"We've located them, Trollhunter." The FBI agent wasn't anyone Jim knew. He and Claire were separated from the others, even Merlin having left to 'have a chat with the queen.' "A little development, just outside of Akron."

"Nobody called the cops?" Jim asked.

"They didn't have a chance," the agent said. "Armsmaster and Dragon confirmed that they're being remotely puppeted via the Wifi system."

Jim's hands whitened around Eclipse. But it wasn't his time, not yet. He glanced at Claire. He could only see her eyes, under a clear, non-slicate visor, with a breathing system over it. Merlin had not protested, and Bonesaw was lethal. Jim had the same gear, as did everyone moving in.

But they would have to wait. Broadcast would, if they were right, warn Jack about the attack that was coming, but not about Claire and Jim—and he and Riley would be driven right to them.

Hopefully.

"Do you think that Jack's… power will do what we think it will do?" The agent asked.

"We'll know soon enough. Keep your people ready," Jim said.

"Yessir."

And isn't that odd. He's as old as Mom… Jim shook his head. He wished Blinky could have come with them.

But right now it was just, he, Claire and a good chunk of PRT and FBI high-threat teams.

But no parahumans. Not even in the planning. Jim rubbed his hands on his armor.

Jesus, I'm as nervous as I was when we were about to fight Gunmar.

"And look where he ended up," Claire said, seeming to read his mind. Jim looked down and met her gaze.

"Yeah."

"This is Paladin," an agent spoke. "Re-routing traffic away from the AO." Jim walked over to him, looking at the big monitors. Traffic cams showed stop lights changing, officers emerging to put roadblocks. The perimeter was about a mile, not much for Shatterbird, but as much as they could do—no matter how dependent Jack might be on Broadcast, he wasn't blind.

"Team Ungoliant moving in."

Taylor. But she wouldn't talk with Jim and Claire. No parahuman would. They were the drivers.

Jim and Claire were the hunters.

The genestealers loped ahead of me, along with the two hive tyrants. Amelia had been able to incorporate relays in the make up of the tyrants so they also had about a two block control radius for insects. I was keeping the genestealers close enough to them that they were nearly invisible in the swarms of bugs. I had ideas of what Amelia might be able to come up with, but for now, I had work with what I had and what the PRT had been able to find. Thousands of giant hornets were formed up around my soldiers, along with local wasps and bees. Black widows, centipedes and brown recluses were clustered on Amelia's creations.

I had studied the Slaughterhouse, at least as much as I could, and one thing stood out.

They were like me. Oh, not in morality. But they were ambush predators. They scoped out their locations, prepared their attacks and then engaged in their games—trying to leave before their victims could strike back effectively.

It was a reasonable strategy. I used it. But it had one glaring weakness.

It depended on always being the party with the initiative. Even if Jack's power gave him a warning, it wouldn't be long enough for Bonesaw, say, to develop specific strategies against what they were about to face.

Miss Militia was moving to hopefully get a shot at Hatchet Face, though she wouldn't turn down any other target, while Armsmaster would be using…something he and Amelia had cooked up against crawler, and with Dragon's help, would be trying to counter the control Bonesaw had over her victims. Alexandria would handle Manton.

She better, or this is going to get very ugly.

But we were keeping it very much like a typical Protectorate response. PRT and normal troopers in reserve, only parahumans engaging the Nine. Just bad luck, something that Jack had always escaped from, even if some of his followers hadn't.

Today would be different.

I threw my senses forward, the multiple senses of the genestealers and tyrants letting me see the development ahead of me. There were people playing in the street, walking around, but all of the adhering to patterns. I would try to bypass them, but capture would be left for follow up teams—Bonesaw traps were all too likely, even if we managed to free them.

"Jesus," Glory Girl said. "I hope this works."

"Yeah," Assault nodded. "Remember, you and Dauntless are fliers and bodyguards for Miss Militia, if she sees Hatchet Face, Burnscar or Shatterbird, she takes them out, but if they follow her back you protect her. Unless you see the Siberian, in which case you grab her and run."

"Yeah." Vicky licked her lips. You wanted to be a big hero and here you are. Maybe next time you'll keep your big mouth shut. Vicky looked at her hands and the special blade that Armsmaster had whipped up for her. Blade or punch, the orders were clear. Kill them as fast as possible.

Vicky had no idea what Jim and Claire were doing, but she hoped they were feeling better than she was.

"All teams, move in." With that message, Vicky grabbed Miss Militia and started flying her to the building that overlooked most of the development.

"I have to confess," Jack said. "I never imagined ping-pong could be such a relaxing game." He looked at the trophies along the wall, starting at first grade, and ending up with a high school tournament. "But not everyone agrees."

The sound of ping-pong balls was the only response in the large recreation hall. Jack looked out. There were several tables, with participants playing as fast as they could, mouths open, whimpers coming from them. The continual begging and pleading had annoyed Bonesaw, since it ruined her enjoyment, so she'd cut the nerves to the vocal chords.

Bonesaw had been getting restless of late, with most of their recent forays not really stretching her skills. So Jack had suggested this, and helped her come up with a truly wonderful diversion. They'd taken the teens of the development and dressed them in their school clothes while Bonesaw had downloaded the rules of the game into their controlling systems. The girl who had won the trophies was currently ahead, even as sweat and tears ran down her face. The others, girls in their cheerleader uniforms, boys wearing football gear, were also competing.

"But points are so… insignificant," Jack added. That's why he had their families taken with Bonesaw, standing on the sides in their Sunday best. Cheering their kids on. Desperately cheering their kids on. When someone lost, a penalty was assessed against their family, while the winner was allowed to rest for five minutes.

The source of the penalty was plain, as the Siberian prowled among the frantic audience. One hand effortlessly parted the skin on the cheek of a young girl cheering her older sister on, her parents next to her. On the floor lay the blood and viscera of the unlucky losers.

"But then, I think you can understand the importance of the contest," Jack said to the paralyzed Mouse Protector. He adjusted her mask. It was all the better to remind the crowd—and those who would see the recordings, that heroes were just as helpless as those they claimed to protect. "After all, it was Ravager being such a poor sport that ended with you coming here."

"This is a waste," Shatterbird said, occupied with flicking razor sharp glass across the face of one of the audience, creating a complex bit of art.

"Yes." Crawler growled from where he lay. "Brockton."

"Now Crawler, we've discussed that. I don't think the Bay would be entirely suitable for our presence. Not until I learn a little more." That would keep Crawler satisfied. But every time Jack thought about journeying to the Bay there was—

He looked around. He'd felt a sudden tremor. "Bonesaw, are your sentries seeing anything?"

"No!" Riley said, from where she was cheering a few cheerleaders on. "It's…" She paused. "Oh fiddlesticks! No cars have come into the development!"

Ah. Someone discovered us. "Well then, let us prepare to leave. I regret to say, ladies and gentlemen, that since you failed to complete the tournament, you must all pay a penalty." He smiled, spreading his arms. "But I promise to make you a work of art—"

The Siberian vanished. Moments later, there was a dull explosion. Jack whipped around. "We're leaving, now. Bonesaw, send them out to bolster the defenses."

The audience and participants turned and headed out, each one pausing to grab a club, gun, or knife as they left. Bonesaw was directing her spiderbots to secure Mouse Protector, while Shatterbird started collecting armor around her, windows shattering and forming a vortex of bright shards. Crawler was up, laughing, preparing for the fight to come.

Jack smiled. The confident feeling that came when he was about to win was back in full force. Even if they had somehow neutralized the Siberian, well, losing and gaining members was what the Nine was about. The only fulcrum that could never, would never be lost, was Jack himself. He flicked open his butterfly knife and went to join the rest. It'd be enjoyable to have a chat with some of the bright, shining heroes of the Protectorate.