Colin's first thoughts when the glass windows around him started shaking was that it was Shatterbird attacking. That thought was nearly immediately dismissed, the Slaughterhouse 9 weren't meant to be anywhere near Brockton Bay, and they'd shown no ability to travel such a distance in so short a time before. That didn't leave many better options, but it was a relief none the less. It would be typical for the ranging band of murderous Villains to visit his city after he'd finally managed to capture Lung, neutering one of the major gangs in Brockton Bay. It might as well have been a sport to them, going after areas and Heroes that were finally improving or making an impact.
The Merchants were seemingly laying low, something that Colin didn't know whether to be happy or worried about and judging by how there had been no reports of another lumbering monstrosity, they were sticking to it. Squealer hardly counted as a Tinker, the junk she put together hardly better than a moving scrapyard, it grated how many times she'd made a fool of him.
By all accounts this was an attack on an Empire site, another dogfighting ring that had seemingly been hiding right beneath their noses. Most of the time whenever they got a report about a dogfighting ring, the report would get muddled in the bureaucracy between the PRT and the BBPD; without any sighting of a parahuman the crime would go to the police force, even if they would be far less efficient at stopping it. This time though Hookwolf had been clearly seen fighting an 'unknown' Cape. An unknown Cape that's description matched very closely to the security camera footage taken two days ago from an electronics store, and almost word for word the same description that Glory Girl had given while she was being healed by her sister. There was little doubt in Colin's mind that it was the exact same Cape who'd broken into the store and assaulted Glory Girl, a newly triggered one too as a Brute of that power would surely have caused some waves or gone for something bigger than an old model phone.
Colin's motorcycle sped round the corner smoothly, at a speed where without his visor the world around would've been a blur. It stuck to the ground like it was locked to it, easily bleeding off the strain that such a sharp turn should have put on his body. There was something reassuring about riding the product of who knew how many hours of work, of it working completely as expected. Well, Colin knew how long it took to the second and three decimal places beyond it, but it was time well spent as he deviated off the patrol route towards where the fight was reportedly taking place. Even without the live feed of ongoing calls to the PRT wasn't cycling through his helmet, he would've known where to go just from following the increasing violence of the occasional shakes that vibrated through the blue and silver tinkertech motorcycle.
PRT squads were deploying as well, though none could hope to keep close to the speed of his specially made bike. It took sharp bends like it hadn't even changed directions, leaving the armoured vans to catch up. That suited Colin just fine.
A mass of metal and hooks soared through the air above him. Hookwolf? The distraction only slowed him down for a second as he replayed the footage from his helmet camera again at a lower speed. It barely took any attention to notice that the normally ever-shifting mass of metal that made up the Villain's Changer form was inert and missing an upper half as it sailed out over and into the bay. It had been thrown with enough force that he could hear the bone deep thump of the heavy 'body' slamming into the water from where he sat on the bike. Whatever was happening on site, it was clear that the so-called 'Tyrant' was winning.
With grim determination, Colin pushed the machine even further, its engine hummed distantly beneath layers of gleaming metal plates. It came alive under his fingertips, boosting way over the legal speed limit. In the near deserted streets of the Docks area at night there was no road traffic, all the dilapidated cars parked on the side of road by equally damaged sidewalk and buildings.
The steady beat that shook the structures around him stopped abruptly, just as his helmet picked up the wailing of car alarms and barking of dogs. Was it over? Was he too late?
He practically flew around bends and through deserted alleyways, armoured form held tightly packed, ready and leaning over the dashboard. The dial on the speedometer pushed as high as he dared in a cramped urban environment, he pushed the ever-increasing noise to the back of his mind as he focused. One breath, two, and then he was there.
It was like he'd turned the corner and driven straight into a different world. Where before the streets had been quiet and only dimly lit, the street turned Cape fight arena was lit harshly by the flashing lights of a partially crushed car, and the cacophony of baying dogs and said car's alarm carried almost a physical weight. Cape fights were almost always like this, where what would've been impossible forces just three decades ago clashed together, destruction was always bound to follow.
A crater stretched across the road itself, wide enough in diameter that it almost reached the warehouse on one side and a broken-down building on the other, visually indistinguishable from any of the others. Colin's armour of course could provide him with a detailed background of the property, but he pushed it away with familiar ease. What was more important was on the other side of the heavily damaged asphalt, past the yawning open-mouthed crater.
A massive figure stood just past the lip facing side on to Colin, a crudely made helmet perched atop a broad neck and far broader shoulders. A pale arm was exposed to the chilled night air without a care, the figure, the Cape, only wearing a dark t-shirt with some brightly coloured cartoon reference on the front and shabby trousers. Further down the arm Colin could see, the light tone of the Cape's skin gave way to viscous blood, black in the lowlight of the street. It dripped from his fingers, over a piece of warped metal clasped gently between fingertips and into a tiny pool by his feet. On his other side, the night vision mode of Colin's visor could easily make out the form of a shirtless man. What little of the man's torso that peaked out from around the Cape's wide form bristled with coarse blonde hair, the parts that weren't covered in blood at least. Hookwolf. The man seemed to favour going around half dressed, making identifying him easy. He seemed to be leaning against the Cape bonelessly but somehow staying upright.
Tyrant, Colin confirmed to himself, as the distinctive improvised helmet turned towards him. It was just as shoddily made as Glory Girl had described. Clearly shaped by hand, literally in this case, and by a rank amateur. Not even that. Just another teenager acting out. His mind flashed to another wannabe Cape, all sharp edges, bug themed mask and full of infuriatingly bad decisions. She'd ignored all his warnings, all his advice, the advice of a veteran Hero, and then; then, after she'd handed him a dying gang leader with no warning as to how brutally she'd attacked him, after she refused to give him any useful information, she had the gall to ask for permission to commit a major crime?
Their conversation was still hot in his mind, replaying over and over all her minute twitches and hints that his visor picked up as fear of him, but much more of someone else. Why wouldn't she take his offer to bring in the Protectorate? Out of spite? Foolish teenage pride? He didn't know. Wouldn't, couldn't understand it. For not the first time since the girl's request for permission to turn to villainy earlier that day, he pushed those memories away, focusing instead on the looming figure ahead of him.
"Step away from him," Colin commanded, voice booming across the street as he swung himself from the bike seat. He uncoupled his halberd from his back as soon as his feet touched the ground. It thrummed to life in his hands, eager and reassuring.
The helmet tilted ponderously, though the rest of his body stayed absolutely still, as if he was holding his breath for something.
"I'll do you one better," Tyrant responds. Even though Colin had been expecting it from Glory Girl's account, the disparity between the Cape's appearance and his voice still struck him. Just another stupid child.
Colin's thoughts were driven from his head as Tyrant turned to face him fully, dragging Hookwolf with him. He only had a second to take in the hand wrapped around the Empire Villain's head before Tyrant was throwing him. The motion was lackadaisical, effortless, even as the large man rag-dolled through the air only to land with a wet thud on the other side of the crater. It skidded for a few feet before stopping by Colin's armoured boots, leaving a bloody trail on the thoroughly destroyed street.
The halberd came down into a defensive stance, sharp tip pointed down at Hookwolf's chest ready for any aggressive movement. But nothing came. The hairy back of the Empire Cape didn't rise and fall, there was no sign of him breathing. Hookwolf was dead.
Then Colin saw his head. Or what remained of it, as the only the matted blonde hair could be recognised out of the wreckage of mush and shattered skull fragments. Even then, the hair was stained deeply with blood. He looked away quickly, knowing that his visor's captured footage would be available for further review in the future… the very distant future. It wasn't that he hadn't seen worse. Colin had a long Cape career, he'd been Armsmaster for longer than some of the active Capes in the city had been alive. He'd seen bad, things that didn't bear thinking about but still consistently reappeared in the scant few dreams he permitted himself.
But there was something about the physical brutality of it. Often the worst wounds in a Cape fight came from some exotic effect, he'd seen body parts vanished away leaving guts and blood to slump out from inside, and he'd seen them turn into other things entirely. In that mess of what was once a human head, Colin knew he'd seen deep indents from crushing force in the shape of fingers curving into the bone and flesh. His eyes swept back up to the still dripping blood covered hands. To physically crush someone's head…
"What have you done?" The question slipped out of Colin's lips without thought, seeped in disgust darker than the blood on the ground.
"What any of you should have done a long time ago," Tyrant answered easily, lightly.
It was like he was discussing the weather, not cold-blooded murder. Colin kept his halberd raised, though no longer pointing down at Hookwolf, at the corpse. Instead, he pointed it directly at Tyrant's chest, as if imagining a line between its tip and his heart, ready to move at a moment's notice. Glory Girl had noted his extreme speed, and the relative openness of the street was not a good place to engage a hostile with such an advantage. Colin could proudly say his armour allowed him to move well above even the fittest of civilians, but he'd long since learnt the bitter lesson of how little that meant against other Capes.
"You killed him! Do you have any idea what kind of hell you've brought down on yourself? On this city?" He barked, anger lacing into his tone and overtaking the disgust as he pushed down the image of the corpse in his mind.
Kaiser wouldn't stand for this. Hookwolf, his right-hand man, killed by a no name Cape? There wouldn't even be the ramifications of attacking him to consider, not like there would've been if it had been a member of the other gangs or even the Protectorate. No fear of reprisal.
The idiot child had just about signed his own death warrant in the blood that still stained his hands. A cursory glance of the devastation from just this one fight gave enough of an image to extrapolate what a full-on one-man war would look like. They'd gotten lucky that the Empire's dogfighting ring was placed in one of the more deserted areas of the Docks, but an extended man hunt was bound to follow Tyrant all over the city.
"I put down a rabid mutt," the child in a giant's body answered coldly. There was a core of steel that strummed through the voice, even through the slight monotone. The lie detector in his helmet wasn't suitable or finished enough to make definitive judgements on character, but with it and just his own best judgement he knew that Tyrant meant every word, "you should be thanking me for doing your job for you. You're welcome, by the way."
Colin bristled, the condescension of the teen roiling through him. First the bug girl defying all common sense on some stupid, suicidal plan to infiltrate a known Villain group when she was less experienced than any of even his wards, and now this? All in one day?
"Thank you? For committing a felony? You murdered him. If you're trying to get any thanks you won't get it like this," he gestured down at what had once been one of the major players in the Bay's Cape scene. This wasn't how Colin had seen the conversation going. He knew going into it that he'd have to go for the hard sell, just from how he'd treated Glory Girl, a hero, no matter how much she hardly acted like it. But this… murder was a serious offence, and when the victim was as infamous a player as Hookwolf it wasn't something that could be swept under the carpet like Shadow Stalker's 'misdemeanors''. Tyrant had effectively backed himself up to a wall and tied Colin's hands behind his back unable to help him, "Stupid boy can't you see what you've done? There are rules, rules that you've trampled all over even on top of the laws you've broken. Kaiser will come for you."
"Funny," Tyrant huffed out a genuine chuckle, or it was genuine as far as Colin could tell, "that's what he said too."
"You've set one of the biggest gangs in the country on the war path and you joke about it," he couldn't keep the disbelieving sneer out of his voice completely, instead pushing it more towards the anger that already burned hot inside his chest."
"Ask Alexandria if she's scared of a little man who can make stabby things and his gang and see if she doesn't laugh you out of the State."
Colin wasn't sure what was more ridiculous, the idea of the perpetually dour and serious Alexandria laughing or that Tyrant thought he could compare himself to her. A child lashing out at the world compared to one of the leader's of the Protectorate itself known the world over, someone that was always working, always in their mask. A feat that inspired equal amounts of envy and respect inside of Colin. The arrogance of it rankled.
"You are not Alexandria."
The giant tilted his head to the side slightly, and looked deliberately around the wrecked street, the cratered ground and the mess of a body by Armsmaster's armoured greaves.
"No, I suppose I'm not. I actually seem to care about improving this shithole."
If Colin was any other man, he might have sputtered angrily at the insinuation.
"She trusts us," trusts me, his thoughts whispered, "with this city. A city that you've put in more danger while you dare to talk as if you understand any of our responsibilities."
"And in one night I've done more for it than you have in a decade. The only reason Hookwolf was still on the streets was because you couldn't stop his Nazi buddies waltzing him out your doors," satisfaction laced the boy's tone, his words dripping with it."
"So you took it into your own hands to punish him."
The armour around Colin's fingers creaked as they tightened around the halberd, holding it steadier than a human hand would ever be able to do.
"I did what you wouldn't," a blood-stained hand rose to point something at him, revealing the slip of metal that had caught the light earlier. Light from the overhead streetlights flashed across it, casting it into a twisted rictus of a wolf's head. Hookwolf's mask, he realised, tiny in the huge cape's hand and crushed almost beyond recognition, "I brought him Justice."
The emphasis was so strong he could almost feel the capitalisation of the word. Colin saw past it though. He knew about the woman waiting at the PRT headquarters to hear any news about her adopted son. Delilah Graves, widow to a Michael Graves and mother to a deceased David. Both killed by Hookwolf.
"Murder is never justice, no matter what you think. There are laws for a reason, unwritten and otherwise. Justice is due process, it's courts and juries and the judicial system. We are just the enforcers of it."
"That is your Justice, and it failed. It failed this city, its people, everyone," for a moment Colin thought he heard a tremor in the voice, a crack in the otherwise strong wall of apathy and disinterest. But it was gone again before he could be sure, kept safe in the recording from his suit for examination later, yet leaving him with nothing now, in what he knew to be an important moment in the youth's Cape career and possibly for Brockton Bay. He knew that the video was being streamed to the PRT response centre too, an ever-updating briefing from it being provided to Miss Militia and the PRT units on the way, "this is mine. No more killings, no more drug dealings or rape. Hookwolf can't hurt anyone again. Justice."
Colin shook his head slowly. Something was very wrong with the boy, Tyrant. He'd be the first to say that he wasn't best with people, preferring his own company over others. Some of it was that he didn't want those weaknesses or distractions, the rest was some fundamental disconnect between himself and other people. His parents had tried to send him to a therapist a lifetime ago. They didn't talk anymore.
But even he could see that something was off. This kind of apathy from a murderer wasn't normal, let alone a minor. Quickly, Colin checked his heads-up display. Miss Militia was almost there, close enough that without the wailing car alarm or barking dogs he would have been able to hear her bike.
"This is revenge," he said firmly, not backing down an inch against the hulking Cape - Villain? There was no way it was anything but revenge, it had all the hallmarks of it. The records showed that he was adopted a relatively short time after the murder of both Michael and David Graves, something that was brought up as a point of concern during the process. Delilah was clearly still in a fragile psychological space but had apparently proven solid enough that the application had been approved. That, and that the children's home didn't have enough space for the young teen anymore, "you don't care about justice, or the law. You only did this for yourself, just another teenager lashing out at the world only you have more power than you know what to do with."
Power that Colin could've used so much better. He didn't resent his powers; he was proud of how much he'd been able to do with them. But when he looked at people like Dauntless who through power alone was set to be a flagship of the Protectorate going forward, leaving him to be forgotten in his wake, or at Tyrant. All signs pointed to him having the classic 'Alexandria Package', though one that had quickly proved stronger even than Glory Girl. That alone would net the boy a decent Brute rating, higher than the New Wave girl at least and brutalizing Hookwolf on top of that…
The amount of work he put into his cape life was insane, and this boy was just gifted with a power that blew past him easily in terms of pure durability and defense. He didn't let himself lament on how the world was unfair, only prepared himself for the work he'd do when he got back to his workshop to close that gap.
"And so what if I take satisfaction from it? What about the other victims he created when you allowed him to go free? Or the ones that he still would've made past tonight? Will they think this unjust? That the murderer and rapist didn't go to a prison to be locked safely away with his fellow monsters but instead got what he deserved?"
Tyrant spoke as if it was a foregone conclusion, a finality that came with the self-certainty of someone that knew they were right. He'd come up against a lot of those, both in and out of the Protectorate and knew from the threads he'd seen on PHO that on occasion he too slipped into it.
The rough throaty roar of a nearing vehicle could be heard even over the background din of the street, growing rapidly. Tyrant showed no sign of caring, carrying on speaking as if he hadn't noticed.
"No, you're not even upset that he's dead, just that I killed him. Is that your pride talking?" Colin seethed at the insinuation, but the teenage Cape kept talking obliviously, "No? Genuine concern for the city and myself? How quaint. The fact is that Hookwolf was a monster, one the city is better without. We both know it so spare the drivel about how morally bankrupt it was of me to end a blight."
Behind Tyrant, Miss Militia skidded around the corner, the grip on her bike tires far inferior to his own work. Her flag inspired scarf and sash fluttered behind her but never pulled enough to reveal anything beneath her eyes. She swung herself to a stop a short distance behind Tyrant's back, lithely dismounting with well practised ease. A green and black haze of energy was manifested over her shoulder in the shape of a grenade launcher, pre-loaded with custom made container foam rounds. He wondered what it said about how dangerous she considered the boy that that was what her power had defaulted too, or whether it was a conscious choice.
"You children are always the same, you don't look at the big picture," the bug girl who hadn't even thought of a name for herself but wanted to take down a criminal organisation that the PRT couldn't? Ridiculous, "you could've joined the Wards, had a future, actually helped the city but you threw it away for petty revenge."
"You would've recruited me even after what I did to Glory Girl?" There was a vague sense of a raised eyebrow beneath the helmet, though the surprise was still barely present in his otherwise single tone voice, "no of course you would've, you let Shadow Stalker in after all."
Colin's eyes narrowed and his shoulders tensed, there was no way Tyrant should know anything about Shadow Stalker. All of the PRT and Protectorate's records showed no signs of the two having ever met, and they knew the boy had only triggered recently. The explosive growth in height gave that away. One day he'd been a scrawny kid at Winslow and the next he hadn't showed up. A few days after that and… well Glory Girl could attest to the change.
"There's still a chance," Miss Militia entered the conversation smoothly, voice soft and calm though she pulled her power over her shoulder ready for any sudden move, "we can still get through this. Your mother is worried about you."
And that was the hard truth that grated against Colin. They would still take him, a boy whose hands were still covered in blood, because the Protectorate needed him. It wasn't something exclusive to the new trigger, fresh Hero blood was needed everywhere around the country. It also tipped their hand about knowing his identity, but that was a foregone conclusion anyway. Just another bargaining chip on the table.
"And ship me off to where? Boston? Los Angeles? I'm sure Alexandria would love to get her hands on me," the casual disrespect in Tyrant's tone set Colin on edge, "or leave me in the city with the gang whose top lieutenant I just killed? Let alone the fact that I'm sure Glory Girl will try to break her arms against me again the next time she sees me."
He didn't hide away from how he'd killed someone, most kids that Colin had met in situations like these were too afraid to face what they'd done, no matter how justified they thought it was. There was something terrifying in that. The calm blandness in which the teenager spoke about ending someone's life, like it was something inconsequential.
"All things that would have to be discussed with your mother. Just come with us, peacefully," Miss Militia continued , sidling in to take control of the conversation over Colin. He welcomed the reprieve, knew full well where his strengths lay, and defusing an irrational, murderous teenage Cape wasn't one of them, "just to HQ then you can go home."
Broad shoulders tensed for a second, then relaxed. A motion so slight that if he wasn't focused so heavily on even the slightest of movements from Tyrant then he might have missed it.
"That's the second time you've brought her up. I told her to leave for her own safety."
"You traumatised her," Colin cut in angrily, unable to hold it back. A part of him could understand removing her from the situation, removing that weakness, but doing it like that was monstrous even to him. He saw Miss Militia's eyes tighten and her fingers grip tighter below the trigger of the grenade launcher and he knew that she agreed, even if she didn't think he should bring it up then, "nothing could possibly be worth treating her like you did."
"You'd rather I pretend to be someone I'm not?" The irony of a boy in a mask asking that wasn't lost on Colin, "Run along and act as if nothing had changed, as if Ashton was still around? It was the kindest thing I could do."
Shock shot through Colin at the ease at which Tyrant, Ashton, had outed himself. Even if Miss Militia may as well have outright said that they knew his real identity, at least some level of denial was expected.
"You say that like you're not… Ashton anymore."
To her credit, Hannah showed very little hesitance in adapting to the situation. Still, it felt extremely unusual to be openly discussing a Cape's secret identity in a public place, albeit a completely deserted one. Colin's halberd remained pointed squarely at Ashton, servos locked in place, ready for anything. The boy seemed calm now but he'd already shown a willingness to kill, and more worryingly no remorse over it.
"I'm not," Tyrant spoke decisively, his tone accompanied by a swift head shake brokered no argument.
Colin's eyes, covered by his armour, flickered down to the lie detector on his heads up display. It was still in development but such a blatant falsehood should have easily set it off. And yet nothing popped up, for all intents and purposes the boy seemed to be telling the truth. Trigger events changing the victim's personality and behaviour wasn't unheard of, and it was more common in youths than adults but an entire new persona? Even in a child much younger than Tyrant Colin wouldn't have expected to see such a response to the trauma. Clearly Ashton was more unstable than even Colin had thought.
Hannah's eyes flickered over to meet his own, silently asking for confirmation. He answered with a subtle nod and saw her eyes momentarily flare in surprise.
"Tyrant then," she continued easily, "we still have a very worried woman waiting for you."
And murder couldn't be left unanswered, Colin continued silently. Hannah seemed determined to get him to come in willingly. Watching the completely unmoving Cape, hands drenched in blood, he didn't think it was likely.
"She's none of my concern. I told her to leave, not my problem if she hasn't listened."
Finally, a reaction. Tyrant's hand, the one not carrying the remains of Hookwolf's mask, clenched tight at his side. A notification flared to life in the lower corner of Colin's HUD. Lie.
"You're lying," Colin jumped in, cutting Ashton off. Warily, he began circling around the lip of the crater. Boots crunched against shattered concrete pieces as he stepped over the lifeless remains of Hookwolf, each step assured by the hundreds of hours he'd put into the servos and inner workings of his suit.
"We know you're worried about her. Make this simple. Come with us, work with us," Miss Militia continued, easily picking up from Colin's interjection. She shot him a sharp look at his tone, but he shouldered past it, more focused on the teen.
This wasn't how he'd expected his recruitment pitch to go; with most of him was still stretched taut, ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of aggression. He wanted the boy to accept, for this to end peacefully, no matter what others thought about him. But he didn't expect him to. Not after so callously killing the man that still lay limply on the cold asphalt, not after assaulting Glory Girl, a hero. Quietly a part of himself whispered that he wanted to take down the murderer himself.
Tyrant stared down at his hand, clenched so tightly Colin could see the bones of his knuckles through the viscous blood. Eventually, after a tense beat, the hand relaxed, falling open with the finality of a guillotine.
"No." For a moment Colin wasn't sure if he was talking to them or himself. Both? Whatever the teen was feeling it passed quickly, Tyrant straightened up again. An oppressive feeling thrummed through the air, like an elastic band of tension had stretched as far as it could without snapping back. From the way Miss Militia tensed and her grenade launcher shifted erratically as if it wanted to transform into something bigger, he knew she felt it too, "What she does with herself is her business. As long as she doesn't get in the way then she can do whatever she wants."
"And if we told you that she triggered? Because of you," Colin said, adding the last part with more vindictive relish than he was sure he should have, "that she's taken the sensible option and come to us."
"She needs you," Miss Militia tacked on while sending a sharp look Colin's way. He was sure he'd hear more from her later, when she could talk privately without the chain of command looming over her like it was in the field.
"She needs 'Ashton', or she thinks she does," Tyrant pokes back, voice cold and controlled.Even when hearing what he's done to his mother? The teen knew what a trigger event was like, had recently gone through one himself, and when told that he had caused that level of trauma in the closest thing he had to a parent he felt nothing? Not nothing, because Colin's lie detector told him that he still cared. If Ashton wasn't so impassive, he'd say his mood jumped around like they were thrown by a gravity cannon, "I cannot be that for her, I will not. What is the point in power if I let someone else control me? If I let you force me into being someone I'm not? Ashton died the moment I 'triggered' and he can't come back, it's better if she accepts that."
Colin thought of the woman, Delilah. Of how she'd swing from raging, screaming for Tyrant to die; to begging and pleading for him to bring Ashton home. Of the wraith-like black and blue figure that followed her around, body and face changing with its Master's mood. He knew that one of those faces sat under that crude rendition of a knight's mask.
Delilah couldn't accept that.
"She can't, you know she can't. You're everything to her, to ask her to just let you go is impossible. Please. This doesn't have to go like this, we can work out whatever's happened to you, whoever made you trigger-"
A savage bark of a laugh broke out from beneath the young Cape, interrupting Miss Militia. It was tinged with metallic overtones from the helmet, dark and angry.
"Nothing made him 'trigger', nobody hurt him. He just died so I could be here in this wonderful, shitty world. I murdered him, butchered his memory so I could live. I am not Ashton and I never will be."
Something thrummed through Colin's bones. An unknowable feeling of fact swirled into fear as the elastic band of tension snapped violently. The situation, Ashton's mental state, was escalating too quickly. Even if the teen's voice and body language remained implacable, Colin could almost physically feel the patience and willingness to talk drain away from his broad shoulders.
"Ashton-" Miss Militia started.
"Tyrant-" Colin yelled at the same time. Their voices overlapped into an indistinguishable mess.
Tyrant snapped into action, a sharp 'boom!' echoed down the street with his movement. It was so fast Colin thought his equipment had glitched. One moment he'd been standing perfectly still, resting on his heels. The next he was inside Hannah's guard, hand wrapped around her head. The appendage was so big compared to her that the fingers touched at the back, fully enclosing her head in his grip.
Hannah's finger caught the trigger of her power manifested grenade launcher, blindly sending a capsule into the street. It burst on the sidewalk, rapidly spreading and growing into the signature yellow tinted containment foam.
With an angry yell, Armsmaster jumped forward. Servo powered legs threw him through the air, he swung the humming halberd down on the back of Tyrant's helmet flat side down. What should have thrown him off his feet just impacted with a dull thud that rattled up the weapon.
Instantly adapting to the failed attack, he slipped down into a slide upon landing bringing his halberd down and around with him. Mid slide, he jabbed the end of the handle into the side of one of Tyrant's knee. Sparks shot from the end, the built in taser shooting pulses of over one hundred thousand volts of electricity into the Cape. Over double the voltage of a standard issue police taser, more than enough to kill a standard human. It washed over Tyrant like water of a duck's back.
Colin spun again, flipping a switch on the handle of his halberd. A baleful red sheen spread over the blade, superheating the air around it without compromising the blade itself. With a twirl, he thrust it tip first into Tyrant's side. Nothing.
Colin didn't allow his disbelief to slow him down. Years of practice spurred him onwards into a barrage of strikes carefully placed to not come close to hitting his captive teammate.
Just as his hand reached down to a concealed storage space in his suit
a naked hand grabbed the blade of the halberd, arresting him in place. The massive hand almost completely covered one side of the head of the weapon. He barely had time to register this before he was torn from the ground and spun through the air. Before he could even consider letting go the hand released his tinkertech weapon and he was flung back first through the side of the warehouse.
He landed with the crack of concrete; his suit easily tough enough to withstand the landing with only superficial damage. Baying and barking filled Colin's ears, mixed in with the sound of dogs slamming forwards into the bars of their cages. Surging to his feet, he swept his gaze across the warehouse floor. Dogs of all kinds, in all states of damage, were pushed up against the sides of their cages. Some of them looked like they were only holding on to life through anger, teeth snapped closed around bars and drooling red stained slobber onto the ground.
A crash split through the building, momentarily silencing the dogs. Hannah! Colin thought desperately. He flipped onto his feet, using the end of the halberd to push against the ground and speed him up straight into a full sprint. The servos in the suit whined as he pushed them harder, thundering footsteps leaving boot shaped indents in the ground. His hand slipped back down to near his waste, a spherical grenade of containment foam slipped silently into his palm. Careful to keep it out of Tyrant's sight, he cupped it against the handle of the halberd, the gauntlets of his suit large enough to almost hold it like he wasn't holding the grenade.
The wall was split open in two places now, a larger break ballooned outwards, little pieces around the edge carved open seemingly at random. Hookwolf was thrown through here, or so he assumed, the Villain's changer form causing as much damage as the throw itself. To its side, another much smaller hole pressed inwards where Tyrant had thrown him. On the other side, the now undoubtedly villainous Cape stood over the unmoving form of Miss Militia.
He'd thrown her into the side of a car, hard enough to indent the door. Her black hair curtained her face, head lolled forward. The rest of her form was blocked by the hulking body of Tyrant and Colin couldn't tell if she was breathing.
With a final crack he threw himself from the sidewalk. He sailed clean over the crater, twisted his body adding his own momentum to the swing. Mid whirl, he dropped the grenade, it bounced with a metallic twang, like bells before ballooning outwards. Smooth metal sang through the night, cutting the air with a shriek that died the moment it connected with Tyrant's back. Even the T-shirt didn't show any damage, just like Glory Girl had said. But I upped the power, he thought desperately, unwilling to believe that it hadn't worked.
Tyrant moved again, there was no other word for it. The motion so fast it was closer to teleportation, again followed by the crack of the sound barrier being broken. Two giant hands wrapped around the handle of the halberd, dwarfing his own on both sides. Below, the containment foam was blown apart, two great trenches carved into it where Tyrant had forced his way through it.
Colin heaved, pulled with all his might but the only reward for his effort was the whining of his suit. Warnings popped up on his HUD, error messages that he had reached maximum output. No.
Metal creaked and shattered as Ashton twisted his hands, breaking his famous weapon, his best, like a child would a twig. Electrics sparked and crackled between his hands, circuitry and internal workings exposed to open air. Dimly, an error message appeared, 'Lost Connection'.
The hours, days that he'd spent making his prized halberd swam through his mind. The time he'd put in. As always, it wasn't enough.
He roared his defiance into the emotionless blank face of Tyrant's helmet. It stared down at him without pity or malice, just some bauble thrown together by amateurish hands. That only made it worse.
Colin released the two halves of the halberd, instantly pivoting into a brutal haymaker to the stomach. His gauntlet cracked on impact; hairline fractures split across the tinkertech metal like porcelain. Moving on automatic, he tried to release a flashbang from his suit, but the compartment near his waste failed to open, jammed. Desperately, he clawed it open with the remnants of his gauntlets.
It popped out weakly, clattering against his armoured legs. A bang, a flash so bright that Colin knew it would have blinded him if his visor didn't protect his eyes. It lit up the street in stark relief, casting shadows away from him and Tyrant like they were at the centre of an explosion. His opponent didn't look away, didn't react-
A backhand swung across his face, nearly shattering the helmet and cracking the visor inside enough that the display itself cracked and glitched wildly.
The next thing he knew he was face up on the ground, Tyrant rose above him, an indomitable mountain.
"Glory Girl wasn't enough of a message. Hookwolf wasn't enough," a chill swept through Colin's bones. The boy wasn't even tired. His voice was almost the same even, near empty tone it had been when it started. Now it was just cold, "Brockton Bay is mine, even if none of you know it yet. Get. Out."
Thunk.
His own halberd bit into the ground a mere few centimeters from his head. It sank in easily, like the asphalt wasn't even there, quivering from the force. On the other side, the broken second half of his weapon flew into the ground too with enough force that it blew into the road just as easily.
By the time Colin's tore his eyes away from them, Tyrant was gone. He was left alone, with the braying of wild dogs, the harsh ringing of car alarms and, to his relief, the soft breathing of his subordinate.
"Armsmaster…" Miss Militia started, breathing roughly. The impact must have left her winded, if not outright unconscious. He hadn't had time to check.
From what little he could make out through his visor; her face was covered in blood. A giant crimson handprint seeped into her skin and hair, broken only by the whites of her shocked green eyes.
The bastard could have left at any time, Colin realised, staring at his teammate and the empty street. He was toying with us the entire time.
Shit.
A/N: So this was meant to be done a while ago, back before Christmas I thought I was nearly done when it was at 2.5k words… yeah it kind of ballooned up. I'm planning a hopefully quick and short addendum to be done next for this before the next main chapter. This was posted about a day earlier on SB and SV because it's easier to edit what's been posted already on there, so I could go back and correct some of the original mistakes and add some stuff based on the feedback. Anyways, even though it might be quite edgy, I enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it. Let me know!