Chapter 8
The following week seemed an eternity. There were the usual meetings with Coil and with the Undersiders, and there remained that lingering problem of Taylor (who remained aloof and withdrawn, lost in her own little world more often than not). And Lisa still spent the occasional night in those places of fantasy, beneath great towering spires of starlight and deserts of obsidian sand. Fortunately, she didn't again find herself faced with that Woman in White, but the dreams were uneasy all the same, for every second she passed within those places, she felt eerily as if she was being watched. And above all, there loomed the bank, and just whatever scheme it was that Coil truly played for.
So she spent long hours in planning sessions, dealing with the Travelers, with Trickster, their leader, and with a secret strategist who remained unseen (and wouldn't that make an interesting puzzle to solve). They went over capabilities and skills, and hashed out an entire range of contingencies – tactics aimed for the Wards, for New Wave, and, if the worst should come to pass, for the heroes of the Protectorate itself. And she spoke with the Undersiders, tried to sell a plan she herself had misgivings about, not that she desired to admit that truth. Not knowing what Coil was like. What he would likely do.
And so the days passed, and she kept her ear to the ground, as old tensions began to build once more. Soldiers of the Empire began to push themselves towards a frenzy (and she had no doubt that Coil had his hand in that) and the ABB were quick to rise to the bait. The Protectorate and the Ward continued largely as they always have, focusing their presence largely upon the commercial districts and the boardwalk, but remaining vigilant as the Cold War began to turn hot.
She spent another day at the Food Kitchen, and she found, walking down the street, a lingering tension present in the air. People remained locked within their homes, and the streets were even emptier than usual. The Kitchen was full to capacity, as people tried to get off the street, to gather in a place of relative safety. The atmosphere was something oppressive, and it reminded Lisa of nothing less than a bomb set to explode.
Taylor was there this time, and she remained aloof. But she greeted Lisa when she came, and they shared some small measure of small talk across the day. Pithy observations of their daily lives, of Taylor's school and their fellow volunteers and one time Taylor even laughed at a joke she made. They spoke about small things, comfortable things, while the larger issues (of that day and that place and whatever the hell it was Taylor was slowly but surely becoming) remained unspoken, but they loomed heavy on both their minds.
It wasn't much, Lisa had to admit, but it was improvement all the same.
The hours seemed to stretch, as Lisa kept a careful balance of all her worries and concerns, all those competing responsibilities, and tried not to break down from the pressure. Towards the end of their session, Taylor pulled her aside.
"You're stressed," the younger girl observed and Lisa laughed derisively.
"It took you long enough to notice," she said.
Taylor frowned, putting her hands in her pockets, "I haven't been much of a friend."
Lisa shrugged, "You're going through a lot. Trust me, I can relate. Still, you can't keep bottling this up forever. It's going to end badly."
Taylor's face turned ashen at those words and Lisa frowned, as they both had some inkling of an idea of what that bad end entailed.
Lisa checked her watch and frowned. There was so little time, but perhaps this was a bigger breakthrough than she had thought.
"Look," she said, catching Taylor's attention. "It'll take time, but you've got to open up to people. Let them in for once. You have my number. If you ever need anything, anything at all, call."
Taylor smiled, a small and sad and tragic smile that almost pulled at Lisa's heartstrings because, for once, there was a trace of something more than that crushing despair and isolation. "I know. I do trust you. It'll just take time. Time to process and to figure out just what the fuck I've become."
Lisa nodded, smiling wryly. She rocked to and fro on the balls of her feet. "I think I can understand that."
She checked her watch and cursed her lack of time. There was still so much more to do, and so little time left to get things in their proper order. They said their goodbyes and went off their separate ways.
A day later she robbed a bank.
L
L
Coil split the timeline, and settled back in his chair behind his desk, his eyes locked intently upon his laptop, as he kept track with the latest developments. He had photos on the desk before him, photos of a lanky teenage girl with long dark hair – an enigma he determined to solve. He'd been holding himself back, nervous as to what it was her power might be, but he had been gathering information nonetheless. Information on her father and her school, and on the only friend who seemed welcome in her life. He wondered, not for the first time, what Lisa was playing at.
But he had so many other fish to fry. He'd played things carefully for so long now, gathering his resources in secret, preparing for the day he might finally strike against the ABB and the Empire. A single phone call set up riots in the Docks, as one of his employees murdered one of Lung's unpowered lieutenants. It was a death sentence for the man – that was something they both knew going in, but each man had his pressure point. Weaknesses to be protected or, in Coil's case, exploited.
Beneath his mask, he smiled, as two gangs came out in force. Parahumans fought Parahumans right there in the open, and Lung emerged, as much a dragon as a man, unwilling to leave the slight unanswered, and the better part of the Empire's strength came forth to meet him.
He checked the data-feed, noting that the Protectorate had finally rallied. Armsmaster was leading the response in person. His smile narrowed, and cruel satisfaction glimmered in his eyes. Image conscious as they were, there was no way the Protectorate could leave such a firestorm alone. And on the other side of town, the Undersiders struck the bank.
He picked up his phone and, in both the world that was and the world which existed only in his mind, he gave the same order.
"It's time. Grab the girl."
He hung up and, in both the real world and the one of fantasy, Thomas Calvert settled down to watch.
L
L
The mercenaries struck from a featureless van, pulling into the driveway of the Alcott family. Dinah startled as she got some inkling of the future – of what it was they intended for her. Chance of Escape? 7.04367 per-cent. She forced herself to terminate the numbers, looked out the window, and saw the car and the armed soldiers approaching down the driveway. Fear settled in the pit of her stomach and a bead of sweat fell down her face.
She had never been entirely comfortable with her powers, nervous about what they meant. What her parents might think. And she knew, without a doubt, that it was her power they were after. Who wouldn't want the precognitive?
She ran, flew through the door and down the street and the mercenaries gave chase. She asked a question, and, receiving her question, she began to cry. She felt a sharp pain on her neck, as the tranquilizer struck, and she tumbled face first upon the pavement.
Delicately, the mercenaries grabbed her and carried her back towards the van. No witness was left behind.
L
L
And in a distant part of town, Armsmaster was calling for backup, as Lung loomed large and out of control. Fire spread through the Docks, incinerating old shoddy warehouses and decrepit shacks, as the soldiers of the ABB and the Empire crashed together. It was a bevy of chaos and slaughter, and perhaps worst of all, he could hear through it all the distinctive laughter of Lung's newest recruit, as she used her bombs to sickening effect.
He received his answer, and gritted his teeth, and prepared to wait things out. He had a mixture of drugs already on hand, one specially prepared to counter Lung's healing, and he only hoped it would be enough. He looked back once more, watching as Hookwolf fell to one of Bakuda's contraptions and as Menja was nearly ripped in half by the Asian dragon, her tremendous size useless against her opponent's claws.
He bit down the apprehension and the fear, and looked back to his support. To PRT agents who waited on attention, each one of them composed in spite of their terror, and to his second in command, Miss Militia, who even now was ready to intercede. Every second, more were dying in this madness. He mounted his motorbike, watched as the full force of Brockton Bay's protectorate trickled in as backup.
The gangs had been given a free hand for far too long, and it was time for action. He watched as the fight began to turn, as survivors of the Empire began to flee, and as Lung grew stronger still. The Empire began to fall apart, as Kaiser fell at his enemy's claws, and, the worst of the fighting beginning to fade, Lung at last began to power down. He'd only have a slim chance at this, but it was there for the taking.
"I'll handle Lung," he said, looking towards the villain who had once pushed back an Endbringer. "As for you, stay alive."
There were nods all around and, bolstered by reinforcements, with the worst of the fighting past, Armsmaster entered the fray.
L
L
And in that same time, as the war in the Docks began to reach its final stage, and as the Undersiders gathered in the safety of their lair, celebrating the success of their heist while, on the other side of town, in the safety of the PRT, the Wards lingered as well. None had been too badly injured, and those that were hurt in the fracas were even now being healed by Panacea.
They shared in pensive silence, none of them thinking too heavily on the humiliation they'd been dealt. They'd deal with Piggot later, with all their mistakes and failings exposed in brutal detail. For now, they watched the war in the Docks, and hoped for the best.
And in the center of it all, a twelve year old girl was led through a secret base, and brought face to face with a skeletal man in a skintight costume. He locked eyes with her and an involuntary shiver wracked her form. One of her captors released her, stepped forward towards their boss.
"We've got her," he said.
"Good," said Coil, taking a glance back towards the photograph before he looked up again. "Greetings Dinah. I've been looking forward to meeting you for a long, long time."
He rose from his chair and approached, "I think you'll find that together we'll do great things."
She recoiled, ill at ease, and she panicked as the skeletal man watched her, with something cold and calculating in his gaze.
"If you felt like running, I'd suggest against it," he said. "You'd only tire yourself out, and we wouldn't want that, now, would we?"
She ran the numbers and was crushed by the odds she received: practically zero. Coil smiled underneath his mask, and she heard him speak again, "Yes. Not much point in that, is there?"
There were tears in her eyes and, desperate, she looked around the room, for help, for anyone, but there was nothing. She looked at the hardened mercenaries, still standing at attention, at the man in the mask, still waiting patiently, practically oozing smugness, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught the face on the photograph.
Her lips began to tremble as, mechanical as a puppet, she approached the photo, picked it up and stared. Her eyes widened, and she tried to make sense of the visions which assaulted her. Of great rips in space and time, as the entire universe came undone.
She felt Coil approach, and a cold thin hand settle upon her shoulder. "Do you see anything?"
She didn't even hear the question, she was too lost in the horror of what soon would be: of an unspeakable terror which, even now, was already underway. She watched galaxies themselves unravel and the stars die out. She saw entire universes crash together, and she tried to make sense of it all, of what was surely happening, but it was simply too insane for her to contemplate. She was crying and she didn't even notice.
"What do you see?" Coil asked, more insistent still.
She tried to summon the numbers. Numbers made it easier. Made it all make sense, but she couldn't. There were no numbers that could quantify annihilation on such a scale and, briefly, she caught a glimpse of something greater still, and she began to hear the echoes of some strange and terrible music.
"An ending," she said, her words so quiet that Coil had to strain to hear.
"Pet?"
"Destruction. Death. Change." She said, lost in some distant place, trapped in the vision of what she'd seen. "Everything, everywhere, returned to nothing." She turned to face him, and there was something desperate and broken in her eyes.
"You don't understand! You can't! There are no numbers! Nothing, my God, there are no numbers! What did I saw? What have I seen?" Dinah Alcott collapsed in his arms, crying. He ran his hand through her hair, soothingly, like he was comforting a scared animal.
"What do you mean?" Coil asked, insistent, as he finally split the timeline, and in one place in time, he kept up that inquiry. Through the tears and the horror of it all he kept on pushing, until Dinah was a quivering mess whose power was spent and broken. And in the other, he let the psychic sleep.
He picked up his phone, disturbed by what he had learned and what he had seen. He looked towards the mercenaries who had witnessed, even now ill at ease and terribly afraid. Fear could make men unreliable. He'd have to do something about that.
But above all else, there was Taylor Hebert: what was she? Destruction on that scale, and there was nothing he could do about it?
His hands were tied, and he was trapped in a battle he couldn't win. He didn't like no win scenarios, but Dinah's power was never wrong, and he had been most thorough.
He called the number.
"Tattletale," he said. "The Undersiders, the plan, whatever I have hanging over your head, all of that doesn't matter anymore. Keep Taylor sane, keep her happy."
He could feel the smug satisfaction on the other end, along with an undercurrent of concern.
"You're serious," she said, and he could practically hear the wheels turning in her head.
"Meet with me immediately. There are things you need to know, things we must discuss. Are we agreed?"
"I'll be right there."
He nodded and hung up. Like a puppet with cut strings, he tumbled into his chair and loaded up his computer. All those carefully laid plans and machinations were rendered irrelevant now. Everything was.
Silent, Thomas Calvert waited for Tattletale to arrive, and he could only hope that somehow they could pull this through. If the universe were to end, he'd very much prefer to be dead and buried first.