in my territory." "I’m worried about my territory," I said. "The first concern I have with your new territory being you. You’re new. It’s very possible you’re inexperienced, if not outright wrong. I’m a high school graduate and professional dominatrix, you know?" I could remember my dad, my street, and the people I’d seen in the neighborhood after the raids on the Docks and surrounding areas. They were gone. My home, my school, all gone. I’d had to move several blocks away to be closer to the Docks, and even then, I’d have to get by the presence of two large groups of people. "My dad and I have talked about this, as I mentioned it to you in the letter ======================================== SAMPLE 804 ======================================== The grass grew tall as a new growth began to emerge on one side of the bed. She was still active, I noted. She wouldn’t have been able to hold her own without her power, and the armour had been shattered. "Custodian?" I asked. "A clairvoyant," she said, looking down at the stone slab. "And not just any old custodian," I added. "The old PRT director." "Old PRT director," I agreed. I wasn’t even sure if she was aware. She probably wasn’t aware, but she didn’t correct me. The man was lying face down on the grass on the stone slab. His hands and feet were tied so tightly against his body that I could have broken them. Widths and lengths of metal tape spread out between the man’s body to guide his movements, and a firm hand was holding an anvil so the cane could be gripped, as he leaned forward to place his right leg on the anvil’s legrest, resting his weight on it. The girl beside the woman frowned. She moved her feet, and the woman moved her too, so the two women were always in a headlock or a hold, keeping their eyes fixed on the stone slab. The man lay there, his feet absentmindedly on the anvil, the hands at his sides, as if he was calculating something, or if he’d gone too far, it was something he couldn’t be sure of. "How can you stand to be near him?" the girl asked. "I said I was in shock," the man said. "I know," the girl said. "I’ve been in shock, too. I almost couldn’t stand it. I got grounded." "You didn’t get grounded, sir." "I know," she said. "I’m not going to try to change your mind about anything. I’ve seen enough attacks like this. I’m not going to tell you how to live your life, sir. I don’t care about your rep, or your rep on the team, or whatever. But you can’t make it like this. You can’t treat me like a criminal and then walk away from me." "I know," he said, his voice hard. "You can’t walk away from me, then?" "I don’t know how, sir. I don’t know what to say, except that I don’t know how. I’m really sorry, and I know it’s probably the last thing I want to do, but I’m going to do what I can to make it up to you." He stared at her, weighing the options and weighing up the options against one another. "You can say goodbye like this, or you can say goodbye to me," she said. "I don’t care which you do, but you can say goodbye." He paused, then chose the last words he’d said to her. "I’ll be by your grave." When he was done, he got in his car and started up, shifting into gear to get the vehicle moving. He wanted this to be over. He wanted to get back to his life and his family, once he’d recovered a bit. The way things were, though, they were going to have to wait. He was too hurt to hike around for help, not with his injuries fresh in his mind. Alec and the others would get hospitalized if they didn’t get help, and he had to be out of the woods by the time they got here. Once he got out of the woods, he’d have to get his bearings, get his thoughts in order, and plan, knowing that the people he was helping weren’t a real threat. He wanted to stay in the EDM scene, but at the same time, he had to consider the damage that wasdoing to his already injured wrists. The damage to his face that couldn’t be undone with a pair of rubber gloves. Hiking the sack of poop out to the carport wasn’t hiking. He’d have to wait until he reached an intersection where there was room for the car and the sidewalk, step off the ledge to get a look at the surroundings, and then he’d have to wait for it to start moving again. That wasn’t including the time it would take to get the first of the sandwiches he’d ordered from the building. He missed his family, in that aspect of things. Even ======================================== SAMPLE 807 ======================================== Titus has to eat or they get hurt. I’ve seen them work. You aren’t working, are you?" "No. I am sleeping." "Good. Let me wake you." He woke, but it was only a slow, groaning and wailing from his tortured brain. "You’re alive. You’re breathing." "Taylor," he managed. "I am." "You’re so pathetic, you know that? You can’t even grasp what the system is doing for you." "Yes." "I don’t follow it. You’re helpless. Your future is bleak, so you cling to it, do whatever it takes to avoid being tortured in the future. You try to signal, to call for help, and you’re saying what you feel you have to say, and that’s all they’ll listen to." "Rose says so," Theo said. "She does. And she says we’re in the clear." "Every argument I’ve had about what she said points to the fact that you really are in the clear. You believe her, even when she’s been wrong. That’s why you’re so stubborn. You think you can keep going until you beat her, and then you won’t have any reason to stay standing when the dust settles." Theo stared at his teammate. He couldn’t have asked for more. "Skitter-" Theo clenched his jaw. Rose was following his gaze, looking down at the ground, where the purple fluid had set. Theo didn’t even have to think about it. "It all comes down to whether we can trust her to look after our… family. I think we can. I think we can trust her to look after us and our neighborhoods. Beyond that, I think there’s the gray area. I don’t know if I can say for sure, but I think she’s in a state of dementia, and that’s no joke." "I know," Rose said. "I saw it happen on a job. I knew it when I saw it. But I couldn’t help you in that department. I could maybe look after your finances-" "That was my intention," Theo said. "But you could always get help. I could give you an account with instructions on what to do if money isn’t an issue. Do what you need to do in that department, and we’ll see what we can do in another area." "And my mom’s service," Rose said. "She helps people." "I know it helps, but sometimes the people around her don’t get it or aren’t sure about how much it helps. It sucks sometimes." Theo nodded. "Can I ask what her problem is? Is she socially disabled?" "Social disabled as in they can’t participate, they can’t take care of themselves because they’re blind or they’re dumb or whatever, but they can’t live with themselves. They need others to look after them and that’s why they’re so damn lonely. They’re missing out." "I see." Theo waved it off. "And before you go complaining about us leaving you, or saying anything about the Simurgh, you should know that I made a deal. I made a deal with Kaiser. I’m keeping you in my reach, and you’ll get better when I’m gone. So unless you want to hurt yourself, or try to take a life that isn’t yours, you can rest assured I have your back. We’ll take care of each other." Theo nodded. He wasn’t the most emotionally strong person, he knew it. But it was what she would have wanted. "I can’t tell you how thankful I am. For the offer of help, and the way I’ve been playing along." "I know. I was worried you’d be pissed." "I’m not, really. Part of the adjustment is knowing you’re supposed to pay attention to things like that. Being in the dark ages, I learned to trust my instincts." "And I learned to trust my teammate," Rose said. "If you don’t mind me asking, how is training like this supposed to be?" Theo glanced at his teammates. They were all in the car, or as close to the ======================================== SAMPLE 810 ======================================== I’d been expecting something along the lines of… a few days ago, maybe, and this is the closest I’ll get to finding out. How am I supposed to get a response if they’re going to be actively seeking out this sort of information? The last time I’d registered this sort of thing, back when Leviathan had broken through the ice on Réunion, I’d been facing down Alexandria and several other thinkers who believed they were smarter than we were. We’d clued into the fact that virtually every power we had was paired with a corresponding weakness. Now I was trying to figure out how I could get a response. Feeling surprisingly bare-handed after packing on the heavy backpack, I approached the other group. A couple of new capes, one of whom I didn’t recognize. "Defiant?" "What?" "Is this Tattletale’s plan?" "No," he shook his head. "Just using common sense. Don’t rely on this plan of yours." "You’re rambling," I said. "I’ve got a mental block I’m working on. If you’re going to explain, explain why we can’t trust you on this." "You’re not explaining and you’re rambling at the same time?" He tilted his head in the same way you might turn your head to look at a glare. "Oh. Um. Let me try." "It’s not that simple," I said. "I’ll look it up. Sounded reasonable." I offered the group a curt nod, and we started walking. "There’s no safe way to get in touch with her without revealing our real identities, you know," he said. "Except maybe talking to her ourselves, yeah. I mean, it’s not like any of us are in any shape to share intimate details with anyone." "You’ve told me twice now that sharing would be dangerous." "You wouldn’t be so sure," he replied, "As far as shared details go, I think she’d be okay with it. Thing is, she’s fond of surprises." I nodded. "I’ve been giving DragonDefense a lot of thought, and I’ve noticed something. You guys are pretty solid in the long-term planning, defending capes. You know that. But when it comes down to it, you’re firm believers in what you do, and if one of us goes rogue, or if someone comes after us, it’s game over for us. For the defending capes." "Yeah," I said. "You’re firm believers in what you do, and you’re pretty sure?" "Yeah." "When it comes to the spoilers, are you conflicted?" "Kind of," I said. "Definitely." He asked, "Why?" and I wasn’t able to keep the answer in my throat. "Just thinking," I said. "What?" "Think about what happened back then. The members of your team that were okay with keeping secrets. They’re the ones I trust." "Who are you to judge me?" "You’re a member of the Protectorate, after all. You’re allowed to feel freaked out, in a way I totally understand. But you’re not allowed to act on that freaked outness." "I’ll be returning to school, for crying out loud. All my life, I’ve been on the team. I’ve had time to think and prepare. You don’t get to tell me one thing, and then act on it all?" "You have the wherewithal, but-" "That’s why I’m not your enemy. That’s why I’m not your enemy. You think you are, and you should keep acting like you know what you’re doing. You know why I’m not your enemy. You think you have the wherewithal, but you don’t have the courage, the willpower, to do what’s necessary. I’ve seen it all, done it all. I can tell you now, whatever your reasons, regardless of what you say or look like, you’re an asshole." "I’m not an asshole. Am I doing this to myself, or is it that intense a need to get something out of everyone, ======================================== SAMPLE 813 ======================================== Fitter, brighter, with the nanotech components we’ve got. She’ll be able to see you, deal with you. But if your power gets a little too bright… I don’t want you to lose your seat. The chairs are heated. You’ll warm yourself up before you sit, and the exterior windows will give you peripheral vision of anyone you wish to talk to." "I understand." "And the satellites? You’ll watch for any disturbances in the local dark net. The satellites will relay any changes in price or availability. You’ll notice any changes in use or preference. If there’s something profitable to be had, if the authorities are having a hard time stopping it, then we’ll have you send a report. Maybe an hour of material will get through, then settle in the evening. The profit motive won’t be strong for much that time, but we do have steady revenue streams for the merchants and ongoing support for our guests." Kid Win nodded. "It’s my understanding, and I have to put in the work, but I’m not sure it’ll happen this soon, and I’m not sure when or where the demand for this material will be greatest." "The Manton effect?" Vista asked. "I’m trying to think of a way this can be beneficial." "An effect?" Vista shook her head. "I told you, the heroes aren’t having a hard time stopping it. The heroes are occupied, they’re focused on stopping Scion, and they aren’t having a hard time finding people who will hand them off to us for further study." "I don’t know how that makes sense." Vista shrugged. "There’s other explanations. You said we shouldn’t assume any real conflicts are coming?" "We shouldn’t assume any real conflicts are coming. She messed with your head." Kid Win shook his head, then bit into a tomato. He stared at the kid in the black and gray costume. Vista, Kid Win could make out is grinning from ear to ear. "Is that so?" Vista asked, covering her amusement. "It’s just a little while, before things really get interesting," Kid Win replied. "We’ll see how much of it affects our group." "And how much of it’s temporary, and how much of it’s something else? We’ll find out soon, I guess." Kid Win nodded. For the time being, his group was operating with the knowledge that the Manton effect might be with him. It was nice, in a way, that he could ignore the obvious. The moment the smile disappeared, however, Kid Win could see a conflict. A tension. A tension that wasn’t a part of the circumstances that dictated the smile, but was nonetheless there. "I’m telling you without lying," he said. "No?" Kid Win glanced around the room. It wasn’t a lie, at least. "I’m just here to assist Skitter. If you want to go, you can do that. I’ll be looking after you through this. If you stay, I’ll be looking after you. Good as that sounds, I can call in favors and other favors, picking up the slack when needed." "I can’t talk to the PRT without getting into a little trouble," Vista said. "You can, but only if you do as I say," Kid Win said. "Trust your old coach, get yourself settled down, and don’t forget about the big picture." "The bigger picture?" Vista asked. "Everyone needs to step up and take charge when the big threats come knocking," Kid Win said. "It’s why we’re here, why we were discussing this in the first place. We’re not the strongest of teams, we can’t just push through whatever issues we’ve got, like we did at the end of the school year. But we’ll make it through this, and when the dust settles, everyone can take charge again." "This isn’t going to be easy," Vista said. "If you had told me two hours ago that you were going to beat Dragon, I would have thought you were crazy," Kid Win said. "Yes, we’ve beaten Dragon, and no, I won’t claim we have the upper hand. But this is a big job. You and I can’t do this unless we’re ======================================== SAMPLE 816 ======================================== If you’re with the Contessa, maybe we could get you a field sobriety test to verify you’re who you say you are." "It’s not that simple," I said, "I’m not stable on my own power. Or my own kind. I wouldn’t choose either of those things over my life. You’d want me to choose between sobriety and helping other people." "You choose to use your power improperly, and I’m not going to force you to use it. You’re strong, you’re capable, and I can give you that stability." I shook my head. "I’m not stable on my own power." "You were strong before we changed anything. You’re capable now. You don’t need the trappings of a confident man. I didn’t give you a reason to be confident, and I’m not setting you up to be ashamed or embarrassed by your own skin. If we both choose to go with the Selkies, and one of us takes the road less traveled, the group will survive." "You said stronger if you’re close to it," Rachel said. "Becoming a true monster won’t make you any stronger or give you any more confidence," I said. "You were a beast before we changed you." Again, the ick factor rose. "Is that so?" she asked. I shook my head. "So what do we do? We could send Bitch, you know. Or Dinah. You don’t have to give me anything." I shook my head, "I get it. I’m not about to put you in a situation where you have to do something you don’t want to do." "Wouldn’t that be torture?" Imp offered. "No," I told her. "I’m willing to test you." This, apparently, was the point where she pulled her legs up under her. I, in turn, reached for my belt and grabbed my baton. "You’re going to draw blood or shoot me," I said, "And if you decide you have a better idea of what you’re doing, I’ll be right behind you to shoot you the second you try something." She snarled out the words, "Fucking rich fucks, you’re attacking my territory, I—" "Stop," I said. She started backing away. I’d hoped that if anything had come of it, I might have been able to calm her by giving her a heads up. Helpless, she clutched the end of the table, her hands so still I could imagine them in her grip as she fell. "Helpless? So sure? Fuck me, this really is going to work." I sighed. "Maybe. But maybe not. I tried to warn her. I told her Scion was coming. She was right to worry. If she’d just listened, I might have been able to offer more information, get her to stop being reckless." "But she didn’t listen," she said. Her eyes started rolling around. "It wasn’t a conscious decision." "Probably not." "What was it supposed to be?" "I- I don’t know. I kind of hoped it would be a blunt warning. A bit of a slap in the face, really." "All that rage and nothing you said?" Tattletale asked. She plucked my shoulder. "Continue, Oliver." Oliver withdrew his hand, tilting his head in my direction. "What was it you said? You mean you don’t know." "I- Look, I got a lot of things wrong. I know that. I guess I was expecting a lot of things and I got one wrong." "And you got the pregnancy to fall in love with the guy, right?" "Right." "But you tried to warn her. You said you can’t be the healer and healer works, so you focus on the person when you spread the powers. I see. So it’s very possible she’s bleeding out." Tattletale shrugged. "I’m sorry." "It’s not your fault, isn’t it? It’s not your fault, if you’re selfish and controlling." "I’m not!" Tattletale flushed, "I’m… I’m ======================================== SAMPLE 819 ======================================== Defiant said, "Nothing at all, from your standpoint." Krouse closed his eyes. He couldn’t help but let out a long sigh. He’d spent years around superheroes and villains, years around the Protectorate and the Wards. How many of those encounters had been filled with sarcasm, malicious comments or blatant lies? How many had been filled with genuine kindnesses, genuine plays on friendliness for the sake of being able to engage them in conversation? It was hard to remember. And it creeped him out. He was used to feeling human, being able to feel genuine friendship, even romance with a real person. This felt artificial, false. He opened his eyes to find his eyes adjusting. He wiped at his eyes again, then sat up. He felt a chill. An ache he couldn’t name. "Krouse?" Oliver asked. He opened his eyes, and he wasn’t quite in place, his mind not working as well as it should. He tried to help Jakov, but found his legs too rigid, his arms too unnatural. "What happened?" Oliver asked. "Jakov got loose, and my legs took on a new structure," Krouse said. "They were making it twice as dense, up until the point where they bent." "What happened?" "I drank too much. My power shut off." "How much time did you have?" "Long enough, barely, because I took too long to process it. Long enough that I was losing track of time. Then time re-entered my body and I started to clear it out, and I realized it was all right, because I wasn’t in a frame of mind where it made sense to keep trying to push back against the things that were calling my thoughts. It was enough that I was distracted, maybe purposefully or not, and I was pushing against the little push that was there." He eyed his cup by the door. Holy shit, was he tired. How many hours had he been asleep? "How long were you going with the time distortion?" "A few minutes." "Your timeline flipped." "No. It happened while we were fighting Dragon." "No," he said, and there was a note of resignation in his tone, where he’d seemed to say he didn’t particularly like or dislike Dragon, but that she couldn’t interfere. "We knew it would work. Scion saw the trap she set in place, figured he could use the distraction to get control of him. He was in the zone for a minute or two, and then he shifted locations, going for the fast lane. I had to back away, and cover my escape routes, so he couldn’t get away before I could see Scion through the window." "How long before he’s okay?" "I don’t know. I’d bet he’s slowing down. He might be getting a rest, maybe." "If the timeline flipped-" "No," he said. "I don’t think so. I’m going." Oliver opened the door, and Krouse followed, his hand on Oliver’s shoulder. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Noelle, but he needed to get back to his territory and make sure he had food and water. They walked with the door in Oliver’s side as they headed to their meeting place. Krouse’s hand was warm, and Oliver was wearing his cloak. It was cold out, but the trees were far enough away that there wasn’t that much effect on the local climate. Krouse pondered. This- This wasn’t the way he wanted things to go. He’d intended to fly with Noelle, to visit home and his mom every once in a while, but this was turning his flight into a long drive. It was inconvenient. Plus, this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. On a bad day like today, they might not return to their meeting place. They could maybe get a different impression of Scion’s next move by going to a different place, getting a different angle on things, but that wouldn’t do much good if Scion decided to pick a fight where Krouse couldn’t help. "Long day," Cody said. "We finally have a chance to rest. Not just fighting, but… being apart…" "It’s a good thing, isn’t it?" Krouse said. "We’re split up, and we don’t have to go without some backup. It’s nice." ======================================== SAMPLE 822 ======================================== Subconsciously, I knew I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. We were all trapped in our own little worlds, a little more or less normal, vaguely familiar, not entirely unhappy. Maybe we weren’t happy, but at least we had our masks on. And the masks off. I walked around the desk and faced Brian. "I don’t think I should go on. I’ve been trying to get into his head and figure out what it is he thinks, and there’s inconsistencies. What does he want, at the end of the day? I know what he wants. But at the end of the day, is he really the kind of person who would elect to have his hammer fall from the sky like that?" "You’d think he’d change his mind after we killed him," Brian said. "He probably wouldn’t. He was changing his mind to get out from our little game of cat and mouse, and because Bitch had to stay in the house to take care of the dogs. If he didn’t, maybe he would get angry, or frustrated, or something would break because he wouldn’t have the time to deal with the dogs and the training and stuff. Probably." "In other news, the deadline for the police report came and the deadline for the interview was failed. The interviewer got the wrong idea, and the writer got the wrong impression. Guesses about me and my character, our possible romance, and our possible kid related to Emma. The report was a hit piece, and Emma actually apologized to Bitch in person. Sounds like he got some sage advice from that." Lisa shrugged, "I’ve seen a lot of people change their minds after reading a report. It’s a good thing, in the grand scheme of it." I offered a noncommittal grunt in response. Brian got a bike from the front seat and held it ready. Lisa hopped off, then pedaled her bike in Taylor’s direction. We didn’t overtake, and were both able to catch our breath before the long distance was too disrupted. "So, as a side note, I have to ask about that thing you said you’d do to overthrow the government?" Alec asked. "I’m saying it was a bluff," Brian replied, "A little speculation, but what would you have done to overthrow the government? Jail?" "She’s going to be trying to kill me," I spoke. Brian frowned, "Not a great avenue to aim for, being caught on camera." I opened my mouth to speak, but was interrupted. "What would you have done to impress the judge, after all of that? Hearing my plea and the information you have to present your case?" "I’d have to say I was more worried about hurting my dad," I said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "That’s not what I said," he answered, icy. I raised my hand to stop him. In a dimly lit hallway, he peered down at me, his glower making it hard to see my gloves. I was wearing my costume, minus the top and the gray tights in lieu of a regular outfit. The look behind the villain didn’t afford me a way to hide my face. "I-" I stopped short, in disbelief, "What would I have done to impress the judge, after all of that? The guy’s a wannabe superhero, based on what? He’s letting his imagination run wild? Does he not see how blatantly we’ve screwed him over, after having his dreams erased, after being conned into believing we were working together, that we were actually working together, away from the prying eyes of the agents fucking with our heads? How would he react to it, after seeing that?" Brian shook his head, "He’s a psychiatrist, he’ll see the whole package. I don’t want to be offensive, but I don’t want to leave you with any doubt about what we’re doing for any number of reasons." "But he’s a psychiatrist, right? He’s supposed to know his patients." Brian smiled, "I think he might." "But you weren’t there, you won’t be there, right?" "We’re assuming he’ll say yes. We got through the interview process, and then we were placed on the same team. Considering how unstable the team has become, I felt it only right that I step in and try to keep things in order." "I wouldn’t necessarily ======================================== SAMPLE 825 ======================================== "He’s invisible, and if you just look at him, you’ll be convinced," Bonesaw said. "I’m perfectly content to do that," I told her. "I know," Bonesaw said. "But I’m going to show you another secret then. You kill me, and we kill the leader of the Slaughterhouse Nine." I shook my head. "One more you won’t forget in the coming decades. Once upon a time, he had a lover." I shook my head again. Glaistig Uaine said something, and it took me a second to parse what it was. She said something else, around the same time, but I couldn’t make it out. The reality sank in, and it wasn’t just the image of the villainess in the hospital bed. The other beings, the projections, the scraps of the real entity. Theyn’d been wiped out. I’d been there. In the same instant, I felt something different happening inside me. My perceptions were opening up to a heightened degree. I was aware of what it meant, I was focused on the possible outcomes, and all I could see was the unfolding image. The breathing, the tension, the sheer difference in how I felt in comparison to the reference I’d used earlier. I’d come to care about these things, because it made a difference. If this continued, I’d lose my powers, I’d cease to be able to perceive the world, and I’d cease to be able to do anything about it. I was losing my mind, and I’d long ago destroyed it. Because of what it had been telling me about the future, about my limits and how they differed from the limits I operated under now. It was giving me cause to think about the possible threats I faced in the future. These things were scary, and I couldn’t do anything about them if I didn’t want to. I could think back to the events that had sparked my transformation and see how my options had changed, the things that had pushed me to seek out those memories in the first place. It was a reminder, as the breathing started to subside, to seek some sense of the future that wasn’t dark and confused, about my options and the people I had to support them. Scion was there. In the distance, the moon was partially obscured by a ring of clouds that had somehow grown inside of a strange gravitational field. The horizon was partially obscured, in turn by an overhead smoke that I couldn’t make out. The horizon was almost entirely clouded in, a thin drizzle of water from one of the tall trees that only partially hid the underlying mountains. The moon was too bright, and the moon and sky were just as colorful, but there was enough water vapor in the air that the clouds and the moonlight caught the majority of the light from the two elements. It was an oasis compared to some of the other landmarks I’d been able to reach. A town with a church and an old Baptist church. Scattered over the landscape were tents with Bible verses and a stained-glass window of sorts, a butcher’s shop, a distillery, a no-name medical center and a barn used for temporary storage. It wasn’t quite the contrast one would expect from a population of that scale, and certainly nothing it wouldn’t be easy to reach and treat. But compared to the ruins and the tents, it was small world. I had to stop to compose my thoughts. I might not get any better, but the thing here was the best part of me, and I knew it. I just had to look at it, pay attention to each of the stories that had unfolded in the intervening period, and I could see the cracks, the gaps, in the orderlyness, the stark contrast in tastes and preferences. It made the emotions that much more pronounced. What I couldn’t decipher was the emotion I was feeling. Not romantic, not even a nostalgia type thing, but a kind of despair. I felt as though I was physically pulling on the thread, and it was stretching it ever thinner. It had cinched just a little too tight, perhaps forever. The medicine they’d ordered from the doctor was an invigorating addition, if only to placating the parts of my body that had been offal. That was something of a balancing act, trying to keep my overall health in check while simultaneously keeping things from feeling claustrophobic. I didn’t need to feel nauseous, as it built towards the most bizarre and dysphoric reactions from my body. ======================================== SAMPLE 828 ======================================== I tried to think of a way to distract him before he finished his patrol, or the second he got in position. "Did you sleep well?" I asked. He shook his head, but he shook his head again. "Then sleep well," I said. "Or do not return tonight, for the love of god, if you do." Interlude 11a A dull rumble shook the city. A low degree atmosphere pervaded the area, composed of the solidified remains of an older building, the dead drops of a sewer line. It was a silent rumble, but there was a wake from the path just around the corner. A pale, squat figure, not much bigger than a delivery truck, slowed down by a lopsided heap on its rear, the shards of rock and pavement sloughing off it. Its head was tilted forward, its knees almost vertical, as it very slowly and mysteriously bounced along the street. It planted one foot in front of the other and kicked. The kick destabilized the street and sent half of the vehicles in the area flying into the air. The creature continued to reap the benefits of the street being shaken, lopsidedly bouncing off one another. It drove itself forward, one upright leg biting deep into the pavement, the other leg extended to the roof of the van, claws clicking on the pavement as it advanced. The front end of the van made contact with the back of the truck, flipping it over onto its back. It collided with the truck’s top, five times. On the third hit, the van was upside down, and it skidded, skidded, skidded as it rolled down the one paved road in the area. The pavement cracked around it, falling apart. A glowing orange dot appeared in the distance, a quick, painless death. The area darkened a brown-red in hues that mirrored the gloom, then fully melted. The rumbling that had followed the truck’s impact was at least partially the residual effect of the van burning through all of the fat that the van had been sitting on. The floor and perhaps most ominous of all, the rooftop, were illuminated by the light of the sprinklers in the alleyways and across the street. "We should run," Foil said. "We are not fast enough," a man in a yellow and black uniform with a red visor said. He wasn’t speaking through his visor. The voice was Japanese, made more difficult by the visor. A blaster and a pistol in his other hand. Disarming powers. They were the military, apparently. Troopers. I felt my mouth drop open in surprise. The man pointed, and there was a faint glow. There was an answer there, too. The military had decided to split up, and I couldn’t quite make out the gist of it. A perimeter had been set up, with several soldiers at the perimeter and a squad of four to five at the edge. Three of them, with a small crowd surrounding them, to the point that I couldn’t but guess that they were in some hiding place. The man spoke, and his tone of voice was accented as much by emotion than by English. "If we put her down, it opens the door for others." "If we let the woman make the call-" "We will endeavor to do so," the man in the yellow and black said. "In the interest of being responsive to the taxpayer, in the interest of transparency, and in the interest of morale, we will endeavor to prevent any calls." We’d contact the police, then contact the heroes. Whatever we did, we couldn’t afford to listen to them. The woman in the suit said, "I don’t understand." The military had decided to divide the city into individual territory, to give each a separate feel. Tokyo had been one, a neat, orderly dystopia, devoid of life, with mountains of rubble detailing every inch of the city. Here and there, you could see flakes of light marking the passage of a block or two. Here and there, you could see footprints in the snow. The biggest city in the United States of America, in every sense of the word, was still in disarray. Fragments of it. There were pockets of it that was still crumbling, ruins that were being painstakingly preserved and collected, but more were emerging with every passing hour. Uniformed personnel had tended to the wounded, offering medical care where needed, but there were those already present who had arrived as snowmobiled or otherwise heading to shelters. Still more would arrive with the support of the local heroes, who hadn’t been there for the fight but would be alerted if ======================================== SAMPLE 831 ======================================== She grinned, "Then I’ll go help Regent with my last patient. Show her that it’s done." A few minutes passed before Tattletale called us with a message. "No. We need to go." "Okay," I said, "What road blocks do you intend to use, and which entries can be skipped if we travel on by," I looked up at Bitch where she perched on Brutus’ back, "Resume or interrogate?" "Both," she replied. "That’s a hell of a lot of responsibility to take on, you know her powers. I doubt she’ll be able to read me at a glance, but I doubt either of us will be able to shake her either, see how easily she slips into our heads. Besides, you might get noticed, which would hurt, since you’d know she’s there." "I don’t really think so," Bitch replied, "I’ve got a low perception rate, even for people who really hate me. Heck, most people who really hate me are spooked, and that includes me. So I’ll take any criticism, hard or light. And I mean the intangible kind. Like, you’re criticizing my decision to let the dog go or not, or calling me an idiot." I could picture her behind her cot, a solitary figure sitting beside her, suffering on the other side of the glass. "Well," I said, after listening a little while, "I guess I’ll take your criticism. I’m not doing either of us any favors if we get stomped by the next big group of bullies. Let’s put it this way; if I’m the target, though, I’m only hurting the feelings of the people who are targeting me. It’s just a stupid, silly idea." She glanced around, "I’m listening." "Hey!" Tattletale jumped on top of me, "Not listening to you! If you want to talk about Bitch, work with me! We’re talking about you! Aisha’s next!" I swore under my breath. Bitch seemed to be doing most of the work, now. She was like a different sort of pet, if a bit of a pushover. She wanted approval, said validation, and so long as she fulfilled that, she got favors, affection, more affection. If it was Bitch’s call, and she wanted the affection, she had to earn it. The same sort of validation and validation- "Calm down," I said. "Jeez. Anyways, you want to spend time with Aisha? Maybe go with your dad? She’s the one who spanks your dogs the most. Maybe she’ll give you that anal training you guys haven’t had!" Lisa spun me around. Bitch was panting and Hugo was standing, tense, surprised at what was happening. I was in the process of trying to work myself back into a more normal state, stop myself from freaking out and giving Bitch any more cause for concern. "That’s not enough!" Bitch shouted. "We’ll both be getting spanked later! Besides, you’re going to have to spend the night. I’ve only got one of you." "And I don’t want to go to that bathroom alone!" "Nicest damn bathrooms in the district are right next to those that are on the verge of going to hell. You can go to the bathroom by the library, or you can go to the one by the gardener. It’s a walk ten minutes away, and it’s got a floorboard and a patio-ish roof. Either way, it’s not a place I’m going to complain to Lisa and tell her we already tried and it fell apart. Oh, and there’s a bathroom by the cafeteria if you’re looking for a lift to the roof. You’ll only be three blocks away from the ferry and you can take the stairs to the ferry entrance." "Three blocks away from the ferry!?" I shouted. I was surprised at just how many I could make it to the ferry and get out of here, given the transportation that was involved. Bitch nodded. "You’re spooked," I said. "It’s not that I’m not feeling spooked, I’m- I just- I’m not seeing any blood." "Didn’t see any!" Lisa whistled, one hand a long ======================================== SAMPLE 834 ======================================== Who should I tell?

" Colin frowned and looked away, "They both know I’m trying to take you. Losing sleep for doing it." Brian looked back at me, and I could see irritation in his eyes. Not that I’d said anything, but it made me acutely aware of the eyes of my back, the backs of my neck and the fabric of my costume. "I dunno," I said, "I’ll tell if you don’t listen. Tell them the truth. That I was unconscious, or they’ll know the blood type and I’ll fuck them up." It wasn’t working. "They’re too aware," Alec said. "Yeah. But they still expect me to play along. What if I start taking care of the people in my territory? Fish? Who’s taking care of the people in charge? I can put food on the table, I have health care. I’ve got a fucking career. Why should I stop helping?" "Managing people in an effective manner is a good thing," Lisa said. "If it’s just a little thing, then it’s appreciated." "I could always go back," I said. "Reserve a spot in my platoon, give care of my mom’s eyes." "You might need more volunteers," Alec said. I frowned. "Okay," Lisa said, "I won’t say that. Now, if everyone’s comfortable?" "Ally?" Brian asked. "Yeah," Lisa said, "I’ll pull up all the key personnel, and we’ll go." Forty-five minutes passed, and we were all left sitting around the table. Brian had already put his head in his hands. "When I joined the group, it was almost an out for me," I said. "I came in knowing I had this, and I wanted to help, but I knew it was beside the point. I didn’t really care. It was the kind of charity that was still cool, even if it was more for my own sense of pride than for anyone’s." "Yeah," Alec agreed. "It meant a lot, when you found out there was going to be a war." "Yeah," Lisa said. "I remember seeing the news. The good news was just this kid with powers was getting on stage, and all the heroes, practically tearing their hair out, were giving him the toughest battle possible. All he had to do was stand up to the big guns, and he was okay. The bad news was, it rained pretty heavily during the fighting. Easily enough that I thought he was fine." "I can’t believe that," Alec said. "It did," I agreed. "We lost a few members to the big guns, but we picked ourselves up. We didn’t clean up, we didn’t do anything. We kept our mouth shut. We took the high road. It caught him off guard, that whole situation where she was making fun of him, poking fun at him, then trying to kill him by poisoning him. Almost had a hand in convincing the world that villains were safe." "I’m sorry," Brian said. "And you overlook that, probably more than you realize," I said. "There was almost a passing interest, at least for a little while." I looked at the others, and my eyes fell on Brian. Glancing up at where his hat sat on the bench, he rubbed his chin. "Sorry," I told him. "You are a friend, I see? I respect that." "I respect you for that, too." "I’m okay where I’m at. What’s bothering me more than any of that is the idea that I could be useless. I could help nothing, and I’m just an idea, a concept people are trying to get to me through media. The way I see the world, the way society sees things. Things people don’t understand, and I don’t buy into that whole thing with the people who are supposed to be my enemies." "That’s not a terrible thing. It’s been blown out of proportion, but I’ve been more irrational than that." Alec shrugged. "That’s the way I see it. That’s how I operate. What people don’t understand is how I see the world. I tried to show them that last night, how I’m just a guy with good abs." ======================================== SAMPLE 837 ======================================== I gave a single nod, nodding once. "And you say you’re sorry," Coil spoke. It was more of a yes than a no, I thought. I nodded again. He continued, "We’ll see if we can reach a deal." I thought about standing, then decided against it. My attitude was odd, as I watched him. I’d said as much at the meeting, not so long ago. He continued, "I’ve put in the hours. I know what I’m doing. But there are rules. Rules you don’t want to break, no cheating. No taking advantage of people who don’t understand." I could see the lines in his body deepening as he steeled himself for a strike. He wasn’t thinking, he wasn’t acting like he was about to throw a tantrum – he was simply waiting for others to make the first move. Breaking the rules, then breaking his rules. "This has been a long night," he said. "Would you turn away?" "No," I said. Then I reconsidered. "Okay. Maybe my rules mean I can’t hang out with the Undersiders." "Not the first time you tried that," he said, "And wait for Tattletale before you try to get back to it." "I’ve made new friends," I said. "Lots of new friends." He made a funny little laugh. "Nobody’s that interesting. Nobody’s that interesting, you know?" "Least of all," I said. Then I reconsidered. I shook my head. "Okay." "Okay," he said. He lowered his voice, then bowed. It was a rare Undersider that didn’t partake in the salute. I got the distinct impression they didn’t toe the line. He was leaving, I noted, and I couldn’t bring myself to agree with him. He was a jerk, plain and simple, and that was reflected in the treatment he was getting. It wasn’t just that he was manipulating people; he was acting like he was above them, above even they. It wasn’t just that Undersiders deserved better. It was that he was of the opinion that they shouldn’t face this much adversity, considering who they were. It was a shame, really. "Well, that ends tonight," I said. "Probably," he said. "They might swing through town and shit. I dunno. It’s fucked up, obviously. But what the hell. We’ll end it like this, pretty please?" "My territory is better secured," I said. "I can stay at my place, stay out of trouble, avoid being taken to the Birdcage again." He chuckled lightly, a half-laugh, not raising his voice as much as he might have liked. "You can’t leave town without authorities or airline security, right? I can give you that. Or you can take the quickest and easiest route, which is probably the fastest route." "And there’s the pesky problem," I said. My eyes were on his arm. I could see the look in his eyes, the worry. "What the hell am I supposed to do? My only recourse is reporting him to the authorities. Which I can’t do, obviously, because he flew under the radar for so long. Or, you know, I could wait and see if the authorities catch up to me, then decide if this is a bridge too far and decide to move elsewhere." "There’s a middle ground to that," he said. "Stay put. It’s better you stay put, in case he gets you, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do if they don’t." "This is going nowhere," I said. "I know you have bigger things to worry about, but this is bigger than me. It’s my territory, and I’m still trying to decide how I’m going to fund these rescue operations when the cat gets far enough away." "You decide," he said. "I can send some of my people to look for information, maybe even witnesses to the robberies, but there’s no point. Bear in mind that they’re after our property, and we don’t want them to wind up homeless or otherwise stranded." "Then I have three things," I said. "Firstly, I go see if I can find any members of the Protectorate or Wards who might be able to give information ======================================== SAMPLE 840 ======================================== A polybag and some greenbacks. He glanced at Tattletale, and she shrugged. Then he turned to me, "You going to accept my help? Or are you going to insist on your own way?" I was considering for a moment. "Whatever." "You’re a teammate, I know. I respect you for it. But you can’t help Jack." "He’s a friend, Bitch," I said. "I respect him for it, too. But that’s not why I’m here. That’s not the reason I made this offer." "You said it yourself. You have options." I could feel my heart plummet. "I can help you. I can find and retrieve the missing people." He scoffed. "You think I don’t want to help? I can tell you right now, I can’t see the road to victory. But assuming we both agree, I can give you the best offer you can make right now." My face twisted into a frown. "Riyu." "No," he said. He gave me another pat on the shoulder, then glanced at the warehouse. "I can’t tell you anything good until I see the data on the phone. I’ve been giving you the cliff notes version anyway, for the record. You need the data, you need to know the layout of the facility, so you don’t go astray in guessing the password." I nodded. "You’ll be introduced to some of the newbies. The ones with the most experience this far. They’ll be around for the key events, so get to know them. They’ll be where you need to be." "Okay," I said. "Take care of the other members of the Nine. Keep them from being overwhelmed, keep an eye out for trouble, and don’t lose sight of the big picture. The Faerie Queene, the Russian Queen, the Custodian. Those three are a little more experienced than you, but they’re still pretty powerful. Look for their attention at the big events, the big targets, and make a note if you run into them. You’ll be surprised at how much power they have." I nodded. Renew my call to mind my flight pack? I thought. "Let’s-" I stopped, trying to think of a better way to phrase the words, because Perdition was coming to see you. "-ughtshouldbegettingbetter." "I’ll manage," he said, cutting off my train of thought. Perdition? I shook my head, and my mask showed through the sliver of light the glare cast somewhere in the direction of my mask. The ‘cough’ that had been stinging my neck made a stop that much harder to swallow. I could feel quicksand rising in the depths of my throat, quicksand climbing the sides of my throat in endless directions. Even breathing became difficult. Even talking, even listening, seemed to take a mental strength away from my frame of reference. I coughed more times. "Let’s… let’s just get through this partway," I hissed the words, letting them out as much as I could with my weakened windpipe and throat. I found the strength to try to intubate him and did so. The problem was that the restlessness that had returned to me when I couldn’t sleep after sleeping for five straight nights seemed reversed, now. I had a hard time staying asleep after listening to my bugs, and the interplay of the several strains of my power and the ambient noise of the bugs filling my throat made going to sleep an impossibility. I used the time left over to yawn and talk with the children in the next room. "Ow. I can’t wake up," I mumbled. "Consider this an early Christmas present, pet," Jacquely said. Turning to me, he said, "Your sister, she’s quite the spooky character. Why don’t you and your clones run to the shed and hide there until the monster is gone, then get rid of the carcass? You can throw away most or all of the meat you’ve already caught, and you can take the hides and sell the rest to us for a small fortune." "I’m not a soldering iron anymore," I muttered. "You need a soldering iron?" Jacquely asked, as if that was some kind of answer per say. I gave him a funny look. "No, pet. Not a soldering iron. ======================================== SAMPLE 843 ======================================== "Yes," Steven said. "I… I wanted to talk to you before you found out." "Because I’m a pain in the ass, and I deserve to be bitch slapped for trying to help Nosferatu out," Steven replied. "But I have to talk, and I can’t do that without getting into the particulars of your power." "It’s fine," Steven gestured toward the door, "I’ll fill you in on what’s been going on." Brian sighed, "No need. No, no worries. This is for the greater good. Either we win this fight, Noelle’s screwed, or we lose, in the long run. We don’t have the luxury of time, right now, but I think the bigger picture is an encouraging one. We’re making headway against the Endbringers, we’re showing we can win these things. Eidolon’s in custody, Allfather’s troubles are getting better, the PRT is stronger, faster, and cleaner. All for a good reason." Legend nodded. He wasn’t the most emotionally invested person, but he valued that sort of thing. "If I was ambivalent about all of that, I’d definitely feel differently about this. It’s been good." "So are you buying the sales pitch?" Brian asked, "I mean, metaphorically speaking?" "I think the way things are going, hopefully, it’s going to be far easier to swallow than it was for me to jump in and say it. I’ve been struggling to find work, trying to retrain myself for a normal life, and the only person who looks up to me is Taylor, and I’m not sure that’s really enough," Lisa said. "I’ve been struggling too, I think," I echoed her, "Being thrust into a situation where I don’t know what’s going to happen, I feel anxious, and that’s not helping you get anything going again. None of us are talking as a group, I’m not sure what to say, because there’s only so much room for dialogue, and there’s just not that many people we can reach out to who are out there, who are sympathetic or forgiving. And if we go to the others, we wind up isolating ourselves even further. I just can’t in good conscience say the thing that helped me get away from that." "You’re looking at things in a way that’s a little bit like how a dog thinks," Brian said. I folded my arms in front of me, "Sort of. More along the lines of, I guess, I always thought a dog was a loner, a prim dog. The idea of being a member of a pack is hard for any dog, because you’re only as strong as your weakest link. Most dogs are born into a pack, meaning they are socially tethered to a group, and have no childhood alone, no development beyond the initial months. Most pack dynamics are misogynistic. That is, the stronger link in the chain tends to dominate the group, because he is stronger in the long run, he is resourceful in the apocalypse, and he is attractive in the apocalypse. This makes perfect sense, when you consider the primal biology of the animal. All strong links are stronger in the end of the primordial crush, when all other links are cranked down to their lowest operating limits. The weak link gets left out, or they are left alone and suffer for it. That’s not to say they don’t play a role in the apocalypse, just that they’re more likely to be the one to die or go the way of the other weak link, the animal. All dogs, man, wolf and cat, get stronger as they get further from their mothers. That means pregnancy, social interaction, excitement, and probably some canine libido. Justification for the patriarchal animal is that it matures and menopause. All strong linked animals die if the women they are linked to goes wrong, or if they run into the wrong people, or if the animals themselves get too much physical activity or exposure to the elements. So it is with us, by the time we’re a toddler or a teen. Too much physical activity, memory loss, memory loss, whatever." "Okay," I said, already thinking of what I was going to say next. I tried to get a ramble going, "I was talking to Bitch earlier, and about the violence and shit women do, and how we need to stop doing that, stop carrying that shit so casually. If we really want to end this…" ======================================== SAMPLE 846 ======================================== When Captain Ahab’s boat made its final approach, the water slick, Leviathan saw to his feet in an instant, swiping his tail in the direction of the low end of the boat’s wheel. The boat was raised high enough for him to hop off, a mere fifty feet above the water. A large portion of the submerged craft’s underside was raised into the air, spine supported by the remains of the sunken metal construction, as an elaborate livery, defying gravity and providing downwash, keeping the craft grounded. Eidolon and Hero advanced to its feet, weapons at the ready. Leviathan stomped forward, met Eidolon’s pointing hand with his hindquarters, extended another foot, and the lance struck the construction, smoking. Eidolon restored his strength before he could be struck down, swung again, and this time the afterimage struck the Leviathan from behind, knocking him back. He used both feet to help himself rise. The brawny heroes were badly damaged, and it was up to the more mobile members of the elite strike team to carry the sick Gazelle aloft, aiding the wounded Manton and the others on the ground. Alexandria flew to the rescue of Tecton and Grace. Eidolon paused, turning to look at the two heroes, Manton and Chevalier. He gave the order? No. Just another momentary regret in the face of countless others. He had another order to fulfill. He would eliminate this mass of injured and unconscious capes, replace them with another target. The trace of saliva, the jauntiness from the memory, they were gone. He’d never remembered spitting, reaching for that boy. Eidolon turned, saw the heroes dismount, the Wyvern at the center of the group, regaining her flight. And he was faced with the man who had challenged him to a duel. He could have killed him with a simple attack, a swipe with his lance, but he frowned instead. He could have confidence, after everything he’d done, but he wasn’t. "Eidolon," the Doctor spoke. "If you’ll hear me out?" He did, very carefully. He wanted to find out what she was doing, and he was eager to go to any length, including creating life, to killing this phantom, to reversing it. "You worked under me for a time." "Yes." "Cauldron was one of the partners, though I’m not sure you’re aware." "Yes." "Are you willing to elaborate?" "There are three partners, and they’re small." "You’re saying that’s not enough?" "No. I’m saying they’re close." "Then you’re related to them?" "Yes." "If you say yes, I’ll kill you." "I’m under no obligation to do anything. Do I need to know, Scion’s life and the lives of innocents are at risk tonight?" The Doctor gestured towards the Simurgh. "If you say yes," Alexandria said, in a heavy accent, "He will die. Roses will burn, tongues will break, children will be scarred, and Earth will be consumed." The Number Man spoke, "There is no correlation between an unknown ‘entity’ and an effect on this reality." "There may be a correlation, but it’s weak. I’d like you to explain why you’re here and how you intend to fight." "Earth’s inhabitants refuse to surrender. They want to fight. I was elected to lead them, because I can. I can give them hope. The compassionate things I’ve done. The acts of kindness I’ve committed, made them stronger, because they woke up to the fact that they needed to make peace with the Endbringers. With that, they will be reborn, and the rebirth will pass without incident." "With violence and bloodshed?" Alexandria asked, almost believing her own story. "Acts of terror?" "Mass murders in the name of humanity?" "I’m telling you, Tohu asked the Doctor, ‘if we fight, they will kill more people in the future, and society will suffer for it." "It doesn’t make sense," Alexandria replied. "Why we would engage in a war if the very idea is to fight an undefined enemy?" The Doctor shook her head. "That is not our intention. The counterpart was that there was an unknown enemy ======================================== SAMPLE 849 ======================================== I’d have to wonder, now, if my vague recollections of the actual event were right. If Grue had actually done what he’d described, at Armsmaster’s request. To die with the man who had nearly reduced me to tears. Had I been wrong? If Grue and Tattletale were right, and Armsmaster had been killed in that alley, wouldn’t that be a reason to at least consider a life of sobriety? I wasn’t about to brag, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to raise an issue if they were giving me a free pass on this front. I would have none of it. "You heard what Tattletale said," Miss Militia said. "I did," I said. "There were a lot of cool ideas in there, and a lot of really cool ideas. But I think that if we’d gone into it expecting a bunch of radical or scary stuff, we might have ended up with something that wasn’t so cool or radical." "Sure," she said. "But remember, it was mostly Uchi. A lot of us. A lot of jocks. At least some of the time, they’re going to be pretty good at pretending to be cool while doing it. You don’t get to be a member of the Wards, and you don’t get to do stuff like that." "I’m… not cool anymore," I said, my voice still quiet. "Becoming a hero with a team of like-minded individuals is a hell of a perk of mine," Tagg said. "You get to do things like this, and you get to do them alongside a girl. I think anyone would’ve done it regardless. But at the same time, I admire you for living your life that way. It’s something that maybe a small few individuals in this room might consider extreme, and I’d be happy if you kept that up for yourself." "A lot of people would be ok with me doing this if I wasn’t so closely associated with them," I said, my voice low. "I’ve been very good about laying low. I get that it feels weird, being on the team with Ashtiani and Kid Win and Browbeat, and all the drama and the negative press, I’m doing it because I have to. I can’t interfere and make up for them losing their minds free of my influence, but I can give them the best path forward." "So what do you think of this?" I asked. "Terribly humbly," Tagg said, turning to Mrs. Yamada. "I admire you, in part." "I admire you, in part." "But I think you have an overworked, undermanned, underfunded, and undermanned PRT that doesn’t yet have the image or the clout it ought to have" Mrs. Yamada frowned. "I know it hurts, but I have to ask, what are your thoughts on the fact that the Birdcage was used on a relatively low-level villain in our midst-" "It was the starter kit, the information gathering and data storage facility," Tagg said. "That was your initial impression, when we hired you," I said. "I can imagine a situation like that. A situation where the PRT was extremely reluctant or unable to offer you any real protection, as arbitrary as it might have been. Would you have been ok with them using it on you?" "I would have been able to win, at least for a time. I mean, I’m not bothered in the slightest by the fact that they’ve gone free, by the fact that they have," he said. "But when you start losing, you need to change. You adapt. I’m wondering if you feel fully recovered, if you could regain the ground you’ve lost." I didn’t respond. I was already slipping into the chair as he leaned against the wall beside me. Mr. Calle slumped forward, and his forehead rested against my wrist. "I’m wondering if you’re fully recovered, because you haven’t weighed yourself in months. You’re older, more worn out. Your expressions, your movements, they haven’t changed one iota." I pursed my lips, looking annoyed. "And you’ve been in a lot of fights, and you haven’t done anything remarkable. In fact, it might have been dangerous in a previous life, if we’d had a chance to talk through the events of yesterday. ======================================== SAMPLE 852 ======================================== XII – Annette and Theo Knees – New Brockton Bay Cody noted the old post office, its rusty brown exterior and the graffiti that included jokes and insults about his race and other things. It was the busiest place in the area, and the busiest man in the world when it was empty. He entered the post office and was greeted by the sight of a middle-aged man with a widow’s peak and a narrow, white beard. "Tattletale. How do you like being apart of a group twice in one day?" "Almost forgot. I’m looking for the woman who was with me at the meeting. I wasn’t able to find her, but I’m hoping I found her and helped her." "Please." "She was here?" "She was with us. How’s your memory?" "Too bad. I can’t think straight enough to put it away." "If you could think of something, maybe it would help us." "Fantastic! Can I watch the children?" "No. There’s a lot of them, and they’re feeling a little cramped." Knees and toes, pizza hands. "I’ll watch them and shout if they need it." "Okay. They’re inside. Sorry, but they’re awake." "I’ll watch them if you’re out of earshot." "Okay. Thank you." "Later." He stood and crossed the room to get his mail. He checked it over twice, then clasped it in two hands, "Let me see… oh fuck. Guess I’ll see what I can do before I get something else." He headed back into the offices, still half a block away from the front door, then rung the bell. No further questions, no complaint. Just a little directions as he headed north, east, then south on the Red Line. It took him two minutes to find the woman who’d received his package. When he’d looked her up on the computer, he realized she was standing outside the door, waiting for him. He joined her outside the door and turned right, into the park. She waved him goodbye, then began to run. He glanced back at the mailbox, sighed. There wasn’t much more to say. They had said goodbye, accepted each other, decided to spend this upcoming one and change the world. It had been a year and a half ago that they’d parted ways, decided to stick together, be a team. They’d formed a bond, something they would hold onto, maybe not the same way, but something that would allow them to look back and see the past and envision the future. A bond that would carry them forward, to a future where they could help each other get where they needed to be. A future that would be worth waiting for, when their paths crossed. Maybe not in the short-term, but the long-term was theirs for the taking. They could forge ahead together, find something they both wanted, and they could hold on to each other long enough to make it happen. Make each other proud moments. Infestation 11.4 I could see Professor Manton striding forward, hands pressed against the window. As if recounting the earlier story, he’d said he felt compelled to share it, because he’d been lonely in the face of his own mortality. Infestation 11.3 I could see Professor Manton striding forward, putting himself in the line of fire. His suit didn’t survive the blast. I could see him hesitate. Put his survival in his hands. He hesitated. Better to be confident. There was a new member to the Foster-designed group. A sturdily built man with thick glasses and a black jacket, like a doctor might wear, but wrapped in material that seemed to be dense and stretchy. He was sharpening a knife against the concrete wall. I held back as he approached, gun raised, so he wouldn’t draw his attention. The enhanced strength of my bugs told me he could break his own legs if he fell, but other bugs gave me a sense of the material he was using to make the blade, and the shapes it could take. Procrastination. I was already thinking of future plans, with this student having the ability to make things. I avoided mentioning that Foster had also hand-crafted the blades for the drones and bombs. I could see him getting frustrated. He could press his advantage by developing a method ======================================== SAMPLE 855 ======================================== I wasn’t about to complain. That was the kind of game I was playing. My range was extended by the effect of the full moon. My bugs could still move, but not much. It made for a short distance of range if I happened to have a full moon on a good day, and that made for some distance to travel when I had to contend with high winds and heavy rains. I felt like I had to take the long way around, to get to my destination. I kept moving until I was at the edge of a roof. I pulled the grappling hook out of my belt, then sat down on the edge. It was a rooftop with three girders at the edges, backed by police tape. I extended it, drew my knife, then lashed it out with all the strength I could spare. One red-hot screwdriver tip in Penny’s corrupt head. The chain rammed through the cuffs and cuffs that were fastening around my wrists, but it didn’t have the hold I would have liked. There was barely any grip at all. I reached for the brake hand. It broke contact too quickly. The chain rammed out of Control’s arm, and the grip on the knife became largely unimportant. I returned my knife to the sheath that hung around my belt, then drew my baton and knife. I used the edges of the edge to push the baton’s cross-guard into Penny’s neck. She collapsed, pressing her hands to her throat. I moved further, breaking the contact, and pushed against the back of her legs until I was at the hem of her dress. I drew an arrow in the air with the knife, pointing off to one side. Three capes, and then a white streak above the other cape’s head, indicating that the white cape was approaching. I’d checked all the doors and windows, and I could go through the building just ahead to the next floor. I left the baton cross-guard in place, used the knife to pry the cape in through the open window. Just as I had with Penny, I sent the arrows for my advantage. The lack of grip in the midsection of the neck wasn’t an issue now. The cape was on his hands and knees, holding Penny down. Breaking the grip on Penny’s throat wasn’t an issue either. She reacted as one hand cupped her throat, pinning it there. I stabbed out with the blade, drew a serrated edge and stabbed her in the midsection. She folded her hands into a tightball shape, no doubt attempting a break for the ground floor. I drove the blade into her neck instead, as she tried to trip him. She didn’t slam her hands into the ground, but rather folded her arms beneath her, the cape’s weight pulling his face into his hands and knees. I turned my back to her and pushed against the head of the crossbow bolt I’d been driving into her neck. I felt the handle hit the ground at the same time I did, audible and otherwise. Piece by piece, I pulled the large spike free. It was metal, with a heavy needle-like shaft, and the shaft itself was still hot enough I could have burned myself with a fire extinguisher if it had gone that far. As it withdrew, it continued to withdraw progressively, until the shaft was three times the length. "You’re betting on this, you perv?" Imp asked, raising her voice a touch. Not a reply. Instead, she pulled her hands away from her mouth and smiled. "Okay, then." "I’ll take it as a no," Regent said. "You don’t really need it," I said, "Besides," I added my own "Shit, I don’t really care." "I thought we were supposed to fix her," Imp said. "I wanted to throw her for a serious bone wreck, in case the plan changes," I said. "So you’re here for brainwashing me," Imp said. "You’re playing dirty, and not just because you’re shorter than her. You’re doing this because you know I can’t win this, and there’s no point if you do. You want me to bend the truth so you can get my cooperation, give you access to my deepest secrets?" "No," I said. "That’s not it." "I mean it. You’re definitely doing this for reasons that aren’t sinister," Imp said. "If it makes you feel any better, I probably did it ======================================== SAMPLE 858 ======================================== So long as I was just an ordinary person, on the outside, it wasn’t so important. But on the inside? It was very important. My family, my friends, the people I was closest to, I looked forward to those things, and I knew I couldn’t live up to them if I fell behind on both counts. "I want to go home," I said. "I’m not going to be a burden on your life. You need me to go help the wounded, or you need me to get closer to that part of the city where you live, so you can see what I’m doing. Maybe a little bit of both." I looked at the others. Trickster was out on crutches, Skeletor was lying on a metal walkway, and Regent was leaning against a wall, arching his back with his hands on his head. Alec was rubbing Brandish’s shoulder, but I didn’t see her face, so I didn’t turn my attention to checking her expression. "Come on, Sveta," Lisa said, "Let’s go home. We shouldn’t have to go this far." I shook my head. "I’m not so sure you are." "Then let’s get moving," she said. She got on top of the Jeep and took us all in. "On it," I murmured, pushing her in the direction our gear had flown in the air. Lisa got on top of the Jeep, and we all took turns hauling the vehicle to a point a short distance away from our destination. The terrain here wasn’t any better for holding a vehicle than it was in the mountains, and we were forced to take a circuitous route around obstacles and water. It wasn’t a lot of water, but it was something. I’d have to get my hands on more bugs to check for damage, but so far, everything seemed to be proceeding smoothly. Lisa had jerry-rigged a makeshift stretcher, and those unfortunate enough to be on the other side seemed to be receiving care. I tentatively moved the bugs through the area to try to check on the other teams. "Can we move now?" Brian asked, from where he sat on the hill overlooking the city. "No, as of yet," Lisa said, "None of us can move until-" "We’ll use the bugs, Taylor," Brian said. "They’ll give us a sense of where to look next." "I’ll look," I said, pressing my eyes shut. My swarm noted a number of injuries. Three unconscious, one lying on his back, another on the ground, and a third lying face down in the water. The latter two were apparently the ones to suffer. "Let’s check the surroundings," Lisa said. She sounded tired. "The area around us is still pretty expensive. The houses there aren’t in the best shape. There’s structural damage, bloodstains, dents in the walls and ceiling, chips of wood chip and glass showing through the holes in the exterior." "You’ve been doing this great state of the art surveying work for the last while," I commented. "I’m not done with it yet," she said. "Not in the sense you mean." "No. Definitely not," she said. "Can you use a service like GR-X to do a few minutes of your resident’s work and then hand them off to us? We need to know what’s going on with the place." "I can do that," I told her. I pointed at a room to our left. "That’s not what we need to do," she said. "The structure’s collapsing, and it could happen anywhere within the city. Carpentry isn’t going to fix it. We’re going to do what we can, see what works, and then we’ll use the insurance adjusters to figure out what we need to do to fix the place. Cracks have already appeared on the second floor and the ground floor." "And what if there’s an attack?" I asked. "One of the Endbringers or something?" "They’re on their way to deal with the Merchants," Lisa answered. "And we’re stuck in a position where we can’t help the people we’re meant to help. Because we’re not heroes, and it’s not on us, it’s on the Endbringers." "If it is an attack ======================================== SAMPLE 861 ======================================== "Some might say it is, but some say it’s a badge of honor," Coil spoke. "Either way, we believe it to be the most powerful man in the world." "I see," Dinah spoke. "We have our terms," Coil spoke. "My terms?" "We will help pay for your hospital bills and for your family’s expenses, as we have with any other patient. We will give you the benefit of our underworld network if you agree to cooperate." "What is your underworld network?" "We are a small group. Coil and half of the bosses here are loyal to him. Other leaders are interchangeable, in stature or in role. That means there is no surefire way to cut a deal with them or silence them." "There is none," Trickster replied. "There is one weakness to an underworld network," Coil continued, "It doesn’t know anything about Cauldron or about you. It is crippled. It cannot protect information. It merely shares existing details." "Put simply, it doesn’t have the know how," Dinah spoke. "It doesn’t have the know how because it wasn’t created," Coil answered. "It did not exist. It is a composite, one of several things. It is limited in what it can do, in terms of the actions it can perform and the patterns it can stumble into. To put it simply, it is too limited in what it can do." "And it is powerless against Cauldron," Trickster spoke. "It is because we have Cauldron, a limited, essentially untouchable version of the power, and because we are not as versatile or versatile as they are. It is because we evolved from our solitary existence, until the moment we were to fall in your hands. When we were distracted or otherwise occupied, you removed our hindrance, and I can assume your ability to affect memory is limited to a finer grain." "You are lying," a young man spoke from behind her. A Death Eater? How did that not put us in the clear? Tattletale waited, adding, "You already know the answer we’re going to use, yes?" "Yes. See, we know that you did not start taking names until you were in the company of Tattletale. You did not yet control your powers, and you did not fully control your charms until you had Tattletale." "Shit," Tattletale swore. "Yes. The other weakness is that we know very little about your Endbringer cravings. You have never told us about them, have you?" "No." "Well, we get ticked when you come across someone who has a power that gives them superpowers, and ours are very few indeed. But what if we told you that they have ticked when you came across them before, and that you should look for the same thing in these three people who came before you?" "You’ll win this." Tattletale was almost certain. No. Jeez, at this point, we were even considering forming a hasty alliance against the Nine. "Win it all, and we leave you alive, free to do as you wish, for the time being. You work for me, and you hold my secrets. If you don’t, or if you break this arrangement, which you should, by the time we’ve used every spy in the area to find you, you’ll have eaten our lunch, and you’ll be estranged from us for the remainder of your natural lives." "Is that worth losing you?" Tattletale shook her head. "You ask me to betray the peace, I do ask myself whether it’s worth the enemy taking those details, and here I am, a member of this team, a woman, having asked myself those questions. I couldn’t tell you whether it was worth risking your life, my friend, because I could maybe lose it." The hero stared at her, wide-eyed. Then, as a dark thought dawned on her face, she whispered the words, "No." ~~~~ Theo raised his hands, and balls of yarn sprang from his palms. Each ball was in one of her good shoulder patches, and she knew they were alike. He walked with his eyes, as if she was watching him, suppressing her own instinctual responses. He stopped at an intersection, and the wheels of his armored suit rotated counter-clockwise around his feet. The tracks in the road made it look like he was rotating around the circle, but were inward facing, so the lights behind him were reflected and cast a shadow. ======================================== SAMPLE 864 ======================================== "No comment?" my dad asked, from behind the counter. "You’re my dad," I said. "And I love you," he said. "Even if I don’t understand all of it right now, I know that you love me." We sat in silence for a few seconds. I glanced at the receipt I’d handwritten and caught it in my hand. I glanced at my dad, and he didn’t flinch. "I missed you too," I said. I knew I was ducking hard to avoid looking at him, but it somehow didn’t feel fake. "We discussed family," he said. "I think I’m more comfortable where I am now. I’m closer to where I need to be, things are more normal." Normalcy? My eyebrows went up. Where was Brian two steps removed? Where was Sophia? "I’m going back?" I asked. "I only just found out about your dad," he said. "I was worried you might be upset I didn’t extend you an invitation." "You haven’t heard from him since the Leviathan fight. How is he? Or your new boss?" "Madame Pomona was just this morning’s news," I said, with too much emotion. "Don’t know how to make sense of it." "Moustache," he said, smiling. "Is he lame?" "What’s lame?" "He flies," I said, a little defensively. "What is lame?" "His days are filled with so many different stresses and obligations. I don’t know-" "I know," he said. "I relate to that better than almost anything. I was his first victim." "But you recovered." "Everything I’ve worked on, I’ve put that together in the last year. I’ve saved it for posterity. When I do my due diligence and find out what I’m working on in the future, I’ll hand it to you. You decide if and how much of it is complete and if I’m to keep it. For now, it’s better that you look at what I have to offer than that I keep asking you to extend me money." "It’s understandable that you’d want to protect your reputation," my dad said. "Web sites, blogs, message boards…" "I try not to pay too much attention to that kind of thing," I said. "Most of the time, anyways." "Tattletale," he said. "I don’t think I can cut you any slack. You and I can, but I’m not going to because of it." "Not exactly true. In fact, I think it’s a very good thing that you’re protecting me. I’d be very, very careful if I did anything illegal." "Mucho reason for that. You’ve done me a lot of good, Lisa. Much of what I’ve done, I’ve done because I was hungry, because I was naive, and others were more complicated to put into words." I smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. I folded my arms, "I don’t have an answer for you." "You’re not thinking of quitting?" my dad asked. "And I don’t have an answer for you either," I said. "We’re not seeing any progress on the DWU thing, you know?" "Not much. They’ve got some heavy hitters in hand, now that the public realizes they’ve been playing ball with the rest of America’s superpower, so they’re likely to get the people they wanted earlier. The heroes aren’t exactly in the upper echelons, and they’ve got other worriess." "But we’re getting results," I said. "Tattletale said they have an HR bonanza planned out, so maybe we won’t have to worry about those for a little while. Regent just robbed a bank. Imp just finished a two-part takedown of a drug lord that was foisting his people's drug supplies across the globe. Grue just finished off a raid on an arms dealer who only made weapons for emergencies. All indications are that they’re going to be pulling ahead in the coming years." "Like the Chinese?" one of the girls asked. "They’re going to be pulling ahead just as easily. ======================================== SAMPLE 867 ======================================== If any of the Assaults and Suspects were wearing an edgy mask or helmet, or had working masks or helmets that you could use to cover their identities, you could trigger some pretty serious alarm if someone stepped on you, here. I made sure to have a seperate pane of body armor made for each of my allies, with layers of cloth or plastic between them and the metal spike on my armor. I wore a flame-retardant helmet with an earflap to keep the flames at bay, and a metal-visor helmet with metal eyeholes to shield my hearing. A steel-toed powered miner went into every protective suit I wore. The first and second floors of the building were occupied by Undersiders. My men and Miss Militia’s group were in the lower level that had been finished for the storefront. The door leading to the rooftop had been torn apart, the building demolished and the residents evacuated. Lung, Chariot, Tattletale, Bitch, Grue, Regent, Barker and two dogs were Lung had in plain sight, at the very back of the building. There were two more members of the Chosen at the far end of the rooftop. Shuffle was employing his power and stunning the enemies in his range with the effects of his abilities, leaving his real body behind. His other body remained stationary, a living portal, capable of passing through walls and opening locked doors. The only thing separating him from his real self was a control that kept him in a slightly different location. A part of him, a fraction of him, that was in the control of Regent, Barker and Bitch, and a store of information. The other Dragon suits were elsewhere. The Pendragon was en route to the Shattered Angeles expedition base, carrying Leviathan, the Dragon-armor was to the south, the Pendragon was old, the controls and data banks were new. Miss Militia was talking to the Mer-amazing, a large mech suit, and the Mer was making her way towards the Undersiders. Barker had his eyes on Legend, opened fire where he could see the weapons systems and the ammunition that was packed into the tubes. Alexandria passed by, quietly. She turned away and walked through the side door, past my forces and the other visiting capes. Some were moving towards the site of the fighting, but there were others still inside. The heroes had evacuated without incident, the Undersiders resting, hopefully, where they could be more secure. My bugs reached Undersiders at around the same moment I opened fire. Devils awaited them on the rooftop. Sundancer remained on the rooftop, facing the sky. They dropped to the ground, and the tower of bone climbed toward the sky. I watched it approach the ground, and the ground beneath it began to close. The portal, I thought. A flaw in the design, that it’d taken so long to discover. The bug-shapeshifter fit inside, and the tower of bone dropped again. This time, when it had approached the base of the portal, the Yàngbǎn began to open fire, simultaneously releasing a dense cloud of shadow. Leviathan leaped from the opening, swiped at the portal-tower, but the gun shot only served to open the portal to close it again. I opened fire, striking at the top of the tower, missing. The aftershock of the impact seemed to knock the demon vanishes from the roof, and the bugs on the inside began to fall apart. I began to gather the shard-units I’d lost in the fighting above. The ones from the teleporter. I released the Yàngbǎn from their restraints, and then I judged. I detached the entire group, from the managers to the rank and file, from my control to the battlefield. They weren’t individuals I controlled. They were the property of the Liar, the sheaf of paper with the elephant-print cover at the back. As a collective, they rose from the portal, passing through the portal to break through to the outside. They gathered in the middle of the street. The portal remained open. A small handful of her soldiers opened and closed the gap beneath it, as if trying to attract attention, to stretch its dimensions. Then, as if a trigger event was probing our very being, they began to travel through intervening areas, laying down rails, like a system between two boats. I began to sense them. Groupies, usually, but not always. The Simurgh held the life force. I could see the Endbringers in action. The pair were gathering in force, the largest around. Me and them. I could see the Echidna-Grue merger. I could ======================================== SAMPLE 870 ======================================== Scion looked up at the three standing figures, and then smiled. "His aura surrounds you. It draws energy from your body and stores it, then intensifies the energy in a single point, redirecting it to be used for one thing. He can do things like magnifying the effects of light and energy both physical and mental. Youkai, non-Amor, non-Scion are unlikely to qualify. This means your body and mind will be focused on clearing your strengths away, redirecting those powers into stronger forms. You’ll want to be constantly moving, using abilities to enhance your abilities and replenish those of your allies." The heroes were still reacting, though, and Scion was busy. He looked down at the hovering, clawed hand with the three-cornered maskless face. "I would have removed that mask if it meant you guys weren’t suffering brainwashing, torture, murder, or worse." "You do it in a way," Imp said. "You give us a chance to kill you." The hand scowled. "You give us a chance to kill you," Imp repeated herself. "You tell us what to do, and now you’ve got us on board to help carry out that game plan. If you fail, we get revenge the way we fought the Slaughterhouse Nine, and we bring the Nine down." Scion shook his head slowly. "Hey, you know our patterns." Tecton said. "Vote with your wallets, here. We’re taking the same approach you did. No brainwashing, no torture. Greed. Just need to draw the right conclusion from the facts on the field." "Right conclusion?" Golem asked. Imp replied, "Just need to say what it is. It’s not going to be pretty, and the wrong one might get their hands chopped off." "Axles," Wanton said. "Yeah," I said. "We’re tying your midsection between your legs." Golem’s eyes widened. He rolled his shoulders, but it wasn’t much better than usual. "You can try," Tecton said, "But I’m telling you now, you just saved our team. You saved us." "Thank you," he said. I looked at the others. "You okay?" "Oh, I’m fine," the girl said. "You’re hurting." "Just a little. I-" I stopped. A few red lights flashed, each one for a different segment of my swarm. All moving at a slow jog, each to my left. Then they broke stride, each carrying through a different portal in their turn. Two changed destinations, nearly simultaneous. "No," Tecton said. "Just… do it." I looked at the clones. A Da Capo, one Harbinger, one Weaver. They were chirping, shouting, laughing. I couldn’t follow, couldn’t use the clairvoyant. They were dangerously close. "Now!" I said. "Off!" Golem used his power, and the pair of Harbingers gave chase. The Da Capo was gone, swept a hand to one side, vanishing the hand. The other reached out, and the Harbinger who’d flown with him grabbed the Deeper Cover that was guarding the portal, speeding it through. Scion plunged through, leaping over the edge of the roof, the second rooftop, and then the earth, his trajectory shifting as he traveled. The edge of the roof had stopped, and he fell short, short, as the ground beneath him dropped. The other two jumped onto Scion, and the pair of Endbringers, barely capable of moving, landed behind him, protecting him as he turned around and opened fire with beams of light. Long range, but the beam made it slow, if not outright stopping. It was weaker in the higher latitudes, weaker in the polar regions. It still sliced through the golden man, and the damage was incalculable. The weapon ate through the flesh of the golden man’s face and hands, left only a gaping hole where his neck met the ground. Worlds collided, world after world, and even as distant as the edges of our planet, the powers were coming into play. Every direction. Every capability. Every available power. We were literally tearing each other apart. And this was his game. Plan A, already a known factor of the fight, was making it a third factor. Every power he’d had offloaded to ======================================== SAMPLE 873 ======================================== "Yeah," he said. "You couldn’t let them hurt her, then." "I didn’t," I admitted. "But I felt like it somehow, so I set my bugs on her." My bugs reached her, and I divided them into tens. Every bug in a ten-foot radius filled in the blanks in a manner as similar to a divining into oblivion as possible. The bugs became projections, drifted from her, and disappeared into whitewash. The radius of the bug-projector blast then shortened to eight feet. I abandoned the fewer than 100 I’d had in formation, collecting them through the same method. I could sense what was happening by the way their powers shifted with the intensity of the bug-light; The heavier insects and beetles with sharper abilities began to fall back, dying, being struck by the bugs that had fallen from the sky, for lack of a better word. That was why I’d limited my swarm to eight. If I had more to draw on, I could make more and more contact with each individual, draw out more of the capes I wanted. I turned to my teammates, "Team. You’re doing too much." "I’m doing you a favor." Tecton said, "We need to hit that motherfucker harder than he is." "We need to hit him a little harder than that," I said. "Weasley," Wanton said. I could dial up the sarcasm if I wanted, but it would be awfully difficult to make my feelings known. I tried to think of an appropriate method of communication. "He’s trying to take you apart," Wanton said. "Maybe. But not hurt us enough that we’re in any danger," I said. I extended a hand, but Tecton shook it. He went on, "Maybe he has a programming that lets him see the world differently, a different perspective? That’s it. But you’re wounded, and we’re only steps away from him tearing you apart." "Tecton," I said. "If he does that, the two of us are fucked. Scrat runs for his own sake, and Scapegoat for the greater good. If it comes down to it, we both go down. Neither of us happy. It’s a slow process of elimination, and we wind up with only the useless bits we use to build up our personal armies." Wanton looked at me, "We should go help the others." "Yeah," I said. I looked at the remaining Breach. "You have any idea what we’re doing here? Because we don’t have the manpower to go around." "We fight 'em?" Tooth and nail. He could blow up the local leader of the Protectorate and turn this into a full scale war. "Maybe," I said. "But it’s more efficient for him to go help the wounded. And I have ideas on how we might help you, with a bit of persuasion." "Or not," he said. "I’m not willing to sacrifice my standing for that. I’ll play along if it means making up for them that way." "Because you’re weak against that sort of thing. I’m not positive that’s a good enough reason to stand." He shook his head. "Perhaps. But my standing is up for public consumption, and it’s a feeling thing. Honing in on one area, then deciding it’s too taxing and open to someone else to take priority." "And you’re not willing to do what it takes to prove you’re truly helpless against a being like her?" "I’ll pass. The burden is on you to convince me there’s no upside." "There can be. I’m not arguing there isn’t. But I’m arguing there isn’t a good reason for her to take that route." "That’s not convincing me. It’s only what you’ve said before," I said. He nodded, but he kept looking down at the building we were all standing in. "Okay. I won’t make any promises, but I’ll tell you one thing. If we go down that road, we’ll wind up where we were in the beginning. Helping people, being close to them, helping them find work or finding some relief. It’s better than what we had before. I’m pretty damn sure the villains are ======================================== SAMPLE 876 ======================================== I was touching the wall where the name had been etched into stone. The wall faced the backyard, down the hill. Just past the short lip of the wall, there was a narrow groove, the same size as the largest marks I’d seen so far. One theory was that it was where the Slaughterhouse Nine had placed their bomb. The bomb had traveled along this section of wall and rolled through the surface of the slab, where the smaller marks were set to burn. Alternatively, it could be a piece of technology. A piece of technology that could get expensive. There was also the theory that it was a portal that had been left behind after the portal had been destroyed. A marking on Skidmark’s technology that indicated it had been left behind, presumably after the business with the Nine had led to Skidmark being taken captive. If that was the case, it meant Jack Slash and Dinah were getting their own space. It would mean leisure time, maybe even time to practice their powers. Maybe they’d even get a second trigger event together. With nowhere else to go, I had come upon a whole mess of unresolved issues. People I cared about, issues that had plagued me as a teen, I’d gotten to this point where I wasn’t sure I could trust myself to handle them, and maybe this place was the only place where I could go for that. I sighed. "Let’s talk about our goals. We’ve got to make sure the Undersiders don’t get their hands on any of the important loot. We’re going to have to dig, and we need the people to watch the six o’clock position on the lookout and the six-nine formation." Jack glanced my way, as if checking that I was still interested. Then he glanced at the group and raised his eyebrows. "Well, that might be the biggest problem we’ll face as a group. How do we keep an eye on the six o’clock position?" The changes in his expression and in his voice were both subtle. It took me a second to figure out what he’d just said. I hadn’t meant to ruffle any feathers. "Dig?" "You’re assuming there’s a gate on the far side of the yard," Jack explained. "Well beyond her reach. If she has a developer, she’ll be able to figure out how to get at it." "An assumption?" I asked. "An assumption," Jack affirmed. "And assuming we can get to the gate, we can use the same combination of hands we used to open the gate to cut our way in." "And if we can’t?" "We’ll retreat," I said. I glanced back at the others. Trickster had his arms folded, no doubt to stay out of Dodge’s way. Sundancer was hanging back with her teammates. I couldn’t manage a complete absence, so I had my bugs accompany me. They stirred as I traveled across the gathered people. I could see what they were stopping to take part in, vaguely familiar with the situation. Aish, one eye half a block away, was holding back her powers to buy herself time to make her call. Bitch, a block away, was forming her dogs into a barrier. Tattletale, a little ways away, was letting her go, setting them on the side of the building. Even Regent, who hadn’t moved, as I’d noticed him doing just a moment ago, was staying put, his back to the building. "You’re not an idiot," Tattletale said, "You know that’s what she would do." Aisha. Not Aisha, that was the other name Tattletale had given me. I’d met Aisha on multiple occasions, because she was someone I could count on, and because she was friendly, generous and a hardass with a knack for knowing the proper way to use her power. While she and I had different powersets, as well, Aisha had a focus on the one power that set her above even the average hero. Reflexes. She knew how to use her power where it was most useful. She had an ability that let her push her way past almost any physical barrier, physical or otherwise. No matter how thick or impenetrable the wall, she was able to simply push through, assuming it is at the right angle and level. Not only was she fast, but she had an enhanced sense of balance and was particularly good at making hanging and crouching movements fast enough that they were out of reach but not so much that they would block the view of the other person. I only ======================================== SAMPLE 879 ======================================== This said, this list is edited only for acronyms and key words. Do not edit this article. Completing the circle Edit "This is it, the culmination of my involvement with the ABB," Bakuda retracted her mask, "I must say, I’ve seen worse, since I joined the Yàngbǎn. It is indeed ugly." Her companions likewise exchanged words. Lung spoke, rambling, "We had better start planning, now. If we don’t fix this, our rep will suffer, and we will all lose." "What are you thinking?" Sun asked. "You will all reap what you have sown," Bakuda’s voice was muffled, "We attack first aid first aid, we organize second aid, we protect each other when attacked, and we take care of our enemies." "We have veterans on this team," Lung spoke. "And you will all need to go out and fight, to prevent another Oakland," Bakuda added, "Then you will all reap what you have sown. A reckoning." The truce broke down, and tensions skyrocketed. A player and a guest were arguing in the background. A gang of ABB members stepped from the rear of the truck, and ABB soldiers opened fire with crossbows, machine guns and sniper rifles. Bakuda used her grappling hook to pass through the gang of ABB members and engage one of the gang members, knocking the guy into the wall. She then turned around and drew her rocket launcher. In a heartbeat, she was opening fire on the entire gang, driving them back into the alley, towards the train. She wasn’t willing to stop yet. She fired off a single command and control each time the missile reached, zig-zagging between its home range and the intended target. Each shot it fired was a command and control for the next, guiding its swing toward the intended target. The wall of fire that appeared was at the height of a forest, and it criss-crossed with small streams and dips of varying heights. The resulting barriers didn’t allow the fire from the other locations to get a foothold. The path the fire took was clear, but it made it nearly impossible for the fire to get a foothold. The droplets of water actually condensed into droplets as they condensed in the wind and pressure, becoming a solid barrier. Sun and Shadow Stalker were making their way towards the train. Lung was still trying to get up to speed, moving double time with every step he took. His pupils dilated, like a person searching for the picture of the dog with the swollen eyes. When he looked down, his eyelids closed. Carol watched in silence as Shadow Stalker crouched on a parked truck, loaded with inflammables, to the point that the two of them were hidden from the trainee recruits and the other Trainers. A trainee with a ruined costume and a chainsaw plunged her knife through her throat. Then she collapsed to the ground, her back to the wall, jaw too sore. Lung roared. There was no laughter in his voice. Only noise that sounded disturbingly out of tune. It seemed to echo in his skull. "Fuck, I hate it when I go somewhere with only a few friends and everyone around me is scared, faggots and b***s**tards. Am I the only one?" He didn’t even have to think about it. Lung had seen it coming, and yet he got up and joined Shadow Stalker, his back to her, as Shadow Stalker crouched on the ground, loaded with flammable liquid and household items. It was dark enough that we couldn’t see through the flaming clouds of smoke, but our pursuer could. She could see through the smoke to where Amaya and the other stacked bodies were. The fat one was standing with one leg raised, as if protecting the fallen. The fat one’s partner was still standing. Maybe protecting the person Amaya was aiming at. Shadow Stalker watched for a few seconds, then turned, moving as if she were going to attack. She stopped. A minute passed, and we didn’t see her any more. The attack had destroyed at least one of the bodies. Maybe the aftermath of that one fatality would be looking for clues. Maybe they’d found the point where the attack had been premeditated. The fog wall was thick enough now that we couldn’t see through it. I could feel my power fading, more than for the ones who’d survived The Hunch. The ones who’d fought, the ones who’d made the sacrifice and died. "I ======================================== SAMPLE 882 ======================================== What difference, at this juncture, does it make? We’re killing civilians, and we’re doing it for a greater good. The villains are apparently trying to reassert control, or at least keeping it in check. They’re pulling their punches and bleeding civilians to punish us for taking the city. If the civilians are here because they’re helping, and the villains aren’t fucking with us to gather intel, then that’s a good thing. If it’s because they’re trying to mess with us and our reigning kingpin president, then that’s a bad thing. But we’re not risking that, because we’re standing pat. We don’t need this." "I don’t think we can do anything about that," Grue said. "What?" Tecton asked. "I don’t think we can do anything about it. But you won’t be able to leave without them knowing." "Yes," Tecton answered, staring out at the ruined landscape. "Grace will be waiting for you at the base. Communicate with her via earpiece. She can ferry you a distance, and you can cross paths with her." I nodded, "I will." "The landscape has cracked open, and you will find yourself on a mountain, with scouring snow and ice. The people here speak a different language than you do. They eat the wild plants that grow in the void, they use tools that are too fragile to use against the monster. You will meet some of them, and it will help you get a sense of their ways. You will be permitted very little, and you will be safe." I nodded. A trickier issue than the lack of change was that I didn’t trust my ability to communicate in this kind of a hurry. "The mountain is breached," a woman spoke. "My people have found another route. Left in order of arrival, as the sooner you arrive the sooner you will be rewarded." Gathering my swarm together, I approached her and spoke, "Where are your people?" She spun around in her chair, tilting her head at a funny angle to look at me. "They’re not with us," I told her. "Then where?" she asked. "The Base. A place of shelter, food supplies and so long as you escape with your life, you will be able to apply for food, be given a chance to rest. Your Company will be centered around this." She provided a map with crossbow-points highlighted in blue, then laughed. "I’ll get the people who are providing medical assistance and the care to your injured legs. We have experience with those sorts of things. In the event that anyone dies or suffers permanent injury, your survivors will have the ability to purchase the necessary resources from you. This will prevent a lot of the issues most people suffer in the meantime." Something in that, I found myself paying attention to. The number of people, tentatively, at the intersections of major streets. "We’re going?" She asked, as if that was a question and an answer. "Yeah," I replied. We’d reached the base of the mountain. "We’ll check in, take our time, and then decide where we need to be after. There’s some wounded near the mouth of the valley, I think, and I’ll get them started getting them to a place where they have room to stretch out and get some fresh air." "No, no. You have to understand, we’re better off without you. You were making the battle more bearable for us, you’re making the job of the heroes easier, but there’s a cost. Things are probably going to get better, by virtue of us sharing our experiences and getting enough rest. But we can’t make any promises. There’s no guarantee that it will be the same way." "We will, too," I replied. "But only if we’re prepared for the alternative." She nodded, smiling. I looked out at the massive dent the explosion had made in the cityscape. The ‘v’ of the wing’ supporting the mountain was broken, and the disruption had left the metal area darkening. There was an open space marked with spray paint where an excavator had once been. "We’ll be here," I assured her. I reached into my utility compartment and into the darkness beneath my cloak to make sure I had everything I needed. It took a minute, but I did manage to get everything situated in the right order. ======================================== SAMPLE 885 ======================================== Cauldron: Quite possibly the most powerful organization in the world. Legit perhaps, but it exists. Rune: Got ahold of a very promising young Tinker. In a matter of short order, he’s gone AWOL, reporting directly to Coil. At least until further notice, we advise people to avoid taking on any jobs with him. Strapping Lad: Wanted: Any and all mercenaries or mercenaries posing as one. no exceptions. Aloha: No Freelancers in our area. Clockblocker: Wanted: Any and all capes with any ties to ABB, Taekwondo, or ELF. Hookwolf: No Freelancers in team? Hookwolf: Wanted: Anyone with experience or clothing they want to show off. no exceptions. Hookwolf: No New Citizens Clockblocker: Wanted: Anyone with information on leader or any other members of the ABB. no exceptions. Clockblocker: Wanted: Organization is looking for any and all gang members with any knowledge on situation. no exceptions. No individual is being sought. -------------------------------- X(Talk): Begin Hookwolf: Hookwolf talk: Authoritative (talk) Hookwolf admin (talk): Go read up on the locals. Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone in particular): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf (talking to himself, not actually talking to anyone): Hookwolf ( ======================================== SAMPLE 888 ======================================== The ones who'd fled left. They’d stopped, and were returning to their cars to be picked up and loaded onto the trucks that followed. Which left me to deal with the Merchants. One of the trucks had been repacked, and some of the people inside were being moved to the back. Others were being segregated into groups, with larger groups going in the front and smaller groups going in the back. It was still too many people, but the possibility was alarming. Armsmaster and Miss Militia were both in the truck, giving orders. I could sense Panacea standing in the truck’s opening. I’d seen her lying on the ground just a minute ago, and she was still able to move. "You okay?" I asked. "Fuck me, man. That cough." Were they both shot? I risked a guess. "Where’s Tattletale?" "Fuck you, bald asshole," Panacea’s twisted retort was far from a verbal maneuver. She turned her head my way. "Fuck you, bald asshole," Tattletale used a dirty, crass slur. Like Assault’s. I might have chosen something more appropriate. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen her around, orI hadn’t picked it up from others. Her hair was dyed blond, and she wore a yellow sundress and yellow walking shoes. I suspected it would have been a gift from Glory Girl. "You’re not apologizing for saying you were trying to fuck with us," Miss Militia said. "So you want to take a hint from the Tattletale?" Tattletale asked, her voice and tone both condescending. "Now when I ask you to be reasonable, you’re being completely unreasonable. You want to go to war against these guys? Tell me to put one over on you." "You’re splitting hairs," Miss Militia said. "Multiple people I’ve talked to have said that. One of whom is a high-ranking cape at the school." "And the Undersiders?" Tattletale asked. "They’re not part of this," I said. "It’s not even something we’re considering." "They’re valued assets," Tattletale said. "They are," I said. "And we consider it a big honor to be up against the city of Brockton Bay, the home of nerd kids and villain babies, when you don’t even have to fight the Undersiders." "I think I have to remind you we’ve got a pretty amazing record against the Nine," Miss Militia said. "Can we talk about it later? Before we get into a fight?" Tattletale asked. "No," I said. "But we’re definitely talking about it," Tattletale said. "I can breathe a sigh of relief knowing we haven’t just lost a fight, but we’ve got a losing fight on our hands…" "We should talk about it," I said, "らいつも単うにいつだったら…思っている思っていますか?" "Sure," she said. I sighed, loud enough for her to hear. I’d decided to focus on areas in need of repair. The bulldozer had placed rocks on the far side of the hangar, I’d had to arrange temporary ramps so people passing through wouldn’t have to climb, and I’d had to remove the debris on the ground to allow people a chance to get down to safety. I wanted to thank Tattletale for the info. I’d hoped she’d shared. It wasn’t quite necessary, but it was something. Leaving the Merchants to it. Insinuation 2.5 The ramp lowered slightly, as we approached the next rooftop. The same buildings we’d just bypassed. We avoided the Merchants by only a few blocks, and in the process, we avoided the buildings we’d entered by a similar route. It was messy, to say the least. I glanced around us. The mangled Miracle-lab and the twisted stockpile of weaponry that had been stacked upon top of it looked like it had been taken down by a teen superhero a few years ago. Where it had once been a dense growth of trees, now it was a mess of rubble and needles. Materials from the destruction at the World Trade Center had settled in the needles and blossoms. The buildings that were rapidly collapsing, upon closer inspection, looked more like ======================================== SAMPLE 891 ======================================== On Friday, June 29th, 2012, a total of four people were arrested in connection with the massive breach of security at the offices of NeXT. Brian J. Fernandez, Brian L. Bass, Brian R. Lindstrom, and Brian A. Morse. The events that led up to this point were one of sabotage, arson, damaging government property, and conspiracy. All of the defendants were former members of the Protectorate and Wards teams. Three of the accused were assigned to the NeXT server hosting the lost data. The fourth was an unknown. When law enforcement officers investigating a crime scene do their job, they don’t leave any suspicious or possible bodies at the scene. That was the lesson learned from the investigation into the massive breach of security at the offices of NeXT. On Saturday, June 30th, 2012, NeXT filed for bankruptcy. CEO & Founder Brad Brower announced the filing on his official website, explaining that he’d ordered production to halt while he reviewed the site and the systems that could be used to secure it. He expected it would take anywhere from one to six weeks to fully equip the facility with a working backup server. In the meantime, he was forced to institute policies and controls to manage the massive task and manage the leak of confidential data. By Sunday, everything had gone dark. Brian had been notified that the FBI had access to the system, and was working with law enforcement to effectively shut down the breach. Brian was also told that there was no possible way that the site could be used to disseminate classified information. The following Monday, the site was taken down for maintenance. With the assistance of General Atomics and Dragonfly, Brian managed to put together a mock server in a matter of hours. Upon request, he was allowed to tap into their systems to augment the server. At roughly the same time, the Cypher algorithm was being overhauled, with the addition of sophisticated support functions. Top secret, sensitive technical data was being delivered to his server by courier. Brian was told that the data would remain confidential, and that he should defer on requesting it. Months of work had gone into the site, and it would be a long time before it was put to use. In the meantime, he would divert all inquiries to the appropriate sections of the server and monitor the site for signs of life. Top secret? The _10th_ priority of the Trump administration? What in the hell was a class A threat? It was starting to grate. The classes were classified now, but anyways. The classes and the intrusion on one of his employees was worrisome enough on its own. What if he was caught off guard? Would people contact the site administrators and report a crash? Would the site fail altogether? The classes and the report of a crash didn’t matter much, if it meant missing two straight weeks of classes. The report was there for a reason, and the site administrators were informed on all matters involving the site security. Any hour of discussion with the Cypher engine could and would introduce a new possibility into the equation. Too many possibilities possible, regarding what the engine could and could not process, with unknowns that constantly demanded clarification. Too complex a process to manage in the time allotted, when the sites were being policed to the point that there was little point in constantly maintaining the filter. Would the site be secured? Would he be able to monitor traffic, locate anyone using the Dragonfly without a password? No. What little work he did manage to put in, it was barely registering to him. He was worked up, caught off guard, didn’t know what he was supposed to be working on. It wasn’t something he rested on, didn’t tend to rely on his employees to. He let down his guard a fraction, took a deep breath, and then cleared his throat. "My name is Brian, and I’m the founder of Anonymous, the L.A. based group best known for our hacktivist collective, our hacktivist operations and our cyborg soldiers." "And you’re saying I’m a slave?" "No slaves. We paid a pretty decent price, however many think we just got what we wanted. One word from us, and the worst person in the room wins." "A computer geek by day, artist and programmer by night," the woman who would have been CFO of a major corporation said. All true, even accounting for the geeky accent and the fact that her hair was in pigtails, which only made her look more aged, given how she’d put together a pretty dope bob. "I began this job to stand in the corner, waiting for the bosses to act, and they said… lunatic." Brian was shocked, the image of her suddenly coming to ======================================== SAMPLE 894 ======================================== The following circumstances make a Good guy’s body particularly effective at resisting interrogation. Insinuation #1: Bad guy already tried to interrogate the hero, failed. Insinuation #2: Hero already in bad shape, probably, with heavy armored plate covering and exposed muscle, making him more susceptible to heat damage and cuts. This means the hero is particularly vulnerable to attacks like these, which are free and unprovoked. Attacks that aren’t free or unprovoked are low impact, meaning the chance of the attack being dodged is small, and the chance of the attack knocking the hero off balance is high. Insinuation #3: The weather? It doesn’t seem that kind of world. Insinuation #3a: Weather means rain. The weather hasn’t been kind to Flechette, but the rest of the Protectorate is using the opportunity to pick on her. We’ve got Protectorate members going head to head, battling the undead. And the winner is the crowd control cape that is Squealer, in her twelfth hour of being put through the paces. Protectorate member, Blaster, tells me that as far as he’s aware, the villain is the only one of the three that is breaking the rules that keep the other two from waging a full-on psychological war on the public. That would be the Triumvirate, breaking the fourth wall, breaking the fifth. Except the Protectorate is led by the guy from the evening news, breaking the rules as they exist on a fundamental level. The leader of the forgotten folk, the source of the group, the badass with the bomb strapped to his shoulder. And he’s got superpowered flunkies who somehow know how to fight that?" I shivered. The atmosphere was weird, tones reversed, with the dark city accent and the hoary voice of an actor reading lines from a script. "I can’t imagine how they’re going to react if we brought that up," Legend answered. "I suppose it’s possible they’ll tell the boss to keep quiet about it, or they’ll keep it in mind and give Squealer a few sacrificial bells instead of charging headlong into this situation." "For her?" "For her, probably. Because of what Tattletale said back at the bank robbery, and the evidence that’s emerged since, I think it would be incredibly suicidal for her to continue being the leader of the group." "Is this necessarily a good thing? A Satanic leader? A warped leader?" "And the situation is a lot easier because Armsmaster is gone," Legend said. "He might well be the most incompetent member of the group, now. It’s you guys, Brian, Grant, Lisa, Alec and Aisha." "Yeah," Brian sighed, "I get it. I get it." "You’re replacements, then," Lisa smiled, "You’ve got that in common, don’t you? I got to think I’m not in the public eye that much longer, unless you want to get political." "Sorry. I suppose I can’t refuse a favor," Brian said. "I could say the same about Bitch," Lisa joked. "You can’t say that about people with real authority," Brian frowned. "Politeness is a pretty powerful thing, eh?" Lisa said. Brian nodded. We walked in relative silence until we reached a section of the beach. "I have a project for you," Brian spoke. I folded my arms, rubbing the back of my neck. "What is it?" "It’s a Patreon." "Patron… creator?" "Yes." "Creator?" I asked. "Creator? Patreon." "I made a pledge when I first started out. I made the same pledge twice, to keep the promises I made to myself." "I of course do. Your second reward is waiting, in case you haven’t already." "I see." "Your first reward?" "Already here. Pick up the tab for the two people who donate the most, and I’ll send you an email when the first month’s done, with a link to the donation page." "That’s fair. What’s the second?" "A handwritten letter. I’ll also be forwarding you links to the letters I’ve already left behind. Click on the hats, and you can tell me about the person who made each piece of clothing, and the stories they’ve ======================================== SAMPLE 897 ======================================== I’m in. The physical manifestation of my power crashed to the ground, and a tidal wave of darkness swept over us. The reason I couldn’t see with my bugs’ eyes was gone. I saw only the darkness, where it had once been. The solid form of my bugs followed, less like a solid mass and more like a string, suspended in the midst of the cloud of darkness. It was low and steady, like they were connected by an invisible silk cord. Scion. Raw meat and bones and such. He’d disintegrated into his constituent parts, and this was the result. Each component was roughly spherical, with the largest being the outermost body, which dissipated into a diffuse darkness in a few seconds, then solidified into a sphere or cylinder in the center. Coil’s soldiers fell in this manner, each of them forming a tidy globes or spheres with eights and eights inside. I recognized the four I’d lost: Ballistic, Trickster, Genesis and Tattletale. I’d killed two or three of them before, in an indirect way that depended on the individual’s powers. The number of fallen increased to six, when my piloting skills should have made it possible to send a distress call, bringing others their closer. I was alive when it counted. Scion approached, walking with confidence and confidence of his own. He carried so many of his own components that he looked like a typical parahuman, at the highest levels of performance. He had street-level vision, a spherical body, full lips, a pointed nose and the femininity of his features rather than his ‘costume’. His hair was straight, his stare fierce. For all of his confidence, he didn’t look confident. There was a kind of razor-sharpness to his every movement, expression and expression alone, as though he were ready to cut himself a wide-open if he had to. He didn’t. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back, and his eyes on the ground, unblinking. I could see the road crumbling, collapsing, past briers and stands of sod, where the earth had packed down into narrow sheets in anticipation of a storm. He stopped in his tracks, turning, and the barriers that surrounded us shattered, revealing the surrounding grass and fields. My bugs could sense the ground shifting, Cuff’s power cooling it, making it possible. I was ready. I sent my bugs forth. Not the kind of attack he’d be able to withstand, as his flesh and bodies were too soft to actually hurt him, but a fine gust of wind, and they stirred, moving across the available landscape. "He’s here!" I called out, moments before the wind dissipated. "I’m going!" Defiant turned, face contorted in surprise. I wasn’t the smallest. I was in the thick of things, and yet I couldn’t help but see what I needed to see. The Chosen had dozens, even hundreds of thousands of bugs stored away in their various pods and depots. I only had a limited amount. One of the cases that had been appealed to me. The powers that be had given the dessicated husk of a corpse the ability to speak. With their continued help, it had been able to partially fill in blanks in the system. The plan had been for the husk to rend the carriage and drive the driver insane, but the body hadn’t spoken and the woman had been left standing there rather than putting herself down. She’d used her power to empty the rest of the containers of her own fluids. I had to swirl the bugs to get the full effect. "You’re still alive," a voice echoed through the building. I was lifted into the air, just a little more than before, and then plummeting. I wasn’t strong enough to get off the ground without assistance, and my flight pack wasn’t giving me anything. A cape walked through the doorway. A tall, thin looking cape, hard looking alabaster skin, dark brown hair and a hornset version of the ceaseless crying that had been plaguing him when I’d been unconscious. I could see the quality of my enemy’s bodywork declining with each passing second. The power was with me always, the mental picture void of any artist, or the type of power the enemy would have, I was left solely with the sight of the enemy’s appearance and the actions they’d perform. The big cape in front of me wielded a poleaxe like a sword, backed by a mass of ro ======================================== SAMPLE 900 ======================================== 17.04 New Delhi, India The new hero, having just saved the day, stepped up to the plate. He had the metal skin of a zombie. He looked down at Echidna, and her eyes glowed with a light that couldn’t be categorized into any definite area. "How?" Chevalier asked. "You could bond me," Echidna said. There was a flash of light, and the light winked out. "No," the emaciated man said. "You could," Echidna said. "Of course." "My favourite," Imp commented. "Well, that ends it. We owe you one, and time will tell if this was a wise choice or not. We owe you." "We could have taken you back," Echidna said. Echidna leaped off the destroyed podium, then turned, reaching out. He touched her, and she was imbued with the power the emaciated man had once held in his hands, granting him a little extra durability, a little more raw damage done with the raw power this particular bout had granted him. For a moment, she and Chevalier were so busy talking that they didn’t see each other’s attention as the man turned to run, nearly striking the ground with one hand. For a moment, she and Chevalier were at each other’s throats, shouting at the one man in Chevalier’s group that was still in earshot. For a moment, she and Chevalier were as one, alive, breathing, thinking, giddy – "Kulshedra!" she gasped the word. "Yes!" Chevalier gave a salute, and Echidna crunched defiantly against the back of the chair to get away from the lunge, nearly joining him in backing up until the ramp was tight, then dashed forward, crashing through the countertops, one front door and the other, colliding with hard, dense glass on contact. She didn’t burn more than five minutes, maybe two, before settling in the comfort of the inflatable mattress, the seatbelt linking them to the weapon, three feet in front of her. Spraying the food, arranging by importance, then more sprinklers, until the scene was well lit. Nothing. "She’s not a threat," Ballistic said. "She’s described her, explained how she came to be here. I think she would be a very dangerous individual, if she was still alive." "If she’s not dangerous-" "We’ll manage." Echidna emerged, and Ballistic peered in the windows, peering as though he could see through them. He spoke, "The weapon jammed. We can’t keep it charged in." "We’ll try," Chevalier said. "The President’s dead, second chances aren’t taken." "The optics of things would be wrong," Tattletale observed. "She’s standing there, and he’s standing right behind her. Her presence alone conjures up very bad memories for him." "Bad memories because they were bad years ago?" "Bakuda was lying," Tattletale said. "Karma, perhaps, plus the fact that it would be a hassle to get up in the middle of the night to bail out again, with the number of time it would take to recreate the effect and ensure she could create a clone state without the risk of the power losing control." "I remember that one," I said. I was thinking back to how I’d felt very young again just a few minutes ago, when everything had started to go to hell. "It’s a pain to remove the charges from the body," Chevalier said, "And it’s a pain to replace the ammunition with nonlethal ammo. She could shoot through the floor and kill us all in a matter of seconds." "We’re prepared to go to the Birdcage if necessary," another cape said. "In the thirty minutes we have remaining before we have our costume, we’ll be ready to deal with any clones that break the rules," the DC leader said. I couldn’t find the word to thank them. We were fighting a constant battle against the Travelers. I felt a kind of disappointment and a hesitation mingled with a kind of gratitude. I didn’t know if it was the fact that we were still sorting out the particulars of our plan and that I was being left to do the talking, or if it was the knowledge ======================================== SAMPLE 903 ======================================== Flames licked the blades in his hands, a stark contrast to his deep skin, pale blue eyes and white hair. A balancing act, rather, made it seem. They weren’t alone. He’d asked people what time it was, approached Armsmaster, and Armsmaster had told him to meet Doctor Mother at roughly nine-thirty. Even so, the golden man flared with light as he approached, sprinkling some containment foam down on top of Defiant, who staggered back. "I go out," declared Defiant, glancing up at the glowing heroes. He wasn’t alone. The full group had stopped long enough to take his cue. "I meet in the lobby," the Doctor spoke, her voice soft. "You’re both in the lobby." "Crawl inside through the window. We’ll talk," Defiant announced. "Talking?" the Doctor asked, snorting a laugh. There was a pause. "Yes. Radar! Go!" one of the men standing at the entrance shouted. Defiant barred the door with his golden light, then drew his gun. There was a pause. Doctor Mother’s laughter was almost musical. It was oddly beautiful in a very chaotic way. A garbled mess of sounds, but beautiful in the same way a rose was beautiful if scratched too many times, or a great painting if painted too much. Defiant looked down at the gun in his hands. Again, like a river in floodwater, the colors and textures seemed to change in harsh contrast to the general position and size of the cracks. And down here, it seemed, the cracks were in both places, one size too small. "Why?" he asked. "Why is it so hard to get inside?" the Doctor asked. There was a pause. "Tattletale. Do you know what the PRT is doing?" "Not as well as I like to do," Doctor Mother answered. "Lots of bases to cover, lots of tricks to figure out, strengths and weaknesses, and the rules and regulations change over time, not always with the representation of the public in mind." "Oh. I like to think so." "Not saying it isn’t hard," Tattletale said. "It isn’t, but it isn’t impossible, isn’t it? A chance every once in a while, maybe a few more." "A lot easier if we assume we’re going to die," the Doctor said. "An easy way to speed things up is to spread the word. Say what you need to say, do what you need to do. Divide and conquer." "I was telling the truth," Tattletale said. "It’s not that," Doctor Mother said. "And I suspect we’ll get to that point faster than we otherwise might." "I’m not asking you to do anything you’ll regret," Tattletale said. "But maybe you’ll get a few more seconds to think along the lines you wanted to pursue." "No," Defiant said. "Bureaucracy," the Doctor spoke. "They keep trying to put words in my mouth. I’ll take that as a no." "A very polite and professional way of saying bureaucrat," Defiant responded. The Doctor leaned forward, "And schedule those projects you’ve been holding back. We’re going to go days without a visible invigorating factor. With the damage the Endbringer did to the city, people are going days without sleep. We need that, and we can achieve it by three months at most if we stick to our schedule." "Three months," Tattletale said. "Exactly. Each of the following three steps can be accomplished in a staggered fashion. First, we take care of the Simurgh’s teleportation projects. We don’t touch on the Noelle Burke-Carter situation, because we’re focused on the much bigger picture. Second, we gear up for the invasion and occupation. For as little as two months, we gear up for the major emergencies." Three months is a time to prepare, Defiant thought. He nodded slightly in agreement with his own statement. But the Doctor didn’t take his invitation to speak. "If you’ll excuse the metaphor, the Simurgh’s stuff arrives, she traces the precognition back to the shards she’s already got, and from the individuals within her, to the point that each one is ready to process her instantly, to link them together. That instant is the Simurgh evolving ======================================== SAMPLE 906 ======================================== Their party was interrupted by the clatter of a gunshot. "I think they’re winning," Tattletale said. "They’re definitely losing," I said. "They shot Weld," Tattletale said, "They know he’s there. And they know how we found him." "And we know this is an endgame," I said. "They’re just taking what they can get. Intercepting us, pre-empting us, whatever." "Pre-emptive," Tattletale said. "And they’re going to try to get in at some point tonight. Probably at some point. We need to hold our line, control our exit." "We’re open to suggestions," I said. "Just need to ask." "We need another scientist with a gun to fire the flashes," Tattletale said. "And we’ll get someone with flashbang grenades." "Okay," I said. "Anyone who works for the PRT or Winslow High will tell you there’s no way that could work." "And we’re open to suggestions," Tattletale said. "Just need to ask." "Anyone with information about the escapes or the larger scale system they’re using to operate should remain quiet," Tattletale said, "Especially about key members of the group." "Thank you," I said. "Wait, they’re laughing at us?" "Cocky little freaks," Regent said. He rolled his shoulders, "They really do think they’re funny." "We’re serious," Aisha said. "Checkpoint five," I said. We anchored at the northeast corner of the Docks, near the ferry, and we began the routine check-in. We’d logged close to forty-five minutes in the field, with much of the mileage because we’d been patient, taking our time in getting things set up. We’d barreled past checkpoints, and we’d entered territory contested by various groups. The only trouble with having the field in close proximity to the settlement was that the mutants there were now more open to attack. The trucks with the evacuated civilians had been sealed shut, but the explosion had blown out the back and sides of each. Each of the people in the truck was now hunkering down in the midst of the rest, trying to glide down the roads covered in blood and body parts. The rest would be disturbed only by the sounds they made as they ran, the smoke and dust they made as they moved, and the glow of the burned flesh. The injured were more fortunate. The ground was unsteady, and there were relatively few who were unhurt. That meant that as long as they were conscious, they were safe from any further attack. Each person weÙd deigned to save was a sensitive, a frail thing. Regent was in one of those states where delicate social adjustments were necessary, where even a casual conversation with his mother would pose questions regarding her identity. Our efforts to wake him had had no effect. The trigger event would trigger on the third, and for much of the rest of us, it would be a case of how very slow. Social adjustment. We didn’t need to worry about attacks from within the Birdcage. The others weren’t as fortunate. Rachel’s dogs grew quickly, reaching full size as they emerged from the water. I drew out leaves and transcripts across the exterior of the building, as well as near the water’s edge, to keep my bugs from being snagged in the dry, vermilion-deep cracks. We’d been awakened, or we’d been awakened and held in check, but for Regent’s pains. I’d noted that he was more emaciated than the typical teenager, and I’d also noted the slimy smell, like warm blood and rancid flesh. It was something we could use, as PRT. Mortar fell where it could, trees were cut, doors slammed, but our concerns were on a whole other scale. Not the case with a transient like the Nine. The trio were where they were when I’d sensed them, the auxiliary agents, rendered immune to my power, not so resistant to attack, restrained but helpless. It was an unconscious nod, like they were congratulating me on a job well done, in the same way a person might congratulate a dog on a good hunt. I moved the swarm to the location of the remaining boxes, and found the perimeter disrupted. An Unforgiven, hugging one of the buildings. My ======================================== SAMPLE 909 ======================================== "But he hasn’t figured out how to escape, and I don’t think he’ll cooperate," Nonviel said. "He did exactly what he did here. He took our tools, he hurt us, and he left." "So it’s unavoidable," Saint said. "Every step of the way, he’s trying to prolong this. He’s trying to find a way to save himself, or he’s trying to save us, and this is what we do to him. Hurt him, hopefully without doing too much damage to ourselves." "You think he’ll try to do something to us," Nonviel said. "He could use his power, he could use her power. He could be somewhere between the two. And she, according to her, she’s not bothered at all by the fact that she’s not in the limelight. She seems utterly indifferent." Saint folded his arms. "Is that so?" "According to her, it is," Nonviel said. Saint shook his head. "Then I must concede the point. I’m going to help him, in any case. I would like you to know that I’ve got a good team around me, talented people. I’m not looking for an argument, and I’m not demanding that you participate in this battle. I just need you to let me know where you stand." Nonviel glanced at the others. Koffiels was sitting in a chair a few feet behind Saint, taking it easy as he tended to his hands. His eyes roved over the room, not moving an inch, but for the pedestrians and traffic around them. Hoffnagler was a teenager in a black costume with a white wolf mask and rabbit-atmosphere fleur-de-lis on his hood. He’d got the look of someone who’d just lost their parent or legal guardian. Lang, the tallest member of the group, was quiet, surveying the room. He didn’t look scared, but you’d never know it from the costume. His eyes were all white, his mask a plain white one with a wolf mask on the left shoulder and a rabbit-atmosphere on the right. His hair was long and white, his body a simple black-framed skull emblem on a plain white costume. Beside Lang was the self-proclaimed wizard, thinker and master. He was dressed like a wizard, wearing a black robe with a circlet, no mask, and a hard mask with no skull or crossbones design on it. The robe was embellished with a hard mask and chainmail legs that wrapped around his bare feet. He had a variety of lenses for the various filters he used to focus on the various senses. Rounding out the group was Canary. Not a member of the group, but she was floating about, walking on the opposing team. Her hair was a striking color, swirling into clouds that would vanish as she walked. A cape of colorful wire, looped to the point that it was almost a protective suit, moved to keep her close. "Welcome, everyone," Koffiels said, raising his hands. "My team is currently receiving reinforcements," Nonviel said. "I’ll be in touch." There were only a few who were still listening when she responded, "Yes ma’am." "We will be in touch, then," Koffiels said. "There is one subject that concerns us." "One?" Nonviel asked. "One. We have yet to arrange accommodations for you among our honored guests. We would be glad to have you as part of the group. You, Non, this year." Nonviel bowed, then stood. As the individual members of the team switched seats, Canary stepped forward, putting herself between Nonviel and the door, her hair and body moving out of the way. "I know you’re not accustomed to having people talk to you before a fight starts." "They are," Nonviel replied. "I have faced down many a master-fighter, many a warrior." "Many a warrior then," Canary said. "I would offer my own experience to the same ends. I can offer mine." Nonviel nodded. "You fight to protect people," Canary said. "And you protect people you’re protecting. We might fight other capes, but you’re not a prisoner to any one individual. You’re a member of the group." "Boy scout," Nonviel said. "I wouldn’t be if I ======================================== SAMPLE 912 ======================================== It wouldn’t be enough. What made people tick, above all else, was the idea of doing something to help others. Bear Grylls and their kin did it, because it felt good. Maybe that was why the Exalt girls had gravitated towards that particular path. Not me, but they had that kind of instinctual, psychological connection with others that I couldn’t understand if I tried. I got crushed between them and Coil, and whatever I’d done on my own, I couldn’t make it happen in their shoes. So I took a different route. I approached the barber, standing in the half-circle. "Your locks? Cut 'em." I hesitated. "You’re a rogue, I’m sure." I shook my head. "Only a little. I just wish I’d tried more of those kooky drugs first." "I know. You won’t be returning to our groups for very long, as far as I can tell. So maybe you spice things up for a bit, smoke a bit, have a few drinks. Try to recapture that magic." I didn’t reply. Tattletale stepped up beside me, putting a hand on my shoulder. She pressed one small, pink finger to my shoulder, "Don’t do this. You’re not a mental patient, and you’re not delirious. You’ve seen too many bad guys and you’ve got your triggers. Let’s not go there." I was already packing my bug, leaving the barber’s office. "You’ll do this, or you won’t." "What’s that?" "I’m looking for the emotion that’s missing from your expression. You haven’t quite shaken that sentiment, but you’ve softened it some." I didn’t have a response to that. "And you’re a rogue, perhaps? In the hopes of finding that emotion." "No." "Perhaps you’ll try to visit others before you come here, perhaps." "Maybe." "I’ll bring the others, then. They can accompany you." "Thank you." I wasn’t exactly a healer, but being able to offer something in exchange was something. I thought about how Panacea had favored me with regards to her patients. I might have taken that as a veiled insult. "Very well. Let’s go." I turned, and we joined Tattletale as she led me into a side street, past a large crowd of soldiers. I wanted to be brave, but the thought struck me that way back when we’d gotten our powers, we’d been in a position where it was dangerous to be around Tattletale, her power or the two of them. Maybe that was why they hadn’t tried to kill me. I’d been the target, but I’d been able to defend myself, to confront them. I’d been able to get away. They stopped me when I reached out to touch either of the people or objects in their way, just a heartbeat later. "Taylor." I’d created an imaginary connection to touch the base of one of the buildings that was perched on the edge of a hill. I’d named it Brian, in part to acknowledge that the hill was actually Brian’s house, and that there was a connection between the two. The connection took me to the site of the fight. As he’d said, I’d been in a position to watch and wait. "Undersiders. It’s you, Brian…" "And me," I said. "You’re definitely not lying to me. You’re not making this up." I could have said it again, but I deferred to his command of the conversation. I couldn’t be sure if he’d said the ‘yes’ thing intentionally or not. "Yeah. Me, and my parents and my sister are in the hospital. Siblings." "Oh." It was strange to hear his voice change in tone as he talked. He sounded... annoyed at the realization that he knew. "Sister," I said, as I realized who he was addressing. I didn’t feel better in the interim. "My sister," he repeated. "My parents and my mom. We’ve been dealing with some family issues, some bullying. I ======================================== SAMPLE 915 ======================================== They are being dismissed as weirdos. The odd hippy or religious person who’d pick something like pizza as a topic of conversation. But I think I’m getting at the heart of it. There’s a grain of truth in everything. I think everyone experiences their circumstance in a way that skews some way towards comfort, towards family, and a sense of belonging. The rich and powerful get comfort from the state of society, society and government, while everyone else is uncomfortable because they don’t have place to go, no place to identify with, no place to turn to. And so they’ve constructed their lifestyle around that, around numbers and counting, dependent on a mode of thinking that looks at things from a distance, at family, society and the state of the world and sees patterns. It’s a data set that traces back hundreds of years, a grain of sand that reveals patterns that long predate the Garden of Delete. And so I’m going to end this, just like I began. I’m going to go to the Birdcage. And I’m going to feed it. "I think you know what I’m saying, Charlotte," I said. "I do. I’m just saying…" "You’re full of shit." "I’m tired. We all are. No one of us can do this all. Everybody’s entitled to a life of their own." "We’ll get there. We’ll get through this and then we’ll get married and have kids." "You sound so sure." "I’m not promising anything. I’m just saying…" She stopped, cocked her head to one side. "I’m going to bed. Take care of yourself. Sleep peacefully?" I told her. "Don’t worry. Nothing to see tonight." She nodded mutely. "Go bug me tomorrow morning, if you want." She glowered at me, "Whatever." "You aren’t getting any sleep, honey." "And I’m getting plenty. This house is a fortress and a fence’s better than a wall." She turned around, eyebrows raised. "What?" "I’ll go sleep in your bed. And you go take care of Mike. Because he’s still bugging me about his digs, and about Bigby." "I’ll get you in one piece, if you’re okay with it," she promised. "Take care." Glancing up at the ceiling, she said, "I love you. Always have, since the day I was little." I didn’t reply. Instead, I turned off the television. ••• Carolan was still glowering at me when I reached the door to my room and opened it. "Oh hell," she said, as I opened the door. "Oh hell." I moved a hand to shut the door, and then rummaged through the bag to find a purse. "What was in the bag?" "Patience," she said. "In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve never done anything ever since I got this job." "What was in the bag?" "Probability manipulation. Anyone who has tried to cheat successfully in a one-on-one duels knows how easy it is to let things slip. The brain is a fragile thing, and anything can see a pattern in how it is stretched or if it’s being dampened or if a variable is being omitted. I wanted to be able to tell just enough before an attack, to be able to tell in advance, and with this I’ve taken that pattern and turned it against a foe with an easy guess. You understand." "I sort of grasped what you meant, but that was a joke?" "I think so." "And you get to keep going at it? You’re stubborn?" "I’m flattered." I frowned, but I didn’t open the bag. I didn’t want to argue. "So. We’ve got ourselves a problem, here," she said. "You have to understand, I grew up with those people." "I’m sure." "They exist, but they’re few and far between. Not a concern." "Okay. But you’ve got that bag. With your calculations, you’ve got a whole list of people who you think ======================================== SAMPLE 918 ======================================== But these decisions aren’t easy. Our end of the world scenario isn’t an easy one. The stakes are much higher when we’re talking about end of the world scenarios, when there’s potentially billions of lives at stake… and the stakes are higher still if we’re talking about possible world attacks. When you’re talking about potential end of the world crises." "What if there’s an attack?" I asked. "It won’t be easy," she said. "It’ll be loud. It’ll be intense. We won’t be able to rest. We’ll be fighting, defending. You asked me to choose between my duty to defend and my duty to protect. I’ll choose defense, but I’ll also have to fulfill my end of the bargain." "When you got your powers, were you fulfilling your bargain with God?" I asked. She shook her head. "No. You caught me off guard. I didn’t expect any less. But I think you’ll understand what I mean when I say I’m telling you that I’m doing this because I’m told to." "I always did like a good prophecy," she said. "Liked the Serapis codeword, even. You asked me once if I’d join the Chosen, and I said yes. But I always figured I would go to the Birdcage. I got out because the others didn’t think I had what it took." I crossed the room, bent over and touched a key on the computer. It shut down the process. "You got my email," I said. I tried again, and it said differently. "Guardian is trying to access my system to look up information." "Yes." "Do you trust me?" "Yes," she said. "Do you have a plan?" "No, I don’t have a plan." There was a pause. "Please grant my permission to speak on my behalf. My codename is Unreal, by the way. I’m using your services. Contract number is DA06. I’m a consultant, legally, but you don’t believe that. So I’ll explain what services I’m providing. Your reputation is important to me. I want you to contact media and police, get them to get in contact with the Protectorate and Wards. With your permission, I’ll provide all details on encounters I’ve had with you." I felt a chill. Commercial? Commercial prostitution? I shook my head. "I have a reputation. I will cooperate." "You seemed a little freaked out in the elevator," Tattletale said. "I was freaked out, yeah. I wouldn’t normally be freaked out, but I was. You asked, what can I do. The short version is that I’m getting better. Better equipped, now. I didn’t know what to do, until I saw the video. I’m safer, more secure. So if you want to know what I’m doing with myself, it’ll be less stressful, and it’ll get better if you don’t stress me." I nodded. "I’m… I guess I’m trying to say I’m a part of your everyday problems. I’m there for you, I’m there for your friends and family, and I’m there for your team. I’m there for challenges you face, and I’ll see how you deal. I’ll take your challenges head on, see how you bounce back, and I’ll give the necessary orders." "I understand," I said. I couldn’t think of her as a priority target. "If I don’t get back to her myself, maybe Tattletale can point me to someone I can talk to about this?" Tattletale nodded. "Thank you," I said. Non-committal. "Thank you for the support," she said. I wasn’t sure I was conveying enough of the respect I was sensing from the others. I couldn’t think of a response, wasn’t sure I wanted to say anything, in case I’d say something I didn’t want to say, or come off as ungrateful. She paused, glanced back towards the door. "I’ll see you shortly, then." "You are ======================================== SAMPLE 921 ======================================== Prostituting her? The woman doesn’t even follow me. Even worse, she probably knew or suspected that I’d gone to the cops. Her sudden advance made my thoughts dance in my head. Prostituting her? The woman is a psychopath. I have seen her make an example of three different men who had a hard time committing, all for his own twisted reasons. Two of them died. "Hey!" Lung bellowed. I raised my voice. "Stop!" No response. I was disappointed. I wanted to believe that it was one of the victims who had spoken up, but maybe it was another soldier or a police officer who had spoken up for me. I raised my voice again. "I’m not giving up!" Lung gave me a funny look. "Okay, cool. Listen. This is our show and we’re the targets you guys aim to stop. So stop saying stuff like what Alexandria said, like you have a vendetta against us. It’s not even close to true. Alexandria was giving her a favour, it was a trick she pulled, she didn’t expect it to work out, she didn’t expect us to take it, she didn’t anticipate that we’d take it and she’d leak the info." I raised my voice a little at that. It took me a second to stop, considering the words. "I don’t know what you’re talking about." "She was a prostitute, basically. According to the—what was the name? The veneer was pretty good, wasn’t it?" I looked down at the floor for a long time. "I don’t know." "Well, she was a minor, wasn’t she?" "She was." "Okay. And she was targeted, because of the lies she told? Because of the suspicion that she would go back to the Family and betray us? I get that. But it doesn’t change the fact that I fucked up, fucked up a bad guy, and I let it happen because she convinced me that she could." "I think you have a pretty fucked up sense of honor, Danny." "I think you’re an asshole." "Isn’t that callous? You, who I’d almost say is callous, who says almost casually about murdering a friend, even if it was on the spur of the moment, for no other reason than to get back at me? I can live with that." "It’s not that callous," Lung growled. "It’s that you cared even less than I did about her." "I cared about her. I cared about my people, I looked after them, I looked after the wounded. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you when you said how you needed my help, but I am sorry I didn’t listen to you when you asked for my help." "You don’t deserve any of that." "I’m callous. I’m selfish. I did what I had to do because I wanted to hurt one person, because it would be nice to get things back to the way things were, but I fucked that up. I fucked up because I’m a freak, and I did that because I’m stupid." "You are not that stupid." "But you don’t deserve any of that either." "I’m not that stupid. Or, I’m not, and I’m about to go get some brownie points from you, Doctor." "Sir?" "I need your help. I have some stuff to get rid of, and I’m not positive you’ll see to it. You should go get it before it gets back to me." "I can’t leave my territory without your permission." "Go find Persecutor, Sheriff, or the choirmaster. Help us protect these people." He ran off. I kept my eyes on the scene. The Undersiders were outside the building, and the choirmaster was taking off. Grue was back with Huntress and the girl with the flash. The former two were grabbing the clients off the street and putting them in pickup trucks. The third group was here: The drivers. My bugs formed a decoy, a copy of the helicopter decoys, and I flew it towards them. They backed the helicopter into the ground. "Grue!" I shouted. "We’ve got them!" ======================================== SAMPLE 924 ======================================== He heard a voice, female, kind words, "I know it’s late, I know it’s not the best time to talk about work, about school, but I’m worried my little brother is a little too excited to sleep, and he won’t nap at all tonight. What can I do?" "I read up on the subject, you know you could try talking to him in his sleep, I think I can give him some comfort. I know it’s late, I’m sure he would love to have some quiet for the rest of his day, maybe even before he goes to bed. Maybe one of his sisters? I know school’s late, I could do what the school’s doing and help him finish early. All I know is that it’d be late, and I’ve barely had a chance to even start, I feel like I’m getting lost in the midst of it." "Talk to me, Bonesaw, have mercy on my behalf. I don’t want my brother to go to sleep hungry, or because he fears I’m here, or because he fears he might hurt me. I want to help him, so you could sleep soundly." Bonesaw sighed, a long, slow exhale, "Mmm. That’s why I’m riding in the other car, I- I don’t know if I should drive or not. I don’t know if I should talk to you, or Brian, or Alec, or our host. I’m afraid to ask you to visit, because I’m not sure I can answer. But I wanted to say goodbye, okay? Pull up a chair and we’ll eat ramen together, after school. We can talk alone if you want. It’d be so good if you stayed over tonight. If you want to sneak out tonight, I can show you my room, we can watch movies, eat ramen and talk, and then sneak back to your room the next morning. No pressure, no obligation, no worries, just me and you alone." She kissed him on the forehead, "I’ll love you, I swear." He could see the look on their faces, the tension, the anger. Even in the back of his mind, he knew it was empty. It hadn’t been like this before. Normally, it would be excruciating. He could remember being in the hospital after his parents separated, the hours he spent bedridden and wailing in his sleep, wondering if he was going to hell for real. And while he might not have been so used to others seeing him this way, he wondered if there had been a white lie to his face, a lie telling him he was strong and able to cope despite his recent traumas. "Well," he said, settling into the chair in their living room. There was a knock at the door. "Come in," Courtney said, stepping into the room "Sorry for the accident," Aisha said, meeting his eyes. There was a trace of anger in her voice, "I didn’t realize you were awake. I got distracted." "Forgot to take the time to apologize for the adorking," he said. He sighed. "The fault is on you. I should have called earlier. Been about to come when I got the email." "I see," he said. "Lisa and I had a discussion about this earlier today. What do you think?" "I think" Aisha said, a hesitant yes. "You are so vulnerable in that way," Brian said. "I love that you have a stake in this, but there’s a huge paucity of trust here, and I’m pretty sure you don’t have a connection to the Docks that lets you walk into any bank here and make a quick getaway. The worst case scenario is that you wind up a pauper, homeless, dependent on the goodwill of strangers for everything." She didn’t have a response to that. From his tone, it wasn’t hard to guess how he would feel. "Bottomline, then," Brian stood, pulling off his backpack. There was a backpack of medical supplies, "This isn’t exactly ideal, but I’d rather have the guy than the homeless." "Right," Aisha replied, her mind racing. "So. You wanted to talk to me, then?" "I made a deal with Coil. I’ve broken that deal, and I’ve broken the terms I’ve specified. I’m going to violate the terms I stipulate ======================================== SAMPLE 927 ======================================== "I used to live here," Vantage said. "Before the city was destroyed, before Accord came. My people moved in around here. They were nice people. I don’t know if they did any serious harm. I don’t know their names, but I’ve talked to the people who lived here, and I’ve seen what their lands looked like before the city was destroyed. Before we had this mess the people were living in. Houses surrounded by fences, and I don’t know how they could have gotten that far. When the city was left, before the refugees from the city tried to move in, I asked for and got permission to use their houses for temporary shelters. I’ve since had them all to myself. I’ve had them for dinner, and I’ve been glad to have them in my apartment when I’ve been out of the city. They’re nice enough, and I’ve had them by my side, even when I’ve been doing things like stealing, but they’ve still been there for me, and they’ve stayed quiet when I’ve been doing things like abusing my power." "What’s been going on, then?" Vantage asked. "Led by Faultline. Not long after, they busted Coil for master-planning an eventful day. Massive operation, balls-up stunts, aerial gunfire, a life size replica of the Calvert statue and much, much more. Took us all day to get rolling, and even then, it was only a small fraction of a day’s work. But it was a lot of work, getting the job done, and they wanted to reward us with a day’s work." "They wanted to reward you with a day’s work," he said. Vantage nodded, his knuckles turning white as he thought of it. "And now they’re letting you walk away, and you’re carrying out their plan," Defiant said. "That’s not what they’re doing," I said. "They’re doing what they’re supposed to do," he said. I saw Dinah look at me, but didn’t say anything. "What are you thinking?" Vantage asked. "That I know you’re telling the truth," I said. "You can’t be sure?", he asked. "I couldn’t be certain. Maybe you’re an animal, and your instincts are that animal-like, but so is your curiosity. I could have run, but I held fast. Pushed on, kept my distance. It made sense to keep going, if it was the only way I could get a lead on their plans. If it didn’t work, I could give up, give up this information, but staying would be harder." "So they’re letting you walk away, because you’re a scumbag?" Vantage asked. "A bad guy. A traitor." "That’s not what I’m doing," I said. "I’m doing what I think I should do, with the information I have. I’m trying to figure out if I should betray our alliance to a villainous organization, to try to save Dinah, or if I should go after Coil and his friends, when I know I’ll probably do more harm than good. And if I decide that it’s better to trust my instincts and go after the information my gut tells me, I’m admitting I’m a liar. I’m playing along. But I’m throwing my long-term plans out the window, because I’m not going to play along with his plan and risk ruining my family’s chances with him. I’m calling everyone I know to help stop this maniac. I’m putting my life in his hands." "The family stuff? That’s more serious?" Vantage asked. "Oh, I’m dealing." "Thought so." I shrugged. My power was starting to settle into a more or less normal form. I hadn’t completely exhausted the supplies, but I was getting a sense of how things should work. One hurdle I needed to clear was the somewhat mystical connection between father and child. The underlying assumption behind the connection was that we were as much a part of the child as they were. An acknowledgement of that fact occurred every year on the last day of the year, when the new names appeared in the book. I’d decided to focus on other things that might potentially save ======================================== SAMPLE 930 ======================================== "And I think you’re completely and utterly delusional," Alexandria said. "What?" Tattletale’s voice had a funny sound to it. "What?" "I thought you’d be more worried about the fact that some jerk you don’t even know is knocking on your door than about you." "The fuck?" I could hear a tremor traveling through the air, like a trigger event. "What?" "He’s coming to rob the bank, and I know I’m not the only one who is worried about him. I know I’m not the only one that is worried about him, because you didn’t answer my question. You answered the call of the other two, by staying quiet. Complete and total cover for him." "You’re saying I should run?" Tattletale asked. "I don’t-" I broke off, before I even had a chance to think to reply. "Yeah. Definitely." "Good. So you leave him there? Like you did with Grue?" I shook my head. "I’m done with him. Enough. He’s causing problems, we can’t handle his power indefinitely. And as far as the little bird is concerned, I’ve dealt with him well enough that I’d want to come back and work a few more jobs for him." "And you’re not going to say no?" "I won’t say no. Or anything about him." "Damn it. You’re not going to hell for this?" a guy said. "The guy who invited me said yes. But there’s three more things I need to know. Make a mental note when you’re filling out your information." "I can’t always remember to write down the times he comes around." "Oh? What else?" "About the times he comes around. Keep in mind these are just rumors, thoughts. There’s no reliable way to stay safe." "Rumors," I said, my voice tamped off "But what about the times he doesn’t come?" "Those times he doesn’t come, you deal with it." I shook my head. There was a long pause. "I mean, are you up to this, Weaver? All this shit you’ve been putting on your shoulders?" "I’m dealing." "You’re failing." "I’m dealing." "Right. So you’re not sticking around because you’re afraid, or you’re afraid you’ll disappoint me, or some such. You’re staying because you’re not sure there’s any other option. But don’t go pushing things. It’s a no go." "I’m just asking because I really do like him." "Really?" Tattletale asked. She tilted her head in a funny way. "Does that mean it’s true?" "Maybe. Maybe not. You know… Bitch, you’ve said similar things about me, in the past. I’m not really the type to lie around, so I’m not sure how much of that is generalized paranoia." "I’m curious, Tattletale. You’re willing to talk to the cops?" "Maybe. Or do what I’m suggesting and talk to the cops." "Just because I don’t like you, it doesn’t mean I want to have a conversation with you." "Sure it does." I sighed a little. She shrugged. "Don’t think I don’t. I’ll be right back." I couldn’t find Tattletale on my end of the complex. I did find my way past the metal detector and into the double doors that led to the maintenance area. The double doors weren’t set to shut. There was a warden with a gun, and an officer with a gun. I had to fight to get past them. It wasn’t a long walk to the police station. That left me the option of walking half an hour's walk and coming back here, or taking the bus. I took the latter option. It meant having to stand in long, uncomfortable silence while a teenage boy I’d photographed sat in front of me, his hands clasped behind his back. "Yàngbǎn," I said. ======================================== SAMPLE 933 ======================================== He mumbled something. It might have been a plea for mercy, or maybe an order to kill. Whatever his decision, there was no time to spare. Too fast, too malleable. The storm of blades was the only real advantage he had over us. If I had to order it, I did it. The second blade in the handle caught me by the neck, pinned in place. My dad was thrown, putting him in the back of the chair. The blade on the other end was faster, sharper, and the bite of the blade was enough to force my father to use his power to remove my gag. I pulled away, scrambling to get away before one of the chairs was dragged in beneath me and one of the blades sunk deep into the back of my throat. You don’t have mercy on me. Prey 14.11 Malekith the Martian moved one hand of the sphere to strike at Rime. A simple gesture, and he was out of the fight. Malekith condensed his power into a tesla, then hit himself with it. A second later, the tesla widened again, becoming a focus for an immense blue-blue light. It tore through the surrounding area, cleaving through anything that was too tough or dense to block the beam’s route. Rime was caught in the middle of the projected path, an unfortunate casualty in the chaos. He knew what I was doing too, which meant we weren’t helpless. I set my foot on the covered patio as he approached. I could sense his shoulders, his biceps, his bicep and abs. He had the looks of someone who was adept at hiding beneath a cover and drawing their hands in when they needed to make a break for it. I raised my own hand, ready to blow as he approached, and he shrugged out of the cloak of shadows that surrounded us. I blew. I’d left my relay bugs on Mim appearing here and there in my numerous messengers. As he entered the cloud of darkness, going low and letting the mass of bugs flow out, I honed in on his shoulders, his back and chest, his shins, ankles and wrists. Realizing the situation, he was still in the twilight of his ability. One mistake, and he could die. Another would be a simple arrow to his shoulderblade. Knowing him was key, because any mistake could mean the difference between life and death. He didn’t respond. Had the bug die, sent to the wrong location. I drew more bugs into the area to bind his shins. It wouldn’t be enough. He could pull the blades free, but he couldn’t pull them open again. They remained rigid, a solid barrier. If I’d used wire, would that have stopped that? Arrows? Had the slightest of gaps in the arrowhead? The bugs became entwined with the threads, stretching them. It didn’t matter. The bugs flowed in, and the slender strands connected every bug in the area. The trap came free. Bugs clogged the crevice and hatched. I used the little threads to secure the shins of his arms and legs. Then I focused the full brunt of my power on his arms. The combination of my release, the bugs reaching the furthest point from the sphere, and the increased release pushed me away, pushed the sphere away. My weapons were available for use, but I couldn’t take a step forward without letting go of the legs. It bordered on ludicrous. Bugs? They were still biting as I used my power. Not biting, as in… my mouth was dry, and that extended my ability’s range! I could fight. I could apply pressure, use my own strength to move my legs in response. Nothing. It was crawling with vermin. A narrow, deceptive sort of cunning. The stupid thing had chosen this as its mode of attack. This was prepared as a kind of special attack, purposeful. It would be ready for case two thirteen, for any of the presences that were supposed to appear at various spots around the city. For this trap to sprout up in the middle of the night, in the middle of the day, in the middle of any given fight, like the one that had just killed Alexandria… I’d have to deal with these guys somehow. I turned my attention to the sphere. If I could hack it open, catch this pair in the act, stop them, stop them from getting any more captives, maybe I could even get the AI to cooperate. I had to be flexible. There was no way to stop this without risking that they were ======================================== SAMPLE 936 ======================================== "Careful!’ I looked around, searching for anyone that might know what to do about the woman, or my dad. A crunching noise caught my attention. The bugs I’d gathered on the walls began to fall apart. "It’s coming." I could feel the tension in the room regain. There was a freshness to the breeze that suggested the warmth was reawakeninging. "Come on," I whispered. "Sky high." I could see the others react to that. Grue looked at me, and his grimace made me feel like I’d just been punched in the gut. Rachel was just staring at the airborne insects. It was Tattletale who reacted most to my voice. "I think it’s too soon to be doing what we’re doing. No. We should get medical help. Right now, what we need to do is hold off." I nodded, mute. "Maybe we shouldn’t do that," Tattletale said. "You do good work, showing some ability to hold your own." "And I’ve done some of it. Far too many have died, and a few are left that we don’t know how or why." "Because of poor choice or because they were confused," she said. "There’s been jerks, bloody fuckwads, who shouldn’t have been able to make contact with us in the first place. That’s not a huge problem, and it’s small, in the grand scheme of things." "But this woman? She’s not acting confident, and that bugs me. It’s a pain to have to take my hands off her, but we can’t afford to keep doing that." "You keep doing that. It’s why we’re so far behind. So many of us are behind. We need to take three or four days to get everything packed up and set up. Then we dispatch the Merchants, on the twenty-fourth. It doesn’t need to be dramatic, and I don’t want to nudge them into any rash action. We take the high road, doesn’t need to get blood spilled." I nodded. I was willing to restate the truth: It was exhausting, especially on top of the countless other crises that were occurring around us. Fuck this. Fuck them. "Okay," Tattletale said. "That’s better." "Then we need to talk about what we’re going to do," I said. "Pick someone," she said. "Someone who isn’t a cape." "Too much risk," I murmured. "I got a taste of that risk when I passed the test. Fought the Slaughterhouse Nine, Lung, Praetorian, Carver… and they were there because I’d given them food, shelter and a reason to stay, not because I was slandering them in front of the cameras. That’s one problem we’re going to have, one obstacle on the road to eliminating them. Another is that of expectations. Even the most basic tasks seem to take some time to accomplish, when you consider the size of the group and the number of people involved. Things take longer with groups larger than we are." "I was thinking I was a bigger problem than just the group as a whole," I said. I looked at the others, "Imp is involved with us, and as much as I like and respect Taylor, I feel like I could be more involved with Grue or Regent. I’ve made a decision, and it’s not been a hard one to make, but I’m letting her know that I’m going to step down at some point, and I’ll be looking for a job as a dishwasher or waitress at some point in the future. I’m hoping that, with the way we’re spending most of our time on the farm, I can minimize the chances that someone contacts me about a job." Tattletale, with one hand on the wrist of her other hand, shrugged, "I can’t promise I’d be available to work the second I got work, but maybe I could save you the effort by not keeping you in the dark about my intentions." "I know," I said. "As far as this trip, I wanted to make sure you had my back. I talked to my dad, and he was willing to give you a bit of a boost in your road to recovery. I think you’ll thank me for it." She pulled off the sweats ======================================== SAMPLE 939 ======================================== I couldn’t look Taylor in the eyes as I spoke to her, "I’m sorry." "You’re not the one I’d tell to avoid conflict. You’re the one I’d tell to trust your teammate, not my dad." I was trying to be civil and just as I would with any other colleague, I tried to engage with her by asking about the trip. "The trip? I don’t know if I mentioned it, but I got a surprise visit from Miss Militia yesterday." "How did she?" "She came by to check that everything was okay outside, and I opened up the channel so she could watch." "And she showed up in my basement," I said. "Close to the spot where she dropped you off," Tattletale said. I nodded. I wasn’t surprised, but it was a surprise. "So I was in the middle of putting the finishing touches on my armor when it started to fall apart," I said. "And she popped in and out of my workspace, comes here, and leaves a message." "Last we checked," Tecton said, "she wasn’t here long." "Damn," I said. I looked at the TV. It still went dark. "We’ll find her," Tattletale said. "Don’t worry. Alexandria is on the line, so calls her and asks her to come by again, tonight." "You said she doesn’t talk," Alexandria said, without even glancing up from the computer. "She’s talking to herself," Tattletale said. "She’s in the middle of rewriting her computer program. Shtunsing and encrypting the data. Transcribing and archiving information until it is all needed. This is what she discussed during her visit to Brockton Bay. Assuming she sees the data, the entire thing only began as a way to get back to normal, and now it blossoms into what it is." "Why isn’t she more angry?" Wanton asked. "She should be," Tattletale said. "She is what she is, isn’t she? I don’t envy her." Alexandria stood from her chair. She was nearly out of her seat at the last second, and her power alerted the entire room. Weld, Foil, Kid Win and the PRT uniforms all turned their attention to her. "Don’t," Tattletale said. She stood from her seat. "My power tells me you didn’t hit any of them. Except maybe the Wards, which is a bit fucked up. You couldn’t have given any of them a reason to worry, here, and they aren’t in a position to run. The Undersiders don’t have any of Shatterbird’s assets, they’re too loose, and the dogs aren’t trained to bite." "I wasn’t even trying to hurt them," Tattletale said. "This situation is bad," Alexandria said. "The guy who’s biting people is going to cause a lot of trouble, and we don’t have any actual resistance." "You failed," Tattletale said. "Weld’s pissed, but that’s not important right now. I’m trying to tell you that despite the fact that he probably thinks you’re badasses, and the things you say, he’s going to tell a fifteen year old girl and a ninety year old man alike. I don’t trust my ability to get this over with, without a good reason, and you’re not the type to put reasons before self-preservation, so I’m going to suggest you guys go get the ambulance and get someone else hurt. You will each get a different amount of care, as long as you show up. That’s the only thing I can recommend." There were nods all around. "Sit tight," I told the men. "See if the girl gets better, maybe the paramedic here. If not, we get them help, and you get in the way. So many fucking stupid, dangerous guys, and you can’t fucking tell the difference between the two?" There were nods, agreement. "I’ll be back," I mumbled into my mask. I made my way to the ambulance, pulling on my mask as I did so, and then left the elevator behind. I was still in the elevator when I came to a stop at the lowest point of the stairwell ======================================== SAMPLE 942 ======================================== "If it means keeping her company, I’ll be damned if I don’t go for it." "My turn?" She grinned, taking his hand. They walked down the hallway, stopped at the end of a short set of double doors. Each marked the entry point to a smaller sub-set of the same building. The storefront was open, and the only people inside were a heavyset woman who wore a black suit and heavy metal boots, and a man who stood only a little taller than she does. "Mr. Hebert." She gave him a dirty look, "Mr. Cauldron." "Oh, it’s wonderful, it’s wonderful," he replied, smiling. He has to be smiling more than he’s going through this. Emma’s staring at him, and he can’t see her face, but he can see the tension gone out of her body language, the way she’s tensed, as if there’s a cloud of gray around her. The smile that appeared on his face, however, was fake. It was only like that, genuine, heart and soul, giving him that ethereal quality. She gave him another dirty look, "I would pay twice over for that kind of security." "Alone?" "Yes." "How secure?" He shrugged, "Totally secure. Fully paid for. I have no neighbors, I have zero customers, and I’ve got this roof over this lot, which is handy. It took me a year to get it up and running, but it’s now a lot easier." She didn’t reply. She watched him as he got the items in his hands, checked the traps on the shelves to ensure that there weren’t any left over from the meals he ate as a boy. Emma felt a pang of sympathy for Cody. He went through every pair of parents in the neighborhood and measured the trees in their yards. He had their photo taken for him when he was done. If he was even there, they’d have his photo too. He’d take terrible care of the children, but he’d take extreme care of the mother. Why? Why inflict that kind of trauma on a child when she was so young? The incident itself would erase any memory the child had of such things. She suspected, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what had driven her to the situation. Perhaps she saw herself as the daughter of a trap, but her mind wasn’t programmed to hold back. Any excuse would be free to slip through her mind’s eye, as if she wasn’t even there. Another possibility was that the situation was scripted, and she simply wasn’t aware of it, and the events portrayed were an illusion or a clairvoyance that was playing tricks on her. Emma had been given powers that let her see the trap that was at the core of the city. She’d read about it in magazines and websites, and she’d believed her powers were playing a role, but it was only a theory. Now that she had them, she was put in a dangerous situation where she had to decide if she wanted to heed the calls to action she’d heard and choose between stopping the man who’d made the trap or saving her mom. "Stop," she ordered. The man stopped, struggling. He was still bludgeoned across the back of the head. "Target’s a woman, we’re going to-" "Get the woman away from the area before we move," the sergeant reported. "Get the backup we can’t leave behind. Fight through." Mannequin stopped, his shoulders arching, as if in slow motion, as if he was about to collapse to the ground, in hopes of getting his head free of the armor. "-Get the woman out of the way," the sergeant spoke. "Wards, support your teammates, or help in any other areas." "Okay," the word was a dead giveaway. Something else along those lines might have done the trick. Another dispatch from the PRT chopper told them that the woman was still in the area. She was pointing the loaded gun at them. "Medic!" Weld shouted, "Regroup!" Another dispatch from the chopper spoke of a second woman with the same gun. She pointed her brother before she disappeared into a ripped wall. The brother disappeared as well. The second man had gone through, um, the same doorway in the wall. The sergeant spoke, "That was smart." "What if we ======================================== SAMPLE 945 ======================================== "It’s not pretty." "Yeah. There’s a lot of ugliness in the world, Taylor. A lot of ugliness in us. But we’re stout. We stand tall. We win. And we set an example. So while others may be falling apart, I’m confident I can’t." "I don’t necessarily want to change things, if I can’t work with them." "Then that’s a good question to ask yourself," Grue said. "Do you truly believe that, seven years from now, you’ll be as strong as you are now? That you’ll be as confident? I strongly advise you to find the words and stop worrying so much about what others may think. They may not like it, but it’ll make you better in the long run." "Um," Charlotte said. "Never mind," he said. "I’ve already informed them of the situation. Tattletale has her hands full with her family and friends, and I’m certain she’ll leave them alone." Charlotte frowned. "Be good. Be good," he murmured. She didn’t respond, and he couldn’t read her expression. She was looking at me. I looked at him, in turn. I felt like I was looking into a mirror, and I was seeing myself in a different light. My face was covered in something that looked like dirt, and I had that nowapsque knot of fuzz growing all over my cheekbones and forehead. The long hair that hid the rest of my body was dished away and thrown away to hide the most distinctive features. I liked to think I had what it took to be a guy who went out in costume. There were other noticeable changes. My body was different from the one that had been on display at the PRT offices. I was wearing a shirt, and the fabric that dangled from my ribcage had been carefully cut so that it hung low, not exposing my core musculature. I had implants implanted into my pelvis, which adjusted the adjustments so the implants didn’t pinch or pinch so much. I had come in favor, and I’d received some very special dispensation to wear the costume beneath. I looked like a nineteen year old boy, briefly. The other Skitter, taller and broader, had been caught up in a shouting match with a more repressed Audra crowd. She’d been stomping on some PRT supplies, and a very noticeable number of people had backed up to keep her from getting to her feet. Now they stood around her, waiting for her to get aroused and start fighting. People were picking their way through supply lines, piling onto trucks and moving into warehouses. The Skitter had used her power, and the disruption had delayed the evacuation of the building. Grue had asked that I be seen and not include them in the group. How was I supposed to get an accurate picture if I couldn’t see what was going on? He had taken the time to look at me. What could I do? I had three choices. I could call the battle ready, something along the lines of, I’m going to need a smoke, we should mobilize now. I could lay down the law, which would be to Stevens’ sakes, and give him the day-to-day management of things. Or I could go all out. I chose the third, and I pointed the knife at the one who got the brunt of it. A chain link fence of razor wire sprung up like a tower of razor wire, surrounding the building, lashing it to the ground. In another minute, the ground was sloping downward, a gentle slope. When it was high enough, I used my power, drawing the dotted line to a point higher up, sawing at the metal, freeing the metal of the hold it had on the wire. Once it was free, I adjusted the angle of the fence, snapping it into place. Fences are the best thing in the end. Providing you have a measure of security, more going to a place where there is no shortage. I set the finishing touches on the outside, then two square footage fences, and piled concrete barriers, segregating the construction workers from the general population. There was a rumble as the bulldozer pulled into position. The workers were already splitting up to go into the construction zones, far enough away that the rumble wouldn’t have a significant effect. I watched the military van that would be taking them to the bus stop, readying them. As the military van pulled into the stop, I sent a ======================================== SAMPLE 948 ======================================== It was an hour before we were due. I sensed our passenger making their way downstairs, letting the others know they had some time before they had to get ready. I reached into my utility compartment for my smartphone, and I had a watch face that was red, the heart-rate monitor pulsing in the background. The red wire of my phone illuminated, and I could see the updates from my equipment. The Protectorate were in the boardwalk, we’d just been down there, and the Brockton Bay news was trickling in. It was the latest piece of bad news: The local Wards team had been wiped out, Brockton Bay had surrendered. That had been confirmed a couple of hours ago, but things were just pouring out of the blue. My phone showed the hours it had taken to verify the story and tally the damage. Two and a half hours since the last time I’d logged onto the property and attempted to access the BOINC servers. That was primary concern, the intrusion being what had happened to the PRT. But what had Brian even been concerned about? Logging onto the property and attempting to access the BOINC server? It wasn’t like he had any reason to be on the property, if he wasn’t working or at his workplace. I felt distracted as I skimmed the web for relevant articles and places. The lunchroom, it seemed, had been modified to make room for a small booth and computers, and computers were apparently a theme for the heroes of Brockton Bay. There was a message board called ‘Help!’ and sidebar posts related to the paraphernalia the Slaughterhouse Nine had brought, many of which were out of phase with the rest of the content. The layout was similar to the computer ‘chill’ forum I had logs logged onto earlier that day, with many topics and discussions in black forums with neutral or nearly-neutral chat groups. My phone beeped and I checked to see what was going on. Grue was outside, but Bitch, Ballistic and Sirius were inside. That meant certain members of the Undersiders were in the building. My asscheek looked like the leader of a small group of young villains called the Irregulars – a portmanteau of the names� that meant ‘out of my range’ and ‘in the wrong place’. I could see her on the pictures on the picture gallery. The guy was an overweight woman with a burly build, greasy hair and a ponytail. He was talking to a girl in the group. The girl was pretending to take a dump. "Did you find anyone?" I asked. "Nah," Bitch said. "Helpful," Tattletale relieved me, "Now that we’ve eliminated the 10%-ish groups, I’m gonna do the rest of you a favor and kick up a fuss over how you’re handling the introductions. Tune in to the morning shows, feed the web info to the feeds and such, it’ll help sell the news." "I’ll do it," I told her. "Cool," she answered. It was midnight. The girls were all dressed in their finest costumes, Bitch’s store was open and the people who were staying there were leaving to go home. Nobody came into the mall to say hi to me. Nobody came to visit me in prison, or even visit me now that I wasn’t chained up and in their custody. I felt a pang of envy. I was getting a chance to do what I wanted, whether that be dressing up as Miss Militia, making sure Armsmaster got the food he needed or talking to the girls who’d invited me to their locker. It was like a big ol puppy for all of us involved. I supposed that was how it should be. Not everyone was up for the step up, including Armsmaster. I’d accomplished what I wanted to do, even if I wasn’t the person to go to when people wanted me to. Except I’d said or done things that were a little hard for some of you reading this to swallow, and I’d come to exercise my authority with some of your enemies now cowering behind me. It was a grand, grand gesture. Maybe I should have stuck to getting the answers out of Armsmaster. When I’d gotten that far, I should’ve stayed out of the way. If I’d stuck around and talked to the girl who’d invited me to the mall, I could have spoiled that delightful little gem that was the movie ‘Maggie’. When people had come calling, I had been forced to organize a retreat, but I’d ======================================== SAMPLE 951 ======================================== Wehrmacht General Kurt Graf, second from right, with his wife Brigitte and their three children, left to right, participate in a gun training class. Note the placement of the .50 caliber machine gun in the left hand child’s hands. (Note: Graf was quoted as saying, "I prefer rifles, but I can live with that. I just like the convenience of having a gun in my hand at all times.") Kurt Graf, second from right, with his wife Brigitte and their three children, left to right, participate in a gun training class. Note the placement of the .50 caliber machine gun in the left hand child’s hands. (Note: Graf was quoted as saying, "I prefer rifles, but I can live with that. I just like the convenience of having a gun in my hand at all times.") Annex and his family attend a training class. (Note: In an interview with the PRT update, Dr. Wysocki talks about the importance of training firearms for self-defense.) Annex and his family attend a training class. (Note: In an interview with the PRT update, Dr. Wysocki talks about the importance of training firearms for self-defense.) window._taboola = window._taboola || []; _taboola.push({ mode: 'thumbnails-c', container: 'taboola-interstitial-gallery-thumbnails-5', placement: 'Interstitial Gallery Thumbnails 5', target_type: 'mix' }); window._taboola = window._taboola || []; _taboola.push({ mode: 'thumbnails-c', container: 'taboola-interstitial-gallery-thumbnails-7', placement: 'Interstitial Gallery Thumbnails 7', target_type: 'mix' }); window._taboola = window._taboola || []; _taboola.push({ mode: 'thumbnails-c', container: 'taboola-interstitial-gallery-thumbnails-8', placement: 'Interstitial Gallery Thumbnails 8', target_type: 'mix' }); Photo: Tristan Borgman / Special To The Chronicle Image 1 of / 9 Caption Close Image 2 of 9 Police stand guard as ambulances and fire trucks from the scene arrive on the scene. Police stand guard as ambulances and fire trucks from the scene arrive on the scene. Photo: CARLOS OSORIO / AFP / Getty Images Image 3 of 9 A police officer swears at a woman who was taking pictures of the scene. A police officer swears at a woman who was taking pictures of the scene. Photo: JOE KANE / AFP / Getty Images Image 4 of 9 A mounted police officer looks at a cordon of police tape, a half-ruined building and partially demolished building, shown here in a blurred shape with a high destruction area shown in black. A mounted police officer looks at a cordon of police tape, a half-ruined building and partially demolished building, shown here in a blurry shape with a high destruction area shown in black. Photo: JOE KANE / AFP / Getty Images Image 5 of 9 Image 6 of 9 A piece of rubble lies in a fallout from the nuclear detonation in Brockton Bay, Canada. A piece of rubble lies in a fallout from the nuclear detonation in Brockton Bay, Canada. Image 7 of 9 A man looks through a window in an apartment building, March 24th, 2011. A man walks through an apartment building, March 24th, 2011. Image 8 of 9 A nuclear detonation in Brockton Bay, Canada. Emilie Vallée, a 20-something college student, was walking home from shopping with her brother, Anthony, when she noticed a flash of orange light. "That was bomb?" she asked. "No, that was the power," Anthony replied, "I take it out." "What do you think it is?" "A bomb," she said, "And it’s not going to stay off. I think it’s getting to a point where it’s starting to affect my body. I feel sick. I think of you as my brother, or something like you. I don’t know what to do. I- I can’t really say what to feel. Like the feelings are still raw, but I’m feeling like I should be close to you. Like I should be your sister or something. I think I should tell you that we’ve been through what you’ve been going through, and we’ve got our dark threads already winding through us, over and over again. It’s not like we didn’t go through those threads ourselves, just in a controlled way. We can’t shed them as easily." "I don’t know what to say, really," I said. I hated that the stupid word had even crossed my mind. "It’s not like we weren ======================================== SAMPLE 954 ======================================== Where the fuck do we go?" I asked. "Back to the drawing board," Grue said. "We could talk in the living room," I said. "I’ve got a bit of a thing for older women, and older men. Add that up, and you have a match. I’m tall, thin, and I’ve got that bottle of wine in the cup holder. Maybe you could even see a resemblance." "You’re a bit of a character," Grue said, "Extended hugs." I shook my head. Spring was good, but Grue had demanded I wear my costume under the fur. I settled for putting my arm through his side, and leaning my back against his shoulder. Maybe that was old hat, but I didn’t want to look him in the eyes. "I could do the same," I said. "Forfeit, I get it, okay, a hug." "A kiss?" I contemplated for a moment. "No. Don’t know how much trust I’m establishing with you, with this being your territory. If you’re willing to go that route, I could do it." "I’m not sure I can pull off the costume with the fur," Brian said. "Is it flexible? Or is it too restrictive?" "I could modify it," I said, "Put it on less stuff. It’s flexible enough already." "So you can just stand there, a bit of a douche, shaking your tiny fists at me while I get ready to hug your corpse." I glanced at Brian. He was looking at Revel, and I saw that he was smiling. That distracted me greatly. I was in the middle of trying to figure out how to respond when Brian changed tack. "Not so fast," he said. "I’m not so sure this is the route we should take." "Terror act," Brian added. "I’m more worried about Mark than about that," I said. Mark was watching us carefully, now. Terror act, D- I changed the subject, saying, "We’ve got an incoming call, and it’s critical that we get this off to a Good Order. Taylor, call my cell phone and let me know what the call is." Brian nodded, "She’s at our headquarters, nearby. We’ll be following up on the leads you provided. Keep in mind, this is critical: we’re on the phone with Hookwolf’s contingent, and if we don’t pick up, one of two things are going to happen. Either Jack’s going to come to investigate, or he’s going to come to arrest us." "You’re talking about arresting us for treason," Mark said. I didn’t have a response to that. It was too early in the day, though I was sure I would have made myself more clear if I’d had more information to work with. "Grue is expected to arrive soon, if he isn’t already, and he and Panacea will be moving into the same area where the Wards and Undersiders are. This is where they are, according to Tattletale, and it will be the safest place if you’re arrested. You’ll have an ambulance or a doctor accompanying you if you take the shortcut. In the past, case fifty-threes have avoided hospitals because it was difficult to verify they were alive. They might avoid police or guard service as well, for fear that they would be forcibly removed. You’ll want to have a watch on the streets in case they mug you, which won’t be impossible, but we can minimize the damage." "You’re talking hypothetical," Brian said. "We’ve talked about this in-depth. The hard truth is that hard choices have a way of weighing on us like a heavy cloud. The future is murkier, but we can minimize the damage if and when we make the call. For now, let’s say we wind up at your location. I’ll talk to my superior, see if we can squeeze something out of him. If not, we’ll find others with experience doing what we’re trying to do." "For starters, how do you intend to get there?" "We already have a map. Grue has his bugs on the roof. If you don’t move fast enough, they’ll finish you off." "I’ll see to it." It was another minute before Brian found me and nud ======================================== SAMPLE 957 ======================================== Quick response mode. She and Hurley could hear the different processors in the fortress, they were aware of the armbands and the helicopters, and they were using those to help. Just enough to get a hold on things. "Weaver, we’re going to have to make a call. The tower is tall, Irregulars, Irregulars!" "Run," Vista said. "Blake’s waiting." Foil fired her gun, then rushed back into the fray. Parian couldn’t really process the details. The alternate-Earth Taylor had mentioned? That had been some sort of power. Keeping other things disconnected, above ground, out of the way. But her team was winning, keeping the Fortress City better than by the time the Normandy arrived. Three of them were dead or dying, and the fourth was injured. Nobody on the ground was safe. The civilians that were in the vicinity, Brockton Bay among them, were among the strongest, most durable. She couldn’t field command. Not the Noelle of a generation or two ago. Not the one who would be Taylor. The Normandy landed, and the screaming stopped. There was only the screaming in its wake. -x- Interlude 16 "Scouting assignment, Weaver. Check all containable areas. Also, note the locked doors at the far ends of the streets. These are guarded, with the BPRT’s powers." "I’m good," the woman spoke, apparently unfazed by the storm of emotions that were welling up inside her. Chances were good she’d died before the words left her mouth. There wasn’t anything that would guarantee that, but there was one thing she did know, one thing she tried to do every day. She’d never miss a class. "Wearing black," the student said, as the professor beside her typed on a keyboard. Black and crimson, as if both colors were symbolic of blood and death. "Yes ma’am. Black and crimson because it means girl trouble, for both her and us. Quite a few of us went to the bathroom together, we have many more who aren’t so likable, aren’t so interesting, aren’t so interesting because of their powers. Because of that, we have a lot of enemies. Many of our enemies are quite vicious, and some of us went to the bathroom together, yes. Others are more on the ball, and we’ve gotten intel on them. This is how they operate, I imagine?" The student shook her head. "Not all of us. I’m sure I haven’t made a mistake, and I won’t be making any when I walk into the school. That said, there’s bound to be a few people here who wind up being a little worse than their names suggest. I’m sure I don’t lose much sleep over the idea that I might not make it out of this building alive, after killing one of you." "If I may?" "Don’t act like I’m even talking to you." "I am. So am I. But I’m talking to you because I’m wanting to get inside this building, to hear what you have to say, and to maybe pass on words of wisdom to others. I don’t think I’m doing myself any favors by trying to listen in to your every word, so I’ll keep this short. First off, I don’t think I need to hear what you said to get my thoughts in order. That’s not important. What I’m talking about first is the situation. Do you know what the other heroes and villains are doing?" "None do. I could tell you what they went through, what they experienced, if it would give me a moment to get my thoughts in order, but I don’t think it would change the outcome of the fight." There was a long pause. "Do you know what the hero and villain are thinking, Weaver? I would say yes. But I don’t think it can be helped. They’re losing. It’s very possible they’ll never regain the footing they had when the Endbringer arrived. They’re floundering, fighting the same battles they’ve been fighting for months or years. There’s no point trying to ride that tidal wave of losing to an enemy that can’t be beaten, unless you want to make it a permanent thing?" "I don’t know," the woman said. ======================================== SAMPLE 960 ======================================== Gut feeling like trash in the most taboo thing I’ve ever done. "Let’s play dirty," he said. "In truth, I’ve had cases like this, where I need to look someone in the eye and I can’t get enough bugs in them to know what they’re thinking, and this will give me the opportunity to…" He lowered his voice. "Tell me truth." I shifted positions, my elbows on my knees, both of my eyes on the ground, my mouth hidden in my reach, and the bugs making their way into my nasal passages. I needed to scratch occasionally, to nibble, to scratch for inches and inches around my face and hands, under my eyes, the position and direction of my jaw, my temples, my hair and the fabric of my costume. The bugs continued to flow through the open wound, making it worse. It didn’t help, but it was an option. I could maybe take the time I needed to repair my power, get ready for a future where I didn’t have my bugs nosing around my eyes, my mouth, my ears… but right now, I didn’t want to risk having those bugs enter my nasal cavity or my mouth. I shifted position, and the bugs flowed from beneath my costume, giving me a view of my handiwork on every monitor, both television and monitor. I could see the dials of the TV changed to show the more favorable image, could hear the music blaring, could see the dials of the monitor shifted down a fraction. I was back in the dark capsule just long enough to flash the emergency lights back to the beginning. I could only hope the technicians would take better notes. To write down what I’d found out in one instant’s darkness. "Every bug in this area that is not part of Rosary’s swarm was destroyed or rendered unable to move by the explosion," the male voice said. "Some, yes. But many died or were rendered comatose shortly after the capsule destroyed the capsule. The remains of the parasitical fellas who were playing possum for a place in her clutches were my to look at. I’minstructing Doctor Mother in how to best handle it." "I’ll endeavor to have that done by the close of the day," the male voice said. "If you wish me to send you a body, that is, a naturally generated being that is both like a human being and part of a living thing." I stared at the monitor. Plummeting into existence almost immediately, the mass of bugs that had been inside the speaker’s body dropped to the ground. I did what I could to catch them in the narrow confines of my power, drawing them to myself as easily as I might have with an oversize doll. "Weld." I could feel my heart skip a beat at the mental image of me standing in front of the large, bulky box of blades. "Wards. I’m familiar with the model three containment foam?" "It’s similar to the one that was used against Leviathan, but it’s specifically formulated to be as nonlethal as possible. It’s not amphibious, so it’s not designed to be thrown, and it’s not designed to be cut with a kitchen knife or an awl. It’s supposed to melt through any material or person that gets too close. The actual mechanism is a controlled explosive detonation in the moment the capsule is opened." "A burn will kill most of the bugs I’m supposed to be working on?" I asked, trying not to show how frustrated I was. "The airplane stuff?" "No. This is easier. The blocks are insulated, and I’ve figured out a way to melt most of the steel reinforcement around the capsule in a way that the fire won’t be able to penetrate. Besides, the handle will do. With a little work, I’ve melted most of the content within." "So it can’t be lethal," I said. "It isn’t supposed to be cut with a saw," he said. "Except maybe for the insulation, or engraved." "Soil?" "Soil? Soil mottled brown with white specks of microscopic life. Soil under and around pipes, perhaps." "I can live with that," I said. I glanced at the huge box of implants I was setting aside. "Someone could use my equipment to break into that." "I could manage it. I’ve got the personnel." "But you won’t." "I ======================================== SAMPLE 963 ======================================== She didn’t die. I couldn’t say for sure how she would’ve died, but with the other heroes not having powers that slowed them down as much as they should have, she didn’t get crumpled up in a heap on the ground. She somehow got kept afloat. Bitch and I were left to wonder how the fuck that had played out. How much damage had Behemoth done? I was a good distance away, and my range wasn’t that long. But I could feel the shaking, the noise, the stutter, the blood that was spitting out of the wound. The heroes were getting injured, and it was spreading like a weed had. Heroes were being crushed, blinded, crushed, bound, and some were suffering worse injuries than I was, thanks to the fact that the radius of damage was smaller with every passing second. How long had Behemoth been there? My bugs were also giving me eyes to follow Behemoth’s remaining body. I knew him to be roughly five or six feet tall, with a vaguely human shape to his chest and head. There was no jaw to be seen, only a vague bone shelf behind the head. He had no ears, no nose, and his mouth was mere inches from Behemoth’s own exposed brain. I knew that his mouth must have been wide enough to accept a person, because I had the wisest person in the ring: Kid Win. As I got closer, I realized that his mouth must have a mouth opening a mere forty-five feet from his face. A cape I had been watching had died, too. The swarm, bugs and a full fledged swarm of clones around Shadow Stalker drew closer, too. I could feel them reacting, scrambling to adjust their position, shelling out tinker-made lasers or attempting to engulf Behemoth in a singular shell of their own volition. This is why I can’t be the one to kick his ass, I thought. I moved the swarm to surround him, and the capes who were closer to him were the ones who did the most damage. We need to get closer, then cannon it down. The cape with the lasers took this opportunity to pound Behemoth into the nearby buildings. Not one or two seconds later, he launched another laser at Behemoth through the earth. The laser intersected Behemoth’s head, and shattered it. The cape firing the lasers asked, "What are we doing?" "The Endbringer’s dormant," Kid Win spoke, "Let’s get that fact checked out first." "Fact checking? You’re in Brockton Bay, right?" "Nope," Kid Win replied. A minute passed, as we gaped at the display screen, still trying to parse what Kid Win was saying. Then it hit me. The Simurgh had trained her wings to follow a path. She’d required a cue, an information packet to give. A hull breach. A cue that would let her navigate around gaps in the barrier. In the blink of an eye, as she had come to a complete stop, she had changed direction, right through a pane of glass, moving right along the cracked, bleeding wall that had once been the staircase. I was still lost in the scenery. Images started appearing in my head. I’d seen what had happened to Rachel, and I knew that the Simurgh had, in turn, suffered a hull breach. There was no way I was going to be able to see in that damned dark, bloody alley. He had to have gotten his hands on some kind of lifeform, somewhere on the planet. No, it wasn’t an intelligent lifeform. It wasn’t even a viable one. Just the opposite. Two different faces, two different velocities. The wings folded around him. Around him, there was a gray mist. A spasm of what might have been plasma or white smoke, depending on how it filtered through the intervening gaps. An attack, and the blast knocked him flat. Behemoth stumbled, threw himself into the mist, trying to obscure his movements with another cape’s power. The vapor reached him first, and his power did something with it. It curled, twisting around him. He could feel it, but couldn’t feel it himself. Was dead material swapped for living material? Or had the live material been damaged and no longer edible? He could feel the wind as it passed through the smoke, could hear it as it died on the most mundane of levels. His ears could hear the explosions, up until the moment that dust swallowed him and he dropped into a sitting position. He tried to make ======================================== SAMPLE 966 ======================================== New victims for Liu "What?" I could hear a male voice in the distance, cyborg-lite. "Faggot," a woman’s voice said, from nearby. Liu Bei was distracted at that point. He didn’t shoot, and he didn’t run. Instead, he picked a large corner and stepped inside without taking the side of the offending party. He wasn’t a hundred percent visible, but you could tell he’d gone through some gear. A double-thick layer of skin, in dark cobalt blue metal. He was very still as he stepped inside. The only sounds were the voices that were echoing from within his darkness, and the movement within his darkness around him. His power was getting weaker, the range of motion getting smaller. By the time his hand found its anchor, his hand wouldn’t be able to twist its neck anymore. That would be the point he broke apart. What was the point of his transformation? The change from a facsimile of Leviathan’s ‘face’ to an extension of his own arm? Had he gone mad? No. It felt too commonsensical. But even picking one member of his swarm as an anchor didn’t strike me as a good idea. It wasn’t that he wasn’t scary if large: every thug that came after him had a similar physical make, dark color, and a bad accent. But his avatars had the same general appearance, and each had a radically different mindset. Headquarters was a large building, reinforced concrete veneer, and tall concrete pillars, backed by steel girders. Up near the roof, the hallways were divided into three equal squares. The central area was heavily stained mahogany, with rich green and dark red hues. The roof was a simple forcefield, with pipes feeding it in a third. Steeple to steeper inclines, winding around corners and down into doorways. I came across as the proles with the hive sitting atop of their father’s business. The leaders of the local gangs sat or stood around me, and countless others were concealed within the building. Proportionate numbers, sure, but it was a target that had been set for me. Hive, me? My dad had been one. I gathered my bugs, and I used the – upon seeing me – rather than directing them at him. Separate sub-teams for each of the new capes I’d added to my swarm, based on perceived social rank and skill. It was a strategy that had paid off in the end, getting me and a handful of my bugs into the building. The main hall had been revamped, and the cleanup was going well. More bugs flowed in, and the white of the hive-clones’s glowing orbs blinded the defenders. Dragon’s jousting set-up traded blows with the – on the far end of the building – an orb-gauntlet-thing that could shrink the terrain to the point of being comfortably reachable. The fight was still ongoing, but it looked like the two groups were losing nonetheless. My bugs gave me a sense of the enemy’s ranks. There were a number of rookies with barely-over a month to train who were at the battle’s midway point. Some were getting enough ground covered that they could slip away, putting themselves in the enemy’s reach with a timely attack. Others were barely able to move, relying on an attack or two to put them above the other side’s kill aura. Nix, the newest member, had set herself apart from the pack and was doing it with ease. Another addition to my swarm, another detail I could use to put Hydra on the defensive and buy me a window of opportunity. The fight was ongoing. At least, it had been throughout the entire fight. I couldn’t see the villains, but I could see them growing in size and imbalances. There were more mutant clones of common criminals, who were being bred out, because they weren’t efficient. Organically, they were clustering, clustering in tighter groups. And on the battlefield, I could see the toll it was taking. The fight hadn’t been easy, but it was taking turns, and it wasn’t serving the interests of the people who were being hurt and killed by the masses of common clones. I needed to be on the battlefield, looking for opportunities, pushing my way through the pieces. If I waited, I’d miss my opportunity, do the same thing over and over, and lose my mind before I found what I was looking for. Iьd have to be on the battlefield, ======================================== SAMPLE 969 ======================================== Tecton and Hoyden moved past the window, and I caught a glimpse of the heroes before we were even in the doorway. Artificery was on the rise, both Golem and Hoyden’s. Chevalier was a pillar, Golem’s metal hand emerging from the ground to rest on the ground. Flags were flying at half mast, a gesture both artistic and pragmatic. Cuff was stooped over, using her power to shield herself against the attacks of the flying heroes. Clockblocker had fallen. I could see how he’d taken out Hoyden’s apparatus, and how his body had folded in on himself to conserve fuel. Lady Photon was taking on the largest form, the ‘sun’. This entity was defending the city, defending the flag-bearing citizens of Brockton Bay. They weren’t doing anything more dangerous than battling the Nine. They weren’t, unfortunately, members of the Protectorate. They were wards and undercover agents. Lady Photon wasn’t holding back. Her forcefield was rapidly shrinking, the same forcefield that had held Brightwater up. An apparatus was burning through the edges of the field she was trying to raise. The process was slow. She threw herself back to the other side of the forcefield, tried to raise herself to the roof, only to find that the forcefield was absorbing the fall rather than raising her, skewing her into a sharp angle. She hit the ground, knees colliding with the ground, and folded. A diagonal, out-and-back movement as she used her power against her. It wouldn’t defend against a direct hit, but the process would be quick. Sharp, precise, and likely to fracture one’s skull. She tried to stand, only to find the same forcefield that had absorbed the fall was erecting over her again. This would be a bi-polar fusion, the female half of the affair drawing on the strength of the male half to raise the female half. The defensive effect would falter in the worst case scenario, but the phenomenon would be clear. A half-dozen containment foam-sprays were lobbed her way, each aimed at the anomaly, only a little more powerful than a typical heat gun, but effective. The female half would probably be immune, but the male would take what was offered, amplify her abilities. I could see the process, trace it back to the point it had started a second ago. The female half would likely max out at the point she met the male half. She would then attempt to meet the male’s standards, extending those extended abilities to encompass the surrounding area. With every attack that was in range of the forcefield, the other Wards were slowed or stopped, the flight-control system taking effect. The female half would then accelerate, using her reaction and touch to push herself forwards and to one side, going in a run. Touching would be a very dangerous and Manton-like move, as it could lead to the contracted structures and opened space spilling out in front of her, blocking the other half’s view and causing her to lose her balance. She would land on the ground and she would land face first. The male would then use his power, closing the distance between them to an absolute minimum. I could see it, see it all coming together. It wasn’t fast, seemed like it would take forever, but he had to make it happen. It was then I sensed a noise behind me. The movement of some kind of mechanical spiderweb. A movement very similar to how it had been with Night and Fog. I hurried to blend into the swarm, doing my best to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Not that it was that, per se, I was careful to move with the flow of the swarm, staying out of sight and alerting others about what was going on. The web-silk was strong, and as distinct as the strands as they swiveled or turned, there was something of a thread trailing beneath each of us as we made our way behind the building. It took me a second to get my bearings. I was still fast enough that I was almost unable to track it. It moved very much in the same way my bugs did, acquiring information with the movements of the threads, using that information to find its way. The thread that I still trailed in my wake was Sophia’s. I wasn’t entirely sure what she could do, but she could probably find it. Falling through the building’s floor, down to the second floor balcony… I was betting it was one of the lower floors. Unless Shadow Stalker was here… I felt an unpleasant feeling in my ======================================== SAMPLE 972 ======================================== The morning sun shone through the windows, and his backpack was empty. He stepped inside, then turned on the TV to turn off the TV set. His classmates were all there: parents, a new girl in the auditorium, her mother standing, her sister not far behind. He made his way to the center of the auditorium, and nearly lost his seat in the section reserved for the students with disabilities. He was allowed to stand, but he preferred to stand and remain polite rather than engage. "Situation?" Teacher spoke, as everyone settled in their seats. "Two incidents. More information is needed." The Secretary spoke, as she perused the boards. "Two incidents," Teacher agreed. "It’s settled." The Secretary flipped through the board, keeping one eye on his desk. "Has anything come up with your supervisor?" Teacher frowned. "No." "That’s serious." "I wouldn’t worry." "He’s gone to see the doctor. He’ll be here shortly." "He seemed okay when you spoke to him earlier. I see. We’ll, um, see you in a couple of hours. If you’re not back by then, I’d like you to know that the Dean’s office is open from now on. I’ll meet you there." Teacher nodded. His attention was on the computer. He scrolled through the pages in front of him, checking dates and times. The Dean’s office had a computer center, and the computers there were the same as the ones in the C.A.R.T. and the W.R.R.P. databases. There were discrepancies, however. More than one discrepancy. "We’re supposed to report in eight hours from now." "I know. Appreciate the understanding, I’m glad we can have a working relationship." "I won’t be back for this, so soon." "It’s a habit of yours." "I know. I’m not trying to get you to leave." "I understand." "It’s a university, with all the usual precautions. You could be forgiven if, like I was doing, you decided to skip town. This is another one. You could skip town and come see me right now, and whatever lessons I have for you, I’d pass on details to the PRT so you could get the full picture as to what’s going on." "The Dean’s close to the villain that owns this territory," Teacher said. "He could pardon a breach of trust if you gave him advance warning of what was about to happen." Teacher paused. "If you were planning to give him advance warning, I’d imagine you’d have done so months ago." "I would never have given him the info." "Perhaps you would have if I gave you advance warning, but then he would have had time to investigate," Teacher said. "I don’t know what he’d do, what he’d do and come after you, if you left him to his own devices. For now, we’ve got to stay on the straight and narrow. Mockshow has our back, but we can’t afford to put too much trust in Mockshow. She’s only as strong as she is, and she’s left with a lifetime of experience compared to most fighters, but we’re still casualties. We’re not heroes, but we’re mostly there. A lot of us are there, and we tried to help." "I could see how you could see it," Lung grumbled. "In an almost predatory way. Like an old man eyeing the latest property in his territory." "I see what you mean. I’ve come to expect that interpretation." "Recently, he offered to share information with the rest of us, if we would only listen. He wasn’t alone. I asked the others to consider whether they would join me. They declined." Lung frowned. "You think this is a wise use of our collective resource?" "Perhaps, but I’d like to think it’s more prudent. We have scarce resources, and if three-fourths of this battle plan is based around catching the three known weak points, then we may be trying to disrupt their operations at the entrances and exits rather than attacking the enemy at the source." "Distract me?" Lung growled the words. "I’d ======================================== SAMPLE 975 ======================================== A silence fell over the room. She blinked hard, then looked up. Scion. Here. Floating above the bay, riding the dinosaur’s back. She couldn’t meet his eyes. So she focused her power on her already damaged eye. Blocked it from viewing the scene. Focus on the scene, on Scion, floating in the air. The creature is on the ground, waiting for us to arrive. A recording played over the speakers. VOICE – (Call sign redacted) recited the words, barely audible, across a large area. A recording, complete with a voice recognition program. She focused on the recording, on the diction, the pitch, the rhythm. Blocked it from hearing. Focus on the voice. On the words. On logic. It was all she could do to stay still as she heard the synthesized voice. All she had left, to maintain the illusion, to maintain the solitude. "Scion vindictive," she spoke, using the alien name that Saurian had made for her, though the character had been there from the outset. "He sabotages young Taylor’s attempts at mental discipline, and he gifts you with a voice synthesized between his own and another recording, calling himself Revel. In his own voice, he tells you how he’s going to bring down the Undersiders if you don’t let him. He has a strong incentive, beyond anything you could hope for, to see you succeed." Another line spoken by one of the Nine, spoken in a distinctly human voice. "Young Taylor is right," Taylor spoke, raising her head, "I should be trying to please him. I’m only halfway there." She looked down at the computer. "I don’t think I can do that. I’m too self-conscious. I’m too worried about being seen as the victim and not being able’t do what I need to do. I… I can’t think of what I need to do." "You can do what you need to do, just a little better than you were." "Okay," she spoke. She moved the demon, siccing it on the computer screen, shutting it. "Young Taylor…" Taylor was thinking of her dad, her school, and her mom. "I… I need to talk to Brian. But not right now. Let’s get things handled first." The soft male voice continued, but the images of the injured and dead heroes of the moment could no longer be heard. "…talk to Brian. But not right now. Let’s figure out what’s going on, figure out a way to help you out, whatever they decide." Taylor felt her heart sink. She knew this was the moment the fake Taylor would betray her. "No. It’s okay. I’m going to sleep. I’ll be in touch around eleven or eleven thirty." "Okay," Taylor agreed. She felt an emotion she hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. Disgust. She hit the shut button. She felt incredibly guilty for what she’d done, to the point that her stomach was turning. A part of her yearning to return to a simpler, healthier time played a role in her continuing the process, scrambling to make sure her plan was something they could all get behind. But the bigger part of her blamed the friends and family she’d lost, for making the choice like it was. She was a monster. She was dangerous, and she had a bomb going off in her head, a bomb that was telling her that the only people who would be able to stand against her were others like her. She swam in a general circle around the suicide bomber, staying as still as possible, keeping the bomb from detonating. The sharp intake of breath caught at her throat. She’d just cleared her throat, and her breathing was harder than it had been. She hadn’t been able to shake the idea that she’d been secretly glad that the scented candles had brought her out of her day. The breathing eased, and she felt the uneasy sensation that something unpleasant was happening to her. She flexed her hands, feeling what she’d lost. She’d added hands to the pile, and she felt strangely unsteady on her own two feet. Nothing she could do about it. "Stay still," Coil’s soldier spoke, over the approaching shriek of engine noise. She took a deep breath, still trying to avoid freaking out over the ======================================== SAMPLE 978 ======================================== Did a contestant have two powers? Two tricks? It wasn’t unusual for powers to have multiple, overlapping uses. There were even cases where powers would have overlapping forms. There were a few in sparing episode with the Simurgh, for example. The one I was thinking of was the twin-tasking. It was a particular technique where the subject saw two images at once, and the images were blurred together so the subject had to see both in order to grasp the first. I’d seen it a lot as a fighter pilot. I could see how it was useful if I had limited vision, but I couldn’t do what Bakuda had in mind for me. I didn’t want to be crippled by my own powers. The other power was something more general. Bakuda had told them she’d studied the stuff, and she’d tested it on animals. The tinker that had made the goggles had refined the manufacturing process, so the pigments and lenses were lighter in use. The power boost would include enhancements to the pigments and lenses. I suspected the power would include safety measures, as well. It would require more research and better labeling to manage the boosts from the glu- Bakuda didn’t need to see me. The glu of the power boost was already affecting the subject as he advanced towards me. As he got closer, his expression became increasingly animated. The power boost was acting like a debilitant, breaking down the unwound nerves of the fighter-parasite that was driving him to the point that he was almost passive. The subject was underestimating the danger and stepping over the lit fuse. The fight was almost over. A beam of light caught Bakuda in the side of the head, changing the direction she was facing. She sprawled, landing hard. And there, in the midst of the deafening roar, she screamed once more. I hurried to her side, my swarm still massed around me, my bugs a stunner, causing occasional seizures with the very simple command. "Wasn’t sure if you wanted me to call it that," I told her. "It’s fine." She looked up at me. I turned to her and smiled, blinking. "It’s in Japanese, by the way," I said. "If you want to learn the language, maybe you could go to the hospital and ask the doctor about it first. I can try to help you understand what it means." She nodded, her expression grim. I glanced at the fight in the distance. Even in the midst of it, thousands of the enemy’s bodies were moving in preparation for another bloodletting. The fight was almost over. The light show continued as the remaining Tokyo wards moved to offer support. I didn’t give the order, though. I turned to walk, rather than follow. The road was deserted. There were detours, but I didn’t need them. From the way my bugs were following, there was no need. There were cones and bridges and rooftops with people, but nobody seemed to be in immediate proximity to them. A wave hit us just before we crossed the unfinished bay. The bulk of the evacuation effort had stopped, and most of the armed forces were either covering the western half of the city or the beaches, with the remaining forces concentrated in the east reaching the most densely populated areas first. As we got further north, the forces of the evacuation were reported to be concentrating on the Docks. The transport ships that had brought the undesirables from the city to the docks were being let back into the city proper. Hundreds, in some cases. The evacuation of the west end was continuing in earnest. The spotlights along the waterfront were off, and the darkness was thick. It was a beautiful, if dark, sky above, with a carpet of silvery, feathery, needle-fine dust touching every surface. There was an rust-orange glow touching the water, where the long needles of orange flares were poking through the concrete and the ice. It was strange to think that this was even a consideration. A possible end to an unknown threat. A Kurse with a simple command of a detonation would be able to shred through the very foundations of the city. A mass-evacuation with no plan, no coordination, no command, and no notes from the commanding officer. The PRT was still clearing away the wreckage, and a handful of heroes were still lying prone where the rubble had crumbled to the ground. The bodies. I’d helped. I’d hovered in the air, occasionally to watch it and give assistance, and had even sent bugs there to touch things. The ones we’d mass- ======================================== SAMPLE 981 ======================================== They were fighting, testing the limits, and they still gave conflicting orders. She knew this. This happened when her team was busy. They worked best when together, so their job was to carry out the agenda of the team in question, no matter how small. To support one another and find solutions to problems. To tolerate rudeness, pushyness, dissemblers and liars. But these three weren’t any of those things. "You’re not riding in the truck, then?" "No." "It’s okay. Keep going. Barrier twenty-three. I’ve got people standing by, but they don’t necessarily have to stop you. It’s not hard to verify that it’s you, when you’re standing a few feet away." "I appreciate the warning, but I have to stop." "Right. You can come with us, if you want. We’ll be sure to give you your evening meal. And we’ll leave two small purses, so you can pay your respects to someone you care about." Charlotte hadn’t seen the contents of the purses Grace had left behind. She frowned. The contents, she suspected, were a familiar one. It was like the pepper spray memory. Blinding. She could remember standing beside Lung in the courtroom, before he’d broken his deal and betrayed the group. After the battle of the Three Blasphemies, before the Empire collapsed. The only reason she didn’t choke on her food was because she blindsided Lung with a kick. He knocked her down onto her back, and for much of the rest of the fight, she couldn’t see or hear anything that happened in the vicinity of her head. She felt bad about that. She wanted to be perfect, but she’d play along and serve the rest of us up. She’d done just that. She fell just to her knees, pressed her hands to her head, knees purple with the bruising. That fighting experience had given her a different basis for doing this. Different tools, to use in the fights to come. She smelled burnt flesh, saw Regent on his hands and knees, Tentacles and more crawling around him, covering him in a half dozen ways. Grue found himself kneeling beside her. "What?" she asked. "Are you okay?" "I’m… yeah," he replied, dazed. No powers, but some painkillers and antibiotics did wonders. She knew he didn’t even have a pulse, but he needed the healing. She wanted to say he was hurt, that he was bleeding, that whatever had happened to him in the fight, it needed to be healed now. That maybe he needed a therapist to work through the issues, or to listen to some inspirational words. But she didn’t want to raise any of that during this interview. For the third time, he changed tacks. One by one, they added their own healing powers to her body. Moord Nag’s power didn’t work on Bonesaw, but Regent’s power did. Shatterbird’s power didn’t work on her, but Tattletale’s power did. Regent’s power blocked the snake oil, Tattletale fiddled with the knife she kept in her jacket pocket, then said, "My power’s more effective than it was before. So maybe we’ll be able to break it out somehow." "Maybe," she responded. It was a sincere feeling, but her sense of self-worth was clouding her words. It was impossible to say how much of that was her new status as a heroine, and how much was the power she was gaining access to. But she could say it WAS more efficient than before. "We should be getting out of here," Trickster said, "Before he or she notices we aren’t friendly." "On the way out?" "Yes," he answered. She grit her teeth. "I… I think we’re done here." "Yeah." She glanced over her shoulder in the direction the truck had disappeared from the alleyway, then smiled. The truck had stopped in the middle of a grassy knoll. How long would it take for the PRT to show? Maybe five or ten minutes. If they waited for ten minutes, she could be sure they would be there. "We’re done here," she said, glancing back at Trickster. "Good," he said. She smiled a little herself. ■ "We ======================================== SAMPLE 984 ======================================== They had backed away, and I could hear another sigh from the other side of the metal door. Let’s go, I thought. Let’s not get dragged into that. Metal had stopped clicking, the door shutting. I didn’t have many bugs in the area to track their movements, not in the confines of Coil’s underground base, and I couldn’t really listen for them with the effect the metal was having on my bugs. I was aware of them running for the houses, but my power was going numb, slow and ineffective. There were people here. I recognized the mask. A man, in his late twenties or early thirties, with a trim mustache and comb-necked sweater, sitting on the front steps with a plate on his lap. There was also a small child, someone I recognized too, on the other side of the building. My mom had been on her way from the store when the fire started. I wasn’t sure how old I was, but I felt pretty out of place in the midst of this. I didn’t have generations of memories to draw from, not really. I was sort of in the midst of it, and my awareness of what was going on was kind of a response to what was happening to me. Circumstances just weren’t what they were nowadays. I was back in my old house, and while the basement door hadn’t exactly been destroyed, the inhabitants had been forced out onto the balcony, where the flames had spread faster. Worse, the ice that clung to the building and the building to the sky was still expanding, potentially putting the entire neighborhood and many of the houses in the vicinity in the same shape. So yeah. It was much the same as when I’d been a kid, defending my house against the waves and against the birds. I stood by and let others drown and die. The man that was directing the evacuation, a woman, had a lighter in his hand. He shone it in our direction, and our flight pack took over as we headed away from the building. ■ Our ship descended from the air as we descended to the water level. I could see the Docks from where we were sitting. Zipper lines in the pipes, connecting the various buildings. Orange and red tape, lines for the dilapidated roads. We descended to a lower area than the docks, and the water level began to rise. I looked out over the area. Plaster of various liquids dotted the water level, some foaming, fogging the surfaces. The wind was blowing in our faces. Dust and pollen had swept into the area, only to be crushed and scattered by the thick dust that had swept through the area on their way into the buildings. It was a familiar scene, seeing the dilapidated, damaged buildings in my territory, only a short distance away from where I’d lived when I’d been stationed. Here, the streets were paved, although the edges were dotted with potholes and pothole-like depressions. There were also areas where the water level wasn’t rising as fast as the buildings should have been. Chariot’s relay flight pack kicked to life, giving me a range of perhaps thirty to forty feet. I began to feel it pick up speed, circling around my hovering swarm-decoys and then flying straight for me. That, I was okay with, it was what we’d been waiting for. A problem presented itself, distracting me. I held one out in my hand, and I found myself favoring it as I saw it grow. It was a flexible rod, good for use as a regular rod, or even a makeshift spear. Having it in my hand wasn’t a huge help, as it was. Other bugs held things out for me. A cartwheel of sorts, filled with bugs. Having my hands full, I didn’t have the appreciation for the other aid, and I didn’t have the maturity to be aware of the others, besides, which was the bulk of it. My ‘switch’ was clumsy at best, and my ‘back’ wasn’t much better. I couldn’t quite bring my old back into working order. The ‘switch’ was fine for sparring, maybe. The ‘switch’ offered something. Not much, but it was something. It was curve after curve of varying lengths, all falling within a few feet of my hand. It was good. Had to admit, I was pleasantly surprised. There wasn’t anything like that in the healing aspect of things. My hands were full, and that meant I was probably going to get cold. It wasn’t ======================================== SAMPLE 987 ======================================== It went like this. I found a dragon’s tooth, found a human bone, found a piece of fabric from my costume, any number of things that weren’t attached to anything. I found you. You weren’t an animal. You weren’t driven by an overpowering rage, either. You were beautiful, perfectly placid, your skin a single color, your movements impeccable. Except… you’d stopped walking. You’d slumped against a wall. A part of me, larger than the rest, wanted to climb into your lap and rest my head a little longer. I knew you couldn’t, that it would be a gross turn of the head and neck. You were still me. I was still yourself, I wanted to rest my head a little more, to breathe. Except the look around the room had made me aware of everything I wasn’t aware of. The people absent, the way my swarm had moved… I felt like I should be in that group, singing with them, holding their hand and singing along. You were quiet. There was a voice in my head, telling me I should raise my hand and raise my voice. Stopping me, reminding me I should be singing. Except I’d stopped. I’d stopped before the realization could get to me. You’re gone. The words caught me off guard. Like the feeling of not being able to cry out my frustrations, not knowing what to say or how to say it. Not the presence of the mother I’d just lost, but something inside of me that wanted to cry. My breath hitched, and I dropped my hands, bringing my knees to my chest to get more of my attention on the insides of my arms where I’d landed on hard ground. You’re going to have to be a better singer than I am. I thought. You don’t want to become the monster, I thought. Because that would mean you could live with yourself no matter what happened. You wouldn’t be able to look someone in the eyes and know they were lying. You’d just have to be able to look them in the right way, and you’d be able to convince yourself it was all a calculated lie. Better to become the kind of monster they could look up to, be inspired by. You don’t know me. You don’t know my abilities, or your motivations. But you can ask Tattletale, and she can tell you how to handle this. I won’t guess. But I won’t tell you. You leave me alone. You don’t have any regard for me. You don’t even care. You want vengeance, instead of revenge. You want revenge for what you believe are the oppressed… and you get it. You get to walk away. I’m sorry. I’m terrified. I’m so scared that you’ll get in my way and do this to me. That’s not what I’m here for. On the contrary. I’m not the type to do what you’re suggesting." Again, that note of fear. "You’ll have to forgive me," I said, "I’m approaching this, having already gone to the effort of training my power, gathering all of the information on the people and places I can use my bugs to find, with the understanding that there’s no guarantee I’ll get to where I’m looking for them in time." The words barely reached me. It was like speaking through a stone wall. Blindingly calm, unruffled, without a single emotion on my face. I’d done what I could to prepare, having spent years confined to my cell, knowing that any slight would be a grave error. I could feel the faint vibrations of my power, where my bugs were being attacked, the stings and burns, the excruciating pain, the headaches… You don’t know me. You don’t know the realities I’m capable of putting people through. But you can ask, do you really want to leave me here, to take another life? With what you have here, I have no doubt you’ll do it." I saw a glimpse of surprise on her face. "Do you?" "I know you did it for me." With my dad’s life at stake, I couldn’t afford to show any weakness. "I’m not thinking I’m going to die." "You will ======================================== SAMPLE 990 ======================================== Three Mannequins in Walker’s company. They had decided to split up, in case Jack or one of the others decided to come back and make a sudden appearance. It meant fewer people for me to deal with, and more room for bugs to gather. And there were two more things that were kind of bothering me. The first was that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle these two things with just my bugs. The second was that I was worried about them finding something and throwing it away. I headed indoors, locking the door and watching the children as they got their meals. I was still short on bugs when I paused to contemplate the adults. They were sitting on the couch, two boys and a girl, apparently oblivious to the invader. The boy with the weapons thing had his back to the wall, and was talking to the girl. She was looking at him, and he didn’t pay attention. I stopped walking and looked at the house. It was in shambles. Litter, trash, dirty water, a collapsed ceiling, power not working, ceiling fans no longer working. "You’re not paying attention," a guy said. There was a sense of injustice in the tone. "You came here to rob a bank, and you ended up doing it as a hobby, are you honestly going to let your career happen by accident??" "I don’t know. I shouldn’t have-" I stopped before I was able to get the words rolling. "I- I’m not going to…" "No? You’re going to tell me what happened?" the guy asked. There was disgust in his voice. "No," I interrupted. I could see the disgust well in advance. I was about to say something witty before I felt the anger sitting at the core of my body, this crucial emotion missing from my voice. "Then you’re going to have to explain it to me!" "Stop," I said. The way he reacted to the interruption was telling. He didn’t back down, however, and accused me of engaging in a game of tell-tale. I walked over to the door and unlocked it. "Well, this just in: I pulled off the fake smile, you fucked up, and my face just got a whole lot more real." "You’re damn right you are," the girl said. "Now blame me." "No. I’m just… I’m trying to think about what’s happening. I’m not in a position to be making hard calls, not financially, not politically, so I’m just going to leave it at that for now." "You’re leaving it at that because you think that, in the end, it’s going to be us against the world?" the girl asked. I wasn’t even finished the thought when I noticed the leather of the booth cushioning the door. The kind of padded area you put your head in when you sit down for a bit. Far as I could tell, the footrests were positioned so that when the foot fell down, they almost stayed there. It was pretty decent padding, though, which was important because my bugs were getting a chorus of annoying, creepy, creepy just from the fact that I was constantly in her presence. "What?" the guy asked. "Go back!" I raised my voice, "Enough! You’re annoying me! I’m not about to let you walk away!" I could see the crowd start to move, turning their attention to me. I even saw some boys who I assumed were in the group of teammates start to move as well. I raised my voice again, "Do I have to take this so seriously?" "Be rational," she said, "Or go the route you did in the TV program, in case your theory is correct and we need to talk about it later." I used my bugs to open the flap of the curtain, and then had the swarm pass over it. As it passed, I filled it with a small stream of what I thought were incisive words: ‘Real life’, ‘Not really, but yeah’. The part where I sort of trailed off was as follows: "Should have brought." No. I’d brought a mirror. When I observed that mirror, I’d seen enough. Now I just had to observe. "Observe," she said. "Or do you want to go to jail?" I thought of what Brian had said during the bank robbery. Hard lessons. He had ======================================== SAMPLE 993 ======================================== I didn’t answer. "Mister?" Amy asked. "I’m here," he made it more of a ha ha than a question. He was smiling, now. He turned to one of the parahumans that was strutting around the room, "Sit yourselves down, I’ll take your places, and we’ll-" He stopped. There was a brief pause as each of the four turned to look at Amy. I don’t understand. They turned to look at me. My heart sank. Then Parian spoke. "You… shouldn’t have made him." Again, there was a pause. I looked, and I saw a smear of blood on Amy’s face, beneath the clear pane of her skull mask. "This is for his sake, I suppose," Tattletale said. "He’s gone too far, gone so far as to attack a fellow tinker and victim a hero." "He deserved it." "I’m not sure I know what I’m doing," I said. "There are bigger things to take care of." "Perhaps," Grue said. "But this keeps happening." "More or less," Tattletale agreed. "I wish I’d considered it, before I allowed myself to start thinking about how we’d help him out. I get frustrated, and it gets to be too much, you know?" "I think," I said. I wasn’t sure what to say next. Just letting the matter drop, I thought, "I can live with frustration. I get angry, I push things too far, I let others get away with it because I’m not as submissive as I should be." "Yet you don’t feel the need to watch what you do." "It takes a kind of strength to take charge, Chief Director," I said. "And even if I did have the necessary self-assurance, I don’t think I should do it now, with what happens to me. I’m glad he was willing to put up with all that. I don’t think it would have changed the outcome of the fight with Bakuda, or helped in the long run." "You don’t think he needed to be concerned about his safety?" Tattletale asked. "I don’t think he needed to be concerned about his safety. I think he already knew he was safe, and he’d be unlikely to give that up." "I don’t know," I said. "I’m not suggesting we kidnap him and keep him in custody. I’m saying it’s something we’ll have to consider." "In the meantime," she said, "Let’s hope the rest of the group is doing as well as they can." I didn’t have a reply to that. "The deputy director’s here," someone said, and everyone turned to look. He was young. I recognized him, his hair was a bit too long, he wore a Rolex and no watch, and he had a Swiss Army knife in plain sight. "Taking him to the back?" "As far as we can tell, yes. The young lady we were talking to said he was spooked, which is apparently a standard run of the mill procedure for parahumans in the PRT. Her supervisor drove him into the hills, where he shouldn’t be subject to any undue stress. She said he fought the Nazoravts, which makes me wonder how effective the scare was… and I’m not ignoring the fact that the Nazoravts are, like, a couple of bad apples." "Isn’t that a little optimistic?" I asked, without laughing. "Parahumans are prone to making rash and disastrous decisions. Like what Alexandria did." "I don’t think people realize how easily they can be influenced," I said. "Like how they can be influenced by certain individuals, or a situation like the one we’ve been in." "It’s a possibility," Tattletale said. Tattletale frowned. "He took us on without batting an eyelid," I said. "He stabbed us in the back. He knows he’s vulnerable, and he made a calculated play. I don’t think it was an accident." "How do you know this?" Grue asked. "My sources tell me the same thing I have with my bugs… that man is dying." I could feel ======================================== SAMPLE 996 ======================================== If nothing else, maybe a touch of humour? Parian choked a little. "Good girl," Foil said. "If that’s the case, then we can probably function as a team. I can be pragmatic, Foil can be decisive." "Ninety-five per cent sure," Parian said, "But still, I could be wrong." "Very likely," Foil said, frowning. "But if that’s the case," Parian said, "Then I can be wrong as well." "Foil," Myrddin said. "Do you have a plan? A way to win this?" "Yes," Foil said. "But I don’t think we’ll achieve anything meaningful with the group." Myrddin paused. "Your terms?" "As far as we’re aware, the Endbringers aren’t going to win. It’s very possible they’ll achieve catastrophic damage before too long, and they won’t recover. Tohu and Bohu both have sustained damages, though I’m not sure exactly how much of that was permanent." "Good to know. Not sure if I like this new knowledge, but it’s cool." "And we’re aware that the entities are prepared to use that kind of magic," Teacher said. "I know. It’s in their programming. But I have a lot of faith that we’ll be able to use that to achieve something if and when we achieve that kind of power. For now, at least, we can let things continue as they are." Teacher smiled a little. "I know. Thank you. It’s a win-win situation, all things considered." "Yes. Thank you," Foil said. With that, they parted ways. I had a growing sense of where I was, how far I was able to travel with a single step. My sense of scale grew to include her, too. I could sense the surroundings as I reached a point just outside of Azazel. A point in time before the conflict started. The assembled vials with the Spider 23 components fell to the ground, and started smoking. The shrubbery and grass died as I descended to the ground, and Rhodochrosoma began to die back. The ground rumbled as if to swallow it up. I was aware of the shifting of the ground as I approached. I had a sense of the uneven texture, even if I couldn’t see or sense anything on the visible surface. Ground that had been wet in places browned, burned or split. I looked for signs of life, saw some handsome grasses braiding together. Even the occasional flower, it seemed, but no trees. I stopped. The ground rumbled again. I saw the smallest tremble in the design, the mysterious source of the shaking. What was it? A nearby earthworm? I scanned the area, but I couldn’t find it. The rumbling stopped. I saw the earthworm once more, swinging from the briars that surrounded the patch of grass. I was aware of the rustling in the air, now. "There," I said. I called out, over the approaching rumble. Lycoming had summoned me, but there were more bodies in the street. "Three!" Three. The radius of his power was now roughly the same as before. He had maybe three more to draw from? If that was the case, that meant he was probably affecting his next three victims. It was possible, but he hadn’t shown any sign of weakness while injured. He had the physical powers, he exploited them. If this another body of three was Sumiko, Vantage or even an ordinary earthworm, there was a very good chance they were in a state to escape, find shelter or find safety. "Grue!" I shouted. I thought I was making the call over the comms because I wasn’t sure if I was being loud or if I was being subtle. I was hearing the words and the warnings, but I wasn’t getting a chance to hear or understand what they were. The rumbling stopped. Not that it mattered. I could still see the arc of the earth through the darkness the rumbling had caused. It was less like rumble and more like rumble and quiet. I could see Grue and the others making their way down. I stepped onto the back of the motorcycle, and used the back wheel to give me some stability. My swarm surged forward as I made my way closer, ======================================== SAMPLE 999 ======================================== A high-pitched, female screaming rang through the night air. Only a moment later, a wall of flame erupted from the ground and shattered into pieces the size of softballs, striking Susan and the dog closest to her. The screaming had been getting worse. It didn’t stop, but it wasn’t improving either. What had Susan been saying? Was she on the verge of losing her mind? It was very possible her dog was permanently disabled. It would be able to hear them, it would have the same senses as her human body, but it couldn’t do anything about it unless she voluntarily participated. She’d been scared. Susan had been a coward, that much was obvious. But the aftermath of Glory Girl’s rampage through the school had been something else entirely. Susan had stopped being a student, because she couldn’t face what had happened today. She’d lost friends, she’d lost her way, in a way that could only be described as a loss of everything she’d ever known. The girl who’d thrashed and battered her had become a monster, and so had her dog. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this. The loss of people she cared about was always more painful than the loss of the dog. "Can’t get her out of here, can’t do anything to her, but I’m going to try," she said. "Maybe there’s a dog in the shelter, maybe." There was a pause. "Can you find her?" a girl with a metal frame said. The dog was tuning out the screaming in her own defense. Lisa nodded. "I’ll look." She pointed, and a crowd of people, many in the neighborhood, backed away as a shadowy figure, clad in a costume with a metal coat and mask, stepped out from around the corner at the opposite end of the building. "I can’t find her," Lisa said. "The people back there are probably there and going to help." "Back off," a man said. He pointed with his finger. At Charlotte. Charlotte obeyed, but she didn’t follow through. Lisa turned to me, "You don’t have to do that." I nodded. She was right. I was too used to thinking that I could trust people, but I was wrong before. "What is she doing?" I asked, "I mean, it’s not her, but-" I stopped. The man was crouching with his hands on his weapon, aiming it at something Lisa couldn’t see. "Back off," Lisa ordered. I did. I watched as the man, who I identified as Paul by the bloodstains that remained on his hands, pointed his hand towards me. I turned and watched. Paul? Lisa’s dad? "Do they know you stole something from them?" Lisa tried. "No. But they recognize where I went and how I got there." "They gave you a better place to stay?" Lisa asked. "A better hiding place." "They don’t have a means of securing anything against her without coming after me. Even if she’s as powerful as she looks, even if she has the firepower, they won’t want to deal with her and her followers. Paul has his people make requests to the heroes, they¨ll argue and argue and lose faith in the heroes, and eventually the requests get ignored or a request is made to take action." "So they come after you?" I asked. "Just like they did with me." "None of them. My name is Paul, and I’ve applied for and taken several of Coil’s positions. I have friends, I’ve posted bail, accepted help from the heroes. One even offered to provide medical care if your mom was killed in a car accident." I stared at her. I didn’t look like the kind of person who would be bothered by my coming out. "I don’t know you." "I don’t know you either," I said, mostly to myself. I leaned back in the leather seat,as the man in the center of the seat started speaking. "But they can’t let you walk away, because you wouldn’t leave the group and come to their rescue, they wouldn’t let you. So here I am, and I have nothing to do with your dad and mom and dad." "You’re trying to convince me to leave the Wards." "I’m telling