When presented with change, there are two possible reactions.

One can fight against it. Whether that means building walls to guard you from it, using prepared contingencies to respond instantly to it, or literally beating the agent of change to death so that the status quo may be restored is a matter of semantics. At the end of the day, it is looking at the world and bending it to your will, spitting in the eye of the inevitable.

Or, one can work with the change. Switch sides at a critical moment, abandon a stable position to gather more power, or simply change goals to turn a setback into an unexpected windfall. When plans are derailed beyond all hope of salvation, when victory is doomed to be bitter sweet, a little reordering is often necessary.

With power and anonymity, fighting back is an expedient and effective way to ensure the dice fall in your favor. When there are multiple players or stealth is paramount...

Then the latter approach becomes attractive.

"Lung is dead?" I wonder out loud, expression concealed by cloth and an empty document on the screen in front of me in one timeline while I peck away at a keyboard in another while wearing an entirely reasonable grin. After all, a parahuman gang leader is dead, and that surely means safer streets. Given his responsibilities, Thomas Calvert is more than justified in his happiness. Coil, on the other hand, is in a more complicated position.

Lung would have had to be removed at some point. Not a figure of chaos per say but having a dragon capable of ashing a city stomping around is too much of a risk for long term stability. Previous plans relied on forcing Piggot to call in outside help or a sufficiently powerful explosive in a sufficiently discreet location. Far from foolproof, but eventually effective.

But now was not that point. He was supposed to kill off most of the E88 first, or a few Protectorate heroes. Then he would escape capture a few more times, remove some more problems, and eventually pick a fight with someone out of his weight class.

I begin typing up plans as Coil while I finish up for the day as Calvert. Changes need to be made, but this...

This could be an opportunity.


"We're going to be heroes?" Trickster asks, the confusion in his voice palpable even through the phone.

"That is correct," I reply smoothly. "Events have transpired, and I find myself needing to change the terms of our contract. Will it be a problem?" I ask. Refusing is not quite an option but the charade must be maintained.

"No, not at all," he says. "Just surprised, is all. I'll need to discuss this with my team, but I don't see it being an issue." Given the relatively low body count of your companions, I would be surprised if it were.

"I will see you shortly," I say before hanging up. Managing their fifth member will be a trial, but the four useful members of their little troupe will make for fine lieutenants. That, and they don't have many verifiable violent crimes attributed to them, making them the perfect candidates for a redemption story.

In the Calvert timeline I savor a slice of chocolate cake, a costless reward for a job well done. In the Coil timeline I pull out another phone and hit the third number on the speed dial.

Three rings later, Tattletale picks up. "What?" she asks.

"For the next week, use your power to find ABB and E88 store houses and weapon depots. You will not be going on any jobs," I add, then hang up. Let her puzzle out the meaning of that statement. The truth will be stranger than fiction.

I collapse the Calvert timeline and split them again.

In one, I de-mask and head home, ready for nine consecutive hours of sleep as Thomas Calvert. In the other I start examining Medhall offices and mark the ones that don't have air-gapped databases. I then sort them by potential value and risk of E88 response.

The plan has changed, but not necessarily for the worse.


Dying is not an experience one can ever get used to.

"What the fuck?" I snarl at the computer in front of me as the Calvert timeline suddenly ends halfway through its commute. I split, call Mister Pitter to the room, and shoot him six times in the belly.

Collapse.

I split again, this time more productively. In one, I leave through a secret exit and start driving towards a safe house while in the other I dial up Tattletale.

"Tattletale, what's happening?" I ask, maintaining an even voice. Pointless against a Thinker of her caliber but the charade must go on.

"Bakuda's gone crazy," she says, a note of terror in her voice. If it's enough to scare her, then I must not be the only one at risk. "She's making a power play, thinks that this will convince people to take the ABB seriously, thinks that it will validate her, is currently planning on-"

"Stop," I order her, and savor the audible *click* of her teeth coming together. It is good to be in charge of something. "Save your power. This is not an unusual event. If," I stress, "Bakuda becomes a problem, I will call a meeting with the other villains in town, and we will plan on stopping Bakuda with them. Only then must you worry." While losing a timeline to a random bomb is inconvenient and irritating in the extreme, it is just a timeline. I have weathered worse. I hang up on her and call a trio of soldiers to my office.

I point to the rightmost one. "Go to an Empire bar and tell our informants to increase the frequency of information dumps." The more often the enemy knows something they shouldn't, the more often the ranks are swept for spies. A necessary risk when wars break out. She leaves, and I point to the second. "You, go to the Palanquin and tell Faultline I am interested in hiring her on retainer." This may become big enough to justify purchasing her services. An unlikely but possible event, and having her on retainer prevents someone else from employing her. He leaves, and I turn to the third. "You, check in to see if the Merchants are responding." Poor and weak people who steal from others who are weak and poor, but capes are capes. This may be the event that finally prods them into doing something so tremendously moronic that something disruptive happens.

I haven't maintained my stable position in this city by neglecting a Tinker who can make tanks from scrap, a sentient mass of disposable armor, and a man who can create railguns at will.

The third soldier nods as and moves to obey.

I force myself to remember the two ways to react to change. Fight back, or work with. With that in mind I pull up the dossiers of the Empire's roster and begin to think.

How many casualties can I get them to take in this gang war?