Security!
Chapter 37: Adding to the Mix
Taylor was just climbing into the PRT van when Glory Girl landed near the vehicle in a rush of wind. The blonde set Panacea down on her feet, then headed over to the van.
"Weaver, yeah?" she asked. "I remember you from the bank."
"Uh, yes?" Taylor replied, a little distractedly. She had gathered large swarms before, but never under this sort of pressure, and she worried that she might not be able to keep track of everything, or that she might lose control of a chunk of her swarm at the wrong moment. For all that Mike had assured her that she was capable of this, she had yet to prove it to herself, and so she was concentrating harder than normal on the task.
"Hey!" snapped Glory Girl. "Panacea's said she wants to go with you. I want to be sure you're going to protect my sister, not space out on her."
Behind her goggles, Taylor blinked; the swarm seemed to be holding together well, so she relaxed some of the concentration, just a bit. "Uh, sorry, Glory Girl. Hey, Amy. You're coming out too, huh?"
Stepping up alongside Glory Girl, Panacea nodded. "Yeah, but like Mike said, no healing. So, bugs. I can do bugs. Can I come along?"
"Hell, yes," agreed Taylor at once. She leaned back into the van. "Okay if Panacea rides along?"
"Sure," responded Aegis, then he glanced at the PRT driver for confirmation. "That's okay, isn't it?"
"If you have enough seats, I have no problem," the driver told him.
"If there's not enough, then Weaver can sit in someone's lap," Clockblocker quipped. "I vote mine."
"That's not funny," Aegis snapped. "Jokes like that are not appropriate. First and last warning."
Taylor registered the byplay, but chose to ignore it. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of her," she assured Glory Girl. "Thanks for dropping her off." She stepped aside to let Amy climb into the van, then went to follow her. Vicky stopped her.
Taylor looked down at the hand on her shoulder, then back at Glory Girl. "What?"
Vicky leaned close, her voice lowered so that those in the van could not hear her. "I don't know what's going on between you and my sister, but I am going to find out, and if she gets hurt because of you, or that security guard friend of yours … "
Taylor shook her head. "Don't even go there. Mike's done nothing but good for us. And Amy's my friend. I won't let her get hurt."
Glory Girl's eyes bored into her. "You'd better not."
"Excuse me?" Aegis suggested from his seat. "Don't want to break up the girl talk, but we've got this gang war thing to deal with?"
"We'll deal with this later," Taylor promised Glory Girl. "But I will keep her safe."
"You'd better," Vicky told her. "Or I will find you." Her hand left Taylor's shoulder, and seconds later, she was gone, vaulting skyward in a streak of white and gold.
Taylor climbed into the van, found one of the unoccupied seats, and strapped herself in. As the van moved off, Amy turned to her from the next seat.
"What was that about?"
Taylor shook her head slightly. "Just Glory Girl being Glory Girl, I suspect." She was glad that Vicky had at least kept her aura in check; that, on top of everything else, might have been just a little hard to take.
"Hm." Amy's tone was non-committal, but she made no further comment.
=/=
It was really weird, driving through Brockton Bay. Parts of the city were a virtual war zone, while in others it was business as usual. Legend steered me around the worst bits; for the most part, the gang members ignored me if I drove fast enough, but this was still going to take me altogether too long to get to the PRT building.
While Legend is escorting me, he's not helping quiet this mess down. And I'm fairly sure that Endbringers are attracted to chaos and conflict. And that this gang war's a bit bigger than the one that happened in canon.
Without slowing, I put my arm out the window and did an awkward downward come-here gesture. Legend's eyesight must have really been that good; before I finished making the gesture for the second time, he was right there, beside the car.
"What is it?" he called over the wind rush; at that moment, I was doing slightly more than the posted speed limit. For a given definition of 'slightly'.
"I can make it from here," I yelled back, changing down to reduce speed for a corner. "You go kick some gangland arse!"
He kept pace with me as I took the corner, changed up and applied acceleration once more. "If you're sure?"
"Yeah. Get going. I'm good."
He gave me one last nod, then pulled a ninety-degree vertical turn and just disappeared.
I was on my own.
Not that I intended to hang around and admire the view.
=/=
The news helicopter swooped low over the streets, although it didn't go too low. Dealing with parahumans meant that a certain amount of caution was called for; few of Brockton Bay's criminal capes were fliers, but that was in no way a guarantee of safety. There was more than one way to bring down a low-flying aircraft, and not all of them required the ability to reach that altitude.
Hanging out the side on his safety harness, the cameraman panned over the scenes below. Within the helicopter, strapped in but watching the screen, the reporter spoke for those in the studio.
"While this isn't as fraught as a full-on cape battle, it's still very unsettling to see gangs walking the streets of Brockton Bay in broad daylight, as if they own the place. And yes, we have seen capes of different factions mixing it up. These have mainly been Merchant versus Empire Eighty-Eight, given that two of the three ABB capes are currently in PRT custody."
=/=
"Hey, Kayden, I really think you need to see this."
Theo's voice came to Kayden as she exited the tiny bathroom, still towelling her hair down. He was sitting on his bed, holding Aster, but his eyes were on the TV screen.
"What is it?" she asked. Then her eyes registered the view of her home city from the air, smoke rising here and there, the reporter's voice over it all. But what really got her attention was the banner scrolling across the bottom of the screen; GANG WAR IN BROCKTON BAY.
"Oh my god," she gasped. "When did this happen?"
"It only started coming on the news a little while ago," Theo explained. Aster burbled something, and he automatically rocked her till she quieted. "I think channel two has a speech that Kaiser made. I caught the end of it just after you went into the shower."
Leaving the towel wrapped around her head, Kayden picked up the remote and aimed it at the TV. As it happened, she clicked it over in the middle of the speech. Kaiser stood, fully armoured, before a throne-like chair.
" -pire Eighty-Eight is not yet done. We still have the strength of our resolve, our superior humanity. We will oppose one of the foes to law and order in this city; the ABB have been weakened, and we will strike to end them, once and for all."
Raising his arm to point at the camera, Kaiser took a step forward. As he spoke, he clenched his fist, and a sword blade grew from it, gradually lengthening.
"All I need from you is to step aside. Do not stand in our way, and if you are not ABB, then you have nothing to fear." He paused; his sword pointed directly at the camera. "If you are ABB, then I would advise you to leave town immediately. If you're too stupid to do that, then … well, feel free to wait. We'll get to you."
The sword point dropped, then rose in salute. "Everyone who is not ABB or affiliated with them; stay out of our way and you will not be harmed. You have my word on this."
Kayden dropped the remote on the bed. "Oh god," she muttered. "He's escalating. That's the worst thing he could possibly do. They'll Birdcage him for this."
Theo looked up at her, worried. "What are we going to do?"
She glanced down at him, thinking. "Aster is safe here, with you, isn't she?"
He nodded. "Sure." A frown. "Why?"
She indicated the TV. "Because I need to go and help sort that mess out before too many of those idiots get hurt."
He blinked. " … what?"
Sitting down on the bed beside him, she looked him in the eyes, her expression serious. One of her hands rested on his shoulder; the other caressed Aster's forehead. "Theo," she told him seriously, "I'm trusting you to take care of Aster for me. You and she should be safe here in Boston. You're well out of the way of that fighting. But I need to go back to Brockton Bay, and help out. If I'm to raise Aster in peace, I need to prove to the PRT that I can be a hero, so they'll let us alone."
"You – you're going to leave me here, with Aster?" he gulped. "What if something happens? What if something goes wrong?"
Leaning in, she kissed him gently on the forehead; the first time she had ever offered such a gesture. "I trust you," she reminded him firmly. "Now I'm going to need you to trust in yourself."
Standing, she went to the door. "Lock up behind me," she advised him. "Let no-one in."
"Got it," he agreed.
The door clicked shut behind her; Theo tried to fight off a sudden, terrible sense of loneliness, and only partially succeeded.
"Well, Aster," he told the baby out loud. "Looks like it's just you and me. The dynamic duo. Here to make funny noises and change dirty diapers."
Aster gurgled in agreement.
It didn't make Theo feel any better.
=/=
Paige wasn't quite sure how she felt about what was going on. This wasn't like the raid on Coil's base, where she had been kept back, away from the action. She was going to be going out there, into the streets. There was a little fear roiling around in her gut, but she had been a part of productions before, and the preparations of the PRT soldiers had that backstage feel about it, everyone making sure everything was in place before the curtain went up. It was just familiar enough to be almost comfortable, and just unfamiliar enough to put her teeth on edge. The guns did not help.
Joe stuck close to her, as was his job, but she somehow got the impression that he was treating it as more than just a job, that he was proud of being there, pleased that he was the one who was showing her what to do, how to put on the protective gear.
She paused in the middle of pulling a strap tight, binding some sort of bulky vest over her upper body. "Joe, is this really necessary? Are people going to be shooting at me?"
He paused while he thought about the answer. "I don't know, Paige. I don't know how bad it will get out there. But I do know this much. I'd much rather you wear that and not need it, than not wear it, and need it." She did not miss the fact that he was exchanging his light webbing for the heavier vest as well.
She found her hands were shaking. "Joe, I'm scared."
He nodded. "Yeah. Me too." Pulling his pistol from its holster, he pulled back the slide, apparently checking something, then let it snap forward. The gun went back into the holster.
She frowned. "You're not scared. You look happy."
"It affects us all in different ways," he reminded her. "Think of this as the biggest stage show you've ever done."
She blinked, recalling the parallel she had drawn for herself just a few moments ago. "Can – can I have some makeup?"
This time, he stopped, and stared at her. "You what again?"
"Makeup," she repeated. "I need it. Whenever I was about to go out on stage, I'd get the shakes, and I always thought my makeup was smeared or something. So I'd fix the makeup, and that got me through it."
"Huh." He raised a hand. "Gunny!"
A bulky PRT trooper shouldered his way over to them. No, Paige realised. Her way. The PRT trooper was taller than Paige, and outmassed her twice over, even without the protective gear, but was clearly a woman. A woman who could snap Paige over her knee like a twig, but a woman all the same. The tag on her uniform read "LASALLE."
"Yeah, McKenzie?" asked LaSalle. Her eyes clicked on to Paige. "You the squishy?"
"Uh -" began Paige, having no idea how to handle this.
"Be nice," Joe intervened. "Gunny, meet Paige Macabee. Paige, meet Gunny LaSalle."
"Uh … hi?" ventured Paige. LaSalle gave her a hard stare, not giving anything up at all. Paige glanced at Joe, who came to her rescue.
"Gunny, Paige needs to borrow some of your makeup stash."
The steady gaze of the PRT gunny – gunnery sergeant, if Paige's memory served her correctly – sharpened to almost a physical thing. "Why?"
Paige gulped. "Um … it'll help?" She showed LaSalle her hands, which were shaking badly now.
LaSalle glared at Joe, who gazed blandly back. "This better not be a joke."
"No joke, Gunny," Joe assured her. "You deal with shit your way, Paige deals with it her way."
"Hm. Okay." LaSalle turned away, to forge a passage through the crowd of PRT troopers.
"Wow," Paige muttered. "She really doesn't like me."
Joe shook his head. "Nah, that's her usual way. She's not so bad when you get to know her. Her friends call her Sally."
"Uh, if her friends call her Sally, what do her enemies call her?"
Joe chuckled. "Dunno. Never met one."
Paige wasn't quite sure if he was joking or not.
LaSalle returned in short order, and handed Paige a compact and a tube of lipstick. "All I can spare," she grunted.
"It'll do," Paige told her. "Thank you." She unscrewed the lipstick, and flipped open the compact to check. It was cheap stuff, and the colours weren't really her, but it was what she had to work with.
The lipstick went on first, her hands no longer shaking, the familiar movements calming her. Quick strokes, confident and smooth. The compact held eyeshadow and blush side by side; she brushed the eyeshadow on, working from inner corners to outer.
Finally, she applied the blush to her cheekbones. Using the tiny mirror, she checked herself, dabbed away a little errant lipstick, and touched up her eyeshadow. Her heart rate was no longer making her breathless, she noted absently. Thank you, power of suggestion.
Snapping the compact closed, she managed a smile as she handed it and the lipstick back to the glowering sergeant. "Thanks, Gunny."
"Welcome," LaSalle growled. She paused, then clapped Paige on the shoulder, nearly causing her knees to buckle. "Good luck, Macabee. Don't get killed."
"I – thanks." She watched LaSalle push her way through the crowd, and turned to Joe. He was grinning. "What?"
"You'll see her again," he told her.
She blinked, confused. "What?"
He tilted his head toward where LaSalle had gone. "Don't be surprised if she comes to see you off duty, for makeup tips. You made that look easy. LaSalle kind of … struggles."
"I, uh, okay," she managed. "Right. What do I do next?"
"Next, you put this on," he advised her, holding a helmet, with a half-visor, similar to the one he wore when escorting her around the base. On the side, someone had applied a decal; Tweety Bird, from the Warner Brothers cartoon.
It took her a second to make the connection. "Tweety Bird's a canary."
He nodded. "Sure thing. Helps us pick you out in the chaos."
She felt a little sad. "I thought I was getting away from that. I was getting used to being Paige."
Joe nodded seriously. "I know how you feel. But you come out with us, you help save people's lives. Like you did in Coil's base."
"Yeah, I know," Paige told him. "You're the ones who have to go out and deal with this shi – with this stuff, without powers or anything. If I can help, I will." She paused. "But one more thing. If I've got a call-sign or whatever you call it, I'm Tweety Bird, not Canary." She tapped the decal. "Get it right, okay?"
Joe frowned. "You sure? Tweety's kinda wimpy."
She flashed him a gamine grin. "Kicks Sylvester's ass every time, doesn't he?"
He had to laugh. "That's the spirit. Tweety Bird it is. You're our secret weapon."
"Well then." Paige took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Carefully, she fitted the helmet over her head. "Time to go be a secret weapon, then."
=/=
Jared Stevens was nineteen years old; his father owned the Four Aces Motel, and had put him in as night manager to teach him the ropes, and to get him used to the responsibility of a regular job. Also, Jared privately figured, to show him what true, mind-numbing boredom really meant. After all, there were only so many times you could lose at computer solitaire without wanting to go out and play in traffic.
He hadn't paid much attention to the lady with the kids when they arrived on Thursday evening. She wore sunglasses, even though it wasn't that bright out, which made Jared think 'abused wife'. But so long as the hubby didn't show up to kick her door in, it wasn't any of his beeswax. He'd rented room seventeen to her, warned her about parties and pets, and left her to it.
Even when the big news hit Friday morning, just as Jared was getting ready for bed, nothing really registered with him. So what if some big cape gang in Brockton Bay got unmasked en masse? It was kind of cool, going through the files – by the time he got back on shift Friday evening, it was possible to find them via web search – and reading the dossiers of the capes who'd been outed, but it wasn't as though it really mattered. This being Boston and all.
But by the early hours of Monday morning, Jared was really starting to wonder about something. The lady in room seventeen kept to herself, but she and her kids looked awfully like the pictures of Kaiser's wife, his daughter and his son. He watched the kid go out to buy groceries, and compared what he saw with the picture of Theo Anders. And he was certain he was right.
The trouble was, Jared didn't know what to do with the knowledge. If he was right, and she was Purity, she could probably pulverise him, and the entire damn motel, with not all that much effort. Blackmail, he decided, was right out.
For half an hour or so, he considered trying to get in touch with Accord, or someone similar. Try to get some sort of kickback for letting them know about the new cape in town. But then he dissuaded himself from that line of thought. They'd use the little baby as leverage. I can't let them do that. Plus, he was just as likely to end up with a bullet in the head as with money in his pocket.
He still hadn't come to a decision when the first news about the gang war splashed across the TV screen. He watched it avidly, the occasional shots of groups of gang members or even capes clashing on live television.
When his dad arrived to take over for the day shift, he pointed out what was going on.
"Yeah," grunted the old man. "Heard about it on the radio. Get on home, get some sleep."
Briefly, Jared considered telling his father about his suspicions regarding Mrs Russell in room seventeen. But he didn't; he had no idea how the old man would react, but the knowledge, the secret, would be out of his hands, out of his control.
Grabbing his bag, he headed out into the parking lot, going toward the beat-up little car that he had bought with his first month's pay. As he unlocked the door, he saw the lady from seventeen exit her room, heading out toward the street at a brisk walk. She wasn't carrying the baby, and the kid wasn't with her. So they were both still back in the room. For the first time, he saw her clearly, without her sunglasses, with her hair down instead of tied back out of the way, and he knew for a solid fact that Kayden Anders, aka Purity, had been residing in the Four Aces Motel for the last four nights.
But where was she going? She didn't even have her handbag with her, and she was certainly going somewhere in a hurry.
Climbing into the car, he coaxed it to life and pulled out of the parking lot. She had turned the corner, and he had to wait for traffic, and he thought he'd lost her -
- no, there she was, striding down the sidewalk like she had some place to be, and not long to get there.
He did his best to not lose her again, driving ahead, then pulling into a parking spot. The movies made it look easy. He craned his neck around to see where she was, then swore as she ducked out of sight into an alley between the used-car lot and the Prudential Insurance building on the corner.
He was just opening the car door to get out and have a better look when a streak of light shot upward from the far side of the Prudential building. Moving faster than the human eye could follow, it turned north and accelerated. Jared fancied that he heard a faint sonic boom.
He got back into his car, and sat there for a few minutes.
"Fuck," he muttered.
Then he got out his phone and dialled.
=/=
"You're kidding, right?" Brian asked rhetorically. "You have to know how mind-numbingly stupid this is."
Lisa shrugged. "Yeah," she acknowledged. "It's all of that. Gang war, three different factions clashing in the streets. Us stuck in the middle of it. But it's a gesture, you know?"
"A gesture for what?" asked Alec; he didn't look any happier than Brian. "'Come get us, we're giving you a free shot'?"
Lisa shook her head. "No. It's all about showing the PRT, the Protectorate, that we're sincere about wanting to change sides. We sit on our hands, do nothing, that means nothing at all. But if we come out, ally ourselves with them, it makes us look a little bit better. Makes it easier for Director Piggot to accept us as allies instead of enemies."
Brian looked over to where Rachel was brushing down Brutus. "Back me up here, Rach," he pleaded. "Tell her it's a bad idea."
Rachel didn't look up. "Sure, it's a bad idea," she agreed.
Brian turned back to Lisa. "See?" he exclaimed. "Even Rachel thinks -"
" - but doing nothing's worse," Rachel went on.
Everyone turned to look at her. She kept brushing Brutus.
" … what?" asked Alec. "Seriously?"
Rachel said nothing.
"Can you … explain that?" ventured Brian.
"Can't explain," Rachel told him. "Not in words."
Lisa smiled slightly. "It's a pack dominance thing," she suggested. "ABB, Empire, Merchants, all fighting each other. PRT, Protectorate, cops, fighting to protect the public, to stop the gangs from getting too powerful. Anyone who sits on the sidelines doesn't get hurt, but whoever wins probably won't trust them, after."
"Surely we're past all that pack and dominance bullshit," muttered Alec.
Rachel raised her head from her task, and looked him right in the eye. "It's always about packs and dominance," she told him flatly.
Lisa nodded. "The PRT's the biggest pack on the block, right now. We go out there, we ally with them, we make it a lot easier to get in with them after this is all over."
"God dammit," muttered Brian. He reached out and picked up his jacket. "I just know we're going to regret this."
"Probably," agreed Lisa. "But we'd probably end up regretting it more if we didn't."
Alec made a face. "So we're going to try to help the heroes."
Lisa nodded. "Basically."
"Fuck."
=/=
"You've reached the PRT emergency hotline. What is your emergency, please?"
"Uh, hi, yeah, um. Listen, is there a reward out for turning in wanted parahumans?"
The operator sighed. "Sir, are you in immediate danger, or is someone near you in immediate danger, from a criminal parahuman?"
"Uh, no, not exactly, but I, um, I know where Purity's been living the last few days. Where she's keeping her kid. Kids."
The operator paused for a moment. "You're sure of this."
"Absolutely. Guaranteed. Is there a reward?"
"That's not for me to say. However, I can connect you through to someone who can help you. Please hold."
=/=
Amy touched Weaver's gloved hand. "Hey." The glove had a smooth texture, unlike anything she'd felt before, except for seriously expensive fabric. Which it was, in a way. Pure spider silk had to be among the rarest cloth in the world. And Taylor had made herself an entire costume of it.
The face of Weaver's mask turned toward her; Amy still thought it was slightly creepy with the yellow goggle lenses, and the mandibles framing the jaw, but she saw the mouth moving under the full-face mask, and heard her reply.
"Hey, yourself."
Amy smiled slightly. Creepy or not, under that mask was the girl who was rapidly becoming her best friend. She and her father had opened their home to Amy, had given her acceptance without judgement or reservation. She could let her guard down around Taylor, be herself. No expectations, no hidden agendas. Just plain old Amy Dallon. Or Amelia Claire Lavere. Whoever she wanted to be.
Vicky and Carol had been surprised, almost offended, that she needed, wanted, therapy. Taylor and Mr Hebert – Danny – had accepted it, supported her, had taken her there, had picked her up after. They'd gone to see a movie. Danny had told really horrible, cheesy jokes – Taylor called them 'Dad' jokes – until Amy was weak with laughter. They'd played board games. They'd had fun.
If this is what family life is like, I want more of it.
And on another level altogether, Taylor's bugs offered her an out, an expression for her creative side, without the sense of being obligated to do ever more, as her healing made her feel. It was a fun little hobby, something she could dabble with, without having to worry about hurting anyone.
She was beginning to see the logic behind Mike's curtailing of her healing activities. Once she no longer had to stress about who she had to heal next, about who would die if she didn't heal them, she could focus in other directions. Stretch her arms out, metaphorically speaking, and see how far her reach now extended. Learn who she really was, inside. Who she could be.
"I was just thinking," she murmured. "If you wanted me to make some of those new bugs of yours, I might need bugs to work with, yeah?"
She could dimly see Taylor's eyes behind the goggles. They blinked, now, and Weaver nodded. "Yeah," she conceded. "It might be a good idea." Leaning forward, she tapped Aegis on the shoulder. "Can we slow down for a bit? I need to get some bugs in here."
Aegis gave the order to the driver, then turned back to her. "Why do you need bugs in here? Shouldn't they all be out there?"
Weaver shook her head. "Nope. I need specialised bugs as well as the normal variety, and Panacea needs something to work with." As she spoke, she slid the window open. The van was slowing, and in the next moment, a horde of insects poured in through the opening. Everyone but Amy and Weaver recoiled, some more violently than others.
Weaver slid the window shut; the bugs formed into a tight column beside her, buzzing loudly. "Enough for your needs, Amy?"
Amy grinned. "Oh, definitely. What do you need first?"
"Relay bugs, I guess. And ketamine bugs. Any spy-bugs you can put together will be good, too." She turned to Aegis, who was staring at the mass of bugs in horrified fascination. "What?"
"I didn't know you were going to bring that many in here," he blurted.
Weaver shrugged. "Any we don't use just get thrown back," she observed. "Question; are we going more for PR or just stopping the bad guys first and foremost?"
He frowned, apparently sensing a trap in her words. "Uh, mainly stopping the bad guys. Why?"
Amy could tell from the tone of voice that Taylor was grinning under the mask. "Just checking."
She lifted her hand away from the first relay bug, and went to work on the second, and the third. Glancing at Weaver – she didn't actually need to look and see what she was doing – Amy raised an eyebrow. "You're thinking Ali bugs?"
"Just a few," Weaver confirmed. "But the others take precedence."
Amy nodded firmly. "Got it."
Engrossed in her work, she was a little startled, but not at all surprised, when Weaver put an arm around her shoulders to give her a quick hug. "I really appreciate this."
Amy was still searching for a reply that didn't sound sappy or silly when Clockblocker spoke up.
"Uh, Weaver, you want to do something about those bugs? They're starting to wander around a bit." He held up his arm; several bugs perched there.
"Oh, sorry, Clockblocker," Weaver told him sweetly. "But you did volunteer your lap earlier. I thought it was still on offer." As she spoke, the rest of the bug cloud settled on and around him, covering him from head to toe in dark, chitinous bodies. "Or was I mistaken?"
"Ge-ge-get them off!" blurted the white-clad teen, brushing madly at himself.
"Weaver … " Aegis' tone was stern.
"Just making a point," Weaver replied cheerfully; as she spoke, the bugs were already lifting off of Clockblocker.
Amy stifled a giggle as the bugs settled on the one unoccupied seat, forming a rough approximation of a human shape. Taylor still had a bit of practice to go with making what Mike called 'swarm-clones', but she was definitely getting there.
She wished she could have seen Clockblocker's face inside his helmet. He was a nice boy, but sometimes his sense of humour made him more than a little irritating. Taylor had neatly turned his joke around on him, without hurting anyone.
Having Taylor Hebert for a friend, Amy decided, was going to be fun.
=/=
Trainwreck paused, catching his breath. Gouges and torn metal marred his body, but he was still moving, still functional. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but one minute ago, he had been getting his ass royally handed to him by Stormtiger, and now he wasn't. Maybe it was because of one of the glancing blows he had landed on the Empire cape, but he really didn't think so.
His right arm refused to move properly; grinding and popping noises sounded from within the joints when he tried. The white-blond neo-Nazi had been hammering on him with those damned air-claws, and it had been either his arm or his head, and he'd chosen to take it on his arm.
But now the Empire Eighty-Eight – Stormtiger and the goons with him – were falling back. The Merchants with Trainwreck jeered and waved their weapons, those that were still upright and able to do so, but no-one showed much inclination to follow up. The Empire Eighty-Eight bred a certain type of bloody-mindedness into its minions, and it would be just like them to set an ambush for unwary pursuers. Besides, the Merchants had always preferred easier pickings. It was the way they were.
Clumping over to a parked car, Trainwreck ripped open the hood with his undamaged arm. Reaching inside, he closed metal fingers over a chunk of the engine. Metal screeched as he wrenched it out. He held it to the damaged limb, and the mechanisms there started incorporating it into his body, repairing the joint, making him whole again.
He grinned. There were downsides to having metal arms and legs, but the upsides were pretty awesome too.
"Okay, guys," he told the waiting Merchants, even as his arm repaired itself. "Cueballs don't wanna fight any more. So this is our turf now. All yours."
Whooping with glee, the Merchants scattered; some looted the bodies of their fallen comrades, while others clustered around as yet undamaged cars. Glass shattered as windows were broken. They'd been walking up till now, but now that they had scored some transport …
Trainwreck knew for a fact that they were more or less out of control now, but he also knew that Skidmark wouldn't care, so long as he got to take and hold more territory. Some of these guys would recall their allegiance and come back eventually, while others would just tear around in their stolen vehicles, causing havoc wherever they went. In doing so, they would draw attention away from the main body of the Merchants.
Which, Trainwreck figured, was all part of the plan.
=/=
The four PRT vehicles pulled into the parking lot of a Seven-Eleven. Two trucks held PRT troopers, as well as Corporal McKenzie and his petite charge. One was the van with the Wards, Weaver and Panacea. And the last held the local Protectorate, save for Armsmaster and Velocity. The former was riding escort on his custom motorcycle; the latter was nowhere to be seen. Overhead, masses of insects darkened the skies. More than one person looked up, nervous.
The four larger vehicles formed a square, blocking off part of the parking lot. Two of the trucks unfolded side-canopies. Under this shelter, within the square, a folding table was set up. On to this table was taped a map.
The Wards made way for Weaver, who stepped up to the map. Immediately, bugs began to cluster on the map, starting at a single point and moving out from there. When an area about half a mile across had been filled in, she pointed at the clusters.
"Red bugs are ABB. Green ones are Merchant. Black ones are ... huh, that's interesting."
"What's interesting?" asked Armsmaster, studying the map intently.
"Empire Eighty-Eight is moving back toward their territory, not starting any new fights," Weaver enlightened them. "They're actively avoiding the others. Even the capes are staying clear of conflict."
"Ah, yes," one of the PRT officers stated, holding out a tablet. "The word's just going out now; Legend's in town, and he's gotten Kaiser to stand down his men in return for limited amnesty."
"Let me see that." Armsmaster took the tablet and scanned the text on it. "Huh."
Weaver looked up. "What, Mike was there too?"
Armsmaster's head snapped around. "I didn't say that."
"Uh, no, I read it over your shoulder," confessed Weaver. "Sorry." She held out her hand, and a large bug alighted on it. "Spy bug. Gives me hearing and sight almost as good as a human's. Amy made them for me. I just put one on everyone here. I hope no-one has a problem with that?"
Startled, Clockblocker glanced looked to his left and right. There were no bugs on his shoulders. "Where did you put it?" he asked, his voice rising in pitch slightly.
"Relax," she told him soothingly. "It's on top of your helmet. It's not going to bite you, and I promise it won't make a mess on your head, either."
Armsmaster's lips compressed. "It's customary to ask permission before putting listening devices on people."
"Bugging them, you mean?" Taylor replied, then regretted it almost immediately. "Sorry, sorry. Okay, I apologise. I just thought this would be the best way of keeping in touch with where everyone was, and what was happening around them."
Armsmaster nodded reluctantly. "Well, in future -"
He was interrupted by the arrival of Velocity, in a rush of wind. "Okay, finally found you," the Protectorate cape told them, apparently in some relief. "Oh good, you've got a map. Let me just put down where I've seen … "
He peered at the map, then blinked behind his visor. "Is it just me, or are those bugs right where the gang members are?"
"It's not just you," Assault commented, watching the bugs move around on the map with considerable interest. "Though I'm fascinated by the way your range seems to keep on expanding, Weaver."
"Thank Amy for that," Weaver told him cheerfully. "She's made me several dozen relay bugs, and they're currently hitching rides on any vehicles travelling outbound. They expand my range." She gestured to the bug-infested part of the map, which was now a couple of miles across, and steadily (if slowly) growing.
"And this is real-time?" asked Velocity.
"As real as I can make it," affirmed Taylor. "Once we get to work, I'll get Amy to make some bugs to represent PRT forces, as well as Protectorate and independent capes. That way we'll know where everyone is at once."
"Well, no sense in delaying," Armsmaster decided. "Captain, do you have enough information to go on at the moment?"
The PRT captain nodded, looking at the map. "If you can send us a video feed of that … "
"Can do, sir," a PRT tech assured him. "We'll just rig an overhead webcam."
Moments later, two of the three trucks had been loaded up and were headed out again, as was the van. Aegis shook hands with Weaver as the vehicles rumbled away. "You'll be keeping an eye on us?" he asked.
"Every step of the way," she reassured him.
Taking to the air, he flew away; Weaver shaded her eyes to watch him go, then she turned back to where Amy was leaning on the map table, watching the bugs move around.
Joining the normal bugs were others; some were blue in colour, while others each bore a distinct symbol on its back. They slowly crawled along the road, in the general direction of the nearest large grouping of gang members.
"I hope they'll be all right," Amy murmured.
Taylor put her arm around Amy's shoulders and squeezed. "Between you and me, I think we can keep 'em safe. What do you think?"
Amy smiled and offered a fist-bump; Taylor returned it.
"I think the bad guys don't stand a chance," Amy told her.
"Damn straight."
=/=
Cricket danced and spun around the irritating man in the blue costume, with the foul mouth. Her kama lay on the ground nearby, jiggling and inching over the ground. Violet-blue fields covered them, making them impossible to hold; one had squirted from her hand, and she had released the other just in time, before it would have removed fingers.
He had several minions nearby, attempting to shoot her; she was able to dodge the shots, but the ground around the men was packed tight with the same fields, to the point that she could not reach them. So she was doing her best to get to the man himself; if she knocked him out, his power effects might end. If she killed him, they would almost certainly do so. But she had to get to him, first.
Heavy footfalls sounded – far heavier than even the monstrous Trainwreck – and she risked a glance, while rolling to avoid another barrage of bullets. A mechanical monstrosity was advancing up the street; spider-like, it had no grace, no smoothness of form. It looked as though it had been bolted together by someone under the influence of illegal drugs – and, knowing the Merchants, this was probably quite close to the truth.
The plan formed in her head; she could not get close to Skidmark. But if she took his partner, the Tinker called Squealer, he would surrender. Or she would kill Squealer. Either way was a victory.
She broke away from Skidmark, and ran toward the spider-mech. The legs would not present much of a challenge to climb -
Even as the spider opened fire on her from concealed turrets, and she leaped to avoid them, her phone rang.
Worst. Possible. Timing.
Tapping the phone to answer it, she held the buzzer to her throat, so as to articulate. The Bluetooth earpiece conveyed her word to the phone on her hip.
"What?"
"Pull back." It was Krieg's voice.
"But -"
"I said, pull back. Kaiser's orders. Now."
She glanced back at Skidmark, up at the spider-mech. Gritted her teeth. Orders are orders.
"Understood," she replied, then changed course. The spider opened fire on her once more, as did the Merchant minions. Diving behind a parked car, she let the unfortunate vehicle soak up the damage while she pried up a manhole cover.
I could have won this one. Damn it.
The car exploded just after she dropped down the manhole.
Legend saw the explosion and angled toward it. Swooping down, he took in the scene; a burning car, a mechanical spider, several members of the Merchants …
Skidmark. The leader of the Merchants.
Even as he arrived, the spider-mech was in the process of scooping up Skidmark, secondary arms conveying him up to the cockpit, where the trashily-dressed Squealer controlled the mechanical monstrosity.
Several Merchants down below fired on Legend as he came to a stop, hovering before the spider-mech. He gestured; a thin red laser beam zig-zagged between the Merchant goons, slicing their guns neatly in two. A blue beam followed it up, freezing each to the spot.
"Surrender," he advised the Merchant leader. "Now."
He expected a certain amount of posturing. He even expected resistance. What he didn't expect was for the four turrets on that side of the spider to swing his way and hit him with enough force that he was driven back a dozen feet.
His body flickered and reformed, dispelling most of the damage; he felt himself absorbing a good deal of the rest of the energy. But when he tried to move, he felt himself pinned, trapped. Surprised, he took stock.
What he had mistaken for an after-image of the energy blast was actually a field around him, glowing a deep blue in colour. He pushed at it; it repelled his hand.
Some sort of force bubble, he surmised. Emulating Skidmark's trademark field?
It didn't matter; he geared up to blast his way through it. Except that the spider fired again; the attack was absorbed, dragged through the field, slammed into him. When his vision cleared again, he realised that the field was now much thicker, much heavier.
This is getting annoying.
And then a blast of sun-bright energy slashed down from the sky, elements of it curling around one another, not unlike DNA. It hit the spider-mech, shearing off all the legs from one side. The mech toppled over, the remaining legs scrabbling frantically, but only managing to drag it around in a circle. Another blast removed the remaining legs.
Legend's initial attempt to break out of the force bubble was reflected back at him, so he built a construct of force-lasers, none of them directly trying to break through, but ever expanding the volume inside the bubble, until it thinned and popped like a soap bubble. Freed, Legend observed the glowing female form who hung in the air before him.
"Purity," he stated.
"Legend," she replied coolly.
"The Empire Eighty-Eight's been stood down. You're no longer in this fight. I saw Kaiser give the orders."
Down below, inside the cockpit of the spider-mech, Skidmark raised his head, shaking it groggily. He started to shake Squealer, trying to rouse her.
Purity shook her head slightly. "I don't take orders from Kaiser. I left the Empire two years ago."
Legend raised an eyebrow. "That's not what my information says."
Was that a tightening of the lips? He couldn't tell. "Your information is out of date. I came back to Brockton Bay to help deal with this gang war." She paused. "I will fight on your side, if you'll let me."
He frowned. "Is this a one-time thing, or -"
"Not a one-time thing," she insisted. "If you won't let me ally myself directly with you, I'll declare myself an independent, but on your side."
Skidmark finally managed to rouse Squealer, and she began to fumble with the control panel in front of them.
Legend shook his head, not so much in denial as confusion. "But why the about-face? Why become a hero?"
"I have a child," she reminded him simply. "I always did want to be a hero rather than a villain, but while I was under Max's sway, it was easier to just do what he wanted. Even after I left him, it was simpler to keep my head down and just try to pick away at the ABB when I could. But now that people know my face, my name, her face, her name ..." She trailed off.
"Ahh," he realised. "You want protection."
Her voice was like chilled steel. "And a guarantee that Aster will never be taken away from me."
Legend paused. He and Arthur were still working through the adoption process for little Keith, but even now, he could not imagine the infant being taken away from them. It would devastate his husband. And, he admitted to himself, him too.
"I can't promise anything," he began cautiously, "but if we were to arrange safe housing for you and your daughter -"
" - and my stepson Theo as well - " she added quickly.
Legend recalled the name. Theodore Richard Anders, fifteen years old. Son of Max Anders. No known powers.
"And him too, yes," he agreed. "If we were to do that, would you be willing to turn yourself in, to stand trial for your crimes, with an eye toward probationary membership in the Protectorate?"
The spider-mech's canopy popped off, and the two supervillains spilled out on the ground.
Purity paused for a long moment. "Yes," she decided eventually. "But I'll want to speak to Security first."
Thrown for a second, Legend blinked. "Security?"
She nodded. "Yes. The person who rang me and warned me to leave town, on Thursday afternoon."
Before the raid on Coil, Legend realised. He had been filled in on the fact of the raid, but not its particulars. But there was only one person who could have known what was going to happen that far in advance. That Security. Right.
Skidmark and Squealer picked themselves up and prepared to run. Abruptly, they found themselves surrounded by cage walls composed of red laser light.
"Shouldn't be too hard," Legend assured Purity. "He's on his way to the PRT building right now."
=/=
Theo's head jerked up at the knock on the door. He had locked it, and put the chain on, as Kayden had told him. Aster was napping now; he had the TV on low, watching the ongoing commentary on the gang war, trying to tell himself that he had nothing to do with it, that he wasn't watching for Kayden.
Getting off the bed, he went over to the door. Peering through the peephole, he discovered that it was grimy and blurry; he could see that there were people out there, but who they were, and how many, he wasn't sure.
"Who is it?" he called out.
"Management," he heard in reply. "Can you open the door, please?"
Almost, he complied. A week ago, he would have obeyed. But Kayden had told him to trust himself. And she had told him to not let anyone in. So he straightened his back, and did not open the door. "Why?" he asked instead.
"We've had complaints about noise from your room."
He frowned. "What sort of noise? I've kept the TV down low."
"They say there's a crying baby."
Theo glanced at Aster, who was sleeping peacefully in the middle of Kayden's bed, a pillow on either side so that she wouldn't roll off of the bed.
"Uh, no, there's been no crying in here," he called back. "Maybe another room?"
But he was starting to get a really bad feeling about this.
"They're certain that it's this room," the implacable voice from outside replied. "Can you open the door please?"
If Theo hadn't been looking at Aster, he would not have seen it; the shadow, cast against the curtain of the opposite window. By someone just outside the window, trying to be stealthy.
"Sure thing," he called out. "Just a sec, I'm in my underwear."
Darting over to where Aster lay, Theo, scooped her up and put her in her carrier. She awoke and lay gasping, as if not sure whether to cry or not.
"Sh-sh-sh-sh!" he whispered, lifting the carrier and taking it into the tiny bathroom.
He didn't know who was out there, but if they had guns, they might open fire. And he didn't want Aster being shot by accident.
Carefully, he closed the bathroom door, then went back to the front door. There were no more shadows on the curtains – that had been a mistake by someone, he thought – but he could almost feel their presence, pushing inward at him.
It was the work of a moment to bring the solitary chair over to the door, and set it up so that when he opened the door, the chair would be wedged under the handle.
He opened the door.
The first thing he saw was a police officer wearing a SWAT-type helmet. The man was holding a photo and looking at him over it.
"That's him!" shouted the cop. "Go go go!" He hit the door with his shoulder. The chain would have broken in an instant, but the chair held. As the officer rebounded, Theo threw his own not inconsiderable weight against the door, slammed it, and locked it. Then he wedged the chair up under the handle.
That was when the glass broke out of the window, on both sides of the room at once.
"Get away!" he screamed. "Go away! Leave me alone! Don't hurt her!"
They took no notice of him, scrambling through the windows, pointing guns. In the dusty dimness, he could see laser lines connecting the guns to his body, lining up on his vital organs.
"Get down!" one officer shouted. "On the floor! Hands where I can see them!"
Shakily, he knelt, holding his hands out to the sides like a supplicant. An officer behind him grabbed them and was just about to handcuff him when Aster cried out. Someone had entered the bathroom.
"ASTER!" he screamed, struggling free. "ASTER! Don't touch her! Don't hurt her!"
It took four of them to subdue him.
=/=
I slowed down a bit after I left the area that was being contested by the rival gang members. If I recalled right, the farther south I got, the closer to the PRT building, the less prominent the gang presence was anyway. And the area previously controlled by the ABB was well behind me; not wanting to get a speeding ticket over and above all else that had happened that day, I let my speed drop back down to legal levels.
It was almost eerie. Not so far behind me, gangs had been fighting tooth and nail for territory; people were being hurt, wounded, even killed. Capes were clashing with capes. And yet, just a few kilometres away, people were acting as if nothing was wrong.
It was bizarre. It was a product of this world. In a world where Endbringers could virtually wipe a city from the map, people just … dealt with it. They picked themselves up, accepted the losses, and moved on.
Not for the first time, I mused that the world of Worm was populated by the walking wounded. Everyone had scar tissue. Some of it was even visible.
I was still thinking about this, rolling down a quiet back street, when I heard the scream of pure fear from quite nearby.
What the fuck?
Pulling the pickup around the corner into a side street, I saw something that made my blood run cold.
The street I had just driven into was a service road, barely wider than an alleyway. There were no sidewalks, and it was just about wide enough to let two cars pass, side by side.
Running toward me, eyes wide with terror, was a young woman, dragging a boy along by his arm. Behind them, headlights glaring on full, two cars full of people, roared and surged their engines, steadily catching them up.
They were never going to make it.
But if I intervened, I would be going up against at least six, maybe eight or more, drunk or stoned gang members of some sort.
I sighed. "Fuck it."
Turning my lights on high-beam, I accelerated down the side-street. Straight down the centreline. The woman and the boy could pass me by, but the cars were going to have to either stop, or hit me. There was no third option.
Where's a superhero when you really need one?
End of Chapter Thirty-Seven