16 Decay 14
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Jesse K the Bubba
They call me...Bubba
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Decay 14
Saturday felt strangely peaceful compared to the day before. No one was complaining about the lack of bombs going off, the choking of emergency services, or the overstuffed traffic lanes, but there was a feeling that things were too quiet.
Armsmaster knew that there was going to come a reckoning for Bakuda's sudden and violent escalation. She had hit the police, PRT, hospitals, the other gangs, and even Team Rebuild's community center. She'd made nothing but enemies, and Lung was going to have to inherit them now that he was out. The lines hadn't changed much, but everyone was now looking at them more than the others. Team Rebuild had already dealt a blow to her when they interrupted her public execution of the Undersiders.
He was now going over what they'd turned over to the PRT to inspect: 187 Tinkertech bombs of differing sizes, a modified Jeep with storage containers welded on, a phone that sent the signals to detonate the bombs, and the trigger mechanism.
"Toe rings," he deadpanned as he beheld them, looking back to Steeldancer, who had come in as the representative for the independent team today.
"Yes, she had hidden it rather well, but Tattletale managed to deduce what she was doing and yelled the answer where Sixshooter could hear," the veiled woman explained to him.
"And she… removed her foot."
Her eye closed for a moment, and he could tell that she also questioned her teammate's rather brutal response to the Villain.
"I was incapacitated at the time, so I could not tell you how desperate the situation was, but two of her hostages had already been killed in order to threaten the others by that point."
That had been in the reporting. Sixshooter was forced to neutralize the true ABB members in her attempt to stop Bakuda before she could go too far, only for it to be revealed that the woman had hidden her trigger mechanism in a place that people wouldn't often think to look. The hostages were forced to fight the person trying to save them or possibly die. In the choice between maiming one villain or letting innocents die, Sixshooter had chosen the former.
There was a growing concern about the woman's mental health, especially since Uber and Leet's snitch had returned just in time to catch her breakdown as she restrained the bleeding Tinker.
"-uuckin' Hell, Larissa! It- It wasn't that- Shit, what would Stacy-"
"Stacy's dead! Tanya's dead! The only reason there was enough of me to save is because… they… were… blonde."
It didn't take a long search to find out who she was likely referring to. Unfortunately, there was a pair of connecting lines there that they needed to ignore. Yes, it was obvious to anyone who bothered to look who Larissa Han was, as well as what connection she might have had to Grace Nakamura. Whatever friendship they had was likely as severed as Bakuda's foot.
Speaking of.
"What has been done with Bakuda's severed limb?"
"We have it in stasis at the moment, but we're ready to hand it over to the authorities if they can preserve it as well as we can. We may… be able to use it in the future as a bargaining chip," she mentioned with an undertone of distaste that even Armsmaster could detect. "As long as it's kept alive, it could be reattached in the future. Pickmeup's pocket dimensions do not let time pass for the objects inside. We put a tray of fresh cookies in one two weeks ago. They're still hot when we grab one."
An interestingly mundane application for a power. The potential of Pickmeup's Shaker ability might be overshadowed by her more spectacular Brute rating. If it worked that well, then Pickmeup could be valuable for transporting donated organs long distances.
"I will see if there is a similar option available to us. Your team may be the best to hold onto it at the moment."
"Of course."
"Concerning Uber and Leet's capture, there was already a substantial reward for them due to past criminal activity. I do not know if authorities will add anything to their bounty retroactively in consideration of their connection to the bombings, but your team will be able to collect what is already registered."
"Hopefully, we can use it to rebuild the center," Steeldancer mused. "And maybe do something about Trainside Storage. The area is… changed."
That was one way to put it. Even ignoring the damage from other explosives, which included hundreds of thousands of dollars in lost property, there was the suspended fireball above the place, shining like a small sun throughout the night. Armsmaster did not know how long the effect would last, but it was clearly not completely frozen; otherwise, light would not be able to pass through it. He had calculations running to determine whether the effect would wear off and how long it would take.
Given the rate of explosions, based on how fast the time-slowed one was moving, it would be over 1000 years before it stopped spreading and began to dissipate. He had a feeling the bubble would last longer.
"The owner is unlikely to continue business," he concluded.
"Not as they've been running it, but Revive was saying something about testing it for UV before she finally went to bed. I wanted to ask her more, but she was already on her way to the downtown clinic when I awoke."
Ultraviolet radiation? That would indicate it being similar enough to sunlight to cause similar effects. Perhaps he should set up equipment to test for that as well. More than a hazard for flying things, then.
"She is hoping to remove more of the bombs?"
"We're trying not to be loud about it, as Bakuda might take it as a challenge, and now that Lung's out… We were lucky with him before," she acknowledged. "The plan before had been to hold him back until we could ensure people's safety, and then lose him after drawing him to the nearest waterline. You and Stalker cut the time down significantly, but I know that we alone weren't going to defeat him there. And now… he knows about us. There's no more surprises there.
"So, right now, she's operating out of a clinic close enough to ABB territory that people can make the trip, but not so close as to attract actual ABB attention. We're letting word spread mostly by word of mouth, but eventually, once the heat dies down, we'll need to make a public announcement to get whoever remains to come forward. They'll be in danger and endangering others until those things are removed."
Armsmaster nodded. Not being able to act quickly and finish it all in one go was aggravating, but the powder keg was already threatening to alight. At this very moment, the Empire was readying itself to move against the ABB, and other, smaller gangs were looking to take off a piece for themselves, including one gang that had been gaining traction of late, which had dropped the racial lines and focused solely on drug peddling. Luckily, Team Rebuild's position in the Docks was acting as something of a buffer for groups working out of the Trainyard, so long as they could project themselves. Their showing against Bakuda had been more of a win than a loss, but needing to retreat in the face of Lung, after making headlines for playing a part in his capture, could be a blow to their overall reputation, even if they were visibly worn down from an earlier fight.
On the bright side, Uber and Leet's stream capturing Lung's fight with the new Cape Myceligem's mushrooms had made the retreat comical, even if Director Piggot had nearly flown off the handle upon seeing them. They ran the tests; Myceligem's minions were, genetically, normal mushrooms. Their ability to locomote resulted from her Shaker effect, combined with her Master power over them. Even the alien ones matched the samples taken from the thing at the community center.
The next few days were going to be stressful. People were preparing to work double shifts for the next few weeks, if needed. Onboarding the new Wards was going to be difficult, especially with the particularly young age of three of them. The other three lives Revive had saved at the community center might prove her Trump ability if they came out with powers, and people were bound to notice.
"We'll do our best to mitigate that, then."
A screen of his turned on, telling him of an incoming call from Dragon. He answered it and routed her voice to come from a nearby speaker.
"Dragon," he greeted her.
"Armsmaster," she said, having seen another person present and using his Cape identity rather than his real name, "glad I could reach you. I'm forwarding what I've been able to discover about those implants you sent me. Hello there, you must be Steeldancer," she then greeted the independent Hero. "Your teammate's technology is fascinating. If we hadn't known it needed her specialized substance to run, we might have assumed it to be a nanite nest filter for converting amino acids and proteins."
"Ah, that is interesting," Steeldancer intoned, hand to her chin. "Unfortunately, I have only a high school understanding of biology when I'm not using my own powers."
"Oh, of course. Hm, I just noticed something… Parlez-vous français?"
Steeldancer's eye widened for a moment, and then she began to speak in French, which Armsmaster's helmet helpfully translated for him.
"<Oh, well, yes, I do. I… have not spoken it in a while, but it's coming back to me quite clearly.>"
"<I thought I recognized the accent, even if it was… Sorry, I'm not trying to identify you in any manner. I was merely interested.>"
"<Well and good. Honestly, I'm glad you brought this up. It's quite fascinating to speak another tongue. After so long, that is. I genuinely cannot remember the last time I had a conversation in French.>"
"<Glad to have helped.> Ah, sorry, Armsmaster, I had gotten distracted. You wanted my help in dissecting Bakuda's code?"
"Yes. She used a phone as a medium, so it's likely the bombs respond to a specific signal she entered, either into a program or by piggybacking on another application. While unlikely to be so simple, I wanted to test to see if it was done through phone numbers and go from there."
"Get Occam's Razor out of the way, first. I see."
"I would not want to get in your way with this, then," Steeldancer said with a bow of her head. "I will go and see how Barbed is doing. Good day, sir. Bonne journée. À la prochaine."
As the young woman left, Armsmaster hummed in thought.
"Everything all right?" Dragon asked him.
"It is just… I did not recognize a Canadian accent."
"Neither did I, but she had a slight French inflection that I recognized from conversations with Ballistae. If I had to guess, she grew up there before moving stateside."
"France? Interesting."
Somewhere down below her, Barbed was having her metal heat-treated to remove the magnetism; Browbeat was recovering from his impromptu battle with Lung at the Rig; office agents were scrambling to figure out how to present everything to the public positively; and Alan Barnes was once again gracing them with his presence.
At least this time the connection was clear.
Myceligem nearly gave her a heart attack with her debut. Creatures that looked like Blasto decided to make something kid-friendly had ganged up on Lung and fought 'til the last. Seemingly unaware that he was being recorded, the recently escaped dragon man had decided to take a bite of one of the roasted things. Apparently, it was tasty enough to finish up.
Ten minutes later, the Cape responsible had arrived at PRT HQ with Team Rebuild and Shadow Stalker. Not trusting herself near a potential second Biotinker, she called in Miss Militia and Armsmaster. Militia was perhaps the Parahuman she disliked the least, and the one she sent to communicate with other Parahumans that Emily didn't want to bother with, for one reason or another. She could usually disseminate whatever the director ordered into something they could easily digest. Armsmaster, she called, so that he could put his technology between the unknown and the rest of the world.
She did not overreact. She was cautious. Armsmaster ran DNA tests on samples of her minions, and only then could Emily breathe easy. They were just normal mushrooms under the nonsensical power control of a Parahuman. More akin to Hellhound than Blasto. The fact that her power worked on something yanked from another dimension was cause for concern, but apparently, the crystal fungus was the opposite of an invasive species. Too much oxygen in the air, not enough sulfur, not enough phosphorus. The ones she summoned only existed because her power kept them alive, and the thing at the Brockton Docks Community Outreach Center was mostly dead, save for a bit at the core, and Dragon would be digging the whole thing up and taking it away, last she heard.
Now it looked like she was getting a fourth Ward signing up this week. The teens were going to have a time of it, seeing as the girl was a friend of Shadow Stalker's. How that girl had friends was a mystery to Emily Piggot. Maybe she could bridge the gap with the rest of them, or maybe they were getting another problem, just with a better smile. Time would tell.
Back at the front of her concerns was the bombing campaign initiated by the ABB and Lung's escape. The first wave scattered everyone to put out the fires they caused, real and metaphorical, but the second one put even the lawmen into a panic, though it was less dangerous overall. It was that which gave cover for Oni Lee to break in and set Lung loose. The only Hero on the Rig at the time had been Browbeat, who was undergoing power testing when the bombs went off. He was getting ready to head back over to the mainland when Lung got loose and tried to do something about it.
Unfortunately, his newly gained heat- and fireproof biology did not make him a match for Lung. They certainly slugged it out for a time, but Lung was more experienced and ramped up faster, and both of them were giving off a lot of heat. Browbeat recognized that the steel around them was starting to get red, so he backed off, and Lung went for a swim.
It was the right choice, she had to concede. Even if they fought until the Rig melted around them, he wasn't defeating Lung like that.
This and more had to go into her report and the weekly meeting with the other PRT Directors. She could almost hear the admonishing tone of Chief Director Costa-Brown.
But before she could get to that…
"Send in the clowns," she muttered before tapping her phone and letting her secretary know she was ready to meet with Methuselah and Revenant more professionally.
In walked two men of great contrasts. One wore a business suit and top hat, short and rotund, with facial hair styled into 'friendly mutton chops' that made his smile all the more pronounced. He looked every part the classic circus ring leader. The other was tall, pale, and gangly, with a permanent scowl and mildly parted lips, wearing casual clothes with a leather jacket that had the circus's logo stitched into the shoulders. Despite not looking like much, Piggot knew he had to be one of the deadliest Capes in the US. He had simply refused to do much to make a name for himself, aside from one incident.
"A good morning, Madam Director," Martin Methuselah greeted her, removing his hat to reveal a bald top with expertly done horseshoe-style hair and giving her a bow.
"Mornin'," the other greeted her with just enough politeness.
"Good morning, gentlemen."
"I must say," Methuselah started, "yesterday was quite exciting for your city. I hope for a quick repair and pray for speedy healing. Don't worry about us, though. Our troupe has weathered worse and won't be scared off by some upjumped hooligans."
"That's good to know. The city could use your business, but you've already heard all of that from the mayor."
She doubted a mere bombing was scaring them off. Revenant was known for two things: he didn't stay dead when he died, and he once ran off the Slaughterhouse Nine while killing Chuckles the Clown. Less well known was his Master power, which projected a semi-autonomous construct with claws and high durability that could temporarily paralyze people with a scream. He was basically a grab-bag combination of Alabaster, Crusader, and Animos. Stories reached the internet every once in a while when he had to remind people that the circus was not a place to bring violence, usually by letting people think they've killed him, then getting back up and responding accordingly to their reactions.
On that note, his leather jacket had quite a few patches.
"And here you are," Methuselah said while passing her a stack of papers with photos and names.
It was odd to think about, but it made a certain twisted sense that circuses would have Capes of their own. Rogues, as far as the government was concerned. NEPEA-2 tried to curb it, only to get a protest in the form of every circus in the continent parking on D.C.'s proverbial front yard and protesting until NEPEA-3 came through, undoing a lot of what had been written in there. They still needed to inform the nearest PRT office every time they set up shop, with a list of Cape names and powers, but they rarely caused problems for the cities. If anything, the issues tended to come from the cities. Early on during the rise of Parahumans, people thought Circus Capes would be easy pickings for gang recruitment, and those who tried to press the issue learned that circus people looked out for their own.
Not being able to tell at a glance who was a Circus Freak with birth deformities and who had powers also helped them disguise themselves much better. Was the man in front of her a contortionist, a clown out of makeup, or an unkillable man with a killer ghost he could command? She only knew the answer because they called ahead.
"I'll be certain to get copies to all the Protectorate and Independent Heroes."
"Be sure to let them know they'll receive a discount if they show up in costume," he reminded her with a wink.
Simple marketing ploy. But effective.
"Not the dregs, doe," Revenant added.
"Oh, of course. Villains pay full price," Methuselah agreed. "Of course, that goes without saying."
"Damsel needed remindin'."
Revenant's most recent exploit: publicly humiliating Damsel of Distress. Apparently, annihilating most of his lower body just made him angry and half-naked.
"Let's hope our own… dregs know better already. I'm sure you've already heard this, but welcome to Brockton Bay."
"Thank you kindly, ma'am. Oh, and don't let it be said we forget our regular men and ladies in uniform. Police, firefighters, PRT, and all other emergency services get a free ride every day!"
"I'll make sure word gets around."
"Plucky's passin' fliers," Revenant pointed out while thumbing towards the door. He then looked toward Methuselah. "We good?"
"Hm, oh, I suppose that was everything here. Still need to make a visit with the grocers and leave another message for the mayor. Did you need anything else from us, ma'am?"
"That should be all. If anything Parahuman-related crops up, we'll send a liaison."
"Of course. Let us go, then, Macky."
"Sure, Unc."
And like that, it was done. Piggot sighed and leafed through the papers, getting a general idea of the Circus Capes. Unexpectedly, Methuselah was among them. Shaker-Master that created hands out of shadows in a radius around him. Looking him up in their database, she saw that the size of the radius remained unknown, but it was possibly the metric they used when setting up the circus grounds. Something to keep in mind. And another failure of people flagging the obvious but missing the potential powerhouses hiding just out of sight.
She sighed as she scribbled down a note, because she felt she'd be remiss in her duties if she didn't bring that up.
Twenty people arrived at Amergo's Family Clinic seeking to have their bombs removed after word finally spread that Revive was there, offering to remove them. They were removed for free, of course, but as part of her deal with Dr. Amergo, she heavily suggested they stay for a checkup. The clinic took most kinds of insurance and only had a 20 dollar copay, but it still felt skeevy to be making money off of people's suffering. Still, doctors had to eat, too, and theirs was a capitalist world.
If nothing else, the one in five who figured it would be a good idea to go ahead and get checked up while they were there meant a decent increase in local business, as they got examined, grabbed something to eat from nearby, or even grabbed a bus ride home. It was astounding that the buses would still be running after yesterday, but it just went to show that Brockton Bay was filled with sturdy, stubborn people.
After a while without seeing any patients, she began to wonder if that had really been it. Then a familiar figure with a masked face entered the room. Still wearing the golden-sequined dress that was almost a shirt at this point and the white shorts she had on last night, was Myceligem. Emma.
"Hey, uh… Hey," she greeted them as she walked in.
"What do you want?"
She looked pensive at Revive's tone, but Taylor wasn't able to find it in herself to care. She had thought that, after dropping her off at the PRT, they wouldn't see each other again until school, maybe, but it looked like the new Cape had sought her out.
"I was hoping… to talk to you for a bit. One on one."
Her knee-jerk reaction was distrust, and yet… No one else was with her. She'd come here alone, at a disadvantage. While it had been a few months since the last time Emma had tried to verbally beat her down, that had been a product of Victoria Dallon swooping in and deciding to take Taylor under her wing, not a choice that Emma had made. Even so, a couple of months did not erase the year and a half of steadily increasing torment they had put her through.
Still, if even a smidgen of what she heard might be true…
"Pick, could you go wait up front?" she asked the younger girl. "Let me know if another bomb victim comes in."
"Okay." She grabbed her pack and looked at Myceligem with a smile and a wave before heading out of the examination room, closing the door behind herself.
Then, they were alone. Revive walked over and turned the lock, which would give them a heads-up if anyone came in. The rooms were just shy of being soundproof, allowing doctor-patient confidentiality to be maintained. It would be enough for now.
Taylor took off her mask and stared down Emma, who similarly removed her own.
"I just… wanted to thank you, and… Taylor, I…" The girl's eyes cast down, and she wracked with sobs for a moment. "I'm sorry."
"You're sorry," Taylor repeated before taking a deep breath, then slowly counting down from ten as she let it go. "You're sorry? For what, exactly?"
"I… For everything!"
"Everything?" She repeated her calming technique. "Everything? For putting me down every day? For turning everyone you could against me? For making sure I could never have a friend? For siccing Sophia on me when words weren't enough?! For telling everyone I was on drugs?! For spreading rumors that I was whoring myself out?! For telling me I was too filthy for even the desperate?! For ruining my grades?! Making the teachers distrust me?! Destroying Mom's flute?! Shoving me in a locker full of filth and leaving me to rot?!"
At some point, she'd started screaming, and Emma had sat down in one of the chairs and started bawling her eyes out. Taylor could hardly believe what she was seeing from the girl. Part of her was looking for the trick or trap, but, for the life of her, she couldn't imagine what it could be. Her core still burned even as it ached. Emma didn't… cry about what she did. Not the new Emma. The old one never had anything like this to cry over. At her mother's funeral, she had shed tears, but not as Taylor had, and not like this.
"I didn't want-" Emma got out past her sobbing. "It didn't… start like that… I just wanted-" She hiccuped. "I wanted you to… To do something…"
"Do what, Emma?" Taylor bit out. "Do what, exactly?"
"I- I don't know! It-" She looked up and wiped at her eyes, letting Taylor see that she was really, truly crying over this. Once again, she felt that ache, but her core still burned with anger. "I thought I knew, but- I thought you would have… fought back, or… Or something!"
"Fight how? You had Sophia attached to you at the hip! If I just decided to make you swallow your own teeth one day, what would have stopped her from smashing my face in? I couldn't go to the teachers! I couldn't just leave! I was boxed in! You trapped me! Isolated me! I had nothing! No one! And you made sure of it!"
By now, Emma was shaking.
'Christ! Did that fucking bomb really-'
"Why now?" Taylor seethed. "What changed, besides the obvious?"
"I've… been stupid!" Emma admitted, sniffling as she did. "I've been a stupid piece of shit, and I didn't realize it until… I was going to die." The realization seemed to pour over her like a glass of ice water.
Yes. If circumstances were the same, without Revive's help – without Taylor's help – Emma would have almost certainly died. Trying to avoid bleeding out was one thing, but shards of the alien fungus had gotten into her bloodstream. It was still a hostile environment, but they put up a better fight against the human body than Earth's general biosphere. It still would have died, in the end, but not before taking out a chunk of Emma's tissues in its struggle to live. And Panacea was already swamped by then.
She was going to die, until Revive got to work.
"I was going to die, and you were going to save me, and… I just realized how… awful I've been."
"You knew it was me," Taylor stated. "You figured out my identity."
"I haven't told anyone," Emma quickly said with desperation and another sniffle. Looking to her side, she saw the box of tissues and used one to clear herself up a bit before continuing. "I just… figured it out. Daddy didn't say anything, but… it became… Not obvious, but I… put the pieces together."
Taylor sighed at that. She figured someone could tell. The Unwritten Rules about identities worked on the assumption that people did not know each other in both aspects of their lives, but if you knew the Cape and knew them as a civilian, unless they were putting on some Oscar-worthy performances, it would become clear that one was the other in a costume.
"So why were you there?"
"...I'm not… sure. I… guess I wanted to see you up close. See… how you could do it. How you… were being a Hero." She blew her nose again and rubbed at it, and Taylor could see a fresh tear join the flow of her left cheek. "I was… I wanted… I don't know what I was doing."
She tossed the spent tissue into the wastebasket before sighing and saying, "I'm an idiot."
"Yeah," Taylor quickly agreed, steeling her heart against the flinch that Emma made. "But at least you're seeing it now, I suppose. Step 1 and all that."
"It was… I know… I know it doesn't make it better, but I want to make it better. I… I want to be better."
Taylor bit her tongue before she said something to crush that hope. What makes you think you deserve a chance? She hadn't forgotten her pain, nor the anger she felt at Emma. Seeing her lying helplessly on a medical bed and muttering apologies and explanations while the pseudo-phine kept her under hadn't smothered it, but it certainly awoke those older feelings she thought were gone.
'I'm not Tinkerbell. I can feel way more than one emotion at a time.'
"You really want that? To be better?" she asked, receiving a nod in response. "What're you going to do, then?"
"I… I'm not sure. Be a Hero? I have powers now. I can help people."
"Then you'll join the Wards?" Emma nodded more slowly at that. Taylor could see the unsaid lines practically floating in the air. The first thought Emma would've had in her epiphany of self-reproach would've been to ask to join Team Rebuild, but they both knew that wasn't going to work out. They weren't ready to close that sort of gap just yet.
"Good. Join them, go through their training, and learn to be a Hero from the Protectorate. If you can do that, maybe it'll show you mean it: that you can be better."
It felt like she was kicking the can down the road to be someone else's problem, but really, it shouldn't be hers to begin with.
"I will. I'll… prove it. Um, Daddy and I… pretty much already signed me up."
"Hm, I thought he might."
She was actually afraid he might push for her to join the team, since their parents were all still unaware of what had been happening between them. So much so that Uncle Alan had told her own dad about what had happened that summer, when she had returned from camp to find Emma had changed, and not just from a haircut.
"One thing, Emma," Taylor said while the thought was on her mind. "Why did you never say anything? About the alley that summer?"
"I…" She blanched. "Where…?"
"My pseudo-phine was designed to prevent addiction." It worked with strange 'ghost' chemicals that, effectively, erased the traces of the neurochemicals once they'd done their jobs. She didn't really know exactly how it worked aside from 'Tinker bullshit' and that it was made partially out of cocaine and oxycodone with a lot of mineral water diluting it. "However, you were still loopy under its effects. It may also be a truth serum, but I'm not quite sure."
"Oh." She blushed. "So, I… wasn't just saying random things out loud?"
"That was definitely a part of it."
"I didn't… say anything too embarrassing, did I?"
"Nothing else I didn't already know." Taylor smirked. "But… Pickmeup may know a few things now."
"Oh, God! What… What does she know?"
"Spice Girls Breakup."
And then Emma went nearly as red as her hair as her face was hidden by her hands. Taylor allowed herself a chuckle.
Things couldn't be the same.
The damage is already done.
But things never stayed the same, even in the best of times. Something new would have to grow out of this.
Max Anders looked out from his window in the direction of the little space near the Docks area, colloquially thought of as 'Little Asia,' also known as the core of ABB territory. The Pan-Asian collection of gangs held together under the thumb of a raging beast had gone too far yesterday, and the Empire would need to show its colors to keep from losing face and splintering.
It was always a delicate balance, making the dregs of white society feel like they had a threat to fight against without completely overcoming it all or feeling as though they were losing. If anything, he was almost thankful to Lung for giving them something to stand united against, when every other gang crumbled under infighting or got scooped up by the visibly multicultural Protectorate. Unfortunately, Bakuda had to go and stir the pot so violently that there was no simple way to clean up the splatter. At least the skank had gotten some sort of comeuppance when she lost a foot to one of the new so-called Heroes. And the Asian one at that.
It wasn't enough to sate his lot, though. Now, they would have to make a show of doing something to 'beat back the menace' without overdoing it. Make them feel proud and victorious while leaving enough of an enemy to fight later. The price of paying people via ideology.
And there he had been looking forward to celebrating Lung's incarceration by dunking clowns or something. Ah well. The circus was for the people. He had to go and get them their bloody bread.
Lung watched dispassionately as Bakuda had her severed leg treated by an old doctor who had moved from Thailand when he was but a boy. He knew he was good, and the man knew to obey when Lung called on him. The woman was lucky that Revive had closed her up as well as she did, he had said. Stopped the worst of the bleeding.
He had been thinking about how to balance punishment and reward, but a visible peg leg might serve as enough of a reminder. Something to bring up when her arrogance next reared its head.
"You haven't earned the right to be arrogant, yet," he told her as he explained this.
"Some big thanks, boss," she ground out past the pain.
"You broke me free, as you should, and you will be rewarded, but we must also prepare. The Heroes will want to show they aren't merely letting us escape," he told her. "You hit the Empire, as well, and they will retaliate. To not strike back is to show weakness. Rebuild has already struck you, but they will still work to undo what you have done."
"Frickin' struck me all right," she spat toward the side. "Knew Larissa could stab a bitch, but I didn't- Urgh! Hmr, guess she was gonna get… Miss Frankenstein to put it back on."
An unfamiliar name, in reference to the gunwoman.
"You know Sixshooter?"
"Shiiiiiiiiit, boss, I- Ah shit, wait, am I supposed to tell you any of this?"
Lung looked to the old surgeon, who nodded his head, finished up the bandages, and left the room.
"Speak."
"'Kay, uh, yeah. Yeah, I know her. Known her since sixth grade. Back in Boston, growin' up in Chinatown, ya know. Her dad moved in from Beijing before the CUI fully took ova. We's our own lil' group of Asian-American gals. Thought they were all dead. I was visitin' home, and they went to NYC for the big ball drop, then, nuthin'. No word. Didn't see 'em again. Kinda… was alone there." She huffed out a humorless laugh. "And then Larry was the one what looked like she saw a ghost. Damn shame 'bout Tan-tan and Stace, though."
"Dead?"
"Larry said they were. …Man, fuuuuuuck, she said the guy got 'em first 'cuz they was blonde!"
"White?"
"Eh, half. Kinda what got us all stickin' togetha. Stacy was half Vietnamese; Tatyana was half Japanese, half Russian. Freakin' hilarious listening to her folks talk. Ah shit! Ol' Ten ain't gonna be happy. Fuuuuuck, it's really sinking in now." She palmed her eyes and rubbed them, and Lung realized that, perhaps for the first time, Bakuda was internalizing the deaths of people she actually considered comrades and not some distant nobodies for the first time.
Good. Let her learn that lesson. Pain was a valuable teacher.
He heard a knock and opened the door. One of his lieutenants was there, bowing his head and gesturing to the metal pegleg a lower underling was carrying. Lung nodded his head back towards Bakuda before stepping out of the room.
"Lord Lung, someone else is here that may require your presence," the man informed him while touching the back of his head, where the bomb Bakuda had placed had been removed. One of his first orders had been to have them removed from his lieutenants, with priority given to those who had directly assisted in his escape. Fear was always the primary motivator in the ABB, but good underlings should be rewarded as well, even if that reward was simply less to fear. "Young boy. Says he has power."
"Did he prove it?"
"Kept throwing a knife, and it came back to his hand," the lieutenant, – Koga, his name was – explained. "Didn't seem like much, but… that is for you to decide, Lung, is it not?"
"It is."
He arrived in the large room where he sometimes met with the civilians living under his rule or gave out commands to large gatherings of his men. Standing there was a boy who looked deathly afraid, but continued to stand anyway. Lung smelled the blood on his neck before he saw it, and realized that he had been one of the civilians he ran across the night before. He appeared to have removed his own bomb, and now he had power.
Time to determine if he was worth anything.
"You stand before the dragon. Why have you come here, boy?"
"Lord Lung, I am… Park Jihoo. I've come looking for my mother and sister. I believe they were taken under Bakuda's orders."
"You believe?"
"They… A neighbor said they saw men from the ABB arrive and leave, much like when… I was recruited. I have… little to offer, but some meager possessions… and my service."
The boy was shaking, but he stood firm, and that was better than most could.
"Then show me what you're worth," Lung demanded while gesturing to the far wall, where some dartboards and pictures were pinned. The boy held up a knife and, with shaky hands, threw it as hard as he could across the room.
It bounced off the wall by the handle and fell. Before hitting the ground, however, it reappeared in the boy's hand, and he threw it again. This time, the blade hit, but it still bounced and disappeared back into his hand again. The third throw, it sank in a little and stayed put for a moment. As soon as everyone had acknowledged it landed, it disappeared from the wall and ended up back in Park's hand again.
He threw it over and over, sometimes hitting, sometimes bouncing, but he was landing it more often as it went. Lung watched as the boy grew used to throwing it correctly, even if his aim left something to be desired. It managed to hit one of the dart boards, and Lung raised a hand.
"Enough."
The boy stopped, not even using his power to recall the knife.
"You will be useful." He looked back at Koga. "Find people who know throwing knives. Get him trained. Find his family and bring them to him." He then looked back at the boy, who was standing more firmly now, even with the sweat running down his brow. "Korean?"
"Yea-" He coughed to clear his throat. "Yes, Lord Lung."
"What is your word for knife?"
The boy thought for a moment. "Bi-su?" he asked more than he said. Lung looked over at his men, and one who looked Korean to him nodded.
"Word for dagger," the gangster responded.
"Then you are Bi-su," Lung told the Parahuman. "Start covering your face, and straighten your spine. I will send Oni Lee to make sure you are learning."
"Thank you," the boy breathed out, clearly relieved even as he bowed stiffly. "Lord Lung."
A whale falls into the depths.
A man collapses in the forest.
A great keening is heard.
An unsung dirge is played.
Life lost is mourned.
Mourned life is lost.
What is lost cannot be regained.
Great beings fall.
And lesser things thrive.
Where whales and men fall,
Worms find a feast.
Vultures land and give thanks.
Sharks spin and dance in joy.
Flies find their Eden.
Crustaceans will know plenty.
Fungal blooms sprout ahead of flowers.
The sea floor teems like a hive.
Here, where death has set, lies rot.
But far more than Death,
There is Life to be found,
In Decay.
Saturday felt strangely peaceful compared to the day before. No one was complaining about the lack of bombs going off, the choking of emergency services, or the overstuffed traffic lanes, but there was a feeling that things were too quiet.
Armsmaster knew that there was going to come a reckoning for Bakuda's sudden and violent escalation. She had hit the police, PRT, hospitals, the other gangs, and even Team Rebuild's community center. She'd made nothing but enemies, and Lung was going to have to inherit them now that he was out. The lines hadn't changed much, but everyone was now looking at them more than the others. Team Rebuild had already dealt a blow to her when they interrupted her public execution of the Undersiders.
He was now going over what they'd turned over to the PRT to inspect: 187 Tinkertech bombs of differing sizes, a modified Jeep with storage containers welded on, a phone that sent the signals to detonate the bombs, and the trigger mechanism.
"Toe rings," he deadpanned as he beheld them, looking back to Steeldancer, who had come in as the representative for the independent team today.
"Yes, she had hidden it rather well, but Tattletale managed to deduce what she was doing and yelled the answer where Sixshooter could hear," the veiled woman explained to him.
"And she… removed her foot."
Her eye closed for a moment, and he could tell that she also questioned her teammate's rather brutal response to the Villain.
"I was incapacitated at the time, so I could not tell you how desperate the situation was, but two of her hostages had already been killed in order to threaten the others by that point."
That had been in the reporting. Sixshooter was forced to neutralize the true ABB members in her attempt to stop Bakuda before she could go too far, only for it to be revealed that the woman had hidden her trigger mechanism in a place that people wouldn't often think to look. The hostages were forced to fight the person trying to save them or possibly die. In the choice between maiming one villain or letting innocents die, Sixshooter had chosen the former.
There was a growing concern about the woman's mental health, especially since Uber and Leet's snitch had returned just in time to catch her breakdown as she restrained the bleeding Tinker.
"-uuckin' Hell, Larissa! It- It wasn't that- Shit, what would Stacy-"
"Stacy's dead! Tanya's dead! The only reason there was enough of me to save is because… they… were… blonde."
It didn't take a long search to find out who she was likely referring to. Unfortunately, there was a pair of connecting lines there that they needed to ignore. Yes, it was obvious to anyone who bothered to look who Larissa Han was, as well as what connection she might have had to Grace Nakamura. Whatever friendship they had was likely as severed as Bakuda's foot.
Speaking of.
"What has been done with Bakuda's severed limb?"
"We have it in stasis at the moment, but we're ready to hand it over to the authorities if they can preserve it as well as we can. We may… be able to use it in the future as a bargaining chip," she mentioned with an undertone of distaste that even Armsmaster could detect. "As long as it's kept alive, it could be reattached in the future. Pickmeup's pocket dimensions do not let time pass for the objects inside. We put a tray of fresh cookies in one two weeks ago. They're still hot when we grab one."
An interestingly mundane application for a power. The potential of Pickmeup's Shaker ability might be overshadowed by her more spectacular Brute rating. If it worked that well, then Pickmeup could be valuable for transporting donated organs long distances.
"I will see if there is a similar option available to us. Your team may be the best to hold onto it at the moment."
"Of course."
"Concerning Uber and Leet's capture, there was already a substantial reward for them due to past criminal activity. I do not know if authorities will add anything to their bounty retroactively in consideration of their connection to the bombings, but your team will be able to collect what is already registered."
"Hopefully, we can use it to rebuild the center," Steeldancer mused. "And maybe do something about Trainside Storage. The area is… changed."
That was one way to put it. Even ignoring the damage from other explosives, which included hundreds of thousands of dollars in lost property, there was the suspended fireball above the place, shining like a small sun throughout the night. Armsmaster did not know how long the effect would last, but it was clearly not completely frozen; otherwise, light would not be able to pass through it. He had calculations running to determine whether the effect would wear off and how long it would take.
Given the rate of explosions, based on how fast the time-slowed one was moving, it would be over 1000 years before it stopped spreading and began to dissipate. He had a feeling the bubble would last longer.
"The owner is unlikely to continue business," he concluded.
"Not as they've been running it, but Revive was saying something about testing it for UV before she finally went to bed. I wanted to ask her more, but she was already on her way to the downtown clinic when I awoke."
Ultraviolet radiation? That would indicate it being similar enough to sunlight to cause similar effects. Perhaps he should set up equipment to test for that as well. More than a hazard for flying things, then.
"She is hoping to remove more of the bombs?"
"We're trying not to be loud about it, as Bakuda might take it as a challenge, and now that Lung's out… We were lucky with him before," she acknowledged. "The plan before had been to hold him back until we could ensure people's safety, and then lose him after drawing him to the nearest waterline. You and Stalker cut the time down significantly, but I know that we alone weren't going to defeat him there. And now… he knows about us. There's no more surprises there.
"So, right now, she's operating out of a clinic close enough to ABB territory that people can make the trip, but not so close as to attract actual ABB attention. We're letting word spread mostly by word of mouth, but eventually, once the heat dies down, we'll need to make a public announcement to get whoever remains to come forward. They'll be in danger and endangering others until those things are removed."
Armsmaster nodded. Not being able to act quickly and finish it all in one go was aggravating, but the powder keg was already threatening to alight. At this very moment, the Empire was readying itself to move against the ABB, and other, smaller gangs were looking to take off a piece for themselves, including one gang that had been gaining traction of late, which had dropped the racial lines and focused solely on drug peddling. Luckily, Team Rebuild's position in the Docks was acting as something of a buffer for groups working out of the Trainyard, so long as they could project themselves. Their showing against Bakuda had been more of a win than a loss, but needing to retreat in the face of Lung, after making headlines for playing a part in his capture, could be a blow to their overall reputation, even if they were visibly worn down from an earlier fight.
On the bright side, Uber and Leet's stream capturing Lung's fight with the new Cape Myceligem's mushrooms had made the retreat comical, even if Director Piggot had nearly flown off the handle upon seeing them. They ran the tests; Myceligem's minions were, genetically, normal mushrooms. Their ability to locomote resulted from her Shaker effect, combined with her Master power over them. Even the alien ones matched the samples taken from the thing at the community center.
The next few days were going to be stressful. People were preparing to work double shifts for the next few weeks, if needed. Onboarding the new Wards was going to be difficult, especially with the particularly young age of three of them. The other three lives Revive had saved at the community center might prove her Trump ability if they came out with powers, and people were bound to notice.
"We'll do our best to mitigate that, then."
A screen of his turned on, telling him of an incoming call from Dragon. He answered it and routed her voice to come from a nearby speaker.
"Dragon," he greeted her.
"Armsmaster," she said, having seen another person present and using his Cape identity rather than his real name, "glad I could reach you. I'm forwarding what I've been able to discover about those implants you sent me. Hello there, you must be Steeldancer," she then greeted the independent Hero. "Your teammate's technology is fascinating. If we hadn't known it needed her specialized substance to run, we might have assumed it to be a nanite nest filter for converting amino acids and proteins."
"Ah, that is interesting," Steeldancer intoned, hand to her chin. "Unfortunately, I have only a high school understanding of biology when I'm not using my own powers."
"Oh, of course. Hm, I just noticed something… Parlez-vous français?"
Steeldancer's eye widened for a moment, and then she began to speak in French, which Armsmaster's helmet helpfully translated for him.
"<Oh, well, yes, I do. I… have not spoken it in a while, but it's coming back to me quite clearly.>"
"<I thought I recognized the accent, even if it was… Sorry, I'm not trying to identify you in any manner. I was merely interested.>"
"<Well and good. Honestly, I'm glad you brought this up. It's quite fascinating to speak another tongue. After so long, that is. I genuinely cannot remember the last time I had a conversation in French.>"
"<Glad to have helped.> Ah, sorry, Armsmaster, I had gotten distracted. You wanted my help in dissecting Bakuda's code?"
"Yes. She used a phone as a medium, so it's likely the bombs respond to a specific signal she entered, either into a program or by piggybacking on another application. While unlikely to be so simple, I wanted to test to see if it was done through phone numbers and go from there."
"Get Occam's Razor out of the way, first. I see."
"I would not want to get in your way with this, then," Steeldancer said with a bow of her head. "I will go and see how Barbed is doing. Good day, sir. Bonne journée. À la prochaine."
As the young woman left, Armsmaster hummed in thought.
"Everything all right?" Dragon asked him.
"It is just… I did not recognize a Canadian accent."
"Neither did I, but she had a slight French inflection that I recognized from conversations with Ballistae. If I had to guess, she grew up there before moving stateside."
"France? Interesting."
Somewhere down below her, Barbed was having her metal heat-treated to remove the magnetism; Browbeat was recovering from his impromptu battle with Lung at the Rig; office agents were scrambling to figure out how to present everything to the public positively; and Alan Barnes was once again gracing them with his presence.
At least this time the connection was clear.
Myceligem nearly gave her a heart attack with her debut. Creatures that looked like Blasto decided to make something kid-friendly had ganged up on Lung and fought 'til the last. Seemingly unaware that he was being recorded, the recently escaped dragon man had decided to take a bite of one of the roasted things. Apparently, it was tasty enough to finish up.
Ten minutes later, the Cape responsible had arrived at PRT HQ with Team Rebuild and Shadow Stalker. Not trusting herself near a potential second Biotinker, she called in Miss Militia and Armsmaster. Militia was perhaps the Parahuman she disliked the least, and the one she sent to communicate with other Parahumans that Emily didn't want to bother with, for one reason or another. She could usually disseminate whatever the director ordered into something they could easily digest. Armsmaster, she called, so that he could put his technology between the unknown and the rest of the world.
She did not overreact. She was cautious. Armsmaster ran DNA tests on samples of her minions, and only then could Emily breathe easy. They were just normal mushrooms under the nonsensical power control of a Parahuman. More akin to Hellhound than Blasto. The fact that her power worked on something yanked from another dimension was cause for concern, but apparently, the crystal fungus was the opposite of an invasive species. Too much oxygen in the air, not enough sulfur, not enough phosphorus. The ones she summoned only existed because her power kept them alive, and the thing at the Brockton Docks Community Outreach Center was mostly dead, save for a bit at the core, and Dragon would be digging the whole thing up and taking it away, last she heard.
Now it looked like she was getting a fourth Ward signing up this week. The teens were going to have a time of it, seeing as the girl was a friend of Shadow Stalker's. How that girl had friends was a mystery to Emily Piggot. Maybe she could bridge the gap with the rest of them, or maybe they were getting another problem, just with a better smile. Time would tell.
Back at the front of her concerns was the bombing campaign initiated by the ABB and Lung's escape. The first wave scattered everyone to put out the fires they caused, real and metaphorical, but the second one put even the lawmen into a panic, though it was less dangerous overall. It was that which gave cover for Oni Lee to break in and set Lung loose. The only Hero on the Rig at the time had been Browbeat, who was undergoing power testing when the bombs went off. He was getting ready to head back over to the mainland when Lung got loose and tried to do something about it.
Unfortunately, his newly gained heat- and fireproof biology did not make him a match for Lung. They certainly slugged it out for a time, but Lung was more experienced and ramped up faster, and both of them were giving off a lot of heat. Browbeat recognized that the steel around them was starting to get red, so he backed off, and Lung went for a swim.
It was the right choice, she had to concede. Even if they fought until the Rig melted around them, he wasn't defeating Lung like that.
This and more had to go into her report and the weekly meeting with the other PRT Directors. She could almost hear the admonishing tone of Chief Director Costa-Brown.
But before she could get to that…
"Send in the clowns," she muttered before tapping her phone and letting her secretary know she was ready to meet with Methuselah and Revenant more professionally.
In walked two men of great contrasts. One wore a business suit and top hat, short and rotund, with facial hair styled into 'friendly mutton chops' that made his smile all the more pronounced. He looked every part the classic circus ring leader. The other was tall, pale, and gangly, with a permanent scowl and mildly parted lips, wearing casual clothes with a leather jacket that had the circus's logo stitched into the shoulders. Despite not looking like much, Piggot knew he had to be one of the deadliest Capes in the US. He had simply refused to do much to make a name for himself, aside from one incident.
"A good morning, Madam Director," Martin Methuselah greeted her, removing his hat to reveal a bald top with expertly done horseshoe-style hair and giving her a bow.
"Mornin'," the other greeted her with just enough politeness.
"Good morning, gentlemen."
"I must say," Methuselah started, "yesterday was quite exciting for your city. I hope for a quick repair and pray for speedy healing. Don't worry about us, though. Our troupe has weathered worse and won't be scared off by some upjumped hooligans."
"That's good to know. The city could use your business, but you've already heard all of that from the mayor."
She doubted a mere bombing was scaring them off. Revenant was known for two things: he didn't stay dead when he died, and he once ran off the Slaughterhouse Nine while killing Chuckles the Clown. Less well known was his Master power, which projected a semi-autonomous construct with claws and high durability that could temporarily paralyze people with a scream. He was basically a grab-bag combination of Alabaster, Crusader, and Animos. Stories reached the internet every once in a while when he had to remind people that the circus was not a place to bring violence, usually by letting people think they've killed him, then getting back up and responding accordingly to their reactions.
On that note, his leather jacket had quite a few patches.
"And here you are," Methuselah said while passing her a stack of papers with photos and names.
It was odd to think about, but it made a certain twisted sense that circuses would have Capes of their own. Rogues, as far as the government was concerned. NEPEA-2 tried to curb it, only to get a protest in the form of every circus in the continent parking on D.C.'s proverbial front yard and protesting until NEPEA-3 came through, undoing a lot of what had been written in there. They still needed to inform the nearest PRT office every time they set up shop, with a list of Cape names and powers, but they rarely caused problems for the cities. If anything, the issues tended to come from the cities. Early on during the rise of Parahumans, people thought Circus Capes would be easy pickings for gang recruitment, and those who tried to press the issue learned that circus people looked out for their own.
Not being able to tell at a glance who was a Circus Freak with birth deformities and who had powers also helped them disguise themselves much better. Was the man in front of her a contortionist, a clown out of makeup, or an unkillable man with a killer ghost he could command? She only knew the answer because they called ahead.
"I'll be certain to get copies to all the Protectorate and Independent Heroes."
"Be sure to let them know they'll receive a discount if they show up in costume," he reminded her with a wink.
Simple marketing ploy. But effective.
"Not the dregs, doe," Revenant added.
"Oh, of course. Villains pay full price," Methuselah agreed. "Of course, that goes without saying."
"Damsel needed remindin'."
Revenant's most recent exploit: publicly humiliating Damsel of Distress. Apparently, annihilating most of his lower body just made him angry and half-naked.
"Let's hope our own… dregs know better already. I'm sure you've already heard this, but welcome to Brockton Bay."
"Thank you kindly, ma'am. Oh, and don't let it be said we forget our regular men and ladies in uniform. Police, firefighters, PRT, and all other emergency services get a free ride every day!"
"I'll make sure word gets around."
"Plucky's passin' fliers," Revenant pointed out while thumbing towards the door. He then looked toward Methuselah. "We good?"
"Hm, oh, I suppose that was everything here. Still need to make a visit with the grocers and leave another message for the mayor. Did you need anything else from us, ma'am?"
"That should be all. If anything Parahuman-related crops up, we'll send a liaison."
"Of course. Let us go, then, Macky."
"Sure, Unc."
And like that, it was done. Piggot sighed and leafed through the papers, getting a general idea of the Circus Capes. Unexpectedly, Methuselah was among them. Shaker-Master that created hands out of shadows in a radius around him. Looking him up in their database, she saw that the size of the radius remained unknown, but it was possibly the metric they used when setting up the circus grounds. Something to keep in mind. And another failure of people flagging the obvious but missing the potential powerhouses hiding just out of sight.
She sighed as she scribbled down a note, because she felt she'd be remiss in her duties if she didn't bring that up.
Twenty people arrived at Amergo's Family Clinic seeking to have their bombs removed after word finally spread that Revive was there, offering to remove them. They were removed for free, of course, but as part of her deal with Dr. Amergo, she heavily suggested they stay for a checkup. The clinic took most kinds of insurance and only had a 20 dollar copay, but it still felt skeevy to be making money off of people's suffering. Still, doctors had to eat, too, and theirs was a capitalist world.
If nothing else, the one in five who figured it would be a good idea to go ahead and get checked up while they were there meant a decent increase in local business, as they got examined, grabbed something to eat from nearby, or even grabbed a bus ride home. It was astounding that the buses would still be running after yesterday, but it just went to show that Brockton Bay was filled with sturdy, stubborn people.
After a while without seeing any patients, she began to wonder if that had really been it. Then a familiar figure with a masked face entered the room. Still wearing the golden-sequined dress that was almost a shirt at this point and the white shorts she had on last night, was Myceligem. Emma.
"Hey, uh… Hey," she greeted them as she walked in.
"What do you want?"
She looked pensive at Revive's tone, but Taylor wasn't able to find it in herself to care. She had thought that, after dropping her off at the PRT, they wouldn't see each other again until school, maybe, but it looked like the new Cape had sought her out.
"I was hoping… to talk to you for a bit. One on one."
Her knee-jerk reaction was distrust, and yet… No one else was with her. She'd come here alone, at a disadvantage. While it had been a few months since the last time Emma had tried to verbally beat her down, that had been a product of Victoria Dallon swooping in and deciding to take Taylor under her wing, not a choice that Emma had made. Even so, a couple of months did not erase the year and a half of steadily increasing torment they had put her through.
Still, if even a smidgen of what she heard might be true…
"Pick, could you go wait up front?" she asked the younger girl. "Let me know if another bomb victim comes in."
"Okay." She grabbed her pack and looked at Myceligem with a smile and a wave before heading out of the examination room, closing the door behind herself.
Then, they were alone. Revive walked over and turned the lock, which would give them a heads-up if anyone came in. The rooms were just shy of being soundproof, allowing doctor-patient confidentiality to be maintained. It would be enough for now.
Taylor took off her mask and stared down Emma, who similarly removed her own.
"I just… wanted to thank you, and… Taylor, I…" The girl's eyes cast down, and she wracked with sobs for a moment. "I'm sorry."
"You're sorry," Taylor repeated before taking a deep breath, then slowly counting down from ten as she let it go. "You're sorry? For what, exactly?"
"I… For everything!"
"Everything?" She repeated her calming technique. "Everything? For putting me down every day? For turning everyone you could against me? For making sure I could never have a friend? For siccing Sophia on me when words weren't enough?! For telling everyone I was on drugs?! For spreading rumors that I was whoring myself out?! For telling me I was too filthy for even the desperate?! For ruining my grades?! Making the teachers distrust me?! Destroying Mom's flute?! Shoving me in a locker full of filth and leaving me to rot?!"
At some point, she'd started screaming, and Emma had sat down in one of the chairs and started bawling her eyes out. Taylor could hardly believe what she was seeing from the girl. Part of her was looking for the trick or trap, but, for the life of her, she couldn't imagine what it could be. Her core still burned even as it ached. Emma didn't… cry about what she did. Not the new Emma. The old one never had anything like this to cry over. At her mother's funeral, she had shed tears, but not as Taylor had, and not like this.
"I didn't want-" Emma got out past her sobbing. "It didn't… start like that… I just wanted-" She hiccuped. "I wanted you to… To do something…"
"Do what, Emma?" Taylor bit out. "Do what, exactly?"
"I- I don't know! It-" She looked up and wiped at her eyes, letting Taylor see that she was really, truly crying over this. Once again, she felt that ache, but her core still burned with anger. "I thought I knew, but- I thought you would have… fought back, or… Or something!"
"Fight how? You had Sophia attached to you at the hip! If I just decided to make you swallow your own teeth one day, what would have stopped her from smashing my face in? I couldn't go to the teachers! I couldn't just leave! I was boxed in! You trapped me! Isolated me! I had nothing! No one! And you made sure of it!"
By now, Emma was shaking.
'Christ! Did that fucking bomb really-'
"Why now?" Taylor seethed. "What changed, besides the obvious?"
"I've… been stupid!" Emma admitted, sniffling as she did. "I've been a stupid piece of shit, and I didn't realize it until… I was going to die." The realization seemed to pour over her like a glass of ice water.
Yes. If circumstances were the same, without Revive's help – without Taylor's help – Emma would have almost certainly died. Trying to avoid bleeding out was one thing, but shards of the alien fungus had gotten into her bloodstream. It was still a hostile environment, but they put up a better fight against the human body than Earth's general biosphere. It still would have died, in the end, but not before taking out a chunk of Emma's tissues in its struggle to live. And Panacea was already swamped by then.
She was going to die, until Revive got to work.
"I was going to die, and you were going to save me, and… I just realized how… awful I've been."
"You knew it was me," Taylor stated. "You figured out my identity."
"I haven't told anyone," Emma quickly said with desperation and another sniffle. Looking to her side, she saw the box of tissues and used one to clear herself up a bit before continuing. "I just… figured it out. Daddy didn't say anything, but… it became… Not obvious, but I… put the pieces together."
Taylor sighed at that. She figured someone could tell. The Unwritten Rules about identities worked on the assumption that people did not know each other in both aspects of their lives, but if you knew the Cape and knew them as a civilian, unless they were putting on some Oscar-worthy performances, it would become clear that one was the other in a costume.
"So why were you there?"
"...I'm not… sure. I… guess I wanted to see you up close. See… how you could do it. How you… were being a Hero." She blew her nose again and rubbed at it, and Taylor could see a fresh tear join the flow of her left cheek. "I was… I wanted… I don't know what I was doing."
She tossed the spent tissue into the wastebasket before sighing and saying, "I'm an idiot."
"Yeah," Taylor quickly agreed, steeling her heart against the flinch that Emma made. "But at least you're seeing it now, I suppose. Step 1 and all that."
"It was… I know… I know it doesn't make it better, but I want to make it better. I… I want to be better."
Taylor bit her tongue before she said something to crush that hope. What makes you think you deserve a chance? She hadn't forgotten her pain, nor the anger she felt at Emma. Seeing her lying helplessly on a medical bed and muttering apologies and explanations while the pseudo-phine kept her under hadn't smothered it, but it certainly awoke those older feelings she thought were gone.
'I'm not Tinkerbell. I can feel way more than one emotion at a time.'
"You really want that? To be better?" she asked, receiving a nod in response. "What're you going to do, then?"
"I… I'm not sure. Be a Hero? I have powers now. I can help people."
"Then you'll join the Wards?" Emma nodded more slowly at that. Taylor could see the unsaid lines practically floating in the air. The first thought Emma would've had in her epiphany of self-reproach would've been to ask to join Team Rebuild, but they both knew that wasn't going to work out. They weren't ready to close that sort of gap just yet.
"Good. Join them, go through their training, and learn to be a Hero from the Protectorate. If you can do that, maybe it'll show you mean it: that you can be better."
It felt like she was kicking the can down the road to be someone else's problem, but really, it shouldn't be hers to begin with.
"I will. I'll… prove it. Um, Daddy and I… pretty much already signed me up."
"Hm, I thought he might."
She was actually afraid he might push for her to join the team, since their parents were all still unaware of what had been happening between them. So much so that Uncle Alan had told her own dad about what had happened that summer, when she had returned from camp to find Emma had changed, and not just from a haircut.
"One thing, Emma," Taylor said while the thought was on her mind. "Why did you never say anything? About the alley that summer?"
"I…" She blanched. "Where…?"
"My pseudo-phine was designed to prevent addiction." It worked with strange 'ghost' chemicals that, effectively, erased the traces of the neurochemicals once they'd done their jobs. She didn't really know exactly how it worked aside from 'Tinker bullshit' and that it was made partially out of cocaine and oxycodone with a lot of mineral water diluting it. "However, you were still loopy under its effects. It may also be a truth serum, but I'm not quite sure."
"Oh." She blushed. "So, I… wasn't just saying random things out loud?"
"That was definitely a part of it."
"I didn't… say anything too embarrassing, did I?"
"Nothing else I didn't already know." Taylor smirked. "But… Pickmeup may know a few things now."
"Oh, God! What… What does she know?"
"Spice Girls Breakup."
And then Emma went nearly as red as her hair as her face was hidden by her hands. Taylor allowed herself a chuckle.
Things couldn't be the same.
The damage is already done.
But things never stayed the same, even in the best of times. Something new would have to grow out of this.
Max Anders looked out from his window in the direction of the little space near the Docks area, colloquially thought of as 'Little Asia,' also known as the core of ABB territory. The Pan-Asian collection of gangs held together under the thumb of a raging beast had gone too far yesterday, and the Empire would need to show its colors to keep from losing face and splintering.
It was always a delicate balance, making the dregs of white society feel like they had a threat to fight against without completely overcoming it all or feeling as though they were losing. If anything, he was almost thankful to Lung for giving them something to stand united against, when every other gang crumbled under infighting or got scooped up by the visibly multicultural Protectorate. Unfortunately, Bakuda had to go and stir the pot so violently that there was no simple way to clean up the splatter. At least the skank had gotten some sort of comeuppance when she lost a foot to one of the new so-called Heroes. And the Asian one at that.
It wasn't enough to sate his lot, though. Now, they would have to make a show of doing something to 'beat back the menace' without overdoing it. Make them feel proud and victorious while leaving enough of an enemy to fight later. The price of paying people via ideology.
And there he had been looking forward to celebrating Lung's incarceration by dunking clowns or something. Ah well. The circus was for the people. He had to go and get them their bloody bread.
Lung watched dispassionately as Bakuda had her severed leg treated by an old doctor who had moved from Thailand when he was but a boy. He knew he was good, and the man knew to obey when Lung called on him. The woman was lucky that Revive had closed her up as well as she did, he had said. Stopped the worst of the bleeding.
He had been thinking about how to balance punishment and reward, but a visible peg leg might serve as enough of a reminder. Something to bring up when her arrogance next reared its head.
"You haven't earned the right to be arrogant, yet," he told her as he explained this.
"Some big thanks, boss," she ground out past the pain.
"You broke me free, as you should, and you will be rewarded, but we must also prepare. The Heroes will want to show they aren't merely letting us escape," he told her. "You hit the Empire, as well, and they will retaliate. To not strike back is to show weakness. Rebuild has already struck you, but they will still work to undo what you have done."
"Frickin' struck me all right," she spat toward the side. "Knew Larissa could stab a bitch, but I didn't- Urgh! Hmr, guess she was gonna get… Miss Frankenstein to put it back on."
An unfamiliar name, in reference to the gunwoman.
"You know Sixshooter?"
"Shiiiiiiiiit, boss, I- Ah shit, wait, am I supposed to tell you any of this?"
Lung looked to the old surgeon, who nodded his head, finished up the bandages, and left the room.
"Speak."
"'Kay, uh, yeah. Yeah, I know her. Known her since sixth grade. Back in Boston, growin' up in Chinatown, ya know. Her dad moved in from Beijing before the CUI fully took ova. We's our own lil' group of Asian-American gals. Thought they were all dead. I was visitin' home, and they went to NYC for the big ball drop, then, nuthin'. No word. Didn't see 'em again. Kinda… was alone there." She huffed out a humorless laugh. "And then Larry was the one what looked like she saw a ghost. Damn shame 'bout Tan-tan and Stace, though."
"Dead?"
"Larry said they were. …Man, fuuuuuuck, she said the guy got 'em first 'cuz they was blonde!"
"White?"
"Eh, half. Kinda what got us all stickin' togetha. Stacy was half Vietnamese; Tatyana was half Japanese, half Russian. Freakin' hilarious listening to her folks talk. Ah shit! Ol' Ten ain't gonna be happy. Fuuuuuck, it's really sinking in now." She palmed her eyes and rubbed them, and Lung realized that, perhaps for the first time, Bakuda was internalizing the deaths of people she actually considered comrades and not some distant nobodies for the first time.
Good. Let her learn that lesson. Pain was a valuable teacher.
He heard a knock and opened the door. One of his lieutenants was there, bowing his head and gesturing to the metal pegleg a lower underling was carrying. Lung nodded his head back towards Bakuda before stepping out of the room.
"Lord Lung, someone else is here that may require your presence," the man informed him while touching the back of his head, where the bomb Bakuda had placed had been removed. One of his first orders had been to have them removed from his lieutenants, with priority given to those who had directly assisted in his escape. Fear was always the primary motivator in the ABB, but good underlings should be rewarded as well, even if that reward was simply less to fear. "Young boy. Says he has power."
"Did he prove it?"
"Kept throwing a knife, and it came back to his hand," the lieutenant, – Koga, his name was – explained. "Didn't seem like much, but… that is for you to decide, Lung, is it not?"
"It is."
He arrived in the large room where he sometimes met with the civilians living under his rule or gave out commands to large gatherings of his men. Standing there was a boy who looked deathly afraid, but continued to stand anyway. Lung smelled the blood on his neck before he saw it, and realized that he had been one of the civilians he ran across the night before. He appeared to have removed his own bomb, and now he had power.
Time to determine if he was worth anything.
"You stand before the dragon. Why have you come here, boy?"
"Lord Lung, I am… Park Jihoo. I've come looking for my mother and sister. I believe they were taken under Bakuda's orders."
"You believe?"
"They… A neighbor said they saw men from the ABB arrive and leave, much like when… I was recruited. I have… little to offer, but some meager possessions… and my service."
The boy was shaking, but he stood firm, and that was better than most could.
"Then show me what you're worth," Lung demanded while gesturing to the far wall, where some dartboards and pictures were pinned. The boy held up a knife and, with shaky hands, threw it as hard as he could across the room.
It bounced off the wall by the handle and fell. Before hitting the ground, however, it reappeared in the boy's hand, and he threw it again. This time, the blade hit, but it still bounced and disappeared back into his hand again. The third throw, it sank in a little and stayed put for a moment. As soon as everyone had acknowledged it landed, it disappeared from the wall and ended up back in Park's hand again.
He threw it over and over, sometimes hitting, sometimes bouncing, but he was landing it more often as it went. Lung watched as the boy grew used to throwing it correctly, even if his aim left something to be desired. It managed to hit one of the dart boards, and Lung raised a hand.
"Enough."
The boy stopped, not even using his power to recall the knife.
"You will be useful." He looked back at Koga. "Find people who know throwing knives. Get him trained. Find his family and bring them to him." He then looked back at the boy, who was standing more firmly now, even with the sweat running down his brow. "Korean?"
"Yea-" He coughed to clear his throat. "Yes, Lord Lung."
"What is your word for knife?"
The boy thought for a moment. "Bi-su?" he asked more than he said. Lung looked over at his men, and one who looked Korean to him nodded.
"Word for dagger," the gangster responded.
"Then you are Bi-su," Lung told the Parahuman. "Start covering your face, and straighten your spine. I will send Oni Lee to make sure you are learning."
"Thank you," the boy breathed out, clearly relieved even as he bowed stiffly. "Lord Lung."
A whale falls into the depths.
A man collapses in the forest.
A great keening is heard.
An unsung dirge is played.
Life lost is mourned.
Mourned life is lost.
What is lost cannot be regained.
Great beings fall.
And lesser things thrive.
Where whales and men fall,
Worms find a feast.
Vultures land and give thanks.
Sharks spin and dance in joy.
Flies find their Eden.
Crustaceans will know plenty.
Fungal blooms sprout ahead of flowers.
The sea floor teems like a hive.
Here, where death has set, lies rot.
But far more than Death,
There is Life to be found,
In Decay.
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