Seizure 18.9

"I'm still surprised you said yes," Flashbang told me, as we flew over Brockton Bay, the skiff loaded with filled boxes as we headed back towards New Brockton Bay, the shining silver and black construction slowly spreading over the matte grey and brown ruins of the rest of the city.

"Why?" I asked, confused, as the man had been fairly quiet until now, not making any kind of small-talk. His request to take me up on the offer I'd made, to help him retrieve personal items from his ruined home, had been unexpected, but, after a quick scouting trip to make sure nothing nasty had set up shop, I' told him it was no issue. He was the only one that arrived, and I'd flown us over, along with a trio of Dryad golems to help pack everything up.

The New Wave cape mulled over his answer, finally stating, "After what happened, I thought you'd tell me to fuck off. Not for you to have forgiven me."

Now I was even more confused. "Flashbang, I didn't forgive you, and, if you'd tried something, it wouldn't matter that you were Victoria and Amelia's father, I would've killed you."

The man, out of costume, looked at me, before jerking his head towards the boxes full of items. "Then why do this?"

"Because I made the offer," I answered simply, "and this stuff was yours."

"But. . . after what we did," he argued, as if he wanted me to be angry with him.

Passing over the border-fence, I noted, "And we've talked about it. No trust. No forgiveness until enough time has passed and enough evidence has piled up to show you're worthy of another chance. Check back with me in five years, and we'll talk."

"And Carol?" he asked with trepidation.

"That will never change," I replied, voice cold. "You didn't do anything. That was both the problem, and the reason I'm open to one day fighting beside you. Her situation is different."

However, the man wasn't deterred. "I'm sorry for letting things get that bad, I should've don-"

"No," I interrupted, tone ice. "Brandish is an adult. She has agency. She can take responsibilities for her own actions. Could you have done something? Certainly. But so could have everyone else in your family. Ultimately a person is only responsible for what they do." I looked at him. "And you would not want me to hold all of New Wave responsible for her actions. Trust me."

It was horribly ironic that the one adult that seemed to have heroic ideals was the one who had suffered from suicidal depression, before I'd done more for him in an instant than what his entire team and family, had done in close to a decade. Even if Panacea didn't 'do brains', there were dozens of healers that did, and all it would take was Brandish trading a few favors to get him access to one of them.

In terms of Capes, healing was rare, but there were a lot of capes out there and that meant a good amount of healers. Lizardtail, Cask, Scapegoat, Flamel, Caduceus, and so many others, none as good as Amelia in general healing, but all of them likely able to help her father, if only her mother had asked.

"Alright," he said, accepting my answer as we dropped down towards the Uhaul he'd arrived in. Landing, the Dryads started loading up the truck. "Well, thanks."

No more words were exchanged as I finished loading up the truck, and he nodded to me, before driving off, and it was onto the next thing. Returning the Skiff to its holding bay, I walked out, passing by a man with the Flames of Cloth Tinker, that made me pause for a second. Checking, no, the person's power had no cracks or veils, but, tapping into the insect network around me, there were several more people in the labs than there had been befor. Opening the door to one, a woman with the Flames of Stone Tinker was working on a quartz and garnet assembly that, when done, would automatically raise the temperature of anything below the freezing point of water up past that, until the device was overstressed and cracked, letting out a fireball that seemed like kind of a design flaw.

Teleporting back to my office, I announced, "Overwatch, a word." A few seconds later, he stepped through static. "New Tinkers?"

The man nodded. "Yes, your policy on Rogues has been bringing in quite a few of them. Especially Tinkers."

Huh, I thought, having, honestly, forgotten about that. "The Stone-user's cold-eliminating box explodes like a small bomb after it absorbs too much and cracks," I informed him, sitting down at my desk, where the file on 'Lazuli' opened itself. There was a highlighted note about her creations suffering catastrophic failures if not maintained. "Yeah, that," I noted. "How's the progress on the rest of the city coming?"

Most days I focused on the smaller things, not micromanaging, but helping in places where only I could assist, either through Dryad, or my ability to tackle the dangers of the Yellow Zones and make it out alive. The Green had been fully scouted, and the northern construction was a couple of weeks from reaching the first ring, which separated the Yellow and Green. That'd kept me busy, something I was grateful for.

"The city charter is almost complete," the man commented absently.

"Wait, what?" I asked. "Why is this the first I'm hearing of this?"

The lawyer looked at me warily. "Because you did not want to be involved in these sorts of tasks? That is why you are employing me, among other reasons."

"Yeah, for the day-to-day stuff, but this is my city," I stressed. "Don't you think I should be involved in how it's run?"

"I wasn't aware that you wanted to be king," Quinn remarked dryly, rolling his eyes, before he frowned at my unamused expression. "Are you saying you do?"

"Not King, exactly," I argued, "but part of the reason Cauldron is leaving us alone is that we're an experiment in parahuman feudalism. According to them, society is going to collapse under the weight of powers, and while they've done models, models only go so far. More than that though, I've been the one that supplied the funding for this city, running defense, doing a good chunk of the construction of every building. I'm the one who got us the plans we're following, who's been making the high-level decisions, and, hell, I own the land. King might be too much, but some sort of Lord? How am I not?"

"Article 1, Section 10 of the United States Constitution would disagree, though if the Title is self-appointed, it is technically not granted by a 'State'," he mused, shaking his head. "Given your actions, I thought you would want to give up the responsibility of running New Brockton Bay."

I shook my head. "The minutia, the small decisions, I don't need to take care of that, but, let's be honest, do you think I trust anyone else to run this place without stabbing me in the back, or corrupting it?"

"Even me?" the man asked, not hurt, only curious.

That made me pause. "Do you want the power, or would you pass it off to committees, and representatives, and all of the normal trappings of state?"

"This is America. It is a democracy," Quinn pointed out.

"What? No it's not," I frowned, quickly opening a web browser to double check that I hadn't missed something so fundamental. I hadn't. "No, the United States is a democratically elected representative republic, that uses that mechanism to elect a temporary king every four years. Democracy only works when everyone cares, and, in case you haven't noticed, Overwatch, they don't."

The lawyer raised an eyebrow behind his mask. "I believe they care very much."

Now it was time for me to roll my eyes. "No, they say they do. What's the phrase, 'your actions are so loud I can't hear what you're saying'? If they cared enough, the gangs would've never taken root in old Brockton Bay, but they wanted to be safe, to keep their heads down and not be bothered. Fine, I'm alright with that, but just like the pilgrims finally had to say 'you don't work, you don't eat', I'm not going that far, only 'you don't fight, I don't care'. We're not even taking over a place that's already working, we're literally building it from the abandoned ruins of the old."

"There will be many that protest," Quinn warned, not disagreeing. "People are used to having a say in how their cities are run."

"And I care not for the mewling of cowards," I shot back, before listening to myself. "Right, too villainous, though the more I hear about how 'heroes' are supposed to act, the more it sounds like it's synonymous with slave."

The Tinker regarded me. "Still villainous. While you don't care, others will."

"And how much do they care about me, instead of what they can get by trying to control me?" I questioned. "No, holding back because 'oh no, what will the people I don't give a shit about think?' is dumb. They don't give a toss about what I think about them, what I want. They only demand I live in a way that doesn't offend them."

"No man is an island," Quinn warned.

And I'm not sure I am one, I thought, the idea coming out of nowhere, but I shoved it back. "Be honest, Overwatch. If New Brockton Bay was bell-jarred tomorrow, if the American government set up a hardline quarantine, like they do after a Ziz attack they can't repel, would that stop us? Not slow us, I'm sure it would, but would we be stopped?"

The other man didn't respond, eyes distant behind his mask, as he almost certainly investigated that very option. "With our current food production, we could not sustain our numbers," he finally announced, which was a bullshit answer and we both knew it.

"And if we converted half the lumberyards to orchards, with similar rates of production? Creating superfruits would take Panacea two hours if we rushed her, and in a week we'd have a dozen novel crops that Hedera could force yields for every day. I know you don't like the possibility, but don't try to doublespeak me, Quinn. I get enough of that from Herb," I warned.

". . . Do you think that's likely?" the other man finally asked, tense.

I shook my head, and he visibly relaxed. "No, but that's not the point. The point is that every normal social pressure that could be brought to bear on us doesn't matter anymore. We've crossed the line over 'what can we not survive' to 'what will inconvenience us', and that. . . changes things. That's also why, as Cauldron believes, the normal social order is on borrowed time."

The lawyer was not at all comfortable with my declaration, but he didn't deny it, instead asking, "And if they try non-social pressure?"

"Then they'll die," I replied casually with a shrug, the other man staring at me. "But they likely already know it. Just as they would if the Ameri-Canadian government went to war with the Chinese Union-Imperial. That's not villainous, it's realpolitik, which, while unpleasant, isn't evil."

I sighed, "If we went to war with Cauldron, we'd likely still lose, if only by attracting Scion's attention, which would mean we all would lose, but doing it this way would appease them, Quinn. So, I don't mind advisors, hell, more often than not I defer to you on what to do, but I am deferring to you because it is my prerogative to do so."

"Then might makes right?" the other man asked.

It was a gross oversimplification, but one I was sure to get from others, so I took it in the spirit of him bringing up a complaint others would raise, instead of actually being that disingenuous himself. "Force is the authority from which all others are derived," I replied, having been thinking about this a good deal the past few weeks, especially after my conversation with Legend. "But it has nothing to do with morality. In a perfect world, who can kill who wouldn't be a concern, but in a perfect world we wouldn't have crime, or villains, or Endbringers. Might doesn't determine who's right, only who's left."

"Pithy," Quinn commented, before shaking his head and letting out a sigh of his own. "And something I should've seen coming. You are aware that, if you were less powerful, you would've already been declared a Villain?"

"If I was less powerful, I wouldn't have to do half the things I am," I shot back. "I could focus on smaller concerns hoping for the best. Having power doesn't make me responsible for the fate of everyone, but if I can, I'm going to keep the planet from being destroyed by an autistic annelid with attachment issues. After all, I like Earth. It's where I keep my stuff."

That got me a skeptical look. "Someone's in a good mood."

. . . was I? I thought. Oddly enough, despite everything, I was. But. . . why?

"We're. . . we're finally starting to be safe," I said, after mulling it over. Quinn looked significantly in the direction of the Zones. "Those are dangerous, but, no more than living on top of a dungeon would be, and we can handle it. No, we've hit MAD status with the PRT, we've reached an accord with Cauldron," even if that required me understanding we could never work together, "we don't have any local threats, my organization is large enough that a friend-coup probably isn't going to happen, and I'm strong enough that a hard-coup probably isn't going to happen either."

"What is a 'friend-coup'?" the man inquired. "I've never heard that term before."

I grimaced, "Not sure if it has a real name, but it's when, in a small group, someone, especially someone new, becomes 'friends' with the people that were your friends, and convinces them to exclude you from the group, usually with some variant of 'we all decided' being announced. There's no warning, no way to fix the 'problem' that was so great their shunning you, because the problem is that you didn't let the other person dominate things, so you need to be removed."

"Ah," Quinn nodded. "We had a new hire a few years ago at the firm who tried something similar. He convinced a few of the associates that he deserved to be a partner, and was trying to persuade me that one of the other partners was, what did he say? Ah, yes, 'His outdated thinking is holding us back, and the fact that he can't reach juries anymore makes him a liability' or something like that. I, of course, informed the partner of this after 'agreeing' with the new hire."

"What happened?" I asked, not having seen someone do that before, only being targeted out of nowhere.

"We fired the New Hire, a few threatened to resign if we didn't bring him back immediately, and we accepted their resignations as well," the lawyer revealed, not naming any names. "A few tried to backpedal, but you can't unfire that gun. Our productivity dropped a little, and we had to hire a few people quickly to manage our caseloads, but it was minor compared to what could have happened. It turns out the New Hire's more 'modern' methods involved the altering of evidence for cases he thought he might lose, which explained his oddly high overturn rate, and he's now in prison. The firm that hired him afterwards didn't survive the backlash."

The man hmm'd. "'Friend-coup'," he said, as if tasting the word. "Descriptive, though not quite as vituperative as the action deserves. And that is why you wish to remain in charge?"

"Partially, yes. Masters are also a thing, so having the powers-that-be be easily influenced individuals, especially non-powered ones, seems a recipe for disaster unless we put in a whole mess of protocols that I don't think we can implement easily," I agreed.

"And when some of the staff threaten to resign over your 'demands'?" Overwatched asked mildly.

"Then accept their resignations, and find someone who will do the job they've been hired to do, not someone that'll try to use their position to extort their employers," I replied, equally mild. "We're not doing anything wrong, just not doing things the way they want, and I'm completely aboveboard with what I want. If they want to be paid less to play office politics and do absolutely nothing new, who am I to stop them?"

My vizier sighed, shaking his head. "Working for you is not boring at least," he mused, before derezzing into static, leaving me to my own devices.

AB

Several days, and several new hires, later I was looking over the first draft of the city charter. Given that it wasn't a hereditary monarchy, instead tied to property ownership, it jived with federal laws, though I wasn't sure how. A lot of federal controls were of the 'if you want our money (which we took from you) you'll do what we say' variety, but, since we weren't taking any of their funds, we sidestepped a good number of them, and others were in abeyance due to our status as an Endbringer Attack Site.

Honestly, the suspension of Habeas Corpus, while needed to maintain a Simurgh Quarantine Zone, seemed a bit much. While there hadn't been that much trouble so far, given the people here wanted to be here, it was a matter of time before others noticed, and having a court system was a good idea, especially as I was covered by what amounted to sovereign immunity.

"Vejovis," Overwatch's voice chimed, and I looked up from the document I was reviewing. "Another of Break's 'cousins' is coming."

I blinked, "That time already? Huh, I suppose it is. Also, weren't you taking the night off? You still need to sleep, after all."

"Their appearance is regular. I set an alarm," he replied. "Unless it's urgent, I'm going back to sleep."

"It should be fine," I replied. "And thank you."

I waited, and waited, and waited, and was about to start looking when the camera-fly in the hall outside picked up movement, and two men walked down around the corner. One was Herb, or at least looked like him, while the other remined me a little of Herb's Stand, Enter, but while Enter was large, almost exuding crocodilian power, this Stand, while only slightly smaller, moved with the fluid grace of a predator, reminiscent of Curtis' Stand, The Hurt.

What was more surprising was that they were both smoking very large joints.

The two ambled to my door, the Replicant politely knocking. "Come in," I replied, and the man opened the door, letting his Stand go first, before casually coming in himself.

"Hey man, good ta finally meet you," the Replicant smiled warmly, offering a hand for me to shake, which, cautiously, I did. "Ah, the others got ya all wound up. I get where they're comin' from, but they just don't get it."

"What don't they get?" I asked as the Replicant offered me the joint, which smelled of marijuana, but also something else I couldn't place. "And you know that won't do anything for me."

Replicant number nine nodded, "Right, you haven't learned to yet. Don't worry, you'll get it eventually. You've been busy as shit, and Prime hasn't exactly been helpin'. And what they don't get?" he asked, mulling it over. "A lot of shit, too hung up on stuff that doesn't matter."

"Even Boojack?" I asked, the weed-use reminding me of the first Replicant.

"Especially Boojack. Boy's so hung up he ain't got anythin' left," the other man replied, the Stand nodding sadly. "So much to prove, he doesn't bother, when they don't get that we ain't got nothin' to prove, just a job to do, but, well, that's for them."

God, this is like dealing with Herb at his most philosophical, I couldn't help but think, but not being in a rush, nor depending on him, it was much easier to deal with. "And that job is?" I prompted.

"Same job as you, and Chuck, and your Old Man. Save the world, 'cause it's not gonna save itself. But they don't trust themselves, because they don't know themselves," the Replicant explained.

"And you do?" I asked, and he nodded. "Well, to start with, what's your name?"

"Rock," he smiled, "because that's what I do to the boat."

The Stand took a drag off his joint, and when he spoke, his voice was a sibilant hiss. "Roil. 'causss that'sss what I do to the watersss we all ssswim in."

Focusing on Roil, his skin did have a thin layer of scales, but thin trails of fur ran down his hands and arms, which confused the heck out of me. "And what's your specialty."

The Stand just shook his head, Rock answering for him. "Why do we need one? It worked at first, helped make the power smaller, more controllable, but, do we still need it? Or are we doin' it just 'cause we did it before, and now, who we scared of?"

"Cauldron," I replied immediately. "We're safe because they think they have us pegged. Showing that we've got close to a dozen Triumvirate-tier fighters will throw things into chaos." Something clicked. "And that's why the others warned us of you, isn't it? Because that's what you do."

Did I kill him now? He'd be back in a week, but we'd just got things stabilized, and I needed to figure out how to make this work. I wasn't ready, and-

"See, this is why you need ta relax," Rock noted, interrupting my thoughts. "You hear change, and you think danger. In that way, you and them are the same, though, the way you do things, yeah, that's different," he stated. "Our specialty is wyverns."

"Wyverns?" I echoed, not understanding.

Rock stood, taking a step back as his form shifted, skin turning azure and eyes crimson as he grew tremendously, out instead of up, turning into a large, snake-like lizard with a tiger's musculature, but most of all it was the enormous, paddle-shaped tail, nearly as long as the rest of his body, that drew my attention. The edges were spiked, but along the top was a thick layer of long fur sprouted, a second streak of blue-white hair running from behind its serpentine head to between its shoulder blades.

With a full body shake, his fur stood on end, crackling with electricity, one of the few things I wasn't immune to, and I threw up barriers of hardened air between us, ready for the attack, as I recognized the creature. It wasn't a real animal, but that was never a limitation of the power. No, this thing was from the Monster Hunter series of games, and stupidly deadly to anyone not prepared, and without the low-level Brute package that all the people in that game possessed.

However, Rock shifted back to human form, and took his seat, taking another pull from his joint. "You really need to relax, man."

"Sorry if I get a little nervous when you turn into a literal monster, moments after telling me you're going to 'shake things up', and charging yourself up with one of the few things that can hurt me," I replied, not sorry in the slightest.

The Replicant looked at me incredulously. "You really think I'd do anything to ya?"

"Curtis."

". . . yeah, I get you," Rock admitted, still smiling as he chided me, "But we wouldn't go that far."

"Yes, because Herb is a wonderful example of someone who doesn't constantly misjudge things. Dinah. Valefor. Half the shit he's done with me," I listed off. "I appreciate any help you offer, for things that would actually help, but you have Herb's memories. You know I don't trust any of you implicitly. For things that would be good if they were done, sure, but I've seen too many of Herb's 'better ideas' to go along with whatever any of you do. You point a gun at my head, I'm gonna be nervous, even if I think you won't fire."

"He'sss got a point," Roil pointed out, as Rock frowned. "Sssomethin' like this woulda been better." Getting up himself, the Stand shifted into the electric yellow streaked with blue, form of the lizard-like Jagras, a creature with no method of attacking other than fang or claw, before turning back, and looking to me. "Right?" I nodded. "Sssorry 'bout him, he getsss a bit pussshy."

"I'm not pushy, I'm right," the Replicant muttered, taking another hit from his joint.

The Stand snorted, "You're both. Both of you are, mossst of the time."

I wanted to object, but. . . "Fair, though I think I've been getting better." Roil considered that, before nodding in agreement, and I turned back to Rock. "So, you want to shake things up. Does it have to be here?"

"If not here, where?" the Replicant asked.

"Literally anywhere else," I replied, annoyed at the disingenuous question. By telling me he was going to change things, this conversation had shifted from 'casual discussion' to 'damage control'. "There is the entirety of America and Canada that you could go mess with, or elsewhere, if that's what you want. Unless what you want isn't change, it's something else, in which case don't lie to me, tell me what it is."

"Man, you need to relax," Rock replied, not telling me shit, and went to go take another drag off his joint.

I leaned forward, and, with it in my range of Stellar Negation, put it out.

That got me annoyed look from the other man, who's hand shifted into a burning red claw, and he re-lit it, only for me to put it out again. Glaring now, he turned to the side, to get out of my range.

I sliced off the burning tip with a blade of air.

"Man, what's your fuckin' problem?" the Replicant demanded.

And there's the core of Herb, I thought, the 'cool hippy stoner' façade broken. "My problem is that you can't answer a simple goddamn question," I replied, tone cold. "My problem is that your words don't match your actions. My problem, Rock, is that you think you're being cool, and above it all, when you're even more of an asshole than the others, including Curtis."

"And you're harshin' my mellow," he replied, the threating tone clear.

The air between us filled with invisible blades. "I'm sorry, I thought you weren't 'hung up' on things," I apologized mockingly, seeing the danger the others had warned of. "That you were more concerned with the job than with petty power shit. So are you going to answer my question, or are you going to keep dodging it?"

Rock's face twisted into a snarl, but before he could respond, Roil interrupted him. "Get off it, man. You ssstarted it." The Stand turned to face me. "He thinksss you're missssing opportunities, locked up in your ivory tower. But if he tellsss you that, you won't do it the way he wantsss."

The Stand vanished for a moment, before reappearing behind the Replicant and slapping him across the back of the head. "Chill, or I'll make you," the Stand ordered, disappearing again, only to reappear as some odd, large, winged, purple thing which shot out a chameleon-like tongue, hitting the Replicant, who dropped over, instantly asleep.

Shifting back, Roil shook his head. "Like I sssaid. Pussshy. He'sss good, asss long asss he'sss getting hisss way."

"He's an asshole is what he is," I argued, wondering how the hell this even worked. I didn't think I'd heard more than a dozen sentences from Enter, who was seemingly subservient to Herb. Roil, however, seemed to be more the dominant than the Replicant he was paired with. I knew the Stand power wasn't directly controlled by the user, or at least from my work with Herb I'd assumed so, but this put things into new perspective.

"Pot, kettle," the Stand remarked.

"I'm not that bad!" I insisted.

"Pot, sssteel kettle," Roil amended, which took me a second. Iron would be black, steel isn't but has the same shape, I realized.

"Ugh," I groaned, "Okay, you know him better than I do. Any suggestions?"

The Stand looked at its creator, and considered him. "Give him sssomething to do. Sssomething open ended. Let him do it asss he wantsss, and he'll be happy. Happy-isssh."

Queuing up the list of things I needed to do, pulled from Ziz's data-dump, I looked at them. Some of them required a more delicate touch to keep things from exploding, like the recruitment, while others, like Dr. Proton, just needed to be eliminated before she finished her device, or at least be made to stop creating it. "You have access to Rock's mind?" I asked.

"Read-only, and I wouldn't messss with it if I could," the Stand replied.

"That's enough. Would he accept suggestions on how to handle things, or would he do them differently, just to screw over 'the man'?" I asked, leaning into the 'hippy' aesthetics I was getting from him.

From the Stand's expression, it was the right question to ask. "The sssecond," he admitted.

Turning on the display built into the side of the room, I opened a new document, populating it with tasks, the ones that could be done any way, the only requirement being that the event needed to be stopped.

"Not that one. He'd refussse, but wouldn't tell you," the Stand stated, pointing to a PRT squad that needed to be assisted in taking down a villain, the act of doing so being what pushed one of them, newly Triggered, into stepping up and becoming a hero who would eventually leave the Protectorate, exposing corruption as he did so.

Moving it over to the other list, I nodded in thanks, as we hashed out enough to keep the Replicant busy for months at a lackadaisical rate, or a bit less than one at my pace. "Alright," I sighed, as we wrapped it up, printing the list out, and then a second one at Roil's direction. "How are we gonna handle him?"

The Stand frowned. "Ssstart working on him. He'll wake up, but won't hurt you. He wasssn't lying about that. He wouldn't harm you. Physssically. He wantsss to look like Jimi Hendrix, George Clinton, and a little Bob Marley."

"Of course he does," I groaned, rolling my eyes, even as I thickened my casual wear into armor, just in case the Stand was lying. Taking the Replicant's hand, after getting references from all three, I started to shift his body to match.

I was able to do most of the work without issue, only the shot of 'Get Better' to cover any mistakes I'd made at the end rousing the man, who froze. "Didn't think you were that fuzz-y," Rock sneered to Roil.

"You're either on the busss or off the busss," Roil replied, with the air of a quote. "And you ain't drivin' thisss one. Deal."

Finishing off the work, I showed Rock the work I'd done, and despite himself, he smiled, and nodded appreciatingly. "At least ya got good taste. You mind if I smoke, or you gonna wreck that one too?"

"As long as you answer my questions, I won't have an issue," I replied, getting a scowl from the Replicant, but he lit his joint, taking a deep drag. "But where did you even get that?"

"We're growin' some in hydroponics," Rock revealed. "Good stuff, too. Grabbed some, swung by Pan's door ta get in range and made it some really Primo shit, then by Hedera's to grow it out. So, where's my new digs?"

"Contact Overwatch around noon and he'll give you an expense account. You'll be heading out, since I can't," I informed him, handing him the first packet, the second in a drawer. "I've been gathering more intel, and I need someone to act on it."

"Since when?" the Replicant asked, looking over it. "Atlanta gone? News to me."

"Since a bit ago,' I shot back. "And after the shitshow that was Valefor, I've stopped sharing intel with your creator."

The stoner looked over the list, before, with a smirk, ripped it in half, tossing the pages behind himself. "Yeah. No."

I took out the second list. "Ah, so we're doing this the Curtis way then," I remarked, the self-satisfied smile dropping off the Replicant's face. "Let's try this again. You're going to do this, or I'm going to kill you, and keep killing you until you learn to play nice with others. In the meantime, I'll give this to the others, since they can at least 'go with the flow' enough not to fight me on everything."

"Violence, that your answer to everythin'?" Rock tsk'd dissapointedly, though there was anger underlining his words. "Shouldn't be surprised, I guess."

"Running from your problems, that your answer to everythin'?" I tsk'd back mockingly, his accusation nothing more than empty words, given I knew how often I'd stayed my hand, hoping for things to get better, and paying the price when they didn't. Tagg was all the evidence I needed of that, and this asshole had Herb's memories, which meant his insinuations were no more than the passing breeze. "Given your Prime, I shouldn't be surprised, I guess." Which wasn't fair to Herb, who had been getting better, and wouldn't've pulled this shit.

Glaring, the Replicant snatched the list out of my hands, actually looking it over, before tossing it to Roil, who wasn't surprised by it in the slightest, catching it and storing it in his coat with a nod to me.

He stood, and I asked, "So, will you do it?" Rock ignored me, walking out, but the slight nod from Roil made me dismiss the air-blades between the Replicant and the door.

Opening it, Rock paused, took another hit off his joint, and commented in the self-satisfied tone unique to stoners, "Ya really need to go with the flow." He strode out, which didn't answer my question, and I was halfway tempted to stop him with a well-placed, non-lethal air blade. Herb didn't know I'd learned to use them by using my insect's line of sight, and I very much doubt Rock did either.

Instead, I looked to Roil, who sighed, standing himself. "He'll do it," the Stand promised. "I'll make sssure of it."

Rather than follow the Replicant, the Stand disappeared, reappearing next to his creator, once more smacking him upside the head, getting an ugly look from the Replicant, which the Stand accepted placidly. The interaction, however, left me with one thought.

What was the last one going to be like?