A Darker Path [Worm Fanfic]

A Darker Path

Part Thirty: Connections

[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: This one and the next one were originally going to be one post, but it got too big, so I cut it in half. Next one should be up soon.]

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♦ Topic: Fucking Around and Finding Out: Heartbreaker Edition
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Posted On Jan 12th 2011:

Good morning to you wonderful people of Brockton Bay!
(Well, *technically* morning).
I decided to make this post just after midnight because, as the saying goes, why the hell not. Also, my loyal fans who have been waiting up for me to do just this deserve a little bit of a reward, do you not? Yeah, you totally do.
So ...
Not to draw this out, but I'm absolutely going to draw this out ...
Heartbreaker ...
is dead.

Now, I swear to you all, cross my heart and hope to die in a thoroughly ironic manner; I am not a Master. Nikos Vasil came to America and to Brockton Bay entirely of his own accord. (No, no, Accord, not you). I told him not to come here. I even warned him he'd die if he did.
Okay, yeah, I taunted the hell out of him too, but *wow*, didn't the man have any pattern recognition skills at all?
(Sources say no).

So there I was, just chilling in a parking lot off Lord Street with a friend of mine who shall remain nameless, when he came right to me. I mean, what are the odds?
(Apparently one hundred percent).

And then he tried to pull his Heartbreaker patented whammy on me, but you've already been filled in on how I do with Master effects. Still, he was being just a little bit tiresome, so I broke his jaw with this big fuck-off hard candy heart I just happened, accidentally-on-purpose, to be carrying around with me.
Quick query: If I kill someone with a candy heart, could that be defined as death via heart attack?
Anyway, I broke the heart (yeah, you can see how this is going) then made him let go his influence on everyone he's ever afflicted with his power.
Once he did what he was told, I did what I'd already said I was going to. I stabbed him through the heart *with* the broken candy heart.
Or to put it another way, I 'broke' his heart with a broken heart.
Either way, he died because of a broken heart. Footage is [here].
And if anyone's wondering whether I would've carried out the threat I made if he'd been difficult about it ...
... yeah, I totally would have. (Just a reminder: Skidmark).

On a completely different topic, expect an explosion off the coast sometime tonight. The Gesellschaft has decided to try to sneak some drugs and guns in by sea.
Emphasis on 'try'. Mwahahaha.
Don't do it, guys. Or to put it another way, go ahead. Dooo eeet. I need the target practice. (Well, I don't, but shooting Nazis is always fun).

Anyways, that's it for the moment.

Toodles!

(Showing page 1 of 17)

►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
... well, crap.
She did it.
Or rather, *he* did it.
Heartbreaker actually did what nobody *really* expected him to, but everyone (for a given definition of 'everyone') hoped he would.
The colossal moron actually came to Brockton Bay.
And as Atropos' post explains, what happened next was utterly predictable. A five-year-old could've seen it coming.
And yes, Heartbreaker did indeed die from a broken heart.
(At least most of the gore was kept on the inside this time, which I totally appreciate.)
The PRT got an 'anonymous' call a few minutes after it happened. (Anonymous as in, "Hi, this is totally not Atropos, but you might want to go check out this particular parking lot for someone who might or might not be Heartbreaker.")
And just incidentally, the PRT in Canada got one around the same time. They investigated the location given to find a bunch of people sitting around in tears, alternating between apologizing to each other and offering prayers of thanks for their release. Some of these have been identified as people who have been missing for quite some time.
Initial psychiatric assessment indicates that they are suffering from varying levels of PTSD, but that they're all ready and willing to go forward with therapy. (Which they will get for free. Because Canadian healthcare system.)
Oh, and they all tell the same story of having an almost religious experience at the exact same instant, when all the oppressive darkness and horror and voices inside their head were stripped away at once ... at the precise time Atropos dealt with Heartbreaker.
Which explains the prayers of thanks, I guess.
I hope nobody actually tells them that Atropos did it. Not sure I could handle a religious pilgrimage, right now.

►DoggySteak
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
Well, that's one kind of broken heart, I guess.

►Director_is_me (Verified not PRT Director)
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
I salute you, Atropos, with a can of beer.

►Underwater_Flower
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
Goddamn, I did NOT need the mental image of shears castrating someone *through your asshole*.

►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
*settles back with the conveyor belt delivering regular packets of popcorn when needed*

►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
@Atropos - I would like to begin by apologizing for the sharp tone in my last post. You were entirely correct that I was running on insufficient caffeine for my current level of sleep deprivation (not even going to ask how you knew that).
Secondly, once I looked over the events of last night (the warehouse et al) with fresh eyes, I saw how you were able to control events to minimize property damage and hazard to innocents.
And thirdly ... well, you told Heartbreaker if he came to Brockton Bay you'd kill him, and that was what you did. It wasn't like he didn't know.
Still, we both know it's my job to ask you to come in, sit down and have a conversation about your methods and how we can achieve mutually acceptable aims without all the death. You haven't yet, but I live in hope.
Also, about the Gesellschaft smuggling operation ... could you maybe give us some pointers, so we could coordinate our efforts? They're probably not all Nazis, and they don't really have to die.

►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
@Reave - hey, no need for an apology (but accepted anyway). It's all good. Job stress gets to anyone. (Except to me. I love my job).
I figure I'll keep doing the way I'm doing for the moment. It seems to be working.
Regarding the upcoming fireworks display: if I let you guys in on it, some of you would get hurt and maybe killed. I'd rather *they* got killed. As for some of them not being Nazis, do you know what you call a group with one Nazi and nine guys who choose to hang out with a Nazi? Ten Nazis.
I'll drop you a line when it's nearly go-time, so you can head out and start dragging bodies out of the water.

►Sakin
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
Dang, she pulled a Riddick (you know, from that Aleph movie?)
I was half expecting her to pull out a lollipop next, and murder some asshole with that.

►EightySixEnhance
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
At this point how long until Brockton Bay is known as cape Afghanistan, where empires go to die?
​

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►DoggySteak
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
It's already that for criminal empires, any that attempts to set up a crime syndicate here just ends. Do not go to jail, do not pass go, remove your piece, houses, and hotels from the board. All property will be auctioned.

►Tangle
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
As with several villains before him, Atropos has just ended Heartbreaker's influence quite thoroughly and with a side of irony.

►AbbessGer
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
Heartbreaker made you crush on him.
Atropos candy crushed him.
Also, that kill was sweet.
That's all I have for now.
Sorry.

►Radalab
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
I for one did not expect a giant broken candy Valentine's Day heart. I kind of thought maybe some sort of psychological attack, like she for that dome head in the slaughterhouse nine, or maybe some weird weapon that's named "something" heart in a different language. But nope. Giant candy heart. It's surprisingly poetic, apt, hilarious, and is chef's kiss all at once.
Anyone think their personal overton window of "acceptable" behavior has kind of shifted in the last week or two? Sure these are deaths of really bad people, but it's a little odd to be saying "this murder is the chef's kiss!" I don't think I'm a baddie or anything, but it's a bit odd.

►Tangle
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
Maybe, but so far each and every one of Atropos' victims (that we know about) has absolutely deserved their various ignominious fates. And, from what I understand, other than maybe Oni Lee, she's even given each one a chance to not get killed.
So far, it seems only Damsel In Distress has taken the offered opportunity to Get-Out-of-Brutally-Ironic-Death-Free, even if she did cut it down to the wire before choosing the wiser path.

►truefactslol
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
Yes, all her targets may have done terrible things, but what about the rule of law? What about innocent until proven guilty?
Atropos kills people who are not proven guilty, thus he/she kills those who are, in the eyes of the law, still innocent!
We have his/her word for it that they are all horrible people, but I, for one am not going to accept the word of a self-admitted serial killer that all his/her victims "had it coming."

►flyhomeET
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
This all seems kind of weird. I see little but praise for a serial killer taking over the city and strong-arming local law enforcement to look the other way.
Did I Rip Van Winkle into an alternate universe or something?

►Nomdiisp
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
Didn't she say one of Heartbreaker's kids was in custody (not to mention whichever one was filming/acting as a distraction & under her wing)? So we actually have two people smart enough to take the second option!
Fanclub chief you gotta tell us if HB's kid working with Atropos is cool or not when you visit her lair next!

►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
@truefactslol - You have seen the city, yeah? Face facts, nobody did anything about anyone I killed for literally *years*, and nobody was *going* to do anything about them. With the sole exception of Oni Lee, everyone I've killed was given the option to walk away or turn themselves in to the cops. Guess what. Nobody did. If they were so innocent, that's all they had to do.
And if I stood back until someone else stopped them, they would've just kept making the city worse and worse.
@flyhomeET - Really? Taking over the city? Strongarming law enforcement to look the other way?
Nice try. I know exactly who you are, *Rob*. I know that you used to be Empire Eighty-Eight. And I know that you're pissed that I'm cleaning up crime in areas where you and your racist asshole buddies used to reign supreme, so you're talking shit on PHO to try to turn people against me. You just keep your head down and don't do anything stupidly illegal, and I won't be the last thing you see one dark night.
Just like I was with Kaiser.

►GreatAndTerribleAisha (Verified Atropos Fan)
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
Wow, I have no idea where you guys come up with this stuff.
Heartbreaker's kid, working with Atropos? Atropos, taking over the city? Get real.
​

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►FoxtrotMikeSierra
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
@flyhomeET - We were *already* living in that world. I guess having it happen more-or-less in our backyard instead of in, like, another country, makes it different somehow?
(I know, I know, it doesn't really. But taking the post above as stated...)
At least when Atropos is doing it, I *don't* feel as depressed?
Huh. Atropos'd. Empire, huh? Why am I not surprised?

►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
Aww thanks Foxtrot. I will endeavor to make sure I continue to not depress you.

►Tangle
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
@Nomdiisp - To be fair, all we know from Atropos is that four of Heartbreaker's kids were in Brockton Bay, one dying by her hand, one currently in custody, and all four forever beyond Heartbreaker's reach. Which is even more literally true now than it had been when she made that post.

►WingsOnHigh (Verified Not the Simurgh)
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
@truefactslol - I literally have an old cell phone video of Lung punching a man's head off [Here]
Did a little extra digging of my own, and barring the Kill Orders on the S9, most of the Capes that Atropos has killed have been tried in absentia and are guilty of their crimes. If we go back before Cape Politics changed the world, the majority of said crimes would've earned a death penalty. Nowadays anyone with powers gets a little extra slack because of our regularly scheduled natural disasters that are the Endbringers. It's actually a pretty scary trend to see when you look back over the last 60 years of history.
As for the drug armies, ehh, depends on the legal state of those warehouses and what the connection is to the people there.
A law student friend of mine was actually making a case both in prosecution and defense as a combination of thought experiment and class project and purely from her publicly made exploits and the public evidence available, she actually gets hit worse from the various exploded vehicles and buildings than she does the drug armies and gang bosses.

►BattleLoaf
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
@truefactslol - What do you mean "we have her word for it"? No, we have actual evidence.
Half the people she killed have a list of crimes on public record. A bunch of them *have been tried and convicted of various crimes*, but got busted out. We don't have a full list of the people dead in the latest Exploding Drug Warehouse Incident, but initial reports on the police ID of the dead shows a list of career criminals. Y'know, the kind of people who would sign up for a job that involved the phrase "Sniper nests to guard the drug warehouse."
If - *IF* - the cops release a statement about "innocent person, with no convictions and no suspicions, killed by Atropos." Then we'll talk. Until then, you have nothing to say on the matter worth listening to.

►TwoFacedCat
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
At the risk of being skewered, I'd like to ask: Atropos, what do you and do you not consider villainous behavior? I mean, I'm assuming somebody has to perform heinous crimes, but... let's say, hypothetically, you have a gang of capes who go around aggressively liberating children from abusive households. The property damage would make them villains, but they kinda fall into the Robin Hood grey area...
Actually, are you trying to be like Robin Hood? (Yes, before anybody asks, Robin Hood did kill people in the original mythos. He's got a BACKSTORY.)
Also, hypothetically, how would you treat Joe Schmoe CEO who's a problem for the local economy any different from Cape Carrie CEO who's a problem for the local economy? Assuming you could tell the difference which, uh, given Kaiser, I kinda think you can.

►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
Ooh, I love this. Actual, legitimate feedback.
See, I'd hate it if everyone was too terrified to offer an honest opinion on how I'm doing. I guarantee, I will not come after you for questioning my methods. I'm totes aware that most people aren't one hundred percent on board with the idea of shooting bad guys in the face.
Of course, I'm not doing it for you, per se. I'm doing it for the city.
But on to the question from @TwoFacedCat:
It's a popular misconception that I'm strictly here to murder villains or warn them off from the city. Admittedly, this is a misconception I've kinda fostered, because it's very close to the truth and it works well enough for my purposes.
Villains as villains, I don't give an airborne orangutan's turd about. Technically speaking, I'm a villain myself. What I don't want in my city is people whose actions will make it less prosperous and/or less safe for ordinary people to walk the streets. Ninety-nine percent of villains are there to steal stuff, sell drugs, and in general hurt people and gum up the smooth running of society. So, when you do a Venn diagram of "people I don't want in my city" and "the average supervillain", you end up with almost a perfect circle.
Capes who aggressively liberate kids from abusive households ... well, that depends. Where are they taking these kids to, and are innocents harmed in the process? Also, there are (incoming irony) actual *legal* routes to take in that case, which I intend to ensure get all the funding they need with the revitalization of the city.
I guess what I'm trying to say is this: if they were a detriment to the city, I'd be rather cross with them. On the other hand, if they were doing actual good and helping the kids (in ways they couldn't otherwise be helped) without doing significant damage that also has to be sorted out, then I'd probably give them a pass. It would certainly be a case-by-case basis, just saying.
Am I trying to be like Robin Hood? Hah, nope. I'm not in this for Joe and Jane Public, robbing from the rich to give back to the poor. I'm here to fix the goddamn city so it's safe to live in, with a prosperous economy. While yes, this means that Joe and Jane Public get better lives (and stimulus checks, and so forth) that's because this is the way to fix the city. If Joe Public has a steady income and stable lifestyle to the point that he never has to try to (say) hold up a gas station for cash, then it's a win-win for everyone.
In short, my aim is to make it possible for the so-called authorities to actually *do their damn jobs* to both the letter and spirit of the law, then make it untenable for them *not* to.
Third question, regarding the CEOs. I'd make it known that they're pissing me off and they'd best end that behavior before I end them. What happens then is up to them. I wouldn't give Schmoe a pass for being unpowered, any more than I'd give Carrie a pass for being a cape. (Unless of course, Carrie was also being a problematic supervillain outside her role as a CEO, in which case I might well have shot her in the face already, after a warning).
And yeah, I can absolutely tell the difference. Mwahahaha.

►BigTopper
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
As for the threatened castration via asshole (and yes, the mere thought still makes me clench up) I have it on good authority from two close friends (a forensic expert and a doctor) that this is, if taken with care, entirely possible.
It's also possible *without* care, but only if you're not worried about the prospect of being awarded zero points for technique.

►Underwater_Flower
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
Goddamn it, I'd almost managed to forget that mental image. Thanks a bunch.

►BigTopper
Replied On Jan 12th 2011:
Hahahahahahahahaha
​

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<><>​

Taylor

Cherie was in a good mood at the breakfast table the next morning, which wasn't surprising. Even Dad seemed to notice that she was standing taller, laughing more easily and was just overall in a better place. While there was still pain visible deep in her eyes, it was a lot less obvious to me than it had been, even yesterday.

"It really affected you that much, did it?" Danny raised an eyebrow as he handed a plate of eggs and bacon over to her.

We had, of course, filled him in on the details of Heartbreaker's not-so-unfortunate demise, then let him watch the footage before I edited it for public consumption. He'd blanched a little at the castration threat I'd made to Heartbreaker, but not as much as I'd thought he might. While he still wasn't totally okay with me casually murdering bad guys to get my results, he could definitely see the point in what I was doing. The (still declining) crime rate didn't hurt there, as far as I could tell.

"Yeah. Thank you." She accepted the plate, then set about cutting up the bacon. "While I was growing up, every day I was near him, he loaded shit into my head with his powers. Whether this was him trying to trigger my powers or make me think like him, or some ungodly combination, I have no idea."

I nodded and put a hand on her arm. Since getting my powers, I'd become more of a hardass, but I could still feel sympathy, and Cherie had been through more shit than anyone really deserved. "From the sounds of it, I'm gonna say 'all of the above'. He was enough of a narcissistic douche to want all his kids to be malignant little clones of him."

"You are so totally not wrong there." She shook her head, looking down at her plate. "I thought I'd beaten him. When I ran, when I got away, I thought I was free of his influence. But I'd just been living with it for so long that it was part of me." Lifting her head, she looked at me and then Dad. "People were things to me, to be used and discarded. I was going to join the goddamn Nine if I could, just so he'd never be able to drag me back." The anguish in her voice was matched by the tears running down her cheeks.

Dad blinked, looking a little shocked. "You had to have known that they wouldn't just let you stay with them for protection. They would've made you earn your keep."

"Yeah. I knew that." Her hands clenched around the knife and fork, until her knuckles turned white. If anything, the self-disgust in her tone intensified. "And I was totally okay with that. Eighteen years of his attitudes being poured into my head? I would've made toddlers fight to the death with switchblades and not even cared, just so long as I didn't have to go back."

"And you don't feel that way anymore?" His tone was gentle.

This time, when she shook her head, it was with long, slow sweeps from side to side. "Nope. I'm still not totally sure how Taylor did it, but it's like I had a bandage on a wound that wouldn't heal because the infection was in the bandage, and it was loaded up with all this crud and spite, and she just … ripped the bandage off. I'm still not healed, but now I can try to be better. And I can actually see the good in the world without wanting to tear it all down for shits and giggles."

"Well, that's a good start." Giving her a smile, I squeezed her shoulder, then applied myself to my own breakfast. "Still okay with helping me murder villains to make Brockton Bay a better place?"

"I guess so." Her tone was introspective. "Before, I was doing it because you terrified me, and murder didn't bother me. Now, I can see past the murder and appreciate the good you're trying to achieve. You're doing the same with Brockton Bay like you made my asshole father do with me; ripping all the corruption away, so the rest of it gets to heal and grow."

"Well, that's definitely one way to put it." Dad sprinkled a little pepper on his eggs. "We're having the first proper meeting of the committee this afternoon, so we can look over the revitalisation plan and start preliminary allocation of funds." He grinned at me. "It might not be as satisfying as shooting a bad guy in the head, but it also gets things done."

I smirked right back. "Who do you think put the idea into Mayor Christner's head of bringing you onto the committee in the first place? I wanted someone in that room who I trust implicitly, to reduce the number of midnight visits I might have to make."

"Well, damn." He blinked a couple of times. "Okay, now it all makes sense. Son of a bitch." Shaking his head, he stared at me. "Are we all pawns on your chessboard?"

"Not pawns, no." I raised my eyebrows. "You're my dad. If anyone becomes a threat to you for this or any other reason, I will shoot them in the face. Yes, you're helping me carry out my plans. But be honest: if you'd been offered this without my interference, would you have accepted anyway?"

He shrugged. "Well, given that I didn't know you'd put a word in Christner's ear, yeah. I would have." Pausing, he looked at me suspiciously. "What would you have done if I didn't?"

I pretended to think about that. "Threatened Christner a bit more to keep him in line, I guess." My power had told me that Dad was the best man for the job, and how to get him on board to help End the downward spiral the city was in. I'd gone with it, but he didn't really need to know how much I'd been manipulating him. So long as he thought it was his idea to accept, and was happy in his role, it was all good.

He nodded. "Yeah, that tracks. Well, I'll do the best I can."

"Thanks, Dad." I refused to feel guilty about it. He was my dad, and I loved him dearly, but I also needed to get Brockton Bay back on track.

<><>​

Cherie

"So," Taylor said as they got off the bus in front of Winslow. "How do you feel about your first day of actual, official school?"

"Still not convinced it won't be a total waste of time and effort." Cherie rolled her eyes. "I was doing okay up until now."

"Nah." Taylor shook her head with a grin. "You were getting by. Making do. Leaning on your powers. When you're not in a position to do that anymore, that's when you need an actual education to fall back on. Why do you think I'm still going, when I've got my powers?"

"I had actually wondered," Cherie admitted. "Couldn't you just End your need to show up at school?"

"I could." Taylor shaded her eyes and looked up at the frontage of Winslow with a less-than-thrilled expression. "I've got far more bad memories in there than good. And I might be able to skate by ninety percent of the time, with my power filling in the gaps. It's the other ten percent where I'll come unstuck, where I won't know what I don't know. I'd rather not try to depend on something that's designed to kill stuff for giving me advice on how to live my life. Actual knowledge is probably the smarter bet." She shrugged. "And anyway, like I said, it's a lot nicer there than it used to be."

"Right." Cherie followed along, mulling over Taylor's words. They made more sense than they would have even yesterday. Absent the insidious, invidious influence of her father, she was now actually able to contemplate living among non-capes without using her power to manipulate every aspect of their lives in her favour.

Not Taylor or her dad, of course. That had never been on the table. She'd known damn well that even the intent to do so would get her horribly murdered.

But if Taylor had cut her loose to leave Brockton Bay and travel on instead of taunting Heartbreaker into coming to the city, it would've been a different matter. The moment she was out of Atropos' sphere of influence, she would've gone straight back to using her powers to get what she wanted, when she wanted. Her goal, as it was when she left Montreal in the beginning, would have been to find a powerful villain gang and become one of them, doing whatever it took to secure her membership.

While she'd been trying to learn how to be better—from sheer self-preservation, if nothing else—she'd still been the same horrible person her father had warped her into, deep down. Without the threat of Atropos to keep those impulses at bay, they would've come to the surface again, empowered by the deep dark whispers in her soul. But now the whispers were gone, as were the impulses. And she was still horribly shocked, whenever she thought about it, at just how much her father's influence had been driving her behaviour.

Who she was now, she wasn't entirely certain. Too much of her personality had been overlaid by the toxic sludge of Heartbreaker's power influence, and was now doing the equivalent of blinking in the light and looking around in confusion. But she was willing to try and find out. Without, as Taylor was strongly hinting, leaning on her powers to make things easier.

They climbed the front steps and pushed through the doors into the school proper. It was warmer in here, their breath no longer visible, so they shrugged out of their coats. Taylor pointed farther into the school. "The email about your remedial classes said to come to the office first off."

"I can still come to your classes and pick it up as I go along." It wasn't really a serious effort, but she figured she had to try.

Taylor chuckled, apparently taking it in the vein it had been intended. "The last time you opened my math textbook, you went cross-eyed. That's not something you can just pick up on the way."

"Well, it's not my fault they made it impossible to understand," Cherie argued, but she headed toward the office with Taylor anyway. "Are you sure that whole chapter wasn't some kind of practical joke?"

"Cherie, that was trigonometry. Trig is easy compared to other stuff you're going to have to learn, like quadratics."

"You just made that word up."

"You know I didn't."

Cherie blew a raspberry. "Worst boss ever."

"No, I'm not."

She couldn't actually argue with that.

<><>​

Taylor

"Hi," said the young woman brightly, standing up as we entered the front office. I vaguely recognised her as one of the teachers' aides. "I'm Miss Parrish. Which of you is Cherie Reynaud?"

"That's, uh, that's me," Cherie said. "Taylor here was just making sure I got to the office okay."

What I heard, and Miss Parrish didn't, was what Cherie didn't say. And didn't go hide out for the rest of the day. It was kind of true, though I didn't really think she would go against my wishes so blatantly. I suspected she wanted me along so she could tell herself that she was being forced into this against her will, and thus satisfy her pride.

Even without Heartbreaker's influence informing her every move, she was still a surprisingly complex individual.

"Hi," I offered, with a brief wave. "I've got to get to home room now. See you at lunch, Cherie."

"Uh, see you then." She gave me a brief dirty look, along the lines of 'how dare you abandon me like this', then turned her attention back to Miss Parrish. "So, what happens now?"

"Well, now," said Miss Parrish as I opened the door to leave, "I'll be putting you through testing to see where you place academically in the various subjects …"

Grinning, I went to class.

<><>​

That Afternoon

Cherie

Taylor was waiting on the front steps of the school as Cherie straggled out. "Hi," she said cheerfully, standing up. "Testing all finished?"

"I think so." Cherie fell in step with her as they descended to ground level. She tried not to grumble, but it was very difficult. "I don't think I passed a single one. How do you even learn all that stuff?"

"Attend school on a weekly basis over the course of ten years or so," Taylor said blandly. "You're coming at it from way behind the eight-ball, so yeah, it's gonna be a struggle to catch up. But don't worry. You're smarter than a five-year-old, and you already know how to read and do basic math, so you'll be able to understand a lot more. It just won't be enjoyable."

Cherie had absolutely no doubt about that. "And I've got to do this, no matter what?"

"Hey." Taylor spread her hands. "I'm working to make Brockton Bay into a better city. We need to provide a good example to all the impressionable young minds out there. If they attend school, they'll have much better prospects than if they don't. More options."

"And here, I thought you were the cool supervillain."

Taylor chuckled. "Depends on the definition of 'cool'. Like where we're going next. Some people might call it cool, and others might call it lame."

"Where's that?"

"Well, you might get to play some video games. What do you say?"

Cherie brightened right up. It had been a long time since she'd had the chance to play video games. "Well, why didn't you say so at first?"

Taylor just grinned.

<><>​

The Lair of Uber and Leet

Uber

Brendan was on the gaming couch, working on wrecking the day of a snot-nosed little brat from Seattle or wherever, when Leet dropped onto the cushions beside him. "Ugh. Wow. That really took it out of me."

"It's done?" Brendan didn't look around.

"Yeah." Leet fished out his phone. "Weirdest fuckin' thing, though. I got it done about an hour ago, then I figured I'd put my head down for a nap. Woke up five minutes ago, and I just found out that while I was asleep, I typed up a complete user manual for it, and printed it out."

That was definitely weird enough for Brendan to give his buddy a brief stare. "What the hell? The closest you've ever come to a user manual is a scrawled note to not press the blue button at over five thousand RPM."

"I know, right?" Leet woke up his phone. "Anyway, it passed all the self-tests, so Imma contact Atropos and let her know she can come pick it up."

There was a beep from the console; when Brendan looked back at the screen, it had gone from single to two-player. As he watched, the new player sniped the opposition player from right across the play area. Slowly, he turned, following the trailing cord up and over the back of the couch. Atropos stood there, controller in hand, with a masked teenage girl beside her.

"Dude?" Without taking his eyes off Atropos, he nudged Leet's shoulder.

"What?" With his eyes on his phone, Leet hadn't noticed the new player on the screen. "Gimme a sec. Just gotta finish this text."

Brendan sighed. "Don't bother. She's already here."

"What? What do you ..." Leet raised his eyes from his phone, then followed Brendan's line of sight up and around to where Atropos gave him a little finger-wave. "Gah! How did—how long have—don't do that!"

"And hello to you too." Atropos didn't quite snicker, but she was definitely amused. "Guys, this is Cherish. Cherish, meet Uber and Leet. I'll leave it up to you to decide whether they're cool or not."

"Hi." Cherish was wearing a basic red domino mask that matched the red streak in her hair. "I thought Leet was supposed to be a Tinker. Where's all the gadgets?"

"We moved them all out," Leet said defensively. "Soon as we're done here, we're packing up the last of the gear and disappearing over the horizon. Leaving Brockton Bay."

"I did say it's not totally necessary." Atropos only sounded mildly censorious, as though she didn't care either way.

Brendan nodded. "We talked about staying on as purely show-villains, but Leet's tech has been known to fail in unexpected ways, and the last thing we want is for something to explode and hurt an innocent when we're pulling off a joke heist. So we figure it's best we just go somewhere else."

"Understood." Atropos handed over the controller to Cherish. "You two want to play a couple of rounds while Leet shows me what he's got for me?"

From the way Cherish grinned, she'd been jonesing for some console time. "Sure ... uh, if it's okay with you?" Almost as an afterthought, she looked over at Brendan.

"Hey, why the hell not. Sit yourself down." As Leet got up, Brendan moved over to give Cherish some room. "Want to restart, or keep playing?"

She sat down, eyes on the screen. "I'm good to keep playing if you are."

He grinned. "Cool."

Whatever else Atropos had going on, at least she brought over interesting people.

<><>​

Leet

"Okay, this is it. It should slide onto your left forearm and lock into place." Rodney stepped aside so Atropos could lift the sleek black device he'd built off the stand and slip her arm inside. It fitted like it was made for her—which it had been—and locked into place as advertised.

"Nice," she said, hefting it experimentally. "Not too heavy. You got it done pretty quickly too, including the user manual. I'm impressed." Taking up the manual, she leafed through it. "Okay, now I'm even more impressed. No complicated maintenance required at all?"

"Yeah, it's all solid state. Minimal moving parts." Rodney shook his head. "It was really weird building it, though. Stuff that I normally breeze through when I'm building my tech, I had to really go all-in on. But not in a 'this is difficult' way so much as a 'you better not fuck this up' way. And other stuff that I usually have trouble with, like the power supply, I sailed through. Like it really, really wanted to get built."

"Well, just so long as it works, I'm happy." Atropos went back to paging through the manual, apparently impressed by its completeness.

If she was impressed, Rodney was downright astonished. As Uber had noted, this was the first user manual he'd ever come up with, and he'd done it while he was asleep, to boot.

"Any questions?" he finally ventured.

"A couple." She tapped the upper panel in just the right spot and it swung open to give access to the tiny screen and keyboard. "I either type in latitude and longitude or specific distance and direction from me, or I use the laser?"

"Yeah." He stepped in beside her and pointed. "If you're in a hurry, you activate the laser and aim. When the dot is where you want it to be, you hit the go-there button. That only works with instant translation."

"Nice." She closed the panel and nodded. "And what's the difference between instant and step-through?"

He cleared his throat carefully. "Instant just puts you on the spot, with anything that's eight inches or less from your skin, and assumes where you're going is motionless, but you can do one about every ten seconds. Step-through lines up your movement with wherever you're going and lets you bring more stuff, or a person, but the cooldown period is one minute minimum, counting upward depending on how complex the last jump was."

"Understood." Shifting the manual to her left hand, she offered her right to shake. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Ahh, it was fun." Rodney grinned as he shook her hand. "And besides, how many people can say they built your tech?"

"Very true. I wish you luck wherever you go." Turning, she opened the workshop door. Across the room, in the gaming area, sounds of electronic combat indicated that Uber and Cherish seemed to be getting along well.

"Thanks." Rodney crossed the room with her, to see the pair laying waste to the opposition. Uber was the better player, but Cherish was gamely hanging on in there, seeming to instinctively know when he needed support.

Beside him, Atropos cleared her throat. "Wrap it up. Time to go."

"Aww." But Cherish didn't press the matter. She fired a few more shots, dispatching the last of the current crop of enemy forces, then put the controller down. "Okay, done. Thanks, that was fun."

Uber turned and bumped fists with her. "Likewise. You're pretty good at this."

Grinning all over her face, she bounced up from the couch. "I've made up my mind. This was definitely cool."

"Good to hear." Atropos popped up the panel on the device and tapped in a series of numbers so fast her fingers appeared to blur over the keys. When she hit the final button, the device hummed and a smoky grey portal, about seven feet tall and shaped like an arch-topped doorway, formed in front of her.

Cherish stared at it. "What the hell is that?"

"Our way home." Taking her by the arm, Atropos stepped forward into the portal. They both vanished, as did the portal, a second or so later.

Uber turned to Rodney. "That's what you were building for her? A teleporter that lets her step out of nowhere?"

"Well ... yes." Rodney shrugged. "That's what she asked for."

"You realise you just gave her the option to be ten times as terrifying, right?" Uber gave him a level stare.

Rodney held up his finger. "To everyone else, bro. You and me, we're out of here. Remember?"

Slowly, Uber nodded. "Good point. Very good point. Let's finish this game, then get everything packed up. The sooner we're out of here, the better."

Rodney grinned. "Leaving town before everyone finds out just who gave her that teleporter, you mean?"

"Damn straight."



End of Part Thirty

 

A Darker Path

Part Thirty-One: Making a Point

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



Taylor

Without even a stumble, we stepped through into the living room of our house. I let go of Cherie and looked around to see the portal dissipating behind us. On my forearm, the teleport device beeped and showed a timer: 3:32. As I watched, it began counting down.

"Wait, what the fuck?" Cherie turned in a circle, as though unable to take in the fact of where we were. "How did we get back here?"

I flipped the panel closed, then took off my hat and mask so I could grin at her. "We walked, duh."

"But how ...?" She took a deep breath and seemed to be trying to steady herself. "Teleport, right? Something Leet made?"

"Yeah. It doesn't even get in the way of my left hand. Pretty cool, huh?" Tossing the hat, mask and manual onto the couch, I wiggled my gloved fingers to demonstrate, then unlocked it from around my arm and put it on the couch as well. The coat came off next, leaving me looking—in the vest and tie, along with the gunbelt and knife bandolier—like the world's youngest and most well-armed maître d'.

"Isn't Leet's tech supposed to be horribly dangerous?" She threw up her hands. "Uber even said as much!"

"Usually, yes," I conceded. "But I'm pretty sure my power had a word with his power, so this specific device isn't nearly as likely to have problems."

She shook her head. "Wait, what? Powers don't talk to each other. That's impossible!" There was a momentary pause as she stared at me. "… isn't it?"

I shrugged. "I communicate with my power all the time, so is it all that unbelievable for powers to talk to each other?"

I could see her wanting to say yes, but then doubt crept into her eyes. She'd been a cape for years while I was still only in my second week, but I'd already done a crapload of stuff that she would've called out as blatantly impossible. "When you confronted Guillaume and Nicholas," she ventured. "Nicholas tried to make you feel fear, but you said that stuff about being fear, being death, and being Ending in that really creepy voice. Was … was that you, or your power?"

I thought for a moment. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure that was my power. The fear was affecting me, but my power wasn't letting it stop me from doing what I'd already decided I wanted to do. It doesn't actually talk out loud all that much, but it's a total ham when it does."

She let out a startled giggle at that, as though she hadn't expected me to refer to my power in that way. "Does it tell you to … well, do things you don't want to?"

"Nah." I grinned at her. "Like I said, we communicate. I get ideas for cleaning up the city, it suggests ways that might happen, I throw in ideas, and we kick it back and forth until we've hashed out all the details. But while it can't make me do anything I don't want to, it can let me be a kickass action movie hero. Honestly, it's a ton of fun. And if bad guys die in the process … well, my power is about Ending things, so that's where its strengths lie. To be honest, once I've given them fair warning, it's really out of my hands. They know who I am, and how this is going to turn out. If they're deliberately choosing a path that will harm my city, and they ignore my warnings, they've chosen to die. It's as simple as that."

"What about Damsel of Distress? You let her go home again." She spread her hands. "In fact, you had me pushing her hard to choose to go home, and she really, really wanted to lash out at you."

"Three reasons." I ticked them off on my fingers. "First, she'd only gotten one warning. Sometimes the second warning turns them around. Second, calling in Edict and Licit and letting her go home gave me a boost with the PRT, and gave them an excuse to keep treating me with kid gloves. Third, it encouraged your father to come here when he saw she'd survived the experience. He was going to show up eventually, so I decided last night was good enough."

"What about the boat tonight?" I must have frowned or shown some emotional cue, because she continued. "I mean, I know you're going to blow it up. But you've only given them one warning … right?"

"That specific boat, yeah," I agreed, then held up a finger. "But I already put a blanket prohibition on smuggling drugs or guns into the city. They've got both. Also, I smacked Gesellschaft on the nose the other night, and told them to stop it with that shit. I even said that if they try to bring capes in to start trouble with me, those capes will get murdered to hell and gone. So … guess what?"

It wasn't like she had to think very hard about it. "They're sending capes?"

I grinned tightly. "Bingo."

<><>​

Several Hours Later

Two Miles Offshore, on the Fancy Sue

It was so quiet on the repurposed fishing boat that Rob Kendall could hear the gentle waves slapping against the hull as they slid through the water. The engine had been rebuilt for silence, with a muffler that let out the exhaust fumes underwater, so even at high speed (such as it was) the engine would still be quieter than the hissing of water in the bow wave. Everyone was equipped with earpieces and radios so there would be no shouting to carry across the still water.

He was armed with a suppressed MP-5, as were the other members of the guard contingent. No seaman, he had just one job: if anyone (especially, but not limited to, Atropos) attempted to interfere with getting their cargo ashore, he was to ensure that as many bullets as possible found their way to the opposition.

Up until now, Brockton Bay had been both a lucrative destination and an active hub for the distribution of both drugs and high-end weaponry. Despite the official dissolution of the Empire Eighty-Eight and the violent destruction of their stocks already in the city, the Gesellschaft was determined to reopen that rich seam of profit. And so, the Fancy Sue had set out to sea on an innocent-seeming cruise, only to rendezvous well out of sight of land with a freighter that 'just happened' to be passing by. Parcels of drugs and crates of weaponry had been lowered to the Fancy Sue's deck and stowed below in short order, then the two vessels had parted ways as though they'd never been near one another.

He'd been nervous at the beginning of the journey, but now it seemed they were on the home stretch. No Coast Guard boats hove into view with flashing lights and wailing sirens, no curious capes swooped down from above to investigate the blacked-out craft. Still, he knew damn well that it was never over until it was actually over, so he refused to relax. He didn't like spending any time in the wheelhouse with the two creepy capes looking over the helmsman's shoulder every second of the trip, so he opted to head down to the stern, just in case something (or someone) tried to sneak up on them from behind.

While he was there, he briefly debated having a smoke, but it was a bad idea all around. On deck, the cherry of a cigarette would be visible for literally miles, and given what was belowdecks, nobody was allowed to smoke there. In fact, no open flames at all were permitted.

As they were steaming in toward the coast and the half-moon was low in the western sky, he found himself in a near pitch-black shadow cast back over the stern by the superstructure. Leaning on the aft rail, he stared pensively out at the trail of their churned wake, the occasional bubble of acrid exhaust making its way to his nostrils. Without any lights to act as a guide, he couldn't even see the horizon, much less anything trying to stealth up behind them.

Finally, as sure as he could be that they were safe from that direction, he straightened up from the rail and turned … only to come face to face with a silhouette out of nightmare. As dark as the shadows were, she was darker, his night-adapted eyes easily picking out the hat and the long-coat from the surrounding gloom. The white shirt and the grey vest may well have been glaring flashlights to his vision.

"I told you to keep your head down, Rob," Atropos murmured, and starlight glinted on a wickedly sharp blade: her fabled shears. One slash opened his throat, stilling his shout before it properly began, and the other severed the tendons in his wrist so that his finger couldn't close on the trigger of his MP-5. Almost tenderly, she lowered him to the ground so that he wouldn't make a clatter and raise the alarm.

He died in a pool of his own blood, dimming eyes looking up at the stars.

<><>​

Taylor

I had four minutes before the teleporter would allow another jump. That was fine; I had things to do between now and then. Easing from one shadow to another, moving in a silent ballet to avoid the notice of the guards, I cracked the hatchway and made my entrance into the boat proper.

There were two guards at the bottom of the stairway, of course, but they'd been lulled by the utter lack of anything happening to the point that they were half a second slow in bringing up their guns. I shot them both before they had time to so much as register my presence, and they slumped to the ground. Fortunately, the noise thus made wasn't quite loud enough to raise the alarm.

This wasn't to say that it went unheard. The Dockworkers' two-way radio I'd repurposed for this outing buzzed in my ear. "What was that? The noise below."

"My bad," I replied in what I knew to be mimicry of the heavier-set man to the left. "I got a leg cramp and tripped. Can I come up and get some fresh air?" To ensure a negative reply, I introduced a little bit of a whine to my mimicry of his voice.

"No." The response was curt and to the point. "Remain on post. Be more careful."

"Okay," I said, adding a tinge of resentfulness, but not enough to invite retribution for insubordination. "I'll stay where I am."

I stepped past him and his luckless comrade, and opened the door into the hold. Toward the front, or the bow (I figured) was the drugs in big plastic-wrapped packages. On either side of the door were crates of weapons; not the ones that anyone could buy legally in the United States, but fully-auto rifles and machine pistols, as well as grenades and other goodies.

If I'd been inclined to wonder where that AT-4 and its friends had come from, I would've been wondering no longer. But I had no time to waste on 'eureka' moments; levering open a crate of grenades, I started lifting them out of their packing to lie loose on the deck. With their pins still in, they were technically harmless, as was the ammunition that I also took out of its storage to roam free with the grenades. One last grenade I sequestered for my own purposes, tucking it into one of the many pockets boasted by the long-coat.

On the way out of the hold, I moved one of the dead men so his boot propped the door open, then I stealthed back up the stairs. The quiet part of the mission was almost over; in a very short time, I would go loud.

All this was according to the plan. While I could murder everyone on board and sink the boat without a single person knowing about it, that wasn't what I wanted. If nobody knew about it, then nobody could learn not to do it.

Leaving the hatch partway open, I leaped upward, grabbed a handhold, and scrambled on top of the cabin roof. There was a guard up here, but he ceased to be an issue when I shot him under the jaw, spraying the extremely recent contents of his skull into the night sky. Suppressed or not, the shot and the subsequent thud of his body was loud enough to get attention … which was exactly what I wanted.

"Stranger at the stern!" I hissed over the radio network, in the voice of the man I'd just shot. It took a few seconds for them to react, then Night started working her way down the left-hand side of the boat, while Fog went down the right.

Going to the right, I shot the men behind Fog, then swung down and kicked him solidly in the side of the head as he began to turn. He collapsed to the deck, still alive, but out for the moment. I didn't want him dead right at that second, but I did want the phone in his pocket.

As I clambered back on top of the cabin with my prize, I heard scrabbling at the stern as the now-monstrous Night discovered my first victim. I went straight back over the top and dropped down next to the hatch that led into the hold. Another crewmember showed his face behind me and I shot him without looking around. "Hey!" I shouted. "Bitch-features! Come and get it!"

A smoke grenade, already spewing grey-black fumes, clattered along the deck toward me. I would be engulfed in seconds, allowing Night to wreak her own personal specialty of havoc on me. Or rather, I would've been, if I hadn't shot the casing just right so it flew over the side and into the ocean. The second one, I shot out of the air and it vanished into the wake.

Her next ploy was to rush me, holding her hooded cloak up in front like a shield. It was festooned with hooks on the side facing me, so that she could wrap it around me with her spiky forearms and then stab me repeatedly through it. The tactic was rough on cloaks, but she could probably afford them. And of course, the idea was that I couldn't see her through the cloak so even if I shot her through it, she would still be an extremely durable monster.

I pulled out the shotgun and blew a chunk out of the cloak, right where she was holding it. It fell away, and then I could see her. She stopped, suddenly aware that she had made a grave error in tactics. I didn't allow her to regroup, closing the distance and spinning her around to smack her face-first into the wall of the cabin beside us.

Her hand had survived the shotgun blast, mainly because she'd changed form after I shot the claw away, so I grabbed it and slapped it against the weather-stained wood. Then I jammed my shears through it and into the cabin wall, pinning it there like a bug on a corkboard. That was when she screamed.

Another one of my pockets held a black bag, which I pulled out and flipped over her head. No matter how she struggled, she couldn't pull free, and her pinned hand ensured that I could always see her. "Sucks, doesn't it?" I asked rhetorically. "Can't see your opponent. About to die. But I warned you."

Pulling one of the blades from the bandolier, I stabbed her in every vital spot I could easily reach, and there were a few of those. Kidneys, heart, carotid arteries and jugular vein. I finished by jamming the blade into her eyesocket through the bag, hard enough to reach her brain.

As she sagged in my arms, dying, I looked up and smiled. Fog was up again, and he'd heard Night's screaming, then her death-gurgles. Whatever he felt for her, whether the affection he showed her was genuine or a byproduct of the artificial personalities that had been installed in them by Gesellschaft's torture chambers, it didn't matter. He was coming for revenge, and everything in his way was going to die.

Or such was probably his intent.

I had other ideas.

As his acidic fog form loomed up over the top of the cabin, homing in on the noise I was deliberately making, I pulled the shears out, allowing Night to flop to the deck. She was already dead, beyond the reach of her power to revive her with a Change; I'd made sure of that. With the shears hanging off my pinky finger, I flipped up the panel and hit 'go' on the next set of stored coordinates. The portal formed behind me, and I pulled out the grenade I'd saved.

As Fog poured down onto the deck, I leaped backward over the rail; at the same time, I tossed the grenade into the open hatch, minus its pin. Passing through the portal, I landed on a little-used dock, a few miles north of Brockton Bay. Shouts of alarm sounded around me as I rolled to my feet with my pistol in one hand and bloodstained shears in the other.

<><>​

Fog

Geoff was too busy focusing on the fact that Dorothy was down and Atropos had somehow vanished into nothingness to think about how the killer had thrown something through the hatch. He had no way of knowing that the unknown object, in bouncing down the stairs, had cleared the legs of the dead men at the bottom and was now rolling around on the floor of the hold. It wouldn't really have mattered either way, in three …

… two …

He crouched over Dorothy, searching for signs of life. There were none.

… one …

The close-range detonation caught him by surprise, blasting him into pink mist.

<><>​

Taylor

"You know who I am. You know who I've killed. Don't be idiots." They were almost convinced. I just needed one more piece of showmanship.

As I strode forward, inevitability and lethality implicit in every step, my long-coat flared sideways in the freshening breeze. I timed my steps to a nicety; on the third such step, as my heel hit the wood, the boat went up behind me in a towering explosion of flame. Smoothly and implacably, I brought the pistol up to point at the guy I knew was in charge of this bunch of assholes.

I didn't speak again; I didn't have to.

As the sound of the explosion rolled in over us, he slowly lowered his gun and put it on the ground, then knelt down and laced his fingers behind his head. One by one, his cohorts did the same, glancing fearfully from me to the burning, sinking hulk in the distance. Every time I looked in their direction, they cringed away.

I'd been as good as my word, earlier, and passed on word to the Coasties and the PRT about where to find the bad guys. Of course, I'd only sent the text about ten seconds before I teleported on board the smuggling vessel, but that wasn't really my problem.

As I stood there silently menacing them, I could hear the sirens just beginning to echo over the water as the boats sliced in toward the extremely obvious location of the now-defunct Fancy Sue. It wouldn't be too much longer before the capes and PRT found their way to where I was, and I'd be able to "softly and silently vanish away" (thanks, Mom) in my turn.

All of this would of course go toward building my personal legend among the denizens of the Brockton Bay underworld, but that was the general idea. The more they saw me as someone they wouldn't see coming and couldn't beat, the more likely they'd seek lawful employment, and the less need there would be for me to kill any of them for doing something stupid and avoidable. Thus giving me more time to kill the ones who needed killing.

I holstered the pistol; none of the men so much as twitched. Then I pulled out a cloth and carefully polished Night's blood off the blades of the shears, before sheathing them. Still not a movement.

Finally, I took out the phone I'd stolen from Fog, and woke it up. It required an eight-digit PIN which (not altogether surprisingly) did not hold any reference to Nazism within it. There were several numbers in the directory, none labelled; I tapped the third one down, then hit the Call icon.

It rang several times, then a groggy voice answered in fluent and colloquial German, asking Fog why the fuck he was calling at this ungodly hour. "Hi," I responded brightly, in the same language. "This is Atropos. You've probably heard my name before. Night and Fog are dead, as are the entire crew of the boat that was transporting your poison to Brockton Bay. Now, listen very carefully. If you send one more cape, transport one more ounce of illegal drugs, or smuggle one more bullet into my city, I will kill you in your sleep. You have been warned."

I didn't bother asking him if he understood; men like that never responded favourably to such questions. He would argue and deflect and never acknowledge the ultimatum. It didn't matter. I'd told him, and if he pulled that shit again, the top tier of Gesellschaft would be down one asshole. Rinse and repeat. Sooner or later, I'd either train them to keep their bullshit out of my city, or there wouldn't be a Gesellschaft anymore. Either outcome was fine to me.

I tapped the button to access the last set of stored coordinates and flipped the panel down, just before Velocity blurred into sight. His head flicked around to all the kneeling bad guys, then he saw me and raced in my direction. He probably didn't want to fight me, but I didn't care. Tossing the phone in the air so he could catch it, I stepped backward through the portal. The last thing I saw of him was holding his hand out, his mouth forming the word, "Wait—"

The portal dissipated and I was standing in the living room, with Dad and Cherie watching me with interest from the sofa. "Well?" asked Cherie.

I shrugged as I took off the hat and mask. "It was right where my power said it would be. With that information, they'll be able to board the freighter and find enough evidence to take it out of commission for its part in the smuggling. Night and Fog were on board, like I thought they would be. They're dead now."

"Damn." From the way he shook his head, Dad knew how big that was. "You're really yanking Gesellschaft's tail on this one, aren't you?"

I chuckled as I headed for the kitchen. "Oh, you haven't heard the half of it. Is there any dessert left? I feel like having seconds. Shooting Nazis is hungry work."

"Only if you wash up the dish after," Dad called after me.

I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn't see me from there. "Slave driver."

"That's slave driver dad to you."

I grinned as I hunted up a bowl and a spoon, while Cherie giggled at our banter. Fixing Brockton Bay was all well and good, but it was always nice to come home again.



End of Part Thirty-One

 

A Darker Path

Part Thirty-Two: Obligations

[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: Relevant side story.]

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♦ Topic: Nacht und Nebel No More
In: Boards ► Brockton Bay ► New Capes ► Atropos
Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Posted On Jan 13th 2011:
Goooood morning Brockton Bay!

It's great to talk to you all again. Time for the latest update on my activities. Posting again just after midnight because traditions are fun!

So, you know how I told Gesellschaft to not send any more drugs or weapons into Brockton Bay?

Guess what happened last night.

If your guess is anything like 'they tried to send drugs and weapons into Brockton Bay', then congratulations: you possess pattern recognition!

Operative word: "tried". The boat didn't make it to within half a mile of shore, at least in one piece. They thought they were playing hardball, too; two capes were on board. You may have even heard of them: Night and Fog.

Remember how I said 'no more villains in my city'? They tried to come back to my city. As the saying goes, "That's a paddlin'." For an extremely broad definition of the word.

Anyway, I blinded Night so she couldn't see a thing, then I stabbed her with a pointy blade lots and lots of times. This was after some totally inconsiderate person (spoilers: me) arranged for a bunch of grenades to be lying loose in the hold instead of safe in their crates, along with other bits of high explosive. So when I tossed a grenade down there while executing my exit strategy, Fog was caught in the blast and turned into pink mist. Most of him, anyway. Top half, definitely. They're going to have to ID him by his toenail clippings or something.

In other words, I stabbified the person who could turn into a stabby monster, and I turned Fog into mist. Only, the type he can't turn back from.

I'm pretty sure a lot of you would've heard the explosion.

And as those who know me well enough will have figured out by now, I've informed the individual responsible for sending those idiots to their deaths (including Rob. Yes, *that* Rob, Mr flyhomeET himself) that if he tries this one more time ... well, let's just say he won't be capable of trying it a third time.

Because, you know, I'll kill him.

What's that you say? Being a key member of Gesellschaft means that he probably thinks he's safe from my retribution, in Germany? Specifically, in his estate in Stuttgart Sud?

Mwahahaha.

In other news, the Committee for the Betterment of Brockton Bay (nice alliteration there, guys) met for the first time yesterday afternoon, being in possession for the plan to fix the city and the funds to do so. There was a little jockeying for position and a few attempts to slow things down "to really examine the issues", but Committee head Danny Hebert kept everything on track and moved forward with the agenda. The first drug rehab clinics will be opening across the city as early as this afternoon, and more will be getting placed as the need arises. Also, the stimulus payments will be starting on Monday, giving everyone in Brockton Bay who's living below, on and just above the poverty line a much-needed boost.

Impressively enough, nobody tried to blatantly redirect any funds to their own personal agendas, though two people did think strongly about it. Shame on you, Ms T and Mr K. I *am* watching.

I look forward to more good work from the Committee. In the meantime, have a lovely villain-free day. (You're welcome).

Oh, and later today? I'm going to start fulfilling my end of a deal I made with a particular hero. Who, you may ask? What hero would possibly have made a deal with me? And for what?

You'll find out soon ... and with any luck, the wait will have been worth it.

Toodles!


(Showing page 1 of 17)

►Bagrat (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
Okay, just going to say, wow.
Also, holy shit.
There was definitely a boat out there last night. The PRT is withholding the name of the boat and its owner at the moment, but it looks like some remnants of the Empire Eighty-Eight took it out under the guise of doing some night fishing. While they were out there, they met up with a ship (which has since been tracked down) and transferred a crap-ton of drugs and weapons on board. (Enough traces of both were found after the fact to verify that beyond a doubt.)
*Somehow*, Atropos knew exactly where the boat was, despite the fact that it was running dark, and got on board. And yes, she blew it up. Several bodies have been recovered, including one woman, who has been tentatively ID'd as Dorothy Schmidt, AKA Night. And yes, cause of death appears to be 'got stabbed a whole lot'. Also, she has a stab wound through one hand, that would appear to match a certain pair of horribly sharp shears. (Just going to say: being stabbed to death then blown over the side did her no favours whatsoever. Atropos is in fine form.)
The bottom half of a recovered body has been (via Atropos' description) tentatively ID'd as Geoff Schmidt, AKA Fog. An international request has been made for Mr Schmidt's birth details, in the hope that the hospital took a footprint at birth. Short of DNA testing, that's about the only way anyone's going to know for certain. (Okay, we all know it's him, but we don't 'know'. Thus, the whole 'jumping through hoops' thing.)
Note that she *also* appeared on the dock where the goods were about to be received, seconds *before* the boat exploded, and held the men there in attitudes of surrender until the Protectorate showed up. So yeah, apparently Atropos' ability to be *right behind you* now has a whole new level of scariness.
I know I'm shouting into the wind here, but for God's sake, anyone else who's planning to smuggle drugs or weapons into Brockton Bay, please don't! I say this for your sake, not mine. You can't spend money if you're dead, and Atropos is REALLY damn efficient at making people dead.
(Also, for my sake. Every time I see the result of another attempt, my faith in human intelligence drops by a few points.)
(I'm not even going to address the Stuttgart Sud thing. I'm really not.)
I don't know anything about the CB3 or its inner workings, so I'm just going to take Atropos' word on how it went. (Also, don't be idiots. You *know* she's invested in making it work.)
Just so everyone is aware: I have no idea what this deal is about, but by now we've all learned that when Atropos teases something, she delivers.
*Steals some of UnconcernedFox's popcorn and settles down to await the reveal*

►WingsOnHigh (Verified Not the Simurgh)
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
Wait ... Atropos said she blew up the boat by tossing a grenade into the hold, but she *also* showed up on the dock just before the explosion? More than half a mile away? Is it just me or does that say 'teleport' to anyone else?
Does Atropos now have an official Mover rating?
That would kind of explain a lot, actually.

►AntAuthor
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
hah hah. Nazis go "boom". Good riddance to bad rubbish.

►MostlyInsaneWriter
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
In the local PRT Office sits a man, a man that has just been reviewing a certain series of threat ratings for a certain Atropos. He has now broken down crying and will need something strong and alcoholic to recover.

►SootStainedEyeball
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
So wait ... when she killed Butcher, did she keep the teleportation?
Because that's gotta be more than coincidence.

►Reave (Verified PRT Agent)
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
@Atropos - Hello again. I'd like to say that we could've intercepted the boat and taken Night and Fog into custody without incident, but we both know it could've gotten very bloody. Would've, rather.
So, I'm not even going to pretend to critique you this time, save to say that we still could have coordinated our efforts, to minimize the loss of life.
Everyone deserves due process, after all.
Once again, I'd like to renew my invitation to come on in, sit down and talk about our mutual goals and how to best achieve them.
How about it?

►Atropos (Original Poster) (Banned) (You Wish) (UnVerified Cape) (Can Actually Kill Anything) (Yes, Really) (Watch Me)
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
@Reave - thanks for that. I'll have to pass on the chat, though. I still can't help feeling that it would devolve into you asking me not to kill people, and outside idiots taking that as an invitation to wander into my city with drugs.
If they know they'll die when they try, then there's fewer headaches all around.
Also, I save on ammo.
See you around.

►UnconcernedFox
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
*rolls eyes and passes Bagrat a spare packet of popcorn*

►BigBoomNineThousand
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
@SootStainedEyeball - But there's no explosion mentioned when she teleports. If she teleports.
​

End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 15, 16, 17

​

(Showing page 2 of 17)

►SootStainedEyeball
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
@BigBoomNineThousand - What if, now bear with me here, what if Butcher never *needed* to do the explosion? What if she always had the choice *not* to do it, but always chose to anyway? And now Atropos is just ... choosing not to?

►EightySixEnhance
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
I'd like to call for a moment of silence for Rob (aka flyhomeET), would-be Empire internet tough guy.
Whoops.

►A_Dragon (Verified not *the* Dragon)
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
@EightySixEnhance - just going to point out a well-known quote:
"First of all, and most importantly, never forget that people are stupid."
Personally, I think the Darwin Award people need to bring out a new category: "people who pissed off Atropos".

►BigBoomNineThousand
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
@SootStainedEyeball - huh. Never thought of that.
That would make a scary kind of sense.

►AmateurScribe
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
@A_Dragon - I think there are other quotes that can be referred to that, off the top of my head:
- The mother of all idiots is always pregnant
- Fools rush where angels fear to tread
- Make something idiot proof, and someone's going to invent a better idiot
- Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the universe - Albert Einstein
Anybody else got more?

►Darth_Psycho
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
I wonder ... if and when Gesellschaft tries to stick their nose into our affairs again, and Atropos takes offense ... how's Interpol going to take her visiting Stuttgart Sud and murdering the idiot who tried?

►AmateurScribe
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
@Darth_Psycho - Imma go with 'a round of applause, followed by a sternly worded memo not to do it again'.

►Atrim
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
I can see about six different agencies taking an interest:
CIA, Interpol, the embassy in Germany, the FBI when she gets back, the entire German government ...
Atropos be saying, "come at me, bro".

►Darth_Psycho
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
@Atrim - that's five, not six.

►Atrim
Replied On Jan 13th 2011:
@Darth_Psycho - and Gesellschaft themselves, of course.
​

End of Page. 1, 2, 3, 4 ... 15, 16, 17

■

<><>​

PRT Building, Director Piggot's Office

Thursday Morning

It never failed. Whenever Atropos went on one of her 'enthusiastic walks' (she had no idea where Assault got that phrase from, but it had caught on with everyone else) Emily would wake up to yet another cleanup of debris and corpses, somewhere in or around her city.

There were only three bright spots to this. First, the casualties were never her people, or even innocent civilians (so far). Second, there was never any doubt about who was responsible or even the timeline of events, because Atropos always posted on PHO what she'd done, and who she'd done it to. Sometimes, she even posted it ahead of time, just to rub it in that she was that damn good. Third, it was always a hit on a righteous target, and there was never any significant resistance by the time the PRT showed up. Literally all they had to do was sort out the debris and identify the bodies.

Oh, and the drop in crime rate (especially parahuman crime) was also a breath of fresh air, after ten years of having to deal with the same gang crap, day in and day out. The numbers coming across her desk indicated cautious optimism about the tentative rebound already showing in the city's economy, at all levels. Medhall, for instance, was still actually a going concern, even after a good number of their high-ranking people had 'inexplicably' left town. On the lower end of the spectrum, a lot of the mom-and-pop businesses which had been paying protection up until now were suddenly seeing a new lease of life.

All of which was great, except for one thing she couldn't ignore. It was all the result of blatant, unapologetic murder. Once upon a time, Emily had thought that as a member of the PRT, she could be a part of making life better for everyone around her by helping enforce the law. She'd never considered it might involve standing back and watching as an edgy-as-fuck vigilante did her job for her by killing people.

Not that she intended to try and do something about it. She wasn't stupid. But last she checked, she was still allowed her own damn opinions.

Clicking the mouse, she set the video running again, of the recorded debriefing between Renick and Velocity, at about midnight the previous night. As she watched, the speedster took another drink from the coffee-cup in front of him.

"When you saw Atropos, did she point a weapon at you, or show any other signs of hostility?" That was Renick, going through the checklist as normal.

Velocity shook his head. "She wasn't even holding a weapon. The men there were all kneeling with their hands behind their heads, but all she had in her hand was a phone."

"This is the phone that you handed in to our techs, once you were relieved at the scene?"

"Yes. She saw me and tossed it in my direction. It was a deliberate action. She wanted me to have it."

Emily paused the footage again, and looked over at Armsmaster. "Did we get anything out of the phone? Such as who it even belonged to?"

"That, and much more," he said with some satisfaction. "As far as we can tell, it belonged to Fog. There were several numbers saved into the contacts list. Someone—we're presuming Atropos—made a call to one of the numbers between the time of the boat's explosion and Velocity showing up. That call connected to a phone in Germany; it went out of service before we were able to ping its GPS, but we got a general location." He paused for effect. "Stuttgart Sud. Just as Atropos noted."

"To absolutely nobody's surprise," Emily observed dryly. "I presume all this has been handed over to Interpol." She knew damn well she'd be kicking asses if it hadn't. In any case, Renick wasn't that sloppy. Cautious, yes. Sloppy, definitely not.

"All the data we were able to mine out of it, yes. And we're mailing the phone itself to them."

"Good, good." She was perfectly willing to acknowledge that the threat of Gesellschaft was getting more and more distant from Brockton Bay, entirely due to Atropos' actions. It was just the nature of those actions that she disapproved of. Dropping her eyes to the screen, she clicked the mouse again.

"Your initial report said she 'vanished'," Renick went on. "Can you expand on that? As I understand things, she's been given a rating of Mover zero, but she's not a speedster, correct?"

Velocity grimaced. "We might have to upgrade that. She was standing on a part of the dock that was out over the water, facing me. A kind of doorway formed behind her, but it was hard to see against the darkness. She just stepped backward into it, at the same time as she threw the phone. I tried to tell her to wait, but she went all smoky and vanished, and the doorway did too."

Emily stopped the clip again. "So, Atropos has a way to generate teleport portals." She wasn't a Tinker or a Mover, but she knew the terminology. "The question is, how long has she been able to do that?"

"She's shown none of the signs of being a Tinker … hmm." Armsmaster paused for a moment. "What are the points against her always having been able to teleport?"

"Kaiser's death," Emily said promptly. "She was seen on camera, sneaking out of the building. Also, she literally rappelled down the side of the building, from one floor to another. If she'd had it then, she could've made it a hell of a lot creepier. And Atropos has always been about putting on a show."

"Okay, granted." He smoothed his beard with thumb and forefinger. "Let's assume she wasn't just holding back to keep everyone off guard. I figure she picked up the ability somewhere between then and when she threatened Wilkins on Sunday evening."

"Wait." Emily shook her head. "What if someone on PHO was right for once? What if she used that Thinker rating to be in New York in time to screw over Wilkins, but she couldn't teleport yet?"

"You're talking about the Butcher." Armsmaster was right on the ball. "You think she got the ability to teleport when she killed the Butcher, Tuesday morning."

"Well, where the hell else do you think she would spontaneously acquire the ability to disappear in front of a speedster?" demanded Emily, mostly rhetorically. "People who kill the Butcher get the Butcher's powers. It's the simplest explanation."

"But she's shown no other hint of being under the Butcher's influence, and she hasn't exhibited any of the other powers, even when it would've been useful," Armsmaster argued. "Semantic analysis of her PHO output indicates no particular alteration in her mindset before and after the death of the Butcher. Word choice is similar, and outlook remains the same. Unless she's got the sheer force of will to keep fourteen other minds in solid check all the time … they're not in there. Also, the signature's not the same."

"So where did she get the ability to teleport?" Emily spread her hands. "I can't see someone as competent and confident as her getting so rattled as to undergo a second trigger event."

"No, true," he conceded. "The only other thing I can think of is if she had access to Tinkertech. Just not her own."

She glanced sideways at him. "I seem to recall you mentioning that your halberd will teleport back to you at need. Have you, by chance, built any personal teleport devices that have since gone missing?"

"No," he said at once, then paused. "… I checked."

"Okay, granted. Do you think Kid Win is even capable of building a teleporter?"

He snorted. "Building it, sure. Keeping it together for more than a day before he scavenges part of it for something else, no."

"Ah, of course. And he's no closer to figuring out his specialty yet?"

"No." He smoothed his beard again. "Wait. There was one more Tinker in Brockton Bay. One I didn't even think about until now."

Emily was confused. She was pretty sure they'd covered all their bases, unless he meant … "What, Leet? Do you honestly think someone as aware as Atropos would go to him?"

"No, no, think about it." He was almost visibly excited, now. "Do you remember what Atropos said on PHO about them? She told them to stick around, because she wanted to talk to them."

"Wasn't that about borrowing Leet's stupid Snitch thing, to get footage of her taking down the Nine?" Emily had watched that footage several times over. More than a few still frames were still making the rounds as memes, usually in the vein of 'It was then he knew he dun fucked up'. The image that Dragon had taken with the missile camera now hung in the lobby down on the first floor; it was possible to buy smaller copies (signed by Dragon) in the gift shop.

"Yes, but what if it was more than that?" Armsmaster held up his finger. "The takedown of the Nine gave them the greatest ratings they ever had. If she then asked them for a favour, such as building her a teleport device …"

"Yes, yes, I can see that," she said impatiently. "But you're forgetting one important detail. Leet's tech fails, dramatically, more often than not. And he can never repair it. Why would Atropos go to him?"

Armsmaster looked pensive, or perhaps that was just what she could see under his helmet. "She's a highly aware Thinker. Maybe she's capable of figuring out how to use his tech without breaking it."

"So … you're saying she's better at using his tech than he is?" She didn't bother hiding her scepticism.

He chuckled. "Well, she could hardly be worse."

"True." She shook her head. "Is it just me or is that cheating?"

"No. That's Atropos."

<><>​

Winslow High School

Taylor

I caught up with Cherie outside the school. She was less hangdog than she had been on her first day doing the remedial classes, walking along confidently with her head up. As I came up to her, she turned her head until she saw me, then dropped back to match pace with me.

"Hi." I gently bumped her shoulder with mine. "Did it go better today?"

"It went a lot better today," she confirmed. "Now that Miss Parrish knows what I don't know, she's giving me lessons that I can actually understand. I'm not saying it's fun, because it's school and school is supposed to suck, but knowing what I'm doing makes it a lot easier to work my way through it."

"Well, that's great." I beamed at her with pride. Such a short time out from under her father's influence, and she was already showing more self-confidence than in the whole time I'd known her. "I'm really pleased to hear it."

"Thanks." She gave me a grin in return. "So, what've you got planned for this afternoon?"

This was probably going to be the sticking point. "You'll be riding the bus home alone, because I've got something to do in New York."

"Alone?" She stared at me, and I saw the worry in her eyes. "Was it something I did? Can't I come to New York with you?"

And there was the downside of what I was doing. We'd formed a bond, and separation anxiety linked to a fear of having failed me somehow was starting to kick in. "It's okay. I need you right here in Brockton Bay. There's a job I want you to do for me while I'm gone."

She calmed down at that, as I'd known she would. She hadn't let me down and I wasn't abandoning her, so much as delegating a task. More to the point, I was trusting her to do something important in my absence, which I was pretty sure her father had never done in his whole misbegotten life.

"Okay, whatever it is, I can do it." She eyed me expectantly. "Did you want me to go someplace and scare the shit out of someone?"

I chuckled. "I appreciate the offer, and I'm certain you could, but I've got that aspect sewn up. No, see, the drug rehab clinics are opening this afternoon. Since I took out all the distributors in town, and put a stop to incoming shipments for the moment, people will be starting to feel the pinch. What I want you to do is take the temperature of the whole city. And if anyone starts getting particularly aggressive, especially in groups, just … tone them down. Keep them from stirring each other up to the point that they do something really stupid. Can you do that for me?"

From the look on her face, she'd been expecting me to challenge her with something totally impossible. "Well … yeah. I can do that. That's easy."

"Good." I patted her arm, knowing that with her power she'd be able to tell how proud I was of her. "Just remember, you're going to need to keep them calm—or calm-ish—until the clinics shut their doors, and a little bit after. Okay?"

That was going to be a little more difficult for her, but still well within her capabilities. It was also my sneaky way of introducing her to the idea of being responsible for people outside of herself.

She nodded seriously. "I can definitely do that. I know how much this means to you."

"Thanks. I mean it. See you at home." Turning, I headed back into the school. People were still coming out, which meant nobody paid much attention to me; those that did, hastily looked elsewhere. It seemed that being suspected to be Atropos had its uses after all.

I ducked into the first empty classroom and locked the door behind me. Then I opened the backpack I had slung over my shoulder (which wasn't the one I'd been carrying my books around in all day, though the two were deliberately identical) and took out my costume. It didn't take me long to change; I stashed my ordinary clothing in the backpack and slid it on over my long-coat. Then I locked the teleporter onto my arm, typed in the numbers my power told me to enter, and hit the go button. The portal opened in front of me, and I stepped through.

<><>​

Diamond Dreams Jewelry Shop

Midtown Manhattan

Lenore Jefferson considered herself to be a conscientious employee. A twenty-two-year-old college student, she valued her employment with Diamond Dreams very highly indeed. As such, she'd paid close attention to the security training courses. It had been drummed into her that the shop inventory was insured, so if anyone came in to rob the place, she was not to risk her life or health trying to stop them.

She'd also been taught about presentation and showing a pleasant face to the public, so when she spotted a greasy fingerprint-smear on the corner of a display case, she limited her reaction to an annoyed sniff. With nobody in the shop right at that moment—the door buzzer would alert her to a new customer—she took the polishing cloth from her pocket and spritzed the case with a spray of Windex before setting to work on the defacing smear.

Which was when someone cleared their throat from right behind her. Where nobody had been ten seconds ago.

With a startled eep, she shot bolt upright and spun around, to find herself staring at the newest big-name cape. Everyone who wasn't literally living under a rock (and probably some who did) knew who Atropos was; the combination of the black morph mask, the hat, the long-coat and the suit and tie under it was a look that nobody could mistake for anyone else. The trouble was, Atropos was a mass murderer. And instead of being merely a memorable image on Lenore's computer screen, she was standing right there in the shop.

Lenore's smile went from warmly welcoming to something more approximating the desiccated grimace of something found dead in the desert. Her brain, knowing 'fight' would be stupid and 'flight' likely futile, flailed around inside her skull while she tried to figure out what part of the security training covered dealing with the Brockton Bay Angel of Death. "Uh, hello?" she ventured, thinking very loudly, please don't kill me, please don't kill me.

"Jeez, relax," Atropos said. "I'm not here to kill you. I'm not here to kill anyone. But I do need your help."

Looking at Atropos, one would imagine her voice to be low and hissing and full of menace, but it was nothing like that. Lenore had watched the footage of the Slaughterhouse Nine takedown (who hadn't?) and had been taken aback by the down-home sound of her voice. Now, face to face with the remorseless killer who had singlehandedly driven the villains from Brockton Bay, she was struck by the contrast all over again. In fact, just going by the voice, Lenore could almost swear that Atropos was younger than her.

"H-help?" Again, this was not what Lenore had expected. "How can I help you?" Normals didn't help capes. They stood back and let capes get on with it. Oh god, I hope she doesn't expect me to kill someone.

"Nothing too strenuous. Have you heard of Ravager?" Atropos leaned casually against the counter, managing to look both relaxed and lethal at the same time. Lenore had a sudden mental image of the Discovery Channel, with a black panther lying on a tree branch, its tail hanging down, the tip twitching back and forth.

"Well, yeah." Ravager wasn't hugely well known, but she was up there. "Doesn't she have a thing against Mouse Protector?"

"She does." Atropos tilted her head very slightly; Lenore got the impression she'd just rolled her eyes. "A few days ago, she tried to hire me to kill Mouse Protector for a million bucks."

"Uh, tried …?" Lenore didn't know many people for whom the offer of a million dollars wouldn't cause them to drastically re-evaluate their friendships. That was kind of sad, now she came to think of it. Or maybe that was just life in the Big Apple. "You didn't take her up on it?"

"Please." The word was full of scorn. "I'm not for hire. I kill people who are bad for society, and Mouse Protector is the very opposite of that. But she also asked me not to kill Ravager, so I'm not going to. However, I am going to utterly murder her credibility as a villain. By the time I'm finished with her, she won't be able to hire out as a henchman."

The hits were just coming too fast for Lenore now. A murderer who had casually turned down a million dollars on principle? Setting out to kill someone's credibility? "Um …" she ventured, not sure what to say. "How … how can I help you do that?"

"Easy." Atropos pointed at the shop exit. "In approximately ninety seconds, Ravager's going to come through that door with every intent of robbing you. She's in a horrible mood, so no matter how much you cooperate, she's likely to hit you with her power on the way out and give you some nasty facial scars. I'm not going to let that happen. Instead, I'm going to make her regret coming anywhere near this shop. You down with that?"

Lenore blinked. "Um … yeah." There was no other answer she could think of to give. "What do you need me to do? Let you in back?"

"Nah, I got that covered." Atropos straightened from her relaxed pose against the counter. Reaching back without looking, she tapped a code into the locked door leading behind the counter … and the lock clicked with a cheerful beep. "What I need you to do is film the action."

Lenore stared at the now-open door in total disbelief. "Wha … how did you …"

Taking out a smartphone, Atropos woke it up and passed it over to Lenore, who took it dazedly. "I'm just good at what I do. When the action begins, start filming. Okay?"

"Um … okay?" Right then, Lenore wanted to be anywhere but there. I did not sign up to be a serial killer's sidekick!

Atropos took a step closer and squeezed her shoulder. "I will not let them hurt you. Got it?"

Although she couldn't see the black-clad cape's eyes, the tone of Atropos' voice was enough to turn Lenore's uncertainties around. It held power and assurance, and put steel into her spine. "G-got it. And thank you."

"Hey, you're welcome." Atropos stepped back through the door. "Thirty seconds. Take a deep breath." The door clicked shut behind her, and she moved out of sight.

Lenore did as she'd been told and took a deep breath. It served to steady her, and she worked at putting the professional smile back on her face.

This was not how I expected my day to go.



End of Part Thirty-Two

 

A Darker Path

Part Thirty-Three: Lights … Camera …

[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



Diamond Dreams Jewelry Shop, 3:55 PM EDT

Atropos

With fifteen seconds to go, I took my secondary phone out of my pocket, feeling the weight of everything else I had stored in my long-coat—big pockets were an absolute godsend in my newfound line of work—and tapped in two quick text messages. I knew the first would cause Mouse Protector to raise an eyebrow, but she'd do it. The second was for later.

The messages sent, I put the phone away and made sure the things I'd need first were ready to hand. They were, of course, but there was no harm in checking. This was going to be my first time making a deliberate point of not killing a hostile cape, and I wanted to utterly destroy her credibility while simultaneously producing a highly entertaining interlude for everyone else.

Of course, lacking any more convenient time to do it, I'd had to go 'shopping' just after midnight, once I'd put up the PHO post.

<><>​

Wacky Dom's Novelties & Knick-Knacks, Hillside Mall

Dominic Little

"Hey, boss? I think we've been burgled."

The simple statement by Gina, Dominic's most reliable shop assistant, got his attention and hung onto it. Ceasing his perusal of the monthly sales, he stood up from the comfortable stool behind the counter and peered down toward the back of the shop. Gina stood there, leaning out through the usually-locked door that led to their stock room.

"Are you sure?" he asked, because nobody in their right mind wanted a statement like that to be true. "Because when I unlocked this morning, the locks were intact and the alarm was still active."

"Sure I'm sure." She jerked a thumb back into the stock room. "I was checking stock just yesterday, and unless you sold off some Krazy Glue, that oversized novelty eight-ball that you were keeping back here, some body paint, an oversized clown nose, a bag of those cape-themed marbles, one of the novelty pacifiers, and a bunch of googly eyes when I wasn't looking … yeah, we've been robbed."

"Jesus damn motherfucking shit." Dominic was originally from Eastern Europe and while he'd learned English at a relatively young age, his swearing game still had some gaps in it. "Watch the front of the shop. I need to check the security tapes."

"Sure thing, boss." Gina left the door to swing shut and took his place behind the counter. "Think it was a cape?"

"Which cape?" he asked over his shoulder. "Atropos chased them all out of town, remember?"

The door had clicked shut by the time he got to it, but he simply tapped in the code to enter. Stepping through, he bypassed the stock room door—he believed Gina's word on what was missing—and instead took the door to the left, into the tiny office.

Insurance premiums for his shop were reduced somewhat for being a part of the mall, and he'd reduced them further by installing cameras around the shop, covering the entrance, the till and the rear shop door. Moreover, there was a motion sensor alarm within the shop, which could only be shut down by entering the correct code into a keypad hidden behind the counter.

Setting the camera feed to step forward at intervals of one minute—it would take a crafty thief indeed to be in and out within that time—he settled down to watch the screen. Each image flickered up for half a second before moving on; plenty of time to click the mouse and stop it if he saw something interesting.

With Gina's help, he'd locked up the shop and gone home at five the previous evening. From five until six, nothing happened. From six until seven, the same. Seven to eight, eight to nine, then nine to ten, likewise. Although he could name every item on every shelf in view, he was getting tired of nothing changing. But he kept watching.

The stretch from ten until midnight passed by in one minute, still with nothing to see. But then, just after midnight, there was a flicker on the screen, of something that should not have been there. Hastily, he clicked the mouse. There was a blurred figure caught by the camera in the act of opening the rear shop door. He ran the action back one minute, then started it rolling in real time.

With only three cameras in the shop, dead spots were inevitable but he'd made sure they were far from any entrances. From one such dead spot, unseen until now by any camera, emerged a dark-clad figure. Pausing, it looked directly toward the camera and waved.

Dominic felt a chill rolling down his back. He knew that costume. He'd essentially asked the question: if Atropos had chased all the villains out of Brockton Bay, which cape could have robbed his shop?

And now he knew the answer: Atropos herself.

As he watched, she moved toward the counter and vaulted over it with an acrobatic fluidity that only the most athletic capes could match. Leaning down to where the keypad was, she typed in a code … and the blinking light visible on the siren fixed to the ceiling went out. Where she had learned the code, he had no idea; it was written down nowhere and existed in just his and Gina's heads.

Letting herself back out of the space behind the counter, Atropos went straight to the door at the rear of the store and tapped in the code there flawlessly as well. Despite his having paid top money for the cameras, the motion detector and the code-locked door, she'd waltzed through his security as though it didn't exist. And that didn't even take into account the way she'd walked out of a dead spot, as though entering via a doorway.

Although he knew the facts of the situation now, he kept watching, just to see how bad it got. A few moments later, she emerged again, carefully closing the door behind her. In her hand, she held one of the store's own bags, stuffed full of items. From Gina's description, he was gloomily certain that he knew exactly what was in there.

As he watched, she let herself back in behind the counter, no doubt to re-enable the alarm system. She hadn't had to, but its status of being off when he arrived would've clued him in that there'd been a late-night visitor much earlier than now. But first … she tipped over the stool he'd been sitting on for most of the day? Sporting a wide round base and a foot-rest, it was quite comfortable. But what did she want with it?

A moment later, he saw. Taking what were undoubtedly banknotes from her pocket, she held them up for a moment, placed them on the floor, then put the stool back on top. Then she leaned down and re-enabled the alarm. Ducking out from behind the counter, she strode rapidly toward the dead spot, vanishing off the cameras. Nothing else happened, although he watched the footage at four times speed for the next minute.

Shutting down the screen, he got up from the chair and left the office, his mind whirling with the possibilities. Did she just … pay for my merchandise? What thief does that?

Admittedly, the loss of stock wouldn't have eaten at him so much as the violation of his workplace. A villain demonstrating that they could walk in at any time and just take what they wanted would have left him agitated and restless. But instead, he was simply puzzled.

Stepping out into the shop, he closed the door behind him and went not toward the counter, but to the dead spot Atropos had vanished into. As he expected, there was nothing of note to see; no disturbed ceiling tiles overhead, no echo when he stamped on the firm concrete flooring beneath the carpet. It looked just like any other spot in the store … except that the cameras did not see it.

Gina was watching him as he came back to the counter. "So, did the cameras catch who did it?"

"Yes," he said absently. "They did. Could you please get off the stool for a moment?"

"Sure." She stood up and moved away a couple of steps, clearly expecting him to claim the seat. "Are we going to be calling the cops, or mall management? Was it a cape? Which one?"

"We are not." He tilted the stool over, then leaned down and felt under it with his free hand. His fingers brushed across crinkling paper and he grasped it, then placed the stool upright once more. "Because it is Atropos who took it … and paid for it."

Before her wondering eyes—and his expression wasn't far behind—he spread out four twenties on the counter; enough to pay for the missing merchandise, with change left over.

"I was reading on PHO today that she can maybe teleport now," Gina ventured, after a good thirty seconds' worth of staring at the cash. "So that's probably how she got in and out." Her voice sounded strange, as though she didn't quite believe what she was saying.

"She could have teleported into the stock room and simply taken all the things, and we would not have been the wiser." Dominic looked at the money again. "But she did it this way, so she could pay."

"We wouldn't have known, sure, but people would've suspected." Gina sounded sure of herself. "Word would've gotten out. Atropos is very conscious of her brand, of her image. So, she paid."

Dominic scratched the back of his head, then picked up the money and placed it firmly in the till. Swiftly, he entered the values of the missing items and registered it as a sale, paid for with cash. Almost ceremoniously, he took out the correct amount of change and dropped it into the charity jar. "There. A sale, all above board and correct."

Gina chuckled, though she sounded a little shaken still. "Best customer we never had."

"I agree." He placed both hands on the countertop and took a deep breath. "You know, I think we will shut early today. I will still pay you the full wage, but we will both go home and relax. Spend time with our families. I think we have earned it."

"Yeah." Gina nodded. "I think you're right." She raised her eyebrows. "Are we going to tell anyone about this?"

He shrugged. "Who would believe us?"

<><>​

Manhattan

Mouse Protector

Diane frowned as her phone pinged with a text message. When she pulled the handset out to check the number, it wasn't one she recognised. However, the message itself grabbed her attention.

Hi there. In town, about to mess up Ravager's day. Want to swing by Diamond Dreams, in midtown? Flechette and Jouster are patrolling 3 blocks west of you; if you could grab them on the way, that'd be great – Atropos

"Oh, hell yes," she muttered. She'd only ever seen dead people as a result of Atropos' work; how the infamous killer went about murdering someone's credibility was something she really wanted to see.

Pulling a small collapsible Frisbee out of a pouch—this one had Legend's likeness dyed into the cloth—she tagged it then sent it flying off toward the afternoon sun. How Atropos knew where the two patrolling Wards were, she wasn't even going to speculate.

Teleporting to where the tagged Frisbee had landed, she picked it up then jogged to the edge of the roof and surveyed the street below. With a good throw and asphalt-warmed air under it, one of her little discs could go forever along one of these concrete canyons; Diane considered herself better than average at the art. Pulling back her arm, she flicked hard. The Frisbee zipped out over the street, flying straight and true.

She smiled. People thought that only being able to teleport to a tagged item was a limitation to her power, but she knew differently. It was all about playing to her strengths.

<><>​

Brockton Bay City Council Chambers

Committee for the Betterment of Brockton Bay (CB3)

Danny sat forward in his chair. "With the minutes read, the meeting will now commence. Before we take reports on the implementation of the drug rehabilitation clinics around the city, I would like to make an announcement."

He paused for a moment, meeting the eyes of each of the other members of the Committee. They were drawn from all walks of life; some from the Mayor's office, others from the business world, and yet others (like him) from more blue-collar pursuits. He knew all of them, if not personally then by reputation. They were universally noted as being successful in their chosen endeavours, for a varying degree of 'successful'. Two of them, Janice Templeton and Paul King, flinched ever so slightly when he looked at them, and he ticked a couple of boxes in his head. Thought so.

"This is a serious endeavour we are embarking on here," he said. "The lives of more than a few of our citizens—and I mean that literally, not figuratively—depend on us turning this city around and steering it away from the rocks. There are people out there whose lives are spiralling downhill due to drug addiction, depression, or simply having fallen through the cracks of society. With poor nutrition and no access to adequate healthcare, they will get sick. Some will die in entirely preventable ways, unless we here in this room do our jobs right. Fortunately, we have a plan to do just that." One forefinger tapped the thick book that lay in front of him. He'd read it through, absorbing the concepts within, and the elegance astounded him.

King raised a finger and cleared his throat. "It's too grandiose, too optimistic. We need to dial it back to what we're capable of doing, here." There were a few murmurs of agreement from around the room, most audible from Janice Templeton.

Danny's eyes narrowed a little. "It's only impossible if we all decide it's impossible, and stop trying. I read PHO, as do some of you. Janice, Paul, don't think I didn't notice you trying to introduce ways to skirt around the acquisition guidelines during yesterday's meeting, ostensibly in the name of making things easier. I couldn't prove you were thinking about ways to divert funds, and I still can't. However, Atropos seems to think you were, and she is now paying attention."

As he'd expected, dropping the name directly into the discussion had the effect of a large rock falling into a small pool. Now, everyone was listening, very carefully, to his words.

"A-Atropos?" croaked Farley Rogers, the Mayor's representative. "Is-is she coming here?" He stared around at the door, then at every corner of the room.

"Not that I know of." Danny spoke calmly and smoothly. "However, she did speak to me this morning, on this very topic." She'd merely wished him good luck with the Committee, but they didn't need to know that particular detail. Reaching into his pocket, he took out his cell-phone, and laid it on the table. "If anyone wishes to continue being obstructive, I can call her, and you can explain why. Any takers?"

Nobody said a word. In fact, everyone (especially King and Templeton) appeared to be trying to give the impression that they didn't even know what obstruction was. All eyes were on the phone, like a bunch of chickens hypnotised by a snake.

"Well, then," Danny said, taking up the phone and dropping it back into his pocket. "Let's move along, then. The drug rehab clinics? Rogers, you were in charge of that, right?"

"Oh, ah, yes." Jolted into action, Farley nodded almost convulsively. "We have a dozen in place right now, with another fourteen to open tomorrow. The initial ones should have opened their doors in the last fifteen minutes."

Paul King cleared his throat again. "I hope you won't accuse me of being obstructionist for pointing out that this is not a wise move. Drug addicts are not known for their self-control. They're likely to mob the clinics and steal the drugs on the premises for their own use." He sat back, looking smug.

"That's a possibility," Danny allowed. "Farley, find out if that's happening." There was a branch in the plan that covered this specific scenario; all he needed was correct information about the situation.

"Okay, I'm on it." Farley fumbled out his phone, checked a sheet of paper, and started dialling.

Danny looked around at the rest of the table. "While he's getting that update for us, how are we doing on the leadup to the stimulus rollout?"

"I still don't see why we can't just hand out checks," grumbled Janice Templeton, having apparently grown a backbone since the phone went away. "It's a tried-and-true system."

"And altogether too vulnerable to abuse." Danny shook his head. "We're doing it this way."

"But giving everyone a debit card is just an unnecessary expense," she argued. "Do you know how much money we could save?"

And there's your angle. "The cost of setting up the cards is negligible, and has already been factored into the ongoing plan." Danny tapped the book. "It's a done deal. We're not changing it at this stage." Turning away from her and firmly shutting down the confrontation, he addressed another member of the Committee. "Cynthia, where are we with locating all the recipients?"

Cynthia Horton gave Janice Templeton a scathing look, then addressed Danny. "Ninety-five percent done, closing on ninety-six. I figure we'll have them all nailed down by Friday afternoon."

"Good." Danny looked over at Farley. "How are the clinics faring?"

"Quite well, actually." Farley offered a tentative smile. "All the medical techs manning them report that the patients are well-behaved and polite … well, as polite as addicts can get when they're looking for their next fix. Nobody's even tried to cause trouble."

"Oh, come on!" scoffed Paul King. "Nobody? That's bullshit! Check again!"

"He already checked once." Danny's voice was mild, but there was steel underneath. "I'm not going to let you waste this Committee's time on your little power plays. Now, moving along. The next part of the plan calls for infrastructure renewal …"

<><>​

Cherish

Well, now. Someone's trying to play it sneaky.

Leaning back in her bus seat, Cherie grinned as she looked out the window. For all anyone knew, the grin was just because she was going home after a strenuous day of having facts crammed into her head, but this was not precisely the case. She was in fact listening in on the music generated by every single person in Brockton Bay.

More to the point, she was focusing on three groups of men, which had each congregated near one of the clinics in the less-affluent areas of Brockton Bay. Interestingly enough, these men did not radiate the desperation and need of a drug addict. Instead, their emotional songs made it plain that they were entirely clear-headed, and were intending to do violence in the name of greed; or to put it another way, they'd been paid to cause trouble.

Just for a moment, Cherie wondered if these were the people Taylor had meant her to be looking out for, then she nodded to herself. Of course they are. She doesn't miss a damn trick. I should know.

Reaching out, she delved into the emotional makeups of each of the potential troublemakers and found what she was looking for: the very real and thoroughly rational fear of Atropos. What with Taylor's extremely public debut, followed by the ever gorier executions of the cape gang leaders on each successive night, there wasn't a man on any of the teams who hadn't heard of her, or didn't fear her. Cherie took that fear and blew it out for them, forcibly reminding them that they were doing something she would almost certainly disapprove of.

And when Atropos disapproved of someone, their lifespan was generally measurable in hours at best.

As it turned out, she didn't even have to maintain the push; once reminded, they stoked the fires themselves. Everybody had either seen one of Atropos' victims, or knew someone who had. This was no shadowy legend, lurking in the dark and spreading rumours. Atropos was absolutely, unequivocally real … and she would come for them.

It was like she'd dropped an ink bomb in a pail of milk, as the darkness spread and consumed the light. Their collective sense of purpose dulled, began to question itself, then died altogether. The flame of their intent guttered then went out in one and then another. She could not discern words via her power, but her best bet at the emotion they were feeling would have expressed itself as, "Fuck it, I'm not being paid enough for this shit."

By contrast, the drug addicts themselves were on the whole well-behaved. Only a few started acting up, but they weren't being paid to do it, so a little emotional adjustment calmed them right down again.

As the bus trundled onward, Cherie wondered what Taylor was up to in New York.

Oh, well. She'll tell me when she gets home.

In the meantime, being the good guy felt surprisingly … good.

<><>​

Boardwalk

Aisha

"Thith ith tho good!"

Aisha had to laugh at the image Riley presented. As Brian was off duty, he'd declared a family outing to the Boardwalk, where he'd bought cotton candy for both Aisha and Riley. Aisha was used to the stuff, though she still enjoyed it. Riley, on the other hand, had her face more or less buried in the colourful, wispy confectionary.

"Wow," she said, sneaking her phone out for a picture of her 'cousin', because blackmail was always fun. "You've, like, never had any, ever?"

"Family situation, remember?" That was Brian, pointing out what Aisha had temporarily forgotten. Those three innocuous words highlighted the fact that Riley's childhood from six to twelve had been ripped away from her, and she was only now being given the opportunity to catch up on being a kid.

Which she was, in spades. With Aisha's enthusiastic encouragement, she was indulging in pillow-fights, back-talking Brian (but politely, because there were some habits Aisha didn't feel like breaking) and apparently geeking out over cotton candy.

"I've seen it but never had the chance to eat any," Riley clarified once she came up for air. "Good girls don't eat sweets before supper, you see."

"Wow, damn." Brian ruffled her hair. "Well, you go ahead and enjoy. This afternoon's about having fun, not sticking to rules."

"If you're not too careful with that, you'll be sticking to everything else," Aisha jibed with a giggle. Just then, her phone beeped to indicate an incoming text message. "Whoop, gotta check this."

With the phone already in her hand, she checked the screen. Her eyebrows hitched up and she barely managed to hold back a squee as she saw the caller ID: Her Dark Ladyship of Booyah. Then she looked at the message itself.

Hi to my biggest fan. Imma drop by for a visit this afternoon. No need to rush home; I'll get there ten minutes after you walk in the front door. You go ahead and let Riley enjoy the Boardwalk. Also, got a souvenir for you.

- A

PS: No, really, enjoy the Boardwalk.

Her initial impulse was to tell Brian to drop everything, they had to get home. But looking at the postscript, she took a breath. She knew enough about Atropos to be aware that whenever they got home, she would show up ten minutes after. And they were here to let Riley enjoy herself as a kid for maybe the first time in forever.

K, she texted back, then pocketed her phone.

"What was that about?" Brian was looking at her with the big-brother you're up to something vibe.

"Nothing," she said, then saw from his expression that line would never fly. "Okay, fine. My favourite cape ever will be dropping in once we get home. She said not to worry about hurrying."

He raised an eyebrow. "Favourite cape ever? You know …" He gestured at himself. I'm a cape, too.

"I know what I said." Crossing her eyes at her brother, she stuck her tongue out at him, then went to Riley's rescue. "C'mon, Ri. Let's go get this stuff out of your hair. And ears. Wow, when you eat this stuff, you don't do it by halves."

"But it's so good," protested Riley, but she didn't resist as Aisha grabbed her hand.

Towing Riley toward the nearest public restrooms, Aisha grinned. "Not arguing."



[A/N: too much content crept in, so I'm splitting this chapter into two, and posting the next one soon. Enjoy.]

End of Part Thirty-Three

 

A Darker Path

Part Thirty-Four: Action!

[A/N 1: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

[A/N 2: This was a split chapter, so you may wish to check one back and make sure you've seen Part 33.]



San Francisco, 12:55 PDT

A Closed Session of the Elite

The room was darkened. Every participant in the meeting who was truly there wore a cloth mask that obscured their features, though they'd also donned their formal clothing for the occasion; there was no need to be barbaric about this, after all. Screens across the other side of the table, allowing those who were absent to sit in, showed similarly darkened silhouettes.

Voices spoke back and forth, with electronic alteration disguising familiar tones. Still, everyone there knew everyone else. Names were eschewed as a matter of course.

"What is the latest on the Brockton Bay situation?"

"The Gesellschaft attempted to smuggle drugs and weapons in by boat. Atropos predicted it the night before, then got on board while it was running silent and killed everyone on board. Including two capes, Night and Fog. She also blew up the boat and got off unscathed."

All present considered that. Night and Fog had been formidable, if unimaginative. On the other hand, Atropos' reputation as a stone-cold scary Thinker was growing by the day. She had intercepted their latest attempt to smuggle drugs into the city, accurately identified the Elite as the originators, and had the sheer gall to call them out on it.

The trouble was, nobody knew for a fact whether it was a bluff or if she could actually follow through on the threat. Few there were willing to gamble their lives against the cape who had single-handedly scoured every criminal cape out of what had once been a near-Mecca for crime on the east coast. Plans that had been drawn up for entry into the city in the next twelve to eighteen months were having to be put on hold.

"How, exactly, did she get onto the boat, does anybody know?" This was a new voice.

"The current theory is that she has somehow gained the ability to teleport, possibly via Tinkertech. She had at least one interaction with the Tinker known as Leet before his departure from the city, and there may have been others."

Silence fell again, this time more fraught than before. A Combat Thinker was bad enough; one who could also teleport? 'Bad' was nowhere near an adequate descriptor.

"This is troublesome. Is there any way Atropos can be co-opted? Bought off?"

"Bribed? Unlikely. She arranged for the Slaughterhouse money to go straight into a fund to revitalise the city. If nearly a hundred million dollars won't tempt her, nothing we can offer her will."

Several voices spoke at once, then paused. One carried on. "And if we offer to pay for the revitalisation, ourselves? Bring her into the fold that way?"

"While we could potentially gain entry in this way, it wouldn't be worth the effort."

"What?"

"Why not?"

There was a sigh, rendered into electronic hash. "In order to stay in Brockton Bay, we would have to work toward the improvement of the city at all times, while refraining from any actions that would gain us an unfair advantage. Our businesses would return a profit—the economy there is already showing signs of a rebound, even ahead of the rejuvenation effort—but it would be modest in comparison to those locations where we have total control. Also, she would almost certainly disallow any significant criminal activity, cape-related or otherwise."

"And if we … chose not to accept that limitation?"

"Her Thinker capability would likely warn her of treachery before we ever started acting against her. We've all seen how she acts against those she sees as enemies. As I've already made clear, it would not be worth the effort."

"So, what you are saying is that because of Atropos, Brockton Bay is off limits?" The voice, already made neutral by the electronic mask, managed to render the question into a masterpiece of ambiguity.

"That is what I am saying, yes."

"Unfortunate. There were many opportunities to be had there."

"Indeed."

One of the screens, heretofore dark and silent, flared to full life. As the glare backscatter illuminated the room by a few degrees, those closest to it leaned away from the light. Pictured on the screen was a mask featuring a sneering visage, framed by wildly styled hair and a single earring. Incongruously, the newcomer wore a business suit of the highest quality, albeit without a tie.

"That's not what you're saying." His voice, unaltered by electronic modulation, was distinctive and grating. "You're saying you want someone to go there and deal with your little cape-killing problem so you can waltz in and take over, heh." He shook his head in what seemed to be amused contempt.

"Atropos is a combat Thinker, Bastard Son." The warning tone was evident even through the modulation.

"Who uses guns and knives." The sneering tone was a match for the mask. "Anything she can do, my boys and girls can match, heh."

"You are not being ordered to do this. You will receive no support if you do go."

Behind the eyeholes of his mask, Bastard Son rolled his eyes. "Christ, she's really got you buffaloed, doesn't she? Well, I'm going to Brockton Bay, and I'll bring you back Atropos' head. And then you can walk on in nice and peaceful and set up business the way you want to, heh." His voice was savagely sarcastic. "You're welcome."

His screen went dark again; silence fell once more as the echoes from his presence faded from the room.

Eventually, someone spoke. "Do you think he can do it?"

"I place no bets."

<><>​

Diamond Dreams Jewelry Store

Lenore

Right on thirty seconds by the clock on the wall, the door was roughly pushed open and a tall woman entered the store. Wearing a biker jacket and fingerless gloves over a t-shirt bearing the anarchy symbol in red, Ravager sported a cloth mask tied all the way around her head, covering the top half of her face, and carried a sawn-off double-barrelled shotgun. Even without Atropos' warning, Lenore would have recognised her; for a B-list villain, she had a distinctive look about her. The public perception of her could be summed up as do not approach, do not engage, do not antagonise.

Mouse Protector, of course, did all three, but that was probably because Ravager sought her out repeatedly. The independent hero was good enough to take her on and beat her, repeatedly. Lenore had no idea why Ravager kept coming back for more punishment. Some people couldn't bear to lose, apparently.

"This is a robbery!" announced the villain, somewhat superfluously, levelling the shotgun at Lenore's head. As she moved into the room, three men wearing balaclavas crowded in behind her. They carried pry-bars and cloth sacks, evidently ready to clear out the store's floor stock. "Do anything stupid and I will blow your fucking head off, you wimpy little bitch. Do you understand me?"

"Y-yes," quavered Lenore, suddenly a lot less sure about this whole thing. Where was Atropos? Wasn't she supposed to be stepping in and saving the day?

"Good." There was more than a little bit of a growl to Ravager's tone. She was definitely in a bad mood. Moving up to where the security door led into the back of the shop, she prodded it with the shotgun barrel. "What's the code?"

Before Lenore could answer, the door opened from the inside and Atropos plucked the shotgun from Ravager's hand as though it had been offered and accepted. Then the butt-end of the shotgun smacked Ravager right between the eyes; stumbling backward, the villain sat down hard on the floor, apparently stunned.

"The code is, 'say please', dumbass." Atropos stepped out through the doorway and let it swing closed behind her. She gave Lenore a quick sideways nod—start recording—then turned her attention to the three henchmen. Interrupted in their perusal of which cases they were going to break into first, they stared back at her. "I've only got beef with your boss. You can stay and die, or you can fuck off right now." She gestured with the shotgun. "Your choice."

They may have been armed with more than pry-bars, but whatever firearms they had on them were not in their hands, leaving them at a fatal disadvantage when it came to someone with Atropos' known capabilities. Lenore supposed that if Ravager had been a well-respected employer, they may have made a stand. As it was, they looked at Atropos then at each other.

"Nope."

"Nope."

"Fuck, nope."

Seconds later, the door closed behind the last of them.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" squawked Ravager, pulling herself up by a display case. "You never leave Brockton Bay!"

"On the contrary, Ravisher, I've already made it clear that I'll travel if I consider it necessary." Atropos made the shotgun vanish into her long-coat with an ease that would've made a professional magician start taking notes. "Or was it Rabbithole? I've forgotten."

Filming the action, Lenore couldn't help but admire the red flush that spread along Ravager's jawline; not from embarrassment, but from anger. "It's Ravager, you fucktard!"

"Hmm, I dunno. Radisher, you fucktard seems like a complicated name to me," mused Atropos, fiddling with something in her hands; Lenore couldn't quite see what it was. "Maybe you should consider shortening it, Wrangler?"

"It's Ravager!" Screaming her name at the top of her lungs, Ravager pulled a wicked-looking knife from under her jacket and lunged at Atropos, apparently throwing all caution to the winds.

What happened next was almost too fast to catch, even though Lenore was watching; Ravager's knife was less than a foot from Atropos before she caught the villain's wrist with one hand and stepped aside. As Ravager went past, Atropos slapped her in the face with the other hand. Once more, Ravager ended up on the floor, this time face-first. Atropos stepped to the side and carefully placed the knife on a display case, out of the way.

"What the fuck? What did you do to me? What did you do to my eyes?" Ravager clawed her way to her feet, staring around blindly, and no wonder; over the eye-holes in her mask were now two palm-sized novelty-store googly-eyes, the 'pupils' rolling around crazily as Ravager stared wildly from side to side. Despite the still-apparent danger, Lenore had to work hard to hold back from bursting into laughter; it was just too funny.

Holding up a drawstring bag for the camera, Atropos leaned over briefly; Lenore heard marbles bouncing over the tiled floor. Ravager apparently didn't, because one stumbling step too far (googly eyes still bouncing around wildly) sent her feet flying into the air as she landed hard on her back. The pratfall was magnificent, and Lenore nearly dropped the phone as she choked with laughter.

"Ooh, you'll want to watch your footing there, Ravioli," Atropos advised, far too late. "Though I do think that's a good look for you." Almost casually, she took a can of actual ravioli from her pocket and pulled the top off.

"Fuck you! The name's Ravager! Ravager!" Clambering to her feet once more, Ravager wrenched at the googly-eyes that Atropos had somehow glued to her mask. In the end, she just ripped the mask off and flung it aside, revealing her uncovered face in all its fury … half a second before Atropos threw the contents of the can in her face.

"Nah, I think I prefer Ravioli. Suits you." Atropos stepped neatly aside from an enraged charge that ended in Ravager tripping and head-butting the wall; Lenore wasn't sure whether this was due to Atropos or the marbles that were still rolling around.

"I'm going to kill you!" the villain raged, dragging herself to her feet once again. Lenore had to admit, she herself would've just surrendered by now to get the humiliation over with. "I'm going to murder you so hard, you and the shop bitch there."

"Now see, that's just rude," Atropos complained, wandering closer. Again, she seemed to be fiddling with something that Lenore just couldn't see. "Swearing and threatening innocents? That's just terrible PR, Ravioli. You should know that by—"

"Shut the fuck up!" screamed Ravager. "It's RAVAGER!" Clearly consumed by her fury, she flung herself at her tormentor, fingers crooked to try to tear at Atropos like a wild animal. Atropos melted aside like a canny matador up against a particularly clumsy bull, and smacked Ravager in the face once more. Yet again, the marbles were the villain's undoing and she face-planted into the floor as if she'd planned it.

"No, I'm pretty sure it's Ravioli. I mean, you can clear it up right now if you want." Atropos leaned against a display case with her arms folded, the very image of patience.

This time when Ravager got up, Lenore lost it altogether. Firmly planted in the villain's mouth was a large bright pink novelty-store pacifier with a half-circle cut out of the top. Between that and the pasta still adhering here and there to the supervillain's face, she looked utterly and totally ridiculous. "MMMPH!" she enunciated loudly, though with zero chance of being understood. "Mmmph. Mmmmmmmmmph! MMMMMPH!"

"Okay, Ravioli it is, then," Atropos said, as though agreeing to whatever Ravager was saying. "You don't have to repeat yourself. I heard you the first time."

Despite being weak with laughter, Lenore worked to keep the phone pointed at the pair. Atropos had definitely saved her, so it was the least she could do to record the aftermath. Though she was honestly starting to wonder if Ravager wouldn't prefer death to this.

<><>​

Boston, Massachusetts

Judge Peter Regan's Chambers

The phone on Peter's desk rang. Frowning at the name that showed up on the caller ID, he picked up the handset. "Hello, Dragon," he said. "How may I help you?"

"Good afternoon, Judge Regan." The Canadian hero's greeting was polite, which didn't reassure him in the slightest. Nobody who called out of the blue actually wanted to just pass the time. Dragon needed something from him, and he had an idea what it was. "I'm calling about the Mcabee case. It's on your docket, yes?"

"The Canary case? Yes, it is," he replied cautiously. "If you have access to evidence regarding the case, you should be speaking to the District Attorney or the defense lawyer, not me."

"Not evidence, exactly." Her tone was firm. "I've heard allegations that she's being treated unfairly. That precautions which have already been approved will prejudice the jury against her, and have no basis in fact. I've even heard you won't be giving her the right to speak for herself, which is worrying if true. Is it true?"

He sighed. This objection had been bound to come up, along with others, so he'd made sure he had the rebuttals ready to hand. "She's a known Master. We don't know that she doesn't have a Brute rating that could allow her to tear off her gag in court—"

"It occurs to me that you could put her in a soundproof room with a teletype link, and bypass the vocal aspects of her power altogether," Dragon interrupted. "In fact, I happen to know that you already have such facilities. Why aren't you allowing her to use them?"

It was time to put his foot down. "Dragon, this conversation is veering perilously close to a charge of attempted obstruction of justice. I do things my way in my courtroom, and unless you wanted to show up with a license to practise law—"

"Oh, this isn't coming from me. I got this all from someone else."

He paused. "What? Who?"

"You've heard of Atropos, have you not? Well, the other day we were in communication regarding another matter, and this particular case came up. She seems to be aware of aspects of the situation that are not public knowledge, such as the things I just brought up. Also, she mentioned secret meetings between you and the PRT where the outcome of the case had already been decided, and that Canary was due to be sent to the Birdcage so as to make an example of her. Being somewhat concerned about the matter, I asked her what she intended to do if the trial and sentencing went ahead as planned."

Peter Regan had indeed heard of Atropos. Sweat springing out on his brow despite the cool temperature in his chambers, he sat upright, grasping the phone tightly. "And what did she say?" It was all he could do to make the question sound normal.

"She said she could solve the matter either quietly or loudly. I asked her what 'loudly' meant. This is a direct quote: I go in there and bust her out. Bring her back to Brockton Bay, unfreeze her assets, and let it be known that she's under my protection. While they're jumping up and down over that, I locate the inevitable records that were made of these secret discussions and put them on the public record. Lawyers will be falling over themselves to represent her. The PRT takes a huge hit in reputation, people get demoted, the judge gets disbarred, and Chief Director Costa-Brown resigns quietly."

That was bad. That was really, really bad. Peter had his own records of the discussions in question, and although he could easily dispose of them, that didn't mean there weren't others elsewhere. Still, he had to know. "What … what is the quiet way?"

"Not as stringent, thank goodness. This is also a direct quote: I have a nice private chat with the judge one dark night. As a totally unrelated incidence, he recuses himself, with the result that a lot of this shit they're piling on her will just go away. Once she has access to her own funds and her own lawyer, she can fight her own battles."

Instinctively, he shook his head. The very last thing he wanted was to be woken up in the middle of the night with Atropos looming over him and asking questions that she might not like the answers to. 'She … she can't do this!" he protested weakly. "This is … this is absolutely obstruction of justice! I'll ask for protection, from the Triumvirate if I have to!"

"Oh, hadn't you heard?" The tone of Dragon's voice warned him ahead of time. This was going to be bad news. "Atropos has announced her intention to kill the Endbringers. Given her proven talent for murder, the Triumvirate has decided to go hands-off on her for the time being, to see if she can actually pull it off."

His eyes widened as he felt the lifeline slipping away. "They can't do that!" But even as he protested, he knew that they could. And considering the bloodbath she'd perpetrated on the Nine, there was no way merely human security could hold her back from her purpose.

"I guess that's between you and them. Anyway, I just thought I'd give you the heads-up. Good afternoon, Judge. Have a nice day." The call ended.

Peter sat for a long time staring at the phone before he put it down.

<><>​

Flechette

Lily aimed her arbalest and shot the arrow across the street, nailing it into the stone façade of the building opposite. Exerting her power on the chain that trailed back from the arrow, she fused it into the parapet where she was, then stepped up onto the chain and fitted the purpose-built grooves in her boot-soles onto it. Her power made her boots almost frictionless, allowing her to slide the length of the chain in just seconds. Then she loaded another arrow and shot back at where she'd attached the chain in the first place. It severed the links; she grabbed the now-loose chain as she dropped, allowing it to slide through her gloves until she reached ground level.

Seconds later, a collapsible Frisbee hit the wall beside her and rebounded to land on the sidewalk. Mouse Protector appeared beside it, then leaned down to retrieve it and stow it in a pouch. Turning, she gave Flechette a nod. "Where's Jouster?"

"Still coming," Lily said. "His Mover power only works in short bursts. I told him I wouldn't go in until you arrived. Why does Atropos want us here, anyway?" She'd heard of the Brockton Bay villain, but had never expected to meet her, at least on the same side of a set of bars.

"Search me. She just said to invite you along." Mouse Protector looked up as a bright figure flashed overhead, then came down for a fast landing. "Oh, hey, Legend. Decided to get in on the fun, huh?"

Legend nodded, his normally cheerful expression currently absent. "I've heard a lot about Atropos, and I thought it was time we had a face-to-face. Also, Flechette and Jouster are my responsibility while they're in the field."

"Fair." Mouse Protector pointed down the street, toward the frontage of Diamond Dreams. "Looks like someone's … holy crap. Oh, God. I've got to get a photo of this."

The door had just opened and someone Lily vaguely recognised as Ravager stumbled out, her hands zip-tied behind her back. There were what looked like squares of ravioli stuck to her face and jacket, a large pink pacifier in her mouth, an equally large plastic clown nose covering her own nose (with oversized nostril-holes), and she had two huge googly eyes covering her real eyes. To add salt to the wound, someone had painted the word "RAVIOLI" across the back of her jacket, and put big streaks of green and pink in her hair.

"Oh. Oh, my goodness." Legend ventured closer, staring in fascinated disbelief. Lily followed on, making sure she didn't get in the way of Mouse Protector taking photos. "That is Ravager … right?"

"Not anymore." Atropos strolled out through the still-open door, then leaned back through for a moment. "Sorry about the mess!" she called out, then let the door close. "Ladies and gentleman, may I introduce: Ravioli, scourge of the New York restaurant scene." She tapped the villain on the shoulder. "Sit. Stay."

Obediently, Ravager sat down, right where she was. She appeared to be at a point where she just didn't care anymore, as far as Lily could tell.

"Atropos …" Legend seemed to be lost for words. "What …?"

"Ask MP," Atropos said briskly, shutting her phone off. "Once this goes online, along with the full video of the beatdown I just gave Ravioli here, do you think she'll have a shred of credibility left?"

"Holy shit." Mouse Protector held her hands over her mouth, but kept talking anyway. "Holy shit. You did all this to her … just to mess with her credibility?"

Atropos shrugged. "That's what I said I'd do, right? You didn't want her dead. She might want to be dead right now, but that's totally not my problem."

"But … but … why?" Legend frowned. "What did she ever do to you?"

"Tried to hire me to off MP here, actually." Atropos rested her elbow comfortably on Mouse Protector's shoulder. Mouse Protector didn't seem to notice, staring enthralled at her sworn enemy's discomfiture. "Here; this chat log should cover it." Pulling up an image on her phone, she showed it to Legend.

He read it through, his eyebrows rising higher with every line. When he got to the end, he stared at Ravager, then at Mouse Protector, then at Atropos. "A fundraising event?"

"Yup." Atropos stashed the phone away in one of her pockets. "Brockton Bay General Hospital, children's oncology ward. Look it up for yourself."

"Thank you. I will." He shook his head as he looked down at the thoroughly defeated Ravager … or, as Atropos had renamed her, Ravioli. "Remind me to never get on your bad side."

Mouse Protector snorted. "As if anyone needs a reminder for that."

"Okay, wait just one second." Lily held up her hands in a 'time-out' gesture. "Okay, I get that you did this to Rav … uh, Ravioli as a favour to Mouse Protector." She looked down the block toward where Jouster was jogging toward them. "But why me and Jouster? Why did you want us here too?"

Legend's attention sharpened. "What? You weren't on site already?"

"Nah, I asked for them. Mainly Flechette, actually." Atropos turned toward Lily. "No big deal. I know someone who's a big fan, is all. I was just wondering if I could get a selfie with you before I went back to Brockton Bay."

Legend cleared his throat. "Ah … about that …"

Atropos turned her head toward him, and Lily got the impression of a raised eyebrow. "Let me guess. Director Wilkins is still butt-hurt about how I shut down her attempt to figure out my secret identity, and she's issued an arrest warrant specifically for little old me, for the state of New York."

"Ah … yes." He seemed somewhat embarrassed at the notion. "Chief Director Costa-Brown filled me in on what actually happened that night, though she never explained how you got into the Director's office to begin with."

"A girl's gotta have her secrets." Lily could hear the grin in her voice. "Do you intend to try to arrest me?"

"I believe I will be dealing with Ravager for the next … say, five minutes." He gave her a firm stare. "After that, I'll be forced to notice your presence."

"Fair enough." She tilted her head toward the defeated villain. "Oh, and just in case you're wondering? Krazy Glue."

He followed her gaze. "Krazy Glue? Oh, the nose?"

"And the pacifier. And the googly eyes." The suggestion of a grin was back. "The body paint should wash straight off, though. And she might lose her eyebrows."

"I believe that will be the least of her problems." He shook his head again. "I suspect I should be glad you're not an official hero. The villains would be complaining non-stop."

"Meh, heroism's overrated. Anyway, can I get back to asking Flechette for a selfie?"

"Be my guest." He leaned over Ravager, possibly checking her bonds, as Atropos turned back to Lily.

"So, hey," she said. "Like I said, my friend is a big fan, and I think your powers are pretty cool too. Can I get you to sign a selfie with me?"

Jouster panted up alongside Flechette and came to a halt. "What's going on here?" he asked. "What did I miss? Wait, is that Atropos?"

"You missed nearly everything, hon," Mouse Protector said not unkindly, taking him aside. "And yes it is, but we've got it all under control. How about you go in there and get a statement from the shop assistant, and see if we can get access to the security footage? Because I absolutely want to see how she ended up like that."

"Um." Lily found herself put very much on the spot. Having a notorious mass murderer claim to be a fan of her work wasn't quite what she wanted out of life. On the other hand, Atropos was surprisingly chirpy and outgoing in person. Despite knowing that Atropos was an unrepentant killer, she found herself warming to the black-clad girl. "Wait, how am I going to sign a selfie?"

"I am so glad you asked." Atropos delved into one of the pockets of the long-coat she was wearing, and came up with an odd-looking camera.

"A Polaroid." Lily shook her head in wonder. "I didn't even know they made those anymore."

"We've had this one for years." Atropos held it up. "Is it okay, or no?"

Looking around for inspiration, Lily glanced at Mouse Protector, who gave her a nod. "Go on, why not? In fact, heck, can I get one with you too, 'Trops?"

Atropos sighed. "Only you would come up with a nickname like that. And you're the only one I'm going to allow to use it. But sure, let's get that selfie."

As she lined up with Mouse Protector and Atropos, who was angling the camera to catch Ravager in the shot as well, Lily shook her head.

This was not how I expected my day to go.



End of Part Thirty-Four