It Doesn't Add Up

Whelp, I gotta get up early again tomorrow, so... surprise! *jazz hands*

A few blocks away from the PRT building, I had to stop. Putting down the bag of cybernetics, I flopped down cross-legged on the ground and sighed. It was my own fault, really, for waiting this long to make the choice.

I could do the same thing I'd done last time, find a random alley somewhere and hope no Merchants happened by as I was doing the installation—or after, for that matter. All I had for a mask was a scrap of cloth I'd torn off the much-abused sweatshirt I'd been using to cover the tech in the bag, and that wasn't the most iron-clad assurance that my identity would stay hidden.

Or, of course, I could go home—and that was a weird enough thought. Dad had told me already that he would let me use the cybernetics if it meant being safer out of costume, as long as I was careful. That was by far the better option, but I was still hesitant to do it. I knew I'd be bleeding, it was just part and parcel of how my tech worked. It didn't bother me, but I knew dad would be a different story. I was a bit reluctant to risk having him see how gory it all was.

I sighed, and pulled the sweatshirt free of the bag to peer inside. They were creepy-looking machines, by just about any standard. Long and thin and covered in small needles, they wouldn't have been out of place in a horror film. Still, I thought there was a kind of beauty to them, too—the deep blue of the synthetic muscles they would integrate into my legs was just barely visible through the forest of wires and spines, but it caught the watery light filtering through the clouds above me and shone bright from inside the machines. I liked the bare-bones, skeletal aesthetic my power seemed to lend itself to, though whether that influenced my power or the other way around, I didn't know.

They had to be installed today. The fight with the Butcher had proven that much, and it was always better to be prepared than dead. That, and my armor was probably going to be out of commission until I fixed it, and I wasn't keen on going around powerless all the time. I should bring them home. Maybe dad wouldn't like it, but he wouldn't go back on his word. At least, I didn't think he would. And anyway, he'd like it a lot less if I installed them in some random alleyway again.

But, at the same time... I didn't have the painkiller in my armor. It thankfully hadn't been broken when the Butcher smashed the control center, and that was a small miracle in and of itself. The problem was that the whole thing was a tangled mess now, and I hadn't managed to get it loose, not without risking damaging something important. Without it, I didn't really want to go home.

I also knew dad didn't like the cybernetics, and I'd assured him that I'd have a doctor or healer or someone with me the next time I used them. That wasn't possible right now.

With a frustrated groan, I crumpled up the sweatshirt and got ready to stow it in the bag again—and froze. A quiet crinkling noise made me bring it back out into the light. I rummaged through the pockets, and felt the unmistakable texture of paper inside. Drawing out a filthy napkin, I managed to make out an address written on one side in blotchy blue ink.

Tattletale, I realized. She'd scribbled down the location of... something. Her apartment, if I remembered correctly. I scowled at it, and shoved it back into the sweatshirt. I didn't want to go there... but I didn't really have to. All I had to do was find a secluded spot close by, and I'd have somewhere to go in the unlikely event that something went wrong.

Mind made up, I picked out the napkin again, put away the sweatshirt, and hitched the bag of cybernetics over my shoulder. It wasn't a long walk—at least, not as long as I'd expected. It seemed strange for a villain to want to live on the same side of the map as the PRT, but Tattletale's apartment was only a half-dozen blocks away.

Shrugging, I made my way through relatively nice streets—Leviathan hadn't hit this area as badly as my own neighborhood. There were people around, too, which made me clutch the bag of cybernetics closer and shove the incriminating napkin into the pocket of my jeans. No one seemed to notice me—I supposed I was fairly ordinary-looking, aside from the lattice of scars on my left arm, and those were mostly hidden by long sleeves.

I found Tattletale's apartment complex first, making sure to walk straight past the place without looking too suspicious. She'd made a note on the napkin of which window she was, probably in case I needed to show up in costume, and when I found it I realized that it overlooked a small grocery store—and there was an alley in between the two buildings.

It was cleaner than I expected of Brockton Bay alleyways. I supposed this was a nicer part of town than I generally walked around in. As appealing as it was, I couldn't stay there. For one thing, it was much wider than I would have preferred, with nothing at all to hide behind. I'd be easily visible from the street. That, and I didn't really want to leave a bloody mess just behind Tattletale's apartment. She probably wouldn't appreciate the attention that would bring down on her.

Instead, I wandered about half a block away until I stopped in front of a small park. It was locked up and deserted. After a quick check to make sure no one was looking, I vaulted over the fence and disappeared inside. It wasn't the most well-hidden spot, but I found a row of evergreens planted against the wall of a nearby building and moved until I was crouched underneath their branches. The air smelled like sap, and I felt my pounding heartbeat start to slow as I relaxed.

I pulled my sneakers and socks off easily, setting them off to the side. Shifting awkwardly, I managed to pull off my jeans, revealing a pair of ratty old shorts I'd slipped on underneath them. After a little more shuffling around, I brought the bag around to my left side and pulled out the cybernetics. They were heavy, heavy enough that I could only lift them with my augmented arm. After positioning each one, I paused a moment to collect myself.

They were massive, far larger than the one I'd used on my arm. It made me more nervous than I'd thought I would be, especially since I'd forgotten the painkiller. Still, it wasn't like waiting would make it any more pleasant—and besides, my arm hadn't actually hurt that much in the end.

I started them up and immediately looked away, focusing as much as I could on the earthy smells around me. It was hard to ignore just how alien the new tech felt as it was installed, but before long I could hear the last pieces settling.

Then, just as they began to still, something jammed. Internal mechanisms ground together, groaning as they stuck in place. I looked down in a sudden panic, groping for the emergency stop. Before I could turn the cybernetics off, the muscles in my right leg jumped, and I could feel a sharp, cold sting in my upper thigh. The machines coughed once, twice, and fell silent.

I leapt into action, releasing the clasps that held the cybernetics in place and sliding them off. My right leg was bleeding—well, both my legs were bleeding, but the cuts were supposed to be superficial and avoid major arteries.

There were not supposed to be any incisions that were heavy enough that my mind was spinning, and the ground around me was growing soggy. I clapped a hand over the wound, grimacing as I leaned against it and sent sharp pangs stabbing down my leg.

I grabbed frantically for the sweatshirt I'd brought, tearing at it with my teeth to make a strip long enough to cover the injury. But it just kept bleeding, and I was starting to get dizzy. I'd have to call an ambulance, the PRT would find out... except I didn't have my phone, even that wasn't an option anymore.

The apartment, I thought distantly. I lurched clumsily to my feet, hissing in a breath between my teeth as the gash began to soak through the makeshift bandage. My legs held my weight easily, though the simple act of standing made the injury scream in protest.

Pressing the scrap of cloth as hard against the wound as I could, I stumbled to the park fence and hauled myself over it, wincing as I slipped lose on the other side and landed heavily. My knees might have buckled, but the mechanisms inside them were apparently working fine—they absorbed the impact just as they were supposed to.

Making my way into the street, I glanced around fearfully for other people out and about. There was what looked like a young couple sitting on the curb a few feet away, though they were too absorbed in each other to notice me. I stopped, considering, then nearly fell over as my vision swam. It didn't matter if they saw me. Not now.

My progress was agonizingly slow, though that was mainly because I was trying not to jostle the injury too much. It was hard to put pressure on it while I was walking, and I ended up finding a strange, loping rhythm as I jogged the small distance between me an the apartment. Then, I ducked down the nice, clean alleyway—hoping against hope that no one would notice the occasional drop of blood there—and considered the window.

I made the ascent faster than I should have. Once I tied the bandage around my leg to free up both hands, climbing from balcony to balcony was relatively easy. All I had to do was jump, and grab hold with my good arm. From there, I could haul myself up and repeat the process.

The problem was, I was losing blood. My head spun with every movement, and I nearly fell off half a dozen times as I went. When I finally reached the level of Tattletale's window—or what I dearly hoped was Tattletale's window—I didn't even hesitate to pound on the glass with one hand.

For a moment, there was silence—and I was sure no one was home, that I would pass out on that balcony. I couldn't see inside, not through the drawn curtains. Then a shadow passed across the blinds, and I watched them move aside.

I didn't recognize her at first—her hair was down, and something about her face seemed softer, rounder... but her eyes widened, and she shoved the window open. I half-collapsed inside, wincing when I realized I was on a carpet, and a nice one at that.

"What the hell—" Tattletale blurted, leaning down to stare at me. "Shit. I'll call the doctor."

Then she was gone, and I was left lying on her floor and probably bleeding all over her rug. I tried to pull myself to my feet, to collapse somewhere else—maybe a bathroom. But the second I tried, I nearly blacked out. My vision tunneled, and I lay gasping on my stomach, just focusing on not loosing consciousness in a villain's apartment.

Frantic footsteps sounded from outside, and the door swung open a moment later. I felt her hands under my arms, trying to lift me up—but then she stopped, and flopped back on the floor.

"How are you so heavy—" she grumbled, then stopped. "Nevermind. Can you get up?"

I shook my head, wincing as the motion made my stomach lurch. "Your carpet..." I mumbled. She actually laughed.

"Don't worry about that. Just... hang on, I'm going to try to turn you over." I grunted agreement, and did my best to help her as she pushed me onto my back. My hands had both ended up at my sides, not doing anything at all to cover the gash. Tattletale knelt down next to me, pressing down with both hands on the torn up sweatshirt.

"Reminds me of when Grue got shot by Shadow Stalker," she said conversationally. "He bled all over Regent's favorites couch. The asshole seemed more worried about that then the giant hole in our leader."

"Shadow Stalker?" I groaned. "Why... wasn't she a Ward?"

Tattletale shrugged. "She had a nasty violent streak."

I winced as her grip on my leg tightened. "Sorry," she said, "But I'd really rather if you didn't bleed out before the good doctor got here." Her sardonic smirk returned. "It'd be kind of hard to explain how a dead Ward ended up in my apartment."

"Not funny," I grumbled.

"Yeah, I guess I've been spending too much time with—fuck, hey, eyes open." She snapped her fingers in front of my face, jolting me back into awareness. "Try to focus on not passing out, 'kay?"

I tried to nod, but found myself drifting off again almost immediately. She slapped me lightly on the cheek, and that seemed to do the trick.

"Just stay awake a few more minutes, okay? The doctor shouldn't be too long."

"Yeah." I forced myself to look around, taking in the white walls and thick drapes over the windows. They'd been closed before, and even now the lights in the room were off, and the sun's rays seemed swallowed up by shadows. I thought it must be a living room, with doors leading off to the left and right of it.

"You're lucky I was here, you know," Tattletale continued. "Another half hour or so and I would've been out in costume."

"Doing what?" I asked, before wincing. "Sorry."

She grinned. "Dastardly deeds, of course. Well, dastardly paperwork."

Her expression dropped. "What about you? How exactly did you end up here?"

"Climbed," I grunted. "I was putting in more of the cybernetics, and I guess the calibration was off..." I trailed off, staring at the ceiling. My stomach clenched, and I found myself taking deep breaths to combat the sudden nausea.

We stayed like that for what felt like a long time—though everything seemed like a long time when I was bleeding all over someone else's carpet. Tattletale kept talking, though I suspected there was a method to her madness. The more she distracted me, the less likely it was that I would pass out.

Then, finally, the doctor arrived. The only warning I got was the sound of a door opening, what seemed like miles and miles away to my addled mind. He was crisply professional, showing no obvious curiosity about who I was and how I'd gotten so cut up. That was, until he pulled out what looked like a pair of tweezers.

"There's metal in the cuts," he murmured, reaching for my left ankle.

"I know!" I yelped, pushing his hand away. I missed, and ended up grabbing onto his sleeve. "Just leave it." He looked uncertainly at Tattletale. She nodded, and he shrugged, switching to disinfectant and stitches. He fussed over the injuries I'd gotten from the Butcher, too, mostly the one at my elbow. The smell of disinfectant hung heavy in the air as he worked, making me dizzier than I already was.

I spaced out at some point, and ended up staring slack-jawed at the ceiling while the doctor wrapped the cut on my leg in a bandage. Tattletale watched from somewhere over his shoulder, and I felt oddly exposed. Here I was, on the floor of a villain's living room, letting some secretive medic stitch me up. No way this could go wrong, no sir! I giggled a little at that.

The doctor snapped his fingers about an inch away from my nose. I blinked, trying to push my head back and away from the noise. The floor got in the way.

"She's lost a lot of blood," he noted clinically. "I can't do much about that, not without bringing her to a hospital."

"Is that going to be a problem?" Tattletale asked.

"I don't think so." He frowned. "She hit a few arteries, but none of the really major ones. I'm surprised, honestly. Other than this one—" he prodded at the deepest of the cuts, and I winced. "And the one on her elbow, none of them are bleeding as much as I'd expect."

"That's good," Tattletale said, leaning over to peer at the injury.

"You really want me to leave the shrapnel?" the doctor asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

Shrapnel? When did I get shrapnel?" I tried to sit up and look at my legs, but the doctor put a hand on my shoulder to keep me down.

"Rest," he ordered. "It's a miracle you're even alive. It's none of my business, so I won't ask why you look like you were just on the wrong end of some kind of grenade, but you should know that this is not what normally happens."

"Huh?" I said, eloquently.

"Thanks, doc," Tattletale interjected. "Are we done here?"

He nodded reluctantly. "You should know, leaving that stuff in—"

"Non-negotiable," she confirmed. "I doubt you'd be able to get it out, anyway."

The doctor shrugged again, picked up his bag, and headed out the door. As soon as he was gone, Tattletale seemed to relax.

"Grenade?" I slurred. I tried to get up again, but my head was still spinning.

"Sleep for a little while, okay?" she told me, bending down to grab my arm. "If I can just get you to the couch—"

I stood, swaying slightly. Tattletale stared.

"Or that." She stared down at my legs, and the bandage around my right one. "I'd be careful. That's probably going to make it worse."

I shrugged, and seated myself on her sofa. My back sank at least a few inches into the pale blue cushions—it was a nice piece of furniture, probably expensive. I really hoped I wouldn't bleed on it.

"So," Tattletale said, seating herself on the arm of the couch. "What happened?"

"Cybernetics messed up," I mumbled. It was really hard to stay conscious when I was so comfortable. "Must've calibrated them wrong."

"You knew that was a risk?"

"No," I grunted, forcing myself to open my eyes. "I didn't."

Tattletale made a face. "There has to be a better way for you to do this."

"Get the PRT to approve it. Which won't happen."

She scowled. "It would be a lot easier if you had a healer with you. Which also won't happen, I know, but..." she trailed off, frowning. "Anyway, I'll leave you alone for a while."

I frowned, feeling a little uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping in her apartment. She either didn't notice—which seemed unlikely—or had correctly assumed that, whether or not I felt safe, I'd be out like a light within minutes. Already my eyelids were getting heavy, and I found myself collapsing bonelessly against the soft cushions.

It was Tattletale who woke me up, though I don't think it was intentional. There was a loud clatter somewhere in the other room, and what sounded like her voice. I couldn't hear what she'd said, exactly, but I pushed myself up into a sitting position and waited.

Minutes later, she emerged from wherever she'd been, brow furrowed, and shut the door firmly behind her. "You're up," she observed. I nodded.

"How long was I asleep?"

Tattletale made a so-so gesture with her hand. "A few hours. Probably not enough, but you should go home anyway. Wouldn't want people to come looking for you."

I winced, imagining the fit dad would throw if I came home late without explanation after installing cybernetics without telling him—again. Still, there was something bothering me, so I turned to Tattletale and asked, "Who were you talking to?"

She blinked. "No one. I knocked over a pot..." trailing off, she glanced back toward the door she'd entered through. A prickle of suspicion started at the back of my neck, and I rose to my feet.

"I guess I should go." Tattletale nodded, then paused. She shot another look over her shoulder at the open door to the other room, then shook her head and returned her attention to me.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you something." I looked back at her, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"What's going on with the PRT, anyway? There was definitely a fight, but the news didn't say anything and they've been swarming around headquarters like termites. That's not normal, even when they're in the middle of huge takedowns they usually tell the press something."

"You want me to give you inside information on the PRT?" I deadpanned. "I'm not that out of it."

Wincing, Tattletale shook her head. "Right, sorry."

But her question had reminded me of just what her power was—pulling information out of thin air. There were a lot of things that had been bothering me about the fight, things the Butcher had done that didn't make sense. Mind made up, I seated myself on the couch again.

"We fought the Teeth," I said, watching her face for some kind of reaction. I wasn't disappointed. Her eyes went almost comically wide, before she started talking a mile a minute.

"You—what? They're here... of course they are, the Protectorate's too damaged by Leviathan to pose that much of a threat to them. And you're alive, so obviously the fight didn't go too badly..." she stopped, staring down at me. "Why would you tell me that?"

"Something weird happened," I admitted. "It doesn't add up, and, well..."

"I'm good at that," she said, not at all modestly. "What happened?"

I paused, trying to word the question as vaguely as possible. "Someone hit her pretty hard. Hard enough that she should've died."

Tattletale sat bolt upright. "Someone—not you, you're strong but you're way too calm for that to be what happened. Who else could..." her eyes widened. "Please tell me it's not Flechette."

I opened my mouth to say something, but she cut me off. "Thank god, I'd rather not have to leave town. But if it's not her... I doubt Assault or Battery could manage that even if they were trying... Miss Militia? She's the only other hero that has that kind of firepower."

"I'm not sure why I bother," I grumbled. Tattletale had the nerve to laugh.

"You wouldn't be here if the leader of the Protectorate was about to become the next Butcher," she continued. "Which is a pretty scary thought, by the way. But no... she didn't die."

"She didn't," I confirmed. "But I saw it. She was hit right in the chest, I was surprised she even managed to teleport out of there."

Tattletale frowned. "She might have a healing factor," she mused. "I've heard some rumblings from other villains that one of her incarnations did. But I doubt it's that good. One of the Teeth might have killed her, though. Or maybe Miss Militia was outside her power's range, somehow? No, people have been trying to pull that off for years and it never seems to be enough..."

"That's not the only weird thing. I was right next to her when it happened—she should have been able to get out of the way."

"Really, now?" Tattletale perked up at that. "What was going on, exactly?"

"She'd just shot my armor," I admitted. "So I was stuck. And there was a trump there—"

"Animos," she supplied.

"Yeah. He hit Glory Girl with his power, so she was down. Right next to me, I think." I frowned, trying to remember. "Kid Win was pretty close by, but he was too busy dealing with Animos to do much."

"Could Animos have hit the Butcher by accident?" Tattletale asked.

I shook my head. "The scream... I don't need powers to use my gear, but it still made Kid and I stumble a bit when it hit us. She didn't do that."

"So she didn't want to teleport."

"It doesn't make sense," I hissed, frustrated. "The whole fight, she was using her fire to keep us off-balance, but she just stood there and took a bullet."

"She let Miss Militia take a lethal shot?"

I paused. "No. She let her hit her in the shoulder. Then she went to walk away, and I grabbed her foot. She looked around, and then she got shot in the chest."

Tattletale put a hand on her chin, in the classic thinker pose. "You're right, that is weird. I'd guess she was distracted the second time around, but there was no reason for her to walk away from you when she could teleport. Unless..." she trailed off, massaging her temple.

"Unless?" I prompted.

"The only thing I can think of is that she didn't want to hurt you or Glory Girl," Tattletale explained. "But that really doesn't make sense."

"It definitely wasn't me," I decided. "When she turned around, I think she was getting ready to put a dart through my head." I winced—it sounded a lot worse when I said it out loud like that.

"So, Glory Girl." Tattletale got to her feet and started pacing back and forth. "It's not a question of keeping a low profile, it's not a moral issue—those ships all sailed long ago. So why—" She stopped dead. "Leverage?"

"Leverage?" I repeated, confused.

"It's the only thing that adds up. I mean, maybe she took one look at Glory Girl, fell madly in love, and decided to renounce her villainous ways, but—"

"Okay, okay, I get it," I grumbled. "But why?"

"That," Tattletale declared. "Is the million dollar question. So who in New Wave would the Butcher—" she froze. My own eyes widened as realization struck.

"Panacea," I whispered. "It has to be."

"But she didn't try to take Glory Girl," Tattletale mumbled, starting to pace again. "So she just needs her alive as a credible threat. That was why she took the hit to her shoulder, it was a mild inconvenience compared to the possibility of losing her leverage."

"We need to call the PRT," I blurted.

"You," Tattletale corrected, "Need to call the PRT. From somewhere other than my house. But that's going to have to wait until you can stand, because you're fairly heavy with all that metal in you and I never claimed to be a brute."

"I can stand, remember?" I rose easily to my feet. My bad leg ached, but not so badly that I couldn't walk.

"Of course you can." Tattletale rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "You know that's going to aggravate the injury, right?"

"As long as it stays stitched up, I'll be fine."

Her eye twitched, but she threw her hands up in surrender. "Fine. Your funeral. So go, find someone with a phone, and tell them you figured it out yourself."

I shook my head. "We already fought her. And they could be anywhere by now, they're not going to stay in that same warehouse. I need help."

Tattletale frowned. "Look, I think I know where this is going, and I can do some recon for you but the rest of my team is not going to jump on the idea of fighting the Butcher."

"You said you owed me a favor," I insisted.

"Yes, I do. But I'm not the leader, and I'm not going to be able to do shit in a fight like that."

"If I paid them, would they do it?"

She gave me an odd look. "That depends. Regent probably would. Grue definitely wouldn't. But unless you're going to tell me you've robbed a bank recently..."

"You gave me ten thousand, remember?"

"That's not going to be enough, especially not split fo—three ways. You'd be asking them to risk their lives."

"You told me you'd pay for one of the painkillers," I added. "I'll make you one, as long as you can get us help."

"And I'd fund the fight..." Tattletale narrowed her eyes. "There's no way the PRT is going to go for that."

"No," I agreed. "But New Wave might."

"Bad idea," Tattletale groaned. "Really, really bad idea."

"Why?"

"New Wave hates us, for one thing," she snapped. "And I doubt we'd fare much better against the Butcher than the Protectorate."

"So we call them, too," I said. "We fought together against the Merchants, didn't we?"

"That was—" she stopped, rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Fine. There's precedent. But we can't be sure they won't try to arrest us, too."

"I'll tell them you're with us, then."

"No, you won't. We're villains, remember? How are you going to explain the fact that we're there in the first place?"

"I don't know!" I half-shouted. I stopped, took a deep breath, and continued more quietly, "Gangs get into fights all the time, don't they?"

"That's one hell of a coincidence," she pointed out.

"Then I'll tell them the truth, that I'm selling you a painkiller in return for your help." I was breathing hard, both hands balled into fists from where I stood.

"And when they put you on probation for aiding a known villain? Or lock you up in one of the Master/Stranger rooms?" Tattletale asked quietly. "Then what?"

"Doesn't matter," I grumbled.

"Yes, it does!" She put both hands on her hips, glowering down at me. "You haven't been thinking about the consequences for a while. I know it doesn't seem to matter to you, but it's self-destructive. You're going to get yourself hurt, you almost died a few hours ago because you didn't slow down and think."

"I am thinking," I insisted. "I'm thinking that I don't give a fuck about the PRT, if the Teeth are going around kidnapping people. I'm thinking that if we don't do something, together, then she's just going to be stuck there with them until another Endbringer comes around!"

Tattletale stared at me for a moment, eyes wide. I flushed. Part of me was anticipating more of an argument, but she just sighed. "Nothing I can say is going to stop you, is it?"

"No."

Tattletale groaned. "Let's at least come up with a plan, first."

"So you'll help me?" I asked, hardly daring to hope.

"Yes, fine," she grumbled. "I'll see what I can do about the Undersiders. Nothing we can do is going to get Grue on board with this. But, between the money I already gave you and the value of the painkiller, I could probably offer something like fifteen thousand to Regent and... and that's probably enough. As for the heroes... we'll talk. I don't think it's going to work out the way you want it to, but I'll try to get at least one of my teammates on board."

"Well, that shouldn't be too hard!" chirped a third, entirely unfamiliar voice from right behind me. I yelped, tripping forwards and landing in a heap on the floor. My leg throbbed, and I twisted around to try and look at who had just snuck up on me so easily.

Above me, a horned mask framed a wide, toothy grin. Two dark eyes glittered mischievously through a pair of slanted openings, both staring directly at me. The figure's smile widened, showing another few molars.

"You know," they said conversationally, "Fifteen thousand is a very pretty number..."