Another Way (Worm AU fanfic)

Another Way

Part Seven: The Shape of Things to Come


The car pulled up alongside them; Claire's father handed her into it, waited for her to scoot across, and then climbed in himself.

“Where to, sir?” asked Jonas.

Marquis seemed to consider for a moment. “Do you know where Archer's Bridge is?”

Jonas nodded. “Yes, sir. It's the middle of Merchants territory.”

“I know. Take us to within a block of the Bridge.”

“Certainly, sir.” The car moved off smoothly.

Marquis sat back, relaxing. His heart rate was slightly elevated; she could even tell that he was happy, almost excited. Claire tried to relax herself; after a few moments, she worked out that she could, but it required a light touch. Her heart rate steadied, and she felt a little less nervous.

“Claire, you mentioned that Kaiser was not a nice man,” Marquis commented.

She coloured slightly. “I said he was a douche.”

“And I said that such was not appropriate language for a young lady,” he retorted. “All the same; what led you to that no doubt rather accurate summation of his character?”

She paused, trying to think of what to say first. “Purity is in love with him, but he doesn't love her,” she blurted.

“Hardly a crime,” he murmured. “Are they in a physical relationship, do you know?”

She coloured again, heavily. “Dad! I didn't check.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He seemed genuinely penitent. “But it would be more reprehensible if he was, and still had no feelings for her.”

“He … maybe,” she admitted. “It was pretty strong on her part, I think.”

“Anything else you can tell me about him?”

“He doesn't think much of me,” she told him. “I don't know whether it's because I'm a child, or because I'm a girl, or both.”

“Hm.” He seemed pleased, instead of angry for her sake. “That's good.”

“Excuse me?” She stared at him. “He wanted to get information out of you, and he decided more or less to my face that I wasn't worth showing respect to.”

“And would you rather that he considered you powerful and dangerous, and decided to do something about it?”

Claire paused, thinking about that. “He's got a strong personality. Very controlling. I think … I would not like to be on his bad side.”

“Then don't get caught doing anything he doesn't like,” he advised her blandly. “Such as delving through his mind.”

“Oh, trust me, I've got no intention of that.” Her reassurance was heartfelt.

“Doing it, or getting caught doing it?” his voice was amused.

She let her smile become a grin. He knows me so well. “Getting caught, of course.”

His smile answered her grin. “That's my girl.” He tilted his head. “Speaking of Purity, is there anything I should know about her?”

“Actually, yes,” Claire noted. “She basically agreed with your stance on drugs, though she couldn't really say so, not with Kaiser there.”

“Interesting,” he murmured. “So she's more in line with our aims than he is?”

“To a point,” she agreed. “He was all about getting the advantage without giving anything up, whereas she was more interested in us. When he was saying nice things, he was just saying it. She actually meant it, most of the time. I liked her.”

“Is there anything there we can use?”

She frowned. “I think I can keep in touch with her, and she probably won't mess me around. But I doubt you'd be able to buy her off. I think he'd have to let her down her pretty badly to make her leave his side. And she wouldn't turn on him without a really good reason.”

“Well, that's a start,” he observed. “Does she share his prejudices?”

“That's the funny thing,” she mused. “He doesn't really have strong prejudices, that I can see. Except for one. He's all about the bottom line. You know how most people think they're the centre of the universe? Well, he's absolutely certain of it.”

“Hmm. That sounds about right,” he mused. “He probably puts on the racist rhetoric to keep the rank and file happy. And Purity?”

“No really strong convictions that I could see,” she admitted. “If she's got anything along that line, it's habit, probably picked up from him. Nothing that she'd go out of her way for.”

“To be honest, most people have some level of prejudice or racist attitude,” he told her seriously. “It's almost impossible to not pick something like that up at some point in the upbringing. The trick is to realise it and to not let it colour your dealings with people. Ignore it long enough, and it does go away.”

Jonas cleared his throat from the front seat. “Your father is right, chick. I'm from South Africa; I should know.”

“Yeah, I've been reading up on that,” she replied. “Apartheid sounds horrible.”

“It is,” he replied without hesitation. “Except that when you grow up inside it, it makes sense. Fish in water, see? Until you get outside of it, and look back, then look at the rest of the world. Then you see that you've been swimming in sewage.”

“So you used to think like that?” she asked cautiously.

“Some, yeah,” he replied. “Pretty hard not to. But I keep a rein on it.”

“It's the people who can't not think that way that you have to watch out for,” Marquis advised her. “Fanatics of all kinds are extremely dangerous. They'll ignore what's smart and safe to advance their agenda.”

“So how do you deal with people like that, Dad?”

“Three ways,” he posited. “First way; avoid them. Because they will totally bypass whatever agreement has been made if it violates their personal hot button, and you will find yourself on the back foot. Second way; work with them, but keep their agenda in mind at all times. That's if it's something you can live with.”

“And the third way?” she asked, fascinated.

“If you can't avoid them, and you can't work with their agenda … then you dispose of them, cleanly and quietly, and move on.” His tone was matter-of-fact; he may have been discussing the best way to boil an egg.

“Just kill them? Just like that?” She didn't feel repulsed at the thought, which mildly surprised her. Her father's words, rather, rang true in her mind. She had been in a situation where people wanted to kill her and Abigail, had killed Damien, and she couldn't avoid it and couldn't work with it. So she'd killed them instead. She'd done what she had to do, and Abigail was alive because of it, and so was she.

“Just like that.” Marquis read her tone correctly. “Just remember one thing; if you're going to kill someone, do it quickly and cleanly and don't linger over it. If you're going to cause pain to send a message, cause pain. If you're going to kill, kill. Never mix the two.”

She nodded. “You know, there's a fourth way.”

“Well, for you there is,” he agreed. “Most people can't change the minds of fanatics. It's more or less what makes them fanatics. I'll be interested in seeing what improvements you can bring to my organisation with your powers.”

“Actually, talking about that. Jonas, there's something I've been meaning to ask you.”

“And what's that, chick?” responded the driver.

“I'm pretty sure that I can do more than heal people and alter their appearance. I can change them. Improve them. Faster reflexes, increased strength, better eyesight, tougher skin. Would you be interested?”

There was a long moment of silence; when Jonas spoke, his voice was careful and measured. “You're saying that you can make me better than I am now?”

She nodded. “That's exactly what I'm saying, Jonas.”

Marquis cleared his throat. “Just before we get any more into this, Claire, are there side-effects or after-effects that we'll need to know about?”

“No, Dad.” She paused for a moment, putting her thoughts in order. “This isn't some science fiction morality tale, or a comic book where every improvement comes with a drastic disadvantage, or there's some sort of trade-off that needs to be made. You'll probably have to eat a little more and exercise a little more to keep at your new level of capability, but nothing more than that. You won't go insane and your body won't just spontaneously quit on you, or develop some exotic disease.”

“Hmm.” Marquis looked intrigued. “You're certain about this.”

“As certain as I can be.” Claire shrugged. “And if side-effects start happening, I can reverse the changes. Anything I can do, I can undo.”

“Well, then. Jonas?”

Jonas' voice was still careful. “Sir, miss Marchant … I'll need to think about this, but yes, I'm definitely interested.”

“Oh, for god's sake, Jonas, call me 'chick',” Claire told him with a chuckle. “You've only been doing it for the last five years.”

“It's not respectful, miss,” Jonas replied reproachfully. “Not any more. Not for who you are now.”

“Respect is for when people can see us,” Claire told him firmly. “I consider you to be my friend, and when we're in private, I want you to keep calling me 'chick'. In public, you can be as respectful as you need to be.”

Jonas hesitated. “Sir?”

Marquis smiled slightly. “Do as she says, Jonas.”

“Thank you, sir. Well then, chick, I'll be willing to try out your improvements once we're safely home.”

Claire leaned back in her seat. “Cool.”

<><>​

PRT Building

Deputy Director Renick's intercom buzzed; he pressed the button. “Yes?”

“The Brockton Bay Brigade is here to see you, sir.”

“Good. Send them in.”

He stood as the door opened, and no less than eight parahumans trooped into his office. The last one through, Lady Photon, closed the door behind her. They arranged themselves before his desk, with the youngest and most petite members – the two active children and Fleur – at the front, and Manpower looming at the back.

“Good evening,” he greeted them. “Thank you for coming over so promptly.”

“You intimated that it was rather important,” Lady Photon pointed out. “So we came as quickly as we could.”

“I still appreciate it,” he noted, then turned his attention to the younger members of the group. “Laserdream, how are you doing?”

“I'm doing good, Mr Renick,” the older girl told him cheerfully. “Miss Militia graduated me a while ago, so I'm patrolling with the Brigade now.”

“We're very proud of her,” Lady Photon added. “She really knows her business.”

“That's very good to hear,” Renick told her sincerely. “And Mega Girl, how about you?”

“I'm still learning,” the younger girl ventured. “But Armsmaster says that I'm getting better all the time.”

“Good,” Renick told her. “I'm in the loop to see his reports on you, and I have to say, I'm very pleased with your progress.”

As she flushed pink from the praise, he sat down. “I won't keep you long. I just wanted to make sure that you all knew a certain piece of information. Marquis is back in Brockton Bay.”

Brandish and Flashbang didn't react, while Mega Girl merely nodded. However, the other five members of the team showed varying levels of surprise.

“Marquis?” asked Lady Photon. “Are you sure?”

“Within a ninety to ninety-five percent certainty, yes,” Renick told her. “We have several unconfirmed sightings, as well as an encounter between Armsmaster, Mega Girl and a girl claiming to be his daughter.”

Laserdream turned to stare at her cousin. “Vicky? I mean, Mega Girl? You met Marquis' daughter and you never told me?”

Mega Girl shrugged uncomfortably. “I told Mom and Dad, and Mom told me to keep it quiet.”

Lady Photon turned to Brandish. “You didn't tell me?”

Brandish avoided her eyes. “I didn't know how to take it. It might have been a hoax.”

“I wanted to tell you guys,” Flashbang told them. “And I'm pretty sure he's back. Vicky told us that the girl, Marchioness, made a reference to a table. The same table that Carol destroyed when she was searching his house.”

“The fuck?” blurted Lightstar. “This is the guy who owned us, repeatedly, and finally disappeared to Boston when we found out who he was? And now he's back, with his daughter, and you guys were gonna keep it from us?”

“Look, once we were sure, I was going to call a team meeting -” began Brandish desperately.

“We had a right to know!” That was Manpower; his voice rattled the windows.

Renick was tempted to let this go on, but his time was limited. As entertaining as it was, there was a certain point to this meeting. So, reluctantly, he cleared his throat.

They each turned to look at him. “If we've quite finished shouting at one another … “ he murmured.

Lady Photon was the first to get the hint. “Uh, yes, sir?” she asked.

“I called you here not just to drop that little bombshell,” he informed them, “but to ask you a very important question. Specifically, what are your intentions now that you know?”

Silence fell as everyone considered that very important question.

Some didn't consider it for very long; Brandish took no longer than the time required for a deep breath to begin talking. “He's still a wanted criminal. We'll find him, we'll take him down, and we'll turn him over to the authorities.”

“You've got to be kidding!” Lightstar was shaking his head. “The motherf- I mean, the bastard's too slippery. He's too damn good. We've never been able to beat him.”

“We've got the kids now,” Manpower suggested. “Eight to one odds.”

“Seven to one,” Fleur stated quietly. Everyone looked at her.

“What?” Brandish frowned. “We need you. You can't sit this one out.”

Fleur put her hand to her stomach. “I'm pregnant. I can't risk the life of the baby, so I'm stepping down as of next week.”

Renick blinked. “Congratulations. Boy or girl?”

She smiled shyly. “We haven't found out yet. I think we might keep it as a surprise.”

“Wait, when were you going to tell us about this?” asked Lady Photon, her tone a good deal softer than when she had asked Brandish almost exactly the same question.

“We only found out the other day,” Lightstar explained. “She's only about a month in.”

“This is awesome,” Laserdream enthused, hugging Fleur; Mega Girl joined in, carefully.

Brandish cleared her throat; everyone looked her way. “We can have the baby shower later,” she suggested. “For now, we're talking about Marquis. With Fleur stepping out of the picture, we still have seven to one odds. That's better than we've had before.”

“Seven to two, remember,” Flashbang noted. “He has his daughter.”

“What does she do?” asked Lady Photon.

“She's some sort of healer,” Mega Girl supplied. “I watched her heal this villain who was all busted up. Inside of two minutes, she was totally healthy. She was also a drug addict, and Marchioness fixed that too. Like you might tie your shoes.”

“A healer, huh?” asked Laserdream. “Wonder how good she is?”

“From observed evidence, she is perhaps the most versatile healer we have ever seen, short of Scion and Eidolon,” Renick revealed. “According to Armsmaster, and his account is backed up by the staff of the Brockton Bay General Hospital, she can use her powers to heal multiple people, simultaneously, so long as they are within a few feet of her. Even quite grievous injuries were repaired, without even leaving a scar, within a minute or two.”

“Wait, wait, this is Marquis' daughter,” Brandish stated. “What was she even doing in the hospital?”

“Healing people,” Renick explained patiently. “While apparently relaxing on a recliner, I believe, Mega Girl?”

Mega Girl nodded. “Yeah, the doctor told Armsmaster that she'd basically emptied the oncology ward and the intensive care ward. All by herself. While kicking back in a recliner, watching the cartoon channel, and drinking soda pop.”

Manpower chuckled. “Well, I gotta say, kid's got game.”

The teen hero nodded. “Yeah. And she was eating gummy bears too. She was pretty cool. She seemed to understand what it was like for me.” A shrug. “She was nice. Could've been a bitch to me, but she wasn't. Gave me a pep talk about the whole superhero thing, right when I needed it.”

“I don't understand,” Lightstar stated. “What was she doing there, healing people, if her father's a villain?”

Renick smiled dryly. “Well, apparently, she intends to return, and to work out a price schedule, once it's been determined exactly how efficacious her powers are. In short, she will be charging for healing. Incurable diseases, amputations, potentially fatal injuries … apparently she can fix them all, within minutes. She will be able to charge more or less whatever she likes.”

Brandish frowned. “That sounds … wrong.”

“Why?” Renick gazed at her mildly. “I'm paid by the PRT for showing up every day and sitting at this desk. Why can't she get paid to show up and heal people? I assure you, people will pay.”

“It still feels wrong,” she muttered stubbornly. “In any case, it's a moot point. If she's going to assist her father in his criminal activity -”

“You will stay away from her.” Renick's voice was flat. “Moreover, if she is with Marquis, you will stay away from him as well. Do I make myself clear?”

Eight pairs of eyes turned to stare at the Deputy Director. Eight minds worked to make sense of his statement. Such was the level of silence that a fly buzzing idly in the corner was clearly audible.

Lady Photon was the first to speak. “ … all right, I'll bite. I understand what you are saying, but not why.”

“It's very simple,” he explained. “Marchioness has indicated to Armsmaster that she will be attending Endbringer battles, free of charge.”

<><>​

And that put the seal on it, as far as he was concerned. Endbringer battles were the ultimate test of fire for a cape. Nobody blamed anyone who opted out, but to attend even one meant instant respect. In the very best case, any such battle held a one in four chance of dying or being crippled beyond assistance, which meant that each subsequent battle merely increased the overall odds of suffering death or permanent disability, by one means or another.

The death toll for any Endbringer battle was horrendous; hundreds showed up, and inevitably dozens were killed. Some died instantly – Behemoth, the Herokiller, was good at that – but some were wounded so terribly that no hospital, no doctor, could patch them together again. And yet others were left injured, maimed, crippled; still alive, but incapable of fighting. The official casualty list only included the dead, but there were always those who had survived, but would never again live a normal life.

Marchioness, if her power was anywhere near as effective as events suggested, would be a tremendous force multiplier for such a battle; bring a crippled or dying cape from the battlefield, have her heal him, and send him back hale and hearty. The mere knowledge that a powerful healer was on call for the battle would boost attendance considerably. Those shameful days when crippled capes would sue rescue personnel in an attempt to recoup the loss of their earning capability would be gone forever; if they lived, she could heal them.

And in the meantime, of course, her ploy was both obvious and unbeatable. If Marchioness' powers were as good as claimed, and she was offering to attend Endbringer battles, then she was effectively untouchable, and every law enforcement agency from the PRT on down knew it. They simply could not afford to antagonise her.

<><>​

Empire Eighty-Eight Base

“Traction.”

Sherrel jumped up from the work table and turned around as Kaiser strode into the room, followed by a glowing woman. “Kaiser,” she replied. “Uh, hi?”

“I spoke to Marchioness on your behalf,” he told her as he stepped past her to look down at her work. “She confirmed that she used her power to make you allergic to oxycontin. You will continue to throw up each time you take some.”

Her expression twisted. “God fucking dammit. That bitch!”

“Surely it's not all that bad,” the woman pointed out. “You were spending money on drugs that you could have been spending on other stuff. Now you don't have to.”

“Except that I was gonna be getting it for free here,” Sherrel retorted. “Now it's no fucking good to me.”

Kaiser cleared his throat. “Traction, Purity is my second in command. You will treat her with all due respect.” The tone of his voice made it clear that the phrase 'or else' would be entirely superfluous.

Sherrel swallowed hard. She'd heard of Purity, but hadn't yet connected that name to Kaiser's glowing companion. By all accounts, Purity was even more dangerous than Kaiser; with flight and high-end blaster powers, she could evade most ground-bound foes, and rain death on them from above. As a Tinker without any Tinker tech as yet, Sherrel was just another squishy human to the Empire Eighty-Eight second in command.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” she managed. “I was just … a bit … unhappy.”

“I understand that,” Purity stated. “I just don't understand why. You're no longer an addict. Doesn't this make your life easier?”

Sherrel took a deep breath. “Purity. Uh, ma'am. Have you ever taken drugs? The hard stuff, I mean. Oxy, coke, E. Stuff like that.”

Purity shook her head. “I smoked a bit of weed in college, and I have a drink every now and again, but none of the other stuff, no. Why?”

“Because unless you have, you don't know what it's like, uh, ma'am. I don't have the cravings and the withdrawal, but I can remember how great it feels to take a hit and just have your brain melt all over the place. And I want to feel that again.”

“Right.” Purity glanced at Kaiser, then back at Sherrel. “Well, I can't help you with that. Maybe you'll be better off just … moving along? Putting it behind you?”

Sherrel bit off her sharp reply. She can blast me into a greasy spot, and she's my boss besides. “I, uh … yeah, maybe. I can try.”

“Good.” Purity's voice was warm; Sherrel thought she might have smiled, but the radiance was too bright to be certain. “Well, I have things to do, so I'll leave you two to chat.” She walked from the room.

The sound of the door closing died away; Kaiser said nothing, just observing Sherrel. She looked back at him, not knowing what to say, not wanting to say the wrong thing. His face was covered, giving her no clues. Do I go back to work? Do I apologise for dissing Purity earlier? Do I pretend it never happened?

“Ms Bailey.” Kaiser's voice nearly made her jump; it took her a moment to realise that he had just spoken her name. Ah shit, he knows that too.

“Uh … yes?”

“You will not be punished, this time, for your disrespect to Purity. Next time, however, will be a different matter.”

She swallowed. “Uh, right. No disrespecting. None whatsoever.”

“Good.” Even the way he pronounced the word was just plain ominous. “Now, I've had ideas about your costume and your name.”

Sherrel struggled to keep up with the topic change. “My name? I've got a name. And I don't really do costumes.”

“Your name, as … adequate … as it is,” he responded, “is unfortunately … generic. Also, you were arrested under that name. We need to distance you from that, and to give you a name that tells people that you are a proud member of the Empire Eighty-Eight. And as for that, if you are a member, then you stand with the rest of us. You will be seen with us. Therefore, you will need a costume that fits the name.”

“Uh, if Traction doesn't suit you,” Sherrel ventured, trying to keep some control of the conversation, “I've always liked the name Big Rig. You know, big vehicles and everything?”

He shook his head briefly. “That name's already in use.”

“Well, do I really need a costume? I'll be in the vehicle, right? Nobody needs to see me.”

“Everybody needs to see you,” he told her flatly. “They need to see that the Empire has a Tinker.”

She decided to put the ball back into his court. “Well, if I can't be Traction, and if Big Rig is already taken, what sort of a name can I use to show that I do big, heavy vehicles?”

“I'm glad you asked.” Crap, she realised. He already had one picked out. “There's one that exemplifies your specialty while also recalling the spiritual heritage of the Empire Eighty-Eight.” His hand fell on her shoulder, as if bestowing a knighthood. “Your name will be Panzer.”

<><>​

PRT Building

The expressions on the faces before him made it clear that they were just as aware of the nuances of the situation. Endbringer battles were a fact of life, had been so for the last fifteen years and change. Hundreds of capes, perhaps thousands, died every year fighting against the monstrous Behemoth, the whip-fast Leviathan, the terrifying Simurgh. And that was a drop in the bucket compared to the civilian casualties. Any advantage or ploy, however small, that would tilt the odds would be eagerly seized upon.

“Okay, understood,” Manpower grunted. “We leave her alone. But what about him? What about Marquis?”

“If she is with him, then you stand down,” Renick reiterated. “We can in no way risk any sort of collateral damage harming her. None whatsoever.”

“And what if he's committing a crime?” demanded Brandish, her voice harsh. “What then?”

Renick stood up. “Let me make my position abundantly clear,” he stated flatly. “If they are in the process of walking out of the Brockton Bay Central Bank, carrying bags of stolen cash, then you are to open the doors for them and wish them a good day. Is that perfectly understood?”

Brandish's fists clenched tightly, and her eyes shut tightly; she seemed to be murmuring under her breath. Renick watched her closely; ever so slowly, her fists unclenched, her tension relaxed. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, then took another one.

“Okay,” she told him. “Okay. I understand. Marquis is hands off, so long as Marchioness is on the scene.”

“Exactly,” he agreed. “To be honest, I don't know what will happen if he is taken into custody when she's not there. But then, that's never actually happened before, so it'll be a new experience for everyone.” He realised too late exactly what it was that he had just said, and hoped that nobody took it as a direct reference to all their defeats at the villain's hands.

“What if she demands that he be released?” asked Lady Photon.

“If her powers are as good as we think, that might just happen,” Renick allowed. “Of course, they might not be, in which case the hands-off order would be rescinded, just as soon as we found out that she was faking it. Or she may choose to let the law decide his fate. But I'm giving you the heads-up, just so that you know what's happening.”

“Translation,” Manpower supplied, “you were warning us in case we ran into Marquis and decided to go in, all guns blazing.”

Renick smiled dryly. “Well, that too, yes.”

“Was there anything else?” asked Flashbang.

“Not as such, no,” Renick told him.

“Well, thanks for the heads-up,” Manpower commented. “Not that we could ever take Marquis before, but at least now we've got a reason not to look stupid for trying, yet again.”

Brandish faced Renick. “I'm presuming that this state of affairs is not exactly public.” It wasn't a question.

“You presume correctly,” he agreed, holding her gaze steadily. “Do you intend to make it public?”

“And put my neck on the chopping block for the PRT?” Slowly, she shook her head. “Marquis is going to go down someday, and I intend to be there. So I'll play nice, for the time being.”

He inclined his head. “Thank you.”

“I'm not doing it for you.” Turning, she led the way out of the office.

One by one, the others left, until Lady Photon was the last one there. She looked at Renick. “Thanks for letting us know.”

He shrugged slightly. “Flashbang and Brandish no doubt knew about Marquis' return; I didn't know if they'd told you. In any case, you needed to be briefed in on the rest of it, so … two birds, one stone.”

“Makes sense.” She paused, glancing out the open door. “She really is doing much better in therapy. It's just that Marquis pushes so many of her buttons just by existing, you know?”

“I know, I know,” he agreed. “Just do us both a favour and make sure that she doesn't do something we'll all regret. All right?”

She sighed. “I'll do my best.”

<><>​

Archer's Bridge

There were two bus stations, one on either side of the main road. A bridge crossed the road between them. Graffiti adorned every surface, the most common item being the green 'M' with the two vertical lines through it. Claire assumed that the lines were from the dollar sign, crossed with the M for Merchants.

“What did you use for a marker?” she asked her father as they stepped on to the bridge. “When you held territory here, I mean?”

“I didn't,” he replied. “People knew. And if they didn't, they found out.”

“Oh.”

He raised his arm, pointing. “Do you see that building there? The one that looks vaguely like a lighthouse?”

“Yeah, I see it.” She shaded her eyes, looking. “What is it?”

“It used to be a gift shop, back when I ran this area.” He waved an arm. “This was all thriving. People lived here, worked here. Tourists came through. It was well kept up. And then I had to leave. I'm not sure who took over this particular area – I think it may have been the Teeth – but you can see how the life's gone from this part of the city. And the Merchants have not helped.”

They crossed the bridge, then turned down toward the old gift shop. As they did so, a couple of gang members stepped from a shop front doorway; they wore Merchants colours. Claire noted a couple more, moving in from behind.

One of the pair in front was swaying badly – she could sense a large dose of opiates in his system – but the other held a switchblade, as yet unopened, loosely in his hand. Marquis did not react to the ones behind; she could tell from his mental processes that he was aware of them, but that he was leaving them to her.

“You will allow us to pass, now,” he stated to the two in front.

“Picked the wrong place to be, old man.” The Merchant thug's voice was slurred and his pupils were pinpoints. “You want to get past, you give us your wallet an' watch.”

“No. You will step aside. Now.”

“Wrong answer, dickface. Grab the girl.” The gang member stepped in, a snick signalling the switchblade snapping into place.

Claire decided that she didn't like these people at all. As the two behind stepped in, they crossed an invisible barrier, and her power went to work on them. They crumpled to the ground, solidly unconscious.

Marquis was a little less gentle; a bone spear shot from his hand, skewering the hand that held the switchblade; before the thug had a chance to even scream, bone bands encircled his arms and legs, holding him in place. Another wrapped around his mouth, stifling any outcry he might have made. His stoned friend blinked in astonishment, equally entrapped within bone manacles.

They waited for a few moments, but no more outcry arose. “Good,” Marquis decided. “Knock these two out as well, and we can be on our way.”

“Okay. Just give me a second.” Claire reached toward the one whom Marquis had disarmed, and stopped the bleeding in his hand without fixing any of the actual damage; then she put them both into dreamland as well. She spent another moment concentrating on them, then nodded to him. “Okay, we can go.”

“What did you do?” he asked as they moved on.

“What I did to the woman in the hospital,” she told him. “Got the drugs out of their systems, removed the addiction, and made them allergic to the drugs. If they try to use again in the next week, their bodies will violently reject it.”

Grimly, he smiled. “I like it. Is it hard to do?”

“It was a little time-consuming the first time around, but I'm getting the hang of it now,” she admitted. “The hardest part was setting up the allergic reaction so that it would be unpleasant but not immediately harmful.”

“You're more tender-hearted than I am, my dear Marchioness,” he noted. “Sometimes people need to suffer in order to learn.”

She thought back to the man whose skin she had removed before killing him; she had wanted that man to suffer before dying for his part in the ambush, for his part in killing Damien and almost killing Abigail. “I don't know about that. I'm just trying to find my balance in all of this.”

He smiled down at her. “You'll find it. I have faith in you.”

Finding his hand, she clasped it. “Thanks, Dad.”

As they entered the gift shop proper, she was aware of more Merchants. Some were sitting around in their own private drug-addled universes, but others were much more alert. However, she was into their nervous systems before they became properly aware that something was wrong; tongues tangled before they could call out warnings, fingers fumbled on weapons, and then she was close enough to put them straight into dreamland.

Marquis looked around at the slumped bodies, some snoring, and shook his head slowly. “I would not have believed it if I did not know you, my dear girl,” he murmured. “I know of capes who could clear a room faster, but your finesse is amazing.”

“Thanks,” she told him, flushing slightly; the praise made her feel warm all over. “Should I fix their addictions now or later?”

“Later,” he decided. “We still have the capes to deal with.”

“Got it.” Rejoining him, she followed him up the stairs.

<><>​

“We gotta get our shit together.”

Adam Mustain strode across the floor and back again, stopping to look at the stained map laid out on the table. He leaned in and tapped the red marks which indicated ABB incursion into the territory which the Merchants had claimed for themselves. “We gotta push 'em back.”

“But we can't.” The whining noise came from Mush; while the wizened little man looked about a hundred and three, Skidmark knew for a fact that he was only nineteen. “We go and take it back, leave some guys there, and Lung kills 'em. And I don't wanna fight Lung.”

Skidmark would dearly have loved to revile Mush for being a coward, but the truth was that he didn't want to fight Lung either; the leader of the ABB was altogether too good at what he did. He was also too damn good at folding Asian gangs into his own, so the membership of the Azn Bad Boyz was climbing all the time.

Adam turned to look at Whirlygig, who was seated on one of the few intact chairs, leaned up against the wall so that she could look out the window. The fall of her hair concealed her face from him, and he wondered if she was merely asleep. Her name irked him; he felt he had a talent for picking cape names, and she had refused to change hers. 'Whirlygig' did nothing for him, while 'Shitstorm' sounded so much better.

“So what do you think, sugar cakes?” he asked, more for something to say than out of any idea that she would be able to help.

She turned to look at him. “I think we should pull back.”

“Pigshit!” he retorted. “Merchants don't pull back.”

“The Merchants,” a new voice interrupted, “will be doing a great deal more than 'pulling back', I'm afraid.”

Skidmark turned fast; a newcomer wearing tuxedo and tie stood at the top of the stairs, with a girl in evening dress beside him. “Who the -”

“I am Marquis, and this is Marchioness,” the man stated. “I am here to tell you what is going to happen.”

Marquis. Skidmark knew that name. The man had held his own against the Empire Eighty-Eight, against Galvanate, and against the Teeth. And now he was back in Brockton Bay. He was right here, right now.

“Up yours, turdburger!” he yelled, slapping a slide-field on the top of the stairs; that would send them toppling uncontrollably down the steps.

But they didn't move; or rather, Marquis didn't move, while the girl, whatever her name was, only lurched a little, before Marquis steadied her.

“What the dingleberry?” He strengthened the field; by now, Marquis should be shooting down the stairs at about the speed of sound. But he was just … standing there. Mush and Whirlygig were also on their feet now, staring. Mush's skin was doing that branching thing, gathering random garbage to him.

Marquis lifted his foot and stepped forward; Skidmark thought he saw bone spikes protruding into the floor, holding him firm. No fair! And then he lifted his arm; another bone spike speared outward, divided in two, and passed either side of Mush's neck. The wizened little man was thrown backward and nailed to the wall, where he hung limply, big eyes staring blankly with terror.

Another step, and another, and Marquis was beyond the slide-field; the girl, supported by his arm under her shoulders, was deposited on the floor. He gazed coldly at Skidmark. “To quote one of my favourite authors, 'I permitted that, as a demonstration of futility'. You will not get another chance.”

Desperately, Adam tried to lift his hands, tried to cover the floor with slide-fields; if he could make the table skid into Marquis, throw the furniture at him, anything, he might be able to get away. But his arms hung limply at his side, only twitching slightly when he tried to move them.

The girl stepped forward, her cold eyes boring into him. “I don't like you,” she stated flatly. “My father told me what you do, how you get people addicted to your drugs so that you can sell more and more of them. I don't like you at all.”

From the corner of his eye, Skidmark saw Whirlygig finally activate her powers. Trash began to spin around her, faster and faster …

… until another bone spike shot out, and she found herself encased from neck to toe, her arms immobilised. The girl in front of Adam did not seem to have even noticed. “Why do you do it?” she asked. “How can you hurt people for your own gain?” She paused. “Oh. You don't even understand the question. I suppose that answers that.”

Marquis stepped up alongside her. “Marchioness, my dear, what do you propose to do with him?”

Skidmark felt her studying him; those dark eyes, so damn creepy, as if they could peel back his skull and read his very thoughts. She pursed her lips. “Original plan, I think.”

“As you will.”

“Thank you, father.” She paused, and when she spoke next, Skidmark felt her words searing themselves in his very soul. “You will leave Brockton Bay. You will never return. You will never deal drugs again. You will never speak of what happened here, today, to anyone.”

Something changed inside his body, inside his brain, as she spoke. And then he felt himself collapsing to his knees, exhaustion sapping his will to move, to even speak. She stepped away from him, going over to Mush. The same words were repeated; this time he didn't feel the terrible compulsion, but he supposed that they weren't aimed at him. Despite all his efforts, the exhaustion claimed him, and he slid to the floor.

<><>​

They exited the derelict gift shop and moved off down the pavement, side by side. “So they'll do it?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “Once they wake up, they'll have the overwhelming need to just leave the city. They're no longer addicts; I gave them all the same treatment that I gave Traction. They won't be able to tell anyone what happened, or even who did this to them.”

“With Skidmark and his lieutenants gone, the Merchants will fall apart,” he decided. “Kaiser and I will be able to make our move within a couple of weeks. In the meantime, I'll be recruiting. I hope I can call upon you for loyalty checks? Normally, I would take more time, but we're working against the clock, here.”

“Sure thing, Dad,” she agreed. “Because you and I both know that everyone and his dog is gonna try to slip spies or saboteurs into your organisation.”

“Of course,” he confirmed. “My one concern will be what I do with them. Reject them or disappear them? Either way sends a message.”

“Do neither one,” she suggested. “Keep them on, and let them think they're trusted.” She shrugged. “Or, you know, I could …”

“I would far rather keep that particular aspect of your powers under wraps for just as long as possible, my dear,” he advised her.

“Okay, Dad.” She looked up at him. “But did you like the idea of letting them in, and letting them think they're trusted?”

“I do.” He smiled. “That could be quite useful.”

“Sweet.” She grinned in reply. “This is gonna be fun.”


End of Part Seven

Part Eight