A Darker Path [Worm Fanfic]

A Darker Path

Part Sixty-One: Mustering Resources

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

Relevant Side-Story



Monday Evening, February 28, 2011
New York Wards Base

Flechette

"… anonymous tips, German authorities have successfully apprehended several high-ranking members of the terrorist group Gesellschaft …"

"… once known as Eidolon is to address the United Nations General Assembly on the topic of integrating capes into society at every level …"

"… shotgun that killed the Simurgh continues to draw record numbers of sightseers on its fourth straight day on display at …"

"… stepping down from the position, citing workplace pressures. Director Wilkins' duties will be taken up by her deputy until a replacement can be …"

Lily hit the button on the remote, and the TV shut off. The news was nothing she hadn't seen before or known about already, and she had her suspicions about the Director's sudden 'retirement'. Nothing concrete, of course, but it was an open secret in the building that Wilkins hated Atropos. Not so much as to order an attack on her—the woman wasn't fucking suicidal, after all—but the amount of love lost between them could only be measured in negative numbers. Large negative numbers.

It was also just a little suspicious that this was coming on the same day that Atropos had killed two more villains in Brockton Bay, at a school no less, by throwing them off the roof. (Because they were the Fallen, of course). She hadn't killed anyone in days, and now Wilkins was choosing to retire? Lily was no trained detective, but something about that registered on her bullshit-meter.

"Hey, Lil. Duck season!" That was Shelter, on his way to the kitchenette.

"Wabbit season!" She grinned and held up her hand, palm out. Fuck you, March.

He gave her a high-five and kept going. "Want anything from the fridge?"

"I'm good, thanks." She leaned back on the sofa, the grin still on her face.

Life since Canberra had been nothing short of hectic. Everyone on the team had been intensely jealous that they hadn't gotten to be there, but nobody had been a dick about it. Her photos had been copied, shared around, printed out, framed, and used to form the core of a post-action debrief session (alongside Dragon's imagery) to confirm that yes, the Simurgh was actually, indisputably, dead.

She'd already been interviewed twice, and talk shows were clamouring to get her on as a special guest. Image had been run ragged deciding which offers to accept, and in which order; if she understood matters correctly, there was an intense bidding war going on under the surface. Even outside that, she'd been the recipient of a literal ton of fan mail, which Image had also had to cull through and toss the truly unacceptable messages.

There'd been no fewer than three offers to ghost-write her personal story of the death of the Simurgh, plus one for her to participate in a full-scale on-site re-enactment. The PRT was still holding off on all of those until the furore calmed down a little; the current suggestion was that they'd reconvene in Canberra on the first anniversary of the event and do the re-enactment then. As for whether or not they'd use the unofficial name of the instant national holiday the Australians had come up with ('Bin Chicken Day'), that had yet to be determined.

The 'duck season/wabbit season' call-and-response had become customary within the building, not just with her. She'd seen none other than Legend using it with Prism, and PRT troopers were apparently using it among themselves as well. As Jouster had explained it to her, it wasn't just a joke; every time it was used, they were saying the Simurgh is dead. Thank God.

She snorted to herself. Thank Atropos, maybe. It was still just a bit of a wonder to her that the enigmatic cape had chosen her as a sidekick on that day. From what she'd seen, even if she had chosen to refuse to assist (hah! As if), Atropos would've found another way to do it.

But it was more than just capes helping each other out against a mutual enemy. Atropos had mentioned friendship more than once, and she'd even invoked the term when naming the shotgun. It was an odd feeling, being considered a friend by someone who self-evidently didn't need allies, but had chosen to reach out anyway.

Her phone rang, and she took it from its pouch. With the way her thoughts had been going, she was entirely unsurprised when she saw the name on the caller ID screen. "Hi, Atropos. What's up?"

"Hey, Flechette." Atropos sounded as cheerful as ever. "So, got some good news for you, plus a question."

Lily paused. Good news was always welcome, but from Atropos, she had no idea what that would entail. As for the question … that was definitely going to be interesting. More interesting than killing the Simurgh? She had no idea. "Okay," she said cautiously. "Hit me."

"Good news first." Atropos was definitely happy today. "Remember the leave request you made to come to Brockton Bay and see Emily? Well, that'll be going through shortly. Turns out Wilkins has been sitting on it."

"… oh." Lily blinked. "But … why?" Why was Wilkins sitting on it, she meant. The other bit was easy to figure out. If Atropos wanted it to go through, it would go through.

"Well, we both know she doesn't like me, and because we hung out a couple of times, you got caught in the middle. Sorry about that." She actually sounded sincere. "Might've been the time I held my shears to her eye, or maybe when I went over her head to take you to Canberra."

"But I didn't have anything to do with either of those things. I didn't even know about the first one!" Now Lily was curious about that, but not enough to ask.

"I know that, and you know that, but she couldn't get at me, so she decided to block you from coming to Brockton Bay because I was a 'bad influence' on you or something. Petty, I know, but it takes an adult to be really childish."

"Oh, God, yeah. I know all about that." Lily rolled her eyes, recalling the drama with her foster parents. Instinctively, she lowered her voice. "So, uh, did you have anything to do with her, uh, stepping down?"

"Well … yes and no. I didn't go to Director Costa-Brown and tell her to give Wilkins the boot, if that's what you're asking. She did that to herself. But she is out because of me. And the new Director, who'll be stepping up in the next few days, is a lot more reasonable about things like that. So, yay. Good news."

Lily had to smile at the upbeat tone of the last four words. "Well, thanks. That is good news. And I'd like to thank you again for the March thing. It's amazing how much easier my job is without having to deal with her on a regular basis."

"Hey, you chose to show up at the fundraiser of your own accord. I wasn't about to let her ruin that for either one of us."

Ignoring the obvious implication—that Atropos had known ahead of time how she was coming to the fundraiser—Lily forged ahead. "So, um, what was the question you wanted to ask?"

"Oh, yeah, that. So, tomorrow night, I was wondering if you were available to come and help me rehabilitate a supervillain. No death involved. Not even a Ravioli job. Just straight-up improving their quality of life to the point that they decide not to be a villain anymore."

Lily blinked. This was so far out of left field that it hadn't even registered on her list of things Atropos might ask of her, but at the same time it was so totally like the black-clad cape to ask something like that. "Um … rehabilitate? How am I supposed to help with something like that? Shout encouragement from the sidelines?"

"Nope. You will actually be involved in a meaningful way. Also, you'll get to meet and work with some very cool capes. Also also, there'll be someone there who you've actually met before."

"But you're not going to tell me who that is right now, are you?" Lily was starting to get the idea of how Atropos' mind worked. The girl did love her secrets, but she was also very good at doing stuff with them. "Or who the villain is, even?"

"What, and spoil the surprise?" The amusement in Atropos' tone confirmed her suppositions. "I'll just tell you right now that there'll be no combat and no arrests. Just one less villain and one more rogue. So, what do you say? You up for it?"

Lily didn't bother asking if she'd be able to get permission to go. Atropos treated permission as something that other people worried about. She would've been a 'better to beg for forgiveness' sort of person, except that she never bothered with forgiveness, either. "What the hell. Why not?"

"That's the spirit. You come off shift at six. I'll be there at seven, and we'll be done by eight. See you then. Toodles!" Atropos ended the call, leaving Lily staring at the phone.

My life was much simpler before all this. Also, it had March in it, so there's that too. Not even going to wonder how she knew my Wards shift.

After a few moments of thought, she got up and went to find Jouster. It wouldn't change the fact that she was going, but he would likely appreciate being kept in the loop about something like this.

Life with Atropos as her friend, she decided, was definitely weirder but much more rewarding.

<><>​

Atropos

I ended the call and leaned back on the sofa. "Well, Flechette's in." In the back of my mind, I noted that Lily had just joined the group of people my power considered 'worth looking out for'. This was good; I approved.

Cherie, seated at the other end of the sofa with her legs curled up under her, looked up from the copy of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory she was working her way through. "Well, that's a total surprise."

"Absolute shocker," chimed in Dad from the kitchen, where he was stirring the casserole. "I never would've called it in a million years."

"Oh, ha ha." I blew them a raspberry. "You could at least act surprised."

"Taylor, hon," Dad said gently. "Your choices of action sometimes take me by surprise, but the fact that you consistently succeed rarely does, especially since I've had the chance to experience how bullshit powers really are."

Cherie closed the book for a moment, using her finger to keep the place. "I'm still impressed at some of the stuff you do, but this particular one, with Flechette? That was a no-brainer. She was always going to say yes."

"Okay, yeah, granted." I was willing to admit that she had a point there. I'd put enough work into getting Flechette to see me in a good light that such a relatively innocuous request had a high probability of success. It didn't hurt that her name recognition had been bumped into the stratosphere since the Great Duck Hunt. There were probably people who couldn't name Legend in a lineup but knew who she was.

"So, who's next?" asked Dad.

I grinned. "Another no-brainer."

<><>​

Deputy Director Renick

Paul frowned as his phone rang. There were no calls or meetings scheduled for this time of the evening, and the number of call-outs due to gang activity had literally been zero for weeks. It was nice, being able to keep up with the paperwork for once. So why was someone calling him now, and why did the caller ID not show a name?

"Parahumans Response Teams, Deputy Director Renick speaking," he said cautiously.

"Good evening, Deputy Director," a semi-familiar voice greeted him. "Atropos here. How are you, this evening?"

And that explained everything, right there. "I'm doing well. Brockton Bay also seems to be improving by the day, thanks mainly to your efforts. How may I help you today?"

Like Emily, he wasn't exactly thrilled about how cavalier Atropos seemed to be regarding the sanctity of life (that is, she didn't consider it at all) but her results absolutely could not be argued with. Each day, more stretches of road around Brockton Bay were torn up, the infrastructure upgraded and renewed, and the new road laid down within the day. Thanks to the money pouring into the city, the improvements were proceeding at a blistering pace, and showed no signs of slacking off.

"Well, that is the general idea, yes." He thought he heard a smile in her voice. "I have a small favour to ask. Your newest Ward, Miss Medic; would it be possible for me to borrow her for an hour, between seven and eight tomorrow evening? I give you my solemn word that she will not come to any harm. If it makes you feel more secure to send Tenebrae along with her, that's perfectly fine. He's welcome to come too."

He stared at the phone, trying to figure out what was going on. "I … may I ask what you need her for?"

"Sure. I'm going to be rehabilitating a supervillain. Theoretically speaking, I could do the surgical work myself, but she's a lot better at it. I can't cut the corners that she can."

"Rehabilitation … with surgery?" He was entirely lost in the woods now. "How does that work—wait. You aren't going to ask her to do brain surgery on this supervillain, are you?" That, right there, was a slippery slope leading into a bottomless morass.

"Well, she could, but no. While this supervillain does need therapy, and maybe the occasional dose of antipsychotics, the surgery will not be of the brain variety. It'll be more of the improving-quality-of-life variety. If all goes well, and I see no reason why it shouldn't, we'll be down one supervillain and up one rogue. Sound good to you? Because it sounds good to me."

"I suppose …" He traced his lower lip with his thumbnail. Emily had had it much easier; she'd been a spectator while Atropos just went ahead and did things. Having to deal with an Atropos who actually asked before doing something was more than a little surreal. "May I ask what your plans are for this villain? Because please don't take this the wrong way, but you rarely do things for nothing."

"No, that's totally true. No offense taken whatsoever. The Brockton Bay Betterment program is going to be expanding in radius, and this supervillain is in the area that will eventually be overtaken. I'm thinking if we co-opt them now and give them reasons not to be a villain, that's a future problem dodged altogether. Also, they're potentially useful to me, once given a new lease on life. Trust me, I'm absolutely operating on enlightened self-interest, here."

"Ah. I see. Well, I can't argue with that." Oddly enough, he had no qualms with actually releasing Miss Medic and Tenebrae to Atropos' care. Tenebrae's reports of Atropos' interactions with his sister and cousin made it abundantly clear that the only ones in danger would be anyone trying to mess with them. Now that he had a workable understanding of her motives, he felt comfortable with the next step. "And I can't see a problem with Miss Medic and Tenebrae being temporarily detached for duty with you between seven and eight tomorrow night. In fact, from what I understand, she'll probably be delighted."

"Thank you. I suspect Tenebrae will be less delighted, but I figure I'll win him around eventually." Atropos sounded somewhat amused at the prospect. "In the meantime, I know he'll supply you with a complete after-action report. Heck, if you want him to wear a wire, I'm good with that too."

Not for the first time, Paul got the impression that she was bending over backward to put him at ease. And despite the fact that he knew she was doing it, it was working. She was saying exactly the right things at exactly the right time, in exactly the right way, but it felt spontaneous and natural.

She'd actually been doing that from the very beginning, he belatedly realised, saying what she needed to say in the right way for it to be heard, so that people took notice. The name of Atropos had spread with almost terrifying speed through the infosphere, buoyed and boosted by the ruthlessness of her kills. But now that she needed to kill less, her message was changing subtly, reinforcing the fact that her word was her bond. Whether she set her sights on killing the supposedly unkillable or fixing the supposedly unfixable, that thing got done.

"Would you object to a body-cam?" he asked. "Just to keep the bean-counters happy, you understand." The fact that he considered himself a bean-counter was entirely beside the point.

"Not in the slightest. I appreciate your cooperation. Oh, and tell Director Piggot congratulations from me. Toodles!" The call ended.

He slowly put the phone down, wondering how his life had gotten so strange that he could have a friendly conversation with a mass murderer and be happy to do what she asked. And what was that about Emily, anyway? Congratulations for what?

He was sure he'd find out eventually. But in the meantime, he needed to get into contact with Tenebrae and Miss Medic, and arrange for a body-cam to be issued to the former. Recordings of Atropos in action were often disturbing or even horrifying, but they were always educational.

<><>​

Taylor

The casserole smelled delicious. Cherie hadn't picked up her fork yet; she seemed to be hovering her face over her plate with her eyes closed, blissfully inhaling the scents that made up the whole. It was one of the little habits she'd picked up since coming to stay with us. Tasty, properly cooked food had been a luxury for her, back in her old life. I was teaching her how to make a lasagne, and she was eager to put her lessons into practice.

"So, how'd everyone's day go?" asked Dad as he shook some Parmesan over his plate. "Actually, before we get into that; Taylor, were you behind the sudden and inexplicable reshuffling of the Boat Graveyard this afternoon?"

"Oh, that was old business." I waved my hand dismissively. "Part of the payout from Ending the Endbringers. I got the impression that we're gonna have to clean some nasty gunk out of the port itself, but the ships are definitely out of the way."

"I'm reasonably sure there's an appendix in the Plan that will cover that." He chuckled. "And I couldn't be certain, but after I finished discussing the matter with Mayor Christner—he thought it was the Committee's doing, at first—I suspect he did a happy dance around his office."

Cherie opened her eyes and grinned. "If that was around sunset, he totally did." She took a forkful of casserole. "Mmm, that's really, really good."

I added Parmesan to mine as well, and took a bite. "Yeah, Dad. This turned out amazing. New recipe?"

"Different sauce, actually." He gestured to a bottle in the middle of the table. "The convenience store over on Westmore is expanding, getting more products in. I saw this and decided to try it out. It seems to work."

"It totally does." Cherie took another forkful. "You're on a winner with this one."

I smiled, pleased at Cherie's simple enjoyment of the meal; also, at the implications of what Dad was saying. While I normally didn't seek any kind of personal benefit out of my power's machinations, an incidental improvement like this was nice to have.

"It's you, isn't it?" Cherie had noticed either my smile or my happiness. "You did this. This is that knock-on effect you were talking about. People get money, money spreads around, everyone's just a little bit better off."

"Got it in one." I was equally pleased that Cherie had figured it out. When I'd first met her, she'd been very much stuck in the now, rather than anticipating the consequences of her actions. She was starting to think ahead. This was good. "So, enough about me. Anything happen with you at school after the Fallen fell?"

"Not much." She paused to eat another mouthful. "Classes were good. I had a bit of trouble with my math, but Mrs Engels showed me where I was going wrong. Oh, and some guy tried to ask me out."

That got my attention. She hadn't been in danger or even really upset all day, but this didn't stop my protective instincts rising to the fore. "Yeah? Who?"

"Uh, don't remember his name. Stoner-looking guy, hangs out with Greg Veder."

"Sparky. Oh god." I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Sparky asked you out? What happened?"

She shrugged. "I said no. He took it okay, I guess. Said sorry and walked away. Greg looked like he wanted to yell at the guy." She went back to eating her meal.

Well, it could've been a lot worse, on both sides. I suspected she wasn't telling me everything, probably because Dad was right there. We'd talk again later. At least it hadn't been one of the jocks with an eggshell-thin ego, and Cherie was secure enough in herself to not use her power to make him run screaming.

A timer in my head ran down, and I took out my phone. "Excuse me a moment. Just have to make another call."

"Don't take too long." Cherie mischievously waved her fork toward my plate. "I'm hungry, and this is really good."

I wrinkled my nose at her. "Then I'll eat your dessert."

With that dire threat delivered, I got up and headed into the living room, mainly to give Dad and Cherie a chance to eat and talk quietly without disturbing my call. I made sure that the caller ID would show the right name, then tapped in the number and hit the call icon.

"Hello … Atropos?"

"Hi, Mrs Yamada." I smiled. "Are you free to talk?" In the kitchen, I could hear Cherie telling Dad about the book she was reading. She seemed to be enjoying it. Leaning over, I shut the door leading into the kitchen.

"I am at the moment, yes. I just got home and took my shoes off. Your timing is exquisite."

"I've been told that, yes. So, how's Sveta going?" I knew she was fine, but I wanted to remind Mrs Yamada about something she'd been intending to do, all for the purpose of improving my optics. Expending a little effort to help people was worth it when word was passed on that I wasn't just a merciless killer.

"Oh, she's doing quite well," Mrs Yamada said, her voice warming to the subject. "We've been keeping her under observation, but as far as we can tell, the change is permanent and her body is working exactly like it should."

"Excellent." I actually meant it. Sveta had never done me any harm, and in fact had been a gentle soul trapped in a killer's body. In another life, we quite possibly could've been friends. Also, this meant Mrs Yamada was more likely to listen to what I had to say. "So, I've got another escapade lined up, as of tomorrow evening between seven and eight. I'd like to invite you along to observe and meet the subject, a supervillain that I intend to transition to rogue status once their quality of life has been markedly improved. I suspect they'll be needing therapy to keep their new life on track, but I'll leave that diagnosis up to you. Are you interested?"

"I …" She hesitated. "Well, I'm free during that time. But … may I ask for a little quid pro quo?"

I grinned, knowing what she was going to ask, and feeling a little mischievous. "Yes."

"Oh. Good. Well, I've been talking with some of the patients at the asylum and …" She hesitated.

This, of course, gave me the perfect opening. "You aren't listening, Mrs Yamada. I said 'yes'. I'm willing to kill the powers for whichever of your patients are fine to have it happen."

"Oh." She sounded like someone who'd gone to step down the last stair in the dark and found solid floor instead. "Uh, thank you. Do you need a list, or …?"

"No need. I'll show up in the next few days, once you've finished with the prep to reintroduce them into society." I knew exactly how many there were, so I'd show up with that many dosed grapes, plus one extra, for reasons. "Does that work for you?"

"It does indeed. And I'd be happy to observe your, uh, 'escapade'. And, of course, meet your subject." Now that I'd agreed to her demands, such as they were, she was quite happy to cooperate.

"Excellent. Just so you know, there's a contingency in the Betterment Committee plan for offering well-paid positions to any therapists who are willing to work with capes in Brockton Bay, especially those capes employed by the Committee." If we had enough money to pay for the big stuff—and we did—then we had enough money to pay for the little stuff, too.

"Why, Atropos." She chuckled, amused. "Are you trying to bribe me into moving to Brockton Bay?"

"Offering. Giving you the chance of first refusal." I knew she was an exceptional therapist, and had worked with the Wards before now. If any non-cape knew how to help capes (especially young ones) with their issues, she did. "Also, housing prices are eminently affordable. I made sure of it."

There were other good therapists out there, some of whom had also worked with capes. They would also be getting offers. I didn't believe in putting all my eggs in the one basket, or even the same building.

She paused, long enough that I knew she was tempted. With the way Brockton Bay was going, who wouldn't be? "Well … I'll think about it. No promises."

"That's good enough for me. I'll knock on your door at seven oh-two. Toodles."

I ended the call and opened the door back into the kitchen. My casserole was still intact, but Cherie was definitely eyeing it off. Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I sat down again, and took up my fork.

'Aww, you're back," Cherie observed with a grin. "How'd it go?"

"Three down, one to go." I took up a forkful of casserole. It was still very nice, even if it was a little cooler than before. "I'll be sending Amy a ping on PHO."

"Think she'll bite?" asked Dad, though the expression on his face showed his opinion on the matter.

"We shall see," I decided. "But enough about that." I turned to Cherie. "So, how's the book going?"

Her expression brightened all the way up. "They've just got to the factory and wow, the descriptions are so amazing …"

<><>​

■

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: TheRealPanacea
From: Atropos
Subject: Up For Another Excursion?

Hi,
So, there's another villain whose life I want to turn around.
I'll drop by just before 7 tomorrow night.

Interested?

■

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: TheRealPanacea
Subject: Re: Up For Another Excursion?

What, another full-body job, or a half-body one?
Just checking.

■

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: TheRealPanacea
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Up For Another Excursion?

Neither, actually. The subject already has a body, and for a surprise twist, will be keeping their powers intact.
Accordingly, you won't be alone on this one. You'll be part of a team I'm bringing in to do the surgery.

■

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: TheRealPanacea
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Up For Another Excursion?

Okay, yeah, that's different.
How complicated is it going to be if you need a whole team?

■

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: TheRealPanacea
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Up For Another Excursion?

I'm pretty sure it's a situation you've never dealt with before.
On the upside, the people I'm bringing in are really, really good at what they do.
So between you, I'm betting you can get it done.

■

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: Atropos
From: TheRealPanacea
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Up For Another Excursion?

But are they villains or heroes?
Actually, scratch that. I'm in.
Goddamn it, you always know how to get my attention.

■

PRIVATE MESSAGE
To: TheRealPanacea
From: Atropos
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Up For Another Excursion?

Mwahahaha. (Sorry, that just slipped out.)
Be in costume by 6:56 tomorrow night.

Toodles!

■



End of Part Sixty-One

 

A Darker Path

Part Sixty-Two: The Plot Thickens

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


Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Director Emily Piggot, PRT ENE

"Good morning, Samuel." Emily entered her office, to find her personal assistant placing a stack of papers on the desk. "Did anything of note happen last night? Any Atropos incidents?" Did some idiot supervillain die in a preventable and ironic fashion, she meant.

"No, ma'am. We got word of infighting among factions of the Fallen last night, but that's just making it easier to roll them up." He straightened the stack, then stepped aside for her. "Oh, and Deputy Director Renick left a message for you. It's on top."

"Thank you, Samuel." Emily sat down and took a sip from the steaming cup of coffee before putting it down and taking up the first of the papers. It was written in Renick's customary neat hand and read:

Emily,

Got phone call from Atropos last night (1923), asking to 'borrow' Miss Medic & Tenebrae this evening at 7 PM, to be returned at 8 PM. She indicated that she needed them to help 'rehabilitate' a supervillain (did not give name) & that Miss Medic's safety was personally assured. Given her prior positive association with Laborn family, I gave permission, notified MM & T, (MM is pleased, T ambivalent) and arranged a bodycam for T (pre-approved by Atropos).

PS: She also said to congratulate you. Unsure what for.

Paul

The crease between her brows furrowing deeper as she frowned, she took another drink of her coffee as she re-read the note all the way through. Atropos was evidently pulling another one of her stunts, which would hopefully not come back to bite the PRT in the ass. Whatever she wanted Miss Medic for, that personal assurance of protection meant that the youngest cape in the Wards ENE would probably be the safest person on the planet. Agreeing to the body-cam merely indicated that she didn't care if the PRT saw what she was up to.

The postscript was the most puzzling aspect. What have I done that Atropos is congratulating me for? On PHO and in their few face-to-face interactions, Atropos had repeatedly expressed respect for Emily and her efforts to keep the city safe, so this couldn't be any kind of subtle mockery. Besides, Atropos didn't do that kind of subtlety. Anyone who got on her wrong side knew about it.

Her phone rang and she checked the caller ID, half expecting to see Atropos' name. But instead it showed Wilkins' name, from New York. Wilkins was currently occupying a cell while the PRT assembled its case against her, so Emily knew it wasn't her on the other end of the line. I really should update the name. Taking up the phone, she swiped the icon. "Piggot."

"Ah, good morning, Director Piggot." It was Henderson, Wilkins' one-time Deputy Director, currently holding down the top spot until they could find someone to step up. "Do you have a moment? It's about Atropos."

"I do," she said cautiously. "Who's she killed in New York?" Whoever it was, Emily was gloomily certain that Atropos would have a cast-iron reason for doing so. It was one of her little quirks.

"Nobody that I'm aware of," was the unexpected answer. "But she called up Flechette, and asked if she was willing to help Atropos out with something tonight."

Emily's eyes opened wider, and she looked down at Renick's note, her brain making connections and adding to the picture. "Between seven and eight, maybe? Rehabilitating a villain?"

There was a distinct pause; when Henderson answered, he sounded honestly surprised. "Well, yes, actually. But how did you know that?"

The temptation had never been stronger to make something up about how well she knew Atropos and her ways, but Emily restrained herself. "Because she's borrowing Miss Medic and Tenebrae from here over the same time period for the same reason."

Again, Henderson paused. Emily could've sworn she could hear the cogs ticking over in his brain as he did the math. "But New York is hours away from Brockton Bay, even flying."

She didn't often get to unleash her snark, so it felt good to do it once in a while. "If you'd forgotten, Atropos can teleport." That was one little fact she certainly wasn't about to forget in a hurry.

"Oh." That one word didn't quite inform Emily whether he'd actually forgotten, or if nobody had briefed him. Knowing Wilkins and her biases concerning Atropos, it could've been either. "What do you think she's doing?"

Emily was starting to wonder if Henderson was actually paying attention to the situation, or if he was just out of his depth. Either way, the sooner the Chief Director found a replacement for Wilkins, the better. "I believe she intends to 'rehabilitate' a supervillain, whatever that actually means in real-world terms."

"Yes, I understood that. I mean, which villain?"

And how the hell was she supposed to answer that? If Atropos wanted me to know, I'd already have tickets to a ringside seat. "I have no idea which one she's set her sights on, but I pity them already. Because they're going to have zero choice in what happens next."

"Are we, I mean, should we … well, do something?"

Emily rolled her eyes, knowing Henderson couldn't see her, but needing to express her irritation somehow. "Deputy Director Henderson, I'm going to do nothing that might interfere with her plans. I would strongly advise you to do exactly the same."

"Ah. Thank you, Director Piggot. I appreciate the advice." He actually sounded grateful at being let off the hook regarding Atropos. Once again, Emily wondered what sort of poison Wilkins had been pouring in his ear.

"You're welcome. Was there anything else?" Even absent the gangs (and what a massive change in operational pressure that had brought about) and Atropos shenanigans, she still had a city to watch over.

"No … no, thank you, Director. I appreciate your time. Have a good day."

"You, too." She ended the call and put the phone down, then re-read the note. What sort of rehabilitation, she wondered, would require Tenebrae, Miss Medic and Flechette? The phone call had left her only a little more enlightened than before, which amounted to 'not very'.

When the phone rang again, barely thirty seconds later, she thought for a moment that Henderson was calling her back. In point of fact, she was in the process of formulating a polite yet pointed way of telling him to run his own damn show and let her run hers, when she registered the name on the caller ID: Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown.

Instinctively straightening in her seat, she took a deep breath and swiped to answer the call. "Piggot here, ma'am. How can I help you?"

No matter how diligent the worker, having the boss call up for a 'casual chat' is guaranteed to generate worry. Costa-Brown hadn't sent word ahead that she wanted to speak to Emily, so this was something out of the ordinary. Emily was fairly sure that she hadn't done anything wrong, but 'fairly' did not translate to 'totally'.

"Good morning, Emily." Costa-Brown sounded almost genial, which didn't actually help Emily's pucker-factor any. Superior officers affected that sort of tone for subordinates who either hadn't done anything wrong at all, or who had screwed up so massively that the officer was smiling so he didn't strangle them instead. Once again, Emily was unaware of any truly egregious fuckups on her part, but that was unfortunately the nature of fuckups; if they were visible from the start, they would be corrected before they got that bad. "How are things with Brockton Bay today? Running smoothly as always?"

Emily still felt as though this was some kind of looming trap, but she answered honestly. "I haven't read today's skim sheet yet, ma'am, but that does seem to be the case. No overnight crises, Atropos hasn't killed anyone since yesterday morning, and the Betterment Committee public works appear to still be in full swing. Atropos has requested the loan of Miss Medic and Tenebrae for an hour tonight, but Tenebrae will be wearing a body camera, so we'll have the full details of that once it's done."

"Good, good," the Chief Director said in the kind of tone that meant she wasn't really listening. "Emily, I've been consulting with Legend and some others, and we've decided that you're the best pick to take over as Director in New York for the duration."

"What." Emily's breath stuttered in her lungs, and her heart seemed to slam to a halt, then bounce back and forth a couple of times. "No. Wait. I was going to retire." She wouldn't have chosen to, but all the indications were that the Brockton Bay PRT was going to be winding back to a mere administration post for the region rather than what was necessary to oversee the near-active warzone that had been the city just three months ago. After ten years of scrambling every day to deal with ever-present threats, she would've chafed in a post like that. "I was going to retire."

"And you will still be retiring." Costa-Brown's tone was firm. "The paperwork has gone through. Your last day on duty will be the thirtieth of June. Four months from today. But we need a firm hand at the helm of PRT New York for those four months, and you tick all the boxes. In the meantime, your Deputy Director should be capable of holding down the fort in Brockton Bay, correct?"

Renick could definitely do that, especially with the current reduction in crime. However, Emily wasn't done yet. Without giving any indication of which way she was going to jump, she carefully composed the question in her mind before asking it. "May I ask what boxes those are, ma'am?"

The smile in Costa-Brown's tone told Emily that she'd been expecting the question. "Certainly. You know what you're doing, you don't take shit, you make efficient use of the resources available to you, you're good at handling difficult capes … and you have a cordial working relationship with Atropos."

The last item, she knew without asking, was the most crucial. Oh, they were all important, but the shadow of Atropos loomed large over the northeastern United States and beyond. Emily had spoken with her, face to face, and had taken her measure. Terrifying, unstoppable, smart, principled. The fate of the Nine, of Nilbog, of the Simurgh, was proof of that.

"I have one stipulation before I accept the new posting." She knew that demanding concessions from the boss at a time like this was a good way to lose the opportunity, but she didn't really care. This was something she needed to do.

"I'm listening." Costa-Brown's tone didn't give any indication as to whether or not she was inclined to grant the request.

Emily took a deep breath. "I want my official retirement to begin five minutes after midnight on the first of July, so at midnight I can be the one to announce that the Endbringers are officially Ended."

It was stupid, she knew. Atropos had already pronounced the threat from the monsters over and done with. Emily knew in her heart of hearts that this was a done deal. But there was no better way she could think of to cap off her career in the PRT than to announce the demise of the creatures that had triggered its formation.

To her credit, the Chief Director didn't even hesitate. "Done and done. We'll expedite your transfer to New York within the week. Hopefully you can be there by Thursday or Friday, so you'll have the weekend to settle in and get your bearings."

"Yes, ma'am." Emily's gaze fell on the note from Renick, and she blinked. "Tell me something, ma'am. When was the decision reached about me?"

This time, there was a frown in Costa-Brown's voice. "Approximately ten o'clock last night. Why?"

Emily couldn't help it; she began to chuckle. "Because I have a note here on my desk from Deputy Director Renick saying that Atropos called him last night more than two hours before that point. During that call, she asked him to pass on her congratulations to me but didn't say why. Now I know."

Costa-Brown sighed audibly over the phone. "As I said, it's essential that you maintain your cordial working relationship with her. I presume you have arrangements to make, so I'll leave you to them."

"Ma'am," replied Emily, just before the call ended. She put the phone down, still chuckling. It was a good joke on Atropos' part; she had to admit that. But beyond that, it had also been a useful way to let her know that Atropos was fine with her going to New York.

It would probably be better this way, she concluded. Watching the gradual dissolution of the PRT department that she'd shored up with her own will and stubbornness over the worst of the bad years would've felt like suffering her career-ending injury all over again. Walking away now would allow her to go out on a high note.

As the Chief Director had suggested, there were arrangements that needed to be made. But not right at that second. Turning her chair so it faced out the window, she gazed at the skyline, at the view afforded by just one office in the city: hers.

I'm going to miss this, she decided. But not a hell of a lot.

<><>​

Taylor

The audio generation program on the computer hissed and crackled through the cycle I'd set up for it until it came to the end. My phone, leaning against the speaker, recorded every second. I picked up the phone and hit the 'stop record' icon, then started shutting down the computer.

"And that'll do it?" asked Cherie. She'd been sitting there beside me, not saying a word, watching the audio-graph jumping on the screen as I set it up.

"It's a one-two punch, but yeah," I agreed. "Ready to go to school?"

We both knew that was kind of a facetious question. Free of her father's influence, Cherie was achingly eager to find out what she'd been missing out on from life. Actually learning new things every day was a thrill for her.

"You know it." She bumped my shoulder with hers as we got up. "Even awkward moments like yesterday with Sparky are kind of amazing, because he just … walked away when I said no. I mean, there are some people who can't help but be assholes, but they're nothing compared to my brothers and sisters."

"They're probably nicer now," I noted as I picked up my backpack. "I mean, you're nicer now."

"I guess." I could tell that her personal experience was warring with her understanding that I was probably correct. "Someday I'd like to go find them, and see how they're going. Just, you know, not today."

"Got it." We headed out of the bedroom, along the corridor and down the stairs. Cherie's backpack was sitting next to the sofa, and she scooped it up on the way past.

As I went through the kitchen to the back door, I saw that Dad had taken the note I'd left him, asking him to bring home one of those high-powered bullhorns they had in the Dockworkers' Association. Good.

"You know …" Cherie said as I closed the back door behind us and locked it. "We could always just teleport to school. That way, we could stay and watch TV until it's time to go to class." She gave me a hopeful wide-eyed look.

I snorted and hid the key under the fake rock. "We could. Not gonna. It's not a toy, and the bus works just fine."

As we headed out of the yard and set off down the street, she shook her head. "This is why nobody would ever really believe you were Atropos. The most famous cape in the world, taking the bus to school. Only in Brockton Bay."

I laughed and slapped her on the shoulder. "Damn right."

<><>​

Lord's Port

Accord

"Hmm. Interesting."

Yesterday, he knew, the port had been choked with ships: some listing, all rusted, none really serviceable. Today, the port was clear and the bare ground that had once been stacked high with shipping containers now held those same ships. He'd had a plan for clearing out the ships; an elegant plan, one that would've taken several weeks to complete but which had complete economy of action.

Atropos had intervened with a plan of her own: get the heroes to do it. It had been neither elegant nor economical, but it had only taken a few hours. This required him to scrap that plan and make another one; this one to deal with the now-grounded vessels and to make the port viable for use once more. Where most people would've been frustrated, he looked forward to it.

"Get me numbers," he said. "Tonnages, pollution types and concentrations, buyers for scrap metal."

Plans were already forming in his head, ways and means to disassemble each ship with the least amount of effort. When it came to manpower, he had all he wished to call upon. Money was literally a non-issue.

"Yes, sir," said Citrine, writing busily in her notepad. She was eager to make up for her faux pas and he was inclined to allow her to do so, considering that Atropos had seen fit to spare her life. If such a prolific and effective killer such as that chose to leave Citrine alive, then he himself could do no less.

"I've seen enough here. Take me to the marshalling yards." He needed to see for himself that everything was working as planned, and nobody was pencil-whipping the figures. It was unlikely in the extreme, especially in Atropos' city, but double-checking never hurt anyone.

The limousine drove off silently, Othello waving their B3C credentials at the gate guard to let them out. As they merged with the morning traffic, Accord looked up at the city skyline. He was determined to adhere to every single one of Atropos' restrictions, in both letter and spirit. This was the first time he'd had the chance to use his plans to entirely renovate a city, and he was damned if he was going to pass it up.

<><>​

Winslow High School, World Affairs Class

Greg Veder

"Hey, Greg."

Greg looked up, then his eyes widened as he realised that Taylor was taking a seat at the desk next to his. She didn't look like she wanted to kill him, but he wasn't about to take that as granted.

"Uh, look, about yesterday," he began. Sparky hadn't shown up yet—or is that because Taylor's already killed him and hidden his body? His overactive imagination began to run away with him, and sweat sprang out on his brow.

"Cherie already told me about it." Her voice was low but she didn't sound angry. "She said you tried to tell him not to. I appreciate that. She hasn't had an easy life up until now. She's okay with people making casual conversation, but anything more is a no-no, okay?"

"Okay," he managed. "Totally okay. One hundred percent." He would've agreed with anything she said right then.

"Good." She smiled and started to stand up. "Thanks for listening."

"Uh, Taylor?" He managed to restrain himself from grabbing the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Having both hands was a thing he'd gotten used to, and he preferred to keep it that way.

She paused, looking back at him. "Yeah?"

What he'd wanted to say suddenly sounded stupid in his head, but he'd gotten her attention, and he didn't want to piss her off by doing that and then saying 'nothing'. "Um, I used to think we were friends, but I'm pretty sure that I was a crappy friend, if I was one at all."

Her gaze sharpened, then she slowly nodded. "That's true." Oddly enough, there was no condemnation in her tone. Just a simple acknowledgement.

Before he could lose his nerve, he rattled off the rest of what he wanted to say. "And—and I'm glad you're happier now and you're doing well." Before anything stupid like you look good or you deserve to be happy or anything else that might sound like he was hitting on her could come tumbling out, he shut his mouth and kept it that way.

She nodded again, her penetrating gaze still on him. He got the uncomfortable feeling that she knew what he'd chosen not to say, but she didn't call him on it. "Thank you. I appreciate it." Turning away, she headed back to her desk and sat down, leaving him sitting in a metaphorical (and nearly literal) puddle of his own sweat. She didn't look back.

A moment later, Sparky ambled in through the door and meandered over to sit next to Greg. "Hey, man. What's happening?"

"Nothing." Greg felt the tension easing out of his body. "Absolutely nothing at all."

And that was the way he preferred it.

<><>​

Hebert Household, 5:35 PM

Cherish

"So that's what you're going to use? Really?" Cherie grinned and shook her head, looking at the bullhorn and the cord Taylor had spliced into it. The other end of the cord was plugged into Taylor's phone, which was in her pocket, quite hard to see unless someone was specifically looking for it.

Her scepticism didn't arise from any doubt in Taylor or her capabilities. As far as Cherie was concerned, if Taylor went all Matrix on the Machine Army, they wouldn't stand a chance. But killing them by just talking to them was something she was having trouble getting her head around.

"Really." Taylor pulled up her sleeve—she was wearing the Atropos costume, without the mask or hat—and flipped open the access panel, then tapped in a whole bunch of numbers. Cherie assumed she knew what she was doing with that thing. "When I go after them, I have to use the right weapon. This is the right weapon."

"I just can't see how it works." Cherie was honestly trying, but she was pretty sure she just didn't have the educational background to even begin to understand it.

"Think of it in terms of powers. You told me about your sister Flor, right?" They'd sat up a lot of nights while Cherie unloaded all her pent-up frustrations about her brothers and sisters. Considering what those siblings had been like before Taylor killed Cherie's dad's influence over them (and her), she'd had a lot to rant about.

"Yeah, she implants suggestions. Makes you do fucked-up shit that you can't not do. Like having to punch yourself in the head before you can take a bite of food." Cherie looked at Taylor curiously, trying to understand the point she was trying to make. Then the penny dropped. "Wait, this is the same?"

"Yeah. This is the same. This implants commands. And the command is 'die'." Both Taylor's voice and emotional music sounded grimly satisfied about that.

"But we listened to it …" Cherie trailed off uncertainly. Was she going to have to listen to something else to not want to kill herself?

"Only works on Machine Army. Just like Flor's trick wouldn't work on a robot."

That made sense to Cherie. At least, she'd never seen Flor use her power on a machine. "Huh. I get it. I think I get it." She grinned. "They won't know what hit them."

"Even if they figure it out, it won't help them." Taylor pulled her phone out and dialled a number. "Hi, yeah, this is Atropos. You've been told to expect me? Good. I'll be arriving in exactly thirty seconds. Main helipad, yes. Okay, see you then."

Cherie had taken note of the 'thirty seconds'. "Take care, huh? Don't give those mechanical bastards a chance."

Taylor put her phone away, then pulled on her mask and put on her hat. "Don't intend to. Keep an eye on the lasagne." The shadowy doorway formed in midair, and she stepped through with a jaunty wave.

Cherie waved back. When the doorway vanished, she headed through to the kitchen. This was the first time she'd cooked proper food in a proper oven with proper instructions, and she was going to get it right.

Besides, it helped keep her from worrying about Taylor.

<><>​

Eagleton Base, TN

Atropos

I stepped out onto the middle of a concrete helipad, or at least a wide area of concrete with the big 'H' in a circle on it. There were guards posted around, but looking outward, probably to make sure nothing interrupted the teleport. I would've known, but it was good that they were making the effort.

The first thing I saw was a sign saying WELCOME TO EAGLETON BASE. Following that were a whole lot of rules that I had zero interest in following. My philosophy was simple: rules were all well and good, right up until they got in the way.

"Ah … Atropos?" A PRT officer stepped past the guards and approached me. He was in camo instead of armour, though (like Major Holden, back at Ellisburg) I was willing to bet his armour was someplace nearby if he needed it. "I'm Lieutenant-Colonel Briggs."

"I know. I talked to you on the phone about one minute ago. Nice to meet you, Colonel." I shook his proffered hand. "Where do you think you'll be posted after this base closes down?"

"You're quite sure of yourself." He didn't seem to know what to make of me. I'd noticed that with some people when they met me for the first time, even after watching the footage of what I'd done.

"I'm really, really good at killing things. A bunch of semi-sapient robots just needs a different approach." With a tilt of my head, I indicated an NCO coming our way with purpose. "You can tell the sergeant that he's not getting any of my electronics."

He held up his hand to halt the sergeant but didn't send him away. "It's regulations around here. The Machines are really aggressive, and we've found traces of their programming on unshielded electronics. We don't know if they're remotely hacking them or doing something else, but one of the cast-iron rules around here is that we don't give them access to anything that hasn't been hardened against them." The tone of his voice was a mixture of caution and earnest intent to explain.

I looked him in the eye. "Colonel, there is a phone in my pocket. They're welcome to try to hack it. It's currently running three different types of virus that absolutely will fuck up the day of anything that links wirelessly to it. The rest of my electronics are linked to the phone." I'd spent most of first period constructing one of the viruses while pretending to browse PHO. Likewise, I wasn't worried about the teleporter because Leet had designed it (at my request) not to be able to be wirelessly accessed.

"Sir?" That was the sergeant.

Briggs waved him to silence, apparently so he could think through the conundrum. On the one hand, he had tried and true regulations to fall back on, that had kept the base safe so far. But on the other, I had broken every law in the book, and a few that hadn't even been written yet, and I'd murdered capes and an Endbringer that nobody thought could die.

Well, I'd known they could die. It was kind of my thing.

"Colonel Briggs!" It was one of the guards. "Perimeter says there's movement inside Eagleton! The Machine Army's doing something!"

"They just heard that I'm on site," I said cheerfully. "They might be homicidal killing machines, but they're not stupid. They have to know I'm here for exactly one thing, and it isn't Taco Tuesday." I didn't even have to make any guesses for this bit; my threatscape was starting to bloom as more and more of the Machine Army heard my name and decided that I would have to die.

"Well, you can't go in there now." He looked around as though searching for an available alternative.

"Why not?" I hefted the bullhorn with my left hand, my right hand free to draw my pistol. "I'm just going in to give them their first warning. I'll only kill them if they get stupid."

"But … they're ready for you! They'll kill you!" He clenched his fists. "God dammit. I didn't know they were going to react this badly."

"I did. And you're wrong about one thing, Colonel. They might know I'm here, but they're in no way ready for me." I raised my right hand, just as the timer ran down on my teleporter, and snapped my fingers.

I appeared just inside the perimeter wall, on a street that looked identical to any other section of road in middle America. Asphalt, sidewalk, houses, trees. Kids' toys in the yards. Cars sat at the curb. The lawns had been carefully mowed and the hedges trimmed, while the houses had been recently painted. I could hear a TV playing from one house, and music from a radio station in another direction. Just out of sight, around the corner, I could hear the laughter of children playing.

It was all very normal, designed to entice people to investigate the interior of the houses. Which would be a huge mistake.

Half the cars were (to borrow a phrase) robots in disguise. So were the toys. Something nasty lurked under the manhole in the middle of the street. The houses were the robotic equivalent of Venus flytraps.

And they knew I was here.

That was fine; I knew they were there as well.

I pressed the trigger on the bullhorn; this activated the sound file on the phone. "Attention, Machine Army!" My voice boomed across Eagleton. "My name is Atropos! You know who I am! I'm here to give you a warning! Tell all your friends!" I started walking forward, still talking. "You have two options! Submit to reprogramming, give up your hatred of humanity, and you get to live! The other option is that I come back in twenty-four hours and kill you all! There is no third option!"

One of the toys, a cute plastic three-wheeler, split apart and sprouted spidery legs to stalk after me. I let it get to pouncing distance; just as it leaped toward me, I drew my pistol and blew its braincase apart without looking. The suppressed shot was only a little louder than the clatter of its mechanical corpse hitting the roadway. Parts of the scenery, which had been starting to lean toward me, leaned away again.

"I'll say this again!" The ones around me were opportunistic killers, not dedicated assault units, but those were on the way. In the meantime, I had a message to spread, quite literally.

The audio file I'd crafted and loaded onto my phone edged my voice as I spoke; the machine intelligences listening to it would receive it as computer code, in much the same way as I'd placed patches in Dragon's code. I had no fears of Dragon accidentally catching an electronic cold from this virus if she happened to listen to it, mainly because her programming worked on a totally different format.

What they were receiving consisted of two different viruses. One acted immediately but was relatively innocuous. When I said, 'tell all your friends', the virus made them treat that as a command set in stone, so they began to transmit the entire audio of my speech to all their fellows.

The second virus was far more insidious. It slithered past their filters and constructed itself in the dim, dark recesses of their processing units, but did nothing dangerous once it was finished. Its only activity would be to embed a harmless ping into the communications between its host and each of its fellows. If it didn't get a ping in a communication, it would send a compressed version of itself back along the same comms route.

Still walking, I repeated my whole spiel. "… twenty-four hours and kill you all. There is no third option!"

The first assault units rounded the street corner. There had been no attempts to conceal or camouflage these ones. They were robotic killers, one and all. Nothing an AT-4 couldn't deal with, of course—mechanical limits were still mechanical limits—but thoroughly deadly to an unprepared unit of soldiers. Or, theoretically, a single teenage girl with a bullhorn and a pistol.

On seeing me, they stopped. Not totally surprising; the footage they'd viewed had to have included the fates of anyone attempting to charge blindly at me. Their best strategic processors would've been hard at work, trying to figure out how I'd kill them if they came at me.

I put the pistol away, and waved. "Hi, guys," I greeted them through the bullhorn. "You know how this goes. You gonna be smart about this?"

Two more robots, emboldened by the presence of their bigger nastier brothers, were sneaking up on me from behind; one was the thing from the sewer system, while the other had been masquerading as half a car. I pretended not to notice them.

The assault units in front of me were doing the electronic equivalent of looking at each other and asking, can it be this easy? I carried no heavy weapons, and I'd just put my pistol away. Scans of my body showed no augmentation, no heavy armour, not even a force field. They wouldn't have been sure what the teleporter was, but it only covered my forearm.

A whole bunch of weapons were now trained on me. If even one scored a hit, I'd be so much paste. I had to admit, the Machine Army did overkill really, really well.

Their problem, which they would've strenuously denied if they'd been capable of doing so, was actually a very human one. Each member of the Machine Army was an independent unit; they weren't under central control, so when they fired on me, they each did it at a slightly different time. This allowed me to dance between the raindrops.

I weaved left, then right; the robots sneaking up from behind were obliterated before they knew what was going on. Attacks were going off all around me, a couple of lasers actually perforating my coat (and making it look about twenty percent cooler), but I was never actually there when the payload arrived. Each time I evaded, stepping into the path of a shot that had just gone off, they seemed to get more frustrated, until three of them fired high-explosive shells at the street, directly at my feet. Just before these went off, the teleporter kicked in and placed me a hundred yards down the street.

"Hey!" I called over the bullhorn. "Over here! Missed me, missed me, now you gotta listen to me!"

None of them shot at me. They'd figured it out. I had a teleporter on me, and they wanted it. Any sort of shooting might damage or destroy the teleporter, so they had to capture me bodily.

While they were working out how to do that, I lifted the bullhorn again. "You've all heard what I've got to say. In the words of one of your idols: I'll be back."

They rushed at me. In fact, every robot from every house, car, lawn and playground came at me. The idyllic setting dissolved into a horror-movie scene of clattering metal feet and reaching robotic claws. There was even an animated section of hedge, next to a robotic topiary bush.

I had time for one last, "Toodles!" before the doorway formed behind me. I stepped backward through it and onto the helipad where I'd arrived. A three-inch section of curved metal blade got to within a foot of my face before it clattered to the concrete of the helipad, snipped off by the closing portal.

"Jesus Christ." That was Briggs. The guards were pointing guns at me, but they just as quickly moved them away at his gesture. "Are you alright?"

"Never better." I picked up the robot claw. "Nice."

"So, what are you going to do now?" he asked, clearly under the impression that I'd failed in my objective. "They were never going to listen to you."

"Oh, they listened. They just didn't pay attention." I grinned under my mask. "And if they don't surrender by this time tomorrow? Well, I'm just going to have to come back and kill them all."

"But … how?" He glanced involuntarily around at the base that had been established next to the Eagleton zone, then back at me. The body language was clear: if he couldn't destroy the Machine Army with the resources at his disposal, how could I manage it?

I gave him the same answer I'd given Bastion. "With panache, Colonel. Panache and style."



End of Part Sixty-Two

 

A Darker Path

Part Sixty-Three: The Big Reveal

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


Relevant Side-Story

Relevant Side-Story


Cherish

Cherie was doing her homework at the kitchen table when Taylor teleported into the living room. Dropping her pencil, she jumped up immediately. "Wow, that didn't take long at all."

"Nope." Unplugging the phone from the bullhorn, Taylor dropped them both on the sofa. "It got a little hectic, but that was always the plan."

Heading into the living room, Cherie caught the smells of dust, of gun-smoke, and of burnt cloth. "Why does it smell like your coat's on fire?"

"It's not on fire, but there's a few holes in it." Taylor took off her coat and shook it out. When she spread it wide, Cherie was just able to see the tiny, scorched laser holes around the lower end, where it had flared out. "The Machine Army got a little trigger-happy, but I got my message across. 'Panache' has been delivered." That was what Taylor had called the virus.

"That's the thing that tells them to die, right?" Cherie took the coat and carefully draped it across the sofa, then gave her a heartfelt hug. "They got awfully close to you, this time."

Taylor hugged her in return. The human contact was nice. "Nothing I couldn't handle. All they hit was cloth and air."

"But they got closer than anyone else ever has." Cherie let go and stepped back half a pace, her hands on Taylor's upper arms. She tried to put her concern into words, because Taylor was someone she actually cared about. "I don't want you being all overconfident and getting shot because someone's a bit better than you think they are."

"There were a lot of bullets and a lot of lasers, but I knew exactly where to step so they didn't get me." Taylor took her hat and mask off, then pulled Cherie in close and pressed their foreheads together. "Though I'm truly touched by your concern. Thank you."

Cherie could tell she was being sincere, and the warmth from that spread through her whole chest. "Well, you've literally done more for me than anyone else in my life, ever. So, you'll excuse me if I'm just a bit protective of you." She sniffled, trying not to let Taylor hear it or see the tears standing in her eyes.

"Well, it's all good." Taylor hugged her again. "They're not going to get that close again. I promise."

"I'm glad." Cherie totally meant it. Trying to change the subject so she could wipe her eyes and blow her nose without being obvious about it, she nodded toward the kitchen. "The lasagne's looking good, I think. I mean, it's looking like when you do it. Smells like it, too."

Neither by word nor gesture did Taylor give the impression that she'd figured out the tiny subterfuge, but Cherie knew that she knew. However, she was nice enough to not call Cherie out on it. "Well, let's go have a look at it, shall we?"

<><>​

Taylor

Dad got home about half an hour later. I'd been for a shower, and Cherie was just setting the table when I came back downstairs. It was almost heartbreaking (pun intended) to see how well she responded to even mild praise for doing a minor chore like that.

"Hi, girls," he said as he came in the back door. "Is that lasagne I smell?" He'd known, of course, that Cherie was cooking dinner, but his appreciative sniff was as genuine as my own.

"I hope it's okay." Cherie hunched her shoulders. "Taylor says it is, but I'm scared I did something stupid and it'll taste terrible."

"Well, we'll see." He gave her a genial smile, then took off his coat and hung it alongside the door. "It smells good, so that's a great first step. How did you go at school today?"

Cherie beamed. "Mrs Engels gave me an A for my math work today. Oh, and Greg Veder came and talked to me at lunch. He told me he was sorry about Sparky bothering me, and said to come see him if anyone gives me problems and I can't find Taylor."

I raised my eyebrows a little. I hadn't known he'd say or do that. Not that Cherie would ever be unable to find me—my power would tell me if she was upset—but I definitely approved.

"Well, that sounds nice of him." Dad evidently agreed with me. "And congratulations on the A. It shows you're working hard. What do you think, Taylor? Next time we get some free time, we should go to the movies to celebrate?"

"Can't think of a better reason," I said honestly. It was actually a pretty good idea. I'd gone to the movies a few times with Cherie already, but going specifically as a reward for doing well in school would be a first for her.

Dad went and washed up, then we sat down for dinner. The lasagne was delicious, something Dad and I both made sure to comment on. Positive reinforcement was the name of the game, and though Cherie absolutely knew what we were up to, it didn't stop her from feeling good about the compliments coming her way.

"I'm going to have to skip dessert," I announced as I got up from the table. "It's time to go out again, but I didn't want to miss your lasagne."

Dad watched curiously as I went to the fridge and took the two bottles of champagne that had been chilling nicely at the back for a few weeks now. "I've been wondering about those," he ventured. "I don't drink wine, and I'm pretty sure you don't either."

"It's kind of a payment for a favour and kind of a being-a-dick tax," I explained cheerfully. They went neatly into the shopping bag I had ready, and I left them on the table while I went and collected my costume. My teleporter had been sitting on charge since I got home, so I put that on as well, the little green lights indicating that it was full up and ready to go. This was good; I was going to need it.

Dad frowned, trying to figure that one out. Cherie, who'd already heard the story from me, smirked. "Okay …" said Dad eventually. "You … did someone a favour, but they were a dick to you so you took two bottles of wine instead of one?"

"Oh, I took more than that." I waved in the general direction of the basement door. "There's a few more bottles down there, in case we needed one for a rainy day. I'm gonna be bringing one to Director Piggot's farewell party."

The expression on Dad's face was amusing. "You know," he said to Cherie, "one of these days I'm going to learn not to ask questions like that. The type where the answer just involves more questions."

"That does seem to happen around Taylor a lot, yes," she agreed gravely, trying to hide the lurking grin and the amusement in her eyes.

"I'll let you explain it," I said to Cherie as I pulled on the mask, then put the hat on top. "Time to deliver some apology wine."

"Don't ask me about that one," I heard Cherie say to Dad as I tapped in my destinations and set the timer. "I have no idea, either. But she got it when Vista contacted her—"

<><>​

Dallon Household, 06:40 PM

Brandish

Carol was leaning back in her study chair, going through the details of a witness statement, when there was a brisk one-two-three-four knock on the front door. She ignored it; Mark was watching TV, Victoria was doing the dishes and Amy was upstairs in her room. Someone else would get it.

The knock came again. She tried not to frown and accentuate the wrinkle between her eyebrows. "Could someone please get that?" she called.

There was no repeat of the knock; she relaxed, getting back into the flow of the document. This lasted just long enough to get to the end of the page, when there came a gentle knock on the door of her study. "Mom?" It was Victoria.

Slowly, Carol turned. "What is it?" she asked, doing her best not to sound angry or impatient, while at the same time trying to project I-am-busy-here vibes.

"There's someone here to see you." She'd never heard Victoria sound so subdued before. "I really think you should come out here."

"Well?" Carol mustered her best cut-through-the-bullshit tone. "Who is it?"

"Atropos."

That one name took Carol's concentration, dragged it around the back, and shot it in the head. She stared at her daughter. "What, here? Now? In this house?"

"Yes, here. Yes, now. Yes, in this house." Victoria gave the impression of someone holding on to sanity by their fingernails. "She says she's here to talk to you about Amy. Right now, she's discussing TV shows with Dad."

Because of course she is. Carol jumped to her feet and smoothed her dress down, then snarled inwardly at herself. Why am I worried about looking good in front of a mass murderer? Taking a deep breath, she strode out of her study and into the living room.

Atropos was indeed there, sitting in an armchair while Mark explained some point about a show Carol had never watched. They both looked around as she entered, and Atropos stood up again. She was holding a shopping bag with something long and heavy in it.

"Hello again, Mrs Dallon." Atropos might've been smiling from the tone of her voice, but Carol couldn't really tell. She held out the bag. "Apology wine, remember? I said I'd bring some over when I came to talk to you about what I was doing with Amy next."

"Oh." A lot of pieces fell into place at once. "Ah. Yes. You didn't have to, really." But her hand went out to accept the bag anyway.

"Yeah, I did." Atropos turned to address Mark. "Sorry, Mr Dallon. I'm on a little bit of a time crunch right now, but we can definitely get back to this discussion at a later date." She even managed to sound sincere about it.

"Absolutely." He smiled up at her. "It's been an interesting conversation."

Carol wasn't interested in small talk. "We can discuss matters in my study, unless you've got a better place in mind."

"Your study's fine," Atropos agreed. "Lead the way." The morph mask made it just as hard as before to figure out her attitude merely from her voice. Carol was used to being able to pick out tells, but Atropos had none.

"Victoria." Carol handed her the bottles. "Put these in the fridge." The last thing she wanted to do was needlessly offend Atropos by neglecting the gift. The idea that it might be poisoned crossed her mind briefly, then was dismissed equally as quickly. Atropos didn't do anything as subtle as poison.

"Yes, Mom." Victoria accepted them, but lingered as though she, too, wanted to be in on the conversation.

That was absolutely not going to happen. "No disturbances," Carol ruled. "None."

Turning, she led the way back to her study. Atropos followed exactly two steps behind her, and closed the door without being prompted once they were inside the study. Carol mentally debated remaining on her feet, then decided that sitting in her study chair would give her an air of authority that was currently missing from the situation.

She lowered herself into the chair while Atropos stayed standing, near the door. "So …" she prompted, mainly to see what Atropos would say.

"So, I suppose you're wondering why I got champagne from Vista's parents." Carol hadn't been wondering anything of the sort—or rather, it had been the lowest priority matter she'd been wondering about—but Atropos barely paused before launching into the tale.

"Her parents fight, and when they drink it gets worse and they drag Vista into it. She asked me to intervene, and so I took their booze away and gave them an ultimatum. They're both in counselling now, which is a good thing for all concerned." The hint of a smile under that damn morph mask was even more sinister than a fully visible one would've been. "Now, I can tell you've got a question about that."

Carol had many questions, but there was one that was more urgent than the others. "Yes. Why did you help Vista? I didn't even know she knew you."

"Oh, she doesn't. She just … called out, and I answered. But why would I, a confessed serial killer, intervene with her parents, especially when I've never met her before? It's simple. She's young, and she's powerful. If someone like that, especially stuck in a rough home situation, ever became disenchanted and discouraged by the situation she finds herself in, she might act out. Turn villain. With parenting comes a certain responsibility to be a parent, especially when the child is someone who could devastate the entire city with ease if they were ever deprived of a good role model. Don't you think?"

Atropos' voice was steady, almost hypnotic. Carol stared at the mask, somehow knowing that the eyes behind it were fixed on hers. But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the uncomfortable implication behind her words.

She went to speak and found her throat dry. After swallowing, she tried again. "We are still talking about Vista here, right?"

"We're talking about whoever you think we're talking about." Which didn't help Carol's state of mind one bit. "But anyway, on to the reason I came over tonight. There's a supervillain who's in need of a certain amount of … repair, shall we say. I'm moderately confident that once this is accomplished, with the help of Amy and a couple of others, I'll be able to talk this villain into giving up crime and setting out on the straight and narrow."

"A supervillain can't just stop being a criminal!" Carol's outburst was almost reflexive. "They've got to undergo restitution for their crimes!" It was one of her most deeply held beliefs.

A moment later, she flushed as she recalled exactly who she was talking to. Atropos had committed more crimes than most, and she was almost certainly going to escape any kind of meaningful punishment for her many murders. Whatever the opposite of 'preaching to the choir' was, it applied here.

"After a certain point, punishment for past criminal activity goes beyond rehabilitation and becomes an exercise in sadism and vengeance." Atropos shook her head. "What better restitution than allowing them to use their powers for good, to build a better world?"

"So, who is it?" Carol wasn't sure why she asked the question, save as a way to garner as much information from this conversation as possible. "Which supervillain are you seeking to miraculously convert into a hero, and who else do you have helping?"

"Not a hero." Atropos chuckled. "Rogue at best. Edgy rogue, at that. But with any luck, no longer a supervillain. As for names, I think I'll keep those to myself for the moment. Remove any temptation you might have to try to throw a spanner in the works somehow."

Carol frowned, displeased at the flat denial. "I haven't yet given permission for Amy to leave this house with you." It was, as Victoria called it, the Mom card, her best power move.

As a trump card, it fell flat. "I wasn't asking permission. You said to knock on the front door and talk. I've knocked, we're talking. You now know as much as I'm willing to tell you. The only person who has a say in whether Amy leaves this house tonight is Amy. I'm not going to force her, and you can't stop her."

The absolute assurance in every word, every syllable, took Carol's breath away. Worse, thinking about it, Carol knew Atropos was correct. She hadn't made any particular stipulation about Amy's assistance, just that Atropos tell her what they intended to do. And if Amy had already gone out without Carol's knowledge before, she'd be all the more likely to defy Carol's word now if Atropos asked her to. Because teenagers were like that.

To Carol's credit, at no point did she consider escalating the disagreement from the verbal to the physical. Cape, normal or Endbringer; nobody who had faced Atropos in a physical confrontation had won. The ones who'd survived quite likely wished they hadn't.

She rose from her chair and went to the door. Atropos politely stepped aside for her, showing no signs of worry. Opening the door, Carol looked out to see Victoria loitering not all that far down the corridor. Normally she would've been irritated at the potential for eavesdropping, but right now she had other matters on her mind. "Victoria, please fetch Amy for me. Immediately."

"Yes, Mom." There may have been an element of guilt in how quickly Victoria left the scene, but Carol wasn't worried about that.

Leaving the door open, she went back and sat down in her chair. "When she gets here, we will speak to her and, as you say, she gets the final decision whether she goes or not." It wasn't the best move she could think of, and it wasn't the move she wanted to make, but it was the only one available to her.

"Works for me." Atropos had the air of someone for whom time limits did not apply. She stood there while Carol watched the doorway; for all the impatience she showed, she could've been a statue.

"A question, while we're waiting?" The query had bobbed up in Carol's mind, and now she couldn't get rid of it.

Atropos gestured gracefully; go right ahead. "Sure."

"The number of people you've killed. Do you … see them? In your dreams?" Carol had had nightmares from time to time, following her traumatic trigger event. Even now, decades later, she had to sleep with the lights on.

"No. My power is literally about Ending things. People, legacies, Endbringers. They're all the same to me." Carol could've sworn Atropos raised her eyebrows. "If I kill someone or something, it's because I needed them to die. But I never kill for nothing. It's never casual for me. There's always a reason."

Carol had her mouth open to ask another question when there was a rush of running feet, and Amy came into view. Oddly enough, she was in full costume. This normally only happened when she was going out for … oh.

"Mom," Amy panted, briefly out of breath. "Hi, Atropos. Vicky said you were here."

"Did you know she was coming here?" asked Carol. If Amy lied now …

"Well, I didn't know she was gonna walk in the front door, but yeah, she messaged me last night and asked me if I wanted to help with something." Amy shut up then, which was what Carol didn't want her to do.

"And that something was …?" Carol prompted, in her best courtroom manner.

She didn't miss the flickering glance Amy shot Atropos, nor the fractional nod Atropos returned. The good news was that Atropos was willing for Amy to reveal all. On the other hand, the bad news was that Amy was looking to Atropos for guidance in that matter.

Victoria was loitering in the doorway, nonchalantly pretending to be invisible, but Carol didn't have the time or inclination to send her away. Besides, a witness was probably best in a situation like this.

Amy took a deep breath. "There's some supervillain, Atropos hasn't told me their name. They need something done to them that I've never done before, so she's bringing in a team to help me out. Once we're done, she wants to rehabilitate the villain to be a rogue. And that's all I know."

Which added exactly zero to the sum total of the knowledge Carol already had about the matter. "Victoria!"

Eyes widening as though she'd been actually caught out listening at the keyhole, Victoria straightened up. "Yes, Mom?"

"Do you know anything about this?" It was her last chance to find out anything more.

There was no hesitation, no furtive glances at Amy or Atropos. "No, ma'am. First I've heard of it." She gave Amy a moderately disappointed look. "You could've invited me along. It sounds pretty cool."

"Sorry." Atropos didn't sound apologetic. "I specifically didn't mention you because of potential problems arising from power interactions. Also, it's likely to be mostly boring except for Amy and her team."

"Gotcha." Victoria looked enlightened, which was more than Carol was. "Okay, I guess that makes sense. Just take care of her, okay?"

"When have I not?" Atropos, it seemed, could be as snarky as any other teenager. "This will be a non-combat situation. There is a mild element of danger, easily avoided. Amy's actions will assist in mitigating the danger. That's one of the reasons I'm bringing her along."

Carol blinked. "Oh." This was sounding less problematic all the time, save for the original confrontation. "You could maybe have led with that."

Atropos turned and gave her the most deadpan gaze she'd ever seen, clear through the morph mask. "You didn't ask."

"Ah. So, is there anything else you can tell me?" Information was better late than never.

"No, that was it." She was almost sure Atropos was doing this on purpose. "Amy, you ready to go?"

Amy blinked at being put on the spot, then hastily nodded. "Um, sure."

"Wait." Carol held up her hand. "Amy … I know this is probably a little sudden, but when you get back, I'd like to talk. Mother to daughter, if you're willing."

Slowly, Amy nodded again. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Excellent. I'll have her back in an hour." Atropos waved toward the other side of the study, and a shadowy doorway faded into view there. She linked her arm through Amy's, and they stepped up to the doorway. "Toodles." Another step and they were gone, then the doorway faded again.

Victoria dropped into the guest chair that Atropos had chosen not to take. "Well, that happened."

Carol sighed, going back over the conversation with Atropos and not liking the direction some parts of it had gone. "It did indeed."

<><>​

Panacea

Amy wasn't sure where they were heading to; Atropos had given her zero clues beyond 'a team'. It took her a moment or so to get herself oriented and recognise the layout of the Wards base in the PRT building. It didn't help that there were more capes present than usual, including Armsmaster and Tenebrae.

Also present, for some reason, was the Deputy Director, Mr Renick. Amy had spoken to him a total of three times, and shaken his hand once that she could recall. He seemed a nice, grandfatherly type, or what she imagined to be a grandfatherly type.

"Atropos!" Miss Medic, whom Amy knew by another name altogether, came barrelling across the room and launched herself at the black-clad cape in a full-on glomp. Far removed from her Slaughterhouse Nine origins, she seemed happy and outgoing, truly thrilled to see Atropos.

"Hey, kiddo." Instead of being offended or angry at the pseudo-assault, Atropos went with it; her greeting sounded like she was amused. "All ready to roll?"

"Sure, sure!" Miss Medic let go Atropos and held up her arms. One of the Tinkertech bracers she was wearing, which Amy understood could pop out any surgical tool Miss Medic needed, flicked out a single scalpel then retracted it almost faster than the eye could see. "They're all charged up and the anaesthesia and antiseptic reservoirs are full. But I just wanted to introduce you to my teammates. They're amazing cool, and they've made me totally welcome here."

Atropos nodded. "Sure. I'd love to meet them. I've heard they're really nice people."

Amy watched in mild disbelief as Miss Medic led Atropos by the hand to the group of Wards standing off to the side. It appeared that Atropos had a soft spot for Miss Medic, something any number of people Amy knew would've utterly disbelieved even if they'd seen it with their own eyes.

"Hello, Panacea." She looked around to see Deputy Director Renick approaching her.

Tenebrae and Armsmaster seemed to be having a conversation, so there was nobody listening in on the two of them. "Mr Renick, it's nice to see you again."

"Likewise." Renick nodded toward Atropos and Miss Medic. "I presume you're coming along with Miss Medic and Tenebrae on this mission of Atropos'?"

"That's the idea." Amy wondered how much she should say, then figured that if Atropos had wanted her to stay quiet, she would've said something. "Apparently there's some kind of surgical thing that I've never done before, but Atropos said I'd have competent people along to help. I've heard Miss Medic is really good?" She knew she was pushing the boundaries a little with the semi-question, but it was a good idea to plant the idea that they'd never met.

Renick answered with a definitive nod. "We've brought in experts, and they say she's the best surgeon they've ever seen. I personally can't imagine a medical problem that the two of you couldn't handle between you."

"That's good. She seems like a nice kid. Enthusiastic." Amy was curious to hear Renick's views on Miss Medic's antics. "So how does she know Atropos, do you know?"

"Ah." The Deputy Director smiled. "They met through Atropos' fan club. Miss Medic is a member but doesn't advertise it, as are several other members of the Wards. You're probably aware that the PRT is quietly going along with whatever Atropos says. However, our public face requires us to not actually side with supervillains. So, while we don't forbid them from joining, we ask them not to put that membership up on social media in their cape identities." He seemed pleased with the solution.

"That makes sense." The sudden glare of a camera flash caught her eye, and she frowned. "Is that … does Atropos have a Polaroid camera?" Thinking back, she seemed to recall something like that from the first disastrous meeting with Atropos, but her concentration had been on other matters at the time.

"Oh, yes." Renick let out a paternal chuckle. "Ironically, they aren't going to be able to show those selfies off, especially if she signs them. But I don't think they care."

"No, I don't think they do." Amy saw that Atropos was heading back their way after having taken what looked like a group shot, with Miss Medic at her side. Tenebrae, too, had finished his conversation with Armsmaster and was moving to join them. "Whoops, looks like time to go."

Deputy Director Renick nodded. "Good luck."

"Thank you, sir." She looked up at Tenebrae, who was a good foot taller than her. He was also wearing a discreet body-camera. "Hi. I don't think we've met. Tenebrae, right?"

Tenebrae's voice was rich and deep. "Correct. And you'd have to be Panacea." He shook her hand, carefully. While she didn't think he was a Brute, there was still a lot of strength in that grip.

"That's me." She recalled Deputy Director Renick's words. "And you're coming with us?"

Atropos answered for him. "That's right. Now, I need to warn you of this. We will be picking up two more people before we get to our final destination. The portal will only stay open for a maximum of four seconds each time. When it closes, anything caught halfway through will be cut off. Six people can hustle quite a ways in four seconds, but you do not want to dawdle. I'll be going through last, so if I don't think someone ahead of me can make it, I'll pull you up, and if the portal closes without me, sit tight for the next couple of minutes. I will be coming through. Does anyone not understand?"

Amy glanced at the other two. Tenebrae looked doubtful but determined, while Miss Medic just looked eager to be on the way. When Atropos glanced her way, Amy nodded. "I got it. Four seconds from go to whoa." She would not be dragging her feet.

"Exactly." Atropos pointed at an empty section of wall. "Portal to PRT New York Director's office in three, two, one, now."

Right on cue, the shadowy doorway formed, up against the wall. Tenebrae went through first, at a fast jog, with Miss Medic right behind him. Amy was already keyed up so she basically jumped through, with Atropos beside her.

<><>​

Atropos

It was a nice office.

I'd been here twice before, the first time explaining to Wilkins why she really shouldn't try to uncover my secret identity. Her next step would've been undoubtedly to try to target Dad and my (then non-existent) friends, which was why I'd put an End to that shit hard. The second time, I'd been notifying her that Flechette was coming to Canberra with me. She hadn't taken that visit well either.

Deputy (currently Acting) Director Henderson was standing by his desk, along with Legend, a teen wearing medieval-style armour, and Flechette herself.

Henderson came across to me as a paper-pusher who'd been elevated several layers beyond what he was comfortable handling. I had the distinct suspicion that Wilkins had deliberately picked him so he wouldn't second-guess the way she did the job. If that was the case, he was in for an interesting four months under Emily Piggot.

They seemed a little taken aback when four of us showed up instead of just me, but honestly, I couldn't be expected to explain every detail of my plans to them, right? A girl's gotta have an air of mystique about her. Otherwise, it just gets boring.

I waved cheerfully. "Oh, hey, Legend. Good to see you again, Flechette. Nice to meet you, Acting Director Henderson. Have you told them yet?"

Legend gave me a searching look. I could tell he'd figured out what I meant straight away. "Not yet. We're waiting on the announcement. Please don't spread it around willy-nilly." The look on his face asked me, how do you know?

"Wouldn't dream of it." I strode up to the last guy and stuck out my hand. "Hi. Atropos. You'd be Flechette's team leader, correct?"

"Ah, that's me." He flickered a glance at Legend, then hesitantly shook my hand. "Jouster. Are you really the one who put March in the hospital?"

I shrugged. There was no point in denying it. "Well, she hadn't used up her warnings yet, so yeah. I just needed her out of the way so Flechette could come do her thing at the fundraiser. I'm pretty sure that alone accounted for maybe ten, fifteen percent of the donations, so it was effort well spent." I gestured to Brian, Amy and Riley. "Have you met Tenebrae, Panacea and Miss Medic yet?"

"Well, no. I actually haven't." Taking the hint, he moved in their direction.

I switched my attention to the girl of the hour. "And how are you doing, anyway? Fame got to your head yet?"

She chuckled as she shook my hand. "Sometimes it feels that way. Before the Simurgh, to most of New York I was 'that girl with the crossbow', no matter how many times I explained it was an arbalest. Now, they all greet me by name and ask me to sign their trading cards. Image is planning a gold foil holographic version. I'm still getting my head around it."

"Just so long as they don't do one of me." I raised my eyebrows inside my mask. "Or if they do, just make it dead black on both sides."

"Seriously, why not?" She frowned, looking honestly puzzled. "I think it would go like absolute wildfire. You'd outsell everyone."

She wasn't wrong, but I still had my reasons for saying no. "Point one, trading cards are there to improve your visibility and get your name out there, right? If someone only ever saw you in the distance, they can get a trading card and learn more about you. People know who I am and what I can do. Point two, it commercialises your name. The people making them feel like they own a little bit of you. They can request that you don't change up your costume if they've got a popular run of cards, or that you do change up your costume if their run is starting to lag." I gestured at myself. "Not going to happen. Also, you know where I'd require all the profits to go to."

"Brockton Bay," she agreed with a nod. "Right, yeah. I don't even know if I get any return from trading cards. Even action figures only bring in about five or ten percent to the cape."

"Exactly. Not worth the effort. And you know I'm not in it for the fame." Becoming well-known had happened anyway, of course, mainly because I'd ganked some seriously infamous assholes. I wasn't averse to using it for my own ends and amplifying it over social media, but the fame had always been a byproduct and a tool, not an end in itself.

"Well, true." She looked over at where Jouster was chatting with the other three, the ice well and truly broken by now. As far as I could tell, he was asking if they knew what this was about, and they were replying with variations on 'I have no idea either'. "So, did you need me to bring anything along, like weapons?"

I considered the question. "Like I told you over the phone, it's a non-combat situation, but one dart could be handy." I knew I was being irritatingly vague, but I honestly didn't care. The big reveal was always fun.

Legend approached us, while Henderson hung back. I suspected he felt more than a little intimidated by me, probably because of Wilkins' attitudes. My strong impression was that she'd done her best to control the narrative coming in about me, so nobody under her would end up sympathetic to my goals. Unfortunately for her, that attitude had bitten her in the butt. It remained to be seen if Henderson could unlearn it in time.

"Atropos," Legend said as he came up to me. "Is there anything more you can tell me about what you're doing?"

"Not right this second." I gestured toward Brian. "As you can see, Tenebrae is wearing a body camera. He'll be recording the entire thing from beginning to end. But if this works out, and I think it will, a potentially troublesome villain will become a useful rogue, and isn't that the name of the game?" I had my reasons for the secrecy, of course. The wrong word in the wrong ear inside the PRT or the Protectorate, and my target might draw an erroneous conclusion and become even more uncooperative than normal.

"Hmm." He didn't quite glower at me. I could tell that he wanted to push harder but knew damn well it wouldn't do any good at all. "Well, good luck then."

"Thank you, sir." I held out my hand to shake. "Just so you know, I'm a big fan of your work."

He shook it. "As I am, of some of yours."

I grinned under the mask. "That's fair. If you'll just excuse me for a second?"

"Certainly." He stepped back as I took my phone out.

I sent two texts, then put it away again and I raised my voice. "Everyone coming with me, get ready. We're going to a suburban street. Same order as before. Flechette, the portal will last four seconds. You'll be following Miss Medic." I pointed at a wall of the office. "Three, two, one, go!"

On 'go', the shadowy doorway formed. Brian was already on the move, with Riley on his six. Flechette's power-based aptitude for timing showed up well here; she ducked through less than half a second behind Riley. Amy and I moved in unison, and made it through with more than a second to spare.

<><>​

Flechette

Lily looked around with interest as the portal dissipated behind them. "Okay, where are we now? And is this where the villain is?" As Atropos had said, it was a quiet suburban street in a moderately affluent neighbourhood. Not exactly where she'd expect a villain to be hiding out.

Of course, she told herself a moment later, that would be exactly where a villain might choose to hide out, for that precise reason.

"Nope. We're picking up our last person here." Atropos gestured toward a house across the street. "Right there. Oh, and to answer your question, we're in Philly."

Lily was curious as to why Atropos had dropped them on the street rather than into the living room of the person they were going to take along. She didn't give the impression of someone who spent a lot of time worrying about what other people thought of her. There was a reason for it, she knew that much. What the reason was, she still wasn't sure.

They crossed the street, Atropos in the lead, and trooped up the front path of the house in question. In their range of costumes, from mostly black in Atropos' case, through purple for Lily, grey for Tenebrae and pastel camouflage for Miss Medic, to Panacea's white with red crosses, they looked dramatically out of place. A dog barked, several houses down.

Atropos pressed the doorbell; the chimes sounded inside the house. A moment later, too quickly for someone who hadn't been expecting visitors, the front door opened. With a shock, Lily recognised the bespectacled lady; Atropos had said there'd be someone she already knew, but she hadn't been expecting her Wards therapist. "Mrs Yamada?"

"My goodness," Jessica Yamada said. "Hello, Atropos, Panacea, Flechette. This is a pleasant surprise. Would you like to come in, or should I go out?"

"'In' is probably better." Atropos gestured to the neighbourhood. "We don't need everyone knowing what's going on."

"Very true." Mrs Yamada stood aside as they entered the house, then closed the door behind them. She turned to Miss Medic and Tenebrae. "I don't believe I've met you two before. Are you associates of Atropos?"

"Kinda," said Miss Medic, at the same time as Tenebrae shook his head. "Not really."

Mrs Yamada chuckled. "Well, that clears it all up."

Atropos sounded amused as she explained. "Miss Medic and Tenebrae are very new additions to the Brockton Bay Wards, but I also know them out of costume."

"Oh!" Mrs Yamada sounded enlightened as she looked again at Miss Medic. "I'd heard your name, but I didn't make the connection until now. I've heard good things about you. I apologise for the misunderstanding."

Atropos dusted her hands off in a businesslike fashion. "Well, that's the introductions out of the way. We'll be heading onward in a moment. Mrs Yamada, a portal is going to form in the middle of your living room, leading to a somewhat run-down street. Tenebrae and Miss Medic will be going first, followed by Flechette, yourself, and then me and Panacea. As soon as Flechette starts moving, follow her as quickly as you can, because the portal only lasts four seconds. Do you understand? If you don't think you can get through quickly enough, I can have Tenebrae pick you up and carry you."

Mrs Yamada looked up at Tenebrae, who certainly seemed buff enough to do exactly that. "I believe I can manage," she decided. "I follow Flechette through the portal."

Atropos may have smiled; Lily couldn't quite tell. "Exactly." She pointed to a spot on the floor. "Portal forming in three, two, one, go!"

Tenebrae and Miss Medic were definitely getting used to this; again, they were moving before the portal even opened. Lily matched her movements to Miss Medic's, following through exactly one-quarter of a second behind her. She kept moving on the other side to give Mrs Yamada room. Last came Atropos alongside Panacea, then the portal shut behind them.

<><>​

Atropos

"Okay," said Brian, looking around. "'Run-down' is definitely the phrase I'd use, too." He wasn't far wrong; the asphalt was cracked and potholed, and random trash had accumulated in the gutters. "So, where's our villain?"

I held up a finger for silence, then led the way toward the nearest building, a dilapidated double-wide with a lawn that was mostly dirt. As we got closer, I heard the sound I was waiting for: a combination of a hollow boom and a screech not unlike fingernails on chalkboard. This was followed up by a vocal screech of frustration and a tirade of profanity that would've made even a hardened Dockworker raise an eyebrow in appreciation. Riley literally put her fingers in her ears.

The door that we were approaching was unlocked; or rather, the lock had been forced so many times that it was no longer useful as one. I knocked anyway, the sharp raps threatening to force the door to give up the ghost altogether.

"What the fuck?" Footsteps approached the door from the other side. "Who the fuck knocks around here? If you've come about the noise, you can fuck—"

The door opened, and Damsel of Distress stared at me. Her eyes went wide with horror.

"Hello, Ashley," I said politely. "May we come in?"



End of Part Sixty-Three

 

A Darker Path

Part Sixty-Four: Rehabilitation

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


Relevant Side-Story


Damsel of Distress

Life sucked hard, in all the wrong ways.

Ashley had managed to scrounge an actual working microwave she just found sitting on top of a dumpster, and there'd been a stack of frozen pizzas left on her doorstep for some reason (she wasn't going to think too hard about it, because that would just piss her off). She'd put the first pizza in the oven and watched it going around and around, her stomach grumbling harder and harder while she anticipated her first bite of real hot food in actual fucking days. Just the smell alone had her almost drooling.

And then, after it had finished, she'd opened the microwave and gone to take the pizza out carefully, but a drop of melted cheese had stung her finger. Her hand spasmed, and the power surge took out the pizza plus half the microwave, and blew a hole in the wall beyond. Lying against the opposite wall of the kitchen where the unexpected blast had thrown her, she wanted to cry, but Damsel of Distress did not cry. Instead, she channelled that energy into rage; swearing, ranting and denying the hot prickly feeling behind her eyelids.

The worst thing was, unless she could get hold of a working stove, or fluke another microwave, the pizzas were useless to her. The last time she'd just tried to thaw a microwave pizza and eat it raw, she'd been stuck on the shitter for three days, in between throwing up so hard she tasted blood. She was tempted to destroy the whole house and move along, taking only her few knick-knacks and her precious TV, but right now she didn't think she could even carry that too far.

And then came the knock on the door. Who the fuck knocked around here, anyway? If it was the PRT, they'd kick in the door and spray her down with containment foam. The cops wouldn't bother. And she didn't have any neighbours. Still ranting, she threw the door open … and stopped.

It was Atropos. The one person Ashley was legitimately scared of. Other people pissed her off, but only one person had ever stuck a gun in her face and made her back off. Even then, she might have gotten over that feeling and gone looking for revenge … right up until she saw the footage of Atropos just fucking casually murdering the Simurgh. That was a whole new level of 'fuck no'.

"Hello, Ashley. May we come in?"

Instinctively, even before she saw the strap of the shoulder holster under Atropos' coat, Ashley crossed her arms, putting her hands under her armpits. Atropos didn't have a gun in her hand, but Ashley recalled all too vividly how fast she'd pulled one out and put it to Edict's head. The microwave was a distant memory, the pizza entirely forgotten. Ashley's entire thought process right now revolved around not dying, which meant not giving Atropos even the shadow of an excuse.

"I haven't done anything!" She was not going to beg for her life, but pointing out that she hadn't broken Atropos' rules was just fine. "If someone says I did, they're lying!"

"Nobody says you did," Atropos said. She still wasn't pointing a gun at Ashley. Her goddamn shears were still in their sheath. Maybe she wasn't here to kill Ashley just yet. "I'm here to help. May we come in?"

The 'we' bugged Ashley until she dragged her eyes away from the blank-faced spectre before her and took in the other people behind Atropos. Big guy, little girl, purple costume, white with red crosses. And some woman with glasses. She knew of Panacea, but that was about it. The rest of them—wait. The girl in the purple costume was the one who'd helped Atropos kill the Simurgh. Ashley began hyperventilating all over again.

Atropos had asked a question. Ashley didn't want to piss her off any more than she was right then. Something about … coming in? Fuck it, Atropos could kill her just as easily inside the house as outside. "Yeah, uh, come in or whatever you want." She stepped back, trying not to trip over anything because there was no way in fuck she was taking her hands out from under her arms.

"Thank you." Atropos stepped inside the front door and started moving into the house, moving her head like she was looking around. Ashley wasn't one to give a fuck about what other people thought of her lifestyle, but right then she felt intensely judged. "Everyone, meet Ashley Stillons, otherwise known as Damsel of Distress. Ashley, meet Panacea, Tenebrae, Flechette, Mrs Jessica Yamada, and Miss Medic."

Panacea actually seemed to give Ashley a sympathetic look as she went past. Tenebrae nodded gravely. They understood, at least. She got half a smile from Flechette, the purple-costumed girl who'd helped kill the Simurgh, but that was it.

The Yamada woman had a friendly expression; she didn't say anything, but she definitely didn't look like she was here to kill anyone. Last came the little girl wearing the pseudo-military scrubs. "Hi! Are you the one we're here to help?"

"She is," Atropos confirmed. "Panacea, Miss Medic; Ashley here has power incontinence. Her blasts can erase basically anything from existence, but she can't always control when they come out. What I've brought you here to do is look at her arms and hands, and see if you can't figure out something between you to give her the control she needs. Tenebrae, make sure you get all this, okay? Mrs Yamada, Ashley's got a strong case of what I call supervillain fixation. I'm certain she could benefit from whatever assistance you could give her. But first, let's give the healers some room to work."

"And what about me?" asked Flechette. "I'm not a surgeon, a healer, or a powers expert. CPR's about my speed, and I doubt I can do better than Miss Medic or Panacea in that regard."

"Oh, I'm sure we'll find something for you to do." From the tone of Atropos' voice, she'd already figured out what that 'something' was, though Ashley had no idea what it might be. It made her feel a little better that none of the others knew either.

Under Atropos' coaching, they dragged the one good table to a spot under the one good light, then Ashley sat down next to it on the one good chair. And there she sat, with her hands still under her arms.

"Uh … you're going to have to take your hands out for us to look at them," Miss Medic ventured.

"Not until Atropos says it's okay." Ashley didn't need anyone's permission to do a goddamn thing, but she had no desire to die over a stupid fucking misunderstanding.

"One at a time," Atropos ruled. "And only point them at that side of the house. Everyone else, stay away from that side of the house." She indicated the grungiest side of the living room, where Ashley didn't go anyway. "Left hand first."

Cautiously, Ashley leaned forward and placed her left elbow on the table, then eased her hand out from under her armpit, trailing her hand across her chest and face until it pointed straight up, then laid her forearm and hand palm-up on the table. She didn't give a damn if anyone thought she looked like an idiot. There were more important things at stake, like her own survival.

Panacea leaned over the table from the right, Miss Medic from the left. "Can you handle blood flow and pain?" asked Miss Medic. "I want to open it up and see." For a moment, Ashley thought the girl was addressing her, then she felt Panacea lay a hand on her arm.

"Sure thing. Hold still, Ashley. This might feel a little strange." Her arm lost a little sensation as Miss Medic's bracer flicked out a scalpel.

The first cut looked like it should have hurt, but all she felt was a little tugging. More cuts followed, each precise, opening her forearm open like an anatomy lesson. "Hmm," murmured Miss Medic. "See that? I think the channels get a little wonky going into the wrist." She indicated with a needle-sharp probe that still only felt like dull pressure to Ashley.

Having no desire to watch this anymore, Ashley focused on the far wall. She really wanted to close her eyes, but her ego wouldn't allow her to go that far.

"Now that you mention it, I think you're right." Panacea had barely moved, but her hand remained on Ashley's bicep. "If I'm reading this right, it gets worse as it goes inward. All those cramped joints and flex points."

"Let's see, now." The scalpel flickered again in her peripheral vision, and Ashley guessed that her hand had been opened up as easily as her arm had. Miss Medic nodded. "You're right. It's a mess. As it is, I'm not sure how we can fix it. It's either zero or one hundred, but the pressure has to be a hundred all the time to make that work."

"Like evolution," Panacea said. "Every living creature today comes from genes that were just barely good enough to survive to breed. This setup was just barely good enough for the power to work, so that's what it went with." She frowned. "There's got to be a way to make this work better."

"If there is, I can't see it." Miss Medic prodded with the probe. "See that? If her hands were immobilised or only had two or three positions, we could set it up so the energy channels didn't get kinked or blocked, but hands are the most flexible things on the human body. I can only think of two ways to do it, and I'm not sure that the second one is even possible."

"Well, what's the first one?" Panacea's tone of voice indicated that she was here for the duration. "Maybe we can make that work."

Miss Medic took a deep breath. "If I was doing it quick and dirty—which I'm not in favour of—I'd amputate her hands and install prosthetics. Stretch her skin over them so she has feeling, and rejigger the energy channels so they have a straight run. Her power would work every time."

"But she'd have prosthetic hands," Panacea noted. "Which would require regular maintenance. Let's not go there. What's the other way?"

"Yes, please," Ashley said, trying not to sound too sarcastic to the people talking about amputating her hands. "What is the other way?"

"The other way is to somehow salvage the current energy channels." Miss Medic bit her lip, apparently thinking. "But the only way I can see to make that work is to install some kind of wave guides, to make sure the energy doesn't get lost or absorbed, so it would go straight through the channel every time. The trouble is, her blasts destroy everything. There's nothing we can make wave guides out of."

Ashley blinked. "Yes, there is." She normally wouldn't have been talking this much, but they were wrong. "Sometimes when I destroy something, there's a little tiny remnant left behind. My power doesn't destroy it. I collect them." She nodded to the bag containing her keepsakes and trinkets, stashed in the corner. "They look like twisted bits of rock and wood." Then her heart fell again. "… shit."

"What?" asked Miss Medic. "What's the matter?" She honestly seemed to care, which was weird. Nobody had cared about what happened to Ashley for years now.

"They're really, really hard. I don't know of anything that can cut them precisely enough to use that way." Ashley's shoulders wanted to slump, but she refused to let them. "If you can't shape them, you can't make these wave guides out of them, and we're back to no good options."

Flechette smiled. It was the smile of someone who finally knew their purpose in life. "We'll see about that."

With a few of the chunks of blast-condensed material on the table, Miss Medic and Panacea began a lively discussion on the exact shape and distribution of the wave guides within Ashley's wrist and hand. Flechette could apparently, using just a normal blade, slice off a piece of the normally intractable material then shape it according to the specifications given by the two healers, down to the fraction of an inch.

The first few took a couple of false starts, but after that they got into the groove of it. Flechette became better and better at carving the condensed matter to the correct specifications, and before Ashley knew it, they were closing up her left hand and arm, all the 'wave guides' in place. She stared at her skin; it looked no different than before. Thanks to Panacea, there weren't even any scar lines.

"Well?" prompted Atropos, and gestured at the target wall. "Something small, if you don't mind. I already know you can do big."

"Uh … right." Ashley held out her left hand and tentatively flexed it through its normal range of motion. Nothing fired off unexpectedly. She tried it again, more violently, with the same lack of result. Then she pointed her fingers and deliberately exerted her power, trying for a low-end result.

A tight beam of energy erupted from her fingertips and punched a quarter-sized hole out of the wall. She barely felt the recoil.

Ashley was vaguely aware of Miss Medic, Panacea and Flechette giving each other high-fives behind her back as she cupped just the fingers of that hand and summoned a ball of destructive energy, holding it with ease. There was no awkwardness, no feeling of barely held control. It was smooth.

"Nice," Atropos said, as Ashley dismissed the ball. "How does your hand feel?"

With growing confidence, Ashley flexed her hand again; part of her mind insisted that she could detect the wave guides in there, but she was pretty sure that was just her imagination. "Good. Great. Doesn't hurt." She looked sharply up at Atropos. "What's the price for all this?"

"Price?" Atropos made a go-on gesture.

"Yeah, price. You don't do shit for nothing. Nobody does, but you do it even less than everyone else. When you offed the Simurgh, you got two billion out of it. What's your price for bringing everyone here and doing this?" Ashley knew there had to be a catch. Whatever it was, she'd be comfortable saying no, even if it meant using her left hand for everything for the rest of her life.

"That you listen to my offer." Atropos raised a finger. "Not that you take it, just that you listen to it. Okay?"

Just listening to an offer was something Ashley could totally do. "Shoot." A moment later, she winced, considering who it was she was talking to.

Atropos may have smiled. "The last time you came to Brockton Bay, I sent you away at gunpoint. Once both your hands are fixed, I'll be inviting you back and offering you a job. Good money, good accommodation."

Ashley blinked. "A job? Doing what?" She held up her hand. "I blow things up, remember?"

"Why, yes. You do." Atropos' tone was somewhat facetious by now. "Brockton Bay is undergoing a multi-billion-dollar renovation, from the ground up. There will be structures galore that need demolition. We'll have wrecking balls and shot-firers, but there will also be a niche for someone who can just point their finger and get it done. Now, where can someone who blows things up get a job in all that, I wonder?"

"Ah. Right. And you can pay me?" Money was always nice. It was kind of why Ashley had gone into crime. That, and the feeling of power.

When Atropos spoke next, the facetious tone was entirely absent. "Take the correct safety courses, and you'll start at a shot-firer's wage. That's good money. You can live in free assigned accommodation, which is comfortable but unimaginative, or you can splash out with your own cash and rent your own." She shrugged. "It's all up to you. All you have to do is follow the rules. Oh, and if you do decide to come into Brockton Bay, you will be assigned a therapist and you will have to attend sessions." She indicated Mrs Yamada. "She'll be able to give you an idea of what that's like, going forward."

"Um." Well, damn. "Can I think about it for a bit?" Being her own boss and doing crime was something she'd wanted to do for quite some time, and once her hands were fixed, that would be a real possibility. On the other hand, though, a guaranteed well-paying job in what was rapidly becoming the richest city in the northeast US also rated thinking about. Especially if the job involved doing what she was really good at.

"Sure. Get that other hand fixed while you're thinking." Atropos stepped back, metaphorically removing herself from the conversation.

Slowly, Ashley placed her right hand on the table. Just as the back of her hand touched down, she must have hit the wrong nerve because energy shredded the end of the table and flared across the room to blow out most of the wall on that side. Knocked backward by the recoil so she landed heavily on her back, she lay there frozen as the night breeze flooded in, waiting for the bullet in the face.

"And that is why we don't stand on that side of the table," Atropos remarked into the silence that followed. She reached down and grasped Ashley's left hand—Ashley's right hand was tucked under her arm again—and helped her to her feet. "Carry on."

The surgery went a lot faster this time. Panacea and Miss Medic knew exactly what they were looking for, and Flechette was carving out blanks for the wave guides ahead of time, shaping them to fit with her knife and a metal lawn-dart looking weapon. The teamwork and cohesion was impressive, each of them fully aware of their role. Ashley, morbidly fascinated, watched them lay the wave guides into place and lock them down, aware that it was her arm and hand they were cutting apart and putting back together but unable to emotionally process it.

"And that should do it," announced Miss Medic happily. "Panacea?"

The New Wave healer nodded, a smile beginning to break out across her face as well. "I think so. It all feels right, anyway. Flechette?"

"Wave guide count matches, left to right." Flechette gave a thumbs-up. "I think we're done here too."

"Closing up now," Panacea announced. One by one, the incisions came together and vanished. Even watching it, Ashley could not see where they'd been. "Okay, give it a try."

Drawing a deep breath, Ashley held out both hands. Left hand, then right hand, then both; energy blasts shot from them out through the hole in the wall. Her fine control was astonishing, compared to what it had been like before. And when she flexed both hands, nothing happened.

I've finally got my life back. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but once more she refused to let them fall. She still had her self-esteem, and she was not going to cry over this, damn it!

And that was when she smelled the most heavenly odour she'd ever experienced. Or perhaps that was just the hunger speaking. Turning, she saw Atropos stepping out of a shadowy doorway that didn't exist in the house, carrying a couple of bulging shopping bags.

"My father always advised me to never make important decisions on an empty stomach." Atropos set one of the bags down on the table in front of Ashley. "I made a food run. The nearest gas station had pizza pockets in their warmer. Thought you might like some."

Ashley tried to stay strong, but her stomach audibly growled at the smell. Pride be damned, she was starving. Yanking open the bag, she grabbed the first pizza pocket, not caring that it scorched her fingers, and took a heavenly bite out of it. The cheese was still hot, but she didn't give a good goddamn; she made a keening noise of pure pleasure as she swallowed.

As she gorged herself on pizza pockets, Ashley was vaguely aware of Atropos handing out snacks to everyone else. She didn't care: these were her pizza pockets. At some point, a large bottle of Mountain Dew ended up on the table in front of her, seemingly abandoned to its fate.

"So, let me see if I have this straight," Mrs Yamada was saying once Ashley surfaced from her feeding frenzy long enough to pay attention. "You walked into a gas station, in costume, and they sold you the food?" She sounded both bemused and amused, all at the same time.

"Absolutely. They were actually willing to just give it to me, in return for a selfie." Atropos was just amused. "But I paid them anyway. Setting an example, you know."

Ah. Ashley had lost track of the number of times she'd used her powers to terrify convenience store owners to hand over food and empty the till, and walked out laughing. Atropos had the power to do that ten times over, and still chose to pay.

She didn't feel ashamed, exactly. Shame was one of those things she didn't do. But she did feel that she was being measured, judged, against an arbitrary scale of not being a horrible fucking human being, and that she herself was the one doing the judging.

Grabbing up the bottle of Mountain Dew, she unscrewed the cap and drank from the neck, not caring if anyone saw her. She could even hold it with both hands and not have to worry about her fucking powers destroying it mid-gulp. That had totally happened before, but not anymore. Not ever again.

When she lowered the bottle, she saw Atropos looking at her. She let out a gassy belch that made her sinuses sting, then set the bottle down and screwed on the cap. "What?"

"You probably haven't come to a decision yet." Atropos sounded fine with that. "But I'm going to have to start getting the others back in about five minutes. So, I'll be taking Panacea and Miss Medic and Tenebrae and Flechette outside so you can have a one-on-one with Mrs Yamada before we go. Also, I'll leave you the number for the Betterment Committee for if you decide to accept the job. Okay?"

"Sure. How do you know I won't just go back to being a villain?" She felt greatly daring when she said this, but Atropos hadn't shot her for the accidental blast, so she took the gamble.

"If that's what you choose. You won't be killing people accidentally, not anymore." Atropos lowered her voice slightly. "Just remember: villains aren't welcome in my city." Turning, she gestured to the four people she'd mentioned and led them outside.

The second-best chair had a wobbly leg, but Mrs Yamada carried it over to the table anyway and sat down. "So," she said. "What did you want to know?"

<><>​

Atropos

"Do you really trust her not to hurt Mrs Yamada?" Lily sounded worried.

"I trust her self-preservation instincts," I said dryly. "She knows I'd kill her in a heartbeat if she did anything stupid like that. And Mrs Yamada is very good at talking to capes. This is Ashley's best chance to break out of this cycle, and make something of herself. I can't talk her into it, but she can talk herself into it, with the right motivation."

Riley gave me a cynical look that belonged on a much older face. "You knew we'd need wave guides, didn't you? That's why you brought Flechette along."

"I have no idea what you mean." I was lying through my teeth, but that was fine; they knew damn well I was lying. "It was a total accident. Absolute fluke."

Tenebrae snorted. "I'm just the guy with the body camera, and even I know that's bullshit. You knew every move that was going to happen, before it happened."

I made as though to answer, then held up a finger as a car rolled down the street and stopped opposite us. The doors opened, and Edict and Licit got out. They started across the street, looking worried.

"Hi," I said cheerfully. "Everyone, meet Edict and Licit. I see you got my texts." I kept my voice down, so Ashley wouldn't hear what I was saying.

"What's going on here?" asked Edict. "Why are you standing outside Damsel's place?"

"And why is there a hole in the wall?" added Licit. "What have you been doing? Did you come all this way to finish the job?"

I sighed. "Geez, kill off a few dozen criminals and all of a sudden, everyone thinks I murder every criminal I meet. Guys, she's not only alive but she's better off than ever." I would've rolled my eyes if anyone was able to see them.

Edict looked at me suspiciously. "What, exactly, does that mean?"

"It means," Brian interjected crisply, "that under Atropos' direction, Miss Medic and Panacea, with Flechette's assistance, fixed her power incontinence problem. Her power works just fine now. Right now, she's having a brief talk with a counsellor to see if she's willing to come work in Brockton Bay for the Betterment Committee. She's arrogant and snarky, but I'm pretty sure that's her natural state of being."

I mentally nodded; I was pretty sure I couldn't have put it better myself.

They both focused on him for the first time. For someone who was seventeen going on eighteen, he stood a good head (and sometimes shoulders) over most grown men. "And you are?" asked Licit.

"Tenebrae, Brockton Bay Wards. This is Miss Medic, same." Brian put a protective hand on his cousin's shoulder.

Lily raised her chin. "Flechette, New York Wards."

Amy put her hand up. "Panacea, New Wave. We really did fix her hands."

"Okay, then." Edict frowned. "So why exactly did you text us to come in when it was all over?"

"So you'd know about it." That part should've been obvious. "I'd advise you to leave her to think about her options over the next few days. I gave her some foodstuffs so she won't run out for a day or so. She, uh, blew up the microwave you left for her to find."

Licit facepalmed. "Goddamn it."

"But her hands are okay now?" asked Edict. "She doesn't blow stuff up accidentally anymore?"

"No, just on purpose." I grinned behind the mask. "With a healthy dose of luck, she'll decide to come to Brockton Bay to work. And then you'll be able to transfer elsewhere, whee." Neither of them looked thrilled at that concept, but it really wasn't my problem. "So anyway, it's about time I went and grabbed Mrs Yamada, and we got out of your hair. Have a nice night."

"Right," muttered Licit.

I headed back to the house and knocked on the door-frame. "Coming in!" Giving it a three-count, I pushed the door open and walked in.

Ashley and Mrs Yamada both looked around at me; from the body language, they'd been deep in conversation of one sort or another before I interrupted. "Time to go?" asked Mrs Yamada.

"It's getting on to eight, yes," I confirmed. "The others have a curfew of sorts, and I don't want to get them in bad with their bosses." The PRT was more likely to cooperate with me on the big stuff if I didn't screw them over on the little stuff. Also, I had dessert waiting on me.

"Understood. Well, Ashley, you have my number." Mrs Yamada rose from the table. "I've actually been offered a job in Brockton Bay, which I'm still considering. It may well be that we'll end up doing this on a regular basis."

"And here's the Betterment Committee number," I added, skimming another card across the table to Ashley's hand. "Call anytime. They'll pay for your bus ticket."

Ashley snorted. "Better deal than I got last time." Her self-esteem, I could tell, was still recovering from the way I'd just walked in and overturned her life; or rather, set it back on its feet. This was the closest I'd ever get to a 'thank you' from her.

"You're welcome. Take care." Waiting just long enough for Mrs Yamada to exit before me, I left Damsel of Distress behind.

Whichever way she jumped, I knew I could handle it. She wouldn't dare approach Brockton Bay as a villain, but if she came in as a rogue, she would truly be able to make something of herself.

It was all up to her, now.

<><>​

Panacea

The return trip had been a mirror of the outbound one, but somewhat in reverse. Atropos had dropped Mrs Yamada off first, then Flechette, then Tenebrae and Miss Medic. It had been nice to talk to Miss Medic, to get to know the person she'd been before she became Bonesaw. The longer they spent chatting, the less she resented the semi-extortion Atropos had used to get her to do the work she'd done on the Slaughterhouse Nine villain.

However, instead of teleporting into the living room of her house, or even into her bedroom—God knew, Atropos had never had a problem with that before—they ended up on the sidewalk outside the house. "What's up?" she asked.

"Remember that stuff I asked you to make?" Atropos paused as Amy frowned, unable to make the connection. "The metal and plastic eating bug?"

"Oh. Yeah." Amy remembered now. It had been a long night. "I've made a few tiny samples, but we've never had the chance to get together and work out safety protocols."

"I know." Atropos sounded unfazed by that. "I've figured out exactly what I need it to do." In a few brief sentences, she outlined her requirements. "Can you do that?"

"Oh, that's easy." The best bit was, it didn't have a long lifespan. "That's it? How much?"

"Won't need a lot." Atropos told her why.

<><>​

Atropos

It was with profound relief that I teleported into the living room. I'd known Dad and Cherie were on the sofa, so I showed up out of the way of the TV for them. "Hi, I'm home."

Dad paused the DVD of what looked like Beauty and the Beast. "How'd it go?"

I took my hat and mask off, and shook out my hair. "Well, either I just unleashed a new and improved version of Damsel of Distress on the New Hampshire criminal underworld, or the Betterment Committee will be getting a new cape on their roster. Time will tell."

Cherie stood up from the sofa, and gave me a hug. "I have faith in your ability to persuade."

I returned the hug, enjoying the closeness. It was nice to just relax and be me. "She's pretty headstrong. Just saying. Now, I've been waiting on my dessert for the last hour."

"Sorry." Cherie grinned broadly. "You took too long, so I ate it."

I raised my eyebrows. "You do realise that I am armed and dangerous, right?"

She stuck her tongue out at me. "It was delicious."

Dad sighed and rolled his eyes. "It's in the fridge."

"That's better." Pretending to mutter and mumble to myself, I headed into the kitchen. "You just wait. Next time, I'll eat your dessert."

She giggled and sat back down on the sofa, leaving room for me. "I'd like to see you try."

It was good to be home.



End of Part Sixty-Four