Prologue: Night of Your Life

Thomas Calvert ran for his life. It didn't matter where, or how. He ran. And they were right behind him.

Ellisburg was alive with Nilbog's creations. The creatures were everywhere, climbing on walls, hopping along rooftops, bashing through doors, sewer drains, windows, everywhere. He even saw a few dig right out of the dirt and gravel, spewing debris as they came. They all cackled and screeched as they charged- some sounded in pain, others roaring with glee, but ultimately it all blended together into an all-consuming wall of white noise.

They'd been idiots, fools, to believe that they could take on someone like this. And now they were paying the price. Calvert hopped over the corpse of a fellow PRT agent, whose body was swarming with hockey-puck sized insects that tore away at his flesh. He was apparently still alive, and his wail sliced through the air and burned itself into Calvert's conscience. But he didn't stop, kept running, and kept dodging. He might be a monster for doing it, but he was the monster who was going to make it out of Ellisburg alive.

"Wipe them all out, my children! Cleanse our garden! Destroy the interlopers for your king!" Nilbog roared from somewhere across town, impossibly loud over the already massive din. A thought that one of Nilbog's creatures might be able to amplify his voice flew through Calvert's mind before drowning in the baseline instincts for survival that flooded his brain.

What was left of Squad Three- Calvert's squad- were all running beside him. Most of their faces had looks of terror that matched his own. Clade, the squad leader, was in front of the rest, a rifle in one hand and flashlight in the other, shining its weak beam of light out into the drenching rain.

Ah, the rain. If they only had enough problems already, the rain made every surface slick, every corridor covered in shadow and impossible to look down. To his right, Calvert watched as Tam slipped and fell, screaming as Nilbog's creatures reached him and did whatever they did when they caught their prey.

"Where are the capes?" Calvert shouted at Clade. "Shouldn't they be covering out retreat?" Nilbog's creatures would decimate any humdrum PRT squad, but they would have a harder time against parahumans.

"Not here!" Clade shouted back, almost slipping and falling as he did so. "They all cleared out when this whole operation went to hell!"

No capes? They'd… left them behind. Calvert's anger blazed at the departed heroes. Where were they, with their almighty powers, when he and the rest of the normal humans were running for their lives from these abominations?

"This way! The evacuation site is this way!" Clade rounded a corner, Calvert and the rest following. There were seven of them now. "Only a few blocks now!"

It took about three seconds for Calvert to lift up in a half-hearted hope that they were going to make it, before it was dashed back into the ground at the sight of what awaited around the corner. Three of Nilbog's creations were waiting for them on the other end of the street. One of them was a bloated monstrosity, easily seven feet tall and shaped like a beach ball. Another, a smaller, rounded creature with innumerable small, hooked legs and hundreds of tiny insect-like wings was perched on a streetlight nearby. The third was humanoid in height and shape and had skin like black, cracked glass. They all screeched as they saw the incoming PRT agent.

Clade didn't waste a moment, lifting up his rifle and firing multiple rounds into the head of the bloated creature. It roared in pain and fell over, its body exploding into a grotesque green liquid as it hit the ground. The liquid was apparently acidic, it sizzled when it hit the ground, eating away at the pavement and into whatever was below- sewers, subways, another monster den, maybe? Fortunately, Calvert remembered that the PRT uniforms protected against most forms of acid. He hoped.

Noticing its fallen friend, the winged creature shrieked loudly, a sound like breaking glass, and took flight, its thousands of tiny wings making sounds like a buzzing bee as it flew to a nearby rooftop. Not a threat, for the moment, anyway.

One creature, the cracked-glass thing, stood in their way. The thing grunted and flicked out its right arm, sending shards of whatever it was made of flying at the PRT squad. One shard slashed into Clade's shoulder, eliciting a loud cry of pain from the officer. Another impaled Jazz' throat. He hit the ground, not moving, not even making a sound as he fell. Six remaining agents, now.

Someone with one of those new containment foam launchers- Quince, probably- launched a jet of the foam at the glass creature before it could strike again. It went down under the white cloud, struggling futilely as the futuristic foam solidified rapidly and trapped it in place. The foam would either disintegrate naturally by itself or just stay there until someone figured a way to break through it, Calvert didn't quite remember which. He didn't really care, anyway.

Calvert ran to Clade's side- his bleeding shoulder was not a pretty sight, and he'd dropped his flashlight, which was dissolving in the green liquid on the ground. "I'll be alright," he said, standing up with a good deal of difficulty and a grunt of pain, "Now let's get out of here." Slightly leaning on Calvert's shoulder, the two kept moving forward, surrounded by the remaining agents, weapons brandished.

"Four blocks!" Clade shouted as they passed another row of buildings. On cue, the crowd of monsters that had been chasing them rounded the corner they'd passed only a little while ago, screeching in glee as they found their prey once more. "Keep going!" Clade shouted.

"Purge the garden, my children! We must have our paradise to ourselves!" Nilbog roared, his booming voice once again cutting through the air like a knife through cardboard. A buzzing sound began to fill the air, much closer than the cacophony of the incoming crowd of monsters. Calvert realized too late that it was the insect-thing they'd left behind with the other creatures, and it swooped down and carted off Mard, the agent screaming as he went. Calvert watched as the insect alighted on the nearby rooftop with its prey, only to be dogpiled by several other monsters who also wanted a piece of the action. Five agents left.

They ran another block, and the sound of the helicopter began to sound over the downpour and the screech of the pack behind them. Then another block, and another, and Calvert began to let himself hope that they'd make it out. It might actually be possible.

The helicopter emerged from the gloom and rain, hovering above a small park in the middle of a rectangle of villas, its blades slicing through the incoming droplets, its ladder hanging low, ready to receive. "Hurry!" Someone on the 'copter shouted down to them. "They're not far behind!"

Quince reached the ladder first, making it up in a matter of seconds. Myst was next, his hand almost slipping on one of the rungs, but he too made it to the helicopter, and Null was right behind him. That left just Calvert and Clade.

"You go first. You won't make it if I leave you behind." Calvert said to Clade, feeling incredulous as he did so. Why was he letting someone else go before him? All that mattered now was making it into that helicopter.

Clade nodded and started climbing, but it was immediately clear that his wounded shoulder wouldn't make his ascent fast. Calvert climbed on behind him, one hand on the ladder and the other on his gun, pointing into the mist in the way they had come.

Then the creatures emerged from the mist, first in twos and threes, then the whole pack, only two blocks away and closing fast. Calvert fired a few rounds into the crowd, downed one or two, but they kept coming uninhibited. He dropped the rifle to the ground, it wouldn't be of much use anymore.

And they were only halfway up the ladder; Clade's ascent was agonizingly slow with his wounded shoulder. "Come on, come on!" Calvert shouted at him, panic rising in his chest. "Come on, Clade!"

The monsters charged, only a block away, then only a half. It would be mere moments before they reached the ladder. And they were only three quarters of the way up, the agents in the helicopter shouting at Calvert and Clade to hurry up.

Calvert wanted to scream, cry and fight all at once. He watched Clade, the man groaning in pain as he moved up another rung. Then all warmth and nicety left his body. Reaching for his sidearm, Calvert grabbed the pistol and pointed it upwards, aiming it at Clade's head. "What are you doing, man?" Someone shouted from up in the helicopter, but Calvert could barely hear it.

The monsters reached the ladder, and Calvert pulled the trigger.

Clade barely caught his breath as the bullet slammed into the back of his skull. He lost his grip on the ladder, plummeted towards the monsters below, who cried raucously at their newfound prey, swiping their claws as he fell.

As Clade hit the ground, Calvert woke up.

…

Calvert shot up in his chair, gasping for breath. It took him a moment to realize he was in the office of his home. His home in Brockton Bay, not a park in Ellisburg surrounded by monstrosities.

Years later, that nightmare still found him every now and then. Memories came rushing in- shooting Clade, leaving his body behind, and climbing onto the helicopter to his angry teammates. Being court-martialed and removed from the PRT, no legal trouble ensuing as a result of the PR department wanting to keep the disaster of a mission hush-hush. Talking with "Lady", A.K.A. Emily Piggot, the only survivor of the mission not in Squad Three, while they both recovered in the hospital, her from physical damage, him from psychological. Ironically, Emily was now the PRT Director in the city he now lived in.

Calvert stretched, loosening his stiff muscles from sleeping in a chair. He read the analog clock on his desk- 2:00 AM in the morning. But he didn't get up and go to bed. He had to finish his plan.

Ever since being unceremoniously exiled from the PRT and the subsequent letter from Accord, Coil had been planning. Planning to take down Brockton Bay's corrupt PRT, its quibbling government, its aging Protectorate. They'd all go down, and he'd rise from the ashes as the new leader of the port city. As Coil.

Many stages of the plan were already complete- the money had been taken care of years ago, his power allowing him to bet big bids on sporting events and win every time. His operatives were in the works. He'd already recruited several- Circus, Trainwreck, the Travelers- and had lined up funds and inquiries for others in the future. The designs for his base of operations were complete and framed on the wall before him, with several disposable copies at the ready.

But his plan was still missing something. The whole operation needed a face, a spearhead. Coil was planning on staying in the shadows as this all unfolded, right up until the end of his debut as the new owner of Brockton Bay. So the operation needed a public image, something that would convey his plans while still keeping his involvement a secret until the time was right. He'd been up since late last night trying to pinpoint exactly what this flaw is his plan needed, to no avail.

With his mind stalled, memories of Ellisburg once again flowed into it. But above all, strangely, was the memory of the capes who had come along for the operation leaving the PRT agents for dead, fleeing like the scumbags they were. Not quite heroes by any definition.

Then the thought struck him. "A team of heroes." Coil said to himself. And it fit. That was what his plan still needed. A team of heroes that could outdo the Protectorate, Wards, and PRT any day of the week. A team of heroes willing to do what other's wouldn't to get justice served. A team of heroes that had been rejected by the Protectorate and all its golden glory, for someone reason or another. A team of outcasts that would rise to the top, praising Coil's glories as they went. Looking through his files of potential operatives, Coil identified a fitting group of misfits in a matter of moments.

It was the perfect plan. Even so, it would take a lot of effort, and a lot of luck. Fortunately, Coil's power took care of both of those things.

He got to work immediately.

...

It's finally ready!

First of all, this is a Worm AU fic. It's essentially Coil deciding to make a team of heroes instead of the Undersiders. This is indeed a prologue, and I'll probably add the first official chapter sometime next week. Underdogs is set to run for about fifty chapters, but it may be longer or shorter depending on how I feel, and I'll probably write a sequel.

Skitter, Lung, Armsmaster... They're all still there. Just... not quite as you remember them. Hope you'll all stick with me long enough for that line to make sense!

-Imageination