Path to Munchies (Worm AU)

Eidolon – Sunday, January 9 – 10:30 AM

I blink in surprise as I enter the conference room. “Contessa, welcome back! We’ve barely seen you since September!” After months of absence, walking in to find her sitting there expectantly is a bit startling. She’s clutching a plain, white box, but there’s no indication as to how it’s significant.

And it is significant. I don’t believe this woman has ever done anything that didn’t advance multiple plots.

She nods and replies in that strangely perfect accent, “Thank you. I’ve been following a Path, an especially promising one based on my work with you.”

Her work with… “Modeling? Interesting. Any results you can share?”

“Yes. You’re aware that the restrictions on my agent were a last minute effort? A desperation move?”

I agree, “Yes, of course. The source of the blind spots.”

“You also understand that my agent is designed to find the most efficient way to achieve a given objective? A problem solver, in simplest terms?”

I raise an eyebrow. It’s… unlike her to be theatrical in her revelations. Not unless she’s leading… “You were able to model a path to bypass your own restrictions?”

She smiles brightly. “Exactly. We have long known that the restrictions on my agent are not comprehensive. Like many of the agents in our formulae, my agent does not seem to have been intended for distribution and certain mechanisms were not fully implemented.”

I frown as I consider the idea. “Are you talking about second triggers?”

“Broadly, yes. I was able to find a vulnerability in that process as it applies to my agent. The simplified version is that exploiting that flaw required the activation of a second connection. That, of course, meant I had to become close – physically and emotionally – to a prospective host long enough for the connection to be established. Once established, previous experience has shown waiting for the trigger to occur naturally to be significantly more effective than inducing it.”

By reflex, I begin to nod my agreement when a thought occurs to me. “Wait. Why would the second host require a strong connection?”

With a shrug, she clarifies, “I’m not sure that it did; the model wasn’t accurate enough to indicate how much that would influence the overall process, so I erred on the side of caution.”

“So you waited.”

“So I waited.” She gathers her thoughts for a moment before resuming. “I knew that I wouldn’t be able to linger afterwards, so I prepared her as best I could beforehand. I spent the time teaching her, guiding her. Making sure, regardless of how the agent manifested through her, she would have everything she needed to make the most of it.” She pauses again, smiling wistfully. “She was a delight to teach. I look forward to seeing what she’ll accomplish.”

“That’s… nice?” I’m not sure what to make of Contessa the mentor. Regardless, it’s not relevant right now.

She shrugs, finally returning to the point. “When she was close to triggering, the model guided me to a location within range of the effect. Once it began, it created a feedback loop of sorts, essentially allowing for a combination of the alterations that occur when other hosts are in the vicinity during the initial trigger and those that occur during a secondary event. My connection altered her connection even as her connection altered mine.” Frowning, she adds, “Repeatedly. It was rather unpleasant.”

“Recursion. You’re describing… You found a way to make the Path recursively modify itself until the restrictions were gone.”

She considers the idea briefly and nods again. “Yes, that sounds about right.”

Hope. “You think this method might be viable for unlocking other agents?” I pause, considering the idea. “I’ve always focused on my legacy as a hero being in the acts I perform. I… I’ve never considered taking on an apprentice, someone to follow in my footsteps…”

She shakes her head, dashing my hopes once again. “It might be viable for certain agents under specific circumstances. Resolving the issues with your power is a far simpler matter.”

It takes me a moment to realize what she’s saying. “You mean…?”

“Path to resolving Eidolon’s issues. Step one: Explain the removal of the restriction parameters. Complete.”

My head spins with the possibilities. “The Endbringers? The Enemy?”

She just nods. “All within reach of the Path now. Once we address your problems, we will call the others and begin preparations. The Endbringers will be…” She trails off for a moment, gives me a considering look. “They will be dealt with almost incidentally. The Enemy will require careful planning and coordination with a number of people not currently aware of our efforts; some will be brought in fully, others will remain aware of only the most peripheral elements. We will still need to proceed with caution. Even so, we should be ready before spring.”

All these years, so much sacrifice, and the endgame is finally here. It’s now only a matter of months. ...wait a moment. “What happened to the second host? Does that mean there’s someone else running around with unrestricted access to the Path?”

She blushes; faintly, but it’s there. “I’m… ah… not certain? Probably?”

I stare at her blankly.

Shrugging, she explains, “I can no longer see her; I suspect that I am the same to her – mutual blind spots.”

I facepalm.

She continues cheerfully, “I believe I should be able to develop a sufficiently accurate model in time. Regardless, any risk was worth what I achieved through this gambit.”

I honestly can’t bring myself to disagree. Still… “We should at least put her under surveillance. By your own admission, she likely has full access to the Path and is a potential liability. We need to be ready to silence her if necessary. Who is she? Where is she?”

Something in her expression goes cold and I’ve taken a step back before I realize it. For the first time, I truly understand what it means to have Contessa able to see me.

Cooly, she declares, “That will not be necessary. I will monitor the situation personally.”

“Ok,” I squeak. I pause, clear my throat, and try again, “Alright, if you think that best.”

The silence drags on for a moment. Finally, I can’t resist asking, “So, what’s in the box?”

She frowns thoughtfully. “I’ve been having odd food cravings recently; last night was cookies. I finally went out and bought some from a bake sale this morning.”

“You… used your newly unrestricted agent to find cookies.”

She nods happily. “The best cookies available from anywhere Doormaker could reach,” she exclaims with an odd note of pride. Offering the box to me, she continues, “Want one? They’re fantastic.”

--------​

Taylor Hebert – Tuesday, March 15 – 4:00 PM

There’s a subtle change in the air pressure. Even without looking, I know she has arrived. “When you started talking about data modeling, I thought you were just trying to give me a leg up in my programming class,” I note as I pour the tea.

“I wasn’t sure whether you would need it, but I knew that you would eventually understand it if you did. For what it’s worth, I didn’t realize we wouldn’t be able to see each other.” Though it’s been almost three months, her accent is still comforting. A promise of safety, sanctuary.

Although… «You don’t need to speak English,» I tell her in her native tongue. «I’ll understand you.» Some derivative of Latin, I think. Sort of like Italian, but not quite. I’m not concerned enough to query my power for specifics.

“I suppose you would,” she answers in English as she sits across the table from me. “It has been some time since I’ve heard it spoken,” she observes wistfully. After a moment, she frowns and adds, “I think I understand now why people say my accent is a bit strange.”

We sit in silence for a moment, sipping at the tea.

“You know,” I observe idly, “when I woke up this morning, I had the strangest urge to drag Scion into a dark alley and show him pictures of his dead wife until he wanted to kill himself.”

She goes stiff.

“Only it wasn’t actually an alley,” I continue. “More of a cavern, really. And it wasn’t really Scion as much as it was this multidimensional space whale that had been playing Scion. And the pictures were actually… Uh, kind of gross, really.”

“You’ve been getting feedback through our agent,” she states accusingly.

“So it seems. Before today I only had the most general idea of how you were going to do it. I still can’t see the plan itself, I just have these... impressions of what it was.” I hum thoughtfully. “I wonder if you’ve been getting feedback as well. Cookie?”

She stares at the platter with a look of betrayal, then looks back at me. “All the cravings the last few months…? What, it connected itself to you through an association with food? I thought it was just misdirection, keeping your opponents off balance!”

I shrug. “It is what it is.”

She’s silent for a moment, considering. Finally, she frowns at me. “You skipped breakfast again that morning, didn’t you. I told you, you should stop doing that. It’s not good for you,” she scolds.

Shaking my head, I concede, “It’s possible, but I honestly don’t remember much about that morning. It was rather eventful.”

She flinches. “I apologize for that. I was working with limited information, I hadn’t realized… What we experienced wasn’t… The process itself isn’t normally so… physically damaging.” There’s more to it than that, I think, but I won’t press for now.

We observe each other in silence. She seems… smaller, somehow. Tired. Worn down in a way I’ve never seen her before. This silence isn’t comfortable. There’s so much that needs to be said, so much that still hasn’t been explained. I don’t want to use my power… our power for this, but it’s so hard to put it all into words. Finally, I try Dad’s advice and ask her the first thing that comes to mind. “Was it worth it?”

She jerks as if slapped. “Yes,” she declares firmly. She looks at her hands, clenches her fists for a moment. “No,” she continues in a softer voice. She slumps. “I don’t know. I can’t… I can’t judge that. I’m too close. I’ve made so many mistakes, spent too long fumbling blindly. So many lives saved, but far too many wasted. Many at my own hands, at my direction…” She trails off again, the silence threatening to return.

I reach across the table, taking her hand. “Can you tell me about it?”

She looks in surprise at our joined hands, then examines me carefully. Finally, she nods decisively. “Yes, that would be… fitting. Let me tell you of the path I’ve walked for these last thirty years. Then you can make your judgement. I will give you my pistol and will abide by your…”

She trails off as I stand and walk around the table until I’m next to her. She looks up at me curiously. Finally, I pull her onto her feet and into a hug. “For having access to the most ridiculously powerful Thinker ability anyone has ever heard of, you’re a real idiot sometimes.”

She’s stiff for a moment, then relaxes and hugs me back. “Yes. Yes, that seems an adequate enough summary for now.”

Spoiler: Whispers

”You killed Scion on March 15th.”

“So?”

“You picked Leet up weeks early, you’ve been ready for days. You deliberately waited for the Ides of March.”

“You can’t prove that, and you’re the one that practically stuck a bow on him.”

“You’re such a geek, and I was just setting him aside for safekeeping.”

“A geek, says the fifteen year old girl who recognized the significance of the date.”

“Shush, we’re having a moment.”

“I don’t remember you being this assertive.”

“I don’t remember you being the puppet master and primary enforcer for an extrauniversal conspiracy of dubious morality.”

“Touché.”

--------​

Spoiler: Author’s note

And thus ends Fortuna’s journey. Taylor’s, on the other hand, has barely begun.

After posting the original PtM, one of the most frequent questions I got (besides “Will there be more?”) was how Taylor ended up with the power. Fortuna pretty much has to be around, or at least had to be around at some point, because otherwise the circumstances on Bet would be significantly more dire. So that means that, for whatever reason, she had to spend enough time chilling in Brockton Bay, enough time around Taylor, felt strongly enough about Taylor, for PtV to bud.

Why? What’s her motivation? The idea of her hanging out with some random 15 year old girl seemed pretty weird. Mom!Fortuna has been done before, it wasn’t something I wanted to retread. (Path to Cuddles subsequently came out and I felt relieved that I had decided against it.)

The question I asked myself that finally prompted this rewrite/reimagining of PtM was simply this: What happens when you run a hobbled process optimizer against itself? What if Fortuna figured out an exploit to get past Eden’s desperate limiting of her agent?

When do powers change? During triggers, when they first activate and there’s another agent in the activation radius - in other words, when agents get pinged. During second triggers, when restrictions are reduced or redefined.

What happens when you have an agent with two connections and both are trying to initiate restriction redefinitions at the same time, querying each other about the same? Especially when that agent is only barely paying lip service to the very few restrictions that had been applied to it?

Fortuna isn’t a woman who opens herself to others easily, she’s far too focused on her mission. But what if her mission actually required it? A four month vacation from everything Cauldron, where she can finally reconnect with humanity a bit.

Why Taylor? Narrative convenience.

So here’s Fortuna getting close to this beat down girl. As time passes, both growing truly fond of her and feeling ever increasing self-loathing for what she would be subjecting her to. By the time Taylor was ready to trigger, she was feeling genuine desperation, panic, and self-hatred. It’s probably just as well that she was on autopilot for the kidnapping setup, because otherwise she’d have crawled into Emma’s class and tried to beat her to death with a chair.

She absolutely never guessed that the actual process would be so completely unlike a normal trigger event, that it would result in seizures until PtV finally slammed its own barrier in place to keep them from being locked in that loop indefinitely.

Important safety tip: When you start hacking the extradimensional alien supercomputer that connected itself to your brain meats, you can get some unexpected side effects.

So yeah, Sophia’s vicious assault on Taylor? Not quite as vicious as everyone thought. I originally had a scene in the April Fool’s omake where Lisa and Amy compare notes and realize that something way more bizarre had happened. Amy obviously didn’t heal Taylor in PtM canon, that was just part of the setup from the Brownie Pan omake.

Spoiler: Lost scene

She tilts her head quizzically. She nods after a moment, “Sorry, thought you’d realized. When you healed her? That was the last of the injuries she got during her trigger. She’s only had her power since early January.”

I shake my head. “No way. She…”

Interrupting me, she clarifies, “Short term memory loss. She’s got nothing but secondhand knowledge of the entire time leading into it.” She snorts, adding, “None of the normal baggage of a trigger event.”

I shake my head, “No. I know injuries, even if I don’t do brains…” Oh shit.

Her eyes go wide. After a moment, she mimes zipping her lips, turning a key, and tossing it out the window.

I smile bitterly. “Yeah, thanks for that. Anyway, I know injuries. She had some residual bruising of her scalp, but no sign of the kind of cranial trauma that would result in memory loss.”

She frowns, looking at Taylor speculatively. “What about seizures?”

I look at her in confusion. “Uh… No? I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’d have been dazed, but…” She’s got a weird look on her face. “What?”

“She can spoof my power, so I can’t prove the memory loss. But there are witnesses to the seizures. Hell, I’ve seen the police file and the recovered security video. You saw the injuries, the dislocation was from her seizures.”

I frown. While already well on its way to healing, it had been a severe dislocation; that brace hadn’t been for show. “That’s… I don’t…” I finally shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you. But that doesn’t sound like any trigger event I’ve ever heard of.”

Still staring at Taylor, she murmurs, “It really doesn’t.”

Fortuna was never sure, going in, how the power would manifest in Taylor. After all, she wasn’t pathing the trigger, she was following a vague model with vague instructions that she couldn’t examine too closely without running into her restrictions. The end result, obviously, was close enough to her PtV to be mostly indistinguishable – Taylor’s is more visually oriented and behaves a bit less like a checklist. Yes, Fortuna had strong suspicions by that Sunday and was simultaneously a proud momma and laughing riotously at Taylor having used PtV for a bake sale.

She also gained 10 pounds between January and March and kept making Doctor Mother do pregnancy tests.

Spoiler: Cut snippet: Doc Mom

”You haven’t had sex.”

“Not in the relevant timeframe, no.”

“Then why do you want me to test you again?”

She frowns, looking away. “I keep having cravings. You know I’ve always had simple tastes, but recently I keep feeling the urge to eat all these rich foods. I know it’s unlikely, but…”

I sigh. “Fine. Here,” I tell her, handing her a cup. “We might as well do a full work-up as well. It’s possible that you’re suffering some kind of deficiency or that these cravings are a manifestation of a deeper problem. Have you been getting enough sunlight? Any feelings of lethargy?”

Taylor still doesn’t know why everything suddenly kicked into high gear in January, doesn’t know that PtV used to have a whole assortment of blind spots. I’ve been considering writing out that conversation, but it keeps turning into even more of an infodump than the first half of this epilogue. If I can find a way to do it that flows well, I will; if not, you can still safely assume that it occurred off camera.

Once again, we had a great moment of two people not communicating while talking to each other. Only this time, one of them picked up on the disconnect.

Spoiler: Communication

Taylor: Do you want to get that off your chest?

Fortuna: Yes. Yes, I think it would be fitting for my apprentice to hear my confession; to serve as my judge, jury, and, if need be, executioner. More than anyone else, you are well suited to the task. I’ll even give you my handgun because, really, this is a foregone conclusion.

Taylor: Not what I meant, dumbass. *hugs*

Fortuna: …oh. Ok, this works too.

Spoiler: Inspiration

I knew from early on that while I didn’t want Fortuna to be the focus, I wanted her story to be taking place in the background. Wacky hijinx in the foreground with Taylor, secret conspiracy running in the background. Give Ahab her golden space whale. Good times, right?

I wanted people to be able to read the story from front to back and focus on Taylor. I wanted to post the last parts and trigger an avalanche of “Wait, what?!” Finally, I wanted everyone to scurry back through the whole story and realize that yes, I really had been seeding clues throughout.

I may have rewatched The Usual Suspects just before putting together the plot outline. I don’t think I did it justice, but, yeah. Take that for what you will.

And finally, since the subject came up, here’s a screenshot of the first Google docs draft of this epilogue, dating back to November 9. While a lot has obviously changed since then, I think it’s very recognizable, especially the core element of the feedback loop.

Yes, I cropped out my name and the URL to the doc. Everything else is intact.

Spoiler: Big pic!

I’ve always known where this story was going, but some of the details changed a lot over time.

Overall, this has been an experiment in creative writing. I’m happy with the experiment itself, but have mixed feelings about the story. There are a lot of flaws that I’d want to smooth out before labeling it as good, but I won’t hesitate to call it entertaining.

Regardless of your feelings on the conclusion, I hope you’ve at least enjoyed much of the journey. Thanks for reading, and bon appétit!

 

Lisa Wilbourn – Friday, March 18 – 8:40 PM

As she finishes the story, I cradle my head in my arms. “My life used to be so much simpler.”

“When, exactly?”

“Oh, shush.” I stand up and start rummaging through my kitchen cabinets. I have a bottle of rum tucked away somewhere…

“Third cabinet from the right, top shelf, behind the flour.”

“Thanks!” I pause. “Damn it, Taylor! Cut that shit out!”

Just as my hand closes on the neck of the bottle, she casually remarks, “You know, I haven’t actually tried my hand at mixed drinks yet.”

...this is a horrible idea. “Yeah, alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

--------​

Hannah Monroe – Friday, March 18 – 11:15 PM

Colin mentioned that seeing Fête in person was an experience in contrasts. One part awkward teenage girl, one part bombastic foodie, one part Terminator. Dragon vehemently disagreed with the latter, but having watched the footage, I can see his point. When fighting, she moves with an eerie precision that your hindbrain tells you is alien, other. Honestly, I’m not sure how Dragon doesn’t see it.

It was only when we replayed the video at high speed that we realized the cause – from the time she arrived until Night and Fog left, she didn’t make any of the normal twitches or unconscious motions that people normally do. As soon as they left, as soon as she started acting like a normal teenager, that stillness vanished.

That detail, in conjunction with the rest of the fight, was sufficient to get her elevated to a Thinker 6; when the report came back, Colin laughed and tossed it in the shredder. He’s positive she’s still underplaying her abilities, trying to build up enough positive PR that her true capabilities won’t seem as terrifying.

Because a teenage girl with total battlefield awareness, some degree of precognitive ability, and perfect body control isn’t terrifying enough, apparently.

We started getting reports an hour ago that she was on one of what Ethan calls her “enthusiastic walks.” She leaves behind a trail of ziptied street criminals, typically unconscious and with at least a post-it note on them explaining why; often a victim or witness remains as well, happily eating whatever treat she left with them. None of the witnesses ever have a bad thing to say about her, and the takedowns all seem to be done with the minimum required force.

When her route suggested that she was heading almost directly towards the Palanquin, I was diverted off my patrol to make sure she wasn’t planning to dismantle one of the biggest after-hours tourist traps in the city.

Now? Now I suppose we can add another talent to her list of skills.

Her costume tonight consists of a sequined masquerade mask, a black bowler, a white starched shirt, black slacks, black gloves, black bowtie, a red vest with white pinstripes, a white bistro apron, and the most ridiculously fake handlebar mustache I’ve ever seen. The overall effect is an homage to the Hollywood old west bartender.

Fête is not tending bar by technicality. She takes no orders and serves no drinks. Instead, she apparently pours at random into waiting glasses. Each glass happens to end up conveniently near the waitstaff; each just coincidentally matches an order that was never communicated to her.

Of course, she does this with the same nonlinear logic that resulted in a kicked containment foam grenade bouncing off multiple surfaces and falling smoothly down the barrel of a moving cannon. The air above her is a riot of spinning bottles flashing in the light, each gently tipping precision amounts into equally spinning glasses. The blenders are a perpetual chorus when the pitchers aren’t also part of the show.

She chats happily with the crowd the entire time, as if all the objects in motion are just an afterthought. She poses, she signs autographs, shakes hands, and makes herself approachable. It’s everything we ask of the Wards in a public appearance.

Except for tending bar; something tells me Imaging wouldn’t be the least bit pleased with that aspect.

Still, I can’t help but feel that this is not unlike Jack Slash deciding to be a teppanyaki chef – an innocuous display that only underscores how utterly dangerous she could be if she wished.

She glances up, throws me an exaggerated wink, and continues her performance.

I murmur to myself, “That was just a coincidence.”

A blonde I hadn’t particularly noticed snorts and turns to me, revealing an ornate fox mask. “Keep telling yourself that.”

I frown at her. “What else would it be?”

Smirking, she explains, “That was the most effective thing she could do at that moment to distract you from whatever you were thinking. Or to underscore it.” She pauses, tilts her head as if considering. “Or possibly to prompt this conversation. Which means she wants us to talk about something.”

“That’s…” I trail off. It’s actually well within Colin’s estimate of her capabilities, though beyond what the official assessment reads. “Huh.”

She reaches out to shake my hand. “Hi there. I’m not Tattletale.”

I take it reflexively. “No, I suppose you’re not. Tattletale wears a domino mask and a purple costume, of course.” While she had been wanted for questioning related to several incidents, I’m not aware of any current warrants, not after Calvert’s little meltdown. “So, if you’re not Tattletale, who are you?”

She shrugs. “I haven’t decided yet. Haven’t even decided what I want to do. Your director taking in Coil means I don’t have a gun to my head encouraging me in any specific direction.”

“Metaphorically speaking?” Wait, no that was in his confession…

“Literally,” she confirms. “I’m a free agent at the moment, and the happiest little disaster over there seems intent on keeping me on the straight and narrow.” An olive ricochets out of the whirling bar accoutrements and hits the back of her head. She scowls, rubbing at the spot it hit. “Ow! Damn it! It was a joke!”

I stifle a laugh. Apparently Fête has a pet project. “So what brings you out here tonight?”

“Me, I’m trying to get my mind off of giant space whales. She commented that she hadn’t made mixed drinks before. This… This isn’t quite what I had in mind, but it’s entertaining enough. Watching her negotiate with Faultline will certainly be one of my happier memories.”

Two giants, twirling together in the stars. Could it be…? “Giant space whales?”

She nods solemnly. “Giant space whales.”

“You’ve seen them?”

“Me? Nah… Well, I guess, technically, since she says every parahuman has seen ‘em. But if you want technicalities, then pretty much everybody’s seen one of ‘em.”

I frown. “And what does a giant space whale look like?”

“Scion.”

I almost dismiss it, but for a nagging sense of doubt. “Really? I thought there were two.”

She goes still, eyes me carefully. “You know something. Or think you do. Yeah, there were two, but the librarian shanked one like a little bitch.” She snickers at a joke I’m missing.

The Librarian? I don’t think I’ve heard of anyone going by that name. “Why?”

“Fay-tay! This one’s for you!”

I turn my attention back towards Fête and realize that her performance has ended in the last 30 seconds. The regular bartenders are back on duty. Mostly, anyway; she’s in front of the espresso machine and waves me over.

“Triple, non-fat, cinnamon. It’ll be ready in a moment.”

I almost object before realizing that a cappuccino does sound good about now. She’s showing none of that strange precision at the moment, so I think I’m talking to the girl and not her power. Still, remembering the concerns expressed by my colleagues, I open with an oblique question. “At risk of stealing Assault’s line, does your father know where you are?”

She smiles. “Yeah, I called him before we left… Foxy’s apartment. Told him I’d be doing some entertaining, but nothing that would make the news.” She pauses, then adds, “Well, not for being in a fight, anyway. The, uh, street crime? That pretty much goes unsaid. He knows I’ll step in anytime I notice something. He doesn’t care as long as I keep myself safe.”

“That’s…” Irresponsible. “…good to hear.”

She nods along. “Don’t get me wrong, we’ve had our problems, but we really are doing much better. He’s been making a real effort these last few months.”

I’m sure. “I’ll admit, we’ve been a bit surprised that, other than your show and some incidental street crime, you’ve been relatively quiet recently.”

“Eh, the gangs are a bit twitchy at the moment. It’d be all too easy to send Lung or Skidmark into a rampage, and the Empire is eying both as potential targets.” She smiles cheerily. “Part of my appearance here tonight is about reinforcing that I don’t want to spark off the powderkeg either, that I’m not going to go picking fights just for laughs.”

Succinct, but essentially the same conclusion our analysts reached, both regarding the gangs and her recent inactivity. “That’s very astute of you. Many independents tend to miss the bigger picture. Although on the subject of picking fights, we’ve been curious – what made you decide to go after Über and Leet?”

She focuses on the espresso machine for a moment, either concentrating or gathering her thoughts. In a relatively neutral tone, she finally answers, “They… I don’t want to say anything too revealing, but they hurt some friends of Dad’s.”

I wait for a moment to see whether she’ll expand on the answer, though I don’t want to pressure her. Just before the silence can drag out awkwardly, I tell her, “I understand.” And I do. It explains the discrepancy, why she selected two relatively minor nuisances instead of pressuring the established gangs. She didn’t select them at all, they were chosen for her.

Rather than dig further into an apparently uncomfortable topic, though, I change subjects. “Your friend mentioned something I’m curious about. She said that you winked at me because it was the most effective way of accomplishing something.”

She smiles brightly. “Sure, getting the two of you talking, helping break the ice. That’s the simple version. My power tells me the most efficient, the most effective way to reach my goals, but sometimes I have to nudge it away from being a little…” She pauses for a moment, apparently searching for a better way of expressing it. “A little too efficient.” She shrugs and adds, “I’ve gotten pretty good at nailing the minimum force thing.”

My blood runs cold at the thought of what “too efficient” might mean in the context of a teenager fighting armed criminals. Still, I nod encouragingly. “We’ve noticed. You’ve been doing a remarkable job of performing takedowns without causing lasting harm.” A lingering question that had been bothering me suddenly becomes clear. “You could have captured both Night and Fog that evening.”

Nodding, she answers, “Last month? Yeah, but only if I was willing to allow Armsmaster to be critically injured in the process. Barring that, the best result was not to engage at all, to prompt them for actionable information for the Protectorate.”

“And the food?”

She shrugs, adding the foamed milk to the cappuccino. “I’ve been talking to… someone I trust implicitly about it. She thinks that, for whatever reason, I was probably hyperfocused on food just before my trigger. Basically, it created an artificial association that wasn’t related to the actual situation at all. Sort of like cross linked files on a computer.”

“‘Probably…?’ Wait, no, I apologize, it’s rude of me to ask…”

“No, it’s alright. Due to the way it happened, I lost my short term memory of everything leading into it. I’ve got secondhand information, but none of the specific details – no emotional attachment to the knowledge and no real understanding of what I was thinking or feeling.” She idly plays with a toothpick in the foam, creating a pattern.

“Ah, I see.” I suppress the feeling of disappointment. “Your friend had indicated that you might have some information I was curious about…”

She slides the cappuchino to me; on it, two large beings spiral around each other on a background of stars. I look back up at her, startled.

“There’s a Stranger effect associated with the trigger vision. A parahuman is incapable of remembering under normal conditions, but your perfect recall did an end run on it.”

Oh. I… Oh. It seems the most effective action means she doesn’t need to remember it herself in order to know.

“Want to see something funny?” Raising her voice, she calls to her friend. “Hey, Foxy! Check this out,” she says, gesturing at the mug.

The blonde wanders over. “What, recreating the great masters in latte…?” She trails off, entranced by the mug. After a moment, she turns and resumes watching the dance floor, wandering away.

I look at Fête in confusion. “What was…?”

She shakes her head. “Wait for it.” Raising her voice, she once again calls for her friend’s attention. “Hey, Foxy! Check this out,” she says, gesturing at the mug a second time. I’m not entirely surprised to note that everything – posture, gestures, tone – was absolutely identical.

The blonde wanders over as if she hadn’t just examined it. “What, recreating the great masters in latte…?” She trails off, again entranced by the mug. After another moment, she turns back to the dance floor.

...oh no…

“Hey, Foxy! Check this out,” she says, once again gesturing at the mug.

The blonde wanders over. “What, recreating the great masters in latte…?” She trails off, once again entranced by the mug. Another moment, and she again focuses on the distraction of the dance floor.

I firmly repress the hysterical giggle that’s trying to escape. “You created cappuccino with a Stranger rating.”

She winks at me. “It’s all in the artwork. Here’s the kicker, though.” Once again turning her attention to her friend, she calls out, “Hey, Foxy! Remember the story I told you earlier?”

“I’m kinda trying not to,” she responds, sounding disgruntled.

“Focus on it. Focus like you’re missing the most important piece of the puzzle. You know what’s going on, you know the whole deal, you’re just missing that one, vital, piece…”

“Is this revenge for something? Are you trying to give me a headache?”

“Seriously, focus.”

With a put upon sigh, she concedes. “Fine, fine, I’m focusing. I don’t know why I’m focusing…”

“Good, now take a look at this!”

The blonde wanders over. Just as I think the scene is going to replay again, she frowns. “Jesus, this is them, isn’t it. Ugh. It’s like it’s trying to crawl out of my brain, but the focus is keeping it…” Her head snaps up to meet Fête’s amused gaze. “How many times?”

She smiles. “Only three, just enough to establish what was going on.”

Looking back at the mug, the girl in the fox mask frowns. “Huh. And now it’s just there. Wait, you weren’t just fucking with me, you were immunizing me…” She sighs again. “Thanks, I think.”

I look from Fête to the mug and back again. “Scion?”

She nods. “Scion. You should talk to Armsmaster about it when you get back, he knows enough and has the authority to fill you in since you know this much.”

“And, what? Ask if Scion is really a giant space whale?”

“Sure,” she replies with a shrug. “It’s close enough that he’ll get the point.”

This is going to be one of those nights. “Is there anything else I should ask?” I pause, then massage my temples. “I can’t believe I said that. I feel like I’m consulting a fortune teller.”

She nods seriously, but the smile gives it away. “Madame Fête sees all, knows all.”

Something clicks. “It’s a pun. You’ve been advertising that you’re a precog all along, hiding it behind a tangentially related homophone!”

She laughs freely, giving another real glimpse behind the façade. Regardless of her home life, in spite of her actions as a vigilante, it’s clear that the girl herself is at least trying to find her balance, and perhaps even succeeding.

--------​

Hannah Monroe – Saturday, March 19 – 12:30 AM

I’m on my way to write my report when Ethan stops me in the hall. “Hey, heard you had a run in with Fête. Thoughts?”

I take a moment to try to articulate my impressions. “On the plus side, I don’t think she’s a lost cause. She doesn’t seem to have the usual teenage parahuman issues – her power gives her a decent perspective on the bigger picture and she doesn’t seem to be inherently angry or violent. Quite the opposite, really; she was open, amiable. Still dodging any hints about signing up. Oh, and as much as she apparently doesn’t like other children in general, she has at least one friend around her age.”

He smiles, looking relieved. “Well, that’s certainly great news.” Then he frowns and adds, “Wait, you mean you actually met…?”

I shake my head, giving him a knowing smile. “The parahuman formerly known as Tattletale. Apparently Fête picked her up as a pet project around the time Calvert was declaring his love.”

He chokes back a laugh. “Seriously? That’s…” He pauses, obviously considering the idea. “Well, as long as she’s not dragging Fête down. She seems like a good kid, I’d hate to see her get tangled up in anything.”

I nod seriously. “Yes, those reforming supervillains can be very difficult to handle.”

Assault clutches his chest, gasping exaggeratedly. “Oh! I’m wounded! Wounded!” He drops the act a second later, adding, “Kidding aside, they seemed alright?”

“Yes. I believe Tattletale is slightly older, but Fête seems to be the one giving direction. The dynamic was interesting, very casual, like old friends bickering playfully.” I pause, then add, “I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Tattletale was the one encouraging her to do the web show.”

He bows his head for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I could see that. One teenage Thinker, recently freed conscript, pushing another to spread her wings and live a little.”

I sigh. “And that brings me to the down side.”

He frowns and asks, “That good, huh?”

“The Aliens setup with Uber and Leet? You were right, she let slip that it was personal. Apparently they hurt one or more of her father’s friends.”

He closes his eyes and visibly deflates. “Damn it.”

I wish I could offer him some comfort, but… “It gets worse.”

“Doesn’t it always?” he asks dryly.

“Imagine you’re a teenage girl whose power guides you through winning a fight. Any fight. How do you think that would normally express itself? What is the fastest, most effective way to win a fight?”

He visibly reins in the impulse to be facetious and gives the question serious consideration. “...shit. How does she not have a body count already?”

“Because she doesn’t want one.”

He goes still. “You’re sure?”

“She can apply conditions to her power. While we were chatting, she was happy to note that she had, and I quote, ‘nailed the minimum force thing.’”

“...Jesus fuck, Hannah, seriously? Her power is telling her all the best ways to slaughter her enemies but she can consciously wrangle it down to a KO? Meanwhile, Daddy dearest is trying to use her as his own personal hitter?”

“I know – believe me, I know. It’d be like if my foster family had been in the mafia and occasionally asked me to lend a hand between patrols.”

“That’s not…” He trails off for a moment, then picks it up again. “Ok, yeah, that actually is a really good comparison. Isn’t there anything we can do for her?”

I shake my head sadly. “Not without either an explicit request from her or a lot more evidence than passing comments from a teenager.”

He sighs. “Damn it.”

“Alright, I’ve got to ask. Why the interest? You’re not normally that involved with the Wards…”

“When I saw those how-to videos she was streaming about the Jello props? She just had that… I don’t know, that spark that you don’t usually see in someone like us without years of therapy. I mean, yeah, she’s obviously got issues, but… Honestly? She reminds me a bit of Erin when she first started chasing after me. She’s got a certain vitality, that fire that doesn’t normally survive a trigger, and I don’t want to see her goddamn father snuff it out.”

I hum thoughtfully. “That’s an interesting observation. Did you know she doesn’t remember her trigger event?”

Ethan frowns at me. ”I’ll assume you’re not stating the obvious. Amnesia?”

“Yes. Apparently she only knows second-hand about what happened.”

He rubs the back of his neck tiredly. “Yeah, I guess I can see how that might work. Huh.” He frowns distractedly.

“Problem?”

Focusing on me again, he shrugs. “Nah, not really. Mostly wondering if something similar happened to Erin, if maybe that’s how she found her footing so quickly. Just an idle thought.”

 

First things first: This is an omake collection, taking place at various times throughout the story. Some of this is canon compliant, some is not; I specify before each segment to minimize confusion.

Second: Taylor doesn’t directly appear in any of these. These are things that happen in the background because of her actions, some more directly than others.

---

This first scene is based on what would have been part of the 5th of the original PtM snippets. I had a long scene with Lisa and Brian doing a planning session on what to do after Coil’s death. The biggest problem I had with it was mood whiplash – not much in the way of humor and a bit too much of a downer followed by a bit too much shiny happiness.

I think this scene is quite a bit smoother overall, but the original will appear below it in a spoiler.

This is canon-compliant, set just after Path to Cinnamon Rolls.

---

Lisa Wilbourn – Monday, January 17 – 12:30 PM

“Thanks for meeting with me on short notice.” I smile awkwardly at the others, knowing this is likely to be the last time I see most of them.

Alec shrugs at me. “You brought lunch. Good sandwiches, by the way. I didn't even know there was anywhere to get poutine around here. New shop?”

“Something like that. But important news first: Our boss flipped, and he’s singing like a canary.”

Alec and Rachel seem mostly indifferent, likely not realizing the long term issues with that yet. Brian just… he deflates. He had too much riding on this, got too invested.

I read the letter to them with appropriately dramatic tone, then play the recording of Coil’s confrontation as a follow up.

By the time it’s done, Rachel is still indifferent, but Alec is howling with laughter. “Piggot? Seriously?”

Brian, however, is enraged. “So. Now we know just how much he appreciated our success. Fucking Lung.” He pauses, closes his eyes, and takes a few deep breaths. “Right. Alright. So just how fucked are we?”

“Depends on whether we can get ahead of it.” To emphasize my point, I start playing the recording of his confession that Taylor snagged for me. Listening to Coil detail everything he’s done will be helpful background noise for this next part.

“Get ahead…?” He pauses, listening to Coil go on and on. “Christ, you’re talking about having us flip too!?”

“On May 17, 2010, I assigned my mercenaries to hold a young runaway, a Thinker, at gunpoint. I offered her the choice between dying immediately and serving me. She goes by Tattletale now. She attempted to escape repeatedly, but the efforts have trickled off in recent months. I believe she had resigned herself to her fate, but expect that she would have gladly turned on me given opportunity.”​

Huh. I didn’t know Alec was even capable of feeling sympathetic. Sees it as a parallel to the situation with his father. Expects me to run. Is preparing to run. Is considering whether it would be worth running as a team. I shake my head at him. “Hold that thought, there may be a better option.” Turning my attention back to Brian, I add, “You chose this Brian, I didn’t. But yeah, I’m talking about flipping.”

He’s just staring at me, horrified. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because he would have killed her if she’d even hinted at it.” Seriously, when did Alec get this insightful?

Still, I nod. “He’s right. Any time I started to move, one of his mercs would conveniently show up as a friendly reminder. Took me a while to figure out enough about how to work around his power. I had to move in small steps and make plans over the course of months instead of days or weeks.”

“His power…?”

“Precog. Sort of. Lets him make the best of two decisions. Doesn’t matter right now, anyway.” I turn to Alec, delivering the first of the talking points that Taylor gave me. “The PRT would fall all over themselves to get detailed intelligence on your father.”

He snorts. “Right, because the heroes are going to be all kinds of excited to help…”

“You wouldn’t be the first or the worst.” I’m not sure what Taylor knows, but she was positive about that much. I knew about Assault, of course, but I hadn’t realized how flexible they could be. Then again, I suppose everything hints at it – the Truce especially, but even the way they play softball with almost everyone.

“You’re serious.” He leans back, thoughtful. “You think they could actually…?”

I nod again. “Yeah, I figure they’d probably put you in Vegas – that’s their…”

“Vegas?” He interrupts. “Sold.” He gets up, unplugs the game console, and carries it off towards his room. “I’ve got a few things I want to take with. Later, losers.”

I stare after him, then glance suspiciously at the poutine. Completely normal. No drugs. Not influencing decisions. Right, I know the power of the right words at the right time, but that’s still damn impressive. Three sentences. Three fucking sentences to convince one of Heartbreaker’s children to turn hero. Well, hero-ish.

Now I get to do it to Rachel. Turning to her, I begin the second talking point. “The murder charge was their attempt to prove dominance. They wanted to make you part of their team, but didn’t realize you were strong enough to build your own pack.”

She frowns at me. “You never make that much sense.”

What?! But Taylor said…

She continues, “You’ve been talking to the new girl. She told you how to talk to me.”

I blanch. Shit, shit, shit. “Uh… Yeah. She’s the one who warned me about Coil…”

She nods, cutting me off to ask, “The dogs will be safe?”

“…what?”

“My dogs,” she snarls at me. Impatient. Annoyed that I don’t understand. “This is what I need to do to keep them safe?”

“…yes?”

She nods again and heads towards the door. A sharp whistle summons Judas, Brutus, and Angelica from where they were napping.

Brian and I both stare after her. After she leaves, he turns his attention back to me. “What the hell was that?”

“That girl is fucking scary, that’s what that was.”

“Rachel?”

“No, Taylor.”

He sighs. “Yes, of course. Taylor.”

“Sorry. She’s the new girl, the one who took Hookwolf out Saturday night.”

“Damn it, Lisa, that’s not how it works. Even if you’ve figured out who she is…”

“What? No, seriously, she showed up at my apartment in her civvies this morning and introduced herself. I don’t even know if she has a cape name yet.”

He glares at me. “Right, the new hero just coincidentally showed up at the apartment of one of Coil’s people to say hello.”

I nod agreeably, adding, “And she brought me breakfast.” Hey, if he’s going to be a dick about it, I can give as good as I get.

There’s an audible smack as his palm meets his forehead. I smile cheerfully; I’ve definitely still got it.

Finally, Brian looks at me again. “So, how long?”

It only takes me a second to understand, then I start laughing. “You think I was feeding her info? She triggered two fucking weeks ago, she just noticed Coil yesterday.”

He stares at me for a minute, trying to decide if I’m playing him.

“Brian, I swear, I have always played straight with you. Yes, I’d happily carve Coil’s heart out with a rusty nail, but I have never acted against the team. I worked with her this morning to find the best way out for us.”

He slumps back into the couch. “Christ, this is such a fuck up. So, what, she just decided to help us out of the goodness of her heart?”

I sigh. “No, because I asked. She knew about my situation and wanted my help…” I trail off, suddenly realizing the truth. “Fuck me, she didn’t need my help, she could’ve done it all herself. She wanted… Huh.” She kept me so off balance that I didn’t even notice until now. I shake my head. “Anyway, she basically didn’t care either way about the rest of the team. I asked her for help because she could guarantee the best outcome.”

“Guarantee how?”

“She’s the best damn precog I’ve ever heard of. She basically takes her desired outcome and makes it a sure thing.”

He rolls his eyes. “Come on, that can’t be that powerful…”

I interrupt, “She took Hookwolf down in less than two minutes. She’s a Thinker, not a Brute.”

“So, what, like Uber? She gets skills?”

“Yes. No. Fuck.” I think it over, looking for a good way to explain it. “She told me this whole thing. She figured out Coil’s plan while she was making breakfast yesterday, then set things in motion for today. Without saying a word to him, without coming near him, she completely shattered him psychologically and got him to turn himself in.”

Brian shrugs, “Alright, and?”

I wave at my phone. “Listen to him. No, really listen. He thinks this was his own goddamn idea.”

He stares at my phone. “Jesus Christ, Lisa. That sounds more like a Master power. Are you…?”

I snort. “She’s not a Master, I’m 100% sure.” I blink. That’s it – that’s how I need to explain it. “Ok, look. Anything she wants is completely guaranteed to happen. Anything she needs to do, she can. Any skills she needs to have, she has them. Anything she needs to know, she knows. It’s only a question of time and effort to make it happen.”

He studies me for a moment before nodding. “Alright. So you asked for her help…?”

“To get the best possible outcome for us, yes. Happy, healthy, safe, free.”

He sighs. “Fine. You know I’m in this for my sister. What do I need to do?”

Smirking, I tell him, “Get a job, you fucking slacker.” Hey, she told me what to say, not how to say it.

“Oh, fuck you, Lisa. What am I supposed to do, join the Wards? Their money gets tied up in a trust fund…”

I roll my eyes. “You’re about to turn 18, jackass. Between the time to sort out your probation, the time to get you prepared, and the need to rebrand you in another city, you’ll be going straight into the Protectorate.”

“I can’t leave Brockton Bay, they won’t let me take Aisha…”

“Your father has custody, technically of both of you. The PRT will pay to relocate your family and help your dad look for a new job. That also neatly keeps your sister well away from your mother. When the time comes, they’ll probably even help transfer custody to you. They’ll definitely smooth things over to make sure she stays with your dad when you move.”

“It… No, come on, it can’t be that simple…”

“It really is. Believe me, I know it’s a little disorienting.”

He shakes his head. “There’s no way they’ll go for it, I mean…”

“On June 22, 2010, I instructed Tattletale to begin assembling a team. I provided her with dossiers of several teenage parahumans that I felt would be easily manipulated into joining a villain team. I recommended Grue for the leadership role because his sense of responsibility would tie him to the team regardless of how their assigned jobs escalated, as long as I didn’t force them to do too much too quickly.”​

I smirk. “See? You even have a nice reference from your previous employer. Good leader, very responsible.”

He mutters something under his breath, slumping back again. “I give up. How do I do this?”

Spoiler: Original PtM 5 Fragment

This is set shortly after PtM 4 and is completely non-canon to the full length Path to Munchies. It was originally written over two years ago, shortly after PtM 4 was finished; I continued poking at it until shortly before starting the rewrite. The eagle eyed will note bits and phrases that got used elsewhere in the rewrite.

---

Brian Laborn – Thursday night


"Thanks for stopping by. How bad is it?" Lisa looks awful. Probably hasn't slept since she found out, too busy playing shell games with our former benefactor's assets. Sporting a killer migraine, too, no doubt.

She shrugs. "Which part? Money? Financially, we’ll be in great shape. I’ve got most of his liquid assets shuffling, wanted to keep it reasonably untraceable. It’ll be another few days before I’m satisfied that it’s safe to touch, then I’ll split it between us, equal shares. I want to give a generous tip to my informant, too, but I’ll take that out of my portion.

“Speaking of expenses, did you want to keep the mercs? Some were willing to stay on as long as they keep getting paid, others exercised the exit clause and are off doing whatever mercs do between contracts." She twitches. Too unfocused, probably just got an answer from her power that she neither meant to ask nor wanted to know.

Refocusing on the conversation, I have to ask. “We have mercs? Were they supporting us? Part of a longer term plan?"

She blinks at me, confused, then her expression clears. "Sorry, it’s been a crazy day, I didn’t realize I hadn’t said. Coil. We were working for Coil, and they were his mercs. We were indirectly coordinating at times. He'd field them as a distraction for one of our jobs, or sometimes we were the distraction for theirs. But it's not like he was getting ready to send us out with a squad to hit a Merchant drug house or anything. They were basically his answer to matching manpower with the other gangs. In short, we were more plausible deniability for each other than coworkers."

"Any reason to keep them, then? Sounds like they're just draining our money and not particularly loyal to us."

"We can cover it for now, and I didn't want to change anything before talking to you. I figured you'd want to be in on deciding where things go from here. Keeping the mercs we have is easier than finding new ones on short notice, but ending their contracts is simple enough."

"Alright, thanks. I'm not sure we can use them, but yeah, I'll think it over. Any other assets worth mentioning?”

“A small arsenal of tinkertech weapons. I suggest checking to see if we can sell them back or dispose of them, not the kind of thing we want to hold on to in the long run unless we’re keeping the mercs and want to outfit them to fight capes.” She pauses, then shoots me that irritating smirk. “Wanna conquer the city?”

I groan. “No, can’t say that I’d planned on becoming the warlord of Brockton Bay when I got up this morning.”

She nods agreeably. “Sure, no problem. Moving on, we have one half-finished James Bond villain lair...”

I just look at her.

“No, I’m serious. This is some prime B-movie villain real estate. Hidden vaults, torture chambers, death traps with lasers. No sharks with frickin’ laser beams, but at least two rooms that would make suitable habitats for them. Oh, and a self-destruct mechanism that would put a way-too-large crater in the city if it ever goes off, plus a secondary in case the first one fails…”

This isn’t remotely amusing.

“I’m not remotely joking.”

Ok, I’m starting to get creeped out. “Seriously?”

All hint of amusement is gone from her expression. “Yes, I’m dead serious. Yes, our boss was assembling a secret underground supervillain lair, apparently just because he could. He was literally a monocle and a white persian cat away from being a Bond villain. I suggest sending a map and blueprints to the PRT and letting them deal with cleaning it up.”

“I… He… What the fuck?”

She continues mumbling distractedly. “Or we could rent it out to LARPers. Might provide a steady cash flow, downgrade the lethal traps to lethal looking, pull out the self-destruct...”

I take a moment to try to regain my equilibrium. “Ok. Right, yeah, dump it on the PRT. Not something I want to deal with. Or think about. Can you get them interested without getting it linked back to us?”

She frowns, thinking it over for a minute. “Best bet would be to drop them a tip, let them know that Coil has gone missing. Link the lair to that, get them investigating the whole thing.”

“We want to be really careful with that, make sure they don’t link us to him. We don’t want them thinking we had something to do with his disappearance.”

She bobs her head back and forth for a moment, considering. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Don’t want to make anyone think we killed him.”

Something about the way she said that bothers me, but I can’t put my finger on what. “Right. So where do we stand on work?"

"Not so good. Without Coil, we're not going to be nearly as smooth. We’re really going to want to drop the casino job. Not postpone, drop."

"Wait, what? How much support were we actually getting from him? Aside from the money and intel?"

She grins. "Plaid." Damn it, she’s doing it deliberately now. "It's hard to say. My informant, the one who tipped me off about his accident? She gave me a broad overview of how his power worked, and I'm still puzzling through all the implications."

I consider that for a moment. "He did have a reputation as a slippery bastard. What do you know for sure?"

"His power basically let him choose the best of two decisions, strictly an 'A or B' setup." She snickers at that, but I'm missing the joke. "So let's say we were waiting to do a job, the options are basically 'Start' and 'Don't start,' right? He could tell if the job would work before we started, and give us the go/no-go accordingly."

"Ok, that makes sense, especially with how many jobs got delayed or cancelled at the last minute."

"Exactly. But other times, he may have been using his power or not. When Shadow Stalker shot you, maybe the best result was you getting wounded instead of dead. Maybe he decided that you getting shot wasn't important. Maybe he didn't look far enough ahead and never knew you'd get shot. Maybe he didn't use his power for us at all that night."

I frown and prompt her to continue. "But he was supporting us with his power...?"

She wiggles her hand. "Sometimes yes, definitely. Sometimes not and played it as if he had, certainly. Sometimes not due to using it for something else, probably."

"Damn, so the fix was in."

"Yep, ‘Undersiders, masters of escape’ is entirely due to Coil wanting us to have that rep. If he'd wanted us to look strictly amateur hour, he could've done that, too. Hitting the casino without him means picking a fight with Lung without a safety net."

That… Okay, yeah, that would be a bad idea. Worse, with Coil cherry picking our successes, we’re not nearly as good at this as I’d believed. “Alright, so we’re basically back to square one. Working together as a team, setting up a clear chain of command, shoot for lower profile targets until we…” I trail off as she shakes her head.

“The team is pretty much done. It was a fun run, but it’s over.”

The hell? “What, just because he’s not paying us any more, you’re calling it quits? We’ve got his money, you’re pretty good with intel, what’s the problem?”

She studies me intently for a moment. Just as it starts getting awkward, she nods decisively. “He recruited me at gunpoint, Brian. Literally. I was pretty much living hand to mouth, lifting wallets and pillaging ATMs. He had a couple of his thugs corner me in an alley. I was given a choice between working for him and being dead.”

I return the scrutiny. I’m no Thinker, but I know people, and I’m pretty damn sure she’s not playing me. “Shit, Lisa. I never guessed. Why didn’t you say anything? I would’ve...”

Shaking her head again, she cuts me off. “He’d have known, or found out. Every time I tried anything direct, any time I tried to run, to slip the leash, they’d be waiting for me. Sometimes it was just little reminders that he was in charge, but the more direct I was, the more direct he was. I didn’t want to drag you into that, he would not have hesitated to use Aisha against you.”

“I…” I pause, close my eyes, take a couple of deep breaths. Really consider everything she’s been saying. “He was a real piece of work, wasn’t he?”

She looks… I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like this. Tired. Drained. Fragile. “He really was.”

“He was never going to help me get custody.”

She shrugs. “If it came with a way to tie you even closer, he might’ve. But no, probably not. Always another delay, just a minor nuisance that he’d be more than happy to help you work through.”

“Fuck. Just… Fuck. The last eight months, we’ve been, what, patsies?”

“Eh, not entirely. We were the only capes working directly for him. Given time, we might have eventually become his enforcers. Moved up in his organization.”

I smile grimly. “Right, moving up in the organization of, as you put it, a Bond villain. Don’t they have a habit of shooting their own people?”

She smirks, then suddenly goes pale and peaky. Next instant, she goes running for the bathroom and I hear her being violently ill. I give her a moment, then follow when I hear the water running.

I knock quietly on the frame of the open door. “Lis? You alright?”

She’s standing over the sink, splashing cold water on her face, and begins muttering quietly. “Not us. Not yet. Too valuable. Not valuable, just not easily replaced.”

What set her off? I was just joking about… Oh, fuck no. “Who? When?”

She glances towards me in the mirror, but her gaze is distant. “Two choices. Anyone he wanted. Any time he felt like it. I’m about seventy percent sure he never did anything to us. Didn’t want to risk anything going wrong. But every time I pissed him off...”

I shiver involuntarily. What kind of monster did I almost blindly chain myself to? “Right. So, here’s what I want you to do...”

She tries to interrupt. “Brian, I…”

“No, hear me out. Get rid of the mercs. Get rid of the base. Everything he ever did, tear it down, burn it, scatter the ashes, and salt the earth. Pay your informant off the top, she might have only passed the news, but she did us a real solid. Also, take a full share of the money, donate it to anyone and everyone that’ll really make a difference, make the world a little bit better in every way that he made it worse just by living in it.”

She’s still looking shaky and more than a bit watery, but she’s also got the brightest, most sincere smile I’ve ever seen on her face. “You’re a good man, Brian.”

“I’m really not. I’ve let myself get caught up in all this, when I should’ve been focusing on my sister. This thing with Coil, it’s a wakeup call. I need to do better, to be better. With this windfall, we have a chance here, this kind of thing isn’t even once in a lifetime. All of us, we need to grab it, make the most of it.”

“Rachel and Alec...”

“Yeah, she’s going to need…” I pause, considering. “Wait, Rachel and Alec?”

She flinches. “Sorry, Alec’s background is messy. Worse than “literally recruited at gunpoint” messy.”

I sigh. “You’re just the bearer of all kinds of wonderful news today, aren’t you.”[/hr]

---

This is a possibly canonical scene, set between Path to Cotton Candy and Path to Cookies, redux. More on why it’s only possible in the note after the scene.

---

Citrine – Saturday, March 5 – 8:30 PM

I enter the office promptly when summoned, then wait patiently for my instructions. Accord is watching something intently on his computer.

He clicks a button and the large wall display springs to life, showing a teenaged girl with a particularly lovely mask. “I want her.”

It is by pure force of will that I prevent myself from reacting. “Of course, sir.”

“Look at her. She transforms chaos into pure, beautiful order. Arrange for one of our assets to make contact and extend an offer. She must be willing, I cannot emphasize this enough. I will not have her coerced.”

I refrain from shuddering. I’ve not seen this side of him, never a hint of this kind of interest, but I dare not question him. “I will do so. What terms shall we offer?”

He pauses, considering. “I am a reasonable man. She is young, presumably still in school. That will limit both her availability and the amount of time she would be able to indulge in mutually pleasurable activities.”

“Naturally, sir.” Is this why…? Am I too old?

“A single meal on a weekend evening of her choice. We will provide the facilities and any ingredients she requires. We will offer $10,000 when she provides the menu and another $10,000 on satisfactory completion of the meal. Should it be agreeable, we will move forward with a long term arrangement.”

I glance at the screen again, suddenly realizing that this is that silly food cape in Brockton Bay. He’s talking about having her cook his goddamn dinner. It’s all I can do to stop a relieved sigh.

“Yes, sir. I will initiate contact and keep you appraised of the proposed schedule.”

Spoiler: Notes

This is more of a splash effect scene; something Taylor had no idea could happen, but was kind of inevitable given her ability to create the perfect dining experience combined with doing her cooking livestream. I haven’t tied this into a solid plotline yet, and it could go anywhere from polite refusal to leaving Accord starving to death because he couldn’t bring himself to eat the perfect meal, nor the imperfect alternatives after seeing the perfect meal.

I didn’t assign a random “real” name to Citrine, mostly because there’s not enough material here to strongly indicate who she is from context.

This segment could come back at a later date if I ever develop a plot for it – either as it appears here or revised to fit whatever I envision for it.

---

This is a non-canon scene, set in the same continuity as Path to Brownies and Path to Donuts. This takes place a week after the great road trip from Donuts.

---

Amy Dallon - Saturday, March 19 - 7:00 AM

“Hey, Ames, didn’t you bring a new batch of brownies home for the weekend?” Victoria is rummaging through the fridge, scavenging for food since we’re the only ones up.

I stare at her blearily. “It’s way too early for that much sugar. At least wait until lunch.” I need my coffee and a cigarette. At least I have a shot at the coffee. I fumble some grounds into the filter and fill the reservoir.

She turns back to me, looking confused. “Huh? Oh, no, I wasn’t going to eat one now, it’s just, there aren’t any.”

Ah, adrenaline. Always a decent substitute for caffeine. “They’re gone?!”

She shrugs. “Or at least not in the fridge any more. Maybe Mom and Dad…”

Her speculation is cut off by Mark strutting into the kitchen, humming. The humming stops when he notices us, but the sheer level of perkiness carries through. “Good morning, girls! You’re both up bright and early for a Saturday. Oh, you’ve got the coffee started already? Great! Hey, who wants pancakes?”

Victoria, clearly in shock, mumbles something that he takes as an affirmative. I know what I need to do. I can’t guarantee detection of a Master effect, but I can definitely tell if something is off with his biochemistry. Well, more off.

“Sure, Mark, that sounds wonderful. Here, let me give you hand.” I take the griddle out of his hands and set it on the stove, brushing my arm against his. It’s just a split second, but enough to give me a snapshot impression. Oxytocin levels spiked, ditto dopamines. Dehydration. Buildup of lactic acid in his muscles, a bit of mild strain as well. It’s like he’s been enthusiastically working out all… night…

Oh God. I did not need to know that. Just when I think the morning can’t get any more awkward, though, Carol leaps into the kitchen.

“Halt, evildoer! What nefarious deeds are you plotting…” She notices us and actually blushes. “Whoops. Good morning, girls!” She’s wearing her old Brigade era costume, only not the one we’ve seen in pictures. This is a tad more… revealing. Not obscene, just more like a one piece swimsuit. Definitely not practical for field use, but it looks surprisingly good on her.

No. No, I did not just think that. Damn it, brain.

“Mom…?” Victoria looks so lost.

Mark hums merrily while preparing the batter. “Good morning, hon. Didn’t expect you out of the shower for a few more minutes.”

“Mmm. What can I say, I woke up hungry,” she purrs. “I just wanted to get cleaned up first.”

You can see exactly when Victoria makes the connection. In spite of that, she can’t stop herself from asking, “Mom, Dad…?”

Carol turns her attention to her. “Oh, Victoria, while I’m thinking about it? Thank you for the brownies, though I’m afraid we finished them all last night. We were just going to have a couple, but we got to talking about the old days, and well…” She draws her into a hug.

Victoria makes a squeaking noise and points at me.

Carol figures out her meaning easily enough, releasing her and drawing me into a hug instead. “I’m sorry, Amy. My mistake, I had just assumed…” She sighs, then presses on, “You’re such a good girl, and I feel like I’m never giving you credit for all that you do. Thank you for bringing dessert. They really were wonderful.”

I hug her back reflexively, forcing myself not to panic. I’m not sure I can remember the last time she willingly touched me, much less initiated a hug. Unsurprisingly, she shows all the same… secondary symptoms as Mark. And… Oh God, her wrists are chafed, too. But all that aside, she actually seems to mean it, or at least, she’s not lying or anything. “You’re, uh. You’re welcome. A friend of mine baked them, I’m glad you enjoyed them.” I step back awkwardly and excuse myself. “If we’re going to do a family breakfast, I should get washed up.”

Carol glances down at herself and blushes again. “Yes, I should probably get changed as well.”

I scramble for the relative safety of my room and whip out my phone to send a text.

WTF was in those brownies?

I get the reply in seconds.

Family bonding! ​

I stare blankly at my phone. That’s… What? Wait, no, I guess from a certain perspective. But still…

Wrong word?

Oh. Oh, ew.
Uh… Family bonding now that your parents are feeling… Uh… Mellow?​

Good, as long as I’m not suffering alone.

Sorry?​

I wash up quickly, but when I get back to my bedroom to finish dressing, there’s another message waiting for me.

Whatever you do, do NOT acknowledge the wig.​

...I don’t want to know.

You really don’t. Just ignore it, pretend it doesn’t exist. You’ll be much happier.​

On that ominous note, I brace myself for family breakfast. The fact that Taylor has started messaging me like she does Lisa barely registers.

Carol and Mark are murmuring quietly in the kitchen, but there’s no sign of Victoria yet. Rather than interrupt them, I just grab the stack of dishes from the counter and begin setting the table.

Mark has just emerged with a platter bearing an unreasonably large stack of pancakes when Victoria comes flying down the stairs – figuratively, for a change.

“Oh my God, Ames, check this out, this is so awesome! Mom, why didn’t you tell me you got a wig done like Amy’s hair? Are we going to do a whole costume mix-up thing?”

Remembering Taylor’s words, I do not turn to look. I don’t want to see this. If I don’t see it, I don’t have to acknowledge it.

Carol has gone incredibly red, while Mark has gone completely pale. In a steely tone, she asks, “Mark, dear, did you forget to put something away?”

He sets the platter down and begins corralling Victoria back up the stairs. “Come on, let’s just put that back where it belongs, alright?”

Carol and I sit in an awkward silence for a moment. Hesitantly she starts trying to explain, “It’s not actually your…”

I arch an eyebrow at her and she trails off. “Victoria is obviously not quite awake yet and is just confused. I’m sure it was a perfectly reasonable misunderstanding.”

She stares at me as if she’s truly seeing me for the first time. Finally, she gives me a small smile and a nod. “Yes, I suppose it was at that.”

We eye each other for a moment before she lets out a small huff of laughter. I try to resist for a moment, but the end result is me letting off a laughing snort. By the time Victoria and Mark make it back downstairs, I’ve got my face covered with my hands as I laugh hysterically and Carol has lain her head across her arms on the table, cackling gleefully.

Spoiler

Don’t look at me, weird crap bubbles up out of my brain sometimes.

 

An omake inspired by this post over at SB.

Carol Dallon – October 4, 2003 – 3:30 PM

Taking the girls shopping for Halloween costumes is always such a strange experience. I’ve spent so much of my time wearing a costume – fighting in a costume – that the idea of wearing one for fun is almost… alien.

And these seem so flimsy. Cheap plastics, thin vinyl, they’d go to pieces the first time…

I have to consciously stop that line of thought. These costumes aren’t meant for combat, they’re just children’s toys.

Still, Victoria is so excited about dressing up, and I can’t deny her anything. Amelia seems less enthused, but she’s a quiet little thing. Some days I think she’d be perfectly content to do nothing but follow along in Victoria’s wake.

The fact that Victoria absolutely adores her has made the last three years so much easier than they might have been. I still have no idea how I let Sarah talk me into adopting her…

“Momma, look! We found the perfect costume for Amy!”

“What did you find, girls?” I turn to look, and see a figure from my nightmares. I move.

The next thing I know, Victoria is desperately pulling on my arm, crying. “No, please! We’re sorry, Momma, we’re sorry!”

It’s plastic, not bone. It’s not him. She might be his daughter, but this… I release the cudgel I’d formed instinctively, allowing it to disappear. I stand up, then pick her up and set her back on her feet.

I take the cheap, silly plastic mask from her. I pick my sobbing daughter up, letting her cling to me and cry into my shoulder. I look down at Amelia. She looks up at me with wide, terrified eyes.

“Amelia… This is the mask of a very bad man. You should never wear such a thing. Where did you even find this?”

Wordlessly, she points towards the back of the store. I carry my daughter in the indicated direction.

What I see disgusts me. Allfather. Kaiser. Iron Rain. Various members of the Teeth. Not by name, of course, wouldn’t want anyone to think they’re entitled to royalties, but the similarities are unmistakable.

And, of course, Marquis. Or, as the sign claims, “Lord of Bones.” A full shelf of them, complete with wigs. Wigs that look suspiciously like Amelia’s hair. No wonder the girls thought it was the perfect costume; it looks like she was born to wear it, after all.

I wonder again if there’s any real hope, if there’s any chance we can teach her to be a hero.

Putting the mask back on the shelf, I sigh. “No villains, girls. Why don’t we go get some ice cream, then you can look for another costume after we’re done. Alright?”

I feel Victoria nod against me and head towards the door, Amelia following along quietly.

 

This is all non-canon; QQ apparently lacks the "Apocrypha" threadmark category.

This is best summarized as an entire dropped plotline. The first piece is... bleh. It doesn't really add anything to the story, but I still like the interaction between the characters. The fourth piece is the second of a trilogy of "People watching Taylor's show," the first having been the Accord snippet; not a lot of places to take this one, but again, it was an inevitable reaction. The second, third, and fifth piece are the defunct lead-in to a sequel that isn't happening. It just failed to gel into a cohesive story for me; too much foreground drama/background humor instead of the reverse.

More notes after the story.

---

Colin Wallis – Monday, January 17 – 3:30 PM

My email chimes just as I have a free moment. A brief glance at the sender tells me that in light of today’s ongoing events, I can’t afford to ignore it.

From: ScrewCoil[at]anonmail.org
Subject: Action items (1/2)

Thought you might find these interesting. Nothing you have to act on, but you’ll probably want to.

<3, Tt​

Tattletale. Just as he predicted, taking the first opportunity to betray him. Unsurprising, assuming his story is accurate.

Two attachments, compressed. They’ve already passed initial screening to get this far, but I’m still cautious – I open them in an isolated sandbox.

The first is an annotated blueprint of… I massage my temples tiredly. Of course Calvert was building an underground base. Why not? The notes suggest that it’s months from completion. Perhaps most importantly, they suggest that the self-destruct hasn’t been enabled. I’ll hand this over to Director Piggot to deal with. While concerning, it doesn’t require an immediate response.

The second attachment is slightly more time sensitive; dossiers on all of Calvert’s mercenaries. Outstanding warrants, known activities, bodycam footage – all useful for building a case against them. Perhaps most importantly, their expected movements for the next week – which will run and how they’ll travel; which will linger in the area; which are likely to attempt to sell their services to the other gangs.

Given their armaments, Protectorate assistance would likely be required if we decide to apprehend them. Her projections suggest we have at least 24 hours before they begin to scatter.

I lean back, close my eyes, and consider the situation. If Calvert was honest, then she was under duress, forced into villainy the same way so many young Tinkers are. An innocent taking the first available chance to strike back at her captor.

If Calvert was lying, this is the next move in whatever long con required him to be captured. Given the… circumstances, though, it seems unlikely. Why maneuver for escape when he’s the one who surrendered in the first place? Why identify Tattletale as a victim and none of the other Undersiders? Why identify the Undersiders at all, given that we’d never attached them to Coil previously?

While I’m deciding how to react, my email chimes again.

Subject: Action Items (2/2)

You’ll definitely want to do something about these. If you have any questions, this address will be valid for the next 48 hours. I’ll answer what I can, though there may be a delay as I’m currently busy celebrating my freedom.

<3, Tt​

I transfer these attachments to a new sandbox, just in case.

The first is… A password list? I skim through; it seems to be every piece of account information that Calvert had for everything – PINs for multiple phones, online banking credentials, PRT credentials, email account info, encryption keys… All the information we’d need to access all his records. If accurate, this will be a tremendous help in identifying everything he’s been involved in.

If it’s accurate.

The second list is chilling. Names. Positions. Leverage used; bribery and blackmail are common, but some are advancing their personal or political agenda. Transaction history. Who they think they’re reporting to. What information they’ve been providing.

PRT personnel. BBPD personnel. People in every organization from the mayor’s office to the dockworkers association. She even highlighted the one who leaked Calvert’s arrest, presumably the way she found out in the first place.

She’s right, damn it. We can’t afford to ignore this, even if it means playing into some convoluted plot.

I send back a one word response: Why?

I’m putting the final touches on my report when her reply comes in.

A lot of reasons. Because I can. Because I hate him. Because he has all this coming and more. Because I want to see everything he ever did torn down. Because I don’t want to give anyone else a chance to pick up where he left off. Because this is the second fucking time someone has tried to use me for my power, and I won’t let there be a third.

And yeah, maybe a little because I didn’t want this. I’m no angel, but I never wanted to see the city burn.​

At least she’s consistent, but we’ll need to vet everything thoroughly. I finish my report and get ready to take it downtown when a thought occurs to me. I send another message:

Anything we can do about the first time?

I’m on my bike when her response comes back.

Ha, I wish. Not likely.

I’m retiring, but I might be willing to provide helpful advice once in a while. Consider this my C.V.​

Given that Quinn Calle is in town to represent her teammates, I doubt it’s a legal matter – it’s unlikely she believes her personal situation is less tenable than one of Nikos Vasil’s children and I’m disinclined to think she’s fleeing more serious charges than Rachel Lindt.

No, I suspect she’s being honest and intends to keep a lower profile. She wouldn’t be the first Thinker to work as an information broker.

If the Director accepts her… peace offering, if it’s accurate, she’ll likely be given a certain amount of leeway. Perhaps not full amnesty since we don’t know her history, but we should be able to wipe out anything she did while under Calvert’s influence. Beyond that, we can afford to take a wait and see approach. Better good relations with a rogue than another active villain.

If her information does pan out, I’ll begin a quiet investigation into her background. At the very least, it should provide some insight into dealing with her. If it presents an opportunity to help her, convince her to join…? All the better.

---

Melanie Fitts – Sunday, March 20 – 12:30 PM EST

I hadn’t expected the girl to come through on what had seemed an idle promise. Honestly, I’d considered the publicity to be sufficient payment. The box of apple turnovers, Elle’s favorite, waiting outside my door says otherwise.

My office door.

As far as I can tell, nobody has been in the club. There’s definitely nothing on the cameras, but that package wasn’t there when I came in this morning. I probably wouldn’t have found it for hours if I hadn’t decided to head down to the kitchen to scrounge some lunch.

They’re still warm, too. I look around again, carefully, but nothing else is out of place. I nudge the box back into my office and close the door. I check the ceiling in a fit of paranoia; nothing.

Inside the box – aside from the delicious smelling pastries – is an envelope containing a brief note and a thumb drive.

Everything we could lay our hands on about Gregor’s and Newter’s backgrounds, as promised.​

At worst, this might be some kind of elaborate ruse by Tattletale, a pile of unverifiable Thinker ramblings. Screening it before calling the boys is just good sense. Don’t want to get their hopes up only to dash them again.

The first hint that this is so much more than that is the sheer volume of information on the thumb drive.

Pictures. Medical files. Family histories. Records of their… home Earths? Just when I start to think it might be a scam after all, I get to the media files. Audio recordings, even video files, interviews from before and after the changes. Power testing. Psychological screening. Some of it is little better than torture. Skimming through, it becomes obvious that the amnesia wasn’t inherent to the procedure…

I see the word “deviation,” and my blood boils. Failed experiments, that’s all they see them as, the bastards.

I pull out my phone and dial without taking my eyes from the screen. “Gregor? Get Newter and get up here. She actually delivered.”

There’s a moment of silence before he hesitantly asks, “There is… Useful information?”

I snort. “I don’t think I could give you this much detail about my personal history.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “I see. We will be up shortly.”

I end the call and continue to skim the material. Seriously, who the hell is this girl and how did she manage to get this?

My phone chirps.

Don’t ask. Seriously, they use at least one precog to maintain security.​

Fucking Thinkers. Drama queens, every one. Although, them having a precog would go a long way to explaining why all our leads keep drying up…

Damn it. God fucking damn it. We finally get some of the answers we’ve been looking for, and we’re going to have to keep it completely locked down or they’re going to be after us.

Not for much longer. The situation has changed. Keep an eye on the news.​

I grin savagely. Well now, that is promising. Here’s to hoping they get what’s coming to them.

Another file catches my eye on the laptop. “Consent.” No. No. That’s duress, those bastards. Damn them.

Gregor knows better than to call attention to me wiping my eyes when he walks in. By the time Newter arrives, the tissue is safely in the trash.

---

Fortuna – Saturday, March 19 – 9:30 PM

We’re in mid-argument about what to do about the test subjects when the Door opens. I start to reach for my gun until I realize I have no direct Path to react to the person coming through.

There’s only one person I can’t see now. I relax, but still use my model to confirm.

I start to smile as she steps through, but it drops right off my face when I see what she’s wearing.

“I brought dessert!”

Legend covers a laugh with a cough, while Alexandria settles for a smirk. Number Man merely looks on curiously; of course, he wasn’t here back then.

Doctor Mother, though, practically crows with glee. “Look at you, is that… What am I saying, of course that’s just like the school uniform Contessa used to wear. I need to get a picture…”

“No!” I cough, clearing my throat. “No pictures.”

Taylor ignores me completely. “I didn’t think I could pull off the suit and hat look just yet, but I thought this would do for my first trip to the secret clubhouse.”

Oh crap, that was practically a declaration of war, and they don’t see it. Before I can say anything, she shoots me a wink. Well. I suppose it’s a question of whether I trust her… I can’t narrow down what she’s doing, I don’t have enough information yet to model it. But everything considered, maybe I should wait to see how this plays out.

Alexandria is all too ready to dismiss her. “Amusing as this is, we’re rather busy, Miss Hebert…” She trails off as Taylor reaches through another Door and retrieves… a pie?

Alexandria is staring at it as if she’s seen a ghost. Number Man has at least picked up on the general tone and is looking increasingly amused.

Taylor smiles innocently at her. “The first piece is yours, of course. Ice cream?”

Without taking her gaze from it, she takes a bite. “This is… Ma-maw’s? But…”

“Your grandmother’s award winning bourbon pecan pie, yes. She died without ever sharing the recipe with anyone. You haven’t had it since long before you went into the hospital.” Casually, she adds, “Thought you might like the recipe,” and flicks an index card to her.

The glimpse I catch isn’t Taylor’s handwriting; given Alexandria’s reaction, I’m inclined to think it’s her grandmother’s.

Alexandria stares at it in silence.

As Taylor slices the pie for the rest of us, she continues, “Sometimes it’s about first steps rather than complete solutions. Here’s what I’d like to do, and if you think it’s a good idea, you can decide on the best way to do it for all the rest…”

That’s my girl. If you can’t take it head on, come at it sideways.

---

Sabah Al-Amin – Saturday, March 19 – 8:30 PM

I can’t stop watching her show.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not attracted to her. She’s really, really not my type. Also, far too young.

Her power practically makes her a walking stereotype, but I can’t hold that against her without being a hypocrite. She obviously loves what she does and it makes her shine, makes her stream far more engaging than you’d expect. I wish more people had that kind of passion for their work.

But she apparently brings that same passion to being a vigilante, and I don’t understand that at all. Why take the risk? Why bother when she has such a huge, obvious disadvantage? She doesn’t seem to be trying to advance any particular agenda, she just… I don’t know, goes out and gets into fights?

With a sigh, I turn to my current project. Some kid got sick all over my gorilla today and I’m still not sure whether I can clean it. Maybe it’d be easier to just cut that segment out and patch it…? It won’t be a perfect match either way, but now that I think about it, a deliberate patch is going to look much better than a stain or a faded area.

My attention is pulled back to my laptop again. I don’t even like cooking, even if the pie looks delicious. But still…

What if I talked to her, got her help to do a segment on clothing? Design, repair, tailoring… Show people that it’s not as hard as they think it is, just like she does with her cooking. Share a bit of my passion with the world.

An exchange of services? I could help with those grandiose outfits she seems to like so much. And if it helps me get a little more exposure, bring in a little more business… Well, there’s nothing wrong with that, right?

---

Hannah Monroe – Saturday, March 19 – 5:30 AM

I knock on the door to Colin’s lab and wait politely for an answer. I hadn’t expected him to ask to see me first thing this morning, but at least it will give me an opportunity to ask a rather strange question – one that I certainly wasn’t going to include in my report.

After a moment, the door slides open. I take it as the invitation it is and enter.

The lab itself is a little more disorderly than I’m used to seeing it, but I know Colin has been away a lot recently. Some kind of secret project; after the Nine and Ellisburg, I suspect someone has prioritized the elimination of some of the deadliest threats.

Colin is hunched over his computer, reading something attentively as he takes notes on his tablet. His beard is unkempt and in need of a trim; his hair is matted and greasy, as if he hasn’t washed in days. His workspace is surrounded by several mostly empty mugs. This is… worrisome.

I decide to err on the side of casual, given that he’s out of his armor. “Good morning, Colin. You wanted to see me?”

He finishes whatever he’s writing, then picks up one of the mugs. With a grimace, he slams back its contents. Finally he turns to face me; his eyes are obviously bloodshot. “Hannah. Yes. Good morning…” He trails off, staring at me for a moment.

I give him a moment before prompting, “You asked to see me as soon as possible…?” I can’t remember the last time I saw him this sleep deprived.

He startles as if suddenly waking up. “Yes. Yes, of course. I saw your report. Fête. You saw her last night.” He pauses for a few seconds, then asks with strange intensity, “Did she give you a message?”

I blink, surprised. “As a matter of fact, yes. It’s…” I trail off, considering again just how I want to phrase this.

As if reading my mind, he interjects, “Word for word, please.”

“Alright,” I say as I nod hesitantly. “The conversation was a bit strange, but it led to me asking her if I should ask you whether Scion is a giant space whale…”

He immediately leverages himself to his feet with his cane, shouting “Computer! Initiate security lockdown, authorization omega theta nine four two.” As the lab seals itself and some kind of metal paneling extends across the walls, he begins awkwardly pacing around the lab. One of his devices begins emitting a soft, steady tone.

“Yes, of course. Still underestimating her. Some kind of total threat awareness.” Glancing towards me, he adds, “She saved me. She knew to save me because I was needed to stop it. Because I needed to see, to learn about them.”

“Colin, what are you talking about?” I ask nervously. My weapon shifts – .45; 12 gauge; P90. I force it back to a billy club.

He stops his pacing and closes his eyes. After several long seconds, he pins me down with another bloodshot stare. “Yes, for lack of better terminology, Scion was a giant space whale. One of the sources of powers, and a threat of incomprehensible scale.”

Oh hell, Colin has completely lost it. “Colin, look, why don’t you sit down…”

He limps over to his helmet and activates… a projector?

Oh.

“That… thing is Scion?”

“Was, yes. Rather, Scion was a projection and that was the controlling intelligence.”

“That’s the source… No, now that I’m looking, I can see it. But it barely looks like it did in the vision…”

He frowns, then nods decisively. “Of course, that’s why she sent you to me. Your recall, you remember the trigger vision.”

“Yes. I stopped talking about it a long time ago, when I realized nobody else…”

He waves off my explanation, “I understand.” He plays with the controls on his tablet, changing the projected scene.

“Colin.... Is that String Theory?”

“Yes,” he snarls. “The Birdcage is compromised. The PRT is compromised. The Protectorate is compromised.”

As I see Alexandria talking to String Theory, as the Siberian escorts a man I don’t recognize towards a portal, I find it hard to argue with the idea. I find my world fundamentally shifting again. “What…? Why…?”

Colin snorts. “I’ve barely begun putting it together. I said Scion was one of the sources. There were two…”

Almost under my breath, I murmur Tattletale’s words. “But the Librarian shanked one like a little bitch…”

Colin’s gaze snaps to me in an instant. “What.”

I blindly grab a chair and drop into it. “Tattletale, last night. She said that…”

Colin sighs and sits down as well. “Another of Fête’s roundabout messages. Strange bedfellows.” He gestures towards the projection again, explaining, “She’s correct, of course. There’s a Thinker, you can barely catch a glimpse of her in the background here. Black suit, fedora.”

I nod, seeing her. “No better angles?”

Shaking his head, Colin confirms, “She somehow managed to only appear with her back to the camera. She’s the one; the Librarian, apparently.” He pauses, watching the projection. “She was the one who developed the plan against the Nine, against Ellisburg, but she never spoke to us directly. I was so damn naive.”

I watch the Librarian speak to Alexandria and a thought occurs to me. “Colin… Library of Alexandria.”

He slumps tiredly. “Of course. It makes sense, considering…”

“Who is she? What does she want?”

“They have extrauniversal transport capabilities. She is apparently the keeper of the Library of Alexandria.” He pauses, sighing. “Working on this last project, I met Tinkers from four other Earths. Two were as similar to ours as Aleph, but the other two… The separation must have happened hundreds of years ago. One came from a world where a unified British empire was still the dominant power, the other from a world where Napoleon had successfully held Europe and allowed the First French Empire to stabilize.

“None of them have Endbringers.”

My blood runs cold as I realize where he’s going.

“It’s an invasion, Hannah, and they’ve been softening us up for decades.”

Spoiler: Notes on what's not going to be PtM2

The fundamental problem is that this isn't a story I want to tell. It doesn't excite me; in fact, I have some real issues with it. Consider it a dead path, the ghost of what might have been.

In summary:

Colin has apparently been lining his helmet with tinfoil. He has a bunch of right pieces, but managed to assemble them into a convincingly wrong picture. He's convinced that Taylor saved him so that he can move against these extrauniversal invaders.

Broadly, the concept was that Colin & Hannah both go independent, with a running joke of Colin interpreting Taylor's random bullshit as some kind of oracular guidance. As implied in both Faultline's and Fortuna's segments, there was going to be a wikileaks-esque "leak" of Case 53 background data; "leaked" data regarding vial sales was going to start trickling out afterwards. Colin would be leading the charge to remove known collaborators from positions of power.

Assault was going to be very, very confused.

This would have been, in essence, Cauldron housekeeping. How do you clean up your conspiracy once its objectives are accomplished? You get someone who sincerely wants to tear it out by the roots and nudge them in the right direction.

Ultimately, I can't see (this) Taylor buying into this kind of deception. Not at all. And without Fête acting as Colin's guide against the tyrannical Librarian, this goes nowhere fast. It could probably be massaged into its own independent story, but it completely loses the whimsical tone of PtM.

I like whimsy. Conversely, I have plenty of drama in my life, I don't need extra servings.

On a different note, I've been wanting to throw that Librarian thing in for ages, but I ended up never having anything to do with it in PtM as I never managed to squeeze Becky into the plot. It fit rather nicely here as part of Colin's so-right-but-so-wrong conspiracy theory, so I set the stage with Lisa (before I nixed the whole thing).