6th May 2011- Coil
Even in times of victory caution was necessary. It was a habit to be maintained at all times, not a thing to be put on a few times a year in a crude attempt to cover up mistakes already made. No, caution was the lifeblood of the game, it was his mantra. So, even now that this final niggling puzzle had been solved he still maintained his daily caution.
"The news has come in."
His Tattletale sat across from him in plainclothes mirroring his grim smile, though she didn't know it. He still wore his costume, one carefully designed to hide as many traces of his identity as possible.
"He is being permanently transferred to Las Angeles, under the protection of Alexandria."
The scenario could have gone better. Veder could have died along with Cricket, that would have been supremely satisfying in multiple ways, but, as it was it was still a good outcome.
"Freakin' finally," said Tattletale, rolling her eyes. "When?"
"The sixteenth of this month," Coil said, leaning back in his chair a fraction of an inch. "We played this well."
Since day one the boy had been an unaccounted for irritation. Exposing his Tattletale's identity to the Protectorate, leaking that the Undersiders worked for him, exposing his moles and, most importantly, delaying the takeover schedule. Thomas Calvert couldn't be near him lest Coil's identity be found out, as it immediately had in several timelines where he met Veder to gauge his reactions.
"It's a shame he didn't die."
Coil nodded. "That would have been optimal, a fantastic blow to the integrity of the PRT."
The ploy had eventually worked. Blaming Dark Smoke Puncher with the leaking of key Empire capes and unpowered personnel had the desired effect of getting the Empire to gun for his blood. It had very nearly almost worked out perfectly the first time, but the Wards Thinker rating was a tough thing to counter letting him somehow see through Cymatic's powers without getting immediately pasted across the pavement. It had brought a brief reprieve when he was sent to Boston, though that had been spoiled by utter chance.
Who could have known that the very gang war Coil had helped incite would hospitalise the boys' mother?
"This will have to suffice. You did well in manipulating the gangs into that shoot out. That a Ward has killed a villain, even in self-defence, puts them directly into the line of everyone's fire," Coil allowed himself a moment of expressed glee. "Director Piggot may even step down this very week."
In his other reality, Thomas Calvert took a cheerful afternoon walk through the bicycle track not too far from his home, feeling the weekend sun on his face. Thomas Calvert lived a simple life, a man of few acquaintances and modest means, and taking walks in the afternoon sun was a pastime he cherished.
"I hope it's worth it this time, this kid has been the biggest pain in the ass," his Tattletale huffed. "He makes a good pawn, but god damn is he infuriating."
"Quite. It was unfortunate he came to the conclusion we were after him, but he's been dealt with."
Now that the boy was with Alexandria she would never let him return, in part because Alexandria was almost certainly strongly affiliated with Cauldron and Veder would likely know the moment he looked at her and, in part because he was slated to become capable of reaching near the top level of parahuman power. He was an asset that Coil himself would have liked to have a cordial relationship with, but one couldn't have everything in life.
"The plan will proceed as I outlined."
Tattletale nodded.
"As a heads up, Tattletale, I have acquired a new set of talent. You've heard of The Travelers?"
"Yep, mercenary group. Shady rep," she wrinkled her nose and crossed her legs. "Lots of unexplained disappearances. They're effective though, good power set for the jobs they do."
Coil inclined his head slightly. "They will be coming to the city quite soon, I'd like you to compile the usual profiles before they arrive."
"You got it."
Coil smiled. The Travelers, he hoped, would prove to be a worthwhile gambit. The girlfriend of their leader, Trickster, was the one behind the disappearances. Her power had mutated her into a nearly uncontrollable beast, ravenous for raw meat, who produced murderous clones of anyone who touched her. Caution was his mantra, but the thrill of the knifes edge was what truly lit the fire in his belly. How well could he balance caution while handling such dangerous assets?
"Then you are dismissed."
Coil stood, turned. He faced the wall, ignoring his Tattletale. He felt the hair on his arms raise as goose-pimples swept across them with a great flush of adrenaline. He needed to ask more questions.
After he was quite certain he was alone once more, Coil left his office through the back door to where his van and driver were waiting. The man who drove his van was unemployable in any other sector and, it was by giving the man, codenamed Creep, his socially unacceptable desires unobtainable almost nowhere else could he ensure his complete loyalty. It was another habit of Coils, paired with caution. Offer the carrot first, because everyone had a price. And Coil was capable of paying even the most depraved of prices.
The current back and forth driving between offices was a nuisance soon to be resolved with the completed construction of his new base; a hidden converted Endbringer shelter. Smack dab in the middle of the city, and nobody had the slightest clue it was even there. Another balance of caution, in the meticulous construction of such a base, and thrill in the satisfaction of having such a thing as his own. It was a first, he reckoned. Nobody else in the country owned such a base, Coil alone had the skill, the patience and the ability to make it happen.
Alas, the base wasn't fit to be moved in to for nearly a fortnight so Coil had to make do with spreading out his assets for the time being.
As the van pulled to a stoplight Coil dissolved his other reality, interrupting Thomas Calvert mid-stride. Another wave of goose pimples rippled over him in the fraction of a second it took him to split reality in twain once more. The time now, where his realities were so close together, was his most vulnerable. And staying vulnerable just wasn't cautious.
In one reality, Coil had himself driven away to a third location and, in the second he was driven to a nondescript lonesome building.
He took a moment to confirm the lack of watching eyes before entering and was greeted by the man he had stationed there, one Mr Pitter. A useful man by all accounts, one that could be trusted with the care of Coils greatest current acquisition.
"Good afternoon, sir."
"Mr Pitter. All is well?"
Pitter adjusted his round-rimmed glasses in a serious gesture. "It is, sir. Nothing abnormal."
Coil nodded shortly and stepped past him, continuing on to the only room in the building with a heavily locking door. Pitter rushed forward and pulled a set of keys from his pocket, unlocking the three heavy locks with practised motions.
Inside the room on a bare military surplus cot lay a young girl in a white nightdress, staring at the roof with puffy, bloodshot eyes.
"Hello, pet."
The girl screwed her eyes up, mouth twisting.
"You know my questions."
There was a hitch in her voice as she replied, "zero point eight nine two per cent chance there's any problems in the next hour. One point seven three per cent chance of problems before lunch."
"Very good," Coil would have purred were it not an unseemly display of lack of control. "And what is the chance of Dark Smoke Puncher returning to Brockton Bay within the next three years?"
"Four point one six six per cent," the girl, Dinah, said pressing a hand into her eyes. "It hurts."
"Of course," Coil said, turning to Pitter. "Make sure she receives her candy when she asks."
At the mention of candy, Dinah sat half upright, watery eyes bright with want, but didn't say anything. She watched them with suspicious hope, hands balled into fists around the hem of her nightgown.
"I will, sir," Pitter said with a servile nod of the head.
Coil left. Four per cent… Acceptable for now. In his other reality, Coil reached his third office to begin the tedious running of his operation while the Coil in the current reality re-entered the van to be driven back to his civilian car and his civilian life.
Thomas Calvert would eat a healthy, hearty dinner, watch a new stand up comedy special and get a good nights sleep.
8th May 2011- Sveta
They had been playing Starcraft all day, though after the first few fumbling attempts at playing Sveta resigned herself to spectating. Tendrils you weren't even fully in control of weren't designed for real-time strategy games. Greg, however, had been dominating match after match after match of online opponents, an unbroken chain of victories; but they were just distractions. Greg had said he wanted to tell her something but was claiming he'd tell her after he lost. She didn't think it was like him to stall, so it must have been important.
Sveta knew she was lucky that few other residents wanted as much computer time as she did, leaving her free to selfishly hog her favourite machine in the common area. There were only a few others in, most reading quietly or watching television. A lot of people in the asylum preferred to stay in their rooms, a desire Sveta understood completely. Doctor Yamada had spent a full year attempting to get her to spend time in the common area, and Sveta was eternally grateful she had.
It was, however, getting late.
"Greg," she said, timid and halting. "I have to go back to my room soon, um, do you want to tell me what it is? Only if you want to though, you don't have to."
A short rush of harsh popping made her flinch, presumably as Greg sighed into his microphone.
"Right," he replied. "Well, the PRT is trying pretty hard to keep this out of the news, but you'll probably hear eventually. I killed Cricket."
Sveta gasped, tendrils roiling, grasping, pushing her up into the corner of the ceiling like they thought she was being attacked. She shouted, but the microphone was down there and her voice came out as a breathy, soft whine. She needed to tell him it was going to be ok.
"She attacked me, but it was really fucked," his voice still reached her, faintly through the lowered volume she'd set the computer to. "You still there, Svets?"
If she didn't get control soon they'd remove her. She was already drawing attention. She needed to breathe, that's what she needed to do. Breathe. Count of four in, count of six out. Greg needed her help.
Slowly, painstakingly slowly, her tendrils relaxed. Whatever alien muscle structure moving them unclenching, jerkily lowering her back down. Sveta took another steadying breath then opened her eyes, which watered with bile smelling tears.
"I'm here for you, Greg," then, in a torrent. "I'm so, so sorry I didn't say anything right away I panicked and my tendrils freaked out and put me up against the ceiling. It's all going to be ok, I promise."
"Thanks. I know it'll be ok. I'm not in trouble for it or anything, but they're sending me away," the microphone popped again as Greg gave a laugh that came out as a bitter scoff. "You want some signed Alexandria merch?"
Sveta whined a whistling, reedy hum. "You can always talk to me about it."
"I know," he said. "I think I'll get over it, sort of. Did you have nightmares about it?"
"All the time."
"Yeah. I think it's kind of ruined music and Harry Potter for me."
Sveta sniffled, "your songs are so good, if you ever feel like making more I'll shill for you on Twitter."
"Thanks, Svets. Maybe one day, we'll see."
It wasn't right for these things to happen, it was unfair. It didn't need to happen. This should be in the honeymoon period for making music, he should be at the height of his obsession for it. Greg's obsessive hobby had changed every three or four months for as long as she'd known him, it wasn't time yet. He was supposed to be rambling on about obscure music theory he'd speed read a pirated pdf of and didn't really understand.
Her tears traced stinking black lines down her face. Her friend was suffering and there wasn't anything she could do about it, she was stuck in this stupid, worthless body that wasn't even human. She couldn't even leave the facility. She couldn't ever give him a hug.
Greg must have heard her muffled sobbing.
"Hey, it's alright. I'll be ok. They have a program for this apparently, it's not like I'm the first Ward to kill somebody."
"It's just not right," Sveta said quietly.
"Sorry I wasted your day making you watch me play games."
"I would have just watched LetsPlays anyway."
"Well, thanks for sticking around anyway. I need to go and give something to Armsmaster, so, thanks again, Svets."
"Bye, Greg."
She was so useless. There had to be something she could do to protect his smile.
