All Alone [Worm AU]

All Alone

Part Ten: New Kid on the Block

[A/N: this chapter commissioned by GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



I opted to sit in the back seat with Sophia, because that way we could chat on the way to the Market without me getting a crick in my neck from looking over my shoulder all the time. She seemed about the same as she had been the previous day; that is, cheerfully snarky. Despite the previous references to her being dead, it didn't seem to be weighing on her mind. She was very much an in-the-moment sort of person, which I supposed would be a help in that situation.

"Oh, hey," she said when we were halfway to the Market, "do you remember where we stashed my gear, my crossbows and stuff? Maybe we should go grab it before someone else does."

"I think so, too." I frowned, trying to recall precisely which dumpster we'd shoved the rolled-up cape containing Sophia's superhero equipment behind. Letting her weapons (as well as the utility belt, but that was less important) fall into the hands of someone who might use them on innocents was a Bad Idea, in capitals even. "Dad, can we detour?"

"We can do that," he agreed. "Where did you leave it, exactly?"

"I'm trying to think." I leaned back in my seat and scrubbed the heels of my hands into my eyes. A memory swam into focus, and I sat forward again. "Davison Street. Or Davidson. I had to check the street sign. That's where we were when I called the ambulance."

"I know Davison," Dad said immediately. "That's a not a great part of town."

"I can kind of remember where I rescued you from," Sophia ventured. "But after that it's kind of a blur, especially toward the end."

I nodded. "Okay. If we maybe go along Davison until I recognise the street corner, then you point Dad toward where they were holding me, I'll try to see if I can recognise any landmarks."

"We can certainly give that a shot," Dad said from the front seat. "Davison's this way." He slowed at the next intersection and turned right. "I'll let you know when we're on it. But if we spot one of the guys who kicked in the door last night, I can't promise not to get out and even the score a little."

"I'll be right there with you, Mr. H," Sophia promised. "I still think I should've ended the lot of them last night. And if I'd known what their buddies were up to, I would've."

Dad nodded. "I can't actually argue with that."

I wanted to object to the talk of violence, but the truth was that I'd been tortured and they'd been murdered by these people. The Merchants had no redeeming qualities whatsoever, and they hurt people as a matter of course during their day-to-day activities. Sure, I'd maybe been a little out of line when I chased that one guy with a baseball bat, but burning my eye with a cigarette and going to Dad's house specifically to kill him basically beat up 'out of line' and stole its lunch money.

We rode for awhile in silence, until Dad announced we were on Davison Street. I leaned up close to the window as we rolled through one dingy intersection after the other, trying to spot where the ambulance had picked us up. As my eyes flicked from street signs to buildings to sidewalks, despite my earnest need to find the right place, I couldn't stop my mind from wandering.

The more I thought about it, the more Sophia's attitude made sense. I was through being Miss Nice Girl. If the Merchants wanted to sell drugs to kids, torture teenage girls for the fun of it and murder the families of vigilantes, then fuck 'em. What they were going to face from here on in was going to be a lot worse than a scared teenager with a baseball bat.

"Hey," I said hurriedly, tamping down thoughts of bloody revenge as a vaguely familiar sight caught my eye. "I think this is it."

Dad turned the corner and stopped the car, but he insisted on half-stepping out and surveying the area before letting me get out. There was nobody around that we could see, but that meant nothing. Sophia stepped up onto the hood and crouched there, watchful and silent.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" asked Dad.

"Yeah." I checked for traffic, of which there was none, and crossed the narrow street with Dad close behind. If any shit at all went down, I was poised to go into the shadow realm, powering Dad and Sophia up to fight our way out of this. Nothing of the sort eventuated, and I peered up at a street sign, then down at a dark blotch on the sidewalk. "That's Sophia's blood. She was bleeding to death right there while I was calling for the ambulance and waiting for it to get here." When I stepped over next to the blotch and knelt down, everything fitted my memories perfectly.

"Okay, then." He led the way back to the car. As I got into the back seat, Sophia slid off the hood and climbed in on the other side. "Now, I'm going to need the both of you to guide me. Which way to the hideout they were using?"

Before I answered, I dropped into the shadow realm for just a moment and looked around. The all-pervading darkness made the scene look eerily similar to the way it had last night, but I wasn't looking at that. Where I would normally have thought the area abandoned, I saw brain-constellations here and there. Some were lying down, but others were standing, and a few seemed to be moving in our direction.

"Pretty sure it's that direction," Sophia said, pointing down the street. "Hey, Taylor, something wrong?"

I nodded. "Yeah, that direction. Quickly. There's people in those buildings, and some of them know we're here."

"Moving off now." Dad set the car going. "Taylor, which way did you turn to get here?"

I tried to reconstruct our panicked, staggering flight, stringing the flashes of memory together into a coherent whole. It wasn't easy but going through it backward was harder still. "Uh left … maybe?"

"Wait, did you turn left, or do I turn left now?" He slowed as he approached the intersection.

"You turn left … I think." I frowned, poking at my memories. We'd leaned against a street corner, but which one? As we took the turn, I looked back over my shoulder and saw a clearly marked handprint on the corner behind us. "No, wait, that was supposed to be right!"

"You could've made up your mind a little earlier," he complained, but I could tell his heart wasn't in it. Checking behind and in front, he wheeled the car around in a U-turn and headed down the other way.

"Sorry." I shrugged. "Took me a little while to figure things out. I did have other things on my mind at the time."

"Excuses, excuses." He waved at the intersection that was just coming up. "Left, right or straight ahead?"

"Um …" I hesitated, not wanting to make the same mistake again. "Sophia?"

"I told you, I can't remember crap about this part. Slow down, Mr. H. Maybe she'll remember something if we're not going so fast."

"If we go any slower, we might as well be walking." But he eased off the pace anyway.

As we rolled into the intersection, I stared at all four street corners, trying to figure out which way we'd come. Nothing popped up in my memory, and I chewed my lip anxiously. The last thing I wanted to do was let down Sophia like this.

"Hey, down there!" She pointed past me, along the street. "Take a right!"

"Right you are." I was concentrating so hard I didn't notice the pun until it was far too late to groan. Dad slowed down even more and spun the steering wheel hard to the right. As it was, we were almost all the way through the intersection, and the front wheel mounted the curb briefly before we got around. "Did you see something you remember, Sophia?"

"No, but there's a bunch of assholes fussing around a dumpster like it's Christmas," she said, indicating through the windshield. "Think it's the same dumpster?"

I stared where she was pointing, trying to think. "… maybe?" I ventured. The dumpster by the side of the road was overflowing, just like the one we'd stashed her stuff behind last night, but that didn't mean much. Every trash can, dumpster and alleyway in this part of town was stuffed full of refuse.

Sophia nodded sharply, as if I'd answered in the affirmative. "What I thought. Let's go ask 'em politely if they found my stuff and would they kindly give it back, if they have."

"That sounds like a plan." Dad briefly glanced back at me. "Taylor, mask up time."

I took a deep breath, my heart starting to hammer. Last night I hadn't been this scared, but maybe I should've. "I wish I had the baseball bat," I said, apropos of nothing.

"We can get you one," Dad said tersely. "But your job is to stay out of situations where you're going to need it."

"Right, right." I pulled the scarf up over my face, then went into the shadow realm. It was a black scarf, getting a little tattered at the ends, but I wondered what it looked like with my eyes shining through it like headlights.

"Ooooh yeah," breathed Sophia. "Come to Mama." Making a hand motion that I interpreted as pulling a bandanna up over her lower face—a lot easier, she'd confided, than making a cloth mask that didn't interrupt vision—she waited until Dad had almost brought the car to a halt. Then she turned to mist (which made her just look a little fuzzy to my shadow-vision) and dived out through the door without bothering to open it.

"Stay in the car, Taylor." Dad stopped the car hard, then turned off the engine and applied the handbrake. Pulling up his own bandanna, he got out of the car in his turn.

I wanted to jump out as well, but deep down I knew I could do more for them just by staying back, keeping them powered up and not getting hurt. Still, it was irritating to be relegated to the back lines when my own Dad got to step up where I'd been. Once I acquired body armour, I decided, there would be changes.

"Hey, fuckos," Sophia addressed the group that were gathered next to the dumpster. "Mind showing me what you got there? Because I lost something around here, and—"

In the next moment, I knew for a fact that she'd been right. This was exactly where her stuff had been stashed. Partly because I recognised it, and partly because one of the group turned around with a hand crossbow and shot at her with it.

She had damn good reflexes, which she proved by going to shadow form. The arrow winged through where she'd been and kept going halfway across the street. Only halfway, because that was where it hit Dad right in the middle of the chest.

Now, normally that would've been a wound likely to put someone into intensive care, if not the morgue. In Dad's current state, I could tell it had done him a little damage—that was going to be a pain to fix, later—but he didn't even glance down at it. In a supremely badass move that I wasn't even sure he was aware of, he just kept walking toward them, arrow sticking out of his chest.

Sophia, on the other hand, went from casually enquiring to pissed-off in all of half a second. "Why you motherfucking—" Dropping back to normal, she went for the guy with the crossbow in a fluid blur of motion. Back in the hospital, I hadn't been sure if she was any faster when I was in the shadow realm. Now, my mind was made up, with a definite 'yes'.

Dad joined the fray a couple of seconds later, but Sophia was clearly holding her own. Her kicks and punches were sending people flying into walls and staggering back yards at a time, and when she got a good hit in, they just didn't get up again. One guy stepped back and reached into his jacket for something, and Dad simply picked him up and pile-drove him into the grimy concrete sidewalk.

When the car door beside me opened, it caught me by surprise. I really should have been keeping a lookout around me, so it was my own stupid fault the asshole managed to sneak up on me. But that was okay; when he grabbed me and dragged me out of the car, he gave me the chance to figure out what to do. First things first: deal with the knife he was trying to threaten me with.

"Right—" was all he managed before I smacked his wrist with the side of my arm then elbowed him in the neck, hard. Letting me go, he staggered backward, holding what my shadow-vision told me was a busted collar-bone. The cup of my sympathy would have runneth over, but it had a holeth in it.

His wrist wasn't doing too well either, but at least it didn't look broken … until I grabbed it and broke it. The snap echoed in my ears, but his high-pitched scream pretty well drowned out everything. I could kind of sympathise with him; after all, I knew what it was like to be suddenly up against someone who didn't give a shit how much they hurt me.

He tried to stagger away, but I kept right up with him. This time, I unloaded a punch into his ribs that snapped at least one and seriously bent a couple of others. It was possible, I decided as I pondered which of his bones to break next, that I had a thing against Merchants. Or just asshole gang members who tried to manhandle me.

"Okay, Tex, I think he's done for the day." Sophia's hand fell on my shoulder and stopped my advance on the guy who'd had the knife.

"He's still standing," I pointed out reasonably.

"True, true." She was holding the bundle under her arm, but that didn't hamper her in the slightest. Stepping forward, she swivelled her hips and performed a sweeping high kick that took Asshole McAsshole right across the side of the jaw and sent him sprawling into the gutter. "Okay, now he's done. You were hitting him hard, but you've gotta learn where to hit 'em."

"Showoff," I grumbled, but I climbed into the car after her anyway. "Did you get everything back?"

"Yup. Your dad's still holding one of the arrows … right, thanks, Mr. H." I watched, still in the shadow realm, as Dad pulled the arrow out of his chest and handed it back to her from the front seat.

"So, what'd their faces look like when it hit him and he just kept on going?" I asked as I buckled my seatbelt. "The shadow realm doesn't show me expressions, just skulls."

Sophia snorted with amusement. "Somewhere between 'oh shit' and 'I want my mommy'. Leaving the arrow in was kind of a genius move, just saying."

"To be honest, I didn't really notice it at the time," Dad admitted. "Took a couple of seconds to realise what he'd done."

"Well, now it's out, I can do this," I said, reaching forward to put my hand on his shoulder.

It cost me a large jolt to heal the arrow wound and take care of a few other minor contusions. Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed Sophia's arm and did the same for her. Doing the two so close together knocked the wind out of me as I'd figured it would, and I sagged back against the car seat.

"Whew," I panted, sliding back into the real world. "That was a thing."

"Yeah, but I got my shit back so we're done here." Sophia dumped the utility belt, crossbows and arrows on the car seat between us and started going through the pile.

"Oh, good. Where do we go from here?" I thought I knew, but the excitement of the fight had totally driven it out of my head.

"The Lord Street Market," Sophia reminded me. "So we can find proper costumes for you and your dad."

"Oh. Right. Yeah." I leaned back in the seat and relaxed as Dad started off again. "Here's hoping we find something worthwhile."

<><>​

Lord Street Market

Pre-Loved Clothing & Memorabilia

Sophia

"Oh, come on," groaned Sophia. "Corsets are absolutely in, and it'll make you look totally badass and spooky in a Vampirella kind of way."

"Nope." Taylor shook her head stubbornly. "If you think it's so badass, you wear it."

Sophia rolled her eyes. "You're being totes unreasonable, here. Don't you think so, Mr. H?"

"It'll just make me look like a wannabe tryhard," Taylor argued. "Dad?"

"Hey, don't drag me into this." Danny put his hands up in surrender. "All I know for a fact is that I'm not wearing the damn thing."

"Just try it on," Sophia urged, partly from sheer devilment and partly because she actually thought Taylor would rock a corset like nobody's business. "Check yourself out in the mirror. You might actually like it."

"I might also like smoking ten packs of cigarettes a day," Taylor retorted. "But I'm not about to try that, either."

"Of the two, I'm far more likely to be okay with the corset," Danny observed, sounding more than a little amused. "But it's Taylor's choice. If she doesn't want to, she doesn't have to."

Taylor gave him the side-eye. "You think I should too, don't you?"

"I never said that." Raising his hands in mock-surrender, he took a step back. "I didn't know what teenage girls were supposed to wear when I was a teenager. You think I'm any more switched-on about the subject now?"

She nodded to acknowledge his point. "Well, thanks for not trying to push me into it. Unlike some people, who can't seem to keep their opinions to themselves." Wrinkling her nose, she gave Sophia a dirty look.

It slid off Sophia's confidence like oil off … whatever oil was supposed to slide off. Anything, probably. Oil was famous for sliding off stuff. "Well, how are you supposed to know what you like and don't like unless you give it a chance?"

Taylor grabbed the corset out of Sophia's hands and dropped it back on the pile she'd taken it from. "I don't need to burn my hand to know I shouldn't stick it in the fire."

"Okay, fine." Sophia folded her arms and gave Taylor a challenging look. "You find stuff that'll make you look like a badass cape, then."

"But I'm not a badass cape," Taylor said, totally unhelpfully. "You're the badass one. You and Dad."

"On that, at least, I beg to differ," her father interjected. "When that one gang member grabbed you out of the car, you were definitely holding your own before Sophia showed up."

"And she flattened him in one hit, while I was just using him like a punching bag." Taylor shook her head. "You two are the badasses. I'm just the enabler, I guess."

A loud bang from outside distracted Sophia from the argument. "You guys hear that?"

"Yeah." Danny glanced around. "It would've been pretty hard to miss. Didn't sound like a gunshot, though."

"No, it wasn't a shot," Sophia agreed. "Car crash, maybe? I thought I heard metal crunching."

At that moment, there was a second bang, louder this time.

"Yeah, I definitely heard the crunch that time," Taylor said. "Should we go and see what's happening?"

"Absolutely." Sophia headed for the checkout. "Buy what you've got and let's get going."

Danny had gone with a wide-brimmed hat and a wide cape, while Taylor hadn't done much except refuse to even try on the corset. Sophia still thought that was a waste of potential, but maybe that was because she liked the concept of corsets in general. If it had fitted in any way with her costume theme, she would've gone with one herself.

The guy on checkout seemed a bit nervous, but that was more likely because of the sounds of violence outside than the fact that Taylor was wearing wraparound shades she'd found elsewhere. At the last moment, she grabbed a T-shirt portraying the full moon rising over a graveyard, and threw that into the pile. It was better than nothing, Sophia decided.

Once they were out of the second-hand clothing place, the next move was to find someplace to make the change in private. This quickly proved near-impossible, as people were rushing everywhere, some seeking safety and others trying to find out what was going on. Market Enforcers shouting sometimes-contradictory orders, didn't help in the slightest.

"Screw it," Sophia decided in the end. After checking for cameras, she stepped into a corner and fastened her cloak around her neck then fitted the hockey mask onto her face. Donning the armour padding would've been nice, but it was a time-consuming process and she was a lot tougher now anyway. As she made sure of the mask, she saw that Danny had put on his own makeshift costume and pulled his bandanna up, while Taylor had dragged the T-shirt on over her other shirt.

"Ready?" asked Danny.

"No, but let's do this anyway," Taylor said, pulling the scarf up to cover her lower face.

Sophia grinned and slapped her on the shoulder. "That's the spirit."

<><>​

Taylor

When we got outside, it was a cross between bedlam and total mayhem, with a side order of catastrophe. At first I'd thought maybe the Merchant leadership had shown up to exact vengeance for the beatdown we'd done of their boys at the dumpster. But it wasn't that. It was much worse.

"You're shitting me," Sophia said blankly as she watched Hookwolf attempting to bludgeon Lung over the head with a motorcycle; or rather, half a motorcycle after Lung caught it with a clawed hand. "I know I said the ABB and the Empire could both attack here, but at the same time? What the fuck is going on?"

"I don't know," Dad said tensely, "but this is way out of our capabilities. We need to get people to safety, and fast." Because while the smart thing to do would've been to back the hell away from the parking lot full of capes duking it out, the bystanders … weren't. Some were just rubbernecking, while others were pointing cameras, or even getting pictures of themselves in front of the fight.

"Only in Brockton Bay," I said, shaking my head. "Okay, power-up coming online … now." As I said the word, I pulled the scarf up to cover my entire face and went into the shadow realm. Maybe I could get a set of thin metal eye-covers, I thought briefly. Paint them to look like sunglasses from the outside.

But that was for later. There were people in danger who needed saving right now. Some had gotten into their cars, then attempted to drive right past the battling capes, resulting in the cars being wrecked and in some cases overturned. Others were trapped by wreckage simply because they were too close when someone flipped a car on top of them.

This was exactly when I would've been happy to see the Protectorate and PRT show up, along with New Wave and maybe the Wards for backup. No such luck; it seemed the only capes on site not aligned with either the white-supremacist racists or the Asian-supremacist racists were me, Dad and Sophia.

This wasn't to say that there weren't other people trying to help, but they didn't have powers. I saw a cop—at least, he had a gun and a radio—skirting the mayhem and alternating between calling for backup and ordering people to leave the area. A couple of Market Enforcers were standing much farther back; not altogether surprising, as they only carried billy clubs and pepper spray. That stuff, as far as I knew, would only serve to piss off Hookwolf or Lung.

Dad and Sophia, with their enhanced capabilities, were doing well in the search and rescue stakes. I watched as they rocked one overturned car up at an angle, then Sophia held it there while Dad tore the door off altogether and tossed it aside. In the shadow realm, I was stronger and tougher than normal, but this really underlined the fact that my power boosted them to whole new levels of strength.

A nearby scream, abruptly choked off, drew my attention. Looking around, I saw that Hookwolf had tossed aside the shredded remains of the motorcycle. The flying wreckage had hit the cop squarely, smashing him to the ground.

Dad and Sophia were busy with another car, this one on fire, so I couldn't call on them. Besides, the scuffle with the Merchants had proven I could take care of myself. Keeping one eye on the combatants—Lung's skeleton was oddly twisting and growing all the time, while Hookwolf's seemed to be either made of metal or clad in it—I hurried over to the stricken police officer.

When I got there, I could see it was bad. Bits of sharp steel had punched through his body, where I was pretty sure most people kept their important organs. His brain constellation was fluctuating, which I took as a sign he was dying before my eyes.

His head turned as I knelt beside him. "Get … get away," he gurgled. I could smell the sharp tang of blood, a scent I dearly wished I wasn't familiar with. "Save … save y'rself."

"Hey," I said quietly. "I can make it better. I can fix this, sort of. Do you want me to help?"

I couldn't see his eyes, but I could almost feel his stare burning into me, even as the life drained from his body. "Yeeaaa…" It was more of an exhalation than a word. He didn't breathe in again. His brain constellation went from almost unbearably bright to steadily dimming.

Well, that was good as I was going to get, where permission was concerned. Grabbing the hunk of metal, I heaved it off him, hearing the sucking sounds as the sharp bits were pulled out of the wounds they'd made. I was obscurely glad that the shadow realm made it impossible for me to see blood. I couldn't do anything about being able to smell it, but them's the breaks.

Carefully, I laid my hand on his shoulder and concentrated. Live, I told him silently, forcing down my misgivings. This wasn't going to be like the Merchant goon; that guy had been a murderous asshole. A cop killed in the line of duty was a whole different case.

While it was still a jolt, I found bringing him back was a whole lot easier than Sophia or Dad or even the Merchant. Maybe it was how newly dead he was, or possibly the fact that he'd died in the process of doing something. Whichever it was, he transitioned from glowing skeleton to uniformed (if bloodstained) cop in less than a second, then sat up and looked around a second later.

"What the hell?" he demanded, then patted his stomach and stared at the chunk of motorcycle. "Did I just die? It felt like I just died."

"You did," I informed him. "I brought you back. How are you feeling?"

That brought his attention fully onto me. "You … I thought you were going to heal me. Like Panacea does. But you didn't do that, did you?"

I shook my head. This guy was definitely switched on. "No. I can only bring back the dead. I have no idea how permanent it is. But you seemed like you needed it."

"Oh, you're not wrong about that." He jumped to his feet then looked at his radio. The microphone was crushed and useless. "God damn it. Miss … what's your name, anyway?"

"We're going with Animator, for the moment." It seemed an odd conversation to hold with a freshly-dead cop, but since when had my life been normal after getting powers?

"Got it, and thanks." He gave me a brief nod of acknowledgement. "We need to talk, later. But for now, you need to fall back a bit. Some of those gang members are getting a bit too close for my liking."

I was totally in agreement. As I'd also found out in the scuffle at the dumpster, while I could hit like a freight train, I wasn't trained in using that strength. Sophia was definitely better at it than me, and even Dad was revealing hidden depths all the time. A cop? Yeah, he had the training that counted.

As I backed off, I saw him head for the gang members who were just now beginning to come onto the property. A few of them shot at him, but I couldn't tell if they hit or not. His return shots definitely scored, but there was more of them than he had bullets and they knew it.

They closed in around him once his gun ran dry, but that was their mistake. He'd very quickly learned that he was much stronger than before, and far more capable of taking physical punishment. For him, 'surrounded' was more a case of 'target rich environment'. Anyone who came at him with ill intent found that out the hard way. And when he hit someone with his nightstick, they went down and didn't get up any time soon. Still, there were a lot of them and more than once they nearly succeeded in mobbing him down.

However, he wasn't alone in his fight for long. Once Sophia and Dad finished their search and rescue efforts, they saw what was going on with the encroaching gang members and joined the battle. This allowed the cop to turn the tide from 'holding his own' to 'clean sweep'. Between the three of them, they managed to stop the oncoming members of the ABB and Empire Eighty-Eight from using the distraction of the battle to sneak through into the Market.

Sirens were approaching from several directions when the last of the gang members fell. Lung and Hookwolf were still duking it out, the latter looking a little the worse for wear, but he had Krieg and Alabaster on his side. It wasn't precisely an even match, but one that Lung apparently wasn't willing to push harder on.

This became evident when he started moving off, leaping across the street in a single bound then onto a rooftop on his second jump. Nobody followed; Hookwolf and the other Empire capes backed off themselves in good order, ducking out of sight just as the first police and PRT vehicles roared into view.

Some of the gang members had gotten up and staggered off. I wasn't worried about those. The police would round them up later, or they wouldn't. My concern was mainly with Sophia and Dad, and of course my newest revival.

"You okay?" asked Dad, coming over to me. "You've got blood on your knees and your hands."

I hadn't noticed that, mainly because I was still in the shadow realm. Fatigue was starting to build up behind my eyes, and I knew I was going to have to drop it sooner rather than later, but I still had things to do. "I'm fine," I said briefly. "That cop got killed." I laid my hand on his arm.

"So you brought him back, too? Huh. Well, better him than one of these other assholes," Sophia said. "He went in there like a boss, too." She slid her arm under mine so that when I gave Dad a jolt of healing energy, my knees didn't just go out from under me. "Okay, yeah, hold onto me. You might want to turn your eyes off for a bit, they're starting to flicker."

My vision was indeed beginning to pulse from shadow realm to real world and back again, but I wasn't finished. "I've still got to fix your injuries," I insisted.

She rolled her eyes behind the hockey mask. "I'll keep. You need to juice yourself up again, damn it."

"Okay, fine." I knew the cop also needed his injuries—pre and post demise—seen to, and there was no way in hell I was going to manage that in this state. So I dropped back into the real world and pulled my scarf down so I could see; the ravaged parking lot had a lot more visual impact than the shadowy darkness with see-through wreckage.

Looking Sophia over, I couldn't see much wrong with her. Her clothing was a little scuffed, but there were no obvious stab marks or bullet holes; no new ones, anyway. Dad's injuries had mainly consisted of physical contusions, easily fixed.

Across the lot, the freshly arrived PRT and cops started taking the remaining gang members into custody. A few gathered around my newest friend; I couldn't hear what they were saying, but their body language shouted holy shit, how are you alive loud and clear. He turned and gestured toward where I stood with Dad and Sophia, then led the way toward me.

"What the hell did you do?" shouted one of the other cops as we got within easy talking distance. "Look at him! He's dead on his feet!"

"No need to shout," I said in a normal tone. "I'm sorry, but your friend is actually deceased. I couldn't stop that from happening. Before he went, I asked his permission to bring him back, which he gave. And here he is."

"I did actually say yes, Frank," the dead officer confirmed. "It was about the last thing I remember doing." He turned to me and offered his hand. "Sorry, I didn't introduce myself before. Kenny Lagos. How does this work, anyway?"

Again, I noted the lack of emotional response to the understanding that he was dead. It felt more than a little creepy, but I was glad I wasn't having to deal with a full-grown adult in a hysterical tantrum. "Pleased to meet you too, Officer Lagos. Would you like me to heal your current injuries?"

He frowned. "Would that make me alive again? That seems a little … too easy."

"And you'd be correct," Dad agreed. "You'll still be dead. But nobody will be able to tell outside of a medical examination."

Lagos looked at him sharply, then at Sophia. "Wait … are you telling me …"

Sophia nodded. "Yup. We're both dead, too. Murdered by Merchants. Brought back by my bestie there." She hooked her thumb in my direction.

I took a deep breath. "You asked me before how this works. I wanted you up and walking, so you are. You're not under my control, but you can't hurt me. As far as I can tell, you'll keep on going indefinitely unless I decide to cut you off from my power, and then you're dead for good."

"Oh, and one other thing," added Dad, sounding amused. "You don't sleep anymore. I found that one out last night. If you don't have a hobby, I suggest you take one up."

Lagos shook his head, as if trying to settle his thoughts. "You said you could fix my injuries." He gestured toward where his chest had been half caved in by the motorcycle wreckage. "Can you fix that, so they don't keep trying to drag me off to the paramedics?"

"Okay, sure," I said. "My eyes are gonna glow for a bit, okay?" Taking a breath and bracing myself, I dropped back into the shadow realm. Lagos, Sophia and Dad remained the same, while everyone else became a glowing skeleton with a blinding galaxy for a head. "Here we go."

Reaching out, I put my hand on the officer's arm and exerted my power. The jolt seriously drained me, but I managed to stay on my feet with Sophia's assistance. I was glad to be able to drop back into the real world afterward, though.

Lagos patted his face and chest and looked down at himself in what I interpreted as mild disbelief. "That's amazing. Can you do that every time?"

I nodded. "Yes, but it's not exactly easy, especially if you're seriously beaten up. On the upside, you can get around with life-threatening injuries and it won't particularly bother you. Also, you don't have to breathe, though you can if you really want to."

"Right, right." He glanced to the left and right, then leaned in toward me. Lowering his voice, he murmured, "Does this mean I'm a … you know, a zombie?"

I sighed, remembering Rodney's idiocy. "No. It doesn't. It means my power has told your body and brain that you're still alive, all evidence to the contrary. Please don't try biting anyone to test that one out, as I can't be held responsible for what people might do in retaliation. However, I would be careful about taking catastrophic injuries to the head. That might just break the link."

My matter-of-fact approach seemed to disarm his worries. "Okay, right, I won't. Is there a range limit involved? Can I go back to the precinct house? Can I go home?"

I shrugged and decided to go with what I'd told the PRT. "If you don't leave Brockton Bay, you should be fine. And when you do go home, it's up to you what you tell your family. But please be discreet. And don't use the Z-word, even as a joke. I've already had to deal with one moron who thought I was patient zero for a plague of the undead."

"Ah. Right." He blinked. "I, uh, live with my girlfriend. Um …" His voice trailed off.

I raised my hands as if to ward off the unspoken questions, some of which I thought I'd figured out, and many I didn't even want to think about. "I honestly have no idea how to address that. It's seriously between you and her. I mean, there's a chance you'll simply lose interest in physical relationships, but then again you might not. I literally have no idea how my power works in that situation."

He grimaced and nodded. "That's fair. I guess I should think about taking some paid leave to figure out my situation."

Dad shrugged. "If you've got life insurance, you might want to think about trying to cash it in. Though good luck with convincing them that you're actually dead. Walking and talking tends to be a counter-indication to that sort of thing."

Officer Lagos rubbed the back of his head and grimaced again. "Is it just me, or did my life just get a whole lot more complicated instead of less? I thought death was supposed to be the other way around."

"Hey, buddy," Sophia said. "It is what it is. Welcome to a very exclusive club."

"And if you think your life just got weirder," I added, "look at it from my point of view."

From his shudder, he'd gotten my point. "No, thanks. Pass."

"We'll leave it up to you to decide exactly how you're going to explain to your superiors what's happened to you," Dad said. "Feel free to get checked out medically. It'll just confirm what we've just told you. If we need to get in touch, we'll contact you through the BBPD. But apart from that … make the most of your second chance, I guess. And keep in mind what I told you about hobbies."

"Thank you, sir." Lagos offered Dad his hand and they shook firmly. "What are your plans now?"

Dad gestured at the Market. "Shopping."

"Really?"

Sophia rolled her eyes. "For costumes." From the elbow-jab she gave me, I knew she hadn't forgotten the corset.

"Ah."



End of Part Ten

 

All Alone

Part Eleven: Learning Curve

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



"Wait, wait." Officer Lagos held up his hand. "How do I get in contact with you, if something weird happens, or if I've got questions?"

I shared a glance with Dad. It would be unfair to cut the poor guy off like that, but I knew I didn't feel comfortable just spreading my real name around. I was wearing a mask for a reason, after all. And the Merchants were unlikely to be the only ones willing to murder a cape or their family members.

"I, uh, I'll be starting a PHO account under the name of 'Animator'," I ventured. "Just as soon as we get home. You can send me PMs that way."

"And in the meantime, you can PM me on my Shadow Stalker account." Sophia added. "I haven't been using it much, but I'll check it more often now. Any questions I can't answer, I'll pass on to Animator."

"Before I forget," I said hastily, "you don't need to breathe anymore, so don't get too worried if you forget. Also, if you feel a boost of energy every now and again, that's perfectly normal. And we're working out the rules on eating and drinking. Food apparently still tastes good, but we don't know if it's necessary."

His eyebrows rose slightly. "Right. I hadn't even thought about that. Thanks a lot. I appreciate … well … everything." He held out his hand.

"You're welcome." I shook it. "Don't hesitate to get in touch if you need repairs or if you've just got questions."

"Okay, I'll do that." He turned away to his fellow officers then. From the looks on their faces, they were going to be wanting full chapter and verse on what had just happened. Not that I blamed them. It was a scary situation, from anyone's perspective.

"Hey," Sophia said as we headed back toward the Market. "We don't have to breathe, do we?"

"It doesn't seem to be a requirement anymore, no," answered Dad. "Except for Taylor. She's still boring and normal." He shot me a sly glance of amusement.

I poked my tongue out at the both of them, forgetting that I still had the bandanna over my mouth and nose. "Well, your sense of humour needs to be buried in a shallow grave, so nothing's changed there. Why so excited about not needing to breathe anymore?"

"When I go into shadow form, I still need air," Sophia explained. "In the open, I can just absorb it. But if I'm inside something, I've gotta keep moving or it starts hurting like a sonovabitch. I'm wondering if that's even a thing now."

Dad raised his eyebrows. "So basically, being dead has allowed you to act even more like a ghost than usual?"

I was impressed; even behind the full-face mask, the dirty look she gave him was phenomenal. "Okay, yeah, I get what Taylor meant about your sense of humour. That was bad."

"It was." I looked at Sophia. "You think your vulnerability to electricity might be minimised, too?"

"That's something we might need to be careful about testing," Dad cautioned. "We still feel stuff, so our nervous systems are still intact. Biology classes all over the world use electricity to make dead frogs twitch … and our nervous systems are attached to our brains."

It took Sophia a moment to get his point. "Oh, you're saying it might disrupt whatever Taylor's doing to keep us up and moving?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying." Dad looked meaningfully at Sophia, then at me. "We might not be as immune to everything as we think. So it will absolutely be a good idea to be careful about things like that, until we know for sure."

"Definitely," I said. "Please. I just got you guys back. I don't want to lose you again." The idea of some idiot with a taser killing Dad or Sophia for real when tasers weren't even lethal to living people was scary.

"I'm kind of enjoying being alive … or not-dead … or whatever the hell you call this," Sophia agreed. "There's a shitload of potential in this, is what I'm saying."

"How about 'Animated'?" Dad asked. "You know, to go with the cape name."

Sophia's shrug indicated that she didn't care a whole heap about what she called the state of being back from the dead, but I thought it was a reasonably descriptive name. "I'm good with that," I said.

"Good." Sophia indicated a side alley. "Now if we're done talking about what to call us, you guys still haven't finished shopping for costume accessories."

I raised my eyebrows. This, at least, she could see. "Sure, but no corsets."

She made a rude noise. "Spoilsport. You could really rock that thing."

"Pass. You wear it."

"Nah. Not really my deal."

"And it is mine?"

"Well, yeah."

"Nope."

"Sophia, stop telling Taylor she has to wear a corset."

"Eh, whatever."

<><>​

PRT Building ENE
Director Emily Piggot

"Hmm." Emily paused in the middle of curating her emails and determining which needed to be kicked downstairs; as efficient as her secretary was, a few always snuck through the vetting process.

The one that had caught her eye was from Williams of the BBPD and was titled, 'Ongoing Breaker Effect on Officer K Lagos'.

Breaker effects were usually placed on the cape, not on other people. So unless Lagos had triggered—which she definitely wanted to know about—whoever had placed the effect was a Trump, not a Breaker. Either way, this was something she needed to deal with.

Opening the email, she found two files within. There was a brief note from Williams, and an actual police report about a cape fight up near the Lord Street Market. She'd heard about that one; Armsmaster had shown up after the fact, decided that the police had everything under control now that the capes had moved on, and gone back on patrol. Maybe he should've stayed a little longer, if there was more to it.

She started with the report itself; better to get the full background first than go in with false impressions. When she got to the part about the capes stepping in to save civilians, she frowned. Shadow Stalker she knew of as an often-violent vigilante, but she'd never heard of a Brute in Brockton Bay sporting a wide-brimmed hat and a cloak. This can't be what Williams is emailing me about.

Reading on, she sat up at the description of the death of Officer Lagos, then his return to an effectively living state. The report ended with the name of Animator as the cape apparently responsible for Lagos' current situation. She went over to the note from Williams.

Director, it went, I was there when Lagos was debriefed. He looks entirely alive, if you discount the fact that he has no heartbeat and no discernible pain reaction. He also held his breath on command for over ten minutes with zero signs of distress. According to him, 'Animator' is the person who placed him in this condition after his death. We're keeping it as much on the low-down as we can, and Lagos has been officially placed on sick leave until we can figure something out, but any insights you or your people can supply would be invaluable.

She sat there for a moment, pondering the implications, then clicked through the menu to re-open the file containing Lieutenant Grant's report on the incident at the hospital. A moment later, her lips skinned back from her teeth as she spotted the phrasing that she recalled from her earlier reading. How many capes have eyes that go from shining like a spotlight to pools of darkness? She suspected that the answer, at least in Brockton Bay, was in the region of 'one'.

All the same, that may have been a false positive, except for the whole 'bringing back from the dead' aspect. She would've been more inclined to be skeptical about the concept—what happened to Lagos might yet have been a trigger event, or a genuine healing with some extremely idiosyncratic side-effects—were it not for Doctor Cartwright's expert testimony regarding the effects of Animator's powers. One data point could be an outlier; three (four, if she counted the dead gang member) were a lot harder to ignore.

Okay, then. It seems we have a cape in Brockton Bay who can return the dead to a strong semblance of life. More importantly, to the point where they can answer questions about such things as 'who killed you'. And then go and do something about it. She sat back in her chair, drawing a deep breath and clenching her hands together so hard her fingers hurt. That power could be a game changer, under the right circumstances. Like an Endbringer battle.

She just wished she wasn't so fucking creeped out by the whole idea.

<><>​

Coil

God, I need a proper power base.

Thomas Calvert was a man with capital-A Ambitions. If he wasn't, he wouldn't have put himself in hock with Cauldron for the uncertainty of powers in a bottle. The powers had turned out satisfactorily, but the cost had been more than he could pay up front. While he'd almost succeeded in paying the money back, he knew they still had a week's worth of service they could call on him for at any time.

And as an ambitious man, it grated on him. He utterly despised being held down, held back, from achieving his goals. Cauldron had enough money, enough resources, that they hadn't needed to bleed him dry and put him into debt to them.

Needed, no. They'd chosen to do that to him, to rub it in that they were in control at all times. He supposed that it was a filter of sorts; only those who were desperate enough to dig this deep were allowed to get powers. Cauldron wanted people who were hungry for powers, who would actually get out there and do something with them.

He supposed he hated them for putting him through the wringer, but it wasn't as though he could do anything about it. His first meeting with Doctor Mother's utterly fucking terrifying enforcer had convinced him that there was absolutely zero percentage in harbouring secret plans of evening the score. Cauldron did what it did for its own reasons, and all he could do was pay them off and make his own way in the world with the powers he'd been sold.

Once he was fully paid off, he could start building his bank account again, instead of riding it with just enough money to keep his expenses paid from month to month. He'd be able to see about acquiring a purpose-built base and hiring a crew to do his dirty work for him.

Right now, he was able to parlay his prior experience with the PRT into occasional work as a consultant; given enough time and a sympathetic ear (even if he had to bribe someone to offer one), he figured he'd eventually be able to ease his way back into the ranks. Just not yet.

One of his big weaknesses was that although he could pick and choose between potential outcomes, there was precious little he could do to influence those outcomes without muscle of his own. Even a low-powered cape with the right power offered considerable flexibility in his plans, more than a comparably priced mundane mercenary would allow him. Thinkers would be best, but he would take what he could get.

He didn't have any contacts inside the PRT building; his consultancy work had yet to gain him that level of access. However, he'd managed to subvert a few file clerks in the BBPD, which was why he was now perusing a report about a cape who could reportedly bring people back from the dead. Splitting time, he followed a hunch onto the PHO boards, tracking back through mentions of weird incidents until he struck gold with a claim of a zombie outbreak.

It had to be the same trio, he decided as he jotted down notes. A girl—calling herself Animator in the police report—and her father, and the other girl was Shadow Stalker. The confirmation by the PRT that it was Animator's trigger event was just icing on the cake.

Brockton General, hmm? I wonder …

Opening a new window, he began to enter queries. He was no hacker, but digging out someone's identity with this many clues to go on could hardly be called hacking.

RaffieStaffie, you and I need to have a little chat.

<><>​

Hebert Household
Evening, August 30, 2009
Taylor

It had taken the better part of a day to assemble all the parts of my costume, but I figured I was finally ready. I'd fitted a layer of aluminium foil into the wraparound sunglasses I got from the Market, so I could cover the glow if I needed to. Concealing the blackness when I was out of shadow realm was another problem, but I figured I'd deal with that when I came to it.

After all, I had a whole day before school let back in. Yay.

For the main parts of my costume, I went with a funerary veil attached to a broad-brimmed hat, thick enough to conceal my features. I'd found a black dress a few sizes larger than I usually wore, which gave me room for body armour under it; Sophia and I had artistically tattered the sleeves and hem, then attached strips of black gauze to add a flowing, ghostly appearance. If these caught on anything, we'd made sure they would tear off easily enough.

Pinned to the dress was a silver skull brooch, front and centre. Underneath it all, I wore black tights and solid boots, because I might need to run occasionally and I didn't want to turn a heel.

We were divided on the corset; Sophia had eventually bought it, though she'd given up trying to persuade me to even try it on. She just waved it at me occasionally in a playfully threatening way. I was considering getting a spray bottle as a way of retaliation.

In the end, we compromised. I didn't wear it, but it didn't get thrown away either.

Dad and Sophia had stuck with the all-black theme. Or rather, Sophia kept her costume, merely adding a cheap plastic skull pin to the shoulder of her cloak. Dad swapped out his hat for a top hat he found somewhere, shabby but with the look of something that had been once quite expensive. He'd added a long-coat instead of the cloak. Under it, he decided to wear basic black, with another one of those skull pins on his long-coat. When he added a walking cane (also with a skull head) to his ensemble, he had the undertaker look down pat.

We'd found the skull pins in a Halloween display, and bought a couple of dozen … just in case. Maybe I could carry some on me, so I could give them out to people I'd raised with my power. It sounded kinda morbid, but if the last few days had proven anything to me, it was that people died in Brockton Bay on a more or less hourly basis.

Setting up my PHO account was actually kind of fun. Dad and Sophia debated whether to have my avatar image show me in the shadow realm or out of it. Sophia preferred 'out', because (as she put it) the skull look was badass. Also, it would get me away from any 'high beam' jokes … which, after I realised what she was talking about, I absolutely agreed with.

So Sophia took pics of me with her phone and emailed them to my computer, causing Dad to shake his head slightly and mumble something about 'modern technology'. We put the best one of them up for the new account—The_Real_Animator, as just plain 'Animator' was apparently taken—and then followed the process Sophia had used to get the (Verified Cape) tag attached to it. This involved another photo of me wearing the same costume, holding a sign bearing the code phrase 'I'm a little teapot'.

"Okay," I said, sitting back from the computer. "I'm a verified superhero now, according to PHO. What's next?"

"What's next," Sophia said cheerfully, "is that we costume up and go out looking for trouble to stop." She gave Dad a sideways glance. "Because you were just gonna say that tomorrow's a school night, right?"

Dad nodded, but he didn't seem too surprised. We both knew Sophia pretty well by now, and she knew us. "That's absolutely correct. Taylor can stay home—"

"No," I said flatly. "Taylor is not staying home while my dad and my best friend go out into harm's way."

"You still need to learn how to fight—" Sophia began.

I wasn't having any of it. "I won't be jumping into any fights, but I need to be nearby to know when to give you boosts, and to fix you after the fact. Also, if anyone dies, I'm going to need to be there." I clenched my fists. "That's not negotiable."

Sophia shared a glance with Dad. "She's not gonna back down on this one, Mr. H," she advised him. "I've seen that look on her face before."

He snorted. "You think I don't know that? I raised her." He turned back to me. "I'm still concerned about you being able to protect yourself if someone sneaks up on you."

I rolled my eyes, not that he'd be able to see that. "Remember what happened to the last guy who tried? Even before Sophia got there, I was kicking the shit out of him."

"Yeah, but not fast enough." Sophia rummaged in the bag she kept her costume and other gear in, and came up with a dully-gleaming black cylinder, about an inch thick and eight inches long. "This is how you put them down on the first hit."

"What is that?" I asked, peering at it. The only thing it looked like to me was a gun barrel, but where was the rest of the gun?

"The important question is, 'where did you get a collapsible baton from'?" asked Dad.

Sophia wrinkled her nose at him, probably for spoiling her big reveal. "Ways and means, Mr. H. Ways and means. So yeah, this is a collapsible baton." She flicked it with her wrist like she was cracking a whip, and with a click-click-click sound the baton was suddenly a foot longer. When she gave it an experimental swing, I heard the hiss as it cut through the air. "Not as bulky as the Baseball Bat of Doom, but it will absolutely fuck up some asshole's entire night."

"Ooh," I said. "Yeah, I can see that." The way she was swinging it, I could see the metal button on the end would hit hard. "Can I try?"

"Sure." She placed the button against her palm and pressed hard, and the whole thing compressed to just the length of the handle again. Then she handed it to me and stepped back. "To open it up, imagine there's a big ugly cockroach on the end and you're trying to get it off."

"Right." I flicked the baton as she had, and it extended with the same solid metallic noise. As I swung it back and forth, getting used to the weight, I could feel the power behind it. "I like. A lot."

"Why am I not surprised?" Dad asked dryly. "Come on, let's go down to the basement and you can practice hitting things without dropping it."

"I'm not going to drop it!" I protested. "Tell him, Sophia. I'm not going to drop it."

Instead of jumping straight to my defence, she waggled her hand from side to side. "Maybe, maybe not. Until you learn to hit properly with it, it'll jar your wrist pretty bad. I dropped it a few times, starting out. Probably a good idea to get some practice in a place where it won't matter."

I looked back at Dad, who raised his eyebrows interrogatively. He'd said his piece, and that was it.

I rolled my eyes again. "Okay, fine. We'll go down to the basement and I'll show you I'm perfectly capable of holding onto a skinny metal club."

And so, we headed down into the basement.

<><>​

I dropped the baton, of course. Not once, but several times.

Swinging a metal stick at a wooden post was harder than it looked.

Dad and Sophia didn't laugh, but I could hear them smirking.

But in the end, I beat the living fuck out of that support post.

<><>​

Rodney Stafford

It's just not fair.

Rodney sat slumped on the sofa in his apartment, glowering at the TV. He wasn't even watching the game show currently on the screen; his thought processes were entirely taken up by the resentment and anger roiling in his gut. He'd seen enough horror movies to know how not to react when zombies or Monsters from the Deep showed up. Smart people didn't stand around saying 'how interesting' and poking at the Eldritch Horror from Beyond the Stars. They raised the fucking alarm.

So he'd raised the alarm. He'd done the right thing. And when the PRT showed up, he was the one who got in trouble. How the fuck was that fair?

Following that episode, it was clear that everyone in any position of authority had a firm grip on the Idiot Ball, so he'd been forced to take the next step. If the people in charge were going to refuse to do anything, then the public needed to know.

PHO was best for that. Everyone who was anyone had an account. And fortunately he still had his phone on him when he was sent to mop the hallway. That stupid ape Simon caught him at it, but at least he got the message out.

The discussion with Doctor Cartwright had been uncomfortable to say the least, but at the end of it he still had his job … barely. However, he'd been told to take the next few days off, almost as though Cartwright thought he was overstressed or something. Rodney was actually okay with this, because that let him bunker down in his apartment (complete with tinned food, bottled water and bug-out bag at the ready) while he alternated between seething about how stupid and short-sighted Cartwright and the PRT were, and browsing the news sites for any mention of the zombie outbreak.

His anger at the idiots running society redoubled when he found that not only was nobody taking his warning seriously, but he'd actually been temp-banned from posting any new content to PHO for a week. Was it a conspiracy? Or was this just a sign of how horribly broken things actually were?

If he'd been told a month before that not only was a zombie apocalypse imminent but that the very people society depended on to keep them safe from such things would actively deny and ignore the fact of it, he would've considered them paranoid and alarmist. But now, having seen the phenomenon for himself, he was beginning to understand how such a thing could happen in real life. People didn't want to know. They deliberately went out of their way to not know.

The only bright point in all this, and he wasn't sure whether to celebrate or worry, was that there didn't seem to be any ongoing active apocalypse at the moment. Even the fringe sites frequented by the tinfoil-hat community were relatively quiet, speculating on whether Alexandria was currently pregnant with Eidolon's baby or Myrddin's, and whether or not Dragon had a hand in formulating the chemtrails that caused everyone to hallucinate Endbringer attacks. Nothing at all about zombie outbreaks.

When he tried to force the issue by speculating about it, he was shut down and accused of being a provocateur, then insulted and told to 'git gud nuub'. Any comment he made was brigaded and downvoted to a fare-thee-well. As a final insult, he found that someone had dug up his PHO post and was sharing it across the boards to general mockery.

<><>​

Coil
Throwaway Timeline

Raising his hand, Thomas double-checked the number then knocked on the apartment door. There was a long pause, even as the TV continued to sound from within.

"Who is it?" The voice held caution and suspicion.

"Mr Stafford, my name is Thomas Calvert." He could've used a fake name, but he hadn't gotten around to faking up genuine-looking ID to suit, so he simply chose to use his real name in throwaway timelines. "Could you open the door, please?"

The hesitation that followed made Thomas wonder exactly how much mockery Stafford had endured over his claims. Paradoxically, this was likely to make his task easier, not harder, so long as he played his cards correctly.

"Why? Who are you and what do you want?" Yes, he's definitely had a hard time of it.

Thomas affected a sigh, as though his patience was being tried. "Mr Stafford, I'd rather not broadcast my business to everyone in this building. Let's just say I'm here about the reason you're not at work."

Silence reigned from the other side of the door, then the tiny spot of light in the peephole was obscured. He kept a neutral expression on his face while Stafford looked him over; the suit and tie were well-cut, but not ridiculously expensive. People trusted men in suits when it came to high-level decisions, just as they trusted men in high-vis gear and carrying clipboards for other matters. He'd had occasion to use both, from time to time.

He heard the chain go on its catch, then the door was unlocked and opened. Stafford peered out, discontent stamped on his unshaven features. Thomas kept a smile from his face; this couldn't have been a better opportunity if he'd slapped a thousand dollars into Stafford's hand to play along.

"Thank you," he said, lowering his tone. "Mr Stafford, I'm a PRT-affiliated consultant, and I need to speak to you in private about the issue that I mentioned."

"PRT?" Stafford shook his head. "They came to the hospital, but then they went away again without doing a damned thing." Remembered disgust was strong in his voice.

"That's because even the PRT is only as good as the orders they are given," Calvert said, pretending irritation. "As a consultant, I happened to sight the report. Everyone else is downplaying it. I'm not. I need to find out what you know, so we can nip this in the bud before it gets any further." Take the bait, take the bait …

From the way Stafford's eyes lit up, Thomas may well have appeared as the second coming of the Messiah. "Yes, yes, of course," he babbled, closing the door briefly so he could take the chain off. Stepping aside, he beckoned for Thomas to enter. "Come on in. I'll tell you everything."

"Excellent." Thomas made his voice warm and reassuring as he closed the door behind him. "You're an exceptional young man, you know. It's only due to you that the zombies aren't already overrunning the city." It was total bullshit but to an already-primed idiot, it was believable bullshit.

"What, really?" Stafford's voice squeaked into a higher octave on the second word. He cleared his throat before continuing. "I mean, really? Because of me?"

Oh yeah, he's hooked. Now I've just got to land him. "Absolutely. May I sit?" Without waiting for an answer, Thomas took a seat at the edge of the ragged armchair that looked like it had been once salvaged from a dumpster. He wouldn't have been surprised; intern pay wasn't great. "The fuss you made at the hospital, although it got you in trouble, also served notice to the zombie maker that at least someone recognised her true goals. She hasn't been expanding her horde, or even attacking people, at least in public. This has given us valuable breathing room that we—you and I—can put to good use."

"Yeah, but how are we going to do that?" It was evident that Stafford was buying the entire line, without querying a thing. "Nobody's listening to me. Sooner or later, she'll start turning people into zombies on the quiet until there's too many of them to fight. I'm wondering if she isn't down in the sewers or something right now, building her army on the quiet."

"That's a very real concern," Thomas agreed solemnly. Producing a digital recorder, he pressed the button to start it running. "Now, if you could give me every detail of what happened in the hospital that night, we can put a stop to it before it goes any further than it has."

In the other timeline, he relaxed back into his expensive recliner and prepared for the long haul. Cup of coffee at elbow, pencil and paper at hand, phone on silent, no other distractions. This was likely to be the most momentous interview of his life, to date.

Stafford took a deep breath. "Okay, so we had these two cases come in, one after the other. A black girl and an older guy, totally separate. They were both pretty badly hurt, and they coded before they could be properly prepped for surgery. Pretty sad, but that's the sort of thing that happens in a hospital. Especially in Brockton Bay, am I right?" He paused, and Thomas nodded encouragingly. "Anyway, I was passing by the morgue a little while later and I heard raised voices. So I stick my head in, and this one girl is standing there with eyesockets all black like a skull, and the two people I knew were dead, standing up, still beat all to shit. So then I …"

<><>​

Ten Minutes Later

It was amazing how persuasive a sympathetic ear could be. Thomas was already aware of the psychological effects of alternating shunning with a deliberately friendly approach (the classic 'good cop/bad cop' ploy worked for a reason), but this was still an impressively effective demonstration. Stafford was spilling all the beans.

"And the black girl, her name was Sophia, correct?" he asked, double-checking his notes in the other timeline.

"Uh, yeah," Stafford agreed. "The skull-eyed girl said her name, and so did the older guy." He frowned. "Oh, yeah, she's a cape too. She said she was Shadow Stalker. And she went kinda ghostly when she came at me the first time. I thought that was just her being dead, but maybe not."

"Really." This was very important information. Stafford hadn't bothered mentioning it, the first time through. "Is there anything else you remember?"

Stafford frowned. "Um, skull girl can fix injuries on her zombies? The old guy said she … wait, he said her name. Tammy … something like that. Maybe Talia? Starts with T, anyway. Oh, and he's her dad."

"Good, good." Thomas made a keep going gesture. "You didn't get his name, did you?"

"No." Stafford shook his head. "I'm pretty sure nobody said it. And when I came back with the PRT guys, everyone just clammed up and didn't say anything about their names."

In the other timeline, Thomas looked his notes over then ran the back end of his pencil over his lips, thinking.

"I'm sure they did. Let's get back to why they were all in the hospital at the same time. You said that the skull-eyed girl came in with Shadow Stalker, and she was beat up as well? And then her father came in more or less at the same time?" It seemed rather a stretch for a coincidence, to say the least.

"Yeah. Not sure what's going on with that, either."

Thomas found it a mystery as well, but it wasn't his problem. Getting the unnamed girl under his control, where she could revive any of his men who died in his service? That was his problem.

His first order of business was to find out all he could about her. Which, almost by necessity, would start with her name. "All of this very useful," he said, sitting forward. "But it's not quite enough. Rodney; do you know where the medical report on the incident you described could be accessed?"

Stafford shrugged. "Uh, sure, but why?"

"Well, I'm going to need a copy," Thomas explained. "But the PRT needs to jump through hoops to legally access that information, and I'm almost certain we don't have the time. We need someone with the clearance to get in there, and who knows what they're looking at, to acquire it. Lives depend on it."

As expected, the clichéd phrases awoke a spark of determination in his patsy's eyes. "You can count on me, sir!"

Thomas smiled. "Good."

It would require him to run this timeline in parallel for a few more days, but once he had the file in his hands and the contents transcribed into the safe timeline, he could drop the instance where he'd contacted the idiot Stafford. To everyone but him, it never would have happened.

I love being me.

<><>​

Taylor

I stayed out of the shadow realm as we drove slowly through the streets of Brockton Bay, windows rolled down to listen for signs of trouble. This was partly to keep my boosting ability 'charged up' and partly to make sure nobody could see my glowing eyes. The glow itself was bizarre; it looked like normal light, and registered on cameras and eyesight perfectly well, but never shed light on anything else.

"Stop!" Sophia said suddenly. "I think I just heard something."

Dad was already pulling over before she finished the second sentence. He parked the car and killed the engine, and Sophia ghosted out through the car door instead of just opening it. Pulling my veil down over my face—we'd gone with a 'reverse bride' look—I got out on my side. Acting on a hunch, I dropped into the shadow realm to give Sophia what measure of boost I could.

She immediately pointed at the entrance to an alleyway. "Down there," she said.

Dad and I didn't argue. Even though most sounds in the shadow realm were hollow and echoing to my perceptions, I heard the cry of pain when it came next; from the way Dad's head came up, so did he. "Give me the keys," I said to Dad. "I'll lock the car and follow on."

"Good idea," he replied, and tossed me the keyset. Although they became translucent when they left his hand, I caught them anyway. Winding up all four windows was a little bit of a chore, but it was better than coming back and finding the car ransacked.

Being in the shadow realm was very useful for keeping track of the other two, even when they passed behind buildings. Once I had the car locked, I hustled after them. It wasn't hard to catch up; in the shadow realm, I was stronger and faster as well.

As I was heading down the alley, two men came running toward me. I tensed, but they just moved to pass me, panting with exertion. One was holding his ribs. I didn't know who they were and I didn't care, just so long as they didn't get in my way.

When I got to where Dad and Sophia were, which was the middle of a narrow side-street, things were just beginning to get interesting. Overall, there were ten people up against Dad and Sophia, though five had gone down while I was getting there. The trouble was, I could see all the people but I didn't know exactly what was going on.

"There's another one," called out one of our adversaries, pointing. The glow around his head, as bright as it was, seemed to flicker every few seconds. What that was about, I had no idea. "What the fuck are you supposed to be?"

"Ahh, Animator, just in time," Dad said smoothly. "It seems the Empire Eighty-Eight decided to hold an initiation for some of their members. This is no longer going to happen. They get to learn what it's like when people hit back."

"Yeah, well, fuck you." The voice was that of a woman, but it was rough and ragged. I could see something weird around that person's head, and they carried a couple of what looked like bladed weapons. "What they get to learn is what happens to assholes who mess with the Empire."

"Yeah, yeah, bring it, Cricket," Sophia retorted. "I'm gonna squash you like the bug you are."

"You three," ordered the guy with the flickering glow. "Get the girl. I got the moron in the top hat."

"I'm pretty sure you just heard me called Animator," I said. "Are you deaf or just an asshole?"

"Probably both," Sophia snarked. "Cricket and Alabaster were always C-listers anyw—" She cut herself off as they surged to attack.

Well, at least I knew who we were up against now. I'd heard of Cricket, and the rumour about Alabaster was that he couldn't be killed. Which was fine; I had no intention of killing either one. Not least because there was no way I was going to raise them, and casual murder is never going to be my style.

Cricket went for Sophia, probably because of the 'C-lister' jab, while the three normals still on their feet headed for me and Alabaster closed with Dad. I could see a chain, an axe handle and an iron pipe in the hands of my adversaries, which could be a problem. On the upside, I'd gone through a torture session at the hands of the Merchants, so a few bruises weren't going to match up to that.

Chain guy got to me first and swung his chain at my head. Reaching up with my free hand, I grabbed the chain and let it wrap around my wrist, then flicked open the baton and broke his wrist with it. I had to say, it took a lot less effort than hitting it with my hand. His scream, already high-pitched, reached entirely new octaves when I followed up with a kick to the groin. Letting go of the chain, he crumpled to the ground.

Iron pipe guy was next. He was predictably hesitant after how quickly I'd dealt with his buddy with the chain, but he stepped in and swung anyway. I blocked it with my chain-wrapped wrist, then swung the baton at his arm, hitting him around the elbow region. Bone splintered, clearly visible to my shadow-realm vision; before he had a chance to voice his unhappiness, I kicked him hard under the kneecap with my heavy boot. The iron pipe hit the ground at about the same time as he did.

"Next?" I asked, and axe-handle guy hesitated. This gave me the chance to see how the others were doing.

Dad was holding his own with Alabaster; or rather, he was taking his opponent's hits and smacking him back just as hard. Every time he broke a bone or did some other injury, though, it would be fixed in just a few seconds, when the flicker happened. But this was the benefit of being dead. He could soak up all the damage and still be fine when I got to him.

Sophia was doing somewhat better against Cricket. Smoothly going in and out of her ghost-like form, she was avoiding the bladed weapons and landing the occasional hit with power and fluidity. Cricket, on the other hand, seemed to be getting more and more irritated that Sophia was still in the fight.

Finally, axe-handle guy got up the nerve and swung his weapon two-handed down at me. I reached up and caught it with one hand, then twisted it out of his grip as part of the same move. He stared at his hands, as though wondering where his weapon had gotten to, then looked at me … and bolted.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Cricket disengaged from Sophia and cartwheeled in my direction. I felt a ringing in my ears and staggered sideways, just in time for Cricket to snake her arm around my throat from behind. A razor-edged blade touched the underside of my jaw. "Surrender, you fucks, or the Goth bitch gets it!"

As the dizziness wore off, I berated myself for getting too close and allowing this piece of shit Empire cape to actually fucking take me hostage. Briefly, I considered trying to slide the baton up between the blade and my neck, but I was pretty sure her arm was in my way. Worse, I was starting to get the initial flickers that preceded me having to drop out of the shadow realm.

Worst. Timing. Ever.

"Animator!" shouted Dad. "Let her go, now!"

"Yeah!" Sophia added. "Come back here and fight like a person, not like a fucking coward!"

"Fair fights are for pussies," Cricket sneered. "Hands behind your heads or this one's fucking dead. Last warning. Gonna count to five. One … two … three …"

My power was shouting in my ear, and I finally slowed down my racing thoughts enough to listen. There was one more thing I could do. It had never happened before, because I'd never had the option or the reason to.

I clamped my hand on her arm, and said, "Five."

And then … I pulled the energy out of her, into me.

She was strong and vital, and had endurance for days. I took it all except for the last final sip, leaving enough for her to survive and recuperate from, but certainly not enough to stay conscious on. Her hand opened and she dropped the weapon, then she slumped to the ground behind me as the metal blade clattered to the pavement.

"Whoaaa …" breathed Sophia. "I felt that. She dead?"

"Nope," I said flippantly. "But she's gonna feel it in the morning."

"What the fuck did you do?" bellowed Alabaster. Ignoring Dad's attempt to stop him, he bulled straight past Sophia and came for me in a raging charge. "I'm gonna—"

Taking him by the arm, I flipped him over my shoulder and slammed him to the ground beside Cricket's semi-comatose form. Then I moved my hand until I had hold of his bare wrist. It only took a few seconds for him to recover, but those few seconds were far too long. Taking a deep breath, I began to draw on his energy.

His limitless, limitless energy.

Where Cricket had been a glass of chilled water in the desert, or a steaming cup of cocoa on a chilly winter morning—filling and satisfying, but enough—Alabaster was a feast. An all-you-could-eat buffet, as far as the eye could see.

I had only been skimming off the top of my power when I went into the shadow realm, because I was only able to recuperate to a certain point with my own resources. But now I was discovering that a vast empty void existed below that, one I could fill with the life energy of others.

Oh, look. A volunteer.

The longer I drew on Alabaster's life energy, the more I wondered if it was truly limitless. I didn't care; I could feel my own aches and pains fading away, and a strength I'd never before known filled me from top to toe. Skills I was untrained in whipped by, fleetingly visible in my mind's eye then gone again. And yet, there was more to drain.

I had no idea whether it was seconds, minutes or hours before I felt the flow beginning to slacken. My power certainly felt bloated; it had gorged itself on the equivalent of hundreds or even thousands of ordinary 'meals' like Cricket had provided. Alabaster's glow was still strong, but the flicker was starting to stutter and miss. I didn't want to kill him outright even though he was a criminal and a murderer, so I decided to drain him down as I had with his teammate, and allow them to recuperate in their own time.

And then I noticed he wasn't flickering anymore. I let up on the draining, and after about fifteen seconds he flickered again, but not until then. Then I resumed the draining, and he stopped flickering again.

On a hunch, I swung my baton—with the strength that suffused me, it took no effort at all—and snapped his forearm like a twig, both bones. After a few more seconds, I stopped the draining and dropped his arm. He lay there, unmoving but alive. Fifteen more seconds passed. His glow flickered … but his arm remained broken.

"Jesus Christ," murmured Sophia, as I shook the chain loose from my wrist and let it drop to the ground. "Is this what being high feels like? Because I think I'm high."

"I think we're just as powered up as we can get," Dad said, but he also seemed to be a little spaced out. "Let's secure them and call the PRT."

"Good idea," I agreed. Reaching out, I gave him a healing boost, then followed on with one for Sophia. Despite the beating he'd been taking from Alabaster, it took no effort at all to bring him back to fully-repaired condition.

Accepting a bunch of zip-ties from Sophia, he crouched beside Alabaster and began fastening the man's wrists and ankles. Sophia did the same for Cricket, while I watched out for any party-crashers. Standing up, Dad hoisted Alabaster over his shoulder with ease; I got the impression that he could've thrown the Nazi thug down the street one-handed.

As we headed back toward the car, Sophia frowned. Pausing, she used her free hand to check her neck. "Is it just me, or do I have a pulse right now?"

"What?" I stared at her, and then at Dad. They both appeared normal in my shadow-realm vision. "Let me see that."

"Sure," she said, and proffered her wrist. "Put your fingers just down below where the thumb is."

I did as she showed me and sure enough, I felt a steady heartbeat. Her skin was warmer than before, too.

"Wait." Dad dropped Alabaster unceremoniously on the footpath across from where we'd left the car. Carefully, he checked his own pulse. "Are we … alive again?"

As much as I wanted it to be so, I grimaced and shook my head. "Sorry. You don't look like other living people. I'm pretty sure the excess energy I just stole off Alabaster is letting my power push you all the way to full appearance of life. When enough of it drains away, your heartbeats will stop and you'll lose body heat again."

Sophia dumped Cricket's unconscious body on top of Alabaster's. "So, does this mean that we get to beat up Alabaster on a weekly basis, just so we can pretend to be normal? Because I'm totes down with that."

I grinned. "Sounds like a plan."



End of Part Eleven

 

All Alone

Part Twelve: Revelations

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

[A/N 2: I apologise for how late this chapter is coming out. The month has been horrendous.]

[A/N 3: The Empire Eighty-Eight will be espousing racist ideas and slurs in this fic. The author does not share these views.]



Taylor

I unlocked the back door and stepped inside, just as the clock in the living room chimed. "See? Made it home by eleven."

"Barely," Dad said dryly. "Now, of the two of us, you still need to sleep. You'd best get to that, young lady. I'd really rather not have to come out to the school and pretend to ask you why you're falling asleep in class."

"Right." I rolled my eyes. "With the energy I took from Alabaster, I feel like I could keep going for forty-eight hours straight. How do you feel?"

"Like I could bench-press the Forsberg Gallery one-handed," he admitted. "I don't think I've ever seen Sophia skip before."

"Neither have I." I grinned. "When she comes down off the rush you two got out of that, she's going to be so damn embarrassed."

He nodded in agreement. "Did you know you could do that before, or was it something you weren't aware of?"

"I don't really think I was close to any capes before, I mean ones who weren't dead." Plus, Cricket had been kind of threatening me, and I'd been running on fumes at the time. "So, the knowledge was there, but not really obvious. If that makes sense."

"I'm not a cape, so I don't know what makes sense and what doesn't." He paused. "Wait, so you can only draw from capes?"

That was a question I hadn't actually considered before, so I looked inward, querying my power. "I think … I get a lot more energy out of capes. Baseline humans can be tapped, but there's less there to draw on."

He looked thoughtful. "So you do tap their powers for energy, even when they aren't like Alabaster?"

"I guess so." I hadn't really thought it through like that. "Huh. I hope they don't figure it out. It would utterly suck to have all the capes run away from me or blast me from range."

Dad nodded soberly. "Yeah, that's definitely something you'll want to keep under wraps." He nodded toward the entrance hall and the stairs within. "But you still need to get some sleep before school."

"Sure, okay." I headed upstairs, marvelling at the energy that seemed to fill me to the brim. It took a conscious effort to drop out of the shadow realm, which brought me back to normal human levels of fatigue; hopefully I'd stay that way when I was asleep. Having to wake up just so I could make myself tired again struck me as a long and boring way to spend a night.

After a brief shower, I sat down in front of my computer with my hair up in a towel. Dad had told me to go to bed, sure, but I just wanted to check PHO and see what they were saying about our totally badass capture of Cricket and Alabaster.

To my mild disappointment, not many people were talking about it. The usual Guy in the Know, Bagrat, hadn't weighed in yet, which probably meant very few people knew about it. I considered making a post, but decided to leave it until morning. As Animator, I didn't want to come across as someone who blew their own horn.

It was really, really tempting, though.

I was just about to log off when I noticed that I'd been pinged with a private message. When I opened it, it was from Officer Lagos.

Hi,

What the hell did you do? I was just reading, and then it felt like I'd stuck my finger in an electrical socket, but in a good way. Was this what you meant when you said I might feel some energy boosts? I'm pretty sure I've got a pulse again now, and I'm so juiced up I feel like going for a ten mile sprint. Am I alive again? What's going on?

Kenny

I sighed. Discovering the energy draw power was a good thing, but now I was going to have to pull the rug out from under the poor guy.

Hey.

Sorry about that. It was kind of an unexpected incident. It should happen again, but not so dramatically as this time. The extra energy you feel should bleed off in time. And I'm sorry to say this, but you're still deceased. The energy's just making you look and feel a lot more lifelike. That'll probably go away too as the excess drains away.

Sorry again,

Animator

After shutting the computer down, I climbed into bed. Hopefully, staying out of the shadow realm would keep it from depleting while I slept. I also hoped that Officer Lagos would understand why I couldn't keep him powered up all the time.

Having powers, I mused sleepily, was a whole lot more complicated than Saturday morning cartoons let on.

<><>​

Brockton Bay General Hospital

Rodney Stafford

The butterflies breeding in Rodney's stomach were beginning to assume the proportions of B-52 bombers. He was totally aware that what he was planning to do broke many hospital regulations and several actual laws, but it was also what needed to be done. The zombie maker had to be stopped, and if Doctor Cartwright and the PRT couldn't see that, then it was up to Rodney. Mr Calvert, and Brockton Bay, were depending on him.

Dressed in his darkest clothing, with a baseball cap pulled low down over his forehead, he sidled up to the unassuming doorway. This entrance wasn't used a lot, so hopefully the night security shift wouldn't be watching the cameras too closely.

As he pulled out his swipe card and turned it around to make sure the magnetic strip faced the right way, he took a deep breath. This didn't alleviate the tension in his guts even a little bit. How movie secret agents made it through even one mission without getting terminal ulcers, he had no idea.

He was pretty sure the card-swipes were recorded somewhere, but nobody had ever mentioned anything about them being monitored, so he figured he was safe there. Hopefully, by the time this got back to him, Mr Calvert would've gotten to the bottom of the zombie thing, so he'd be exonerated. In fact, he would be a hero. Mr Calvert had assured him of this.

With an almost spasmodic motion, he swiped the card through the reader. Time seemed to stretch endlessly … and then the light turned green, the reader beeped agreeably, and the door clicked open. He hesitated almost long enough for the door to lock itself again, but grabbed it in time and yanked it open, then ducked inside.

Brockton Bay General wasn't modern enough to have automatic motion sensor light switches, or maybe the administration was too cheap to install them. The upside of this was that he could sneak through the hospital without leaving an obvious trail of where he was going. He was actually okay with the lack of lighting, because he knew his way around well enough not to need it.

However, a dark-clad figure lurking within the hospital would be hard to explain away to any roving security guards—they were dumb, but they weren't that dumb—so he ducked into a handy maintenance closet. There, he pulled off the dark outer clothing, leaving the scrubs he was wearing under them in plain view. As an afterthought, he transferred his phone, car keys and wallet from the dark sweat pants to his scrubs. He couldn't wear the cap, but he did have a hair cover, resembling a shower cap, to put on in its place. The last thing he needed, a clipboard, he found hanging on the wall near the door.

Thus disguised (was it a disguise, he wondered, to pretend to be the very thing that you were?) he strode confidently through the hospital. Armed with the clipboard, he walked straight past a nurse station; the nurse barely glanced up from the book she was reading. Wearing scrubs and a lanyard, carrying a clipboard, he may as well have been invisible.

Next, he needed to find an unattended terminal to get into the system with. The hospital admin would've all gone home for the night, but their computers tended to be password-locked, and he didn't have those passwords. What he needed was a general-use terminal that didn't have a bored nurse sitting near it. Bored nurses were perhaps the nosiest people on Earth, and if a mere intern sat down at a terminal and started using it, he would have someone peering over his shoulder in less than a minute.

The trouble was, none of the empty wards had terminals in them, and none of the terminals in the occupied wards were unattended. Careful not to pass by any nurse station twice in quick succession, so as not to arouse the curiosity of an aforementioned bored nurse, he scouted through the corridors, looking for somewhere he could log on and get what he needed.

Finally, in desperation, he slunk through to the admin wing. A passworded terminal was better than no terminal at all, and he had one final potential solution up his sleeve. He just had to hope that pop culture was right about one more thing.

Moving as quietly as he knew how—an intern with a clipboard didn't look out of place among the patients, but he was certainly not where he was supposed to be, here—he snuck down the corridor, testing door-handles as he went. "Come on," he muttered. "Come on …"

In the distance, he heard heavy boot-steps, echoing along the hallways. A distant splash of light, reflected from worn vinyl and faded paint, presaged the approach of a security guard. There was nowhere for him to hide. Frantically, he jiggled door handles—until suddenly, one opened. Tumbling through into the office beyond, he realised that the light was still on. Panicking, he stared at the desk before he registered that it was empty.

Oh. They just packed up and went home, and didn't even lock their door.

Stupid of them, lucky for me.

Carefully, he closed the door behind him, then turned the little knob that locked it from the outside. Finally, he hit the light switch, so the patrolling guard wouldn't even see the line of light under the door. He'd heard guards gossiping between themselves about administrators who did just this, relying on security to lock their offices for them, but this was the first time he'd actually learned it was true.

What did that one guy say? The definition of an administrator is someone who's smart enough to require a lock on his office door, but still needs security to lock it for him.

The footsteps were closer now. Had the guard seen the flare of light from the open door? He dared not move. Holding his mouth open, he breathed as silently as he knew how.

Steadily, the footsteps approached. He jumped violently as the door handle rattled. But the footsteps never paused; the guard just kept going. Lucky I locked it.

Feeling the sweat drying on his forehead below the hair-cover, he waited until he could no longer hear the footsteps, and his heartbeat had gone back to something approaching normality. Then he snuck around behind the desk.

It was too much to ask that they'd also left their computer open and ready to use. When he wriggled the mouse, it popped up with the hospital's logo and a password request.

He knew enough to not try random passwords; after six attempts, the terminal would lock down and a message would automatically be sent to security. But he still had his other option, which was looking better all the time. Unfortunately, it entailed a bit of risk, but that was unavoidable if he was going to get the information Mr Calvert needed.

Getting up from the desk, he snuck over to the door, cracked it open, and peered out into the dark corridor. Holding his breath, he listened for several long seconds. No footsteps, no shouts. Nothing except the thumping of blood in his ears.

He closed the door, then flipped the light switch. Going back to the desk, he started checking for sticky notes. If whoever owned this office was absent-minded enough to leave the lights on and door unlocked when they went home for the day, he reasoned, then they'd most likely write down their password and leave it near the terminal … assuming pop culture was correct, of course.

It took him thirty seconds.

Eyes flicking back and forth between the keyboard and the note he'd found half-under the mouse pad, he tapped in the password, then hit Enter. The screen cleared, then came up with the usual screen he'd seen every time he logged in.

Jumping up, he headed over to the door and turned off the lights, then returned to the desk. The last thing he wanted was for the security guard to return and wonder why there was a light on under the door when it had previously been dark. He might not, but Rodney wasn't willing to risk the fate of the world on 'might not'.

Now that he was in the system, his next job was to find the correct information. He sat back in the chair for a moment, recalling exactly when all this had happened; not just the date, but the time of night. Finally, when he figured he had it right, he navigated back through previous intakes to the right day and time, and started checking file by file.

People came into the hospital all the time, and more than a few died. It was the nature of serious injuries; sometimes the people died, sometimes they lived. Photos would've been handy for quicker identification, but all he had were half-remembered names and causes of death.

It took him much longer than he was comfortable with before he stumbled on Sophia Hess. At first, he'd glanced past her file because it wasn't marked as a death. Cartwright, that interfering asshole, had doctored the paperwork and marked it, 'further treatment recommended'. But her name was Sophia, she was a teenage girl, and the noted injuries matched what he recalled.

With that knowledge in mind, it took him less time to find Danny and Taylor Hebert—I knew her name started with T!—the father and daughter who'd also been there. Or rather, the other zombie and the zombie maker. The gang member she'd also raised as a zombie but had failed to keep active or something was listed as DOA, but Rodney wasn't so sure about that. What if he gets up again?

Rodney selected the four files and sent them to the printer in the corner of the office. Then he used his phone to take photos of all four and emailed the photos to himself. There was no way in hell he was going to let bureaucracy win this time. This information was going to get out if he had to tell Mr Calvert how to get into his emails with his one phone call from jail.

After deleting the photos from his phone—there was no sense in leaving clues to what he'd done—he backed out of the search then shut the terminal down. Finally, he retrieved the pages from the printer and clipped them in behind the pages on the clipboard he'd 'borrowed'. Okay, now it's time to get this information to Mr Calvert.

He was just heading for the door when he heard the jingle of keys from outside and the rattle of the door handle. Shit, shit, shit, how did they know?

That didn't matter. It was something he could worry about later. What he had to worry about right now was getting past the guard. For all his previous bravado about saving the world by calling Mr Calvert from jail, he had no illusions about his personal toughness. His occupation, once he entered the correctional system, was likely to be best described as 'prison bitch'.

Backing up, he ran into a visitor's chair with his butt. This gave him a desperate idea. He tucked the clipboard under his arm and picked up the chair, then backed up a little more.

As the door opened, he could hear what the guard was saying on the radio as the flashlight beam swept across the office. "Lights are off, doesn't look like—what the fuck?"

That was when Rodney charged him, using the chair as a battering ram. They collided heavily, but Rodney had been set for it while the guard had been caught on the back foot. Together, they spilled out into the corridor, and the guard landed heavily on his ass. Rodney dropped the chair and ran for it, clutching the clipboard like a lifeline.

He wasn't a runner—and in fact, hadn't run any distance for quite some time—but adrenaline was a fine inducement, and he actually managed to get to the corner before the guard got his feet under him. The guard's voice, alternating between calls for backup and threats of ever-increasing violence when he caught the interloper, spurred Rodney on as he panted and sweated and felt like his lungs were about to seize up.

Fortunately, he knew the layout of the hospital well enough to locate the nearest set of fire stairs. Stumbling down them, he clung to the railing for dear life, hoping his legs wouldn't give out before he got to the bottom. He was almost there when the door at the top opened; he kept his head down, hoping the guard wouldn't recognise him from the back, and scuttled down the remaining steps.

"Come back here!" The guard's voice reverberated through the stairwell, but Rodney was done taking orders.

He hit the fire door leading outside with his hand, and kept stumbling on. While he hadn't parked his car in any of the hospital parking lots—he wasn't an idiot—it was still around the far side of the complex from where he'd come out, which meant he had a long walk in front of him. Setting off into the darkness, he held tight to the precious clipboard.

I succeeded, he told himself. I got it. They'd catch up with him eventually, but by then the apocalypse would've been averted. He would be a bona fide hero.

I just saved the fucking world.

<><>​

Kaiser

"Tell me again."

Max had heard what the mook had to say twice now, but he was still having trouble putting it together in his head. Cricket was good at what she did, even against someone like Shadow Stalker, and Alabaster was virtually unstoppable. Two new capes and a punk kid should not have posed a serious threat to them, much less beaten up nine guys and captured the pair of them like chumps.

"W-we were setting up the initiation," stammered the idiot. "One of the little shits screamed, then the lookout said capes were coming. It was Shadow Stalker and a tall asshole in a top hat and long coat, some kind of Brute. I saw him knocking guys out with one punch. The bitch in the veil was stupid strong too. Ripped the axe handle clear out of my hands."

"Yes, yes, I got that already." Max gestured impatiently. "Get to the part where Cricket and Alabaster were captured." Already in his mind, he was figuring out how to spring them from PRT holding. They weren't the biggest powerhouses in the Empire, but they were definitely useful.

"I—I didn't see 'em get taken down." The guy was nervous, which wasn't surprising given the fact that both Max and Hookwolf were both paying him close and personal attention. "I hid down the street and watched. The capes came out in about one minute with Cricket and Alabaster. Cricket was barely there, like she didn't know which way was up. Alabaster was even worse. He couldn't even stand up by himself." He paused. "And there was something wrong with his arm."

"His arm?" Kaiser wrenched his thoughts away from how ridiculous it was that any kind of hit could put Alabaster down for more than four and a half seconds. "You didn't mention that before."

"When the PRT got there, they did something with his arm. I thought they were cuffing him, but now I'm pretty sure they were putting an inflatable cast on him."

Max shared a gaze of mutual incomprehension with Hookwolf. Why in God's name would Alabaster of all people need a cast on his arm?

"You're sure it was Alabaster?" Hookwolf prompted. "It wasn't someone else wearing the same clothes or something?"

"Totally sure." The mook spread his hands. "There was a streetlight and everything. Nobody else in this city's got skin that white."

Max nodded to acknowledge the point. The story had basically been the same in every iteration, except for the detail of the supposedly broken arm, which (unbelievable as it was) didn't actually contradict anything else. Of course, all the relevant details were just plain bullshit. Cricket had been a cage fighter, and she could take a hit and come up swinging. Alabaster just plain didn't stay down. And his bones definitely didn't stay broken.

"Understood," Max said. "Now, you don't tell anyone about this. At all. Ever. Got it?"

Hookwolf clenched his fist and a long, jagged blade grew out from between his knuckles, a silent promise as to what would happen if anything was said.

"Totally. Absolutely. Not a word." The guy was babbling now, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Won't say a thing."

Max believed him. "Leave us."

Hookwolf watched him go, then turned to Max once the door shut behind him. "We just gonna let him blab to everyone, the first time he gets a drink inside him? I coulda shut him up permanently."

"I was tempted," Max replied honestly, "but one thing my father always drummed into me was 'never shoot the messenger'. If your people are too scared to bring bad news to you, you never hear about the things you need to hear about until it's too late."

"Hm." Hookwolf frowned. It was clear that he wanted to argue, but didn't know what to say. "Okay, fuck it. He talks, it's on you."

Max chuckled mirthlessly. "It's always on me. It always has been. So what's going on, do you think? Some kind of Breaker or Master effect that's forcing them in to stay in a catatonic state? Or a Trump, suppressing their powers?"

"Maybe," grunted Hookwolf. "Can't know for sure until we bust 'em out and see for ourselves."

"True. So, how do you suggest we handle the situation?" He would make his own mind up, of course, but the point of having lieutenants was to get an outside point of view.

"What, for busting them out or dealing with the assholes who fucked with them?"

"The capes. I'll work out the details of freeing Cricket and Alabaster from the PRT." He didn't have any outright moles in the organisation yet, but there were some people within it who shared points of view with the Empire. Asked the right questions in the right ways, they could get him the information he needed to organise matters.

"We set a trap." Hookwolf's expression was ugly. "They want to fuck with our initiations? We do another one, make it loud and proud. When they come after that one, we land on 'em with both feet." From the way shards of razor-edged metal slid out from under his skin, he didn't intend to stop with his feet.

Max nodded sagely, as though he'd just been waiting for Hookwolf to suggest exactly that. In all honesty, he hadn't considered doing it that way, but it didn't matter. If it worked, it worked. "Excellent. Set it up, and let me know how it turns out."

Hookwolf grinned savagely. Max got the impression he was really going to enjoy this. "You got it."

<><>​

PRT Building

Deputy Director Renick's Office

"Lay it out for me," Paul ordered. "Best case, worst case, most probable case. What are we looking at, here?"

Miss Militia took a deep breath. "Best case we can hope for is that we can keep a lid on this and recruit Animator into the Protectorate, along with her cohorts. Worst case, it gets out and every villain cape out there goes after her with blood in their eye, because nobody wants a cape out there who can even temporarily suspend their powers. Most probable …" She paused. "We aren't likely to be able to recruit her unless there is a serious attempt to kill her, and that spooks her into our ranks. And unless she starts raising people all over, who's going to believe she can really bring back the dead?"

Paul nodded to acknowledge her analysis, then looked at Assault. "Do you concur?"

Assault ran his hand over his mouth, rubbing his lips with the side of his finger. "Pretty much, yeah. I know I'm not going to be shaking hands with Animator any time soon. She wrecked them, and the ramifications of Alabaster's broken arm are even more terrifying than facing her in a fight."

Miss Militia nodded. "She could've killed him, both of them, but she chose not to. That's the only good thing in all this. Apart from the fact that we've got two killers off the streets for the moment."

"That's true." Paul didn't address the point about Alabaster's arm. That was something he would gladly pass on to Emily in the morning, and let her deal with. Given her dislike of capes, it was even odds whether she'd think it was a good thing or a bad thing. "The Empire has broken Hookwolf out of Birdcage transports before. Do you think they're likely to try to spring Alabaster and Cricket from holding?"

Assault grimaced. "Almost certainly. Kaiser's both a proud man and a total asshole. He'd consider this an insult to the Empire, and he'd work to get them out. Not because he cares about them, but because he cares about the optics of the situation."

Miss Militia cleared her throat. "Yes and no. Yes, he's a proud man. Yes, he cares about the optics. But breaking out Cricket and Alabaster is going to take resources. While he's mustering those, there's something else he's going to be doing."

"Animator," Paul said. "He'll be going after Animator."

The scarf over Miss Militia's face hid most of her expression, but the resigned tone of her voice made up for it. "I'd bet my power on it."

Assault let out a soundless whistle. "Well, let's hope they're watching their backs."

Amen, agreed Paul.

<><>​

Coil

Well, that's interesting.

Thomas couldn't wait to hear back from Rodney Stafford regarding the success (or otherwise) of his foray into Brockton General. In the worst case, of course, he would've been intercepted and interrogated. Thomas held zero faith in the ability of the wayward intern to hold out against questioning; his own name would be under scrutiny in short order.

This was, of course, why he was holding back from dropping the other timeline. Once Stafford succeeded in getting the information back to him, the whole incident would never have happened. Animator and her father would have zero warning that he was on their trail.

But in the meantime, he'd picked up a lead on something new. Specifically, gossip had reached his eyes and ears in the BBPD that one of their own had perished due to gang violence near the Lord Street Markets … and he'd been brought back to life by Animator. He was currently on paid leave, so the whisper went, while the higher-ups tried to figure out whether or not having a dead cop walking around and drawing a wage was a good thing for the department.

I think I need to meet this Officer Lagos. An interview under the vague umbrella of 'PRT business' would answer many of his questions about what actually happened to people who were 'animated', and how hard they were to put down for good after the effect took hold.

It would probably be best, he decided, to make that visit in the timeline where he wasn't waiting for Rodney Stafford to contact him after the hospital infiltration. If anyone queried him about his interest in the matter, he was a consultant for the PRT, and coming back from the dead was surely a subject of interest for them. The PRT didn't need to know that if the information was favourable, he would also be doing his best to influence Animator to come work for him.

Thinkers were useful, certainly, and he would be looking out for the possibility of getting one or more to work for him once he had established himself as a person of influence in Brockton Bay, but the old saw about birds in the hand was as true as ever. If he could establish dominance over Animator, then having a bunch of men beholden to her for their very existence would be extremely useful indeed.

His head came up as a message pinged on his phone. Got it. Where do you want to meet?

Caution immediately intruded itself on his thought processes. This felt too quick, too easy. Without his power to act as a fallback, it was much harder to avoid a potential trap if Stafford had been grabbed and flipped.

Tomorrow at noon, he typed, then gave the address of a sidewalk café in the city. Any BBPD or PRT assets would find it hard to hang around for long without giving themselves away, and he'd have time to survey the situation and sheer off if things looked hinky. At the same time, in the safe timeline, he could be having his perfectly innocuous chat with Officer Lagos, and gathering information from that side too.

Mentally, he gave himself a pat on the back. Within twenty-four hours, he'd have the information he needed in hand, and be ready to advance to the next step in his plan.

<><>​

Next Morning

Taylor

The smell of cooking breakfast wafted across my nose as I trotted downstairs. "Morning, Dad!" I called out.

"Morning," he replied. "How's the energy store? Still plenty of gas in the tank?"

"Let me see." I slipped into the shadow realm; everything immediately went translucent around me, and sounds became hollow echoes. I also felt amazingly energetic. "Yep, still there." From what I could tell, it hadn't notably diminished from last night.

"Yeah, I felt that from here." I heard the sound of the spatula scraping on the pan as I came through the living room. "So, do you think you're up for going to school today?"

I shrugged. "It's not like I've really got a choice, right?" Besides, Winslow was okay, if I ignored the gang presence. They ignored me in return, which suited us both. "Those fishermen's sunglasses you got allow me to wear my regular glasses and kind of conceal the darkness effect when I'm not in the shadow realm. You've contacted the school about me needing to wear them?"

He nodded. "I told them you'd strained your eyes and need to wear them. To be honest, they didn't seem overly interested. They didn't even ask for a doctor's note."

"Well, that's useful." I wasn't really being sarcastic. Getting a doctor's note to conceal a sudden case of super-powers was probably a lot easier for members of the Wards, so having the school not care was kind of a bonus, right then.

Not that I would've been totally averse to joining the Wards (if they'd have me; my power was kind of morbid) but that would probably involve the PRT wanting to poke and prod at Dad and Sophia to find out the limits of their revival. I was in no way a fan of that idea. Reanimating that gang asshole who'd helped kill Dad was about the limit of my willingness to experiment in that direction, and we'd found out what we needed to know.

We chatted over breakfast, and discovered that Dad enjoyed his food more if he was powered up at the time (though it was still nice if he wasn't). It was almost weird how normal it was, especially when he got in the car to go to work and I headed off down the street to catch the bus to school.

<><>​

Rodney

Notice of Disciplinary Hearing.

The email glared out at him from his laptop screen. He stared back at it, not quite daring to click on it. If he didn't open the email, he could plausibly claim not to know about it.

Things weren't supposed to have moved this quickly. He hadn't even gotten the information to Mr Calvert yet, and already they'd figured out that he was the one who'd gone into the hospital. What if they sent the police to his apartment? If they seized everything as evidence and didn't allow him a phone call, he'd never be able to get the information to Mr Calvert!

His apartment was supposed to be his sanctum sanctorum, his final redoubt. This was why he'd stocked it up for the long haul, and installed extra locks on the doors. But precautions that would let him evade zombies (or post-apocalyptic scavengers) wouldn't work against the cops; they'd just bring up a battering ram and bust the door in anyway.

They'd arrest me. For trying to actually save the whole city, the whole world, from a zombie plague.

How fair is that?

Muttering to himself, he dragged his bug-out bag out from under his bed, shoved a few extra tins of baked beans in there—he didn't really like them, but they kept more or less forever—and stuffed the printout from the hospital in on top. Then he zipped it up and heaved it onto his shoulder with a grunt.

Bug-out bags sounded cool, but he'd learned that if he tried to take everything he wanted, it was way too heavy. So, he'd had to compromise. It wasn't something he was pleased about, but he couldn't see a way around it either.

Halfway to the door, he realised he wouldn't get far without shoes. Fuck. He hated being rushed, because he forgot stuff or did it in the wrong order. Setting the bag down, he dragged his sneakers onto his feet, then hefted it again, went to the front door, and peered out. There was nobody in the corridor, but he didn't trust that to last very long. If I'm going to go, I have to go now.

For a long moment, he agonised over the laptop, then folded it, stuffed it into its case along with its cord, and picked it up with his spare hand. Edging out into the corridor, he locked the door behind him, then headed in the direction of the back stairs. If they were watching the front (which they might well be doing) he wanted to be well away before they kicked the front door in.

I just have to get this information to Mr Calvert. Then everyone will see I'm a hero. They might even give me a medal.

Hitching the bug-out bag higher on his shoulder and starting to regret the last few tins that he'd shoved in there, he trudged toward the exit.

<><>​

Hookwolf

"Okay, the plan is simple," Brad said. He was riding in the passenger seat of the van, mask off and sunglasses on, with the rest of the guys in the back. "We cruise around until we see a nigger or a slant or a spic or a rag-head on their own, and we grab him, but we make sure members of the public see it. Then we take him somewhere and the new guys do their thing. Stormtiger and me will be there to fuck up Animator and her asshole friends if they decide to make a move on us. Does anyone not understand this?" If anyone didn't understand it, he figured, they could get out and walk. Stopping the van was optional.

Gang initiations were serious business. New blood needed to be tested and gauged. Nobody wanted a pussy backing them up, and undercover cops were right out. He was pretty sure cops weren't allowed to kick the shit out of anyone as part of their cover, at least not seriously, so he never passed anyone until he'd seen them break ribs or crack somebody's skull.

Which meant that anyone messing with an initiation was messing with gang business. The whole master-race creed was something Brad could take or leave, but the Empire was all the family he had, and he believed in nobody fucking up family. Even over and above what they'd done to Cricket—whatever it was, it had to be pretty bad—these assholes were shitting on his people. Nobody pulled that sort of shit, not when he was around to do something about it.

One way or another, Animator was going to learn that.

<><>​

Taylor

"Hey, nice shades." Sophia grinned at me as I climbed the front steps of Winslow. "Got a dog or a white cane to go with them?"

I responded with the extremely mature expedient of flipping her the bird. "Oh, ha ha. I see you've been hanging around Dad far too long already, if you're stealing his jokes."

"Your dad's actually pretty cool, for an old guy." Sophia fell into step alongside me. "And I don't say that about many people."

I had to stop and think about that. Did I think of Dad as 'cool'? It was more like he was just there. Coolness or lack thereof didn't come into it. "Okay, sure, whatever you say."

"I do say." Her tone lowered and became more serious. "Oh, and just so you know, Julia and Madison are around here somewhere. They're still trying to get me to join their little posse."

"Right." I sighed. Madison was adorably cute and Julia more conventionally pretty, but they'd both gushed over Sophia's 'gorgeous hair' (okay, it was pretty nice) and 'supermodel looks' (again, she looked nice if she made the effort, but her class-A resting bitch face militated against that) in a blatantly transparent attempt to get her to join their clique. "Muscle, right?" We got to my locker and I pulled my backpack out of it.

She snorted. "What I'm thinking. That, or they're into tall, dark and brooding." Her tone made it clear that she was joking.

I raised my eyebrows in lieu of a smirk. Sophia, wise to my expressions, gave me a medium-dirty look.

"Well," I said, "that's always a possibility. Have you seen either of them giving you lingering, wistful stares?" I was quite proud of the way I kept my face straight while saying this.

Her elbow jab totally failed to connect, but not for want of trying. "Don't even joke about it," she growled. "My life is complicated enough right now without having to tell a couple of ninth-graders that I'm not interested in romance."

I shrugged. "You're a ninth-grader. Just saying."

"Not the point."

The bell for home room rang, and I raised my head. "See you at lunch?"

"Sure."

We headed off on our different trajectories, her for Math class and me for Spanish. I didn't care, so long as nobody messed with my glasses.

<><>​

Coil (Safe Timeline)

The first time he drove past Officer Lagos' apartment building, Thomas was checking the vehicles. He'd found out the licence plate of the cop's personal car, and ascertained for himself that it was still sitting out front. He's at home. Perfect.

Another sweep past, this time looking for a place to pull his own car over. It didn't bear any PRT markings, because a mere civilian consultant didn't rate such things. This was probably a good thing, because in this neighbourhood, anything resembling a cop car would likely get stripped to the chassis within a few hours, if parked overnight. Even in the daytime, it would get graffiti'd and the tyres slashed in the time it took to walk into a corner store and buy a paper.

Spotting a likely space a little way down the block, Thomas slowed down and grimaced at the way the van behind him got too close for his liking. He slowed some more and put on his indicators, to show that he was actually parking. The van backed off a little, giving him the chance to pull to a stop and start reversing. He wasn't a master at reverse parallel parking, but he figured he was good enough. The van didn't charge past him, but that was no longer his problem.

Finally situated in the parking space, he sighed with relief and killed the engine. His seat belt came off and he opened the door … and that was when the van came roaring up and screeched to a halt right next to his car. The side door slid open, and men jumped out.

What the fuck?

Before he could close and lock the door, strong hands dragged it open and he was wrenched from the car. He had just long enough to regret that he wasn't wearing the .38 Special that was currently residing in the glove compartment before his arms were forced behind him and zip-ties applied with far more force than finesse. Even as he started to shout for help, someone else dragged his head back and slapped a strip of duct tape across his mouth.

He was still trying to figure out what the fuck was going on—this sort of shit didn't happen to him!—as he was bundled into the back of the van. The side door slid shut; as if this had been a signal (which it was, in a way) the van's engine revved and it started off down the road at what promised to be an unsafe speed.

Looking around the interior of the van, he began to recognise gang tattoos and colours, and his heart sank. Empire Eighty-Eight.

Oh, fuck.



End of Part Twelve

 

All Alone

Part Thirteen: Luck is in the Eye of the Beholder

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

[A/N 2: There will be racist terms and slurs used by members of the Empire Eighty-Eight. These views are not shared by the author.]

[A/N 3: This chapter kicked my ass. Ugh.]



Taylor

I was in the middle of taking notes about gendered nouns when Sophia opened the classroom door and leaned in. "Hey, Taylor. There's a problem."

Ms Hernandez looked around at the same time as I did. "Sophia Hess!" she scolded. "What are you doing out of class?"

"I'm here because there's a problem," Sophia reiterated. "And Taylor needs to come with me." She switched her focus to me. "Right now."

I was already shoving my books into my backpack. "Sorry," I said half-heartedly. "I just need to find out what's going on."

"Taylor, don't—" I tuned out the rest of what she was saying as I went out through the door.

Sophia pulled it closed and headed off down the hallway; I followed along. Without saying another word, she handed me one earpiece of a set of earphones. She already had the other earpiece in her own ear; as I put it in, she hit the call icon on her phone.

It rang exactly once. "Hello? Sophia? Is Taylor with you?" Once I heard Dad's voice, we kept moving. The last thing I wanted to do was get cornered by a teacher.

"Yeah, she's here," Sophia answered for the both of us. "Tell her what you told me."

He took a deep breath, audible over the phone. Some habits, it seemed, died hard. "Taylor, I just got a phone call from Dr Cartwright. You recall that idiot intern? Apparently, he accessed our medical files last night, all of them, and got copies. He's still at large, so we can't ask him who he's working for. But I need you two to find a safe place and hunker down until I come get you."

"I knew I should've smacked some sense into him." Sophia shook her head. "Asshole probably still thinks I'm a fuckin' zombie or something."

I was pretty sure it was against the law to access someone's medical files without their permission, but I also had the idea that whoever was behind this wasn't worried about legalities. "What do you think's going on? Who put him up to this?"

Dad sighed. "Best case, he's a moron who wants to take the information to the press to forestall the quote-unquote 'zombie apocalypse' before it happens. In which case, he's working alone, and only the most way-out supermarket tabloids will even listen to him. No reputable news service is going to actually publish information like that, for several reasons. Absolute best case, he goes to Brockton Nightly News or some other big-name media outlet and hands over all his material, and they just sit on it."

I knew that tone of voice. "But you don't think it's the best case, do you?"

"I do not. Worst case, the Empire's somehow added two and two together, and is looking for payback for Cricket and Alabaster."

I had kind of mauled them fairly harshly. Especially where it came to breaking Alabaster's arm. The trouble was, I couldn't really think of anything between best case and worst case. I doubted that the ABB would be interested in recruiting me, given that I wasn't Asian, but— "Oh, shit. I just thought of a third option. What if Lung's found out how I drained Alabaster and wants to take me out before I can do the same to him?"

"That's just as bad," Dad agreed. "I'm leaving the office now. Sophia, you need to—"

"—call my folks? Already done." Sophia actually looked worried. For all that she and her brother sniped at each other, she evidently cared for her family. "We'll see you when you get here."

"I'll be there as quick as I can." Dad ended the call.

I pulled the earphone out and gave it back to Sophia as we headed along the hallway. It occurred to me that we didn't have to hide anywhere esoteric, so much as we just had to get out of sight. It was a sure bet that the corrupt intern was working for one of the gangs, and there was no possible good reason for him to be passing our medical information on to them. Whichever gang it was, they probably had junior members in Winslow, which meant we couldn't afford to let anyone see us at all.

With that in mind, I pointed toward the stairs and we went up them two at a time, moving almost in lockstep. "Roof?" Sophia asked when we got to the third floor, hooking her thumb at the next flight of stairs.

I shook my head. "It would only take one person to check, and then we'd be trapped up there."

More specifically, I'd be trapped up there, but as Sophia's wellbeing was inextricably linked with mine, it would effectively doom both of us anyway. And Dad as well (plus Officer Lagos, though in fairness, right then we weren't really thinking about him).

Sophia eyed the nearest classroom door. "So how do we hide?"

Right about then, I had a brainwave. "We don't. We go down the corridor a ways, and when we hear someone coming upstairs, I go into the shadow realm so I can see through walls. Then we just play keep-away, get behind them, and hide where they've already looked."

She was already nodding. "And with the amount of power you got from Alabaster, we'll be able to kick ass if anyone actually finds us."

I grinned and high-fived her. "Got it in one."

<><>​

Detective Dana McAllister, BBPD

The door to Rodney Stafford's apartment opened easily enough to the building superintendent's key. Dana stood back while the uniformed officers entered, calling out for Stafford to come out with his hands up (if he was there, but it seemed much more likely that he wasn't). Once they'd cleared the apartment, she entered, looking around with a practiced eye.

She didn't have to be a detective to tell that it was a single man's apartment. Everything about it, from the dirty dishes in the sink to the haphazard nature of the cleaning, pointed toward someone who not only lived alone but who also did the bare minimum of housework. The fact that there were zero toiletries in the bathroom, even though there was a grime-free spot on the sink where they were probably kept, told her that a) he'd never shared the apartment with anyone, and b) he'd gone somewhere in a hurry, deliberately so.

"Okay, spread out," she said. "Start looking for anything that looks like medical records, or an indication of who he's actually working for." She still wasn't sure exactly why this case had hit the top of the pile so quickly, but it seemed that Brockton General took HIPAA violations by their interns really fucking seriously, if the number of markers being called in on this case was any indication.

"Ah … Detective?" That was Loncey, a uniform she'd worked with before. "Is it just me, or is this a crappy conspiracy board?"

Conspiracy boards were a good start toward motive, so she headed that way. Stafford had thumbtacked notes and sketches to the wall, then stretched string between them. Then he'd run out of string and just drawn lines. In the middle of it all was "Tall girl, zombie maker, name starts with T". From there a couple of red strings stretched to "Tall guy, ZMG father, zombie" and "black chick, zombie shadow powers, really aggressive". After that, it got incoherent fast.

"Good catch," she said. "Get photos, then try to see if you can unravel it. Does he have a computer?"

"If he does, it's not here," Loncey replied. "Probably took it with when he bolted."

"Well, we'll just have to make do without." As nobody else had taken the bedroom (not totally surprising, all things considered) she headed in there herself and started to toss the place.

There was already a BOLO in effect on Stafford, but if they could find out where he'd gone to, that would save a hell of a lot of time.

<><>​

Hookwolf

"How hard can it be to find someone on their own we can grab?" groused Stormtiger. "We could've had ten people by now."

"We're not just looking for someone to grab," Bradly explained. "We're looking for someone who can't get away, but with witnesses so Animator can hear about it. Someone on their own, no witnesses, it won't actually fuckin' help us."

He waited for Cricket to chime in and support his position, before remembering that she was part of the reason they were doing it this way. So instead he glared at Stormtiger, making his point that way.

"Okay, yeah, got it." Stormtiger hunched down in his seat. "You ask me, doing it this way's a huge waste of time."

"Take it to Kaiser. This is all his idea." Brad grinned briefly as Stormtiger visibly winced. Getting on Kaiser's bad side, especially when things were already going wrong, was never a great idea.

"Yeah, okay, got it—hey!" Stormtiger pointed out through the windshield. "That black guy in the car right there. Can you see anyone else in the car?"

"Yeah, a woman and a kid. Perfect." Brad slowed the van and changed lanes, to get behind the car in question. "I'll cut him off, you grab him. Leave the kid and the woman alone. She'll want to protect it, and we need her to be our witness."

"Got it." Stormtiger climbed through into the back of the van, pulling his mask on once he was settled.

Bradley picked his moment carefully, waiting until there was no oncoming traffic, before roaring out and around the car, then swerving in to force it off the road. Evidently caught by surprise, the drive turned the car to avoid a collision, bounced over the curb, and was stopped hard by a telephone pole. A headlight shattered.

As the van screeched to a halt, the side door slammed open. Stormtiger launched himself out of the van, followed by the Empire mooks. Reaching the car first, he yanked open the driver's side door and grabbed the husky young man by the shoulder. One of the other men had a knife out and ready; he slashed the driver's seat belt, making it possible for Stormtiger to drag him out of the car.

The scuffle that followed was very brief. Ignoring the screaming woman, they zip-tied the driver's hands behind him and shoved a bag over his head. Less than a minute after the vehicles had come to a halt, they were dragging their initiation 'volunteer' into the back of the van. The side door slammed shut and Stormtiger yelled, "Go!"

Bradley popped the clutch, gave it the gas, and peeled out of there. Finally, he thought. This took way too long.

<><>​

11:00 AM

Coil (Throwaway Timeline)

To say that Calvert was not thrilled would be to perpetrate a gross injustice upon the subtle art of understatement. The timeline where he'd goaded Stafford into stealing the information he needed from the hospital records should have been one that he could discard at will. Depending on the PRT's knowledge of (and interest in) Animator and her minions, the response to the theft could be anywhere from lackadaisical to overwhelming, but it was always going to happen.

As it was, he'd entirely failed to speak with Lagos about his experiences, and he had yet to meet with Stafford and take care of the handover. When he tried calling Stafford from his burner phone, it had gone straight to voicemail, which hadn't boded well for the situation. Worse, he'd been freer with his name and position in his original conversation with Stafford than normally would've been wise, mainly to instil a modicum of backbone into the young lout and get him to do what needed to be done.

Which meant that if worst came to worst and he had to discard the other timeline, there was a looming tsunami of potential shit poised to descend upon him from a great height, especially if the forces of law and order coerced Stafford into talking. Calvert figured it would take all of three minutes, if Stafford was feeling particularly stubborn. More likely he'd spill every bean he had, as well as quite a few the PRT weren't interested in, in his earnest attempts to make them understand how he was the hero of the piece.

There were only so many spots that the sidewalk café (unimaginatively named "Sit 'n' Sip") could be surveilled from without drawing attention, but that hadn't originally been a problem. Once he had the information from Stafford, he could transcribe what he needed across then drop the timeline. But now, things were a little more fraught.

Scrub that: a lot more fraught.

<><>​

Coil (Safe Timeline)

Thomas Calvert had been a trained soldier once upon a time, and that sort of thing never really went away. But he hadn't had to truly fight for his life for more than ten years, and he'd neglected any sort of exercises or drills to keep himself in fighting trim, so he was nowhere near as good as he'd once been. As an aspiring criminal mastermind, he hadn't thought he needed to do that anymore; once he had a bunch of loyal minions, they could do the fighting and dying for him.

That was a hypothetical future, and this was right now. Lying in the back of a van, his hands zip-tied behind him and a musty-smelling bag over his head, he knew he was in serious jeopardy of never reaching that future.

Then, it hadn't been personal, not really; Nilbog's monsters had been out to kill every intruder in his Kingdom. Now, it was definitely personal. The Empire Eighty-Eight hated him because of his skin colour instead of just being human, but that was where the difference ended. They were equally willing to kill him, merely for being in their city.

There were ways and means of breaking free of zip-ties. He'd been shown how to do this once, but the intervening years of never worrying about having to break free of zip-ties had dulled his memory of the training. Still, the principle was fairly simple.

With his arms behind his back, his leverage could've been better, but a thin plastic strip was only so strong. Put sufficient strain on it sharply enough, and it would snap. Zip-ties had never been intended for the specific purpose of restraining prisoners, after all. They were at best a stopgap.

The van had been stopped for a few minutes now, and everyone had gotten out. Hopefully, this meant that nobody was paying attention to him right now. Tensing his wrists and pressing his hands together, he hunched his shoulders and forced his elbows as far apart as he could.

Nothing happened, except that the plastic bit into his wrists until he was almost certain it had drawn blood. He clenched his teeth, certain within his own mind that real blood would be drawn if he didn't get out of this. So he held his breath and wrenched his elbows apart again, harder.

Pain lanced up his arms, and he thought he felt warm blood running down his wrists. It didn't matter. He wouldn't let it matter. If he was going to salvage this situation in any way at all, he had to get free.

On the third attempt, he arched his whole body, throwing everything he had into forcing his wrists apart against the stricture of the zip-tie. For long moments he strained, clenching his teeth to avoid crying out from the pain—and then there was a distinct snap and the pressure disappeared. He didn't even realise he'd succeeded until the zip-tie fell off onto the floor of the van.

Okay, then. Yanking the bag from his head, he rubbed his wrists, noting that the skin had definitely been chafed off here and there. When I get my organisation built, there are some Empire assholes that I'm going to take great pleasure in sniping—

The side door of the van slid open. "Well, hey," said Hookwolf. "We don't even have to cut you free. Come on, time to join the party."

… fuck.

<><>​

Rodney Stafford

This is not how I thought it would be.

Rodney was learning quite a few lessons of life, mostly how bug-out bags were a lot heavier than they looked and how dashing off into the wild blue yonder to stay ahead of the forces of corrupt law and order was harder than Hollywood made it seem. He'd barely made it a hundred yards out of the building before he had to stop and rest, and even then he had to scuttle into an alleyway before a couple of cop cars zoomed past and stopped in front of his building. With mental images of tracker dogs barking at his heels and helicopters looming overhead, he staggered off down the alley, trying to figure out how to get to the café that Mr Calvert had named as the meeting point.

Taking the bus was probably not the best idea—he wasn't even sure he could heft the bag up the steps onto the bus anyway—and he was certain all the cabbies would've been contacted and told to keep a lookout for him. Though why they were on his back so badly, he couldn't figure out. Unless the conspiracy went deeper than he'd even imagined, and the Hebert girl was working for a real-world equivalent of the Parasol Corporation, seeking to create their own zombies for whatever cash-grabbing reason they had in mind?

In which case, it was easy to understand why nobody was interested in listening to him. The fix was in. If the government was in bed with the corporations already, which everyone knew it was, who cared about one more lobbyist handing out bribes to look the other way?

Which meant that saving the world was down to him and Mr Calvert. Rodney had a sixth sense about people, whether they could be trusted and stuff like that, and Mr Calvert had struck him as being a straight shooter, a man possessed of true integrity. He couldn't be bought off, any more than Rodney himself could be, so together they would bring the truth to the world, uncover the corruption, and save the goddamn day.

Three blocks onward, he'd been forced to stop and take another rest. No matter which shoulder he carried the bag on, it was killing him after about three steps. As he slumped against the alley wall, he got his phone out and turned it on. It started blowing up almost immediately with text messages and other alerts; panicking, he turned it off again without reading anything.

They're probably trying to track me by my phone. Can they do that when it's turned off? He didn't know for certain. Some sites he'd been on said yes, others said no.

He hadn't been arrested yet, so he was willing to believe they couldn't. That was good; he liked his phone, and didn't want to have to throw it away. But he was thirsty, so he got out a bottle of water and emptied it in more or less one long gulp. Shoving the empty back in the bag, he forced himself to his feet, hefted his interminable burden, and staggered onward.

<><>​

Animator

Nothing seemed to be going on. Nobody was searching the school, as far as we could tell. After the single call over the PA system for us to go to the office (as if we would), it seemed that Winslow had washed its hands of us.

"You know," Sophia confided to me as we lurked down the corridor from the stairwell, "I bet if we just hadn't gone to class at all, nobody would've given a damn that we weren't there."

I hated to admit that she might be right, but … well, she was probably right. As an overall optimist, I liked to look at the bright side of things before I accepted the more realistic view; my general Winslow experience had taught me that things usually were that bad. It sucked, but that was the way things were in the real world.

This also meant that if the Empire or the ABB showed up at the school and recruited help to look for us, the school would do everything in its power to look the other way. They didn't want to do anything they absolutely didn't have to, and I very much doubted that Principal Blackwell was going to stand up to Lung or Kaiser. So, in a very real way, Sophia and I were on our own until Dad got there.

Sophia's phone vibrated in her hand. She'd cut the ringtone so nobody could simply locate us by calling her number, but now it was ringing anyway. "Who's that?" I asked, because if Dad was on the way, it couldn't be him.

"It's Mom." Sophia put the phone to her ear. "Hi, yeah, what's up?"

I'd seen people go pale before, but never this badly. Sophia's face went gray, and she put out her hand to steady herself against the wall.

"What?" I asked, quietly but urgently. "What happened?"

Her eyes focused on me, and she seemed to gain a measure of strength from that. "I'm on it, Mom," she promised. "We're on it. We'll get him back."

"What?" I asked again. "Get who back? What's happened?"

She ended the call and put her phone away with quick, jerky movements. "It's the Empire." Her voice held more hatred than I'd ever heard from her before. "They've got Terry."

<><>​

Danny

As he pulled into the parking lot, Danny anxiously scanned the front of the building for any signs of trouble. He still didn't like the idea of owning cell-phones, but this sort of thing would be a lot easier to handle if everyone could communicate with everyone else. Next chance we get, he decided, we're getting one each.

A surge of power washed through him and he knew Taylor had gone into the shadow realm, as she called it. On the third floor, a window opened. Taylor climbed out, hung from her hands for a moment, then dropped. She landed, rolled, and jumped to her feet; Danny belatedly recalled that while she was in that state, she was a lot stronger and more durable. Sophia followed behind, cheating a little by going into shadow state just before hitting the ground.

Sophia was the faster runner, but Taylor almost beat her to the car anyway. "We've gotta go," Taylor gasped, scrambling into the front seat. "The Empire just kidnapped Sophia's brother."

"Shit." Danny turned to look at Sophia, who was looking as pissed as he'd ever seen her. "You think it's connected to you and Taylor?"

"What else could it fuckin' be?" she demanded bitterly. "I've gotta save the big moron, otherwise Mom'll never forgive me."

"We'll totally save him," Taylor promised. "Just … how? Where do we go?"

"We're gonna need masks, too," Sophia added. "We don't need more assholes figuring out who we are, otherwise this shit's just going to keep happening."

"I brought your costumes along." Danny drummed his fingers on the wheel in thought, even as they pulled out of the parking lot. "We'll head for Empire territory. If they grabbed him, it'll be for one of their stupid initiations. There's a bunch of warehouses that they use for dogfights and similar activities. Chances are, it'll be there."

Sophia nodded jerkily. "Okay, gotcha. Let's do that."

Taylor's head came up and she half-turned to look at Sophia. "Borrow your phone for a minute?"

"Sure, what do you have in mind?" Sophia passed it forward without demur.

Taylor pulled her wallet from her pocket and extracted a card from it. "Reinforcements."

<><>​

Coil (Safe Timeline)

There were eight of them, standing in a rough circle in the echoing warehouse. Around them was a loose group of Empire Eighty-Eight gangsters, with Stormtiger and Hookwolf among them. In the middle of the circle, Calvert had been forcibly stripped to the waist, the Empire assholes jeering and making fun of his skinny physique.

"Rules are simple!" Hookwolf raised his voice so everyone could hear. "You prospects, you don't leave until that skinny black bastard is down and every one of you has blooded yourself. Boy, if you can put all eight of our guys down, you can walk outta here. Anyone not understand?"

"You're making a huge mistake here!" shouted Calvert. Sweet reason was simply not going to work, so he had to go with threats and bluff. "I work for the PRT! They are not going to take this lying down! Every single one of you is going down for this!" He turned in a slow circle, pointing at the eight prospects. "I've seen your faces! I'll know your names! They don't play games with anyone who fucks with their people!"

"Big words!" jeered Hookwolf. "I had Victor check you out! You're a consultant! They don't even like you!"

"What, really?" asked Stormtiger. "Why not?"

"Ellisburg, ten years ago." Hookwolf gestured at Calvert and sneered. "Shot his captain in the back so he could save his own ass. That's why he's not a fuckin' general by now. They hate his guts."

"Yeah, like I always say. Never trust a nigger with a gun." Stormtiger took a cardboard box that someone handed him, then heaved the contents into the middle of the circle.

A pair of brass knuckledusters bounced and slid almost to Calvert's feet, while other weapons scattered here and there. He saw a knife, a metal pipe and a cleaver, but he wasn't paying attention to that. Swooping down, he grabbed up the knuckledusters and slid his fingers into place.

The prospect in front of him was just bending to grab up the steel pipe when Calvert rushed him, swinging a hasty punch into the side of his head. The young man staggered and Calvert side-kicked him in the groin. He went down; Calvert also dropped to a crouch, grabbing up the pipe in his free hand.

The clinking of metal warned him just quickly enough to bring up the pipe as he turned. This let the length of chain hit the pipe rather than his head, wrapping around and around with vicious force. He stepped in, pulling on the pipe to bring his enemy to him, and unloaded another haymaker into the new adversary's jaw. Bone cracked under the impact of the knuckledusters; the prospect fell sideways, his eyes rolling up into his head.

Leaving the chain wrapped around the pipe, Calvert looked around for his next opponent.

One way or another, I'm getting out of this. All I've got to do is draw it out until I find out what I want to know.

<><>​

Kenny Lagos, BBPD

The book was one that Kenny had been meaning to read for some time now, but he'd never gotten around to it. Now, it seemed, he had the time. Settling back with a beer—he might be dead, but a cold brewski still went down just fine—he turned to where he'd left off and started reading again.

A dozen pages later, energy flushed through his entire body, bringing him to full awareness. "Holy shit," he said, sitting up and looking around. He'd felt it last night, so he knew what it was, but the sheer power of it still blew him away. Animator's up to something. I wonder what?

And then, while he was still wondering, his phone rang. With the feeling that this was kind of coincidental, he answered it, not sure if he knew the number. "Hello?"

"Hi. This is Animator." She was telling the truth; he recognised her voice. "I've got a problem. The Empire's kidnapped my friend's brother, and we're pretty sure it's so some of their recruits can do an initiation. Can you come help?"

He tossed the book aside and came up out of the chair. "You bet. Kicking Nazi ass? I'm definitely down for that, especially if Hookwolf's there. I got a bone to pick with that asshole." Looking around, he spotted his work boots and started putting them on.

"Excellent. I'll text you the address as soon as we know more."

"You got it." Kenny grabbed his personal sidearm and strapped it on, as well as his taser. A retractable baton finished off his ensemble.

Thirty seconds later, he was out of the apartment and heading for his car.

I'm coming for you, you son of a bitch.

<><>​

Dana McAllister

The bedroom had been thoroughly tossed; every item of clothing had been checked, every dark corner investigated, and drawers pulled all the way out so she could check underneath and behind them. In the process, she'd learned far more about Rodney Stafford's personal life and hygiene than she ever wanted to know, but nothing at all to do with the theft of the medical files or what he intended to do with them. It was all probably on his laptop, she thought gloomily. People his age spend most of their lives online anyway.

"Hey, Detective!" It was Loncey, out in the living room. "I think I've got something."

"Well, it's more than I've got." Peeling off the gloves she'd been wearing for the search—because ugh—she headed out of the bedroom to see what the cop had found.

It turned out to be a Post-It note with Stafford's distinctive scrawl on it. 'Meet TC at S&S. Do not forget!'

"Well, now," she murmured, peering at the note without touching it with her bare hands. "That's definitely something. I wonder who TC is."

"And where S-and-S is." Loncey frowned. "How many places in the city start with those initials?"

"Can't be many." Dana pulled her phone out and did a quick search. "Where was it, anyway?"

"Under the fridge, along with about a quarter inch of dust." Loncey shrugged. "I moved it in case something had gone under there, and what do you know. Something did."

"Huh." Dana eyed the abortive conspiracy wall. It was placed about right for something to fall off and go straight under the fridge. Then she checked her phone screen. "Four businesses have that arrangement of initials. Sand & Slate Masonry, Stanton & Stanton Lawyers, Stansfield & Son Hardware, and a coffee place called Sit & Sip."

"The masonry place and the hardware store …" Loncey shook his head. "Can't see it. I'm thinking the coffee shop. Classic place for a handover."

"Hmm." Dana rubbed her chin. While she didn't think Stafford would go to a lawyer the day after he raided a hospital for private medical details, it was technically possible that they were on the wrong track with his motives. There might actually be a deeper legal reason for all this. What it was, she couldn't imagine, but fortunately that part wasn't her job. "We'll hit the Sit & Sip, but I'll call the lawyers on the way just to make sure they've got nothing to do with it."

Loncey nodded sharply. "Yes, ma'am."

<><>​

Rodney

He'd tried his best, but he just couldn't do it. His bug-out bag had fought him to a standstill, and finally defeated him. The tinned food had been the major issue, of course. He hadn't wanted to leave it, as unappetising as baked beans and tinned peas were, because he had no idea how long it was going to take him and Mr Calvert to put an end to the incipient zombie plague.

But he'd had to do it anyway. Furtively, he'd stashed the tins and bottled water behind a dumpster in an alleyway, leaving just his spare clothing, laptop, and medical printouts in the bag. It was much easier to carry now, and he told himself that he'd be back to grab the food and water as soon as he'd attended the meeting and handed over the information that Mr Calvert needed.

With somewhat more of a strut in his step, he approached the Sit & Sip café that Mr Calvert had directed him to. He toned his movements down as soon as he noticed what he was doing; right now, he needed to be anonymous, not broadcasting his actions to everyone. Even though he was actually in the process of saving the fucking world.

As he sauntered into the café with his best nonchalant air, he wondered if he'd get the Medal of Honor out of this, or if they'd make a special medal up for the occasion. After all, there'd never been a zombie plague before. Being the only person in the world to have stopped one had to count for something, right?

<><>​

Coil (Stafford Timeline; previously "Throwaway")

Stafford was early, but that was a good thing. In the other timeline, Calvert was being hard-pressed by the Empire recruits, only holding his own by virtue of the fact that they'd never trained in mutual support. He had to get the information from Stafford and ensure that no connection was ever made between them, as soon as possible.

The easiest way to do this was to drop the Stafford timeline and use his powers to their full advantage by putting down his opponents; however, to do that, he had to learn what he wanted to find out. Next easiest was to drop the Empire timeline, make the meeting, then take Stafford elsewhere and make sure his body was never found. Simply killing him had ceased to be an option when Animator appeared on the scene and started bringing murder victims back to life.

The second option would've been the most appealing, except that Animator (and the PRT) would still know that the medical information had been stolen, and thus they would all be on guard for any attempt to capitalise on it. Calvert had zero desire to be chased down and torn apart by a bunch of angry reanimated minions before he'd had a chance to get his hooks into the girl. Thus, the Empire timeline was currently his choice by a very thin margin; all he had to do was survive it.

With that in mind, he followed Stafford into the café.

<><>​

Hookwolf

It had taken longer than he'd wanted it to, but they finally had their initiation target, ready to roll. The eight prospects were also there, all eager to prove they had what it took to be part of the Empire; Bradley would be keeping an eye on each of them, to make sure they didn't hold back when the time came to go all in. He'd also passed the word around to every active Empire member out on the street, to tell anyone who asked where the initiation was going to be. If Animator was going to mess with the Empire's capes, he was going to mess with her.

Nobody had shown up yet to break up the initiation, but there was still time. He was purposely drawing out the situation, letting tension build before starting the event. In the middle of the ring of prospects, the young black man was looking around, terrified. That was also part of the intent: if he was scared, he'd fight harder, give them a better show. But he'd also fight stupider and still lose.

Bradley looked from side to side, but nobody seemed about to kick in the door. Stormtiger caught his eye and shrugged slightly: may as well get this on the road. If Animator showed up, they'd deal with her. If she didn't, they'd blood the new prospects anyway. It was a win-win.

He drew a deep breath. "Rules are simple! You prospects, you don't leave until that black bastard is down, and every one of you has blooded yourself. Boy, if you can put all eight of our guys down, you can walk outta here. Anyone not understand?"

The black guy said nothing, but he'd probably figured out that nothing he said would do him a bit of good. He slowly turned, probably to make sure none of the prospects—all kids his age—were sneaking up on him. Bradley spotted that his fists were clenched, which meant he was going to at least try to make a fight of it before they brought him down.

Stormtiger gave the signal, and the box holding the various weapons was passed forward. A quick toss had the pipe and knife and chain and stuff rolling and bouncing across the concrete floor, where if someone was quick enough they could grab something up and become a lot more dangerous. Bradley was just fine with that.

That was when Shadow Stalker phased in through the wall and shot Stormtiger in the shoulder with her crossbow.

<><>​

Coil (Empire Timeline; previously "Safe")

I can still do this. I can win this. I just need that edge.

The brass knuckles were in his pocket, the pipe in one hand and the chain in the other. He'd taken down four of the assholes against him, but now they were starting to fight smart and use group tactics against him. Even with his training and combat experience, a lion could still be brought down by a bunch of shitty hyenas.

What he needed was the ability to make the perfect move every time; until he dropped the Stafford timeline, he couldn't do that. And Stafford wasn't taking the fucking hint.

<><>​

Rodney

"Stafford!" hissed Mr Calvert in Rodney's ear.

"Oh, there you are." Rodney grinned with relief. Mr Calvert was here, and everything would be alright.

"What are you wasting time for? I need that information!" He seemed to be a bit agitated, though Rodney couldn't figure out why. There'd be time enough when they were sitting down, wouldn't there?

"I'm hungry and thirsty," Rodney explained. "So I just thought I'd get something to eat and drink." The muffins and the chilled fruit juice looked especially tempting. "Want me to get you something, seeing how I'm in line already?"

"No!" Boy, Mr Calvert was being all kinds of impatient today. "I want you to step out of line, come and sit down, and show me what you found!"

Muffins and fruit juice: Rodney wanted them. "But wouldn't it look more normal if—"

Mr Calvert grabbed for his bag. "Is it in here? Give me that!"

"Hey!" Rodney protested more or less by reflex, hanging onto the strap. His laptop was in the bag as well, and if Mr Calvert could just give him ten seconds, he could unzip it and hand over the printouts. He'd thought they were supposed to be doing this the secret-agent undercover way, so they wouldn't draw attention, but no matter how they were doing it, he wasn't just going to give Mr Calvert his laptop too. That hadn't been the deal at all.

<><>​

Coil

Stafford:

"Give it to me!" Thomas was pretty sure he could feel paper crinkling in the backpack. There weren't any folded up printouts sticking out of Stafford's pockets, so he assumed this had to be it. He wrenched on the bag, trying to detach it from Stafford's grip, but the young intern held on with stubborn strength.

Empire:

The punk with the knife closed with him and slashed wildly while two of his buddies tried to grab him from the other side. Thomas deflected the knife with the chain, then spun around and swung the pipe hard at the head of the closest guy on that side. It connected, but the impact nearly knocked the pipe out of his hand.

Stafford:

Fuck this. He pulled the pistol from his shoulder holster and pointed it in Stafford's face. "Let. The. Fucking. Bag. Go."

With a shocked expression, Stafford released the backpack. All around Thomas, café patrons fell away like wheat before the scythe. He didn't care. Pulling it to him, he yanked at the zipper.

Empire:

He'd lost track of the third guy, but ducked just in time as the baseball bat came whistling over his head. Backswinging with the pipe, he connected with the asshole's knee, eliciting a scream. But the guy wasn't down yet.

Stafford:

All of a sudden, police officers were swarming into the café, pistols drawn. "Drop the gun! Hands on your head! On the floor! Now-now-now!"

Looking down the barrels of at least three firearms, his own pistol pointing in entirely the wrong direction, he hesitated—

Empire:

The fourth guy tackled him, pinning his arms to his sides. An instant later, an agonising pain lanced through his back. The knife penetrated deeply enough that he knew it was at least a critical injury, maybe even a fatal one. With his power, he'd had enough of those that he could judge them fairly accurately.

The fight was over for him; even if they didn't kill him then and there, he wouldn't long survive the wound.

Motherfucker.

He dropped the timeline.

Stafford:

Carefully, he followed the instructions of the police. He was fully aware of how often people ended up 'shot while resisting', so he didn't pull any trickery. It wasn't even worth splitting the timeline again, not until he saw an opportunity, so he didn't.

It was the plainclothes detective who took up the backpack and carefully opened it, then pulled out the sheets of printed paper. Unfortunately, he didn't have an angle to see the names on it as they handcuffed him then frisked him. There has to be a way to salvage this, he told himself as he was bundled into the back of a cop car.

But whatever it was, he couldn't think of it.

<><>​

Animator

I dropped all the way into the shadow realm, and Officer Lagos kicked the door in. Sophia was already inside; I followed Dad into the building, after Officer Lagos stormed in. Two more of the Empire assholes were down and bleeding from Sophia's crossbow shots by the time I got inside, over and above her shot on Stormtiger.

Hookwolf grew blades out of his everywhere and came for her, and she of course went to shadow and jumped through him. Coming out the other side, she dropped back into solid form and kicked him in the back so hard he flew into the wall. At the same time, Dad and Officer Lagos were laying waste to the rank and file. Powered up as high as we were, men and women were being literally hurled across the room. Some of them pulled guns, and Lagos just shot them.

With a roar of profanity that should've scorched my delicate ears, Hookwolf tore himself free from the wall and ran at Sophia again. She ignored him, focusing on grabbing Terry and literally leaping twenty feet with him to get past some of the Empire goons. Before Hookwolf could get to her, Officer Lagos was in his face.

There was no banter, no back-and-forth like I'd seen on some of the cape shows. They came together like a car crash, all tearing metal and shrieking impact. Lagos took some cuts, but they didn't bother him in the slightest; he gave some back, swinging the baton like he was trying out for the World Series.

The normals broke and scattered. A few of them ran past me, but the moment they saw my glowing eyes, they gave me a wide berth as well. Lagos was involved with beating nineteen shades of shit out of Hookwolf, so Stormtiger (after he'd pulled Sophia's arrow out of his shoulder) went after Dad. Maybe he thought the top hat made him an easy target or something.

Dad took a couple of hits from Stormtiger's air claws, then came in fast and hard. Stormtiger tried to back off, but Dad wasn't having any. He was taller than the Empire cape by a few inches, and he used that to bring down his fist on Stormtiger's right shoulder in a massive clubbing blow.

Stormtiger tried to deflect it, but that just wasn't going to happen. Bone snapped, audible even from where I was (and visible too, for that matter) and Stormtiger's arm dropped to his side, useless. As he staggered from the hit, Dad grabbed his left arm.

Spinning around, Dad hoisted him in the air then smashed him down against the concrete at full arm extension. Concrete broke, and so did Stormtiger's left shoulder. Picking him up, Dad did it again. Stormtiger didn't get up.

Hookwolf was still under attack from Officer Lagos, and he was not having a good time of it. Punching a blade clear through the reanimated cop's chest did nothing at all, while every blow Lagos landed on him smashed metal from his body. When Stormtiger went down, Hookwolf made his final mistake.

He tried to run.

Lagos was not having any of that shit. With one last smashing impact, he knocked just enough of Hookwolf's armour off to give himself a clear target. The taser came off his belt and he zapped Hookwolf from about one foot away, holding the trigger down as the weapon rattled off its tac-tac-tac-tac and the supervillain convulsed.

Finally, he let up, as all the metal retracted back into Hookwolf's body and the man himself lay there unarmoured and defenseless. I ventured forward, reasonably sure that the fight was over. Stormtiger lay off to the side, unconscious, and Hookwolf was absolutely out for the count, his life force flickering as I watched. Those members of the Empire who weren't unconscious (or possibly dead) had long since bolted.

"Is he … is he dead?" asked Terry, staring at Hookwolf.

"Does it matter if he is?" asked Sophia sarcastically. "He was gonna stand back and watch them murder you."

"I'm not judging. I was just wondering."

As I walked up alongside Officer Lagos, Hookwolf's brain went from the buzz of life to the slowly declining glow of the recently dead. I glanced at Terry and nodded. "He just passed," I confirmed.

"Oh."

"So what are we gonna do with all these assholes?" asked Sophia, looking around at the carnage.

"Call the PRT and let them handle it," Dad stated, then looked toward Officer Lagos. "Right?"

"Probably the best idea." Lagos looked down at Hookwolf's body. "You know, I thought I'd feel more … well, vindicated about killing him. Seeing as he killed me and everything."

"You can feel good about getting revenge for everyone else he killed," Sophia suggested.

I looked down at the body and rubbed my chin. "Hm."

Sophia turned toward me. "What do you mean, 'hm'? What's going through your mind?"

"Right now, we don't have much credit with the PRT, do we?" I wasn't really asking the question so much as thinking out loud. "Kill a cape, you get all sorts of inquiries about whether it was truly justified. Even one as bad as Hookwolf."

"I've heard of that," agreed Officer Lagos. "Why?"

"Well, what if he wasn't dead?" I crouched beside the body and laid my hand on his chest. I was still full to the brim with Alabaster's life force. It took one big jolt to change him from glowing skeleton to reanimated person, and a smaller one to repair the incidental damage. As he sat up and looked around, I stepped back.

"What the fuck did you do that for?" shouted Sophia.

"You've got to be shitting me!" Lagos added.

Hookwolf looked around, stared down at himself, then his eyes found me. "You!"

"Me," I agreed. Reaching out, I repaired Dad's injuries, then Lagos'. "You just died. Now you're back." An evil grin peeled my lips back from my teeth. "And now you're mine."



End of Part Thirteen