Sunday, April 3rd 2011
I needed a phone. Of my numerous issues from last night, getting a cell phone was the most easily fixed. Later, I could find a place I could start working on controlling my new strength, or maybe even start Tinkering. Hitting that safehouse last night netted me over a hundred grand; it was insane to think about having that much money, but I had counted it twice. Now I just had to figure out a believable way to help Dad with the bills.
I don't think he would appreciate me handing him one of the duffels now in our coal chute with a smile and a wink. Though, the look on his face would be all kinds of priceless.
"The man has turned obliviousness into an art form. You would be astounded by what escapes his notice," Damascian said.
"Totally, kid. Just leave a fat stack of cash under his pillow, he won't have a clue!" Butcher suggested, and I shoved him down into the abyss. The bastard always threw out the ideas that would lead to me being outed.
"Can't say that I blame him," Pyromaniac complained. "Last night was cool and all, but your life is boring as shit."
Sorry to disappoint.
I really wasn't. Hell, in some ways, it felt like a civic duty to disappoint the voices in my head. Today, that meant shopping on the boardwalk, but I was also going to scout for a safe place for my workshop. I'd considered the boat graveyard, but the absolutely enthusiastic prompting from the peanut gallery suggested that was a sure-fire way to encounter people I would rather avoid at the moment.
So, cell phones first. Following the Butchers' memories, I grabbed a nicer touchscreen model for my primary number. It stung, a little, to break the rules about cell phones, but I was already hiding six figures worth of cash from Dad — nevermind that I was the motherfucking Butcher. Compared to that, buying a cell phone was practically nothing.
Three basic, prepaid flip phones joined the fancier illicit device in my basket as I went to the register. Due to the sketchy nature of buying burner phones, I had put my hair in a braid and donned heavy sunglasses to obscure my identity a bit. At the same time, there were enough capes working out of the Bay that most retailers knew not to ask questions about purchases like this.
"More like the Teeth would remind them why they didn't ask questions," Sabertooth said, and I could practically see his predatory grin. "If they give you any lip, maybe they could use a similar reminder."
I rolled my mental eyes at him and gave him a shove into the dark. He wasn't really wrong, and I had the memories to back it up, but I didn't want to encourage them to keep suggesting non-heroic actions.
Once I finally had my new phones in my pockets, it was nearly lunchtime and I was getting hungry. Given the Butchers' enthusiasm and varied opinions about food, I could channel their desire for control into something mostly harmless — letting them vote on what to eat. Discussion was a dramatic step forward from their usual shouting and struggling, so I let them argue in the back of my mind while I sat on a bench and explored my new smartphone.
"Taylor, pay attention. Hottie checking you out."
I glanced up at Fester's prompting and saw a very attractive blonde girl with her hair in a similar braid to mine, piercing bottle green eyes, and adorable freckles…
Wait, adorable?
I was too shocked by the thought to control my eyes, which reflexively flicked up and down her figure, lingering on her —
Then my brain re-engaged, and I sighed externally while rounding on the others in my head. Great, so I like girls now too? Some warning would have been nice.
The chorus snickered at me, and Chisel shrugged her metaphorical shoulders. "What? A bunch of us are either straight men or lesbians. Broadening your sexual horizons is just another perk of the job, as most Butchers end up bi, but I've seen your memories of Emma before the cuntstain stabbed you in the back. A pound of coke says you would have hooked up by now if she hadn't."
Chisel's explanation was so calm and straightforward that it took me a second to process the implications, and in the meantime I found myself looking over the girl again. My first impression was right — she was fairly attractive. Her dark blouse was simple and tasteful, clearly high quality but not in a way that flaunted it. Similarly, her skirt and leggings were professional and likely quite comfortable.
"Those leggings, the hint of thigh, oh she has to know what that does to a girl," Pyro swooned.
"Never mind what we could do to her," Sabertooth growled.
"You should go say hi, show her a good time," Ironsides suggested.
You idiots aren't being subtle.
"Duh, we want to get laid," Knockout said.
"So get over there and do what it takes to fuck her already!" Butcher demanded.
I shoved them away even as the others continued to throw their own opinions of the girl into the mix, pointing out the features they liked, or what they wanted me to do to her. I was pushing them down with each comment but it was almost like playing whack-a-mole.
"Watch her eyes," Stratego rumbled suddenly, deadly serious. "She's got more going on up there than she's letting on."
"What, you think she's a cape?" Marauder snickered.
"It's possible," Knockout said, and the others' attention all turned to him. "What? Brawl enough, and you learn to look for those sorts of tells."
"Which you would promptly ignore," Alkaline retorted, and I pushed the ensuing argument into the back of my mind. Then I met the gaze of the possibly-cape in question, noting the minute flicker of her eyes as she took in every detail about me. As an extra precaution, I switched to bloodsight, trusting my sunglasses to hide that I'd done so. Nevertheless, as soon as I activated the power, she took a sharp gasp and her heart rate spiked.
"I was right, as usual," Stratego declared. "Almost certainly a Thinker of some sort."
Now that 'checking out cute girl' had become 'cape combat in civilian clothes,' there were a number of ways things could go down. The safest option was for her to turn around and walk away; in my predecessors' case, they might have thrown a smirk or a wink. One of us could also attack, which would be disastrous for both of us.
I certainly didn't expect her to go bug eyed, drop her latte, and flee into the crowd as fast as she could.
"Muahahaha!" Alkaline cheered, echoing the rest of the collective. "Never had someone run before we even did anything!"
Shut up, I said, giving everyone a shove. She may have just outed me! I was vaguely aware of my bugs twitching wildly in my worry and irritation, but I might have just lost my secret identity, never mind my nature as Butcher XV.
"For fuck's sake, she was so scared of you that she showed her hand and ran away. She's not going to out you," Fester complained. "Now, can we get food already?"
I still took a minute to calm down, forcing my bugs to relax as well as getting my own breathing under control. There wasn't anything I could do immediately, so I put both Fester's surprising usefulness and the girl herself out of my mind and focused on the immediate issue. Fine, food. Where are we going?
"Pizza," Alkaline tried, but I cut her off.
Nope, not falling for that one again. Specify crust type, sauce and toppings minimum when discussing pizza. We all agreed to that rule after last night's disaster.
It turned out that knocking over an ABB safehouse was hungry work, and I'd been suspicious when the voices were all in agreement over getting pizza. I should have listened to my instincts, because once we were inside the only open joint in that end of the city, the entire chorus began to fight over the various options. I ended up muting the lot of them and leaving with what they had pre-made for walk-ins.
Nobody was satisfied that night.
"Could always go for the Challenger. I was the last Butcher to have that pleasure," Sabertooth said. It was a tempting idea, and I wasn't lacking for money any more.
I'll save that one for another day, I'm trying to avoid attention right now.
"Is Chen's still open?" Reflex asked softly, stunning all of us. It was the first time I'd heard him speak. A quick search of the collective memories found that he hadn't said anything since Damascian was dealing with her clustermates.
I'm pretty sure it is. Any objections to this one?
I was pleasantly surprised when I got thirteen answers back. Chen's it was.
"As far as initial bases go… I've seen worse. This will be sufficient," Damascian said, trying to mask her distaste.
I didn't believe her for a moment. The warehouse was a dump, but there were plenty of leftover bits of machinery to use and enough floor space for me to practice in. Picking a place by the Dockworkers' offices let me keep an eye on dad, and even provided a tiny bit of security in the form of out-of-work dockworkers.
Out of the handful of places I scouted over the last hour, this was probably the most secure option that needed the least work. The only other place worth a damn was within range of what I was fairly certain was a villain's lair. It was also in ABB territory and risked being ransacked by either the Teeth or Empire as they moved in.
The downside to this one? There was a small but finite chance that I would run into my dad. When the Teeth had returned last summer, the resulting clusterfuck had lit a fire under the Dockworkers to organize some self-defense for their tiny slice of the city. Several of the Butchers remembered a time when they had to threaten longshoremen to ship illegal goods, and it seemed like the remnants of the group were not so eager to be on the receiving end of that again.
Ironically, the Teeth had inadvertently made the area around dad's office safer by taking out the Merchants at the beginning of their conquest of the Bay. Skidmark's abrupt demise had been the end of gang activity in the area, as the Teeth had little need of boats until they were much more established in the city. On the flip side, there was a small chance that someone in the DWA would poke their nose into my workshop out of curiosity.
"Vex turned Skidmark into salsa, shit was hilarious," Fester cackled, reminding me just how the Merchants' leader had died.
The image was… slightly disturbing, but I didn't push her away. I had seen the damage the Merchants had done, even as a small gang of glorified vermin, and I had no sympathy for Skidmark. Launching himself through a jumble of Vex's force fields as he tried to run away was exactly the end he deserved.
As soon as I had set foot within range of the building, I had directed a sizable swarm to gather inside, pulling them in from all around the Docks, and promptly set them to work. It was rather amusing to have bugs removing old cobwebs and sweeping dust; a cleaning crew of unparalleled precision. Once I was satisfied that my 'workshop' space was clean enough, I set down my bags and began to pull out some of my earlier purchases.
"Couldn't you have bought less shitty knives?" Chisel complained. "Just touching them feels like an insult to a proper blade."
"I am quite sure Taylor will forge a peerless armory of her own," Damascian said with a chuckle.
That's part of the plan at least. I swear you spoiled them with how much they're bitching.
Damascian really had spoiled them, for all that she had not wanted to be the Butcher in the first place. A dozen cheap knives — and one rather nice blade — set me back more than five hundred dollars, none of which could hold a candle to what I could make now. A touch of Chisel's power helped refine and reinforce the mass-produced blades, but it was like putting a bandaid on a disemboweled…
Damnit.
The Butchers all laughed at me for letting my thoughts drift in line with their own. With all their collective memories floating around, I found myself using unpleasant metaphors and turns of phrase even worse than what I occasionally wanted to do to Emma. I was no stranger to holding my tongue or staying my hand (and swarm), but the Butchers really made me work to not slip into their own bad habits.
"Just go back to the Teeth, you could avoid all the prep work needed." Ironsides sent memories of Quarrel's workshop, and the dozens of knives and arrowheads, the custom guns, not to mention the already built bow she had as a backup…
Nope, not happening!
The collective groaned as I focused instead on my immediate priorities. The first of those was to remove the prescription lenses from my mask, followed by extending it around the back of my head to allow only a braid or ponytail instead of all of my hair. Chisel's power could handle the tasks easily, but I still needed to make new panels of the material to reshape.
"Just make a helmet from scratch," Chisel said. "It would likely be less work at this point and with my power, wouldn't take much longer than reworking your current mask."
"You could also buy some safety glasses to remake the lenses," Alkaline added.
She wasn't wrong. New project for another day then. I set the mask aside, making a mental note to look into the materials.
The next thing was to make a Tinkertech sharpener for my substandard knives, since making a full set would require a forge at the very least. I also took the opportunity to practice pulling my punches, hitting oil drums until I could consistently only leave dents behind. I then put a bit of reinforcement into the back of my costume, made harnesses for the knives, and started sketching ideas for a new bow, but after all of that I still had two hours until Dad expected me home.
I swept the leg out from the man in ABB colors and then spiked him into the asphalt. The collective cheered, but I was too caught up in the rush of the fight to care or notice. The man had only bounced once when my danger sense flared — the prickling, almost stinging pressure on the in-danger part of my body was amazingly straightforward. When I teleported to escape the incoming projectile, I found a dumbass with a fucking RPG launcher. He had already fired before my reappearance knocked him and his friends around like bowling pins, resulting in a sizeable explosion where I had just been standing.
Fuck the Empire with a rusty rake. Stopping this gang fighting shit was why I became a hero.
Most of the (mobile) goons fled their makeshift barricade when I arrived, so I sent my swarm after them while quickly zip-tying the stragglers and stacking them in the corner. With the ongoing firefight, I probably wasn't as gentle as I should have been with my prisoners.
"Eh, fuck 'em, they're Nazis," Sanguine said.
Working on it.
Another teleport dropped me among the ABB that were still putting up a fight. I did my best to pull punches and hold back my strength, but with Stratego's memories of martial arts, they never stood a chance regardless. Much as I was loath to admit it (and as useful as bug control was), there was something satisfying about getting up close and hands on.
"See! Now just wait until you can do the same with blades! The rush is unlike any—"
I slammed Marauder back into the dark. The Butchers had adopted a pretty transparent strategy — slowly introducing me to more and more violent memories so I would get used to the idea of hurting people. However, despite knowing what they were trying to do, I really couldn't be squeamish about breaking bones. I drew the line at dismemberment and slaughter, because I refused to become a murderer.
"Oh but Taylor, you already are," Quarrel sneered, sending me her dying moments, seeing my own mask looking back at me as she couldn't breathe. I shoved her away, too.
Memories of Lung then came unbidden: his barely breathing form, the headlines the following morning… Two lives I had ended. They were right, damnit, but I wasn't going to let that be a justification to add more to the tally. I wasn't going to become another Butcher. I was Weaver, and I was going to be a Hero.
"Keep telling yourself that, brat." I stomped Butcher into the void just as I stomped on one of the ABB grunts and felt ribs shatter.
Shit, not this again.
I ignored the muted cheers in the back of my mind, focusing on the gang member wheezing painfully at my feet. My kick had likely punctured his lungs at best, and he was probably going to drown on his own blood in short order. It was a terrible way to die, and —
Wait, blood.
As I had done the night before, Sanguine's power informed me about just how much internal bleeding I had accidentally wrought on my target. Like the bloodsight, it was easy to see big puddles of blood. Trying to focus on the details of his circulatory system, however, gave me far too much information about… everything. Veins, arteries, vessels, organs — my head spun as I tried to find and fix all of the places where blood was leaking. It was sobering to know how devastating a single kick could be to an unpowered goon, which only spurred on my panicked, ham-fisted attempts at 'healing.'
"Does this mean you'll punch more people if you can just put them back together?" Knockout asked with glee.
I pushed him down as I considered what I could do with this newfound power application. Maybe I could go work with Panacea at the hospital?
"Please don't," Pyromaniac groaned. "I hate hospitals with a passion."
"The smell of antiseptic makes me want to vomit," Alkaline added, supplying a memory from her trigger event that made me wince.
I'm not a fan of them either, alright? I just want to do something to help others that isn't punching people or blowing shit up.
"Or drowning them in spiders and bees?" Fester provided with a snicker.
While I had been frantically trying to undo my own lethal mistakes, my bugs had successfully run down the stragglers and remaining combatants. My spiders got to work binding their arms and legs, and I had flies checking them over for injuries that might be dangerous. A few had gunshot wounds that I treated with a hemokinetic touch. The second time was easier, possibly because I was expecting the rush of information.
Sanguine, your power is awesome!
I could feel him preen at the praise. "Damn right it is! I just wish I'd thought of using it like this, so many good Teeth might have pulled through instead of becoming meat."
Rest assured, I'll be getting a lot of use out of it.
"Yeah, by being a pansy ass little—"
My danger sense flared and I reflexively teleported up to one of the nearby rooftops. An instant later, a crossbow bolt shot through the space I had previously been occupying and clattered against the asphalt. The Butchers roared in anger that someone would attack them in such a cowardly way, compounding my own anger and surprise that someone would shoot at a hero like me.
"What the hell!?" I snarled, unsheathing a knife while scanning through my bugs to see if I could find the attacker. A bug landed on someone crouched on the roof above where I had been standing, only to vanish for a moment and reappear further back from the edge.
"Shadow Stalker," Quarrel growled.
"Shit, the Wards. Fucking killjoys," Sabertooth complained.
"We need to leave, the heat for fighting them isn't worth it," Stratego insisted.
My mind reeled at the idea that I was being attacked by the heroes, something not helped by the Butchers offering unnecessary commentary about how I could deal with the ex-vigilante. Pushing them down into the dark took the edge off of my anger, and a few deep breaths later I was able to form a response without yelling. I'm not fighting the Wards. I'm a hero, remember?
"Yes, you're such a goody goody hero," Butcher said sardonically. "Tell that to the actual heroes."
Maybe I will, asshole!
I shoved the prick back into the dark as I scanned the area with my bugs, trying to determine if Shadow Stalker was here alone or on one of her off-the-books solo patrols. Damascian and Quarrel both had found the ex-vigilante annoying but manageable, and they both appreciated her unnecessarily violent takedowns.
My flies picked up someone in the air, and a quick check revealed Aegis in the distance, moving to catch up. Not a solo job, then. On the rooftops next to me, I saw space flex and warp as a tiny blonde in green made a mockery of physics alongside a hulking muscle man. That would make them Vista, the youngest yet longest-serving Ward, and Browbeat, a rather competent Brute who joined after an early run-in with the Teeth.
"Prepare your swarm. Shadow Stalker already tried to drop you once," Stratego advised. I gave him a mental nod as I did just that, keeping my bugs to the shadows where they wouldn't be noticed.
I wasn't particularly thrilled to be expecting an attack from other heroes, but at the same time I really couldn't argue with the crossbow bolt that had nearly gone into my back. Forcing down a residual spike of anger, I jumped up onto an air conditioning unit and gave the flying Ward captain a wave, my shadow stretching behind me like some huge monster in the setting sun.
"I think you broke him!" Pyromaniac cackled.
"Perfect opportunity!" "Shoot him!" "Take the bitch out!"
I forced all the voices away — I refused to let them ruin this for me, Shadow Stalker's attack or no. Aegis visibly snapped himself out of the shock of seeing me, and cautiously flew down to meet me. On the next rooftop over, my bugs found Shadow Stalker lurking behind her own ductwork. She had both crossbows pointed at me until I landed a wasp on each; I could barely pick up noise from her helmet before she promptly holstered them.
Space twisted again, depositing Vista and Browbeat on the far edge of the roof just as Aegis touched down between us. Between my own power, Quarrel's, and Pyromaniac's, I was very thankful for the pain immunity that kept me from getting headaches. It let me keep a strong posture when Shadow Stalker floated up.
"Careful of the brat," Pyromaniac warned. "She can fuck with my power."
She pushed the relevant memories forward; sifting through them took only moments, but a small detail nagged at me. I think she messes with the targeting, not the teleport itself.
Metaphorical eyes blinked back at me. "How the hell did none of us notice that?"
Probably because I use my bugs for spatial awareness instead of whatever your power is doing. It brought me an odd sense of pride that my powers, as awful as I first believed them to be, synergized so well with those of the other Butchers.
While I had been communicating with my peanut gallery, the Wards were talking to their own. They all took a few steps towards me — surprisingly, without too much hesitation — and I leaned on Stratego's power to get a read on their battle readiness from their postures. Aegis was all false confidence, and Browbeat was obviously using his powers to stay still, but Vista and Shadow Stalker almost seemed relaxed. Neither let their guard down, however — they were clearly ready for a fight.
"In what fucking world is the middle schooler the biggest threat?" Marauder grumbled.
Wasn't Alkaline only a bit older than me? I thought, which prompted a round of laughs from the others and annoyed ranting from Marauder.
"Weaver?" Aegis asked, cutting through my ongoing conversation. I nudged the Butchers back into the dark and shifted my focus back to the junior heroes. As a precaution, I had my swarm vibrate with my words to help mask my voice.
"Sorry about that, I was a bit distracted for a moment."
The tension in Aegis' shoulders increased ever so slightly, and even I had to admit that I sounded a bit creepy. The Butchers, of course, were laughing at how I clearly unnerved the heroes by just talking, but I was more focused on the fact that they were apparently expecting something like this from me.
Shadow Stalker's surprise attack made a bit more sense through that lens — after all, I was technically Butcher XV, and I still had to prove to them that I was a hero.
Ironsides gave me a mental nudge. "Keep a close eye on Vista and Stalker. One of the brat's favorite tactics is to twist space so that Clockblocker could freeze someone in place. I wouldn't be surprised to see them try that with Stalker's bolts."
Noted. I'll keep that in mind.
"We got a call about a gang shootout, lots of heavy weapons. I take it you dealt with them?" I could hear the nervousness in Aegis' voice, which was really not doing much for his appearance as a leader.
"Yeah, I came across them while on patrol," I said, hooking a thumb back towards the intersection that was still smoking from the battle. "Dumbasses brought an RPG with them, so I didn't get to be as gentle as I would have liked."
Aegis nodded. "Browbeat, Vista, go secure the scene and report in. Stalker, could you get a statement from Weaver?"
Another nauseating twist of space later, I was alone on the roof with one of the few Wards the Butchers had ever wanted to recruit. "You know, it's kind of rude to shoot other heroes in the back."
"It was a tranquilizer bolt, don't be such a baby," Stalker retorted. "Besides, you're the Butcher. I doubt it would do anything."
"Then… what?" Chisel murmured.
I relayed the sentiment. "Then why shoot at me?"
"Thought you were a villain," Stalker said with a shrug. "Your costume is badass, don't get me wrong, but I shoot first."
"Well, I don't disagree with that," Knockout said.
"She's just jealous," Ironsides added.
"And ask questions later?"
She crossed her arms, glaring at me behind her mask. "Meh, that's usually Aegis's job."
My retort was as flat as I could make it. "I can't imagine why. Afraid it will ruin your dark, mysterious image?"
To my surprise, the Ward bristled at the retort. "Look who's talking, Butcher —"
"Weaver," I said immediately and with extra swarm-voice. "My name is Weaver."
"Sure, whatever. So, how many of those bastards did you kill?"
"Not enough!" Fester yelled, earning a punch into the dark.
"None," I snapped.
"Funny, Aegis says that we've got enough dismembered limbs down there for at least two bodies, maybe three. Browbeat's about to lose their dinner, apparently."
I pointed down the street, where Vista was looking over the Empire group. "They were firing off RPGs, for fuck's sake! Of course some of them are dead!" My earlier anger boiled back up, not helped in the least by the voices in my head cheering me on for getting credit for more kills or shouting to attack Stalker. I kept pushing them down, but I was struggling to keep them muted with my rising fury breaking my focus.
"Convenient," she continued in that maddeningly smug voice. "So do you have a statement on how you maimed two dozen pieces of gang trash and got three others killed? You can be honest, since it's not like they would force you into the Wards."
Is this bitch trying to piss me off? It feels like she's trying to piss me off.
"Oh absolutely," Butcher agreed. "Maybe you should remind her why she should be pissing herself in fear of us instead."
"We would all prefer greatly if she didn't do that," Damascian retorted. "The smell is atrocious."
The incongruous statement jolted me out of my cycle of anger, and I released all of the tension that had been building in my body. Need for respect or no, I wasn't going to attack a Ward over something so juvenile when I was just barely starting my heroic career. Instead, I shrugged and said, "Armsmaster pretty much told me I wasn't welcome."
"What, you want a leash? Don't be an idiot," she scoffed. "You can actually accomplish something as an independent, and it's not like your PR can get any worse."
That brought me up short. "Excuse me?"
"You're the Butcher, and shit like this?" she said, gesturing around us. "This isn't heroic, not like the PRT wants. They want heroes who look good for the camera. Sure, I'll applaud you, but as soon as you break the legs of too many deserving assholes, bam — you'll be labeled a villain."
"She's not wrong," Alkaline said cheerfully. "I played the independent game for a while, too."
"Everyone with half of a brain knows how the PRT works," Sabertooth growled, and Ironsides continued his thought.
"The first two letters are the only important part!"
I shoved the voices away. "That doesn't make any sense. I'm stable, and I'm a hero. I'm actually putting all of these powers to good use! Would it really be so hard to just let me do my own thing?"
Shadow Stalker laughed, laughed, at my question. "That's the thing, none of them believe you're actually stable, just taking longer to crack than most. They're just hoping you take out as many other villain capes as you can before you go nuts."
"Independent capes of any variety are anathema to the PRT," Damascian said. "Look at Stalker herself."
"And she hasn't lied yet," Chisel added.
You're not helping. They snickered, but shut up.
"You don't have to be such a bitch about it," I grumbled aloud.
Stalker shrugged again, looking down to where the other Wards were working. "Eh, someone needs to tell you how the world works. No reason to sugar-coat it, especially not for you. Besides, I've got money on you dropping the charade by the weekend, but Meteor thinks you'll crack by Wednesday. Think you could hold out that long for me?"
"Go fuck yourself," I spat.
She gave me the finger over her shoulder, then hopped off the side of the building before turning to shadow. I watched her float down to the ground before feeling through my swarm for an escape, only to have Butcher speak up.
"New plan. Stay a hero till Monday just to spite the smug cunt."