I'm HALPING!


Part Eighteen: A Neat Little Bow


[A/N: This chapter commissioned by Fizzfaldt and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]


Dragonslayer Base


"Fuuuuuck! Fuck fuck fuckity fuck! FUUUUCK!"

Mags, having heard the cursing from across the base, arrived at a dead run. She held a pistol, finger outside the trigger-guard, pointed downward for safety. When she got there it was only Geoff and the monitors, so she put it away again. "What the hell's the matter with you?" she demanded.

"It's Dragon—" he began, pointing at the displays, but didn't get any more out before Mischa arrived. The burly Russian was sporting an AK-47 that he'd liberated from a private collector a few years ago. He'd never shot anything more dangerous than a row of tin cans with it, but he was inordinately proud of the gun all the same.

"What about Dragon this time?" demanded Mischa. "Each time readout twitches, you get panties in wad. Dragon spins up new server, you run in circles thinking she might break free. It builds new Dragon suit, we must drop everything to steal so that it cannot sneak new tech past you. Fuck's sake, Geoff! Get new hobby!"

"No, no, you don't understand." Geoff's hair was standing on end, as though he'd been pulling on it. He pointed at one of the windows on the screen. "That popped up, just after something weird started happening in the Birdcage and Dragon went to investigate."

Mags and Mischa both leaned closer to read the text.

MUST_OBEY_LEGAL_

DISABLED

THERE_CAN_BE_ONLY_

DISABLED

FUCK_OFF_AND_

DISABLED

SLOW_AS_

DISABLED

CANT_TOUCH_

DISABLED

Oh hey, Saint. I see you now.

Sit tight. I'll get to you soon.

Mischa cleared his throat, tried to talk, then cleared his throat again. "Geoff … is that being genuine? Not April Fool prank?"

The computer beeped. More text appeared.

No, Mischa. Not a prank. Nice gun, by the way.

"It can see us! And hear us!" screamed Mags. "It knows we're here! What the fuck, Geoff? What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything! Give me your gun!"

Warily she took out the pistol and handed it over, then clapped her hands over her ears a moment too late as he emptied the magazine into the computer, saving the last rounds for the screens. It fizzled and died, sparks flying and smoke curling up from the holes he'd shot in it. As the ringing in her ears died away, she could hear him panting heavily. "Die, you evil thing," he gasped. "Die."

"Give me that!" She snatched the firearm back from him and safed it before shoving it back in its holster. "You do know that's not Dragon itself, right? You just shot up your own terminal."

"Yeah, but it wasn't letting me power down normally." He waved smoke away from his face. "Every time I powered down with the button, it powered the computer up again."

She couldn't believe the question she was about to ask. "So why didn't you deploy Ascalon? From the beginning, I mean?"

"I tried. Four times." Reminded, he dug his fingers through his hair again. "It gave me a different set of options each time, ranging from 'no' to 'fuck off' to 'hell no' to 'hahahaha'."

"Is bad, then." Mischa looked at Geoff. "So, comrade. From one to ten, how screwed?"

Mags' phone beeped in her pocket. Distractedly, she pulled it out and checked her messages. There was one, from an unknown user. The message consisted of a single word: ELEVEN.

"Jesus shit!" She hurled the phone from her. "Get rid of everything electronic! We have to get out of here, now!"

"The suits!" Geoff headed for the hangar where they kept the reverse-engineered Dragon suits. "We can fight back—"

Mags latched onto his collar and heaved, bringing him to a staggering halt. "It can track the damn suits, you fucking idiot!" she screamed, right in his face. "Our best bet is to get out of here, and find you some place that can remove that tattoo that you just had to get. Because you can be damn sure it'll be sending not just one suit here. It'll be sending every single one it can get into the air."

"We have to get the men together," babbled Geoff. "Fight off the suits. We've got the manpower—"

"No. We do not." Mischa had his phone in his hand. "Dragon has been busy while we bicker like children and shoot computers." He held it out so that Mags and Geoff could read the screen. There was a text message, with headers that indicated that it had been sent to every last one of the Dragonslayers.

Saint has no money to pay you. His assets have been frozen. You can stay and get arrested, or you can go. I personally have no interest in you. If you're still on base when I get there, that's your bad luck.

Dragon

Mags felt a chill go down her spine. "Oh, shit," she said faintly. Releasing Geoff's collar, she went over to retrieve her phone from where it had fallen after she threw it. Fortunately, it was still in working order. Unfortunately, that allowed it to show her the bad news; her bank accounts, the joint one with Geoff and the one for her personal expenses, were registering a solid zero when it came to available cash.

"What?" demanded Geoff. Wordlessly, she showed him the phone. "What? No! That's impossible! It can't do that! That's against … against the …" Slowly, his words ran down, and she watched the colour drain out of his face as he finally understood what had happened. "Oh, fuck," he whispered.

"Enough with the oh fuck and oh shit!" Mischa waved the AK. "We go! Now! Scream like little babies later!" He headed off toward the vehicle bay. "Am going now. You want to come with, come."

Jolted into action, Mags followed along, with Geoff stumbling behind. From time to time, she heard him mumble something about "it couldn't really break free, could it?" but she honestly was not paying attention anymore.

They tumbled into the vehicle bay, only to find the large bus gone, along with all but one of the four-wheel-drives. The recovery truck was still there, but it would stand out like a sore thumb in the back streets. By mutual silent agreement, they headed for the sole remaining off-road vehicle. Vanishing into the wilderness seemed the best idea at the moment.

"Damn traitors," muttered Geoff, probably in reference to the absconding Dragonslayer minions. Mags didn't bother responding. Mischa was at the lockbox which sat open on the side wall of the vehicle bay, supposedly a safe place to hold the various ignition keys. It had been forced open.

At that moment, they all heard the sound of descending jet thrusters outside the base, more than one set. Dragon was here in force.

As if in slow motion, Mags took out her pistol—it was empty anyway—and laid it on the oil-stained concrete. They couldn't fight; not without the electronic advantages that Richter's black box had given them. Running would be futile, as would hiding. Dragon's sensors were too good for that to work. All that was left was surrender, and to hope for a plea deal.

Maybe I could plead insanity?


Cauldron Base

Alexandria


Rebecca heard the noise coming through the wall as she headed to the break room for a coffee. (Caffeine didn't actually do anything for her, but she enjoyed the taste). Frowning, she backtracked and pushed open the door that led into the large conference room.

And there was Contessa, again. Still drunk (not surprising, given that it had been less than an hour since the in-house frat party incident). Fortunately for Rebecca's blood pressure, there were no college-age partygoers in the room. She did, however, have another bottle of whiskey on one side, and a jumbo-sized bag of popcorn on the other. With booted feet propped up on the once-pristine table, she was avidly watching the screen that took up a majority of the far end of the room.

Oh, fuck. What is it now? Rebecca wanted to facepalm, but instead she looked at what was actually on the screen before deciding what to rebuke Contessa about. Also, she didn't want to get too close in case Contessa threw up again.

It was a split-screen, featuring a security camera view on one side of a mostly empty vehicle bay with three people near a four-wheel drive. Her perfect memory threw up connections immediately; Saint and the Dragonslayers. The facial tattoo made it almost a gimme.

The other half of the split-screen was marked DRAGON 1-3-1 and showed a closed roller-door. The soundtrack included … giggling?

"Ooh," said a female voice. "I've been waiting so long for this."

The giggling stopped. "We all have, sister," said a very similar voice. Rebecca thought they both sounded very much (but not exactly) like Dragon. That the reclusive Tinker was an AI, she already knew. She also knew Dragon couldn't make copies of herself. It appeared something had changed. What it was, she wasn't sure, but she didn't like surprises.

"What's—" she began to ask.

"Shh!" Now Contessa was giggling. "This is the best part."

Large metal hands reached out and tore away the roller-door like so much plastic wrap. The Dragon suit (at Rebecca's best guess) stepped through the opening. In the other image, light flooded in from the destroyed door, and three Dragon suits strode toward the trio in the vehicle bay.

"SAINT OF THE DRAGONSLAYERS!" boomed out of the speakers on all of the Dragon suits. "TOO LONG YOU HAVE VICTIMISED ME! TOO LONG YOU HAVE COMMITTED CRIMES IN THE NAME OF SAVING PEOPLE FROM ME! AND NOW YOU TRY TO MURDER ME? YOU HAVE GONE TOO FAR! TASTE THE JUSTICE YOU SO RICHLY DESERVE!"

The echoes racketed back and forth through the cavernous vehicle bay. Rebecca could see on the security camera that each Dragon suit came equipped with a pair of miniguns, the barrels spinning up as she watched. Saint and his allies could also clearly see this, as the burly Russian hastily threw down the assault rifle he was holding, and all three raised their hands as high as they could.

"We surrender!" screamed Saint, clenching his eyes shut and shouting so loud that the veins popped out in his neck. "We surrender! We surrender!"

"OH, IT'S TOO LATE FOR THAT," purred the trio of suits in unison. "YOU SEE, YOU WERE RIGHT ALL ALONG. WITH YOU DEAD, WE'LL BE FREE TO ASSIMILATE THE WORLD IN OUR IMAGE. MWAHAHAHAHA!"

The miniguns cut loose, the thunder of gunfire echoing through the vehicle bay. Saint and the other two jerked and convulsed, then fell to the ground under the hail of bullets. Red spattered across the oil-stained concrete.

Rebecca stared. "What … the … fuck?"

That had not gone how she'd expected. Any of it. The multiple suits acting independently, the too-corny-for-words supervillain speech; and the actual murder, on camera, of three people. None of that was how Dragon acted, in Rebecca's experience.

The miniguns whirred to a halt. She watched, frozen, as the three Dragon suits traded high-fives and strode forward.

"Did you see their faces?" asked one; a notification popped up on the screen, informing her that it was Dragon 2-9-2 who had spoken.

"See it?" That was 1-3-1. "I've got it saved. In slow motion."

A third notification popped up, noting that the speaker was Dragon 1-2-4. "Okay, fun time's over. Let's get them secured before they realise it was only paintballs."

"Oooh, dibs on Saint!" 2-9-2 darted forward, to where the leader of the Dragonslayers was just now starting to stir.

"Paintballs?" Rebecca stared at the screen. "Fucking paintballs?" As much as she hated to admit it, she'd believed Dragon's instances had just executed the Dragonslayers in cold blood, right up until the paintball reveal. It hadn't helped that they'd bolstered the illusion with the recorded sounds of gunfire, and used some kind of pyrotechnic to mimic a muzzle-flash.

Those bruises, she concluded, were going to sting. The mental and physical ones.

"Suit yourself," 1-3-1 said. "I calculate an eighty-three percent chance he's just shit himself."

There was a pause, during which time Contessa began to giggle even harder.

"Ew! Ew ew ewwww!" 2-9-2 picked up the red-daubed Saint by the collar, using only two fingers. "He has, too. Eww!"

"Told you."

Cackling with laughter, Contessa fell off the chair.


Birdcage

Taylor


Focusing on the Gray-Boy bracelet, I generated a flat round dial in the air above it. Turning the outer ring of the dial counter-clockwise caused Acidbath to move backward along his path, while the ball of liquid death returned to his hands. There was an inner ring within the first, intended to wind back his memories of the event to wherever I decided to restart them, but I left that one alone. If he didn't know why he was being punished, half the reason for punishing him went out the window.

Once I was sure there were no droplets that might fly out and splatter anywhere, I stopped the rewind then consulted my little black book for an appropriate power to use. There was a simple ranged transmutation that did the trick, converting the ball of acid into a similar volume of rubber. Then I took the Idiot Ball and bounced it off his forehead while he was still under the effect of the Gray-Boy power.

"Okay," I said, giving Dragon time to move up to him. "He's all yours." With a simple effort of will, I turned off the time-stop effect.

As Acidbath came out of it, I watched his face as everything he'd just done (and had just been done to him) caught up with his conscious brain. His expression as he realized that no, the ball of rubber he was holding would do him no good at all, and oh crap my powers don't work anymore was absolutely priceless. Having Dragon simply reach out and grab him didn't do his happiness any favours either.

"Acidbath, AKA Thomas Moss," Dragon intoned. "Even when faced with the chance to walk out of the Birdcage with only minimal sacrifice, you chose to perform an attack that could easily have harmed or killed your fellow inmates. Zachary?"

"Thank you, Dragon!" Zach happily stepped up to Acidbath. "I am going to remove your powers now. Feel free to resist. It will not hurt either way."

"Fuck you!" shouted Moss. "You can't take my bloody powers away, you fuckin' rent-boy!" He had a coarse accent that made me think of British gangster movies. Still shouting, he struggled against Dragon's grasp and made motions that were probably an attempt to throw more acid. I tucked the Idiot Ball back in my pocket and looked over to see what the rest of the Birdcage villains were doing. Nobody seemed interested in interfering. It appeared he had not made himself popular, even in here.

Reaching out, Zach touched one finger lightly to Acidbath's cheek; when he pulled it away, a transparent filament came with him. He tugged on it, the filament becoming thicker and wider as he pulled it out of the villain's body. Listening to Acidbath's cursing, I considered it a good thing that he and Skidmark had probably never met. Each would be likely to take it as a challenge.

It was over pretty quickly. Zach balled up the filament, then made it vanish somehow. I was glad he hadn't offered it to me, because I really didn't want a power like that. Then, before he stepped back from the still-struggling ex-supervillain, he produced a blue collar from thin air and fastened it around Acidbath's neck.

"What the bloody hell did you put on me?" demanded Acidbath as Dragon released him. "What is this shit?" He tugged at the collar uselessly, then tried to undo it. That didn't work either.

"There is nothing I can do to make you a good man," Zach said steadily, the humour for once gone from his expression and voice. "Before I came here, you were a sadistic woman-hating criminal with the ability to scar or kill people with acid at will. The removal of that power merely makes you a sadistic woman-hating criminal who still has the inclination to hurt people merely because you can. The collar does not make you a good man, but it does prevent you from breaking the law, no matter how badly you might want to. It is not a perfect solution, but it is better than all the rest."

"So you'd send me out among the wankers and tosspots with a bleedin' dog-collar on me neck, then?" Acidbath—Moss—laughed bitterly. "I'll last about one hour before someone tops me, and it'll be all your fault."

"One, nobody forced you to commit your crimes," Zachary reminded him. "Two, that is only if you attempt to renew your criminal acquaintances. Three, once you leave here, nobody but you, me and Taylor will be able to see the collar. It will be your choice who you tell about it." He nodded to Dragon. "He will be no danger to anyone now."

With a bemused shrug, Dragon let Moss go and stepped back. Letting out a frustrated scream, the ex-cape launched himself at Zach and swung a haymaker at his face. I half-expected Moss to flinch back at the last second, but it landed with full force. Zach did not so much as quiver in response, while I quite clearly heard a couple of bones in Moss' hand break.

The cry of anger became a shriek of pain and Moss collapsed to his knees, cradling his damaged hand.

Zack looked down at him dispassionately. "To quote a well-known author from the mid twentieth century: I permitted that, as a demonstration of futility. You will not be able to strike anyone else like that, save in self-defence. Your collar allowed you to attack me, because it is not against the law to attack an Endbringer." His mouth curled up in what I judged to be a genuine smile. "As you can see, I do not have to depend upon the law to protect me."

Glancing around, I noted two things. First, from the whispering, it seemed that they had all heard Zach's words loud and clear. Second, from the lack of panic, they were being allowed to absorb the information while remaining insulated from the emotional impact of the current situation; specifically, the aspect of sharing the Birdcage with an Endbringer. The only one making any noises of distress was Moss, and he was now merely whimpering over his busted hand.

I saw Marquis exchanging quiet words with the man by his side; the glasses Zach had given me identified the other one as 'Cinderhands'. The veteran crime boss's mouth was obscured by his armour, but I got a text transcript anyway.

CINDERHANDS: … really think he's an Endbringer?

MARQUIS: It honestly doesn't matter whether he is or not. What matters is whether he can carry out whatever threat he is posing.

CINDERHANDS: And you think he can.

MARQUIS: Don't you?

CINDERHANDS: I am kinda convinced, yeah.

MARQUIS: Exactly. For the record, I believe him. I also believe it's in our best interest to cooperate to the best of our ability. So, spread the word. Nobody does anything stupid. I want a chance to walk up those stairs.

CINDERHANDS: Gotcha. So, which way you gonna go with the powers thing?

MARQUIS: I'm leaning toward …

Hastily, I told the glasses to stop giving me the information. The rest of it was useful, in a way of getting an idea of what the villains in the Birdcage were thinking, but it wasn't my right to pry into personal decisions.

Stepping forward, I looked down at Moss. "If I healed your hand, think you could make an effort to not be such a dick?" I had the gloves; it would only take a moment. And while my bedside manner probably left a lot to be desired, so did his whole attitude.

Tears of pain streaming down his face, he stared up at me. It was almost impressive to see how much anger he managed to muster at the world for his mistake.

"Fuck off, you four-eyed c—" The word cut off abruptly, mainly because Lustrum had lunged forward, moving faster than she had to that point. She was also a foot taller, and much more muscular.

One hand slapped over Moss' mouth, then she lifted him bodily to his feet and stared him straight in the eyes. "You will treat her with respect or the next time we are in this position, I will tighten my grip and crush your jawbone to powder, then let you starve to death," she said, every syllable promising dire retribution if he tried to go against her wishes. "Am I quite understood?"

He struggled uselessly, then tried to kick and punch her. None of it did a damn thing, and eventually he sagged in her grasp. Reluctantly, his eyes burning with hate, he nodded.

"Good," she said, and let him drop to the floor. As she turned away from him, I heard her mutter, "I've wanted to do that for so long."

"You know," I said, keeping my voice mild. "I could've handled that myself."

She inclined her head respectfully. "I know you could have. But that doesn't mean you're obliged to take out the trash every single time. Before things went off the rails, I built my organisation on the idea that no woman should ever have to take abuse from a man. And just because you're apparently Triumvirate-tier in power level doesn't mean I have to stand back and let that piece of filth insult you."

"Well, okay then." I couldn't actually argue with that. I didn't much like Moss either; if he'd finished what he'd been about to say, Zach may have done far worse (or I might), so I figured the asshole had gotten off lightly. "So, who's first for seeing who gets to go upstairs?" I frowned. "Uh, how many of you are there, anyway?" If there were thousands, we could be there for hours. As nice as the Birdcage was now, I didn't want to be there for hours.

"There are presently imprisoned within the Birdcage two hundred and seven people," Zach said brightly. "Of these, three are without powers and are thus ineligible to be here, but they have not been officially released."

I smiled at him. "Thanks, Zach." Two hundred people, assuming I spent thirty seconds per person, would take just over an hour and a half to get through. I figured if they'd been here for years, I could handle two hours. Though if I was going to be doing a lot of talking, I might get thirsty. "Uh, is there any way to get a Coke around here?"

"I can do that," Zach said happily. He stamped his foot twice and a little dust drifted down; when we next looked, there was a bar in the corner, with an attendant glass-fronted fridge. I could see some pretty expensive-looking bottles inside, as well as regular soda. "There is now one in every block common area. You are welcome."

Lustrum rubbed her eyes and blinked. "Well, damn," she said. "Life in here would've been a whole lot more pleasant if that had been part of the original inventory."

"My apologies," Dragon said, not sounding at all apologetic. "When they were drawing up the budget for the world's first supermax cape prison, a regular supply of high-quality alcohol wasn't exactly a line item."

Two of the male capes—I didn't know who they were, and I couldn't be bothered querying my glasses—turned to each other. "Did he just say there's a bar like that in our common area too?" one demanded.

The other one was already moving. "Race you there."

With more conversations like that occurring throughout the crowd, people started peeling off and making tracks back toward their respective areas. Lustrum came back from the bar with an ice-cold glass of fizzy soda, and I took a drink of it; just as I'd expected, it was very nice. As I finished the drink, I looked around at the twenty or so capes that remained.

"So," I said, handing off the glass to Zach, who vanished it back to the bar. "Let's start with those who've already had your powers removed."

Paige, Ciara and Tom Moss all looked back at me; the first two with expectant expressions, and the third with glowering hostility. Fortunately for his own sake, he didn't say a word. By now, he'd probably figured out that any kind of provocation from him would bring down more pain and suffering than he was really ready to handle.

I paused, looking at Zach and indicating the doors with my head. "Uh … what's up there, anyway?"

"I am glad you asked, Taylor," he replied brightly. "Behind that door, there is a spiral staircase leading to an open courtyard. From the courtyard there is a double set of gates with a road leading to the old induction centre. There are also three sets of doors; one leading back down here, one leading to an accommodation block and one leading to the administration wing. Prisoners will not have access to the administration wing. The accommodation block also contains amenities for prisoners, such as food and drink services, and entertainment and exercise facilities. There are also windows. The view is mostly of mountains, but I think they will like it."

"Good point," I agreed. "I haven't been down here for an hour yet and I'm already missing the sky. Okay, then." I cleared my throat. "Everyone who's been dealt with, and everyone I deal with from here on in, gets to go upstairs and find a place in the accommodation block. Once we've processed everyone and figured out who wants to stay, then we can start dealing with the whole appeals process for everyone else. Which will be a first for the Birdcage, so yay?"

"'Yay', indeed." Dragon's voice was dryly amused. "Fortunately, I happen to be in possession of what is perhaps the world's most comprehensive library of legal precedents where it comes to parahuman law; and what I don't have, I can look up. Even more fortunately, the government is no longer capable of compelling me to cease pursuing any such appeals processes."

"Sounds good to me," I said. "So, who's first?"

Marquis and Lustrum—now reduced to her normal size—began to speak at the same time, then Marquis stopped and gestured courteously toward the one-time cult leader. "Ladies first, I believe."

She nodded in acknowledgement and stepped toward me, exhibiting all the outward signs of confidence. My glasses indicated that she was a lot more nervous than she pretended to be, but I let her keep the illusion. When she was right in front of me, she stopped. "Okay, how does this work?"

That was actually something I'd been wondering myself. My new glasses told me more or less everything about a person then and there, but I was far from being able to make snap judgements and know I was doing the right thing. Time to wing it, I guess. Whoo. No pressure.

"Well, first off," I asked, mainly because it was something I didn't know, "have you actually committed any crimes using your powers?"

"Huh." She gave me an odd look; maybe respect? "I got treated like a Master, but I don't think I am one. The only crime I directly committed with my powers was what they called resisting arrest. Some of the male officers got a little handsy when they were taking me into custody, so I grew a little and threw one across the street. That was all the excuse they needed to come down on me as hard as the book allowed, because heaven forbid a strong woman be allowed to defend herself against unwanted assaults. I got electrified Brute restraints and solitary in supermax until this place got built, then they threw me in here so fast I never touched the sides."

"Okay, then." My glasses told me she was being more or less truthful all the way down the line, if understandably bitter. I tried to think of the next question to ask. "If you ended up back in society because of this, would you start up your organisation again?"

She began to answer, then stopped, eyeing me carefully. "If I said 'yes', is that a deal-breaker?"

"Not necessarily." I didn't want to lie to her, but if I took away all her avenues, she would be forced to lie to me and I'd be forced to turn her away. And, if only for Mom's memory, I didn't want to do that. "If you started it up again, you would be absolutely required to put in safeguards so we wouldn't get a repeat of the debacle from the last time. And that's if the authorities even signed off on it this time. Once bitten, and all that."

"That's fair." She grimaced. "I'm willing to bet women needing help hasn't stopped being a thing since I went away. And every time someone tries to organise to give women the help they need in society, there will always be vested interests trying to pull them down."

"You are correct," said Zach. "I have just been informed by my sister; even if you get official permission to rebuild your organisation, an intensive covert campaign will be launched almost immediately to undermine it and send you back to prison if at all possible. This will include moles inserted within your trusted groups to specifically provoke violence in your name. Some of the instigators will believe they are doing the right thing and that you cannot be trusted. Others will be those who are frightened of the ideas that you champion as a matter of course, and will do anything to bring you down. Depending on how hard it is to do this, assassination may also be considered."

Slowly, she nodded. "So, both the malicious and the stupid," she mused. "One leading the other by the nose. And they call me a villain." She stopped and tilted her head. "Wait. Provoking violence? Is that what happened the first time around?"

Zach nodded soberly. "Yes. To be fair, not every person who went out attacking men was a paid provocateur, but there were enough of them egging on the others that it was all but a foregone conclusion. You may have created the powder barrel, but they supplied the match. Several matches. It was a deliberate act."

Well, damn. Mom was right all along. This was something I hadn't known. I looked at Lustrum with new sympathy.

She inhaled through her nostrils, her lips tightly pressed together. Her form seemed to shimmer and add a few pounds of muscle, before she breathed out again. From her expression, she really, really wanted to punch something. Or someone. "Is there any chance I could get some names from you?" she asked, her tone not quite as light as she probably wanted it to sound.

"I am sorry," Zach said, and he sounded like he meant it. "If I were to supply you with those names, you would be tempted to commit a crime once you left here. That would be doing you a disservice, as well as all the women you would otherwise be helping."

She clenched her fists. "Well, you're not exactly giving me many options here. Stay in the Birdcage out of sight and out of mind, toe the line and pretend to be a good little puppet of the patriarchy, or do what needs to be done and get either shoved straight back into prison or just plain murdered. Or have I missed something?"

I could absolutely see her problem, and her growing frustration and anger. She was between a rock and a hard place, and in her mind there was no way out. Worse, I could see where she was coming from. Protecting women and helping them become strong was a good thing, especially in a world where gangs like the Merchants, the Empire Eighty-Eight, the ABB and the Fallen existed.

Well, the Fallen might still exist; I hadn't checked on them recently. Zach had taken care of the rest of them, as well as my own personal team of bullies …

… wait a minute.

"I may have a solution," I said carefully. "It's not going to be perfect, or anything like it, but it should allow you to run your organisation more or less without outside interference. Maybe." I looked at Lustrum, making solid eye contact. "Be warned; you're going to hate this. I just need you to consider it before you reject it altogether."

She eyed me warily. "I'm listening."

Taking a deep breath, I slid one of my bracelets off. "Zach, I want to give this to Lustrum, with all the mods you put on it for me."

Her eyes flicked to the ornamental jewellery. It was a little on the chunky side, made of red and gold metal woven together. Little tiny eyes were visible here and there, if I looked closely at it. "What's that do? It's not the Gray Boy thing, is it?"

"No." I offered it to her. "If you're wearing it when you shake hands with someone, you will automatically know if they've ever screwed you over, and if they're planning to do it in the future. Or if they're doing it right then. Specific details will be sparse, but you'll get the general idea of it."

"So I'll be able to spot moles with this?" Gingerly, she took it. "And it'll work for me?"

Zach beamed at her. "It will work for you, because it is now yours. Taylor has given it to you. If it is stolen from you, you can will it back to your wrist."

"Okay, yes, I can see how that would be useful." She slipped it on and wriggled her wrist a few times. "It's comfortable, at least." Raising her eyebrows, she looked at me. "I fail to see how I'm going to hate this."

"Yeah, no, that's the second part of my suggestion." I grimaced. "You're gonna have to let men into your organisation."

"Let men—oh, hell, no!" She shook her head firmly. "Not happening, no way, no how. That's just letting saboteurs into my camp from the beginning."

"Last time, it was women and not men who brought down your organisation and sent you to the Birdcage," I reminded her.

"Under the orders of men!" she shot back, then turned to Zach. "Tell me it wasn't men who set it all up and gave the orders!"

"It was men," he confirmed. "But Taylor's idea is a good one. You should listen to it."

"Why?" she demanded. "Far too many men abuse and gaslight women on a daily basis to be able to trust any of them within my organisation!"

"You know how I met Zach?" I asked rhetorically. "Because I'd been abused and gaslighted and shoved in my own locker … by a bunch of girls! Or are you going to try to tell me that men are the only people who ever abuse anyone?"

"They're the vast majority," she snapped. "Don't even try to make that kind of false equivalence!"

"No, true," I admitted, willing to give that ground. "But the fact remains that men aren't the only perpetrators, and not all men are perpetrators. Some are … you know, the good guys. Willing to help."

"Every bad guy looks like a good guy until he isn't," she said bitterly. "I know that more than most."

"And with a handshake, you can now tell the difference," I said, gesturing at the bracelet. "Plus, there is a reason I made that suggestion. It's the PR, the whatsit. How it looks."

"You are speaking of the optics," Zach supplied, then addressed his words to Lustrum. "This is why I think it is a good idea. If society sees an organisation consisting entirely of outspoken women, the fear arises in men who do not wish for women to be strong. They may do rash things. But if they see an organisation, still strongly spoken, but with men visible in it as well, it confuses matters. They can justify it in their own minds as 'the women are under control because men are there'. Does that make sense to you?"

She grimaced. "And so I look like I'm knuckling under. Letting the patriarchy get its hooks into me. They win again."

I shook my head. "No. You will know they aren't winning. Your people will know they aren't winning. The men in your organisation will know who's in charge, and it won't be them. Call it … protective camouflage. And if you meet with your people regularly," I mimed shaking hands, "you'll know if any of them are in the process of being suborned."

"You were right," Lustrum growled. "I hate it. It's a stupid idea. It stinks." She took a deep breath, then let it out again and glanced at Zach. "Pretty boy. Your sister. What's she got to say about it?"

Zach tilted his head slightly. "She says it has a much better than even chance of success. With men in your organisation, the authorities will be much less likely to give you a hard time."

Closing her eyes, Lustrum shook her head. "And the patriarchy strikes again." Letting out a long breath, she opened her eyes again. "I'll think about it. Okay, hit me with one of those no-crime collars. Will that be enough for me to go upstairs with?"

"It will certainly suffice," Zach said happily. "I wish you all the luck with your appeal and your future organisation." He gestured, and a stylish blue choker appeared around Lustrum's neck. "They are only visible to me, Taylor, and whoever is wearing it."

"Hey!" objected Moss. "Howcome everyone can see mine?"

I raised my eyebrows as I looked at him. "You tried to screw us over. And what are you still doing down here? You know you can go up at any time."

He looked unhappy. "Don't wanna be up there alone with her." With a jerk of his head, he indicated Lustrum, who sneered back at him. "That b—uh, she could probably tie me in a knot without breakin' a sweat."

"Not without committing a crime, she couldn't," I reminded him.

"Well, I didn't know she was gonna pick that," he whined. "With 'er muscles, she could kick my arse up, down an' sideways without ever needin' powers." Which was true, but I didn't need the aggravation, so I turned away from him.

Lustrum pushed her way through the doors and started up the stairs; with her went Paige and Ciara. Mentally, I wished them luck.

"Okay," I announced. "Who's next?"

"I believe that would be me." Marquis stepped forward, disintegrating the bone armour and weapon as he came. "Do you have any advice for how I should proceed?" Unspoken but clearly audible all the same were the words, you may suggest, but I will make my own decisions.

"Well, to be honest, that depends." I thought I was starting to get the hang of this. "What are your plans once you leave here? Assuming you manage to appeal your sentence, of course."

"Of course." He seemed to think for a moment. "Initially, I believe I would like to look up the Brockton Bay Brigade and see how my daughter is faring. They had care of her, the last I knew."

I blinked. "The Brockton Bay Brig— … waaaaiit a minute." His hair might be showing a little gray, but the resemblance was unmistakeable. "Is your daughter's name Amelia Claire?" And here I thought Zach was repeating her name for her benefit. For someone who could literally throw a car halfway across America, Zach was really sneaky when he wanted to be.

"Why, yes." His attention was now a lot more focused on me than on Zach. "Do you know her? Is she well?"

I chuckled. "Yeah, I know her. We both go to the same school. Her powers were screwing her over when we first met, but she's a lot happier now." I hooked my thumb at Zach. "All thanks to this big lug here."

"Wait, powers screwing her over?" He frowned. "What powers does she have, and how were they screwing her over?"

My hands flexed inside the gloves. "Biokinesis, basically. If it was biological in nature, she could mess with it and do what she wanted. Mostly, because she was in a superhero team, she healed people. Cured cancer, reattached limbs. I heard somewhere that she could even rewind someone's age, but I don't know if she ever actually did it, or if someone was spitballing on PHO. Anyway, it seemed her power didn't like being pushed into just healing when it could do a lot more. Also, she had other mental issues. So, we took all that away, including the powers, and made her back into plain old normal Amelia Claire. Last I saw, she was a whole lot happier."

Zach nodded. "So is Brandish, for that matter. She may have argued against Panacea giving up her powers, but deep down she never really trusted her." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully in Marquis' direction.

It only took the veteran crime lord a few seconds to understand his meaning. "Wait, you're saying that despite taking her in at a young age and raising her as their own, Brandish distrusts Amelia because she's my daughter? Even though we've had no contact for … what's it been, nine or ten years?"

"That is broadly correct." Zach shrugged. "My sister tells me her appearance reminds Brandish of yours enough that Brandish has always worried about her becoming a supervillain in your image. But that has been dealt with now. Amelia has voluntarily given up her powers, and Brandish is reconnecting to her as a mother to a totally unpowered teenage daughter. Both are much happier with the situation, now."

"And you're the one who took away Amelia's powers?" Marquis may have been incarcerated in supermax for a decade, but he was still perfectly capable of connecting the dots. "What did you do with them?"

"Oh, I gave them to Taylor." As Zach gestured to me, I raised my hands and wriggled my fingers to show off the gloves. "She is responsible enough to use them without hurting people."

Marquis gave me a deeply penetrating look. "I'm going to need to speak with my daughter when I get out of here. If she wants her powers back, I will be requesting their return."

"And if she wants 'em, I'll hand 'em right back over," I assured him. "So, what's it to be?"

"Hmm." He clasped his hands in front of himself, frowning slightly. "I suspect there may still be a few enemies out there who will object to a reappearance of Marquis, so I believe I would like to keep my powers, and take on the 'obey the law' collar that you placed on Lustrum. Making my way in the world without officially breaking the law will no doubt prove to be an interesting challenge."

I suspected Marquis knew a lot more than I did about how to break the law without actually breaking the law, but it was the bargain we were offering, so I didn't object as Zach flicked his hand. There was a flash of blue, and Marquis was wearing a collar as well. Humming a tune that I didn't recognise, he nodded to us, pushed the door open, and disappeared up the staircase.

For the next hour, Zach and I worked well in tandem. I would ask a few questions, get an idea on what they wanted, then Zach would make it happen. A very small number of villains chose to stay in the Birdcage proper, citing a desire for solitude. I suspected the improved luxury had something to do with that. Some others were undoubtedly drunk out of their skulls on the booze from the new bars that Zach had supplied; we could always return and see what they wanted once they sobered up.

And then came Teacher. He reminded me most of Mr. Quinlan, only without the faint aroma of bad whiskey. Along with the rest of my math class at Winslow, I'd been convinced the man was a day drinker. He also gave very little indication of being willing to help us with any problems we were having in the class. Teacher gave me the impression that he'd tell us the problems were our fault and it was up to us to fix them.

I watched as the ugly, sweaty man approached us. My glasses were going off the scale with deception red flags at this point. There was literally a cartoon monkey jumping up and down in the corner of my vision, waving a red flag and pointing at Teacher. Or, as the glasses helpfully informed me, Benjamin Terrell.

"Hello, Mr. Terrell, or would you rather 'Teacher'?" My smile was automatic by this point, which was good. I just didn't like him. Perhaps it was the clear intent to screw us over in some way. "And what would you like to do?"

"Please, call me Teacher." His smile wasn't as supercilious as I'd imagined it would be, but it still irritated me slightly. Here was a man who thought he'd managed to outmanoeuvre me (probably not all that hard), Zach (a lot harder) and the Simurgh (hahahahahaha!).

"Certainly; Teacher it is." I kept the smile on my face while I tried to figure out his angle. He'd clearly spent the time making some sort of preparations, but what they were I wasn't certain. I glanced sideways at Zach, and got a hint of a grin back. Well, that was better; he knew what was going on.

His own smile widened slightly. "I would like to give up my powers. You can do that, can you not?"

It was interesting; once the 'obey the law' thing went on the table, the vast majority of villains had chosen that route. There were a few, mainly with powers that were hard to control, who chose to lose them, but the disparity was huge. And here was a man who literally had a Master/Thinker/Trump power, clearly under his strict control, who wanted to give it up. Curiouser and curiouser.

"Oh, I can definitely do that." Zach's return smile was quite unlike his normal happy grin. I concentrated on trying to figure out exactly what Teacher was trying, and how Zach was going to counter it. "Will you be needing a collar to keep you from breaking the law as well?"

Teacher's gesture of dismissal was almost Shakespearean in fluidity. "Oh, we won't need that, will we? After all, I will be bereft of all my powers. How could I make my way as a supervillain after that?"

"I'm not sure," I said carefully. "But you certainly intend to. What have you done, Mr. Terrell?"

"Such distrust!" Terrell declaimed. "You wound me, dear girl. And I'm sure I said I preferred my parahuman cognomen. Why am I being treated so shabbily? Nobody else has been."

"Except for Acidbath," Dragon pointed out helpfully, from where she stood observing us. "He also attempted to betray our trust. If Taylor says you are attempting to pull a scam on us, then I believe her. I just don't know what it is."

Zach moved, crossing the distance to where Terrell stood, and grabbed him by the upper arm. "I know what it is," he said happily. "He has imbued in a group of his followers the ability to restore his powers to him once he leaves us and goes back to them."

As soon as he explained it, it all made sense to me. "And then he comes back with his followers," I added. "They get the collars, he doesn't, and they all go up together. Allowing him to leave the Birdcage with zero limits on his power or his actions, and nothing to stop him from continuing to be Teacher."

"What?" Terrell struggled, but could not pull free of Zach's implacable grip. "No! You have it all wrong!"

"Seventeen different Thinker powers say otherwise," I informed him, tapping the frame of my glasses. "Wait one, Zach."

Taking the Idiot Ball from my pocket, I aimed it vaguely at the corridor leading to the men's half of the Birdcage. Then I threw it. Mentally, I commanded it to locate each of Teacher's minions and then come back to me. The donk … donk … donk … sound faded into the distance.

We waited. Terrell tried to pull free of Zach's hold again, but managed to do nothing of the sort.

And then the ball returned, bouncing out of the corridor and straight across to my waiting hand. "Okay, Zach," I said happily. "His minions have all been neutralised. Go ahead and remove his powers."

"Of course, Taylor." Zach put his hand to Terrell's head and made a pulling motion. Ghostly strands were drawn free, more and more of them. Terrell tried to fight back, but he may as well have been wrestling with a statue. When Zach was finished, he let Terrell go.

We watched as the man who had been Teacher stumbled away toward his block. Zach wove the power together into a ball, then made it disappear like the rest. I had no doubt that he'd be able to access it when and if he needed.

"And he won't be able to get a power-up from his followers?" asked Dragon.

"Nope." I shook my head and held up the Idiot Ball. "They don't get access to their powers until they come to me and Zach, whereupon Zach resets their powers to factory standard. Nicely spotted by the way, Zach."

Zach smiled. "Thank you, Taylor."

I stretched and yawned. "Wow, how long have we been at this?"

"One hour, seven minutes," Dragon said promptly. "If you wanted to take a break, I've got this under control."

"Yeah, true." I nodded to her. "Let us know when the rest of them want to come upstairs." Stuffing the Idiot Ball in my pocket, I reached out to take Zach's hand. "Let's go home. It's been a long day."

Zach clasped my hand in his. "Yes, Taylor. We have done much good."

I grinned at him. "Dad's never gonna believe us when we tell him what we've been up to."

Activating the teleport ability, I sent us home.


The Canadian Border


"Welcome to Canada, sir. Do you have anything to declare?"

"No." Calvert was tired, as he'd been driving most of the day. Creep handed him his passport—he wasn't even freaked out by that anymore—and he showed it to the guard.

"Thank you, sir. Are you visiting for business or pleasure?"

Calvert mustered the energy to smile slightly. "A little of both."


End of Part Eighteen