A Side M
Murrue tried not to panic.
When she left, she tried to prepare herself. Taylor wouldn't be idle. With the way things were playing out, Murrue might be stuck watching her from afar for a long time. She knew that and still this sucked.
It wouldn't be the first time. She'd endured this before. Her job rarely let her stay close to the young capes she tried to help. Honestly, it was amazing she'd lingered in Brockton Bay as long as she had. Normally, as soon as a situation stabilized the PRT sent her off to the next problem cape. Taylor's overbearing distrust and proactive disposition probably kept things in the city too fluid to send away the one person she'd chosen to talk to with little need for prompting.
And even then, Murrue had prepared herself in the knowledge she'd eventually leave.
The overhead lights stopped flickering at least, but troopers and staff continued going back and forth and tried to figure out what was happening. She saw a cape only once and she didn't seem to know any more than anyone else.
She settled into a seat and watched the television with a dozen others in the cafeteria.
The TV wasn't getting a consistent signal. It kept dropping and often at the worst possible time. Murrue hadn't been able to learn much from the broadcast except the basics. Armsmaster and Eidolon had gotten into a fight—which Murrue struggled to comprehend—and Taylor had helped him flee the city.
That sounded like a story with a lot of holes.
The reporters kept saying they were having problems contacting news stations on the east coast, but one had pointed out a screen in the background of the video they did have. It showed Dragon's face and she was saying something as the image flickered and glitched.
Murrue's mind immediately went to Teacher and she lamented that she wasn't in a position to do anything about it.
"What's happening?"
She looked to her side, meeting a pair of desperate silver eyes.
Murrue forced a small smile and wrapped an arm over the girl's shoulders. She did her best to sound more confident than she was. Fortunately, she had a lot of practice.
"Just a passing storm," Murrue answered.
Chloe looked at her with a less than bemused expression.
She hated this. It was hard enough not knowing herself, but Chloe was at that age. Old enough to know when something was wrong but too young to understand what or why. An adult should be able to help her with that but Murrue didn't have the answers. The poor girl had already had her life upended entirely.
Robin swung around the table and pulled out a chair.
"I don't think Director Seneca knows everything," he whispered, "but she said something about Laughter being attacked in public."
Murrue tensed all over.
Chloe turned her head in shock and Murrue regretted how tightly she was holding the girl's shoulder. She was far too weak to hurt Chloe. Her power had altered her physiology completely. She'd refused experimenting with her powers in any way, but one thing that had become obvious quickly is that she didn't need a Brute rating without organs to damage.
Calming herself, Murrue asked, "Is Lafter okay?"
Robin shook his head. "I don't know. There's a video spreading online but I can't seem to load it. I think Seneca is trying to get in contact with Director Armstrong and Director Ral. She knows more than she told me. It's bad."
Armstrong and Ral? Boston and Phoenix. Both men were on the more affable side of the PRT. Not quite as business-minded as Seneca, but far softer than Piggot, Braxter, or Tag—Tagg.
Damnit. This was him.
Yes. Yes, the pieces fell together.
To Tagg it wouldn't matter what the reasons were. Armsmaster attacked Eidolon and Taylor helped him flee. There had to be more to the story and Murrue could presume it was serious.
Tagg didn't like Taylor or the level of control she'd amassed in Brockton Bay. He couldn't see her success and sway as anything but control. It didn't help that Taylor wasn't the type to play ball with the PRT if she disagreed. Her recent spat of openly criticizing the PRT made matters even worse.
He'd seize this chance to try and remove her rather than leave a wild card 'ruling' a city.
"Is Newtype okay?"
The question came from Chloe. She asked about them a lot. Veda, Lafter, and Taylor. She remembered them from Hartford. The ones who pulled her out of the metal mass her power had generated and then comforted her while she cried.
Murrue wanted to know too, but it was clear in Robin's hesitation he wasn't sure.
"How bad are the disruptions?" Murrue asked. "Just the news?"
Robin shook his head. "Comms are flickering in and out. I do mean ours. I'm not sure how Seneca knows what's going on. She might be guessing."
Maybe.
Tagg would force the situation into a fight. Taylor would fight back and that would be a new justification for detaining her, or worse. His other activities aside, Murrue admitted Legend had kept Tagg in check. The Triumvirate never gave Tagg much latitude. No one did, for fear of this exact scenario.
He was too predictably explosive.
Though, just because lines were unreliable, didn't mean they couldn't get through. "What about the group sent to New York?" Murrue leaned in. "Could we reach one of them?"
"Is Flash okay?" Chloe asked. She liked Flash too. He'd gone out of his way to accommodate her while Murrue and Robin tried to settle the girl's living arrangements in Seattle.
Robin hesitated again, which was answer enough for Murrue.
The TV flashed in the corner of her eye. Murrue turned her head and rose from her seat.
She wasn't the only one. Several in the room got up, eyes fixed to the screen and watching the shaky video. Whoever was recording it was distant and atop a roof. The zoom wasn't very good but Murrue could clearly make out Alexandria hitting the ground and Queen Gundam flying over her.
"Holy shit!" someone exclaimed.
"That's Dragon's factory," Robin realized. Murrue had never been there, but if they were at Dragon's—How were they at Dragon's factory?
Murrue felt Chloe's hand squeezing hers. "Why are heroes fighting?"
Murrue kept her face straight. "I'm sure there's a good reason." She just wished she knew what it was.
If they were at Dragon's factory… Armsmaster. He was close to Dragon. Something happening to her might motivate him to extreme action. Taylor too. Why was Alexandria there?
More staff crowded around the TVs and chatter filled the air. Murrue tried to focus on Chloe. She was having a hard enough time without this mess making things more confusing.
"We should go," Murrue encouraged. "I don't think we're going to get a chance to meet with Cliffdiver—"
A trooper leaned in behind Murrue. "The Director is waiting for you."
Murrue turned. "Just me?"
The man nodded.
Murrue hesitated, one arm still around Chloe's shoulders.
"I'll take care of it," Robin offered. "We'll meet you in the garage."
Murrue tried to protest but Chloe quickly rose from her seat. "It's okay. I can go with Robin." Her face said she didn't want to, but she kept glancing between Murrue and the TV.
Murrue's lips turned up. "Alright."
She rose and went with the trooper. It was a short walk to Seneca's office. Unlike Boston, the Seattle PRT occupied an old warehouse lot that had been converted into a base. There weren't that many floors, unlike Brockton Bay, and Seneca liked being close to ground level so her office was on the first floor.
Seneca was surrounded by hushed whispers when Murrue entered the room. She noted Cliffdiver, the local Protectorate leader, and Commander Samatar in the room. A Ward stood behind Cliffdiver and there were several other ranking troopers with Samatar.
Basically the entire Seattle command structure was present.
Adele Seneca sat behind her desk, hands folded as she watched a tablet propped up on her desk. She was relatively young for a PRT Director. Murrue's age. Most held her as the most likely successor to the Chief Director. Their attitudes on most matters were similar, or at least that's how it had seemed.
No one expected Rebecca Costa-Brown to be Alexandria—and she'd all but given up on pretending otherwise—or that she'd leave her role so soon. The assumption always ran that Seneca would step into an interim role in a few years. A few years hadn't come to pass.
Armstrong or Tagg were the men leading the run for the top chair now.
"Lieutenant Ramius," the woman greeted without looking up. "I'm glad you were still in the building."
"I'm not a lieutenant anymore," Murrue noted.
"But you were." Seneca raised her eyes. "Would you say you know Newtype very well?"
Murrue glanced around the room, looking at the faces watching her. "I worked with her for several months. She's a bright young woman."
"And did you ever find yourself in the position of questioning her judgement?"
If she were alone, Murrue would have laughed.
Taylor and questionable decisions went hand-in-hand. That was something she couldn't really sugarcoat. Taylor wasn't a typical hero, let alone a typical teenager. Her capacity for charging headlong into danger was only the tip of the iceberg. Murrue was still trying to reconcile herself with all the mind games and tricks Taylor had played while obscuring her role in them.
For a tinker, Taylor put some thinkers to shame.
Despite it all, "No. Taylor is young and she doesn't really accept the idea of having limits, but I never once had reason to think she didn't have the best of intentions."
"Can you think of any conceivable reason attacking Dragon could fall under the category of best of intentions?"
Attacking Drag—"Taylor would never do that. She admires Dragon. Dragon helped her get started. Whenever we couldn't get her to listen to reason or think about something, Dragon was always the one who could get her to at least talk. Taylor would die before letting anyone hurt Dragon."
"I see." Seneca reached up and pushed the tablet down on its face. "I'm about to have a candid discussion with Armstrong and Ral. I'd like you to tell them that if they ask."
Taylor was always paranoid about the PRT ganging up on her. That was her trauma. Being made the villain by authority figures and subjected to torment without any help in sight.
Murrue didn't want that to happen.
She knew for a fact Armstrong wouldn't go along with that, but, "Why?"
Seneca rose from her seat. "Because Tagg needs to go."
A Side P
Piggot found it an oddly amusing scene from the outside.
The rest of the command center was silent.
The whole room was a much larger set up than anything she'd seen in Brockton. When something happened there, she made do with whatever conference room happened to be available. New York boasted a proper crisis center with multiple dedicated consoles, lines of communication, and screens large enough to display highly detailed maps.
And Alexandria always said there wasn't room in the budget. Pft.
Chevalier leaned over the desk at the back of the room, about a few words away from punching Tagg. "You sent Glint?!"
Behind the new Protectorate leader, Myrddin watched the screens mounted on the walls curiously. One display played Dragon's message accusing StarGazer of being a hostile AI. Two others showed the city around the building but kept flickering in and out. The fourth played 'the video.'
"I sent who was available," Tagg stated, sitting behind his desk in a way that said 'I am in control even though I'm pretty sure I'm not.' Emily knew the posture well. "Communications haven't exactly been reliable. The elevators aren't even working half the time."
"And your solution," Myrddin sighed, "was to send Glint to arrest Laughter?"
"Detain for questioning. No one is being arrested."
"That's a distinction with little difference," Prism warned. "Newtype is popular in Brockton Bay. Especially the Docks. I could have told you that going hard on them would turn the crowd against us."
"I didn't tell anyone to go hard," Tagg retorted. "I told them to use their discretion and need I remind you that we're in a crisis situation here? We don't even know what is happening inside this building right now."
"All the more reason not to be sending strike teams into the field with incomplete information!" Chevalier snapped. He pointed at the fourth screen. "Now that is all over the web and it's a lot more well known than this recording of Dragon playing on the emergency system!"
"There's a thinker involved," Reed stated confidently. "No idea who. It's a series of about twenty social media accounts coordinating to spread the video and cast it in the worst possible light. Might be Bruder."
"Bruder is StarGazer," Tagg snarled. "Everyone knows that! It makes even more sense if Newtype actually created an artificial intelligence! That thing could pretend to be a dozen different capes easily! Forecast might not even be real."
AI.
That just explained so much. A lot, actually. StarGazer's unwavering loyalty to Newtype and physical non-existence, for example. How rapidly the girl had driven the gangs out of Brockton Bay for another.
Between a precog as powerful as Forecast—any talk otherwise was stupid—and an AI like StarGazer, it would have been shocking if Newtype hadn't cleared out the city as fast as she did.
"That's not the point," Myrddin noted.
"It is the point," Reed replied. He glanced at Tagg. "Running into this situation acting like Doc Holiday half-cocked and this is what you get. I warned you Newtype was getting outside support. Now it's biting us in the ass."
Off to the side, Chambers looked like he needed a drink. "You could have at least waited until the damn girl left the food bank."
"The crowd attacked first," the local commander growled.
Chambers gave the man a deadpan look. "Nobody cares."
"Attacking civilians never looks good," Piggot said aloud, reminding people she was in the room. "It doesn't matter how justified it seems. Unarmed mobs being accosted by ordered lines of men in body armor makes everyone think of Kent State first, the LA Riots second."
And even then, most people remembered the LA Riots were about Rodney King and the rioters got more and more of a pass as time went on. Right, wrong, and justice were secondary considerations in public relations. Bad framing is bad framing.
Looking at the video at just the right moment to watch Lafter hit the ground and spill blood across the street from her arm and chest, Piggot concluded the framing was exceptionally bad. Unless Lafter Frankland was a secret serial killer who tortured kittens, Tagg was never going to convince anyone watching there was any good reason to go that far.
That the crowd then surrounded the girl to protect her made it worse.
Victoria Dallon and Parian stepping in to then protect the crowd made it almost comical.
"We can clean up the PR later," Tagg snarled. "This is probably our only chance to nip this in the bud before it takes off."
Chevalier flinched. "Nip?"
"Nip what?" Prism asked.
"The Newtype problem," Tagg declared. Like a bloody fool.
"She's a sixteen year old girl," Reed warned. "In what way is she a problem?"
"She's a sixteen year old girl who has practically taken over a city, and was smart enough to do it behind the guise of a hero! Creating an AI automatically makes her a top threat. We could be staring down the barrel of another Eagleton or Ellisburg!"
Piggot scowled. "You bloody idiot."
Heads turned Emily's way, but she ignored them. Honestly, she felt more than a little livid. The moron probably asked her into this meeting to back him up. What was it they said about assumptions?
She'd been at Ellisburg, and frankly, she had a hard time seeing Taylor Hebert ever facilitating such a horror show. Her overconfidence could easily get her killed and a whole lot of innocent people too, but not on that scale. More likely she bit off more than she could chew and someone took her out.
Maybe that's exactly what was happening.
The Elite perhaps. They might be able to manage this. Revenge for Bastard Son?
Well, in any case, "Taylor Hebert is no villain."
"I brought you in here Piggot to—"
"What?" Piggot scoffed. "Suck your dick?" A little vulgar for her, but she wasn't a Director anymore. It was nice to speak honestly. "You're barking up the wrong tree, James."
Tagg's anger flared. "Bakuda—"
"The bomb tinker. Yes. Let's antagonize her. That can only end well, especially when all she's done for months in the wake of Lung's arrest is keep to herself and be helpful when asked."
It's not like Emily enjoyed seeing the madwoman evade justice but capes weren't normal people. You don't simply lock up a bomb tinker and throw away the key. The cost of capturing and keeping her needed to be kept in mind. In Bakuda's case the cost was too high for how little a problem leaving her free was.
It wasn't fair to the victims but the criminal justice system didn't exist solely to give victims closure.
It existed to keep society from toppling over.
Not that Tagg had ever managed to put that together.
"She's conspiring with more than Bakuda!" he shouted, drawing attention from those beyond the little circle around his desk.
"Faultline, the Red Hand, and the Adepts," Myrddin counted off. "We're aware."
"I wouldn't put it past her to have had something going on with the Undersiders," Reed added. "Some of them, at least. Grue's with Faultline now and we never did find Tattletale."
Anyone with half a brain could put that together. It said mountains about Tagg that he seemed to think it some grand revelation.
For his part, Tagg rose up from his desk. "She's formed a syndicate and is basically running Brockton Bay! We're fortunate she was bound to fuck up eventually!"
"You could say the same about us," Myrddin accused. "We cooperate with less problematic villains daily for the sake of keeping things calm."
In a lot of ways, the only reason Brockton Bay stood out as a cesspool was right down to the nature of its gang scene.
Most cities had one or two elements that simply couldn't be managed through negotiation or detente. The Teeth. Bastard Son. The Peacemakers. Groups like the Patriots who couldn't not fuck up probably counted. Between the racists in the Empire, the bitterness in the ABB, and the stupid ambition of the Merchants under Skidmark, Brockton Bay had three groups that could not be compelled into staying calm.
Throw in Calvert muddying the waters and the city's position was fundamentally intractable.
Frankly, Piggot doubted anyone could have solved the crime problem in any other way but brute force and overwhelming power. Such methods were crude, but sometimes the only way. She'd advocated it herself for years but no one wanted to deal with the consequences of blitzing the city with firepower. It sounded nice until you actually did it and the pictures started getting out.
StarGazer was definitely an AI.
It explained too much about how such a young and fresh cape came so far so quickly.
Piggot had tried to warn her before walking out the door.
"We're not teenagers on power trips!" Tagg snapped.
Prism rolled her eyes. "Haven't talked to the Wards lately, have you?"
"There's nothing we could accuse Newtype of that she couldn't in turn accuse us of," Chambers clarified. "Getting into a pissing contest with a child hurts us more than it hurts her. We're supposed to be the adults in the room."
And it was beside the point.
"At worst," Piggot began, "she's not as clean as she likes to think she is, but she's no villain and I have a hard time believing she'd ever attack Dragon. This business about StarGazer being an AI might warrant significant consideration. Newtype may have lost control of a very dangerous creation."
If that were the case, but they didn't know that. As much as Taylor Hebert ranted about the PRT and Protectorate's inaction in crises, jumping headlong into a situation was a crisis in itself. It invited disaster. Decisions couldn't be made blindly in the dark from guess work.
Newtype got by with no small amount of luck.
Tagg wasn't so fortunate.
Piggot stared the man in the eye, aghast that he was at the top of a short list for Chief Director. Politicians will make any number of dumb choices when desperate to look like they control a situation they know they can't.
Continuing her impromptu lecture, Piggot went on, "To say nothing of how all of this is tangential to the question of why Laughter is bleeding out on the street in broad daylight in front of dozens of witnesses. We don't know what is happening and you made a volatile situation moreso."
"You're not a director anymore Emily," Tagg hissed.
"Yes, it's nice to be able to call things what they are and not worry about them being on the news in an hour. Retirement from decision making suits me. I'm healthier than I have been in years."
"Oh shit," someone behind her said.
She turned with the rest, looking into the command center as a trio of men pointed at a screen in front of them and then to one of the big ones on the wall.
The third screen changed from a map of New York to a video.
A large room, server towers. Narwhal was surrounded by shields protecting her from a sword.
A familiar voice wailed, "You're killing her!"
Narwhal closed her hand behind her shields. "I know."
Chevalier turned and stepped out into the room. "What is that?"
"Videos," one of the men answered. "Ten of them were just put on the net and they're the top results on Google."
"That's coming from Newtype's suit," Prism noted at the screen as the shouting match became a battle. Newtype tackled Narwhal and drove her into a ceiling. She kept going, pushing the woman through the debris and out into the sky. "Is that Toronto? How did she get to Toronto?"
"There are others," the man who spoke before continued. Chevalier came over and looked at the indicated monitor. "The incident with Eidolon. A video about the Slaughterhouse Nine—"
"Someone's been busy," Myrddin mused.
"Who posted them?!" Tagg snapped. "Can we verify they're not fake?"
"That will take time," Chambers lamented, pinching the bridge of his nose. "By the time we know, those videos will have tens of millions of views."
"There's also posts hitting social media now that Alexandria is in Toronto," someone else called from another corner of the room. "They're saying she's fighting one of Newtype's suits."
Prism and Reed both snapped around.
"Alexandria?" Reed started moving. "Show me."
As if a flip were switched, suddenly the flickering on the screens stopped. It was like everything started working again and the first thing to be found was the unfolding disaster. A battle between Chariot and Protectorate elements outside Newtype's factory. Missiles being fired into the city from the Rig. Vista and Mockshow rebelling against Dauntless.
Piggot turned her attention back to Tagg and repeated herself.
"You bloody idiot."
A Side V
Vicky could hear the fighting from the house.
It was distant at first, but once it got going it really got going!
There was a flash of green from Captain's hill, and Vicky craned her neck back as a suit shot into the sky and raced over the mountains. So fast. Was that Taylor?
Stay out of it, she said.
Stay. Out. Of it.
How was she supposed to do that? Heroes didn't 'stay out of it.' That was the opposite of the job description!
There were UFOs all over the edge of Captain's Hill and the Docks. Not the flying saucer kind, but the technical kind. At first at least. As Vicky flew closer, some of the machines started looking familiar.
Some moved on the ground and others in the air. The space around Taylor's lab was still standing. She'd stuck around long enough to see the missiles blow up without hitting it but that had been a while ago.
The air around it was all twisted up now. Vista?
Vicky felt really tired of not knowing what was going on.
Missiles and crazy Protectorate capes trying to kill Lafter, portals and now Armsmaster was bleeding all over the kitchen while a villain's little sister—who apparently wasn't a villain, maybe—was trying to explain how he'd gotten cut up by Kaze!
It was absurd. Things had been so quiet for so long. So boring.
Barely half an hour later and it was pure chaos.
Vicky darted through the air toward the fighting, just as one of the UFOs exploded. Something fast tore through it and darted off into the air. The suit sheared in two, fire and smoke blasting out from one side as it spiraled onto a rooftop and crashed.
Her heart jumped as the building visibly bent before collapsing. A lot of Captain's Hill was abandoned, especially the areas around the Docks. Even the gangs never really fought over it except when they wanted to fight. Probably why they picked the area. They could have a brawl and not worry about angering any heroes.
People still lived here though.
Was anyone in that building?
Far to the right, Vicky hesitated as a mountainside billowed with dust and debris. It had to be at least two miles away. The hell was being fired down there?
This wasn't like a cape fight; not any cape fight she'd ever seen, at least.
As she got closer and could see the battle...
The other machines were Dragon suits. Vicky recognized them from TV and the news. Why were they attacking the city? Taylor and Armsmaster made it sound like something was trying to kill Dragon and they were trying to stop it.
Four other suits—smaller bipedal ones—were moving through the street.
Vicky didn't recognize any of them, but the fastest looked like one of Taylor's. Sort of? It was so fast. In the blink of an eye, Vicky saw it smash one of the attacking suits in the leg with a bare fist and zip around behind the machine to punch it again. One of the wings cracked and shattered.
By the time the falling automaton retaliated the Gundam was already moving away.
The other three machines followed. They looked identical, bulky and broad with a single red eye in unturning heads. There were Haros on top of them. One suit loaded a long spear into a weapon held by the second. The third raised a shield, blocking a barrage of missiles targeting the first two. As the smoke swirled, a rocket shot from inside and exploded in the air.
Dauntless flew by then, lightning blasting from his lance into the Dragon suit as it dodged the rocket. The machine tumbled, but landed rather than crashed. It flipped a car on the way down, firing a volley of missiles as Dauntless raised his shield.
Why were they fighting?
Did someone hack Dragon's system and take over her suits...
Huh.
Actually, that would explain a lot. Like the missiles. The Protectorate heroes being stupid and talking crazy didn't make sense. Even if a hero had gone villain all of a sudden this was overkill. Insanity.
Someone was screwing with them.
Vicky circled, trying to get a feel for what was happening. She counted about a dozen of Dragon's suits, the Gundam and the three drones. Dauntless emerged from the smoke and engaged one of the flying suits while something a block north exploded in a rainbow of light. A few of those troopers in gold armor were there too, behind the fighting. One was helping a woman out of her car while another carried two kids away.
There was a cape too, but she looked hurt, hovering over the ground while clutching her—
Bakuda.
Vicky blinked, watching as the woman flew up from the street below and over the rooftops. She turned her grenade launcher toward the sky and fired. The little round shells sailed over the rooftops, bursting into a volley of swirling machines that surged forward. The swarm of flying minibombs enveloped the suit Dauntless drove to the ground and then exploded like blinding firecrackers. The suit started to come apart at the seams, pieces of its limbs crumbling and falling away to the ground.
"So I got five!" Bakuda shouted once she landed. "Anyone else got five? No? Great! I'm winning!"
Winning? Winning what?
Vicky turned towards the scene, taking note of the fleeing crowd. The Dragon suits seemed mostly happy to ignore them, but they were literally ignoring them! They didn't seem to care where their missiles or bullets went.
It wasn't a battle.
…
It was exactly like Façade said it would be.
Vicky dove.
She still didn't know what was happening, but this was different. It wasn't like chasing down muggers or playing hide and seek with the gangs. The violence felt so much more visceral. Less playbook, nothing like a banal game of cops and robbers.
It was a war.
Flying into the street, Vicky took hold of a bent light pole and ripped it from the ground. Her body heaved forward and she rolled with the momentum before swinging her improvised weapon overhead onto one of Dragon's suits. The pole groaned and cracked over the machine's long head.
Multiple metallic eyes turned on Vicky. It was one of the taller ones, standing on four legs with big wings and engines on its back.
She released the pole and punched it as hard as she could. The machine met the blow and pushed back against her fist.
"Parahuman," the machine said in what sounded like Dragon's voice. "There is an S-Class event in progress. Stand down or—"
Too robotic. It didn't sound like an actual person, though it did sound like Dragon's voice.
Was that why they were fighting? All these suits were on some kind of remote and attacked anyone who got in the way? What possible S-Class event could they mean?
The only disaster Vicky could see was the fight between them and everyone else.
Vicky released the shattered remains of the pole, dove forward and punched. She punched again and again. Metal creaked and groaned under the blows but the damn thing didn't break. When the suit reared up and started to swing back, Vicky dove and grabbed its leg. She pulled, straining as the metal warped in her hands.
She'd hoped the damn thing would be lighter. It was only fifteen feet tall. Squealer's tank broke a lot more easily.
There was something though. Not the pop that said her shield was about to drop but something else. A strain. She'd felt it before with the missiles, in the back of her mind. She'd hardly noticed it until afterward.
Afterward when she—
On a whim, Vicky stretched, not with her arms but with her whatever-that-was and she felt another hand close around the metal and squeeze. Grimacing, Vicky grabbed another and pulled with four arms.
The machine creaked and as Vicky felt the weight lessen it began to fall back. Releasing the limb, Vicky darted up its chest and punched again. The second right arm over hers stretched out, hitting before her own fist and sending two metallic clangs through the air before the head cracked.
Vicky began to batter at the head with her fists, driving the machine down into the street. When it hit she pulled her legs up and dropped, slamming two sets of feet into the spot on the chest where the neck connected. The armor bent back as she drove a fist through the plating and the suit started muttering static and babble.
It flailed about but yeah. Those Draggles she'd hidden in her closet as a kid finally paid off! All of Dragon's earliest suits had their CPU bits in the chest just under the neck!
Huh. Those models were really accurate.
"Have you always been able to do that?"
Vicky turned. Bakuda stood on the rooftop above, launcher slung over her shoulder.
Looking back at her hands, Vicky stretched again and she felt the other arms pull away. She couldn't see them, but they were there. "Maybe?"
"Neat."
She was going to feel like an idiot if she'd been able to do that the entire time... Then again, what exactly was she doing that would push her to notice? Parahumans learned new things about their powers all the time, right?
She kept stretching the sensation. It worked with her arms and her legs. Wait, could she actually—
Bakuda turned her head. "Speaking of new, I never asked where you got the digs from, Cheerio."
Vicky looked over her shoulder and spun around. Charging into another suit, she threw her arms around its narrow waist and flew forward. The suit started sputtering about some 'Machine Army' and Vicky found it painfully ironic.
The Gundam-looking suit came at the machine from behind. It skated over the ground so quickly she could barely keep track of it. It dodged left, avoiding a missile, right to bat another out of the air, and then jumped. It tackled the top of the suit while Vicky kept pushing the bottom.
The machine tumbled, and Vickly quickly wheeled around to escape being crushed.
Her eyes widened as the Gundam ripped a wing off the suit's back. Clawed hands spun the tip down and stabbed. The Dragon suit exploded out of one side. Vicky shielded her face with her arms. A piece of sharp metal pinged off her arm and popped one of her shields.
"Watch it!" she snapped. That wasn't Taylor. Taylor wouldn't—
"Vicky?"
"Chariot?!"
The Gundam rose up from the fallen Dragon suit's back, head turning up toward Vicky.
"Shit," the boy mumbled from inside the machine. "I'm sorry! I didn't see you there!"
Chariot was in the Gundam? The machine looked a lot fiercer than the others Vicky had seen, so maybe he built it too. It still seemed a bit too monstrous for Chariot though. Trevor normally seemed so… Well, timid. Vicky didn't want to be demeaning but it really fit his disposition.
Before Vicky could ask, another suit landed nearby.
She turned with Chariot and started towards it.
Shells exploded against its side and black spheres raked the surface of the machine. Small pockmarks scarred its surface and the next shot was a loud bang of a large caliber rifle. The suit tilted and started to fall.
Dauntless swung around, looking down the street. "Militia!"
Vicky turned again.
Miss Militia ran toward them, a rifle braced to her shoulder. Stratos and Mockshow were right behind her. Dauntless started to say something about having ordered Mockshow to stay back but the girl appeared to ignore the comment. There were still suits left, and Dauntless didn't get to press before Miss Militia started pointing.
"Dauntless, drive those two to the ground. Stratos will open holes in the armor! Mockshow, clear out that vehicle, I see someone inside!"
The girl pouted but started directing her mount toward it.
Miss Militia started shooting at one of the suits on the ground, her voice shouting over the thunder.
"Glory Gir—"
Vicky was already in motion, charging forward and driving both sets of fists into a Dragon suit's chest. It crashed into the building behind it and started to fall forward. Chariot's Gundam swept through the street and drove its pilfered wing into the taller machine's leg. An explosion ripped the arm off and as the limb fell Vicky glanced over her shoulder at Bakuda.
The villain waved.
Damnit.
Lashing out, Victoria grabbed the limb midair and swung it around like a bat.
A villain was here helping, had been helping for a while actually, and she'd been at home doing what? Reeling?
The machine started to fall to the sidewalk. A machine gun fired, peppering her shield and Chariot's suit. Vicky shielded herself with the arm and wound up for another swing.
Miss Militia fired her rifle into another suit behind her. Dauntless's lightning coursed over another. Chariot raced down the street and tackled a third. His clawed hands began tearing the armor away and he threw a foot into the internal mechanics. Bakuda fired her launcher again, and Vicky finally brought the heavy arm into her target's chest.
The suit's spine shattered and groaned. Releasing her weapon, Vicky flew straight up and mimicked Chariot. She grabbed hold of the chest plate, ripped it free of its already warped frame, and drove her fist into the machinery inside.
Her shield popped, but none of the metal or wiring cut her as she drew her hand back.
The other three machines skated by around her. The Haros atop waved at Vicky, but she was already looking for the next suit to smash. She spotted one trying to move around them. Another stake tore through its armor and out the other side. The suit wheeled end over end, crashing into the street and crushing a van as a trooper in gold armor pulled a man out of the way.
Vicky shielded her eyes as the air exploded below her, and the Haros' suits lowered the big weapon held over its shoulder.
"Six," the green Haro declared. One suit loaded another stake into the weapon and two arms swung forward near the barrel as the cylinder at the back started spinning. "Six!"
Bakuda scoffed. "There's three of you! You can't roll all your kills up together!"
"All for one," Yellow chanted, "all for one!"
"One for all," Orange finished, "one for all!"
"Damn cheaters." Bakuda shook her head. She strolled by on the street below, trailing behind Stratos and Miss Militia. "Well"—another suit struggled against Dauntless, only for Stratos, Miss Militia, and the Haros' suits to fire all at once—"Think that's all of them."
The suit exploded and Vicky blinked.
All of them?
But there'd been a dozen just a moment ago!
"Is anyone hurt?" Miss Militia called.
Dauntless flew over, one hand on his side. "About that…" He glanced toward Chariot.
Chariot's head looked away. The fuck was that about?
No, the fuck was all of this about!
She still didn't know what was going on!
The last suit collapsed and exploded and the city fell silent.
Vicky's hands balled at her side and yup. Somehow she had four hands. She could feel it. She'd figure that out later.
It was over. It was over and once again, she'd missed everything.
She was really really tired of being left out.
A Side D
The news was no help. The signal kept cutting out. He only caught every other word. Video and pictures he saw didn't help.
Lafter was hurt, but she'd survived somehow. Video at the factory showed her sitting on the ground with some of Orga's boys guarding her. None of them looked any worse for wear. He'd gotten calls from Kurt and Stu confirming all the workers had evacuated the area and weren't hurt.
That wasn't enough for him.
He hated these moments. They were the worst and they came so often. Was Dinah alright? He'd tried calling the Alcott's house phone using the handheld beside the couch but no one answered. His own phone wasn't working and that seemed like something that shouldn't happen.
He couldn't contact Taylor or Veda at all.
So he sat on the couch, one foot tapping on the floor, and his hands clasped together to keep them from shaking.
"My parents aren't here," a voice called from the kitchen. "It should be safe for a little while. I'll try to figure out what is going on."
Danny tensed, glancing cautiously over his shoulder.
There was a spider on the back of the couch staring back at him, uncomfortably still in its perch.
He swallowed. "You can't tell me?"
"I only know that everyone is freaking out and they're talking about Taylor attacking Dragon."
Taylor would never do that.
"Taylor would never do that," Weaver declared as she stepped out of the kitchen. "I don't know what the Protectorate or the PRT are going to do about—"
She stopped behind the couch, looking over him at the screen. Danny couldn't see her face, but there was this air of relief around her. The tension left her shoulders, and the grip she'd had on the knife seemed to loosen.
Danny turned his attention back to the screen.
He rose, the stones in his gut passing at the sight of a Gundam flying through the air over the city. The picture had cleaned up and he could clearly hear the reporters behind the desk saying something about the Protectorate and Dragon.
He didn't care.
Smiling in relief, Danny watched as one of Taylor's suits flew into the city toward the factory. There was smoke rising west of the building and he thought back to the explosions and gunshots he'd heard earlier. Some of the video they'd shown before made it look like a battle.
He honestly didn't know.
Everything could become so chaotic so quickly and then it just settled again.
As if being a parent wasn't hard enough.
"She's okay," Danny sighed. She seemed to be flying pretty slowly for her. Not in a rush. He took that as a good sign. If anyone were seriously hurt, Taylor would be in a bigger rush.
"G-Good." She turned her head away. "I need to go, before anyone notices I'm missing."
"Wait"—Danny shot up from the couch—"Emma."
She stopped and Danny moved around the couch.
She'd shown up in the house so suddenly. Some kind of portal power. He'd seen it but Taylor had said Weaver controlled bugs. That part was definitely true. Danny could see the flies around the room and doubted Zoe let her house become so infested naturally.
So where did the portal come from?
Taylor spoke about Weaver like she was a nice person. She'd been pretty convincing about how he needed to move. Of course, he only realized who was under the mask after finding out where the portal went. Then he'd simply been too shocked, even a little guarded at the possibility she might intend him harm.
That was such a bizarre image. The idea that Emma could ever hurt him… Then again, he'd have thought the same about her hurting Taylor.
Finally facing her now, he didn't really know what he was going to say until he said it.
"Are you okay?"
She flinched and pulled into herself. Danny impulsively recoiled at the motion. It was exactly like Taylor used to be. Hiding her pain, keeping how bad things were secret.
"Fine," Emma said, lying just like Taylor used to lie.
Emma looked back over her shoulder, face hidden behind her mask. Hair too, tucked under a hood. Danny might not have realized it was her if not for where she'd brought him. The place felt too familiar and somehow too comfortable. There were too many memories here for how things had ended.
If he never saw Alan Barnes' house again, it would be too soon.
Admittedly, it was probably the last place anyone would look for him.
Asking his next question, "Does Taylor know?"
"No," she answered. "But if you need to tell her—"
Tell her? What would he tell her? He couldn't hide this from Taylor. Danny recognized that costume. Taylor had described it once, off-handedly. She'd met Emma and she didn't even realize it. Weaver was the friend who betrayed her, but not even a month ago Taylor talked about the girl like she'd been supportive and friendly.
Was that just a new way for Emma to torture Taylor?
"Don't you think you should tell her?" he asked. He wished the mask would disappear. Danny could manage a good poker face, and reading one wasn't too hard. How good a liar could a teenage girl—He stopped that thought right there.
Emma looked away. "Taylor doesn't think about me anymore."
Danny blinked, not expecting that. He couldn't see her face, but he heard the pain in her voice. The defeatism. Just like Taylor.
"But you think about her," Danny realized. What you did to her. "All the time?"
Emma hung her head and Danny lamented that he could never figure out Taylor this easily. Why was she so much harder to read? Maybe she wasn't. Maybe he hadn't paid enough attention before and now hindsight was twisting the knife. He failed to recognize Taylor's pain only to learn to see it in his daughter's torturer. Father of the year, right there.
Stepping up behind her, Danny closed his arms around Emma and pulled her into a hug.
Why couldn't he have given that to Taylor when she needed it?
Emma stiffened but he held firm. And Danny realized that no matter how angry he was, how much he wanted to hate Emma for what she did…he knew her too well. He'd watched them grow up together. Taylor and Emma were sisters in all but blood, or had been. Alan was an asshole who deserved a beating for what he'd allowed Emma to do to Taylor.
Danny couldn't hate her.
He still remembered watching them go to the beach for the first time. Teaching them to swim. The way Annette taught both of them to read. That time Taylor got in trouble defending Emma from bullies.
How did it end up like this?
Danny held her quietly, Her hands closed around his arms. The first sob was silent. The second hushed. The third wheezed out of her throat as she lost control and Emma began heaving.
Had nobody tried to help her, even once?
"I'm sorry," Emma sobbed. "I'm sorry."
Danny frowned, glad she wasn't facing him. He didn't have it in him to look particularly supportive. It was all so complicated.
"I'm sorry," Emma chanted over and over.
He wanted to say something, but again he didn't know what to say.
So he just held on, resting his chin atop Emma's head while she cried the pain away.
They were the same, in the end. Maybe not in the same ways or by the same path, but somehow Emma had found her way to the same terrible place Taylor had been in. Murrue and Kati both explained trigger events to him. Was that what happened to her?
"It's okay," Danny whispered. "It's going to be okay."
"Don't tell her," Emma pleaded between heaves. "I don't…"
She didn't finish the sentence but Danny could guess. Emma got powers somehow. She triggered. She wasn't a Ward before the locker, Danny felt certain of that. Taylor would have found out. Now she was a cape.
She'd triggered and they put her in Boston. It must have happened at some point after Taylor made her deal with the PRT. They sent Shadow Stalker away, and that must have been when—
"Taylor caused your trigger," Danny realized. "When you were arrested or—"
"No!" Emma pulled away and fell over as she spun around.
Danny moved toward her, checking to see if she was already. The girl shook her head so hard her hood fell back and Danny saw how short her hair was. When did she cut it? It was so short, barely longer than a buzzcut.
"That's not—Don't tell Taylor that! You can't tell her that! It's not her fault, she didn't do anything wrong!"
No, she didn't. Emma did.
"I have to go," Emma snapped.
Danny only noticed then how excited the bugs were. He didn't think they wanted to attack or anything, but they were moving frantically as if in a panic. Were they responding to Emma's mood?
"Wait—"
"Door, please. My room!"
Before he could stop her, Emma ran through the portal and it closed behind her.
His hand fell to his side and he watched the insects in the house start moving more naturally.
Maybe he should open a window?
With one last look at the empty space Emma had passed through, Danny wondered how things had turned out like this? Taylor and Emma were sisters once and now… Why should powers or whatever intelligence was behind them care? Taylor always said powers weren't a consolation prize.
Suffering was suffering.
Emma ruined Taylor's life, and turned her into a cape.
Somehow, in some twisted turn of fate, Taylor had done the same right back.
Emma was suffering in silence because she felt guilty for what she'd done.
Danny didn't see the justice in any of it. It was just bitter.
A Side L
"Cranial's children," Keith gasped as the figures materialized. "How did they—"
Where had they been and how were they reappearing now? The figures simply emerged from the light around Newtype's suit, as if walking out of thin air. And Newtype didn't seem to react to their emergence at all.
Rebecca's eyes were wide behind her mask as she leaned on Michael. "That's... Did you see the light?"
Keith had tried not to think about that.
This day hardly needed to get any more crazy. Actually, it might be the craziest day since waking up to find David and Fortuna vanished to fight Scion themselves. Dragon's servers had exploded. Newtype apparently made it out before that happened, but that was only the second to last crazy thing they'd encountered in the past hour.
Legend had no issue seeing the scene, even from a few miles away.
Newtype's machine floated over the wreckage, still spilling out the same light as the children began moving.
The gold light glittered in the air, and the machine's head turned as Cranial's children pulled something from the wreckage. A large box—No, a server. It looked like the ones that had housed Dragon in Toronto. The box was undamaged and after drawing it from the refuse of the destroyed machine, the children began pulling components out.
Were they still trying to save Dragon?
That would be a relief. Keith still reeled at Rebecca going off on her own to 'resolve' the problem. They could have done it together and the right way. One of them running off felt far too much like what happened with David.
At least on that front, there had been some relief.
"Doormaker's alive," Michael whispered in relief. "And Clairevoyant too."
"Where?" Rebecca grumbled. She was in pain, and she didn't heal like most people. The injuries StarGazer inflicted were minor but she'd be stuck with them for a while. "Why are they back now? Where is..."
Her voice faltered and her head drooped. Keith didn't need to ask what she meant.
"That light," Keith mumbled as he refocused on the scene. "That's—"
"Scion's light."
Keith followed the sound of the voice, mimicking Michael and Rebecca in turning to the forest behind them. Rebecca pushed away from Michael, floating forward toward the edge of the wood.
Fortuna emerged from the tree line, patting dust from the hat in her hand.
"Will you follow me?" Gingerly, she placed the hat atop her head. She smiled weakly, as if prepared to go to a funeral. "One last time."
